production

You may not know Eliot Mack’s name, but if a small robot has ever crept around your kitchen, you know his work.

Before he turned his MIT-trained mind to filmmaking, Mack helped lead a small team of engineers trying to solve a deeply relatable problem: how to avoid vacuuming. Whether it was figuring out how to get around furniture legs or unclog the brushes after a run-in with long hair, Mack designed everything onscreen first with software, troubleshooting virtually and getting 80% of the way there before a single part was ever manufactured.

The result was the Roomba.

When Mack pivoted to filmmaking in the early 2000s, he was struck by how chaotic Hollywood’s process felt. “You pitch the script, get the green light and you’re flying into production,” he says, sounding both amused and baffled. “There’s no CAD template, no centralized database. I was like, how do movies even get made?”

That question sent Mack down a new path, trading dust bunnies for the creative bottlenecks that slow Hollywood down.

In 2004 he founded Lightcraft Technology, a startup developing what would later be known as virtual production tools, born out of his belief that if you could design a robot in software, you should be able to design a shot the same way. The company’s early system, Previzion, sold for $180,000 and was used on sci-fi and fantasy shows like “V” and “Once Upon a Time.” But Jetset, its latest AI-assisted tool set, runs on an iPhone and offers a free tier, with pro features topping out at just $80 a month. It lets filmmakers scan a location, drop it into virtual space and block out scenes with camera moves, lighting and characters. They can preview shots, overlay elements and organize footage for editing — all from a phone. No soundstage, no big crew, no gatekeepers. Lightcraft’s pitch: “a movie studio in your pocket.”

A series on how the AI revolution is reshaping the creative foundations of Hollywood — from storytelling and performance to production, labor and power.

The goal, Mack says, is to put more power in the hands of the people making the work. “One of the big problems is how siloed Hollywood is,” he says. “We talked to an Oscar-winning editor who said, ‘I’m never going to get to make my movie’ — he was pigeonholed as just an editor. Same with an animator we know who has two Oscars.”

Eliot Mack, CEO of Lightcraft, an AI-powered virtual-production startup, wants to give creators the power and freedom to bring their ideas to life.

(Christina House/Los Angeles Times)

To Mack, the revolution of Jetset recalls the scrappy, guerrilla spirit of Roger Corman’s low-budget productions, which launched the early careers of directors like Francis Ford Coppola and Martin Scorsese. For generations of creatives stuck waiting on permission or funding, he sees this moment as a reset button.

“The things you got good at — writing, directing, acting, creating, storytelling — they’re still crazy useful,” he says. “What’s changing is the amount of schlepping you have to do before you get to do the fun stuff. Your 20s are a gift. You want to be creating at the absolute speed of sound. We’re trying to get to a place where you don’t have to ask anyone. You can just make the thing.”

AI is reshaping nearly every part of the filmmaking pipeline. Storyboards can now be generated from a script draft. Lighting and camera angles can be tested before anyone touches a piece of gear. Rough cuts, placeholder VFX, even digital costume mock-ups can all be created before the first shot is filmed. What once took a full crew, a soundstage and a six-figure budget can now happen in minutes, sometimes at the hands of a single person with a laptop.

This wave of automation is arriving just as Hollywood is gripped by existential anxiety. The 2023 writers’ and actors’ strikes brought the industry to a standstill and put AI at the center of a fight over its future. Since then, production has slowed, crew sizes have shrunk and the streaming boom has given way to consolidation and cost-cutting.

According to FilmLA, on-location filming in Greater Los Angeles dropped 22.4% in early 2025 compared with the year before. For many of the crew members and craftspeople still competing for those jobs, AI doesn’t feel like an innovation. It feels like a new way to justify doing more with less, only to end up with work that’s less original or creative.

“AI scrapes everything we artists have made off the internet and creates a completely static, banal world that can never imagine anything that hasn’t happened before,” documentary filmmaker Adam Curtis warned during a directors panel at the 2023 Telluride Film Festival, held in the midst of the strikes. “That’s the real weakness of the AI dream — it’s stuck with the ghosts. And I think we’ll get fed up with that.”

How you feel about these changes often depends on where you sit and how far along you are in your career. For people just starting out, AI can offer a way to experiment, move faster and bypass the usual barriers to entry. For veterans behind the scenes, it often feels like a threat to the expertise they’ve spent decades honing.

Past technological shifts — the arrival of sound, the rise of digital cameras, the advancement of CGI — changed how movies were made, but not necessarily who made them. Each wave brought new roles: boom operators and dialogue coaches, color consultants and digital compositors. Innovation usually meant more jobs, not fewer.

But AI doesn’t just change the tools. It threatens to erase the people who once used the old ones.

Diego Mariscal has seen first hand as AI has cut potential jobs for grips.

(Jennifer Rose Clasen)

Diego Mariscal, 43, a veteran dolly grip who has worked on “The Mandalorian” and “Spider-Man: No Way Home,” saw the writing on the wall during a recent shoot. A visual effects supervisor opened his laptop to show off a reel of high-end commercials and something was missing. “There were no blue screens — none,” Mariscal recalls. “That’s what we do. We put up blues as grips. You’d normally hire an extra 10 people and have an extra three days of pre-rigging, setting up all these blue screens. He was like, ‘We don’t need it anymore. I just use AI to clip it out.’”

Mariscal runs Crew Stories, a private Facebook group with nearly 100,000 members, where working crew members share job leads, trade tips and voice their growing fears. He tries to keep up with the steady drip of AI news. “I read about AI all day, every day,” he says. “At least 20 posts a day.”

His fear isn’t just about fewer jobs — it’s about what comes next. “I’ve been doing this since I was 19,” Mariscal says of his specialized dolly work, which involves setting up heavy equipment and guiding the camera smoothly through complex shots. “I can push a cart in a parking lot. I can push a lawnmower. What else can I do?”

Who wins, who loses and what does James Cameron think?

Before AI and digital doubles, Mike Marino learned the craft of transformation the human way: through hands-on work and a fascination that bordered on obsession.

Marino was 5 years old when he first saw “The Elephant Man” on HBO. Horrified yet transfixed, he became fixated on prosthetics and the emotional power they could carry. As a teenager in New York, he pored over issues of Fangoria, studied monsters and makeup effects and experimented with sculpting his own latex masks on his bedroom floor.

Prosthetics artist Mike Marino asks a big question related to generative AI: What role do the human creatives play?

(Sean Dougherty / For The Times)

Decades later, Marino, 48, has become one of Hollywood’s leading makeup artists, earning Oscar nominations for “Coming 2 America,” “The Batman” and last year’s dark comedy “A Different Man,” in which he helped transform Sebastian Stan into a disfigured actor.

His is the kind of tactile, handcrafted work that once seemed irreplaceable. But today AI tools are increasingly capable of achieving similar effects digitally: de-aging actors, altering faces, even generating entire performances. What used to take weeks of experimentation and hours in a makeup trailer can now be approximated with a few prompts and a trained model. To Marino, AI is more than a new set of tools. It’s a fundamental change in what it means to create.

“If AI is so good it can replace a human, then why have any human beings?” he says. “This is about taste. It’s about choice. I’m a human being. I’m an artist. I have my own ideas — mine. Just because you can make 10,000 spaceships in a movie, should you?”

Marino is no technophobe. His team regularly uses 3D scanning and printing. But he draws the line at outsourcing creative judgment to a machine. “I’m hoping there are artists who want to work with humans and not machines,” he says. “If we let AI just run amok with no taste, no choice, no morality behind it, then we’re gone.”

Not everyone sees AI’s rise in film production as a zero-sum game. Some technologists imagine a middle path. Daniela Rus, director of MIT’s Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Lab and one of the world’s leading AI researchers, believes the future of filmmaking lies in a “human-machine partnership.”

AI, Rus argues, can take on time-consuming tasks like animating background extras, color correction or previsualizing effects, freeing up people to focus on what requires intuition and taste. “AI can help with the routine work,” she says. “But the human touch and emotional authenticity are essential.”

Few directors have spent more time grappling with the dangers and potential of artificial intelligence than James Cameron. Nearly 40 years before generative tools entered Hollywood’s workflow, he imagined a rogue AI triggering global apocalypse in 1984’s “The Terminator,” giving the world Skynet — now a cultural shorthand for the dark side of machine intelligence. Today, he continues to straddle that line, using AI behind the scenes on the upcoming “Avatar: Fire and Ash” to optimize visual effects and performance-capture, while keeping creative decisions in human hands. The latest sequel, due Dec. 19, promises to push the franchise’s spectacle and scale even further; a newly released trailer reveals volcanic eruptions, aerial battles and a new clan of Na’vi.

A scene from “Avatar: The Way of Water.” Director James Cameron differentiates between using machine-learning to reduce monotonous movie-making work and generative AI.

(Courtesy of 20th Century Studios/Courtesy of 20th Century Studios)

“You can automate a lot of processes that right now tie up a lot of artists doing mundane tasks,” Cameron told The Times in 2023 at a Beyond Fest screening of his 1989 film “The Abyss.” “So if we could accelerate the postproduction pipeline, then we can make more movies. Then those artists will get to do more exciting things.”

For Cameron, the promise of AI lies in efficiency, not elimination. “I think in our particular industry, it’s not going to replace people; it’s going to free them to do other things,” he believes. “It’s going to accelerate the process and bring the price down, which would be good because, you know, some movies are a little more expensive than others. And a lot of that has to do with human energy.”

Cameron himself directed five films between 1984 and 1994 and only three in the three decades since, though each one has grown increasingly complex and ambitious.

That said, Cameron has never been one to chase shortcuts for their own sake. “I think you can make pre-viz and design easier, but I don’t know if it makes it better,” he says. “I mean, if easy is your thing. Easy has never been my thing.”

He draws a line between the machine-learning techniques his team has used since the first “Avatar” to help automate tedious tasks and the newer wave of generative AI models making headlines today.

“The big explosion has been around image-based generative models that use everything from every image that’s ever been created,” he says. “We’d never use any of them. The images we make are computer-created, but they’re not AI-created.”

In his view, nothing synthetic can replace the instincts of a flesh-and-blood artist. “We have human artists that do all the designs,” he says. “We don’t need AI. We’ve got meat-I. And I’m one of the meat-artists that come up with all that stuff. We don’t need a computer. Maybe other people need it. We don’t.”

Reshaping creativity — and creative labor

Rick Carter didn’t go looking for AI as a tool. He discovered it as a lifeline.

The two-time Oscar-winning production designer, who worked with Cameron on “Avatar” and whose credits include “Jurassic Park” and “Forrest Gump,” began experimenting with generative AI tools like Midjourney and Runway during the pandemic, looking for a way to keep his creative instincts sharp while the industry was on pause. A longtime painter, he was drawn to the freedom the programs offered.

“I saw that there was an opportunity to create images where I didn’t have to go to anybody else for approval, which is the way I would paint,” Carter says by phone from Paris. “None of the gatekeeping would matter. I have a whole lot of stories on my own that I’ve tried to get into the world in various ways and suddenly there was a way to visualize them.”

Midjourney and Runway can create richly detailed images — and in Runway’s case, short video clips — from a text prompt or a combination of text and visuals. Trained on billions of images and audiovisual materials scraped from the internet, these systems learn to mimic style, lighting, composition and form, often with eerie precision. In a production pipeline, these tools can help concept artists visualize characters or sets, let directors generate shot ideas or give costume designers and makeup artists a fast way to test looks, long before physical production begins.

But as these tools gain traction in Hollywood, a deeper legal and creative dilemma is coming into focus: Who owns the work they produce? And what about the copyrighted material used to train them?

In June, Disney and Universal filed a federal copyright lawsuit against Midjourney, accusing the company of generating unauthorized replicas of characters such as Spider-Man, Darth Vader and Shrek using AI models trained on copyrighted material: what the suit calls a “bottomless pit of plagiarism.” It’s the most high-profile of several legal challenges now putting copyright law to the test in the age of generative AI.

“Forrest Gump” director Robert Zemeckis, left, with production designer Rick Carter at an art installation of the movie’s famed bench. (Carter family)

(Carter family)

Working with generative models, Carter began crafting what he calls “riffs of consciousness,” embracing AI as a kind of collaborative partner, one he could play off of intuitively. The process reminded him of the loose, improvisational early stages of filmmaking, a space he knows well from decades of working with directors like Robert Zemeckis and Steven Spielberg.

“I’ll just start with a visual or a word prompt and see how it iterates from there and what it triggers in my mind,” Carter says. “Then I incorporate that so it builds on its own in an almost free-associative way. But it’s still based upon my own intuitive, emotional, artistic, even spiritual needs at that moment.”

He describes the experience as a dialogue between two minds, one digital and one human: “One AI is artificial intelligence. The other AI is authentic intelligence — that’s us. We’ve earned it over this whole span of time on the planet.”

Sometimes, Carter says, the most evocative results come from mistakes. While sketching out a story about a hippie detective searching for a missing woman in the Himalayas, he accidentally typed “womb” into ChatGPT instead of “woman.” The AI ran with it, returning three pages of wild plot ideas involving gurus, seekers and a bizarre mystery set in motion by the disappearance.

“I couldn’t believe it,” he says. “I would never have taken it that far. The AI is so precocious. It is trying so much to please that it will literally make something out of the mistake you make.”

Carter hasn’t used generative AI on a film yet; most of his creations are shared only with friends. But he says the technology is already slipping into creative workflows in covert ways. “There are issues with copyrights with most of the studios so for now, it’s going to be mostly underground,” he says. “People will use it but they won’t acknowledge that they’re using it — they’ll have an illustrator do something over it, or take a photo so there’s no digital trail.”

Carter has lived through a major technological shift before. “I remember when we went from analog to digital, from ‘Jurassic Park’ on,” he says. “There were a lot of wonderful artists who could draw and paint in ways that were just fantastic but they couldn’t adapt. They didn’t want to — even the idea of it felt like the wrong way to make art. And, of course, most of them suffered because they didn’t make it from the Rolodex to the database in terms of people calling them up.”

He worries that some artists may approach the technology with a rigid sense of authorship. “Early on, I found that the less I used my own ego as a barometer for whether something was artistic, the more I leaned into the process of collaboratively making something bigger than the sum of its parts — and the bigger and better the movies became.”

Others, like storyboard artist Sam Tung, are bracing against the same wave with a quiet but unshakable defiance.

Tung, whose credits include “Twisters” and Christopher Nolan’s upcoming adaptation of “The Odyssey,” has spent the last two years tracking the rise of generative tools, not just their capabilities but their implications. As co-chair of the Animation Guild’s AI Committee, he has been on the front lines of conversations about how these technologies could reshape creative labor.

To artists like Tung, the rise of generative tools feels deeply personal. “If you are an illustrator or a writer or whatever, you had to give up other things to take time to develop those skills,” he says. “Nobody comes out of the womb being able to draw or write or act. Anybody who does that professionally spent years honing those skills.”

Tung has no interest in handing that over to a machine. “It’s not that I’m scared of it — I just don’t need it,” he says. “If I want to draw something or paint something, I’ll do it myself. That way it’s exactly what I want and I actually enjoy the process. When people tell me they responded to a drawing I did or a short film I made with friends, it feels great. But anything I’ve made with AI, I’ve quickly forgotten about. There’s basically nothing I get from putting it on social media, other than the ire of my peers.”

What unsettles him isn’t just the slickness of AI’s output but how that polish is being used to justify smaller crews and faster turnarounds. “If this is left unchecked, it’s very easy to imagine a worst-case scenario where team sizes and contract durations shrink,” Tung says. “A producer who barely understands how it works might say, ‘Don’t you have AI to do 70% of this? Why do you need a whole week to turn around a sequence? Just press the button that says: MAKE MOVIE.’ ”

At 73, Carter isn’t chasing jobs. His legacy is secure. “If they don’t hire me again, that’s OK,” he says. “I’m not in that game anymore.” He grew up in Hollywood — his father was Jack Lemmon’s longtime publicist and producing partner — and has spent his life watching the industry evolve. Now, he’s witnessing a reckoning unlike any he, or anyone else, has ever imagined.

“I do have concerns about who is developing AI and what their values are,” he says. “What they use all this for is not necessarily something I would approve of — politically, socially, emotionally. But I don’t think I’m in a position to approve or not.”

Earlier this year, the Palisades fire destroyed Carter’s home, taking with it years of paintings and personal artwork. AI, he says, has given him a way to keep creating through the upheaval. “It saved me through the pandemic, and now it’s saving me through the fire,” he says, as if daring the universe to test him again. “It’s like, go ahead, throw something else at me.”

‘Prompt and pray?’ Not so fast

Many in the industry may still be dipping a toe into the waters of AI. Verena Puhm dove in.

The Austrian-born filmmaker studied acting and directing in Munich and Salzburg before moving to Los Angeles, where she built a globe-spanning career producing, writing and developing content for international networks and streamers. Her credits range from CNN’s docuseries “History of the Sitcom” to the German reboot of the cult anthology “Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction” and a naval documentary available on Tubi. More recently, she has channeled that same creative range into a deepening exploration of generative tools.

Puhm first began dabbling with AI while using Midjourney to design a pitch deck, but it wasn’t until she entered a timed generative AI filmmaking challenge at the 2024 AI on the Lot conference — informally dubbed a “gen battle” — that the creative potential of the medium hit her.

“In two hours, I made a little mock commercial,” she remembers, proudly. “It was actually pretty well received and fun. And I was like, Oh, wow, I did this in two hours. What could I do in two days or two weeks?”

What started as experimentation soon became a second act. This summer, Puhm was named head of studio for Dream Lab LA, a new creative arm of Luma AI, which develops generative video tools for filmmakers and creators. There, she’s helping shape new storytelling formats and supporting emerging creators working at the intersection of cinema and technology. She may not be a household name, but in the world of experimental storytelling, she’s fast becoming a key figure.

Verena Puhm, a director, writer and producer, has used generative AI in a number of her projects, says it’s breaking down barriers to entry.

(Jason Armond/Los Angeles Times)

Some critics dismiss AI filmmaking as little more than “prompt and pray”: typing in a few words and hoping something usable comes out. Puhm bristles at the phrase.

“Anybody that says that tells me they’ve never tried it at all, because it is not that easy and simple,” she says. “You can buy a paintbrush at Home Depot for, what, $2? That doesn’t make you a painter. When smartphones first came out, there was a lot of content being made but that didn’t mean everyone was a filmmaker.”

What excites her most is how AI is breaking down the barriers that once kept ambitious ideas out of reach. Luma’s new Modify Video tool lets filmmakers tweak footage after it’s shot, changing wardrobe, aging a character, shifting the time of day, all without reshoots or traditional VFX. It can turn a garage into a spaceship, swap a cloudy sky for the aurora borealis or morph an actor into a six-eyed alien, no green screen required.

“It’s such a relief as an artist,” Puhm says. “If there’s a project I’ve been sitting on for six years because I didn’t have a $5 million budget — suddenly there’s no limit. I remember shopping projects around and being told by producers, ‘This scene has to go, that has to go,’ just to keep the budget low. Now everything is open.”

That sense of access resonates far beyond Los Angeles. At a panel during AI on the Lot, “Blue Beetle” director Ángel Manuel Soto reflected on how transformative AI might have been when he was first starting out. “I wish tools like this existed when I wanted to make movies in Puerto Rico, because nobody would lend me a camera,” he said. “Access to equipment is a privilege we sometimes take for granted. I see this helping kids like me from the projects tell stories without going bankrupt — or stealing, which I don’t condone.”

Puhm welcomes criticism of AI but only when it’s informed. “If you hate AI and you’ve actually tested the tools and educated yourself, I’ll be your biggest supporter,” she says. “But if you’re just speaking out of fear, with no understanding, then what are you even basing your opinion on?”

She understands why some filmmakers feel rattled, especially those who, like her, grew up dreaming of seeing their work on the big screen. “I still want to make features and TV series — that’s what I set out to do,” she says. “I hope movie theaters don’t go away. But if the same story I want to tell reaches millions of people on a phone and they’re excited about it, will I really care that it wasn’t in a theater?”

“I just feel like we have to adapt to the reality of things,” she continues. “That might sometimes be uncomfortable, but there is so much opportunity if you lean in. Right now any filmmaker can suddenly tell a story at a high production value that they could have never done before, and that is beautiful and empowering.”

For many, embracing AI boils down to a simple choice: adapt or get cut from the frame.

Hal Watmough, a BAFTA-winning British editor with two decades of experience, first began experimenting with AI out of a mix of curiosity and dread. “I was scared,” he admits. “This thing was coming into the industry and threatening our jobs and was going to make us obsolete.” But once he started playing with tools like Midjourney and Runway, he quickly saw how they could not only speed up the process but allow him to rethink what his career could be.

For an editor used to working only with what he was given, the ability to generate footage on the fly, cut with it immediately and experiment endlessly without waiting on a crew or a shoot was a revelation. “It was still pretty janky at that stage, but I could see the potential,” he says. “It was kind of intoxicating. I started to think, I’d like to start making things that I haven’t seen before.”

After honing his skills with various AI tools, Watmough created a wistful, vibrant five-minute animated short called “LATE,” about an aging artist passing his wisdom to a young office worker. Over two weeks, he generated 2,181 images using AI, then curated and refined them frame by frame to shape the story.

Earlier this year, he submitted “LATE” to what was billed as the world’s first AI animation contest, hosted by Curious Refuge, an online education hub for creative technologists — and, to his delight, he won. The prize included $10,000, a pitch meeting with production company Promise Studios and, as an absurd bonus, his face printed on a potato. But for Watmough, the real reward was the sense that he had found a new creative identity.

“There’s something to the fact that the winner of the first AI animation competition was an editor,” Watmough says. “With the advent of AI, yes, you could call yourself a filmmaker but essentially I’d say most people are editors. You’re curating, selecting, picking what you like — relying on your taste.”

Thanks to AI, he says he’s made more personal passion projects in the past year and a half than during his entire previous career. “I’ll be walking or running and ideas just come. Now I can go home that night and try them,” he says. “None of that would exist without AI. So either something exists within AI or it never exists at all. And all the happiness and fulfillment that comes with it for the creator doesn’t exist either.”

Watmough hasn’t entirely lost his fear of what AI might do to the creative workforce, even as he is energized by what it makes possible. “A lot of people I speak to in film and TV are worried about losing their jobs and I’m not saying the infrastructure roles won’t radically change,” he says. “But I don’t think AI is going to replace that many — if any — creative people.”

What it will do, he says, is raise the bar. “If anyone can create anything, then average work will basically become extinct or pointless. AI can churn out remakes until the cows come home. You’ll have to pioneer to exist.”

He likens the current moment to the birth of cinema more than a century ago — specifically the Lumière brothers’ “Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat,” the 1896 short that famously startled early audiences. In the silent one-minute film, a steam train rumbles toward the camera, growing larger. Some viewers reportedly leaped from their seats, convinced it was about to crash into them.

“People ran out of the theater screaming,” Watmough says. “Now we don’t even think about it. With AI, we’re at that stage again. We’re watching the steam train come into the station and people are either really excited or they’re running out of the theater in fear. That’s where we are, right at the start. And the potential is limitless.”

Then again, he adds with a dry laugh, “I’m an eternal optimist, so take what I say with a grain of salt.”

SUNNYVALE, Calif. — A young woman is desperate to raise $50,000 for her mom’s life-saving medical treatment. She will get the money, but only if she agrees to her stepsister’s unusual proposal: to marry her wayward fiance, who comes from a wealthy family but also has a rap sheet.

That’s the plot line for an episode of “The Double Life of My Billionaire Husband.”

That may sound like a telenovela. In fact, it’s a popular series that appears on ReelShort, an app where audiences can view on their smartphones over-the-top, dramatic tales reminiscent of soap operas called micro dramas.

Unlike a regular TV show, this drama unfolds over 60 episodes, each lasting one to three minutes. After six episodes, viewers hit the paywall, where they could continue watching ad-free with a $20 weekly subscription, watch ads or pay as they go.

Already, the series has garnered more than 494 million views since it launched in 2022 and ReelShort says it has made more than $4 million from the show.

With titles like “The Billionaire Sex Addict and His Therapist,” “How to Tame a Silver Fox” and “Pregnant by My Ex’s Dad,” micro dramas lean heavily into sensationalism and light on budgets, which are typically less than $300,000 per series. And many of them are filmed in Los Angeles.

Director and co-writer Cate Fogarty watches actor Diego Escobar on dual vertical monitors. The film, by platform DramaShorts, is shot vertically to be adapted for viewing on a phone screen.

(Juliana Yamada/Los Angeles Times)

Short serialized dramas first took off in China, where they are hugely popular and generated revenues of $6.9 billion last year, even surpassing domestic box office sales, according to DataEye, a Shenzhen-based digital research firm.

Now, Hollywood is starting to take note of the bite-sized format.

In August, the venture arm for Lloyd Braun — the former ABC executive and chairman of talent agency WME — and L.A.-based entertainment studio Cineverse formed a joint venture called MicroCo to build a platform for micro dramas.

“Traditional Hollywood moved away from a whole genre and storytelling that fans love, and I think micro dramas really took advantage of that and really leaned into that fandom,” said Susan Rovner, chief content officer of MicroCo.

Studio interest

Major studios are investing in micro dramas in an attempt to replicate China’s success and find new ways to appeal to younger audiences that are accustomed to watching short-form videos on TikTok, YouTube, Instagram and other platforms while on the go.

Fox Entertainment recently announced an equity stake in Ukraine-based Holywater, a producer of micro dramas. Under the deal, Fox Entertainment Studios (a division of Fox Entertainment) will produce more than 200 vertical video titles over the next two years for Holywater.

And Walt Disney Co.’s accelerator program, which invests in startups, recently named micro drama business DramaBox, whose parent company is based in Singapore, as part of its 2025 class.

David Min, Walt Disney Co.’s vice president of innovation, said he believes micro dramas will continue to do well, especially with younger audiences accustomed to watching entertainment on their phones.

“We have to be where everyone is consuming their content, so that’s an opportunity for us,” Min said in an interview. “…This is just another new platform to experiment with and explore and see if it’s right for the company.”

First assistant director Chakameh Marandi, left, and actress Leah Eckardt wait during filming at Heritage Props last month in Burbank.

(Juliana Yamada/Los Angeles Times)

This year, ReelShort, which is based in Sunnyvale, Calif., says it will produce more than 400 shows, up from 150 last year.

All of the productions are filmed in the U.S. and mostly in Los Angeles, said ReelShort CEO Joey Jia in an interview. The company plans to build a studio in Culver City that will adapt its most popular micro dramas into films.

“We offer a lot of opportunity,” Jia said.

Warsaw-based DramaShorts said in 2026 it aims to shoot 120 micro drama projects in the U.S., up from 45 to 50 this year. About 25% of those will be in the L.A. area.

DramaShorts co-founder Leo Ovdiienko says, “People are so used to consume content through social media, through TikTok, through Instagram, through Facebook and to share information.” .

(Juliana Yamada/Los Angeles Times)

“People are so used to consume content through social media, through TikTok, through Instagram, through Facebook and to share information,” said DramaShorts co-founder and Chief Operating Officer Leo Ovdiienko, 29, in an interview. “I believe it’s only a matter of time before the big players will also come to this stage.”

The company works with production partners in L.A. who employ actors, writers and crew members who work on the quick-turn projects, a bright spot in a struggling job market.

“The plus side of filming in L.A. is it is the epicenter of Hollywood,” said executive producer, writer and director Chrissie De Guzman, who has worked on DramaShorts projects. “We know how the state of our industry is doing right now, so a lot of talent have moved into the vertical space.”

Though vertical dramas are the length of a movie, they are spliced up into small chapters and produced quickly. A 100-page script might be shot in just one week as opposed to a month for a feature film.

Each chapter usually features a cliffhanger or dramatic moment — whether that’s a slap or a character in danger.

“It just hits every little emotional point,” said Caroline Ingeborn, chief operating officer at Palo Alto-based Luma AI, which provides micro drama companies with AI tools. “It hooks you in like this and because it’s so easy to press [Play]. You just need to see the next episode.”

The crew of vertical film “Sleeping Princess” break between scenes.

(Juliana Yamada/Los Angeles Times)

Labor tensions

With ultra-low budgets, many of the productions are non-union, prompting some writers and actors to work under pseudonyms to avoid facing sanctions from their unions, said several people who work on the shows.

In an effort to address the issue, performers union SAG-AFTRA recently announced it has created agreements that cover low-budget vertical dramas.

Writers Guild of America West President Michele Mulroney said in an interview the union is aware that “there are companies that are trying to do this work non-union, so the guild wants to help our members … in ways that they can work on verticals and make sure they get that work covered.”

Micro drama producers said they welcome talking with the unions, but questioned whether their business models could support union contracts.

“We’re not anti-union at all,” said Erik Heintz, executive producer at Snow Story Productions, which makes vertical dramas for platforms including DramaShorts.

Despite labor tensions, these short-form dramas have provided a key source of employment for Hollywood workers who’ve struggled to find jobs as production has moved out of California.

Corey Gibbons, 44, a director of photography, said vertical dramas kept him in the business when other work dried up.

“I have a feeling that we’re on the brink of something that’s really going to change,” Gibbons said. “I’m just excited to be a part of it.”

So was 27-year-old actor Sam Nejad, a former contestant on “The Bachelorette” who started acting in vertical dramas in January. He said he’s landed one or two lead roles a month since then and can earn $10,000 a week.

“It’s a new art,” Nejad said. “The new Tarantinos, the new Scorseses are all coming through this.”

ReelShort’s office in Sunnyvale looks more like a typical Silicon Valley startup than a Hollywood studio.

Jia, the chief executive, sits at a desk in an open floor seating area with his staff. Along the office walls are framed posters with titles like “Prince With Benefits,” “Never Divorce a Secret Billionaire Heiress” and “All the Wrong Reasons.” Jia proudly points out why each program was notable on a recent tour of the space.

“I don’t have money to hire celebrities,” Jia said. “I have 100% rely on story.”

The 46-year-old entrepreneur, who has an electrical engineering background, launched his business in 2022. At the time, there wasn’t much interest from Hollywood studios.

The skepticism followed the high-profile collapse of Quibi, the startup led by studio mogul Jeffrey Katzenberg and tech executive Meg Whitman, that worked with A-list movie stars on series that would appear on an app in short chapters. Quibi raised $1.75 billion, only to shut down roughly six months after launching.

Jia took a different approach. Rather than signing expensive deals with celebrities, he hired students or recent graduates from colleges like USC to work at his company.

Jia approves all of the micro drama stories at ReelShort, which he says is expected to generate $1 billion in revenue this year.

A ReelShort representative declined to disclose the company’s earnings but said the business is profitable.

Jia said ReelShort has 70 million monthly active users, with 10% of them paid users.

The churn — the rate at which customers drop weekly subscriptions — can be more than 50% at ReelShort, Jia said. That makes it paramount for the company to have a steady stream of content that entices customers to keep paying. Currently it has more than 400 in-house titles and roughly 1,000 licensed titles.

Like others in the genre, ReelShort and DramaShorts rely heavily on data metrics like customer retention and paid subscribers to make their content decisions.

“A lot of directors are thinking, when I shoot the film, ‘I don’t care how people think, this is my creation, it’s my story,’” Jia said. “No, it’s not your story. Your success… should be determined by the people.”

You don’t have to be afraid to put your dream in action, because you’ll never fade, Trina Vega, you’ll be the main attraction — in a “Victorious” spinoff.

Netflix announced Friday that “Hollywood Arts,” a spinoff of the Nickelodeon teen sitcom following a group of students attending a performing arts high school, is now in production. The new show will see Daniella Monet reprise her Trina role from the original series, which aired for four seasons on the kid-centric network.

“Coming back as Trina alongside such a dynamic, powerful cast of newcomers is something I feel very lucky and grateful to do,” Monet said in a news release, which announced the “Hollywood Arts” cast will also include young actors Alyssa Miles, Emmy Liu-Wang, Peyton Jackson, Martin Kamm and Erika Swayze.

“‘Victorious’ was in a lot of ways life changing for all of us, our cast is forever bonded by that experience, and to think that I have an opportunity to steward anything close to that is a feeling I can’t begin to describe,” Monet continued. “As an actress, producer, and mom, I am so eager to create something we can all be proud to share with the world.”

According to the logline, “Hollywood Arts” will see Trina return to her alma mater as “an unqualified substitute teacher” after struggling to make it as an actress. There, she will both clash and “unexpectedly” inspire the next generation of ambitious and talented performing arts school students.

In “Victorious,” which originally ran from 2010 to 2013, Trina was the untalented but overly confident older sister of Tori Vega, played by Victoria Justice. The cast of the hit teen series also included Ariana Grande, Avan Jogia, Elizabeth Gillies, Leon Thomas III and Matt Bennett.

The spinoff will also feature Yvette Nicole Brown as a guest star. Brown briefly appeared in “Victorious” as school principal Helen Dubois — a character who originated on Nickelodeon’s “Drake & Josh,” which ran from 2004 to 2007.

In addition to starring on “Hollywood Arts,” Monet will serve as an executive producer alongside showrunners Jake Farrow and Samantha Martin and director Jonathan Judge. (Dan Schneider, who created “Victorious” and whose alleged misconduct was at the center of the 2024 docuseries “Quiet on Set: The Dark Side of Kids TV,” is not involved.)

The 26-episode first season is expected to debut on Netflix in 2026 before hitting Nickelodeon and Paramount+. The series is currently in production in Ontario, Canada.

Stellantis announced a $13bn investment in the US, which will see production of the Jeep Compass move to the US from Canada.

Canada has threatened legal action against carmaker Stellantis NV over what Ottawa says is the company’s unacceptable plan to shift production of one model to a United States plant.

On Wednesday, Minister of Industry Melanie Joly sent a letter to Stellantis CEO Antonio Filosa noting that the company had agreed to maintain its Canadian presence in exchange for substantial financial support.

“Anything short of fulfilling that commitment will be considered a default under our agreement,” she said. If Stellantis did not live up to its commitment, Canada would “exercise all options, including legal”, she said.

Stellantis announced a $13bn investment in the US on Tuesday, a move that it said would bring five new models to the market. As part of the plan, production of the Jeep Compass will move to the US state of Illinois from a facility in Brampton in the Canadian province of Ontario.

A copy of the letter was made available to the Reuters news agency. The existence of the letter was first reported by Bloomberg.

Stellantis had paused retooling of the Brampton plant in February, shortly after US President Donald Trump announced tariffs against Canadian goods, upending the highly integrated North American auto industry.

In a statement on Tuesday night, Canada’s Prime Minister Mark Carney said Ottawa had made clear it expected Stellantis to fulfil the undertakings it had made to the workers at the plant.

“We are working with the company to develop the right measures to protect Stellantis employees,” he said.

Ontario is Canada’s industrial heartland and accounts for about 40 percent of its national gross domestic product (GDP).

“I have spoken with Stellantis to stress my disappointment with their decision,” Ontario Premier Doug Ford said on social media on Wednesday.

Stellantis spokesperson LouAnn Gosselin said the company was investing in Canada and noted plans to add a third shift to a plant in Windsor, Ontario.

“Canada is very important to us. We have plans for Brampton and will share them upon further discussions with the Canadian government,” she said in an emailed statement.

Reality television production in Los Angeles declined sharply this summer, leading to a nearly 21% drop in overall TV shoot days, a new report shows.

The total number of shoot days in the greater L.A. area from July to September was 4,380, down 13.2% compared to a year ago, according to data from FilmLA, a nonprofit that handles film permits for the Los Angeles region.

The third-quarter data does not reflect the full effect of the state’s newly bolstered film and TV tax credit program, which was passed this summer.

In the most recent round, 22 TV series were chosen amid a nearly 400% increase in applications, with 18 of those shows primarily filming in the L.A. area.

Projects that received an incentive have 180 days to start production after notice of their award, and it often takes time to commence filming.

Because of that, FilmLA executives were not surprised to see on-location production continue to slip during the summer months.

“Fortunately, we’ve already begun to see early signs of these incentives having their desired effect,” he said. “We’re excited to be taking calls from productions looking to line up their locations and pull permits,” FilmLA Vice President Philip Sokoloski said in a statement.

TV production totaled 1,441 shoot days, down 20.7% compared to the same time period last year. The decline is especially significant because TV is the region’s main driver of production.

Reality TV dropped to 649 shoot days, down 31.4% compared to last year. Other genres of TV production also saw a downturn — drama (down 19%) and pilots (down 34.5%). Production of television comedies, however, was a bright spot with 79 shoot days, up 41.1%.

Feature film production in L.A. also ticked up with 522 shoot days, an increase of 9.7% compared to last year. But commercial production, which does not receive a tax incentive, was down 17.9% to 668 shoot days.

The report’s “other” category, which includes student films, still photo shoots and documentaries, saw a decrease of 9.9% to 1,749 shoot days.

A shoot day represents one crew’s permission to film at a single location in a 24-hour period.

Getty Images

Evtec

‘Toothless support’

On the day that Michele Mulroney was elected president of the Writers Guild of America West, writers won a significant victory. After writers protested ABC’s suspension of “Jimmy Kimmel Live!” for days, the network brought the late-night show back on air.

“Our currency is words and stories, and the freedom to be able to express ourselves is really important, and so our members could not feel more strongly about this and of course we will be speaking out and lobbying and working in any way we can to protect this fundamental right,” Mulroney said in a recent interview.

Mulroney, formerly the WGA West vice president and a writer on the 2017 “Power Rangers” movie and 2011 film “Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows,” enters her new role at a time when the industry is facing significant challenges.

Those include major consolidation in the industry as studios look to cut costs and move TV and film production overseas because of hefty financial incentives. The climate has been tough for many writers who have struggled to find work after enduring a 148-day strike in 2023. After the walkout, writers did secure groundbreaking protections for AI in contracts, but they are still confronting AI models ripping off their work without compensation.

As the guild gears up for contract negotiations next year, Mulroney said she plans to build on earlier gains in AI and other areas, and aims to convince the studios to pay more for WGA’s health plans amid rising healthcare costs.

“It’s going to need some support from the companies,” Mulroney said. “Their drastic pullback in production and employment led to a pretty severe industry contraction that has contributed to some strain on our funds. We’ll be looking to them to help fix that with us.”

When asked about whether she thinks there is appetite among WGA’s members for another strike, Mulroney said “it’s way too early to speculate about that.”

“It’s really hard out there in the industry for all industry workers and for many of our members, but our members have shown time and again that when they have to, when it’s necessary, we are ready to fight for the contract we deserve,” Mulroney said.

The Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers declined to comment, but in an earlier statement said its members look forward to working with her “to address key issues for WGA writers and to strengthen our industry with fair, balanced solutions.”

A studio-side source who was not authorized to comment said that the WGA health plan faces “complex financial challenges that require a balanced approach to align with market norms and ensure long-term stability.”

To keep costs down, studios have been moving more productions to the U.K. and other countries offering significant financial incentives, shrinking job opportunities for entertainment industry workers in Southern California. Some have had to move out of state to look for jobs.

Unions including the WGA lobbied for California to boost annual funding for its film and TV tax credit program and succeeded in raising that amount to $750 million, from $330 million.

“This was a real bright spot of good news in an otherwise really bleak and tough time for our industry,” Mulroney said in an interview last week. “Now there needs to be federal action on this, too, so we’ll continue working with our allies to try to keep production in the U.S., and specifically in Hollywood, in Southern California.”

Mulroney declined to comment on President Trump’s renewed threat to impose a 100% tariff on foreign-made films.

Another big worry for writers has been artificial intelligence. The WGA has been outspoken about wanting studios to sue AI companies that writers say are taking their scripts for training AI models without their permission. Earlier this year, studios including Disney, Universal and Warner Bros. Discovery took legal action against AI companies over copyright infringement.

“We were glad to see some of the studios come off the sidelines and file lawsuits to protect their copyright from these AI companies that are stealing our members’ work to build their models,” she said. “I think we will probably be dealing with AI and wrangling that for the rest of our lives, right?”

Mulroney, 58, ran uncontested, receiving 2,241 votes or 87% of the votes cast, according to the union. CBS series “Tracker” writer and co-executive producer Travis Donnelly became vice president, and TV comedy show “Primo” executive producer Peter Murrieta became secretary-treasurer.

Mulroney grew up in the U.K., the daughter of a factory worker and a janitor. She’s served on the union’s board of directors for four terms and as an officer for six years prior to being elected president.

Mulroney’s background was in theater and theater directing, but she had always dabbled in writing. In her 20s, she worked in development for a British TV and film studio where she read a lot of scripts, which led her to think, “Maybe I could write one of those things.”

Her first writing gig was for a PBS children’s show called “Wishbone,” about a Jack Russell terrier who imagines himself as a character in literary classics. She’s been a screenwriter for 25 years and is based in West Hollywood with her husband and writing partner, Kieran.

Mulroney succeeds Meredith Stiehm, who led the union during the 2023 strike.

Kimmel coming back on air was a parting gift to Stiehm, said Mulroney, adding that the union is still watching the situation.

“We’re still monitoring,” Mulroney said. “I somehow doubt this is the last instance we’re going to see where censorship and free speech are going to be a topic.”

With great power comes a great risk of injury, it seems.

Tom Holland, 29, who plays Spider-man in the most current iteration of the web-slinger film franchise, suffered a mild on-set concussion that has resulted in a one-week production pause on “Spider-Man: Brand New Day,” Variety reported Monday.

Filming is expected to restart Sept. 29, the trade said, and the delay shouldn’t keep the fourth Holland-as-Spidey movie from swinging onto the big screen on its scheduled release date.

Holland is taking it easy “out of an abundance of caution,” a source close to the production told the outlet.

Since production began in early August, the actor has been sharing his experiences on his Instagram, hyping fans before the film is released.

“Someone is cooking … again,” chef and fan Gordon Ramsay commented on one post, adding a winking emoji to capture his excitement.

Holland posted a video last month where he revealed the film‘s release date while wearing the iconic Spidey suit. A few days later, he posted behind-the-scenes footage where he was interacting with fans on set. It was the first time, he wrote, that fans were on set on Day One of filming.

The fourth film in Peter Parker‘s Holland era will reunite him with his on-screen girlfriend and offscreen fiancée, Zendaya, and actor Jacob Batalon, who plays his friend Ned Leeds.

A few newcomers are in the cast — Emmy winner Liza Colón-Zayas from “The Bear,” Sadie Sink from “Stranger Things” and recent Emmy winner Tramell Tillman from “Severance” — and in true Marvel Cinematic Universe style, audiences can expect to see the Hulk (Mark Ruffalo) and the Punisher (Jon Bernthal) up there with Holland’s hero as well.

“Eureka Day,” a comedy by Jonathan Spector that wades into the debate on vaccine mandates, has only become more explosively topical since its 2018 premiere at Aurora Theatre Company, in Berkeley, Calif.

The play, which is having its Los Angeles premiere at Pasadena Playhouse, seems like it could have been commissioned to skewer this destructive, benighted and completely mortifying anti-science moment. But Spector wrote the work before the COVID-19 pandemic unleashed our political demons and made stupid great again.

“Eureka Day” takes its name from the fictional private elementary school in Berkeley that is the setting for what is both a satire of anti-vaccine culture and a comedy of woke manners. Held in a determinedly cheerful Bay Area classroom (brightly summoned with all the necessary social justice touches by set designer Wilson Chin), the play unfolds as a series of meetings of the school’s executive committee.

Don (Rick Holmes), the head of school, is ostensibly in charge, though his duck-and-cover strategy for dealing with conflict has a way of protracting problems. Four parents, one a newcomer still acclimating to the school’s strenuously progressive rules, are part of the executive brain trust.

The first discussion of the new school year is relatively innocuous though no less testing for being so. Eli (Nate Corddry), a stay-at-home dad who made a fortune at Facebook, has proposed adding “Transracial Adoptee” to a drop-down menu on an admissions form already burgeoning with identity subcategories.

Suzanne (Mia Barron), a mother who has sent so many children through Eureka Day that she has a proprietary attitude about the place, doesn’t think this additional category is necessary. She’s sensitive — self-consciously so — to Eli’s good intentions, but she persuades the group that no changes are necessary at this time.

“Persuades” might be a euphemism. Suzanne has an iron will that she thinly veils with a solicitous smile.

One of the quirks of the executive committee is that it operates by consensus rather than a majority vote. This can lead to some “very long meetings,” Suzanne informs Carina (Cherise Boothe), the new Black lesbian mom who recently moved from Maryland.

Suzanne claims to want everyone to feel “empowered,” though her controlling temperament pokes through her welcoming facade. Meiko (Camille Chen), who knits during meetings with a subtle air of annoyance, has to loudly ask Suzanne to please stop speaking on her behalf.

Cherise Boothe in “Eureka Day” at Pasadena Playhouse.

(Jeff Lorch)

These blind spots, a standard ingredient of comic characters, are particularly glaring in Suzanne’s case. When Carina tells her that she didn’t homeschool her son for kindergarten but sent him to public school, Suzanne is mildly horrified. She also makes the assumption that Carina is not a “full pay” family.

There’s even something passive-aggressive about Suzanne’s show of concern for all viewpoints, a trait that becomes all the more conspicuous after a crisis erupts at the school. A mumps outbreak forces Eureka Day to temporarily close its doors.

Don informs the executive committee that the health department has issued a letter stipulating what parents must do for their child to return to school. The subject isn’t open for debate, but Suzanne is uneasy about how this letter is being “framed.”

She’s an advocate of parental choice when it comes to vaccines, not trusting the experts who have determined that only children who are vaccinated can return to school when there’s a risk of infection. She believes vaccines stand in the way of natural herd immunity.

Mia Barron, left, Rick Holmes, Cherise Boothe, and Camille Chen in “Eureka Day” at Pasadena Playhouse.

(Jeff Lorch)

Meiko is less vociferous in her anti-vaccine stance than Suzanne, but she has her own skepticism about modern medicine and doesn’t want to be told what to do. When her daughter develops mumps, it becomes an emergency for Eli, who’s been having an affair with Meiko. The two arrange their assignations around playdates, and their kids were recently in contact.

Eli, who’s married but in a complicated open relationship situation with his increasingly resentful wife, would rather not have to choose sides in the vaccine mandate debate. But when his son gets sick after spending time with Meiko’s unvaccinated daughter, he finds he can no longer stay on the fence.

The well-programmed comedy hilariously runs its course in the leadership vacuum created by the school’s over-accommodating culture. Don is so worried about seeming to favor one parental faction over another that he allows Suzanne to become the dominant voice in the room.

The production, directed by Teddy Bergman, has a field day with the woke-run-amok ethos of Eureka Day, where kids at the school cheer the other team’s goals at soccer games. But Bergman’s approach is more schematic than Anna D. Shapiro’s Tony-winning Broadway revival.

Perhaps the urgency of the moment calls for a clearer moral stand, but the comedy has lost some nuance. On Broadway, Jessica Hecht made Suzanne seem totally oblivious to her own rage. She really believed that she was seeking consensus, tolerant of all perspectives as long as they didn’t impinge on her beliefs, the origins of which are poignantly related later in the play.

The fury of Barron’s Suzanne is much more on the surface. The humor is more direct — Barron can be very funny — but the debate is less trenchant. Bergman’s production, marred by blasts of jarring folk music between scene transitions, is a little too on the nose.

Boothe’s Carina, by far the strongest performance in the cast, is our rational surrogate in the play — a parent trying to fit in without betraying her intelligence or child’s welfare. I appreciated the way Holmes lets us come to our own conclusions about Don’s go-along-to-get-along style of running the ship.

Meiko is woefully underwritten, and Chen’s performance, while amusing when Meiko erupts, sometimes seems disconnected. Corddry refuses to play a tech industry cliché, but Eli, a bland creep, comes off as unnecessarily vague.

Bergman has trouble locating that sweet spot between jokey exaggeration and multidimensional authenticity. Comedy trades in types, but the cast could have benefited from more fine-tuning.

Perhaps that’s why the funniest scene in the play involves the live chat portion of a virtual meeting that’s organized for Eureka Day parents alarmed about the quarantine situation. Avatars square off against one another in a vaccine debate free-for-all that puts the lie to the school’s “community of respect” motto with uncensored savagery punctuated by missile-like emoticons.

“Eureka Day” will make you laugh, but how much this production will make you think is an open question.

It all started with a purchase of land in the 1960s. Then, from that small slice of Utah and the founding of the Sundance Institute in 1981 and, later, its expansion into the Sundance Film Festival, Robert Redford developed a vision that would reshape on-screen storytelling as we know it. Sundance opened doors for multiple generations of filmmakers who might not otherwise have gained entry to the movie business.

Redford, who died Tuesday at age 89, was already a hugely successful actor, producer and director, having just won an Oscar for his directorial debut “Ordinary People,” when he founded the Sundance Institute as a support system for independent filmmakers. His Utah property, named after his role in “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” would become a haven for creativity in an idyllic setting.

Evincing a rugged, hands-on attitude marked by curiosity and enthusiasm about the work, Redford embodied a philosophy for Sundance that was clear from its earliest days.

“When I started the Institute, the major studios dominated the game, which I was a part of,” Redford said to The Times via email in 2021. “I wanted to focus on the word ‘independence’ and those sidelined by the majors — supporting those sidelined by the dominant voices. To give them a voice. The intent was not to cancel or go against the studios. It wasn’t about going against the mainstream. It was about providing another avenue and more opportunity.”

The first of the Sundance Lab programs, which continue today, also launched in 1981, bringing emerging filmmakers together in the mountains to develop projects with the support of more established advisers.

The Institute would take over a small film festival in Utah, the U.S. Film Festival, for its 1985 edition and eventually rename it the Sundance Film Festival, a showcase that would go on to introduce directors such as Quentin Tarantino, Paul Thomas Anderson, Nia DaCosta, Taika Waititi, Gregg Araki, Damien Chazelle and countless others while refashioning independent filmmaking into a viable career path.

Before directing “Black Panther” and “Sinners,” Ryan Coogler went through the Sundance Lab at the beginning of his career and saw his debut feature “Fruitvale Station” premiere at Sundance in 2013 where it won both the grand jury and audience awards.

“Mr. Redford was a shining example of how to leverage success into community building, discovery, and empowerment,” Coogler said in a statement to The Times on Tuesday. “I’ll be forever grateful for what he did when he empowered and supported Michelle Satter in developing the Sundance Labs. In these trying times it hurts to lose an elder like Mr. Redford — someone who through their words, their actions and their commitment left their industry in a better place than they found it.”

Chloé Zhao’s debut feature “Songs My Brothers Taught Me” premiered at the festival in 2015 after she took the project through the labs. With her later effort “Nomadland,” Zhao would go on to become the second woman — and still the only woman of color — to win the Academy Award for directing.

“Sundance changed my life,” Zhao said in a statement on Tuesday. “I didn’t know anyone in the industry or how to get my first film made. Being accepted into the Sundance Labs was like entering a lush and nurturing garden holding my tiny fragile seedling and watching it take root and grow. It was there I found my voice, became a part of a community I still treasure deeply today.”

Satter, Sundance Institute‘s founding senior director of artist programs, was involved since the organization’s earliest days. Even from relatively humble origins, Satter could already feel there was something powerful and unique happening under Redford’s guidance.

“He made us all feel like we were part of the conversation, part of building Sundance, right from the beginning,” Satter said of Redford in a 2021 interview. “He was really interested in others’ point of view, all perspectives. At the same time, he had a real clarity of vision and what he wanted this to be.”

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For many years Redford was indeed the face of the film festival, making frequent appearances and regularly speaking at the opening press conference. Starting in 2019 he reduced his public role at the festival, in tandem with the moment he stepped back from acting.

The festival has gone through many different eras over the years, with festival directors handing off leadership from Geoffrey Gilmore to John Cooper to Tabitha Jackson and current fest director Eugene Hernandez.

The festival has also weathered changes in the industry, as streaming platforms have upended distribution models. Steven Soderbergh’s 1989 drama “sex, lies and videotape” is often cited as a key title in the industry’s discovery of the Utah event as a must-attend spot on their calendars, a place where buyers could acquire movies for distribution and scout new talent.

“Before Sundance, there wasn’t really a marketplace for new voices and independent film in the way that we know it today,” said Kent Sanderson, chief executive of Bleecker Street, which has premiered multiple films at the festival over the years. “The way Sundance supports filmmakers by giving their early works a real platform is key to the health of our business.”

Over time, Sundance became a place not only to acquire films but also to launch them, with distributors bringing films to put in front of the high number of media and industry attendees. Investors come to scope out films and filmmakers look to raise money.

“It all started with Redford having this vision of wanting to create an environment where alternative approaches to filmmaking could be supported and thrive,” said Joe Pichirallo, an arts professor at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts and one of the original executives at Searchlight Pictures. “And he succeeded and it’s continuing. Even though the business is going through various changes, Sundance’s significance as a mecca for independent film is still pretty high.”

At the 2006 festival, “Little Miss Sunshine,” directed by Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris, sold to Searchlight for what was then a record-setting $10.5 million. In 2021, Apple TV+ purchased Siân Heder’s “CODA” for a record-breaking $25 million. The film would go on to be the first to have premiered at Sundance to win the Oscar for best picture.

Yet the festival, the labs and the institute have remained a constant through it all, continuing to incubate fresh talent to launch to the industry.

“Redford put together basically a factory of how to do independent films,” said Tom Bernard, co-president and co-founder of Sony Pictures Classics. Over the years the company has distributed many titles that premiered at Sundance, including “Call Me by Your Name” and “Whiplash.”

“He adapted as the landscape changed,” Bernard added of the longevity of Sundance’s influence. “And as you watched the evolution to where it is today, it’s an amazing journey and an amazing feat that he did for the world of independent film. It wouldn’t be the same without him.”

Through it all, Redford balanced his roles between his own career making and starring in movies and leading Sundance. Filmmaker Allison Anders, whose 1992 film “Gas Food Lodging” was among the earliest breakout titles from the Sundance Film Festival, remembered Redford on Instagram.

“You could easily have just been the best looking guy to walk into any room and stopped there and lived off of that your whole life,” Anders wrote. “You wanted to help writers and filmmakers like me who were shut out to create characters not seen before, and you did. You could have just been handsome. But you nurtured us.”

The upcoming 2026 Sundance Film Festival in January will be the last one in its longtime home of Park City, Utah. The festival had previously announced that a tribute to Redford and his vision of the festival would be a part of that final bow, which will now carry an added emotional resonance.

Starting in 2027, the Sundance Film Festival will unspool in in Boulder, Colo. Regardless of where the event takes place, the legacy of what Robert Redford first conceived will remain.

As Redford himself said in 2021 about the founding of the Institute, “I believed in the concept and because it was just that, a concept, I expected and hoped that it would evolve over time. And happily, it has.”

Samantha Masunaga contributed to this report.

“The Pitt” may not be set in Los Angeles, but its cast and creatives are proud that it’s filmed there.

HBO Max’s hour-by-hour look at an emergency room shift in a Pittsburgh hospital took home the Emmy Award for best drama series on Sunday, and its cast and creatives dedicated their recognition to healthcare workers. Once they got backstage, they advocated for something else: increasing production in Los Angeles.

Speaking to press after the series’ big win, creator R. Scott Gemmill and star and executive producer Noah Wyle said they believe filming locally is important for the entertainment industry in Los Angeles as production rates have declined over the past several years because of a confluence of issues, including the pandemic, the dual writers’ and actors’ strikes in 2023 and more attractive tax incentives in other states and countries.

Both “The Pitt” and “The Studio,” which won the top prize in the comedy category, are shot in L.A., but the latter is actually set in the city, centering on a fictional Hollywood studio and satirizing the entertainment industry.

Gemmill, who was also a producer on “ER,” said he feels pride in knowing “The Pitt” serves as an example of a series that was successfully filmed in L.A. “When we get casting, I think they get like 3,000 submissions for each role,” he said. “That’s how hungry the people are that work in Los Angeles, so just the fact that we can do our small part is really important, but I hope other producers take note.”

Wyle, who won two Emmy awards, one as an executive producer on the series and one for lead actor in a drama, echoed Gemmill’s comments and said he attended the ceremony in July where Gov. Gavin Newsom signed California’s film tax credit boost into law. It will increase the cap on California’s film and TV tax credit program to $750 million, up from $330 million. Wyle said he gave a speech at the event, sharing his experience filming locally.

“I talked about our special effects coordinator on our show, whose name is Rob Nary, whose father was a special effects coordinator, whose grandfather was a special effects coordinator,” Wyle said. “I said it to highlight the fact that there’s generational talent in this city that’s worked in this industry for over 100 years. When you shoot a show here, you get the benefit of three generations of talent. You get a Rob Nary. You can put up a soundstage in another state, but they don’t come with Rob Narys.”

While production in L.A. overall is still on the decline according to the nonprofit organization FilmLA, which tracks production in the Greater Los Angeles region, television is serving as a bright spot. From April through June, TV production saw an increase of 17% compared with the same time period last year, with 2,224 on-location shoot days. That’s the highest total since early 2024, though it is still 32.6% lower than the five-year quarterly average, FilmLA said in a report published this summer.

Overall, on-location shoot days from April to June decreased 6.2% compared with the same time period last year.

Paul Audley, FilmLA’s president, responded to the Emmy wins for shows that shoot in town, saying in a statement to The Times that the organization “thanks them for choosing to film locally, and for helping to make Los Angeles the entertainment capital of the world.”

“These productions not only highlight the overwhelming talent that this region is known for, but productions like these employ hundreds of film industry workers and contribute to a strong and thriving economy,” Audley said. “Filming locally supports our communities, small businesses, and workers across every corner of the film industry.”

SACRAMENTO — In a bid to stabilize struggling crude-oil refineries, state lawmakers on Saturday passed a last-minute bill that would allow the construction of 2,000 new oil wells annually in the San Joaquin Valley while further restricting drilling along California’s iconic coastline.

The measure, Senate Bill 237, was part of a deal on climate and environmental issues brokered behind closed doors by Gov. Gavin Newsom, state Senate President Pro Tem Mike McGuire (D-Healdsburg) and Assembly Speaker Robert Rivas (D-Hollister). The agreement aims to address growing concerns about affordability, primarily the price of gas, and the planned closure of two of the state’s 13 refineries.

California has enough refining capacity to meet demand right now, industry experts say, but the closures could reduce the state’s refining capacity by about 20% and lead to more volatile gas prices.

Democrats on Saturday framed the vote as a bitter but necessary pill to stabilize the energy market in the short term, even as the state pushes forward with the transition from fossil fuels to clean energy.

McGuire called the bills the “most impactful affordability, climate and energy packages in our state’s history.”

“We continue to chart the future, and these bills will put more money in the pockets of hard-working Californians and keep our air clean, all while powering our transition to a more sustainable economy,” McGuire said.

The planned April 2026 closure of Valero’s refinery in Benicia will lead to a loss of $1.6 billion in wages and drag down local government budgets, said Assemblymember Lori D. Wilson (D-Suisun City), who represents the area and co-authored SB 237.

Wilson acknowledged that the bill won’t help the Benicia refinery, but said that “directly increasing domestic production of crude oil and lowering our reliance on imports will help stabilize the market — it will help create and save jobs.”

Crude oil production in California is declining at an annualized rate of about 15%, about 50% faster than the state’s most aggressive forecast for a decline in demand for gasoline, analysts said this week.

The bill that lawmakers approved Saturday would grant statutory approval for up to 2,000 new wells per year in Kern County, the heart of California oil country.

That legislative fix, effective through 2036, would in effect circumvent a decade of legal challenges by environmental groups seeking to stymie drilling in the county that produces about three-fourths of the state’s crude oil.

“Kern County knows how to produce energy,” said state Sen. Shannon Grove (R-Bakersfield). “We produce 80% of California’s oil, if allowed, 70% of the state’s wind and solar, and over 80% of the in-state battery storage capacity. We are the experts. We are not the enemy. We can help secure energy affordability for all Californians while enjoying the benefits of increased jobs and economic prosperity.”

Environmentalists have fumed over that trade-off and over a provision that would allow the governor to suspend the state’s summer-blend gasoline fuel standards, which reduce auto emissions but drive up costs at the pump, if prices spike for more than 30 days or if it seems likely that they will.

Some progressive Democrats voted against the bill, including Assemblymember Alex Lee (D-San José), the chair of the Legislative Progressive Caucus. The bill, Lee said, was a “regulatory giveaway to Big Oil” that would do little to stabilize gas prices or refineries, which are struggling because demand for oil is falling.

“We need to continue to focus on the future, not the past,” Lee said.

The bill also would make offshore drilling more difficult by tightening the safety and regulatory requirements for pipelines.

Lawmakers also voted to extend cap-and-trade, an ambitious climate program that sets limits on greenhouse gas emissions and allows large polluters to buy and sell unused emission allowances at quarterly auctions. Lawmakers signed off on a 15-year extension of the program, which has been renamed “cap and invest,” through 2045.

The program is seen as crucial for California to comply with its climate goals — including reaching carbon neutrality by 2045 — and also brings in billions in revenue that helps fund climate efforts, including high-speed rail and safe drinking water programs.

Also included in the package was AB 825, which creates a pathway for California to participate in a regional electricity market. If passed, the bill would expand the state’s ability to buy and sell clean power with other Western states in a move that supporters say will improve grid reliability and save money for ratepayers.

Opponents fear that California could yield control of its power grid to out-of-state authorities, including the federal government.

Screen Actors Guild-American Federation of Television and Radio Artists on Friday elected “The Lord of the Rings” actor Sean Astin to be its national president as one of Hollywood’s most powerful labor unions faces new challenges in a changing film and TV industry.

Astin, known for portraying Frodo’s loyal hobbit friend, Samwise Gamgee, in the Peter Jackson-directed fantasy trilogy, now finds himself headed to a different kind of stage.

The 54-year-old actor will become leader of the 160,000-person performers union as it prepares to enter negotiations next year for a new contract with the major studios at a time when the entertainment industry faces consolidation, productions moving overseas and artificial intelligence.

“I feel proud and I feel determined,” Astin said in an interview. “People keep saying to me, ‘I hope you have time to celebrate’ and celebrating feels like a foreign thought. This doesn’t feel like a moment for celebration. It feels like a moment to say thank you and get to work.”

Astin garnered 79% of the votes cast in the election, according to the actors guild’s data. Voting closed on Friday. Astin beat his opponent Chuck Slavin, a background actor and performer in independent movies.

Slavin on Friday said in a statement that “while the outcome is disappointing, my commitment to advocating for transparency and member rights remains unshaken.”

Astin succeeds outgoing president Fran Drescher, who led the union through a 118-day strike during the last contract negotiations in summer 2023. Under that contract, the union secured AI protections and streaming bonuses based on viewership numbers. Some actors felt the contract didn’t go far enough and hope for more gains during next year’s talks.

Astin told The Times in an interview earlier this month that he is hopeful about securing a fair deal with the studios.

“I have a very good feeling about going into this next negotiation, because it’s clear to me that it’s in both parties’ interest to achieve a good deal,” Astin said.

In general, “the truth is that no union and no management should ever want a strike — that is the tool of last resort,” Astin said.

Astin’s strategy for negotiations was more moderate than that of Slavin. Slavin said that, if elected, he would call a strike authorization vote before meeting with the studios as a way to help boost the union’s leverage during negotiations.

Astin’s running mate, Michelle Hurd, was elected as secretary-treasurer of the union, receiving around 65% of the vote. Hurd has acted in shows such as “Star Trek: Picard” and movies including the romantic comedy “Anyone But You.”

Astin said he would push for more AI protections in the next contract and work with government leaders to keep productions in the U.S.

Astin ran under a group called “The Coalition,” which featured candidates from Membership First and Unite For Strength, two political groups within SAG-AFTRA. Slavin ran as an independent.

Voter turnout for this year’s national election was lower than in 2023, when Drescher was re-elected president. In 2023, roughly 23% of the ballots were returned, compared to this year’s 17%, according to SAG-AFTRA data. In 2021, when Drescher was first elected national president, 26% of the ballots were returned, according to the union.

Astin received a key endorsement from outgoing president Drescher, who he says has been a “constant source of support and guidance” and said he was “eager to help protect her legacy.” Astin’s mother, Academy Award-winning supporting actor Patty Duke, was a past president of the actors’ union.

Astin said that he will begin his term poring over information, meeting with SAG-AFTRA staff and doing outreach to members, including visiting the various locals.

“Now is the time for the optimism,” Astin said on Friday. “When you elect a new president, it’s a new chapter and a new page is turned. There is no reason not to charge forward as a union with our members.”

Sept. 12 (UPI) — Russia said Friday that it shot down hundreds of Ukrainian drones overnight, many of them targeting facilities of the multinational Russian oil company, Lukoil, southwest of Moscow, according to the defense ministry.

More than half of the 221 UAVs were brought down over the regions of Smolensk and Bryansk, where five civilians and two military personnel were injured after a bus was struck, while nine got through to the Moscow area before being destroyed.

Moscow Mayor Sergey Sobyanin said emergency services were attending a location hit by falling debris from downed drones but gave no details of where or the extent of the damage. Russian social media accounts reported blasts in Mozhaysk and Dedovsk in the western suburbs of the capital.

As many as 30 others were intercepted in the Leningrad region, temporarily closing St. Petersburg’s Pulkovo airport and setting ablaze a vessel at Russia’s largest oil terminal northwest of the city at Primorsk on the Baltic Sea.

Secret Service of Ukraine sources told The Kyiv Independent that the agency was responsible for the Leningrad strikes, which also successfully targeted three pumping stations serving the Ust-Luga oil terminal 80 miles southwest of St. Petersburg, as part of what was believed to be one of the largest attacks on the region since the start of the war in 2022.

Drones were also downed over Oryol, Kaluga, Novgorod, Belgorod, Tver, Pskov, Tula and Kursk — but without any further casualties, authorities said.

Ukraine stepped up its targeting of Russia’s energy infrastructure in August, hitting more than a dozen refineries and knocking out a fifth of Russia’s oil processing capacity during the month, according to the White House.

Russia has tried to downplay the disruption, with state-run media outlets claiming it was caused by “unscheduled repairs.”

Ukraine has modified its drone strategy from trying to attack Moscow and military facilities on Russian soil to higher-profile targets in an effort to make the Russian people more cognizant of the war.

At least 31 Ukrainian drones were downed early Tuesday as they closed in on the Black Sea resort of Sochi, hours after President Vladimir Putin was in the city for a virtual meeting with other world leaders belonging to the so-called BRICS grouping of economic powers.

The attack killed one person, damaged six homes and forced authorities to close the city’s international airport.

TORONTO — In introducing the Saturday night TIFF world premiere of “Good Fortune,” his feature debut as a writer-director, comedian Aziz Ansari told the audience the three words that are scary in Hollywood right now: original theatrical comedy. But the one word that is never scary is Keanu.

Speaking from the stage of the festival’s Roy Thomson Hall, Ansari recalled that his star Keanu Reeves broke his kneecap early in production.

“I found out he broke his kneecap and I didn’t know what was going to happen,” Ansari continued, Reeves himself standing onstage just a few feet away. “It was like, ‘Oh, my God, what is Keanu going to say? Is he going to need some time off? Is he going to drop out of the movie?’”

“And you know what Keanu said?” Ansari added. “Nothing. He just kept showing up to work and never complained, not once,” Ansari said. “He worked through what surely must have been excruciating pain and delivered a hilarious, touching performance, and he is the soul of this movie.”

The film opens with Reeves standing atop L.A.’s iconic Griffith Observatory with a small pair of angel wings on his back. Reeves, in a change of pace from his recent action work in the “John Wick” movies, plays Gabriel, a low-level angel given the task of stopping people from texting and driving. That is until he sees Arj (Ansari), who is struggling to make ends meet while working both at a big-box hardware store and as a food delivery driver.

Hoping to show him the grass isn’t always greener, Gabriel switches Arj’s life with that of Jeff (Seth Rogen), an ultrarich tech investor whose days seem to largely consist of going back and forth between his sauna and his cold plunge.

Perhaps not surprisingly, Arj much prefers Jeff’s life to his own and is reluctant to switch back. The situation becomes more complicated for Gabriel as he loses his job as an angel and must learn the tribulations and joys of being human, while still trying to fix the problem with Arj and Jeff.

For all the film’s gentle humor and quietly humanist spirit, “Good Fortune” is also rife with a palpable anger at the income inequality that motivates its story, the reality that robots are replacing the work of humans and that the excesses of the few seem predicated on the deprivation of many.

Aziz Ansari, left, and Keanu Reeves in the movie “Good Fortune.”

(Eddy Chen / Lionsgate)

The day after the film’s premiere, 42-year-old Ansari is upbeat and dapper in a gray plaid coat, black turtleneck and black slacks as he sat down for an interview in Toronto to discuss the movie and all that led up to it. After the end of his Emmy-winning series “Master of None” in 2021, Ansari had begun shooting a feature called “Being Mortal” that was shut down in 2022 a few weeks into production over allegations of misconduct by its star Bill Murray. Then production of “Good Fortune,” Ansari’s pivot away from “Being Mortal,” was delayed by the Hollywood labor strikes of 2023. Seemingly at long last, Ansari’s debut opens Oct. 17.

When “Being Mortal” got shut down, did you feel like, “Am I ever going to get to make a movie?”

I didn’t feel that way. Steven Spielberg has this story of — what’s the movie he did? “1941.” That didn’t do well and he was like, just immediately throw yourself in another thing. And I really thought about that, and that’s what I did. I just immediately went into “Good Fortune.” I mean, I had a couple of days where I was like,“Oh, no” and it was also so shocking. I think your mind doesn’t process it because it’s not really sinking in that this is what’s really happening. It probably still a piece of me [in which] it hasn’t really sunk in. It was definitely disappointing, but part of me is like, this is what needed to happen. This is the movie that should be out first.

“Being Mortal,” it’s funny, but it’s heavy. The Atul Gawande book, it’s about end-of-life issues. So it’s like, “Oh, OK. It’s another heavy drama thing.” People may have just gotten pissed, like, “What’s this guy doing?” So “Good Fortune” is definitely, to me, if you like those first two seasons of “Master of None,” I feel like what you’d hope I’d do is kind of evolve that style into a feature film and raise the level of it by having Seth and Keanu and Keke [Palmer] and Sandra [Oh], and as a feature film rather than a show.

As sweet and funny as the movie is, there also is a real righteous anger behind it. Where does that come from?

I think I got it from when I was interviewing all these people about the subject matter in the film, when I was doing research to write the Arj character. That attitude seeps in there.

“It was definitely disappointing, but part of me is like, this is what needed to happen,” Ansari says of “Being Mortal,” his first attempt at directing a feature, one that ran into production troubles with its star, Bill Murray,

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

During the opening credits of the movie, you say the line “The American Dream is dead.”

But that’s a frustration a lot of people like that guy Arj feel.

But then, you are a very successful entertainer —

Oh, yeah. Me and Seth are Jeff, no question.

How do you reconcile that? Are you concerned some people might dismiss the movie out of hand for that simple reason?

If you’re writing, you have to be able to write outside your own experience — for someone who’s like Arj, who doesn’t have the platform to tell these stories. When I did “Master of None,” we did an episode called “New York, I Love You.” And there was a segment about taxi drivers, a segment about a doorman and a segment about a woman who’s deaf. And doing that episode taught me a process of interviewing people and figuring out how to get these stories right when they’re not your experience. We did an episode in Season 3 about a woman going through IVF. I’d never done that or anything, and it had never been a part of my life. But I talked to all these people, and from the feedback I got, we got it right. And that’s what I did with this.

I don’t want to spoil anything, but for a movie coming out from a Hollywood studio, Seth gives a speech at the end that is politically radical, about how rich people can’t expect to have so much without others getting angry.

It’s kind of nuts. Some of the stuff that’s in there, I’m like, “Whoa, we really got away with something here.” Some of the stuff that’s in there, and the trailer kind of hides a little bit of that stuff, I think there are people that’d be like, “Oh, s—.”

At the premiere, there was big applause for the line, “F— AI.” Is that your feeling as well?

I’d rather say that I’m pro-human. I’m pro-people.

Keanu Reeves, left, Seth Rogen and Aziz Ansari in the movie “Good Fortune.”

(Eddy Chen / Lionsgate)

The movie is very ambitious in combining the character stories and the attention to the notion of income inequality. Was it hard for you in balancing the characters and that theme? Was the work of that more when you were writing it or when you were editing what you’d shot?

It was both. And that’s the difference between a TV show and a movie. You have a different canvas. But it was a tough thing to do. And it was my first time doing it. I remember writing a second one while I was editing, and it was such a great help because you kind of see a few moves ahead. You’re like, “Oh, wait a second, I should get to this faster.” You kind of can see your mistakes a little bit in an earlier stage because you have more experience. This is another reason I really want to get into it again and start working on the next thing because I feel like I learned a lot from it.

That’s the thing that’s so interesting about doing stand-up and doing filmmaking. Stand-up, it’s so easy to “get to the gym,” right? If I really wanted to go to do stand-up tonight, I could do it. I could go find a club in Toronto and jump on a show. But If I wanted to go direct, that’s a big journey to get to the gym. So you have fewer opportunities to kind of get the reps in.

Shooting a movie is in L.A. has become such an economic and political issue for the city. Was that a consideration in making the movie in Los Angeles?

I wanted it to be in L.A., I felt like this movie had to be set in L.A. Jeff’s not going to be living in whatever place that gives you the tax credit. And L.A. really is the perfect backdrop for the story to me. And it was challenging, but you also get the benefit of working with some of the greatest technicians in the world in L.A. And I also just love being a part of the lineage of films that are set in L.A. I watched that documentary, “Los Angeles Plays itself,” and that was so fun to watch that and just see how every movie has its own L.A., whether it’s “Heat” or “Tangerine” or “Chinatown.”

And I feel like “Good Fortune” has its L.A., and it’s exciting to show some of these neighborhoods, to see people responding to seeing Eagle Rock or Los Feliz. Whenever I was writing the movie, I always thought about that taco place in Hollywood — it’s across the street from Jitlada. I always thought about that place. I thought there was something so cinematic, and it was a hard location to clear. And our guy [location manager] Jay Traynor, he made it happen. And finding Jeff’s house was so hard. But it all came together, and I loved showing Koreatown and that Gabriel works at a Korean barbecue restaurant. Just showing all these parts of L.A.

I want to be sure to ask you about working with Keanu. People are really responding to this role. And I’m having a hard time putting my finger on what that is about.

No, I’m feeling this. Even since [the premiere], I’m feeling it. I knew people would like him, but it’s hitting on another level.

Why do you think that is? What is the alchemy of Keanu in that role?

I was thinking about this when I was eating lunch. If you look at the roles he’s done that are comedic, whether it’s in “Bill & Ted” or in “Parenthood,” there’s this innocence, this sweetness and this kindness that’s in there. And then Gabriel, to me, is the progression of that. And it’s also that you have Keanu at 61, where when I first met him, I was like, “Hey, there’s something about you that people are responding to and who you are as a real person that I don’t think I’ve seen onscreen. And I think you can show some of that with Gabriel.”

It also has all of his comedy superpowers just dialed to the max. And we were just having so much fun. It just became playtime. We were coming up with bits all the time: Oh, he’s never used the internet before. Let’s just write a quick scene where he’s using the internet for the first time. What’s he gonna do? He’s gonna look at photos of baby elephants. It became such a fun joke bag. You could just make him do anything. And it was funny, the guy’s never done anything — if he takes a bite of a taco goes, “Wow!” It’s really the funniest character I’ve ever written for.

The Kit Kat Club is closing its Broadway doors early on Sept. 21, as current “Emcee” Billy Porter battles a “serious case of sepsis,” according to the production team.

“It is with a heavy heart that we have made the painful decision to end our Broadway run,” said producer Adam Speers in a statement. “On behalf of all the producers, we’re so honored to have been able to bring this version of John Kander, Fred Ebb, and Joe Masteroff’s important masterpiece, ‘Cabaret,’ to New York and to have opened the doors to our own Kit Kat Club for the year and a half we have been here.”

“Cabaret at the Kit Kat Club” — as this revival is titled — opened on Broadway in April 2024, with Eddie Redmayne and Gayle Rankin in the lead roles. Following their September 2024 departure, duos Adam Lambert and Auli’i Cravalho, and Orville Peck and Eva Noblezada played the titular roles.

Porter stepped into the role of the Emcee, alongside co-star Marisha Wallace as Sally Bowles, in July. The duo was expected to lead the production’s final 13 weeks — originally scheduled to end on Oct. 19 — before Porter’s illness sidelined him.

“Billy was an extraordinary ‘Emcee,’ bringing his signature passion and remarkable talent,” said Speers. “We wish Billy a speedy recovery, and I look forward to working with him again in the very near future.”

As of Sept. 21, the production will have played 18 preview performances and 592 regular performances. Marty Lauter and David Merino, the production’s longtime alternates for Emcee, will share the role for the final two weeks of performances. Their exact performance schedules — opposite Wallace as Bowles — are forthcoming.

Kim Jong Un’s visit comes ahead of planned trip to China to attend military parade with Xi Jinping.

North Korean leader Kim Jong Un has inspected a new missile production line and missile-manufacturing automation process, according to state media.

His visit on Sunday to the missile production line came ahead of a planned trip to Beijing to attend a military parade along with Chinese President Xi Jinping and Russian President Vladimir Putin.

North Korea is under heavy international sanctions imposed over its nuclear weapons and ballistic missile programmes, which were developed in violation of United Nations Security Council resolutions.

Experts and international officials say the sanctions have lost much of their bite amid growing economic, military and political support from Russia and China.

Kim said that the modernised production process would help increase major missile units’ combat readiness, the state-run Korean Central News Agency (KCNA) said on Monday.

North Korea has sent soldiers, artillery ammunition and missiles to Russia to support Moscow in its war against Ukraine.

North Korea’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs also criticised US cooperation with Japan and South Korea, singling out a recent trilateral joint statement that warned of cybersecurity threats from Pyongyang.

The ministry “strongly denounces and rejects” the United States, Japan and South Korea for using cyberspace as a “theatre of geopolitical confrontation and hostile propaganda”, a spokesperson said in a statement carried by KCNA.

“The more the US persists in its anachronistic and malicious hostile acts against the DPRK through the intensified collaboration with its satellite countries, the more distrust and hostility will be piled up between the DPRK and the US,” the spokesperson added, using the initials of North Korea’s official name.

Aug. 19 (UPI) — Mafioso, a high-pedigree Argentine Brangus breeding bull, sold for $200,000 for 50% ownership — the highest price ever paid for such an animal at a livestock auction in the country.

The sale took place at the Rural Society of Jesús María in Córdoba during an annual auction of elite breeding stock. The bull belonged to El Porvenir, an award-winning livestock producer.

Mafioso, a 3-year-old Brangus bull that weighs 2,041 pounds, is the son of Picante, an elite bull who won several national competitions. His lineage makes him a high-value genetic sire, giving the sale significance not only nationally, but also internationally.

Half of the bull was purchased by a group of ranchers along with Select Debernardi, an Argentine company that specializes in genetic improvement and bovine semen production for beef and dairy cattle.

Mafioso, regarded as a true “sire” of the Brangus breed, is expected to have his genetics used by leading breeding operations, securing his legacy in elite cattle production worldwide.

From a young age, Mafioso stood out. He won the titles of “Best National Calf” and “Best Pen Calf.” In 2025, he reached the elite of the breed as Grand Champion at the National Exhibition in Corrientes.

Walter Orodá, owner of El Porvenir ranch, said the sale price exceeded all expectations.

“We did not expect such a figure,” he said. “The price was not something we imagined, and it really surprised all of us. The bull will be used not only in Argentina but in many countries,” he told the Argentine outlet Perfil.com.

The Brangus breed is among the most prized in cattle ranching for its tender, high-quality meat with excellent flavor. It originated from a cross between the Brahman breed from India and the Aberdeen Angus from England and was introduced to Argentina in the mid-20th century. Brangus cattle are docile and highly resistant to parasites and common diseases.

In recent years, the Brangus breed has become Argentina’s leading exporter of bovine semen, surpassing the long-dominant Angus. Its expansion across South America, especially in tropical and subtropical regions, is driven by regulatory, genetic and strategic factors that have made the Argentine Brangus a regional benchmark.

In 2018, Brangus led Argentina’s bovine semen exports for the first time, with nearly 487,000 doses, representing 49.5% of all beef cattle breeds. By 2024, that share had grown to 56%, according to the Argentine Chamber of Biotechnology and Animal Reproduction.

Brazil is the main buyer of Argentine Brangus genetics, followed by Uruguay and Colombia, with growing interest from Mexico and Costa Rica.

Kuwait bans the import of alcoholic beverages, but bootleg liquor is sold with no oversight or safety standards.

Kuwaiti authorities have arrested 67 people accused of producing and distributing locally made alcoholic drinks that killed 23 people in recent days, including a Bangladeshi national said to head the criminal network, the Interior Ministry has said.

In a statement on X late on Saturday, the ministry said it seized six factories and another four that were not yet operational in residential and industrial areas.

A Nepali member of the criminal group told authorities how the methanol was prepared and sold.

Kuwait, a Muslim nation, bans the import or domestic production of alcoholic beverages, but some are manufactured illegally in secret locations that lack oversight or safety standards, exposing consumers to the risk of poisoning.

The arrests come after the Ministry of Health said on Thursday that cases of methanol poisoning linked to the tainted drinks had reached 160, with 23 deaths, mostly among Asian nationals.

At least 51 people required urgent kidney dialysis while 31 needed mechanical ventilation, the ministry said.

The Embassy of India in Kuwait, which has the largest expatriate community in the country, said around 40 Indian nationals in Kuwait were hospitalised in the last few days, without specifying the cause.

“There have been some fatalities, some are in a critical condition while others are recovering,” it said in a statement on X.

Methanol, a toxic colourless alcohol used in industrial and household products, is hard to detect. Symptoms of poisoning are typically delayed and include nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain, hyperventilation and breathing problems.

It is reported that thousands of people suffer from methanol poisoning every year, especially in Asia. If not treated, fatality rates are often reported to be 20 percent to 40 percent, according to the medical charity Doctors Without Borders (MSF).