production

Tom Stoppard, frequently hailed as the greatest British playwright of this generation, had both a remarkable life and a remarkable career.

Born in Czechoslovakia in 1937, his family fled to Singapore when the Nazis invaded. When Japan threatened their new home, his mother took him and his brother to India. His father stayed behind in Singapore but died when the ship he was aboard was sunk. His mother later married a British officer and the family relocated to England, where young Stoppard took his stepfather’s surname and “put on Englishness like a coat,” he later said.

Stoppard quickly became known for his clever, witty and intellectually curious work, earning three Olivier Awards, five Tony Awards and an Oscar (for “Shakespeare in Love”). He was even knighted in 1997 by Queen Elizabeth II for his contributions to theater.

Starting with “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead” in 1966, through his final full-length play “Leopoldstadt” in 2020, Stoppard crafted a body of work that would be the envy of most countries, let alone one writer.

Below are some of Stoppard most important plays, with observations from Times critics:

The 2022 Broadway production of “Leopoldstadt” in a family scene from 1924.

(Joan Marcus)

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead (1966)

After working as a journalist, Stoppard had a breakthrough when this absurdist romp debuted at the Edinburgh Fringe. Times theater critic Charles McNulty reviewed a 2013 production at the Old Globe’s Shakespeare Festival in San Diego, describing it as a “metapharcical romp (to coin a genre), in which ‘Hamlet’ is glimpsed through the oblique perspective of the prince’s twin buddies, sent to spy on him by Gertrude and Claudius in that Elsinore castle of murder, adultery and occult intrigue. … Stoppard’s fertile wit keeps this three-act drama pulsing along without too much strain. A subtle pathos, along with the playwright’s verbal sophistication, prevents the play from degenerating into a collegiate vaudeville.” In 1990, Stoppard himself directed a film version starring Gary Oldman and Tim Roth.

Jumpers (1972)

This satire set in an alternative universe in which British astronauts land on the moon and “Radical Liberals” have taken over the nation’s government, premiered at London’s Old Vic starring Michael Hordern and Diana Rigg. Two years later, Times theater critic Dan Sullivan reviewed an American Conservatory Theater production of it in San Francisco. “Stoppard’s new play can’t be hung with one of those preprinted tags that theater critics carry in their pockets for easy labeling,” he wrote. “You might call it a Metaphysical Spoof With Acrobatic Prelude, or you might not. The only general thing you can say about it is that it’s very bright and very funny, and sometimes rather touching.”

Travesties (1974)

The Royal Shakespeare Company staged the first production at the Aldwych Theatre in London, starring John Wood, John Hurt, Tom Bell and Frank Windsor. Stoppard was fascinated with the idea that James Joyce, Vladimir Lenin and Dadadist poet Tristan Tzara were all living in Zurich in 1917. He placed these zeitgeist figures in the orbit of a more humble historical figure named Henry Carr, who figured into Joyce’s “Ulysses.” The Times’ Sullivan took in the 1975 New York production, calling it “dazzling” and wondered if Broadway audiences would be able to keep up with it. “Like Stoppard’s last play ‘Jumpers’ (which didn’t do very well here), this is a vaudeville show where the language does tricks as well as the actors,” wrote Sullivan. “And to do the tricks as well as ‘Travesties,’ John Wood [as Carr], a playwright’s language has got to be pretty accomplished.”

The Real Thing (1982)

Felicity Kendal and Roger Rees originated the lead roles in Stoppard’s very personal examination of love and marriage, truth and honesty. The playwright significantly reworked the script for its Broadway run, starring Glenn Close and Jeremy Irons directed by Mike Nichols, to great success. Linda Purl and Michael Gross assumed the roles for the 1986 L.A. production at the Doolittle Theatre. ”Without spoiling its surprises, the reviewer can say that not every scene in ‘The Real Thing’ is what it seems to be, including the first one,” wrote Sullivan. “Stoppard’s characters are theater people, professional makers of scenes, and some of these scenes get swept into the play. … ‘The Real Thing’ has wit, surprise and characters you care about. … If you like plays written in full sentences, you’ll like ‘The Real Thing.’

Arcadia (1993)

Moving between the 19th century and the present, Stoddard balanced tragedy and comedy with a healthy dose of science and mathematics. The play opened at the Royal National Theatre in London directed by Trevor Nunn with a cast including Rufus Sewell, Felicity Kendal, Bill Nighy and Emma Fielding. Two years later, in New York, Nunn directed a new cast that included Billy Crudup, Blair Brown, Victor Garber as Bernard, Robert Sean Leonard, Jennifer Dundas and Paul Giamatti in his Broadway debut. “‘Arcadia’ is a great play not because it seamlessly meshes serious ideas and the intense pleasure of a literary detective story,” wrote Times critic Laurie Winer, reviewing director Robert Egan’s 1997 Mark Taper Forum production. “It is a great play because, by the end, Tom Stoppard touches ineffability, just as his heroine touches genius.”

The Invention of Love (1997)

For this portrait of poet A. E. Housman, Stoppard once again turned to historical figures for his cast. The play premiered at the Royal National Theatre, London, with Housman played as an old man by John Wood and as a young man by Paul Rhys. It was directed by Richard Eyre. The play opened on Broadway at the Lyceum Theatre in 2001, directed by Jack O’Brien. “Stoppard has written an essentially undramatic dreamscape,” wrote Times critic Michael Phillips.” The recently deceased Housman (Richard Easton), about to cross the River Styx, assesses his recessive life and great unrequited love for the athlete Moses Jackson (David Harbour), a fellow Oxford man. En route, the elder Housman runs into his younger self (Robert Sean Leonard). There’s a long scene near the end of Act 1 shared by the two Housmans. As they discuss the niceties and textual flaws of the classics they love as much as life itself, Stoppard’s playfulness is tinged with rue; the older man cannot prevent the younger’s heartbreak to come.”

The Coast of Utopia (2002)

This trilogy of plays, “Voyage,” “Shipwreck” and “Salvage,” zeroed in on philosophical debates in 19th century Russia. They premiered at the National Theatre’s Olivier auditorium in repertory, directed by Nunn. The plays debuted on Broadway, directed by Jack O’Brien, at the Vivian Beaumont Theater at Lincoln Center in 2006. “A nearly eight-hour drama about the Russian intelligentsia that received mixed reviews when it premiered in London in 2002, ‘The Coast of Utopia’ isn’t for the theatrical faint of heart,” cautioned Times critic McNulty. “Stamina is a prerequisite for the company and audience alike. … Stoppard’s play enacts a moment in history when thinkers and writers set out to redirect the future. Ideologies were conceived and pressed immediately into service, sometimes at the expense of the individual lives they were theoretically meant to serve. [It] dramatizes both the ebb and flow of conditional life and the hunger for unconditional solutions to its woes.”

Rock ‘n’ Roll (2006)

Stoppard looked to his Czech roots with this drama, connecting the Prague Spring of 1968 with the Velvet Revolution of 1989 through music. The play premiered at the Royal Court Theatre, London, once again directed by Nunn and featuring Rufus Sewell, Brian Cox and Sinéad Cusack. The cast moved to Broadway in 2007. “You might want to arrive a bit early and study the timelines in the lobby, which detail Czechoslovakia’s turbulent political history from 1968 to 1990 and key events in the rock music scene during that era,” wrote reviewer F. Kathleen Foley of Open Fist’s 2010 production. “Read them carefully. Otherwise your head just may explode at some point during this Los Angeles premiere, which presupposes an intimate familiarity with Czech history, the early rock scene and, oh, did we mention Sapphic poetry? It’s all a bit ostentatious and difficult to follow — but even at his most intellectually prolix, Stoppard is flat-out brilliant, arguably our greatest living playwright.”

Leopoldstadt (2020)

The final play of Stoppard’s brilliant career was sparked by the playwright learning of the plight of his Jewish ancestors upon his mother’s death in 1996. It debuted at Wyndham’s Theatre in London’s West End, but was interrupted by the COVID-19 pandemic and debuted on Broadway in 2022 starring Davis Krumholtz with Patrick Marber directing. The play “unfolds as a series of oil paintings magicked into life,” wrote Times critic McNulty. “The play, which features a cast of 38 actors, moves from turn-of-the-century Vienna, where Freud, Mahler and Schnitzler are the talk of the town, to 1924, when the scars of World War I are clearly visible. Performed without intermission, the action ominously leaps to 1938, as the Nazis are ransacking the homes of Jewish citizens. The play concludes in 1955, when three family survivors reunite to piece together the fates of their murdered relatives. … It’s not just that the work mirrors aspects of his personal history. It’s also the virtuosic way that he conjures the shifting cultural zeitgeist of Vienna in the first half of the 20th century through stylized conversation alone.”

You can find audio dramas by L.A. Theatre Works of “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead,” “The Real Thing” and “Arcadia” on Spotify.

Many of the films Stoppard wrote or co-wrote are available for streaming, including “Brazil” (1985),” Turner Classic Movies, and for rent on Apple TV and Prime Video; “The Russia House” (1990), for rent on Prime Video; “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead” (1990), for rent on various platforms; “Empire of the Sun” (1987), for rent on various platforms; and “Shakespeare in Love” (1998), Paramount+ and Kanopy, and for rent on various platforms.

Stoppard is also certainly a playwright whose work is a joy to read. Most of these plays can be found at your local public library or favorite bookstore.

Joseph Kosinski didn’t want to direct “F1” unless he was able to do it the hard way. That was the germ of an idea for what would eventually become one of the biggest hits of 2025: Create a movie about an underdog Formula One team that didn’t fake being at F1 races, but actually became a part of them.

“It was kind of like, ‘Yes, this is a little insane,’” said Kosinski, “‘but if we can pull it off, we’ll get something totally unique.’”

Kosinski doesn’t present as your average adrenaline junkie. He’s mellow and looks like he could work at a bank — in fact, he pursued architecture before finding a calling in film as a David Fincher protégé. Kosinski was trusted with blockbusters from his debut, 2010’s “Tron: Legacy,” and in 2022 broke through with “Top Gun: Maverick,” which strapped Tom Cruise and other insurance liabilities into actual fighter jets as an alternative to relying on CGI.

“I think on ‘Maverick,’” Kosinski said, “I found out that the audience does appreciate when you shoot something for real. They can tell the difference between something done on a soundstage and done in a real situation. It’s something we are very attuned to and connect to.”

“F1” tells the story of Sonny Hayes (Brad Pitt), a leathery road dog of a driver who gets called back into Formula One by an old racing friend (Javier Bardem), who’s now the owner of a struggling team, desperate for a Hail Mary. The film is partially based in reality; the Hayes character is inspired by Martin Donnelly, whose promising career was cut short in 1990 by a gruesome crash. It’s also partially based in a fantasy in which someone old enough to have seen the 1966 epic “Grand Prix” in theaters would be allowed to sit in the driver’s seat of a modern F1 team.

Director Joseph Kosinski on the set of “F1.”

(Apple TV)

But the fantasy elements were designed to be offset by a hyperrealism that’s rarely afforded to film productions — not just in the ability to feature the actual teams and drivers, but also to film a significant portion of the movie at the races themselves. It helped that the production had Lewis Hamilton, one of the best drivers in the history of the sport, on board as a producer to help grease the wheels with the Fédération Internationale de l’Automobile, the governing body of F1. Even with Hamilton, though, Apple — which ultimately spent over $200 million on the movie — had to prove to the FIA that they could set up at an event like the fabled British Grand Prix at Silverstone and not cause a pileup.

“We had to rehearse the blocking and staging for about two weeks with a stopwatch in front of the FIA to prove to them that we could actually shoot a scene and get off the track before the race started,” said Kosinski, referring to a crucial scene when the characters played by Pitt and Tobias Menzies first meet.

Unlike “Maverick,” in which military pilots flew the jets, “F1” features driving from Brad Pitt and co-star Damson Idris, in some sense because it was the only way to get the shots they needed. “They’ve got four cameras in front of them that are whipping around and they’re having to do their lines and perform,” said Kosinski. “But mostly they’re trying not to die in front of 100,000 people.”

Every department — from the actors to craft services — had to learn how to operate at dangerous speeds and with higher stakes. Ben Munro, who did the production design with Mark Tildesley, explained that, normally, his department would have two weeks to build a set; in some cases on “F1,” such as a scene filmed at the McLaren headquarters, they would have just 12 hours, overnight.

“When you try to integrate with the real world, ultimate control becomes harder,” Munro said. “And as filmmakers, we’re used to being in ultimate control.”

The “F1” team developed new cameras to capture the film’s ultra-realistic high-speed racing.

(Apple TV)

The camera team too had to be adaptable and mobile (no VistaVision here), all while figuring out how to capture footage at 180 miles per hour that couldn’t be covered with more than a few takes. “First, we had to make a camera that didn’t exist yet,” said Claudio Miranda, the film’s cinematographer.

Miranda, who won an Oscar for “Life of Pi,” worked with Sony to develop small, agile “sensor-on-a-stick” cameras with Imax-worthy lenses to place around the cars. Coverage became essential — there were 16 camera positions to capture as much as possible. With both the racing itself and the hoopla around race weekend, the usual filmmaking mindset simply had to change: “I’m not always able to shoot sunset for this shot, or backlight for this quarter,” said Miranda, describing his thinking. “We traded all that in for the realism of the movie. But I think that’s unbeatable.”

Other than a few spinouts (and a stray Brad Pitt fan ruining a shot to get a selfie), the production was miraculously accident-free, despite taking almost two years to film. That may be due in part to the fact that, if you squint, it turns out that a film crew is similar enough to an F1 team to fit right in.

“Everyone had to be prepared for those nine-minute shoot windows in the same way that you’d have to be ready for a pit stop,” Kosinski said. “There was a really interesting kinship. And we really did feel like the 11th team after spending two seasons with them.”

The moment that sticks with Miranda is from the end of the production, in Abu Dhabi, when all the real F1 teams got their cars out for one grand scene together — a million-dollar setup, to undersell it by a few digits. “In the beginning, it did feel like we were this annoying little buzzard,” Miranda said. “I think that’s why I got really emotional when everyone wanted to help us out in the final race and bring the cars out. Because it felt like, at the end, we were kind of loved.”

WOKE theatre chiefs have warned musical Jesus Christ Superstar will “include an onstage depiction of the crucifixion” when it returns next year 

Staggered fans have hit out at producers who have also seen fit to alert would-be watchers that the rock opera also has in it “some violence” and “imitation blood”. 

Tickets only went on sale yesterday for the work which will be staged at the London Palladium.

It will star Eurovision and “Space Man” crooner Sam Ryder playing the part of Jesus. 

It recounts the final week of Jesus’ life, from the perspective of his disciple and betrayer, Judas Iscariot.  

The original — condemned by religious groups for its “sympathetic” portrayal of Judas — opened in London in 1972 and closed in 1980 after 3,357 productions. 

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Gerald Dixon, an admirer of the musical, which includes hits “I Don’t Know How to Love Him” and “Superstar”, was among those nonplussed by the warning attached to the forthcoming show.

He told The Sun: “What next? A warning that the hit musical includes catchy tunes?  

“This nonsense is enough to make anyone utter the Lord’s name in vain.” 

The Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber show runs from June to September, with tickets costing up to £335. 

LW Theatres, London’s largest operator of musical theatres, was contacted for comment on the warning yesterday. 

The king of cheeses is ready for the spotlight.

The Parmigiano Reggiano Consortium, the governing body of the Italian cheese, has reportedly signed with United Talent Agency in order to pursue product placement opportunities in film and TV projects. According to a statement to the Hollywood Reporter, the organization is looking to “introduce Parmigiano Reggiano to a wide pool of partners [and] further its message of gastronomical excellence and high quality ingredients, production and distribution.”

The formaggio faithful know that Parmigiano Reggiano is a hard cow’s milk cheese that can trace its origins back to the Middle Ages. Because it has protected designation of origin, only the cheese made in the Italian provinces of Parma, Reggio Emilia, Modena, Bologna and Mantua can legally be called Parmigiano Reggiano. (That’s why the common grated variety you may remember shaking out of a green container onto some spaghetti as a child is called Parmesan.)

According to its website, the Parmigiano Reggiano Consortium traces its roots back to the early 1900s when the chambers of commerce in Italian cities were looking to establish a way to authenticate the origin of the hard cheese produced in their region. The organization was formally established in 1928.

Among the association’s objectives is to “organize and take part in initiatives aimed at promoting ‘Parmigiano Reggiano’ cheese, at enhancing its fame, image, reputation, circulation and consumption both in Italy and abroad.”

“Parmigiano Reggiano is not just a symbol of excellence rooted in tradition, but increasingly a truly iconic global brand,” Carmine Forbuso, Parmigiano Reggiano Consortium’s head of marketing, said to the Hollywood Reporter. “This partnership with UTA … allows us to connect with new audiences in an authentic and relevant way. With just three natural ingredients and centuries of artisanal know-how, Parmigiano Reggiano stands for simplicity, quality and depth and we’re excited to explore new formats and platforms to express this story globally.”

So move over, pasta, Parmigiano Reggiano is looking for a new kind of pairing. Netflix and night cheese, perhaps?

The Palestinian experience has been a mainstay of global cinema for decades. Despite countless obstacles, the Palestinian Ministry of Culture has submitted 18 titles for the international feature Oscar since 2003, earning nominations in 2006 and 2014. But this year, at a pivotal moment in its history, three films from acclaimed female filmmakers, each set in war-torn Gaza, are up for Oscar consideration: Annemarie Jacir’s Palestinian entry, “Palestine 36,” Cherien Dabis’ “All That’s Left of You,” representing Jordan, and Kaouther Ben Hania’s “The Voice of Hind Rajab,” selected by Tunisia. It’s a remarkable field, one that Jacir believes is more a coincidence than a reflection of the political climate.

“I think that there’s so many Palestinian filmmakers and people have been doing a lot of work for a long time,” Jacir says. “I remember when I made my last film, there were three films shooting at the same time.”

From the outbreak of the Arab revolt in 1936 to the generational trauma of the capture of Jaffa during the Arab-Israeli 1948 war to the current Israel-Hamas war, each film has a distinct and important story to tell. Notably, both “Palestine 36” and “All That’s Left of You” were scheduled to begin production in Palestine just days after Israel began an aerial assault in October 2023 in response to the Hamas-led attack Oct. 7.

After struggling just to get the movie off the ground, Jacir says the real-time events made it difficult to “keep going emotionally, mentally, financially.”

“Nothing was clear,” she says. “We just didn’t know if we would really be able to shoot, if we would be able to start something, if we would be able to finish … We were just making it up as we went along and hoping for the best. It’s sort of a mix of, I would say, stubbornness and perhaps stupidity.”

Saleh Bakri and Cherien Dabis in “All That’s Left of You.”

(Watermelon Pictures)

Concurrently, Dabis had been prepping with a Palestinian crew for five months with the intention of shooting the entire project there, only to be forced to make the “devastating” decision to shift production to Jordan, Greece and Cyprus. (Hopes of eventually returning were dashed.)

“In a way, the movie lived what most Palestinians live: war, exile, fleeing,” she says. “All of the uncertainty, the financial and logistical crisis of it all. I think that what really grounded me during that time was just knowing that the movie was more relevant than ever, and that it had to get done.”

The stark reality of the civilians under constant fire, and in a much worse position than Jacir, motivated her team to continue with “Palestine 36.” She bluntly observes, “We had no right not to, you know what I mean? It’s like we are the privileged ones, actually. We’re not in Gaza. It didn’t feel like it was an option for any of us to stop because they weren’t stopping and it was like, ‘Well, we do it for them too.’”

Depicting the humanity of the Palestinian people, who have suffered mightily under the current occupation, is one reason why Ben Hania felt such urgency in bringing the harrowing final hours of 6-year-old Palestinian girl Hind Rajab to the screen less than a year and a half after her death under Israeli fire.

Dhafer L’Abidine and Yasmine Al Massri in “Palestine 36.”

(Watermelon Pictures)

“There was something about silencing their voices [that] was completely abhorrent for me, and I know that cinema is the place for empathy and the place where you can put face and raise the voice,” Ben Hania says. “So, for me it was part of saying, ‘Stop this dehumanization of Palestinian victims.’ You see the pain in this movie, you can feel the sense of what is happening.”

Despite critical accolades and, in the case of “Voice,” a record standing ovation at the Venice Film Festival, none of these submissions were able to secure major distributors in the U.S. “Voice of Hind Rajab” is being released by relatively new player Willa, while both “Palestine 36” and “All That’s Left of You” are set for release by Watermelon Pictures, traditionally a production entity. (Oscar-winning documentary “No Other Land” was self-released in cinemas and, last month, on streaming platforms.) Ben Hania says that is nothing new: Films about Palestine simply don’t reach U.S. audiences.

“I’m frustrated because as a filmmaker, when you do a movie, you want everybody to see it, especially this one,” Ben Hania says. “So, I mean, yeah, it’s a huge frustration, but I can’t put a gun [to a] distributor and tell them, ‘Distribute my movie.’ When you do movies, you have several obstacles, and this is one of them.”

Despite the hurdles, Jacir says she has never had so many people want to know the historical background behind one of her movies.

“People are curious,” Jacir says. “Before people used to say, ‘Oh, it’s very complicated and let’s leave it. I don’t want to know because it’s too complicated.’ I don’t think people are like that anymore. I don’t think the new generation is like that anymore. I think people really want to know, and they want to see these stories and they’ll make their own judgments and thoughts, and they’ll have their own feelings about it.”

An accessible set for all requires intention. There are practical needs, of course — ramps for restrooms and extra-bright neon tape on the ground to better light up and mark cues and equipment for low-vision performers and crew members. But there’s also a need to weave accessibility into the production so seamlessly that it doesn’t feel tacked on or burdensome.

On a sweltering day in June at the Van Nuys Elks Lodge, the cast and crew of “The Hog Queen,” a short film starring “Wicked: For Good’s” Marissa Bode, were doing just that: re-creating a drag show at a small-town Texas gay bar, yes, but also modeling what a set that puts accessibility and inclusion at its center can look like.

“I have been lucky in the way that ‘Wicked’ was an incredibly accessible set,” Bode tells me later over Zoom, looking back on her experience making writer-director Katherine Craft’s short horror film. “I didn’t really have to think at all about my own accessibility. However, I know that’s not the same for all my disabled peers.”

Nor is it common practice on any given set.

“Honestly, even prior to ‘Wicked,’ the No. 1 question I’m always asking when I’m collaborating with somebody is, ‘Have you worked with disabled people before? If not, how are you accommodating for that?’” Bode says. “Even when I signed on to my agency — or even my PR team, or even my manager — that was one of the first questions I asked. That’s always at the top of my mind.”

That’s what made “The Hog Queen” so rewarding. This was a production that made accessibility a priority. “I just felt taken care of in a way with this process that I have not in others,” Craft says.

Craft’s short film is part of Inevitable Foundation’s Visionary Fellowship. The yearlong program, supported by Netflix, was designed as an incubator for disabled filmmakers. Since its founding in 2021, Inevitable Foundation has supported disabled writers at various stages of their careers. But with this latest and most ambitious fellowship, founders Richie Siegel and Marisa Torelli-Pedevska wanted to put the emphasis on directors with feature-length projects ready for production.

Director Katherine Craft, left, producer Shelby Hadden and assistant director CJ Palmisano go over logistics for a scene on the set “The Hog Queen.”

(Carlin Stiehl / Los Angeles Times)

Each of the projects selected has been carefully scaled down to a short length to guarantee they could be produced within the yearlong fellowship; all five are set to be unveiled at a showcase in November.

Craft and the other members of the fellow inaugural Visionary cohort — Zayre Ferrer, Monica Lucas, Filipe Coutinho and Alys Murray — each received $55,000 in funding for their respective short films, including a production grant, health insurance, access to an experienced crew as well as marketing support and financial aid for access and travel.

Rather than merely focusing on mentorship, networking or community-building, the Visionary Fellowship was designed to give these filmmakers the production experience they’ll need to thrive in the industry. More than just a pipeline, the 12-month program is an explicit investment in disabled filmmakers and the stories they’re eager to tell. And to arm them, in turn, with an encouraging environment that aims to reframe the way accessibility is often understood.

“I think there’s this misconception that making a set accessible is going to be a huge pain in the ass, that it’s going to cost a ton of money, and it’s going to slow you down,” Craft, who has low vision, explains. “I don’t think any of that has to be true. The other thing is people think of it as something that is going to benefit someone else. But when you start looking at it through a lens of accessibility and inclusivity, you’re benefiting everyone.”

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1. Bode makes her way onto the set. 2. Christian Zamudio performs during a drag show scene. 3. The slate lights up with a digital time code. (Carlin Stiehl / Los Angeles Times)

Siegel and Torelli-Pedevska knew they needed to bake that philosophy into their process. That meant setting money aside for any accommodations early and having a line item for accessibility in the budget templates they were creating to make sure it was something they could anticipate, measure and track.

“A lot of it goes to starting early,” Siegel says. “But more importantly, it’s about rejecting the belief that [accessibility] comes at the expense of the creativity in the final product. Saying the opposite, in fact, which is: if everyone feels like this is a safe set and they can do their best work, the work will just be better.”

Bode agrees — and sees Inevitable Foundation’s approach as one that can be replicated across the industry.

Before shooting, the entire cast and crew of “The Hog Queen” received a form that sought to garner information about their needs. “It asked about everything under the sun in terms of disability,” Bode explains. “‘Do you get overstimulated? Would you need a room to go to if you do get overstimulated? What are your physical access needs? Do you need a ramp? Do you need this? Do you need that?’

“I really think that should just be standard on sets. I don’t think disability accommodations are a luxury. I think everybody should be taken care of.”

Clad in close-fitting black outfits, two performers get into stance for a fight scene. The cameras surrounding the massive stage in Playa Vista start rolling.

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One turns around slowly, pantomimes being shot, and carefully, deliberately, arches himself backward, clawing at the air before a stunt coordinator helps ease him toward a black mattress.

That movement is translated into dots and lines on a nearby computer, transmitted by the round, white sensors embedded in the suits’ colorful almond-shaped patches. Later, those will be fleshed out into characters and scenes in the new “Call of Duty: Black Ops 7” game, which debuts Friday.

It’s all part of the blockbuster production effort that goes into making one of the most popular video game franchises ever. “Call of Duty,” from Santa Monica publisher Activision, has ranked as the top-selling video game series in the U.S. for 16 straight years and has sold more than 500 million copies globally since the first installment was released in 2003.

And as one of the few franchises with an annual release schedule, hitting that deadline takes an army. About 3,000 people worked on “Black Ops 7” over the course of four years.

Activision executives declined to discuss the game’s budget but called it a “significant investment.” Top video game franchises can have production costs of $250 million or more — higher than most big-budget Hollywood films.

“It’s like, every year we have to launch a new ‘Star Wars.’ Every year we have to launch a new ‘Avatar,’ ” said Tyler Bahl, chief marketing officer at Activision. “So we have to think about, how do we do this in an unexpected way?”

“Ultimately, we want to treat our games like an absolute blockbuster,” said Matt Cox, general manager of “Call of Duty” at Activision, who has worked on the franchise for more than 10 years. “The investment is there for them.”

Activision’s Treyarch game production studio is where Call of Duty video game is produced.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

The franchise has become a key driver of Activision’s success, analysts said.

The base game consistently sells more than 20 million units annually, not including the live services components that update after a game’s launch and keep players engaged, monthly battle passes that unlock rewards or even the mobile game, all of which add up to an estimated annual sales of about $3.5 billion to $4 billion, said Eric Handler, media and entertainment analyst at Roth Capital.

In fact, the huge popularity of “Call of Duty” helped spur tech giant Microsoft’s interest in acquiring Activision, a $69-billion deal that was completed in 2023.

“It revolutionized the first-person shooter and has done a great job, year in and year out, of being the best of breed, building the largest community and evolving, pivoting to where video game players are all over the world,” Handler said. “There are other [shooter] franchises that are trying to replicate its success … but nobody’s been able to match the consistency of ‘Call of Duty.’”

To maintain its annual cadence, Activision rotates game development among several of its studios, including Playa Vista-based Treyarch, which co-developed “Black Ops 6” and “Black Ops 7” in parallel — the first time that two “Call of Duty: Black Ops” games came out in subsequent years.

The previous game is set in the ‘90s, while the newest installment jumps ahead to 2035, meaning designers and animators had to envision what gear and gadgets might look like in the future (“Call of Duty: Black Ops 2” was eerily accurate in its predictions for the year 2025).

“It was a huge opportunity for us to tell two unique but also connected stories at the same time,” said Yale Miller, senior director of production at Treyarch.

Unlike the linear nature of film production, many things happen in tandem when producing a game like “Call of Duty.” The game has a campaign mode that follows a story, a multiplayer option to play with friends and the ever-popular zombies portion, meaning each designated team is thinking in parallel about things like tone, features and playable moments that they want fans to experience, Miller said.

While an actor is recording lines, another team may be building the weapon they mention and making it interactive, while another group builds the explosion that the lines and weapon will be part of.

“It’s not just, ‘Oh, we got the shot. We’re done for the day,’ ” Miller said. The acting performance is “an anchor for a lot of the things that we build, but then it’s the whole world in parallel, and that’s how we get to such big teams working on stuff, and everything has to get thought about.”

The franchise has become known for its intense, cinematic quality, a reputation enhanced by the live-action film and television backgrounds of many who work on the games, including some stunt performers and Treyarch performance capture director Mikal Vega, who worked on the 2017 NBC drama “The Brave” after a long career in the military.

“It’s theater-in-the-round,” he said during a Zoom call from the stage. “A lot more like theater-in-the-round than film in some cases, and very much like film in other phases of it.”

And there is a bit of a learning curve, particularly because of the motion-capture technology used, which can make movements awkward.

In the new game, “This Is Us” star Milo Ventimiglia plays Lt. Cmdr. David Mason, a character who first appeared in 2012’s “Call of Duty: Black Ops 2” and is now on the hunt for a former arms dealer who caused the death of his father and was previously believed dead.

Acting in “Black Ops 7” was “more technical” than his previous film and TV roles since it required getting used to a boom mic or camera that jutted out in front of him, he said. In one early instance, Ventimiglia went to scratch an itch on his cheek and was told by the crew not to put anything between his face and the camera, and to pantomime scratching outside of the camera, not realizing it wasn’t acting.

Then there were four-hour sessions in the sound booth, saying lines dozens of times in dozens of ways with any number of weapons.

“It’s super, super taxing, hard work, but fun at the same time,” Ventimiglia said. “When are you going to talk about calling out grenades and flash bangs and using different weapons? Very rarely.”

Adding to the cinematic quality are the hyper-realistic portrayals of actors, gear and costumes, which are the result of scans on a light stage that can re-create items in 3-D. Principal and background characters sit on a chair inside the sphere and do poses, surrounded by 16 DSLR cameras and dozens of hexagonal lights that emit a hazy glow. In 1.3 seconds, more than 256 images will be shot. Principal characters like Ventimiglia will typically do up to 120 poses — all to make sure the nuances of someone’s face are captured.

Evan Buttons, Activision director of technical projects, is photographed inside the face scanning studio.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

In a nearby room with a 22-foot ceiling and black, soundproof walls, an even larger sphere with more than 140 cameras and several video cameras are used to capture full body scans, gear and costumes. Everything captured then goes to the character art team, which will tweak it to their specifications and put it in the game.

Even in the days leading up to the game’s release, the team was still busy. In an era when internet speeds are faster, work doesn’t end with a game’s initial release. Content will be released regularly in the months after “Black Ops 7” debuts, all to keep it fresh for players, who can put more than 1,000 hours into the game.

“The No. 1 reason why they play ‘Call of Duty’ is actually because their friends are there,” said Bahl of Activision. “Those bonds and those social connections, I think, is really what makes this game different and stronger, and it’s made it last for so long.”

Richard Linklater’s love letter to Jean-Luc Godard’s 1960 debut “Breathless,” shot by cinematographer David Chambille, pulsates with the rhythm, rebellion and romance of the French New Wave, crafting an artistic interpretation of the classic film’s production and the transformation of its director. In its closing chapter, Godard’s signature sunglasses catch a reflection of his own iconic film — an amateur is now the auteur. “There’s a similar shot at the beginning of the movie where he’s looking at ‘The 400 Blows’ at Cannes and Godard is nothing at that moment. Then at the end, you see him in sunglasses looking at what he has achieved,” says Chambille, who shot “Nouvelle Vague” in black and white as an homage to the original. The visually magnetic image — created in-camera without visual effects — was one of the first ideas Linklater had in creating his Godard character, played by Guillaume Marbeck. The sunglasses are not only an accessory, but a barrier to keep the world, and perhaps himself, at a distance. “Richard wanted to say something deeper. That he’s living movies, he’s living cinema and he has moving images instead of eyes,” says the cinematographer. “We often say that we can read the sound of somebody through their eyes. And in this case, you can see the sound of Godard through movies.”

It’s election night in Robert Icke’s “Oedipus,” a modern retelling of Sophocles’ “Oedipus the King” that must be the buzziest, if not the chicest, Broadway offering of the fall season.

The production, a prestigious London import that opened at Studio 54 on Thursday under Icke’s smart and sleek direction, stars a charismatic Mark Strong in the title role. His elegant and urbane Oedipus, a politician on the cusp of a momentous victory, prides himself on not playing by the old rules. A straight talker who has made transparency his calling card, he frequently veers off script in paroxysms of candor, to the chagrin of Creon (John Carroll Lynch), his brother-in-law who has been steering the campaign to what looks like a landslide victory.

But “count no mortal happy till / he has passed the final limit of his life secure from pain,” as the chorus intones at the end of Sophocles’ tragedy. There is no chorus in Icke’s version, but the sentiment holds, as Oedipus unravels the puzzle of his identity with the same relentlessness that has brought him to the brink of electoral triumph.

Anne Reid, left, and Olivia Reis in “Oedipus.”

(Julieta Cervantes)

A birther conspiracy has been raised by his political opponent, and Oedipus, speaking impromptu to reporters on-screen at the start of the play, promises to release his birth certificate and put an end to the controversy. What’s more, he vows to reopen an investigation into the death of Laius, the former leader who died 34 years ago under circumstances that have allowed rumor and innuendo to fester.

Oedipus calls himself Laius’ “successor, the inheritor of his legacy,” and in true Sophoclean fashion he speaks more than he knows. Jocasta (Lesley Manville in top form), Oedipus’ wife, was married to Laius, and so Oedipus is occupying his predecessor’s place in more ways than one.

In Sophocles’ play, Oedipus confronts a plague that has been laying waste to Thebes. In Icke’s drama, which had its premiere in Amsterdam in 2018, the pathogen is political. The civic body has fallen ill. Oedipus sees himself as an answer to the demagogic manipulation that has wrought havoc. The water is poisoned, economic inequality is out of control and immigrants have become an easy target. Sound familiar?

Icke’s Oedipus has an Obama-level of confidence in reason and reasonableness. His direct, pragmatic approach has seduced voters, but has it deluded him into thinking that he has all the answers? Oedipus is an ingenious problem solver. Puzzles entice his keen intellect, but he will have to learn the difference between a paradox and a riddle.

Mark Strong, left, and Samuel Brewer in “Oedipus.”

(Julieta Cervantes)

His daughter, Antigone (Olivia Reis), a scholar who has returned for her father’s big night, ventures to make the distinction: “One’s got a solution — one’s just something you have to live with?” But Oedipus is in no mood for academic hairsplitting.

A countdown clock marks the time until the election results will be announced. That hour, as audiences familiar with the original tragedy already know, is when Oedipus will discover his true identity.

Merope (Anne Reid), Oedipus’ mother, has unexpectedly turned up at campaign headquarters needing to speak to her son. Oedipus fears it has something to do with his dying father, but she tells him she just needs a few minutes alone with him. Thinking he has everything under control, he keeps putting her off, not knowing that she has come to warn him about revealing his birth certificate to the public.

The handling of this plot device, with the canny veteran Reid wandering in and out of the drama like an informational time bomb, is a little clumsy. There’s a prattling aspect to Icke’s delaying tactics. His “Oedipus” is more prose than poetry. The family dynamics are well drawn, though a tad overdone.

Mark Strong and the cast of “Oedipus.”

(Julieta Cervantes)

Reid’s Merope and Reis’ Antigone, ferocious in their different ways, refuse to play second fiddle to Manville’s Jocasta when it comes to Oedipus’ affections. Manville, who won an Olivier Award for her performance in “Oedipus,” delivers a performance as sublimely seething as her Oscar-nominated turn in “Phantom Thread.” Endowed with a formidable hauteur, her Jocasta acts graciously, but with an unmistakable note of condescension. As Oedipus’ wife, she assumes sexual pride of place, which only exacerbates tensions with Merope and Antigone.

Oedipus’ sons, Polyneices (James Wilbraham) and Eteocles (Jordan Scowen) are given personal backstories, but there is only so much domestic conflict that can be encompassed in a production that runs just under two hours without interruption. And Polyneices being gay and Eteocles being something of a philander would be of more interest in an “Oedipus” limited series.

When Sophocles’ tragedy is done right, it should resemble a mass more than a morality tale. Oedipus’ story has a ceremonial quality. The limits of human understanding are probed as a sacrificial figure challenges the inscrutable order of the universe. Icke, who views classics through a modern lens (“Hamlet,” “1984”), is perhaps more alert to the sociology than the metaphysics of the tragedy.

Oedipus’ flaws are writ large in his rash, heated dealings with anyone who stands in his way. Icke transforms Creon into a middle-of-the-road political strategist (embodied by Lynch with a combination of arrogance and long-suffering patience) and blind Teiresias (a stark Samuel Brewer) into a mendicant psychic too pathetic to be a pariah.

Mark Strong and Lesley Manville in “Oedipus.”

(Julieta Cervantes)

But Oedipus’ strengths — the keenness of his mind, his heroic commitment to truth and transparency — mustn’t be overlooked. Strong, who won an Olivier Award for his performance in Ivo van Hove’s revival of Arthur Miller’s “A View From the Bridge,” exposes the boyish vulnerability within the sophisticated politician in his sympathetically beguiling portrayal.

Wojciech Dziedzic’s costumes remake the protagonist into a modern European man. Yet true to his Ancient Greek lineage, this Oedipus is nothing if not paradoxical, suavely enjoying his privilege while brandishing his egalitarian views.

The production takes place on a fishbowl office set, designed by Hildegard Bechtler with a clinical and wholly contemporary austerity. The furnishings are removed as the election night draws to its conclusion, leaving no place for the characters to hide from the unwelcome knowledge that will upend their lives.

What do they discover? That everything they thought they understood about themselves was built on a lie. For all his brilliance, Oedipus was unable to outrun his fate, which in Icke’s version has less to do with the gods and more to do with animal instincts and social forces.

When Oedipus and Jocasta learn who they are to each other, passion rushes in before shame calls them to account. Freud wouldn’t be shocked. But it’s not the psychosexual dimension of Icke’s drama that is most memorable.

The ending, impeded by a retrospective coda, diminishes the full cathartic impact. But what we’re left with is the astute understanding of a special kind of hubris that afflicts the more talented politicians — those who believe they have the answers to society’s problems without recognizing the ignorance that is our common lot.

In a small win for California’s film and TV industry, mixed martial arts franchise Combate Global will relocate production from Miami to Burbank.

The franchise, which will air on Spanish-language network Estrella TV after a six-year run on Univision, will film 20 live events at Estrella’s new networks studio, starting in February. That space seats 500 people and has been used to film the talent competition show “Tengo Talento Mucho Talento.”

The franchise wanted to relocate to Southern California because of the bigger media market, said Campbell McLaren, chief executive of Combate Global and co-creator of the UFC.

The move is expected to create about 60 jobs, and is estimated to have an economic impact of more than $1 million on an annual basis for the 20 shows, which is up from the eight produced this year, he said.

“It’s a bigger market, access to more talent, access to more behind-the-camera talent, access to more on-camera talent,” McLaren said. “We feel we’re making a big, big step.”

The move also allows the franchise to target the large Mexican American market in L.A. — Combate Global currently has its largest viewership in Mexico — as well as others who have not been as exposed to the mixed martial arts events, such as the Korean community. The sport’s Japan vs. Mexico nights have also been popular and could find broad appeal in in L.A., McLaren said.

“It’s a move to super serve our core audience,” he said. “We’re going to have real audience traction.”

The news comes as California tries to lure film and television productions back to the Golden State after many have relocated to other states and countries in search of more lucrative tax incentives.

Over the summer, state legislators bulked up the state’s film and TV tax credit program and agreed to more than double the annual amount allocated to it. So far, dozens of projects have been awarded tax credits, including 22 series and 52 movies. (Combate Global did not receive a tax credit because sports do not qualify for the program.)

Iran states it has more missiles now than it had during the 12 Day War with Israel. While the accuracy of that claim is questionable, experts who follow Tehran’s missile program say that the country has ramped up production in an effort to have its arsenal ready to overwhelm Israeli missile defenses, which were degraded during the war. All this comes amid growing concerns about a new conflict over Iran’s nuclear program.

“Our missile power today far surpasses that of the 12-Day War,” Iran’s Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi recently proclaimed. “The enemy in the recent 12-day war failed to achieve all its objectives and was defeated.”

“Iran’s defense production has improved both in quantity and quality compared to before the 12-day Israeli-imposed war in June,” Brig. Gen. Aziz Nasirzadeh, the country’s defense minister, said on Monday.

Meanwhile, Iranian officials have told Ali Vaez, the Iran project director at the International Crisis Group, that “missile factories are working 24 hours a day,” The New York Times reported. Vaez added that if there is another war, “they hope to fire 2,000 at once to overwhelm Israeli defenses, not 500 over 12 days” as they did in June. “Israel feels the job is unfinished and sees no reason not to resume the conflict, so Iran is doubling down preparedness for the next round.”

While “it’s not clear exactly how many missiles in a larger volley the Islamic Republic may choose to fire, there is no doubt that they may still try to find a way to overwhelm either interceptors or dependent sites with a greater number of projectiles fired at once,” Vaez added.

In addition to increasing the number of missiles it is producing, Iran is also applying lessons learned from the 12-Day War to improve their effectiveness, Behnam Ben Taleblu, a senior fellow at the Foundation for Defense of Democracies (FDD) think tank, told TWZ.

“The Islamic Republic also learned how to fire less and get more bang for your buck based on the targets and based on the location and based on the firing sequence, or the launch formula, that the regime employed when it fired for some bases that were further east in Iran during the 12-Day War,” he explained. “There is no doubt the regime wants to improve the lethality of its missile force. It certainly has learned a lot between Operation True Promise One, True Promise Two and True Promise Three.”

During the conflict, Iran claimed it used what it calls the Fattah-1 medium-range ballistic missile (MRBM). Authorities in Iran explicitly touted those, the Haj Qassem and Kheibar Shekan, as offering high terminal maneuverability and/or high speeds specifically intended to reduce their vulnerability to missile defense interceptors. You can see videos claiming to show Fattah-1 missiles hitting Israel.

While it is unclear exactly what mix of new missiles Iran is building, increasing the production of higher-speed, more survivable ones would be a problem for Israel, given their increased ability to pierce missile defenses.

Improving the overall effectiveness of their ballistic missile barrages is clearly a top priority for Tehran, just as defending against future attacks is for Israel. As we previously noted, Iran launched 631 missiles during the 12-Day War, of which 500 reached Israel, according to assertions made by the Israel Defense Forces (IDF). Of those missiles that did land on Israeli soil, 243 hit open areas, requiring no air defense response. A total of 36 missiles hit populated areas, while 221 missiles were intercepted. That represented an 86% success rate, the Israeli analysis claimed. We cannot independently verify the details provided by Israel.

Still, having to fire so many interceptors placed a huge strain on Israel’s vaunted integrated air and missile defense system (IADS), according to several published reports, which the IDF denied. The U.S. expended many advanced interceptors during the onslaught, as well.

“U.S. and Israeli defenses were stretched thin and vast numbers of interceptors were needed to defend against Iran’s ragged retaliation,” the Foreign Policy Research Institute concluded.

Beyond interceptions, Israel managed to destroy a significant number of Iran’s launchers during its aerial interdiction campaign over Iran, as well as temporarily blocking or destroying missile storage sites, and disrupting command and control of Iranian missile forces during the war, greatly reducing Tehran’s ability to get off shots. It is unknown how many missiles were destroyed on the ground during the war and how many were left untouched.

“Iran also has learned about its vulnerabilities, and it is seeking to build back better, as safely as possible,” Taleblu suggested. “But the rate and the speed at which it rebuilds, probably in the short term, may outpace the rate and the speed at which Israel is rearming to defend itself.”

We detailed the overall battle of attrition between Iranian standoff weapons and Israeli (and U.S.) air defenses during the war. What is happening after the conflict is part of a broader issue with missile defense — the enemy can, and usually does, seek to outproduce the defensive capacity of the missile shield, and usually can at a lower comparative cost.

You can read more about Israel’s IADS in our deep dive here.

Iranian officials say concerns about their missiles, as well as their nuclear energy program, are being used as a pretext for possible future attacks.

“What does this issue have to do with the West that it feels entitled to comment on the range of Iran’s missiles?” Secretary of the Supreme National Security Council Ali Larijani rhetorically asked on Monday. “No country has the right to interfere in the independent defensive capabilities of another nation.”

As it works to rebuild its missile arsenal, Iran is getting help from China.

“European intelligence sources say several shipments of sodium perchlorate, the main precursor in the production of the solid propellant that powers Iran’s mid-range conventional missiles, have arrived from China to the Iranian port of Bandar Abbas,” CNN reported late last month. 

The shipments, containing some 2,000 tons of sodium perchlorate, began arriving on Sept. 29, the cable network explained. They were bought by Iran from Chinese suppliers in the wake of the war.

“The purchases are believed to be part of a determined effort to rebuild the Islamic Republic’s depleted missile stocks,” the news outlet added. “Several of the cargo ships and Chinese entities involved are under sanctions from the United States.”

“China is appearing to play a key role here by providing precursor chemicals that do go into solid propellant, rocket fuel, and oxidizer,” Taleblu observed.

Beyond assisting Iran’s offensive missile capabilities, China is reportedly considering a deal to give Tehran advanced HQ-9 air defense systems to help make up for those destroyed by Israel during the 12-Day War. While Iran’s long-range weapons arsenal are often the focus, rebuilding the country’s air defenses is also clearly a top priority after Israel quickly obtained air supremacy over the country.

The issue of new Iranian missile production comes against the backdrop of concerns that Tehran has developed a new facility to continue what U.S. officials claim is its nuclear weapons ambitions. The U.S. says it destroyed a great deal of Iran’s ability to develop nuclear weapons during June’s Operation Midnight Hammer, in which U.S. Air Force B-2 Spirit stealth bombers dropped 14 30,000-pound GBU-57/B Massive Ordnance Penetrator (MOP) bunker buster bombs on Iran’s Fordow and Natanz nuclear facilities. A U.S. nuclear-powered, guided missile (SSGN) submarine in the Central Command Area of Responsibility launched more than two dozen Tomahawk land attack cruise missiles against key surface infrastructure targets at Isfahan, officials added.

However, as The New York Times noted, Iran “appears to be continuing to work on a new enrichment site known as Pickaxe Mountain. It has refused to give international inspectors access to that site or any other suspected nuclear sites other than those already declared.”

The result “is a dangerous stalemate — with no negotiations, no certainty over Iran’s stockpile, no independent oversight,” the newspaper explained. “And many in the Gulf believe that makes another Israeli attack on Iran almost inevitable, given Israeli officials’ long-held view that Iran’s nuclear program is an existential threat.”

The pace of Iran’s missile development could be a large factor for the timing of any future conflict with Israel, Taleblu told us.

“There is a race to build back better. For Israel, it’s interceptors. For the Islamic Republic of Iran, it’s medium-range ballistic missiles,” Taleblu posited. “The fuzzy math between the two may determine the time when the next round between Israel and Iran takes place.”

Contact the author: [email protected]

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.”