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Mandy Moore shared her take on the drama swirling around her celebrity mommy group, months after fellow child actor Ashley Tisdale shaded the bunch in scathing essay last winter.

The “This Is Us” star and mother of three, during a recent appearance on Andy Cohen’s Sirius XM show “Radio Andy,” said she found the former “Suite Life of Zack & Cody” star’s article “very upsetting” and that it shocked both herself and fellow mommy group member Hilary Duff. “We have both grown up in this business and had people dissect who we are and the choices we make and all of that,” Moore, 42, told the Bravo host, “but this was something altogether different and decidedly way more upsetting … because it just cuts to the core.”

In December, New York magazine published “High School Musical” star Tisdale French’s essay for its “It’s Been a Year” series. The actor’s piece, titled “Breaking Up With My Toxic Mom Group,” accused other group members of snubbing Tisdale French from various gatherings and group chats. “‘This is too high school for me and I don’t want to take part in it anymore,’” Tisdale French, who shares two children with composer Christopher French, recalled texting the group.

As Tisdale French’s essay sparked speculation online about the identity of the group members, Duff’s husband Matthew Koma appeared to confirm his wife’s membership in a since-expired Instagram story post throwing the shade right back at Tisdale French.

For Moore, married to musician Taylor Goldsmith, kindness is “the most important thing” in her life, as is creating a legacy of kindness, she told Cohen. She said that she finds “anyone even insinuating that might not be the case” to be “very upsetting.” Moore said she is a “huge proponent” of addressing conflict head-on via face-to-face communication.

“‘I wouldn’t have handled the situation this way,’” she recalled feeling about the essay. Moore did not mention Tisdale French by name.

Moore said she also felt the scandalous essay “perpetuates this silly trope that women can’t be supportive of one another” and that women, specifically mothers, are “inherently petty” and committed to “one-up each other.”

“I have not felt that one iota since becoming a parent,” Moore said, adding she has formed “meaningful relationships” with other parents. She further stressed the importance of parents finding their community wherever they can.

Duff, 38, addressed the mommy group drama with The Times in February, telling pop music critic Mikael Wood that “this is not new for me” and she felt the situation was “escalated by the talking heads on TikTok that need clickbait.” Amid the social media chatter, Duff said her family is her focus.

”Knowing that I get to open up the back doors and play soccer as a family and take a hot tub and go get our chicken eggs — that’s the purpose of life,” she said. “On the days when crazy s— happens, I go home and quiet the noise.”

WASHINGTON — Most U.S. adults say the United States is no longer a great place for immigrants, according to a new AP-NORC poll, as about one-third of Americans report knowing someone impacted by the Trump administration’s aggressive immigration enforcement.

A new survey from The Associated Press-NORC Center for Public Affairs Research of more than 2,500 U.S. adults finds about 6 in 10 say the country used to be a great place for immigrants but is not anymore. About one-third of U.S. adults — and more than half of Hispanic adults — say that over the last year they, or someone they know, have started carrying proof of their immigration status or U.S. citizenship, been detained or deported, changed travel plans, or significantly changed routines, such as avoiding work, school or leaving the house, because of their immigration status.

The poll comes as the Supreme Court is considering whether the Trump administration should be allowed to restrict birthright citizenship, as well as following months of sweeping immigration enforcement and mass deportations of immigrants.

Missouri retiree Reid Gibson, an independent, is furious about the Trump administration’s treatment of immigrants. He hopes America eventually becomes more welcoming to immigrants again, but he worries “it may take many years to reverse the damage that the Trump administration has inflicted” with its policies.

The poll finds that many Americans know someone who has been affected by Trump’s approach. That includes Gibson’s stepdaughter, who he says started carrying her passport because of concerns that her darker skin would make her a target in immigration crackdowns.

“It’s just plain wrong,” Gibson, 72, added. “This is not a good country for immigrants anymore.”

Americans’ personal connections to immigration enforcement

Many U.S. adults have adapted their lives to heightened immigration enforcement over the last year, as Trump increased detentions and sought to conduct the largest deportation operation in American history.

Democrats are more likely than independents or Republicans to know someone affected, and those with a personal connection are more likely to say the U.S. is no longer a great place for immigrants.

Kathy Bailey, a 79-year-old Illinois Democrat, has seen the administration’s immigration policies seep into the small-town swim class she regularly attends. She said two women in the class — both naturalized U.S. citizens — have begun carrying their passports when they leave home. Bailey says one of the women, who is from Latin America, has been especially worried about sticking out in an overwhelmingly white community.

“She’s an American citizen now, but she’s so scared that she has to carry her passport,” said Bailey. “She’s just another sweet old grandmother swimming at 5 in the morning.”

About 6 in 10 Hispanic adults say they or someone they know has been impacted by immigration enforcement in this way, much higher than among Black or white adults.

“This is terrible for these women!” Bailey said. “I’m just stunned at what we are coming to.”

Most believe the U.S. used to be a great place for immigrants

Nick Grivas, a 40-year-old from Massachusetts, said his own grandfather’s immigration to the U.S. from Greece has made him feel the impact of the president’s policies. It’s part of why he believes the U.S. stopped being a promising place for people seeking a new life.

“We can see how we’re treating children and the children of the immigrants, and we’re not viewing them as potential future Americans,” Grivas said.

Roughly 3 in 10 U.S. adults say the U.S. is a great place for immigrants, according to the poll, while about 1 in 10 say it never was. The belief that America is no longer great for immigrants is more common among Democrats and independents, as well as among those born outside the U.S.

Grivas, a Democrat, worries that federal policies against immigration could stunt the country by discouraging new arrivals from investing in their local communities, especially if they don’t believe they will be allowed to remain.

“You’re less willing to commit to the project if you don’t think that you’re gonna be able to stay,” he said.

Most support birthright citizenship, but also hold nuanced views

The Supreme Court recently heard arguments in President Trump’s efforts to restrict birthright citizenship by declaring that children born to parents who are in the country illegally or temporarily are not American citizens.

About two-thirds of U.S. adults in the poll say automatic citizenship should be granted to all children born in the country, a view that most Democrats and independents back. Republicans are more doubtful: just 44% support birthright citizenship. The poll also shows that some people are conflicted, saying in general that they support birthright citizenship but also that they oppose it in some specific circumstances.

Among those who object to automatic citizenship is Linda Steele, a 70-year-old from Florida, who believes that only children born to American citizens should be granted citizenship. Steele, a Republican, does not believe foreigners living legally in the U.S. — whether for work or other reasons — should be able to have a child who automatically becomes a U.S. citizen.

“That shouldn’t be allowed,” she said. “They’re just here visiting or going to school.”

When asked about some specific circumstances, about 6 in 10 U.S. adults say they support birthright citizenship for children born to parents on legal U.S. tourist visas, while only about half support it for those born to parents who are in the country illegally. An even higher share, 75%, support automatic citizenship for children born in the U.S. to parents who are in the country legally on work visas, with much of that increased support coming from Republicans saying this was an acceptable situation.

Kevin Craig, a 57-year-old from Wilmington, North Carolina, does not believe citizenship should be automatically granted. Craig, who leans conservative, believes there should be “at least some opportunity for intervention by a human being who can make some sort of a judgment.”

But he added: “I think my personal opinion is that I can’t think of a situation where it would not be granted.”

Sanders, Sullivan and Catalini write for the Associated Press. Sullivan reported from Minneapolis. Catalini reported from Morrisville, Pa. The AP-NORC poll of 2,596 adults was conducted April 16-20 using a sample drawn from NORC’s probability-based AmeriSpeak Panel, which is designed to be representative of the U.S. population. The margin of sampling error for adults overall is plus or minus 2.6 percentage points.

Before authorities charged him with attempting to assassinate President Trump and top administration officials in a brazen attack at the Washington Hilton, Cole Tomas Allen lived what those who knew him described as a quiet, simple existence.

He worked as a tutor and enjoyed video games, manga and riding his blue scooter. Acquaintances said Allen rarely talked about his political views through much of his adult life.

But on social media, he appears to have expressed concerns about the morality of U.S. policy, particularly its role in the wars in Ukraine and Iran.

Now, those who crossed paths with him are struggling to square the accusations against him with the man they knew as an unassuming student, gamer and teacher.

Allen grew up in a middle-class, suburban part of Torrance, one of four siblings who would each go on to study at reputable universities.

His parents were both teachers and “really solid members of their community,” according to Paul Thompson, a Los Angeles County prosecutor who lives next door to the family’s two-story house. Allen’s father knew many people on the block of single-family homes by their first names, Thompson said, and the suspect’s mother once saved Thompson’s dog when it ran into the road.

As a high school junior, Allen led Pacific Lutheran’s volleyball team in a three-set win over Junipero Serra High School. He was homeschooled, but was allowed via a special program to take a class at Pacific Lutheran in Gardena and to play for its respected squad, according to the private school’s principal.

Allen was “a godly person” who never cursed or shared his political views at the time, a former teammate told The Times, but he was also “very competitive.”

That drive extended to academics. After finishing his homeschooling, he was accepted into Caltech, one of the best universities in the nation for aspiring engineers like Allen.

He joined the Caltech Christian Fellowship, taking on a leadership role in which he organized Bible discussions, as well as the fencing team and the Nerf Club. He interned at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in La Cañada Flintridge for three months.

In 2016, he was part of a five-person team that won an annual robotics and design competition in which teams built robots to play in soccer matches at Caltech. Allen was a teaching assistant at the Pasadena school, where he graduated with a mechanical engineering degree the following year.

Elizabeth Terlinden met Allen through the Caltech Christian Fellowship, where she was co-president during the 2014-15 school year.

“Quiet guy, kind of nondescript, generally polite, got good grades,” she told The Times, describing her impression of Allen. “Christian definitely, but that’s because I interacted with him primarily in that context.”

Michael D’Asaro, who coached fencing at Caltech around the time Allen was in college, said that he didn’t remember Allen but that generally none of the students attended practice regularly.

“Those kids were more interested in studying than sports, as you can imagine,” he said in a text message. “They would spend days and nights in the lab.”

After Caltech, Allen went on to work as a mechanical engineer for a South Pasadena firm called IJK Controls.

Kevin Baragona said he and Allen worked together “making stabilized gimbals for Hollywood” at IJK for about six months.

Baragona, who left IJK in January 2018 to found the company DeepAI, said in an interview via FaceTime from rural China that Allen seemed “kind of tired, unmotivated, like he didn’t want to really work hard, and maybe depressed.”

Baragona said that Allen was mainly interested in video games, and that Allen even showed him a couple of games he had made or was working on.

Allen was at IJK for less than a year and a half, according to his LinkedIn profile, which states that he worked as a self-employed “Indie Game Developer” from September 2018 to March 2020.

In 2019, he registered a trademark for an esoteric video game called “Bohrdom,” a “hybrid of a bullet hell and a racing game” based on atomic theory, in which electrons and protons compete. “Bohrdom” languished on the Steam gaming platform. Three other projects Allen detailed in his professional bio remained unfinished.

Then, in March 2020, he took a job as a tutor at C2 Education. In December 2024, he was named teacher of the year at the test preparation and tutoring company in a Spanish-tiled Torrance shopping center. People who knew him through his work there described him in interviews as intelligent and professional.

In May 2025, Allen received a master’s degree from Cal State Dominguez Hills in Carson, six miles from his parents’ home in Torrance.

Bin Tang, a professor in the university’s computer science department, described Allen as a “very good student. … Soft-spoken, very polite, a good fellow.”

“I am very shocked to see the news,” he told the Associated Press.

Joaquin Miranda knew he recognized the photo circulating online of a man posing in a graduation gown at Cal State Dominguez Hills, but he couldn’t quite place it. So on Monday, the 48-year-old showed the picture to his 13-year-old daughter, who told him it was of Allen, “my tutor guy,” who had tutored her in English at C2.

“She can’t believe it, because he was very nice, very professional and a very cool guy,” Miranda said of his daughter. “So yeah, it’s crazy.”

The Torrance home connected to Cole Tomas Allen.

(Robbin Goddard / Los Angeles Times)

At the heart of the case against Allen is a document federal authorities allege he sent family members.

The writer of the document apologized to his parents, colleagues and others before laying out his “rules of engagement” — guests, hotel security and staff and other people not in elected office or government were “not targets.” The author says he was targeting top Trump administration officials because he was “no longer willing to permit a pedophile, rapist, and traitor to coat my hands with his crimes.”

If the document was indeed written by Allen, Baragona said it would represent a fundamental change from the person he knew when they were making gimbals together at IJK Controls.

“It’s kind of sad, really,” Baragona said of the transformation Allen’s worldview apparently underwent in recent years. “It’s tragic and sad.”

The document was signed “Cole ‘coldForce’ ‘Friendly Federal Assassin’ Allen,” echoing the usernames the FBI in a court filing said Allen used online.

Federal authorities have not identified the specific accounts, but The Times found multiple similarly named social media profiles likely used by Allen, with close variations of the same distinctive username, @coldForce3000, that Allen used on a chess account created with his confirmed email addresses. The accounts have been taken down, but much of their contents remain accessible on the Internet Archive.

Across more than 5,000 posts extending from 2021 to days before last weekend’s White House Correspondents’ Assn. dinner, where the attack attributed to him took place, Allen’s social media history shows that what started as a singular immersion into the online gaming world became consumed in condemnation of Trump, his administration and war. The rhetoric was often harsh — likening the president to a mob boss or calling him a sociopath — but did not espouse violence.

A sketch of Cole Tomas Allen in court.

(Dana Verkouteren / Associated Press)

For years, SoCal Twitter user @CForce3000, under the name “coldForce,” posted almost exclusively about gaming, and “Super Smash Bros. Ultimate” in particular, the same fighting game Allen played competitively as an online brawler.

The account changed abruptly the day after Russia’s April 2023 missile attack on Slovyansk, in eastern Ukraine. Eleven people, including a toddler, died in the shelling of a residential building. The feed from @CForce3000 carried images of the bloodshed.

Subsequent Ukraine-related posts followed, along with pleas for donations to buy jeeps, equipment and supplies for combatants in the country. By early 2024, the account had broadened to domestic concerns, including opinions on student activism at Columbia University in solidarity with Palestinians in Gaza.

“Everyone makes mistakes in college,” @CForce3000 wrote in May 2024, criticizing the activists, who risked expulsion. “Burning down your parents’ life accomplishments and your own future to demonstrably degrade the image of your (presumably) recent cause is not really one I’d recommend,” the user posted, “like, my parents woulda *buried* me if i picked this as a ‘hill to die on.’”

For the next year, @CForce3000 shared hundreds of posts from sources as diverse as Rep. Ted Lieu (D-Torrance), Republican former Rep. Liz Cheney of Wyoming and former Ukrainian diplomat Maria Drutska. The account became a repeater of condemnations by Trump critics calling the president an ally of Russia and decrying his failure to support Ukraine and his involvement with late sex offender Jeffrey Epstein.

In November 2024, @CForce3000 announced the account was migrating to BlueSky, saying of X, “I don’t think there’s much reason to be on here anymore.” In early 2025 on BlueSky, coldForce chose an avatar plucked from the anime series “Gintama”: the heroine Kagura in her berserk state, insane with rage.

“Hi! I’m a random Californian guy with posts about American politics, support for Ukraine, and observations of small creatures,” read the new coldForce account bio. “I choose my own battlefields. Not through my blood, but with my heart. I stand on the battlefield to protect what I want.”

The BlueSky user continued to forward requests for donations to equip Ukrainian troops. It decried federal immigration raids and posted about a toddler who nearly died at an Immigration and Customs Enforcement detention facility in Texas. In reposting a feed that called Elon Musk a white supremacist, coldForce mused that the Tesla CEO and X owner was a “genius with effective(?) autism” struggling to understand humanity.

The rhetoric sharpened this spring when Trump began posting threats to bomb Iran, saying that “a whole civilization will die tonight.” On BlueSky, coldForce shared posts from Democratic pundits and leaders, including in Congress, who called for Trump’s impeachment, and those who described the president as “deranged” and “a sociopathic mob boss.”

Cole Allen reportedly purchased a handgun at CAP Tactical Firearms in Lawndale.

(Eric Thayer / Los Angeles Times)

“Trump must be removed from office. He has no capacity to do the job, and he’s destroying the US and the world with incoherent flailing,” read an April 12 message by Minnesota liberal activist Will Stancil that coldForce reposted. “He thinks he can bully and blackmail the whole world and will start WW3 or nuke someone eventually. He absolutely cannot [be] allowed to continue.”

To these, coldForce added:

“If we can call for russians to oppose putin, we can and must oppose trump no less.”

On April 6, federal authorities say Allen used his phone to search “white house correspondents dinner 2026” and booked a room at the Washington Hilton.

Allen allegedly traveled by train across the country from California, arriving in Washington, D.C., on April 23 and checking into his room at the Washington Hilton, where the White House correspondents’ dinner was scheduled two nights later.

At 8:03 p.m. April 25, he snapped a mirror selfie in his hotel room, according to a pretrial detention memo filed by prosecutors Wednesday. He looked into the camera, eyebrows raised with a hint of a smile. Allen wore a black dress shirt and slacks, a red tie tucked into his pants and a small leather bag prosecutors say was filled with ammunition. He also allegedly wore a shoulder holster and knife in his waistband.

At 8:27 p.m., he pulled up a live feed of Trump en route to the event. Minutes later, as the president sat on an open stage during the fete, Allen allegedly ran through a magnetometer and past Secret Service agents toward the ballroom before firing at least one shotgun round in the direction of the stairs leading down to the ballroom, the memo said.

Secret Service agents respond during the White House correspondents’ dinner.

(Tom Brenner / Associated Press)

A Secret Service officer saw him and fired five shots — all of which missed him — and Allen fell to the ground and was arrested before he could reach the event space. The Department of Justice has said it is investigating whether Allen fired the round that hit one of the agents in the chest; the agent avoided major injuries because he was wearing a bulletproof vest.

People who knew Allen before he was accused of attempting to gun down American leaders told The Times that they never would have thought he was capable of such a violent act.

Terlinden, of the Caltech Christian Fellowship, said she and Allen once got into a heated argument over how to spend the group’s charity money. He advocated for sending toys to children abroad through an organization that was explicitly Christian, whereas Terlinden pushed to feed the homeless locally, which she thought was more pragmatic.

“I think he said it’s not about helping people, it’s about showing the love of Christ,” she recalled. “After I talked about efficiency and helping people.”

She left the room and didn’t return.

“Part of the reason I’m bringing that up is to demonstrate that that’s the most scandalous incident I could come up with,” Terlinden said. “We were arguing over whether we should send toys to poor children or feed homeless people — that’s the big tea.”

Reflecting on the allegations, she said she wondered whether Allen was “acting out of perceived moral duty. … In a twisted way, there is a sense of, you know, standing up for people that can’t defend themselves.”

Sophy Romvari’s luminous debut feature “Blue Heron” is a loving and studious act of remembrance. Her protagonist and surrogate, Sasha (Amy Zimmer), attempts to understand her family’s past through a reverent process of recreation. While she finds that not everything can be understood, there is beauty and solace in the journey itself — and maybe a kind of catharsis.

“Blue Heron” is an autobiographical project, but it’s more apt to call it a memoir. Sasha admits she doesn’t remember much of her childhood and doesn’t even trust the fragments. But she will try anyway. As Sasha zooms in on her iPhone, standing at the bluff overlooking her hometown, Romvari rolls up the back of a moving truck to deliver a lush slice of ’90s childhood nostalgia, picking up the memory as her Hungarian immigrant family — two parents, three brothers and one sister — arrive at their new home on Canada’s Vancouver Island.

Father (Ádám Tompa) settles into work on the home computer; Mother (Iringó Réti) attempts to amuse the kids with trips to the beach and nature preserves. Snippets of summer filter through the eyes and ears of 8-year-old Sasha (Eylul Guven) and in the photos snapped by their parents.

But a disquieting presence looms: Jeremy (Edik Beddoes), the eldest son. Blond, light-featured and tall, he is visually distinct from the three other children and his silent rebellion permeates the atmosphere.

His misbehavior is minor — irritating but untenable when stacked together — like bouncing a ball against a wall, disappearing for fun or climbing on the roof. He mostly just seems like a moody, unsatisfied teen, drawing elaborate maps and sometimes playing with his siblings sweetly. It all seems like harmless mischief until it escalates.

The movie’s title refers to a key chain from a gift shop that Jeremy, who almost never speaks, presents to his younger sister. Like him, the film is quiet and meditative, bathed in the cool blues and verdant greens of the setting, captured in Maya Bankovic’s saturated cinematography. We are transported to a place of natural beauty and a period of seemingly unlimited time. But Jeremy-related tension simmers beneath the domestic surface, just as it does in Chantal Akerman’s 1975 landmark “Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles,” referenced in a shot of a mother and daughter peeling potatoes.

“Blue Heron,” though, is not just going to simply be a throwback family drama about a troubled boy and his younger sister. The film suddenly zooms out, linearly, to two decades later. Zimmer’s older version of Sasha is grappling with her brother’s void and she does so with her mind, her work, her actions. She conducts a focus group of social workers for a documentary in order to try to understand Jeremy’s behavior and the treatment he got at the time. She scrubs through video and photos and interviews a case worker. She escapes into old movies.

In Romvari’s award-winning 2020 short “Still Processing,” a companion piece to “Blue Heron,” she processes the loss of two brothers through photography, sifting through boxes of old photos and film negatives shot by her father, who trained as a cinematographer in Hungary. It seems natural for Romvari to access the emotional through artistic practice, to give her — and Sasha — something to do with their hands. The tactility of the photographs in “Still Processing” provide an access point to the past. Romvari weeps as she spreads them out on a table, saying “hi” softly to her brothers. But there’s a remove in the rigorous focus on the snapshots that perhaps also protects her from the full crushing weight of these emotions.

But in a film like “Blue Heron,” anything is possible, including time travel, and for Romvari, it’s the channel that she offers Sasha to achieve the closure that she needs: a visit to a time she doesn’t really remember, even as she’s building an archive of materials to bolster herself.

If young Sasha watches (and Guven is absolutely terrific at watching), the older Sasha speaks. Zimmer, a New York City comedian, is tasked with a heavy, grief-laden dramatic role, and she’s utterly convincing, entrancing in her stillness. But she also has a way with words, a clarity that rings with a rare kind of honest empathy, especially in a letter that Sasha reads to her parents.

That letter is what “Blue Heron” represents for its filmmaker — an attempt to re-create the past, to bring it back to life. Even if imperfect, the value is in the effort, in the ongoing practice of remembering, as an act of devotion to family and self.