review

Evelina Fernández’s “Antigone: In the Language of Kings” receives a theatrically entrancing staging at the Getty Villa’s Outdoor Theater in a production co-produced with Latino Theater Company.

The adaptation resets Sophocles’ tragedy to Aztec culture in a transposition that is both visually and musically enlivening. If the drama is oversimplified, it nonetheless makes for a gripping spectacle.

It’s not easy to find analogies that can reanimate the importance of burial rites to a modern audience. The production’s creative team, led by the inexhaustibly inventive director José Luis Valenzuela, returns us to a world where the dead are owed sacred duties and the living are fearful to renege on this basic human responsibility.

The incense-filled production — conducted in English, Spanish and Nahuatl (the language of the Aztecs), with English and Spanish supertitles — proceeds like a pageant. Headdress-clad warriors clash on the battlefield. A masked chorus, moving with the coordination of a Broadway musical ensemble, gives voice to the anxiety and grief of the collective. A statuesque figure of death, trailing black fabric, sweeps up the casualties of war with the efficiency of a human vacuum.

In Sophocles, Antigone, Oedipus’ headstrong daughter, defies the edict issued by her uncle Creon, the newly deputized king, declaring that her slain brother Polynices is an enemy of the state and therefore ineligible for burial. For Antigone this is an imposition of political power over divine law, and she puts her life on the line to uphold her obligation to her family and faith.

The ensemble of “Antigone: In the Language of Kings” at the Getty Villa Museum Outdoor Classical Theater.

(Cassia Davis / © 2026 J. Paul Getty Trust)

The German philosopher Hegel considered Sophocles’ “Antigone” the high-water mark of tragedy for the way it dramatizes the collision between two equally justified moral positions. Creon, representing the claims of the polis over the clan, cannot be dismissed outright. Nor can Antigone, whose all-consuming identification with her cause renders her indifferent to other obligations, be adopted as a user-friendly hero.

Tragedy arises from the one-sidedness of their claims. Antigone loses her life and Creon, for all intents and purposes, destroys his own, suffering the deaths of his most cherished loved ones.

Hegel’s reading of “Antigone” illustrates his thesis-antithesis-synthesis view of dialectical progress. Sophocles, it can be surmised from the other plays in his Oedipus cycle, likely conceived “Antigone” with a larger metaphysical design. But even if Hegel’s interpretation would have seemed off the mark to him, Antigone and Creon are too complex to reduce to a schematic argument.

Fernández simplifies these antagonists. Her Antíkona (a formidable Esperanza América) reveals her softer side even when rejecting her sister, Ixmene (Alexis B. Santiago), for not having the courage to zealously join her fight.

Tlahtoani Klion (Cástulo Guerra), Emperor of Tenochtitlan, is a ruler so intoxicated with his own authority that he’s clearly courting rebuke from the gods. It’s only a matter of time before his hubris is slapped down.

The acting is theatrically robust, though not always subtle. I wondered if ambiguity had been outlawed along with the funeral rites of Antíkona’s warrior brother Polynices. The bold clarity of the performances was energizing, but the wailing sometimes sounded like parody grief.

The outsize nature of the production invites overacting. And Ric Salinas, who plays Chachalacani, humorously obliges, bringing his Culture Clash vaudeville skills to the role of the sentry who’s caught between the rock of Klion’s tyranny and his fellow feeling for Antíkona’s sympathetic cause.

Strong performances are elicited from José Eduardo Moreno, who plays Klion’s son Hemon, Antíkona’s fiancé, and Zilah Mendoza, who plays Cihuatlahtoani Euridice, Klion’s wife. Their portrayals, mixing ferocious strength with stark vulnerability, make the tragedy’s pileup of bodies at the end all the more piercing.

The ensemble of “Antigone: In the Language of Kings” at the Getty Villa Museum Outdoor Classical Theater.

(Cassia Davis / © 2026 J. Paul Getty Trust)

América’s Antíkona is as unyielding as any Antigone I’ve seen. It’s a commanding portrayal, but I wish the production didn’t shrink from its protagonist’s fierceness. The obdurate side of the character is lessened with a gesture Antíkona bestows on Ixmene — a reassurance that even though she’s a revolutionary, she’s still an affectionate sister.

Sophocles is made of harsher stuff. Fernández’s adaptation is anxious to turn tragedy into a sermon, offering theatergoers moral solace where Sophocles leaves his audience in a contemplative state of stunned silence.

But the staging makes up for the dramatic shortfall. Valenzuela masterly orchestrates the mise-en-scène. The majestic costumes of Catarina Copelli, invoking a rich brocaded world on the brink of disappearance, might be the real superstar.

François-Pierre Couture’s scenic design is mesmerizing without ever being overbearing. “Lee” Xinyuan Li’s lighting heightens the sense of theatrical foreboding. Yee Eun Nam’s projections inject into this transient world a welcome subtlety.

Urbanie Lucero’s choreography and movement direction maintain the production’s graceful poise. The musicians, discreetly performing at the back of the stage under the guidance of Mesoamerican instruments director Christopher García, charge the air with percussive Indigenous wonder.

“Antigone: In the Language of Kings” marks the Getty Villa’s 20th anniversary of reinventing classical tragedy for our time. This gorgeous staging makes me ardently wish that the theater extends the tradition for at least another 20 years.

Filmmaker Paul Greengrass is often associated with a cinematic aesthetic colloquially known as “shaky cam” — handheld cinematography enabled by lightweight digital cameras that function a lot like another character in the room, on foot, at eye-level, responding and reacting to action and dialogue the way a person would.

It’s a style that has served him well in modern action thrillers like his installments of the “Bourne” franchise, and films depicting recent real-world events like “Captain Phillips” and “The Lost Bus.” Now, Greengrass applies his signature style to the Middle Ages — can shaky cam work in a medieval movie?

It may seem odd, but it’s a brilliant creative choice when considering that while “The Uprising” is technically about the 1381 Peasants’ Revolt in England, that’s not really what it’s about. It’s about right now.

The shaky cam is intended to jolt us into that awareness. When we pick up with our protagonist, a pathetic ploughman (Andrew Garfield) living a grief-filled and wretched existence, a plague has wiped out half the population. A small group of men hoards wealth and resources, while the peasant class is heavily taxed, laws brutally enforced. As Greengrass lays out the bare facts of this situation with a cinematic style that’s more news documentary than stuffy period piece, the parallels to our own current situation are laid bare.

“The Uprising,” which Greengrass wrote and directed, is told in a fairly simple fashion, with an emphasis on visual storytelling and visceral sensation (the disparate English accents are also lost in the melee of the mob). All we need to know is that the council advising the 14-year-old King Richard II (Woody Norman) conspires while the young royal prays and his mother (Katherine Waterston) glowers. Outside, a bloodthirsty mob armed with farm tools marches on London, led in part by Garfield’s ploughman, who started his own local uprising when he fought back against the taxman. He joins forces with Wat Tyler (Cosmo Jarvis), a former soldier, and John Ball (Jamie Bell), a priest deemed heretic, as the crowd demands an audience with the king.

As the chaos unfolds, Greengrass doesn’t pontificate on the morality of these events and, in fact, maintains a rather neutral stance on them for most of the film, withholding judgment. A revolution is not right or wrong for most of “The Uprising.” It is simply inevitable under the conditions the film presents.

The ploughman wants to play by the rules, but it’s how the revolt plays out that radicalizes him. While Greengrass shows us the uprising in all its messy confusion as the logical outcome of oppression, by following our protagonist as he witnesses treachery and deceit, Greengrass ultimately arrives at the belief that revolution is necessary, even in failure, and that freedom is worth more than anything.

The opening and closing of “The Uprising” are bracing and stark in their storytelling — the middle is a bit mushy and confusing. But it’s the performances that carry us through. Garfield, sensitive and earthy, is our bellwether as the events descend into bloody carnage dictated by muddled agendas. When he turns, we turn, and the anguish that Garfield wordlessly conveys is our compass.

Greengrass surrounds Garfield with actors who deliver bigger performances, like Jarvis as the brutish but shrewd Tyler, and Bell as the fervent Ball. Thomasin McKenzie plays a young woman, Alyce, steeped in her own trauma and loss, who attaches herself to the ploughman, and her ability to express wide-eyed, barely contained hysteria and fear is unmatched. Young Norman is riveting as the increasingly dastardly king.

The Peasant’s Revolt of 1381 is a fascinating moment because it’s a time when the notion of democracy wasn’t even a twinkle in a feudal servant’s eye. The mob’s actions are frustrating because they’re religiously bound to the king, who they believe is an emissary of God, and desperate to change their day-to-day existence. When those two instincts collide, it’s bound to be complex and conflicting, and Greengrass delivers that with a boots-on-the-ground style.

The murkiness of it all clarifies by the end of the film, not just in terms of its heroes, villains and message, but Greengrass also situates this story within a recognizable cinematic and storytelling history. There’s a thrill as it all comes together. Greengrass might be taking a big swing (of the scythe), but his blade finds its target nevertheless.

Walsh is a Tribune News Service film critic.

Premiering Sunday at midnight on Adult Swim, a most appropriate and maybe the only possible space, “The Terrors of Jordan Mendoza” is, as its creator describes it in a prologue, “a ‘Twilight Zone’ sketch show,” which is just what I would have said after watching eight of its 13 11-minute episodes, had he not said it first. Emphasizing its Asian bonafides — Mendoza is Filipino American — he adds, “It would be almost racist if you didn’t do it.”

Mendoza, who stars in, directs and, with David Machajewski, writes the show, has said that some of the ideas come from actual dreams — the “terrors” in the titles are nightmares — though if my own dream life is anything to go by, the jokes are more clever and the narratives at once weirder and more cohesive. At various times it recalls the eeriness of David Lynch or the non sequitur logic of Luis Bunuel, and it has something of the flavor of “The Vince Staples Show,” which also went to some strange places in its too-short life.

Sketches, of varying lengths, build a central idea out in every direction, and a little farther than you might expect. We meet a therapist obsessed with Wendy’s. Batman, convinced that he has adult ADHD because an online quiz told him so (“I know a lot of people claim they have ADHD,” he tells Alfred, “but in my case I think I really do … I’m creative but easily overwhelmed, organized but at the same time not”). A dying man (Steve Buscemi) is obsessed with getting his last words right; a prisoner is sentenced to “15 hugs and kisses” from the “nearest judge.” A bank robber holding hostages demands to be “a famous snake … and if you can’t get on board with that then everyone in here is going to die.” In a horror movie pastiche, Mendoza is dogged by middle-aged white men compelled to tell him that their wife is Asian, which does sound like something from personal experience.

Wherever the comedy goes, it’s played straight and with intensity, as is the terror. The show can be genuinely disturbing and genuinely funny. (Two things can be true at once.) There’s also a scene in which Mendoza, playing a character convinced he’s a Harry Potter wizard, runs into a brick wall he thinks he’ll pass through, and, there’s nothing more liable to make me laugh than that, unless it’s someone hitting their head on a low door frame or suddenly falling over for any number of non-fatal reasons.

Mendoza, who is in his mid-30s, has a string of writing and acting credits, including writing for “Dave,” Dave Burd’s comedy about a suburban Jew from Philadelphia who believes himself destined for rap greatness, and parts in Julio Torres’ “Problemista” and “Fantasmas,” which are located in the same hemisphere of alternative comedy. He has the Rolodex of a well-connected person; the guest list is impressively loaded for someone making his first show.

The great Martha Kelly (from “Baskets”) plays a masseuse who exteriorizes her client’s pain, and in another sketch, she’s a woman sitting in on a confirmation class in order to learn where Jesus might be “lodging” when he returns. (She has a plan.) Kate Berlant invites Mendoza to what turns out to be a one-woman poetry slam, held in secret to avoid the Slammers Union (“They’re like the Sopranos, only violent”). Chris Parnell, Randall Park, Wanda Sykes, Thomas Lennon, Clea DuVall, Lake Bell, Toby Huss, Mark Maron, Fred Armisen and Gregg Turkington (from the world of “On Cinema at the Cinema”) all muck in.

You should know from the above whether this might be your sort of thing. (It won’t be everyone’s, but it’s definitely up my dark, crooked alley.) But, really, it’s even better than these descriptions might lead you to guess, elevated by the first-class production, assured performances (Mendoza is himself very good) and everyone’s commitment to whatever bit is up at the time. The devilishness is in the details.

It’s been five years since “Call My Agent!,” known in its home country as “Dix pour cent” (“10 percent”), ended with the staff of Paris’ bankrupt ASK talent agency moving en masse toward the exit, as in the closing moments of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show.”

The rich workplace comedy mounted four seasons from 2015 to 2020; the fourth was made without its creator, Fanny Herrero (she went on to create the fine but less successful “Standing Up,” about Parisian comics). But she has returned, along with “Standing Up” writer Lison Daniel, for “Call My Agent! The Movie,” premiering Thursday on Netflix, which picks up the scattered ensemble more or less where they imagined they’d be when the series ended, and gets them back in the same frame.

As a movie, it’s its own sort of beast — a complete statement in a single package, with not just A and B stories, but C and D as well, and arcs that might develop over a season of the show compressed into a couple of hours. But its essentials are essentially unchanged: It’s still about the difficulty of making art, and the often unsavory business that lets art get made, with known actors playing fun house versions of themselves and our heroes attempting to wrangle them into order, with whatever works — lies, bribes, real shared feelings. The regular cast, many of whom Americans will first have met here, still feel identical with their characters, rather than just professionals who have been paid to play them, so that even when the action is outlandish the emotions are real.

The focus here is on the fierce Andréa (Camille Cottin), who has left agenting and is about to direct her first movie, a drama set in the woods, and Noémie (Laure Calamy), whom Andrea hires as a replacement producer — she has become the producer of a hit workplace comedy, “Les Colleagues,” the sort of show that produces a lot of branded merch — believing that she can mold Noémie to her will. On the domestic front, Andréa separated from partner Colette (Ophélia Kolb), a co-parent to her daughter Flora — some sticky questions will arrive, doubling the pressure.

Noémie is still with Mathias (Thibault de Montalembert), once the most formidable of agents, who has quieted down somewhat owing to a Season 4 heart attack, and the fact that he’s working in the agency his daughter Camille (Fanny Sidney) announced at the end of the series. He’s feeling old (comparatively, he is, at 64 — though Liliane Rovère as agent emeritus Arlette beats him at 93) and things with Noémie are not great, which sets the stage for some romantic comedy, including a wild boar.

Andréa’s movie brings the old cast together, including sensitive junior agent turned aspiring actor Hervé (Nicolas Maury), and I am glad to see them. (Stéfi Celma’s Sophia, a receptionist turned actor, is sadly missing.) Much goes wrong, before things go right. (It’s a comedy, they will — though there are some moving dramatic moments along the way.) To be sure, there are no backstage comedies — or dramas, or dramedies — in which nothing goes wrong, or things even go mostly right. Disaster is the air they breathe.

On the eve of production, Andrea loses her male lead (Laurent Lafitte as himself) to a Wes Anderson movie; the psychologically delicate actor they get to replace him, Vincent Macaigne as himself, who’s represented by former ASK agent Gabriel (Grégory Montel), now working for their old rival, has a messy history with the other lead, Laetitia Casta, also as herself. They can barely work together. (There will be a bit of romantic comedy wrapped around this thread, as well.)

Then there’s a storm.

The French actors playing themselves are not well known here — Casta may be more familiar as a ’90s supermodel, for those who are familiar with that sort of thing — but Americans have been given the gift of cameos from Eva Longoria and an uncredited George Clooney who takes a comically unproductive lunch meeting with Andrea, crashed, in more than one sense, by Noémie.

Though the series finale made for a satisfying ending, there was already talk then of another season or a film. Still, “The Movie” arrives seemingly out of left field, as sort of a happy surprise. It doesn’t betray its legacy. We know from the supermarket magazines and internet scandal sites that some actors are seemingly as crazy as these actors pretend to be. But somehow movies get made. Most every show business satire is also a show business celebration. There’s no business like it.

Fox Corp.’s $22-billion acquisition of San José-based Roku, operator of streaming services and seller of hardware devices, seemed like a straightforward deal when it was announced in June: A growing media company was looking to bolster its presence in the fast-growing streaming industry.

But, on Wednesday, the Trump administration weighed in.

Fox Corp. and Roku said that the companies received requests from the Justice Department on Tuesday for additional information in connection with its review of the merger.

While Fox and Roku downplayed the requests, saying that they had expected the outreach, the timing of the move raised eyebrows among some analysts, who said it could signal further scrutiny of the transaction by the Justice Department.

“The president has been outspoken on the fact that he will take retaliatory action against networks that say things that he doesn’t agree with, or they do things that he doesn’t agree with,” said Rob Enderle, principal analyst at advisory services firm Enderle Group.

The action follows President Trump’s surprise over Fox’s ouster of anchor Maria Bartiromo. She was pushed out after she had shared internal company texts with the White House, which sources told The Times may have been the breaking point.

Trump said on social media that he couldn’t believe that Bartiromo will no longer have her shows on Fox. “Her fans, of which there are many, will not be happy,” he wrote on Truth Social on Sept. 3.

Associate Atty. Gen. Stanley Woodward said the Justice Department could not comment on pending matters but said in a statement: “We can affirm that this DOJ under President Trump’s leadership will continue to prioritize affordability for all Americans across our economy.”

Fox announced in June its plans to acquire Roku for $22 billion, which would give the company access to Roku’s 100 million households that use its platform to connect to different streaming services. The deal would benefit Fox’s advertising business, as well as make it less reliant on traditional pay TV platforms.

Fox and Roku said they expect the merger to be done by the first half of 2027, subject to regulatory and shareholder approval, according to a Sept 9 filings with the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission.

“FOX and Roku will continue to work cooperatively with the DOJ in its review of the Mergers,” Fox said in its filing.

Some legal experts said it is fairly standard for the Justice Department to make an additional request for information.

“It doesn’t mean that their review is going to be more extensive than usual,” said Ray Seilie, an entertainment attorney at law firm Kinsella Holley Iser Kump Steinsapir.

For example, the Justice Department made a second request for information when it reviewed Paramount Skydance’s deal to buy Warner Bros. Discovery, he said. The merging companies typically send information that helps the government figure out what the market impact will be of a merger, he added.

The Justice Department ultimately approved Paramount’s planned acquisition, despite opposition from some industry stakeholders. State attorneys general and the Writers Guild of America have sued Paramount over the deal, raising antitrust concerns. Others have pointed out close ties between Trump and Larry Ellison, a financial backer of the deal, who has also donated money to a group that supports Trump. Ellison’s son, David, is chief executive of Paramount Skydance.

Legal experts and analysts said they don’t think the combination of Fox and Roku raises antitrust issues because they are not dominant players in streaming and have businesses that complement each other.

But one wild card is Trump.

“You never know what Trump is going to seize on and decide he wants to do,” said Bryan Sullivan, a partner with law firm Early Sullivan Wright Gizer & McRae on whether Trump will take retaliatory action through the Justice Department in the Fox-Roku deal. “It’s chaos in the federal government and it could very well happen because of that reason, but it could also just be a blip and not a big deal.”

Times staff writer Stephen Battaglio contributed to this report.