scene

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.”

William Shakespeare wouldn’t be wowed by this domestic drama about his home life back in Stratford-upon-Avon. Where’s the action? The wit? The wordplay?

The great playwright’s skill is hard to match. Instead, “Hamnet,” directed by Oscar winner Chloé Zhao (“Nomadland”), uses our curiosity about the Bard to spin a soggy story about love and grief with enough tears to flood the river Thames. Co-written by Zhao and Maggie O’Farrell, this tonally faithful adaptation of O’Farrell’s florid 2020 novel of the same name stars Paul Mescal as Will — the name he goes by here — and Jessie Buckley as his wife, Agnes, pronounced Ahn-yes, although the real person was more commonly called Anne Hathaway. The 16th century’s fondness for treating Agnes/Anne and Hamnet/Hamlet as interchangeable versions of the same name is part of the plot and must be endured.

The tale is set during the years that Will launched his career in London, missed being at the deathbed of one of his children and funneled his guilt and sorrow into theater’s most prestigious ghost story. Mostly, however, we’re stuck at home with Agnes, who spends half the film weeping.

“There are many different ways to cry,” wrote O’Farrell, whose book goes on to list several variations. (The novel is overripe with descriptors, rarely using one word when a paragraph will do.) Buckley’s wet and wild performance shows us each of them — “the sudden outpouring of tears, the deep racking sobs, the soundless and endless leaking of water from the eyes’’ — plus a few others I’ll call the disgorged caterwaul, the furious scrunch and the chuckle swallowed into a choke. “Hamnet” is my least favorite of Buckley’s showcase roles (I loved “The Lost Daughter”), but the dampness of it has pundits wagering she’ll finally get her Academy Award.

Christopher Marlowe truthers aside, William Shakespeare was an actual person who, historical records concur, married a pregnant woman eight years his senior and had three kids: Susanna, the eldest, and twins Judith and Hamnet. (They’re played, respectively, by Bodhi Rae Breathnach, Olivia Lynes and Jacobi Jupe.) Nearly everything else ever written about the family is conjecture spun from the scraps of information that exist, such as Shakespeare’s will leaving nothing to his wife other than “his second-best bed.”

Previous fictions have deemed Agnes a cradle robber or a shrew or the Bard’s secret co-writer. Zhao’s script goes one further: This Agnes is a witch. Not merely in the slanderous meaning, as in a difficult woman (although she’s also that). Buckley’s Agnes is actually magic. She can predict someone’s destiny by squeezing their hand, the party trick Christopher Walken did in “The Dead Zone.” Sometimes she’s wrong, sometimes she fights fate with everything she’s got, yet her faith in her foresight is rarely shaken. Her husband, who would later write witches and sorcerers and soothsayers into “Macbeth,” “The Tempest” and “Julius Caesar,” is taxed by her psychic gifts. He grumbles that it’s hard to open up to someone who can already “divine your secrets at a glance.”

Her ability to see through time and space has somehow made Agnes transparent too. Joy, confusion, fascination and despair take over her entire face instantaneously, turning Buckley’s performance into an acting exercise of being raw and present. (The crooked smile that signifies her unvarnished realness gets wearying.) The plotting doesn’t have any subterranean levels either, trusting solely in its primal display of sweat, hormones and heartbreak. This period piece almost seems to believe Agnes is inventing each emotion.

Will, a tutor, is trapped inside teaching Latin the first time he spots his future bride romping around in the grass with a hawk on her arm. Cinematographer Łukasz Żal frames the scene in a pane of window glass so that Agnes’ reflection ripples across Will’s yearning face, contrasting the earthy enchantress with the indoor bookworm. These oddballs have little in common besides their defiance of village norms and their families’ mutual disapproval. “I’d rather you went to sea than marry this wench,” Will’s mother, Mary (Emily Watson), hisses. (Her gradual thaw is genuinely affecting.)

Meanwhile, Agnes’ most supportive sibling, a farmer named Bartholomew (Joe Alwyn), can’t fathom what Will has to offer. “Why marry a pasty-faced scholar?” he asks. “What use is he?”

Their flirtation — especially Mescal’s dumb, happy, horny grin — makes Shakespeare feel freshly relatable. Perhaps his Ye Olde Tinder profile read: “Aspiring playwright seeks older woman, pagan preferred.” At times in “Hamnet,” 1582, the year of their marriage, could pass for a millennium earlier, a rustic era where neither has anything more pressing to do than canoodle under the trees. Later on, their partnership feels more contemporary, a frustrated writer hitting the bottle while his missus supports but doesn’t understand his work.

That the greatest dramatist of the last 500 years is married to someone wholly incurious about his art is, in itself, a tragedy. There’s a scene in which you wonder not only if has Agnes never seen one of his plays, but if she even knows what a play is. Our credulity would snap if Mescal’s Shakespeare was the slick talker that his early biographer John Aubrey described as “very good company, of a very redie and pleasant smoothe Witt.” But this stammering, rather dull chap doesn’t come across as a genius. He must save it all for his quill.

This isn’t Mescal’s fault. The book’s version of him is pretty much the same, perhaps because O’Farrell doesn’t reveal that this fictional grieving character is Shakespeare until the last page. (Although the title is a gimmicky clue.) At least Zhao adds scenes that show him workshopping his material. The kids prance around the yard quoting “Macbeth” a decade before he’ll stage it and Mescal gets to recite a “Hamlet” soliloquy as a little treat. I enjoyed the unremarked-upon tension of Will returning home from London with a hip haircut and an earring.

The texture of the film is impressive. Żal’s camera swivels around their home, soaking it in like a documentary. Whenever the film goes outside, he and Zhao make you feel the mystical power of the dirt and leaves. The forest rumbles with so much energy that it sounds like living next to a freeway. To keep things feeling authentic, co-editors Affonso Gonçalves and Zhao keep in flukes that other filmmakers might consider flubs, like an insect dive-bombing one of the actor’s eyelashes. The spell of “Hamnet’s” naturalism rarely breaks, save for a couple nice flourishes, like a shadow puppet depiction of the plague and a shot of the underworld as seen through a black lace curtain, a literalization of going beyond the veil.

Meanwhile, the score by the talented Max Richter is made of soft, pleasant little piano plinks and one major if beautiful mistake: a climactic needle-drop of his 2004 masterpiece “On the Nature of Daylight.” That soul-stirring number is one of the loveliest compositions of the modern era, so good at making an audience sigh that it’s been used two dozen times already, including in “Arrival,” “The Handmaid’s Tale,” “Shutter Island” and “The Last of Us.” As soon those violins kick up here, you’re shoved out of the 16th century and feel less moved than shamelessly manipulated.

“Hamnet’s” sweetest note is 12-year-old Jacobi Jupe playing the actual Hamnet. The script hangs on our immediate devotion to the boy and he stands up to the challenge. Unlike most child actors — and unlike his on-screen parents — he never overplays his big scenes. His stoicism is wrenching. Also terrific is his real-life older brother, Noah Jupe, as the play-within-a-film’s onstage Hamlet. In a rehearsal, this young actor seems dreadful. Zhao has him whiff it so that Mescal can say the lines again, louder. But on the play’s opening night, he’s a sensation.

Shakespeare didn’t invent “Hamlet” from whole cloth. He adapted it from a Norse yarn that had been around for centuries, and Lord knows if he was more inspired by his own child or by another successful version of “Hamlet” that played London a decade before. In our century, it’s been reworked for the screen more than 50 times, and mouthed by everyone from Ethan Hawke and Danny Devito to Shelley Long.

Yet I would have been happy watching the older Jupe do the whole thing again for this lively Globe Theatre crowd, the first to discover how Shakespeare’s version will end. As this Hamlet collapses, the audience reaches their arms toward the fallen prince. The actor draws strength from the groundlings and they, in turn, find solace in his pain. That stunning image alone single-handedly captures everything this movie has struggled to say (or sob) about the catharsis of art.

“It’s a rare glimpse into their vulnerability,” says cinematographer Ben Fordesman of a scene in Ronan Day-Lewis’ “Anemone,” where estranged brothers Ray (Daniel Day-Lewis) and Jem (Sean Bean) drunkenly dance moments after Ray reveals the scars of his childhood. Here, the film’s unflinching energy — influenced by Ingmar Bergman’s “Autumn Sonata” — shifts; the camera shakes free from restraint before pulling back to reveal them small against the empty wilderness. “Ronan was keen on exploring the psychological landscape of Ray, in particular, in a metaphysical way. This was our way to recontextualize the characters and place them against the vast indifference of nature. To suggest a kind of detachment from reality,” Fordesman says of “Anemone,” which examines trauma and its generational ripple effects. The scene’s dramatic payoff wasn’t originally scripted and almost didn’t happen, as the cabin set had to be redesigned so one side could be removed. Creative engineering from production designer Chris Oddy and seamless visual effects helped bring it to life. “It was genuinely one of the most fun things to shoot when you’ve got the motivation to move freely. Everything in the rest of the film is considered and composed,” says the cinematographer. “This maybe leans into the way that trauma can be often experienced as a memory and the dancing is a way of shaking that off.”

In the weeks since federal investigators announced that the devastating Palisades fire was caused by a reignition of a smaller blaze, top Los Angeles Fire Department officials have insisted that they did everything they could to put out the earlier fire.

But The Times has obtained records that call into question the agency’s statements about how thoroughly firefighters mopped up the Jan. 1 Lachman fire in the days before it reignited.

In an interview last month, then-Interim Fire Chief Ronnie Villanueva said that firefighters returned to the burn area on Jan. 3 — due to a report of smoke — and “cold-trailed” an additional time, meaning they used their hands to feel for heat and dug out hot spots.

“We went back over there again. We dug it all out again. We put ladders on it. We did everything that we could do — cold-trail again,” Villanueva told The Times on Oct. 8. “We did all of that.”

A dispatch log obtained by The Times, however, shows that firefighters arrived at the scene that day and quickly reported seeing no smoke. They then canceled the dispatch for another engine that was on the way, clearing the call within 34 minutes. The log does not mention cold trailing. It’s unclear if crews took any other actions during the call, because the LAFD has not answered questions about it.

The Times has made multiple requests for comment to LAFD spokesperson Capt. Erik Scott by email, text and in person, but the agency has refused to explain the discrepancy. Villanueva also did not respond to an emailed request for comment and an interview request.

The conflict between the LAFD’s statements and its own records is likely to intensify frustration and anger among Palisades fire victims over contradictory and incomplete information about what was done to protect their community. With the first anniversary approaching, gaps remain in what the LAFD has told the public about what it did to prepare for and respond to the fire, which killed 12 people and destroyed thousands of homes.

The LAFD’s after-action report on the Palisades fire makes only a cursory reference to the Lachman blaze. Missing from the 70-page document, released last month, are the report of smoke in the area on Jan. 3 and a battalion chief’s decision to pull firefighters out of the scene the day before, even though they warned him that there were signs of remaining hot spots.

The head of the board that oversees the LAFD has maintained that information about the firefighter warnings — or any examination of the Lachman fire — did not belong in the after-action report.

“The after-action review that was presented to the commission is exactly what we asked for,” Genethia Hudley Hayes, president of the Board of Fire Commissioners, said at the board’s meeting on Tuesday. She said the review was only supposed to cover the first 72 hours after the Palisades fire erupted.

“It is not an investigation,” she said. “It should not include things that the newspaper seems to feel like should be included.”

The after-action report detailed missteps in fire officials’ response to the Palisades fire, including major failures in deployment and communications, and made recommendations to prevent the issues from happening again.

Two former LAFD chief officers said the report also should have provided an examination of what might have gone wrong in the mop-up of the Lachman blaze, which investigators believe was deliberately set, as part of its “lessons learned” section.

“A good after-action report documents what happened before the incident,” said former LAFD Battalion Chief Rick Crawford, who retired from the agency last year and is now emergency and crisis management coordinator for the U.S. Capitol. “The after-action report should have gone back all the way to Dec. 31.”

Patrick Butler, a former assistant chief for the LAFD who has worked on several after-action teams, including for the federal government, agreed.

“If you limit an after-action to an artificial timeline, you’re not going to uncover everything you need to learn from,” said Butler, who is the Redondo Beach fire chief.

He noted that the reports shape training and operational improvements for the Fire Department.

“To exclude the Lachman fire from the report gives the appearance of a coverup of foundational facts,” Butler added. “It’s not a harmless oversight. The consequences can be significant and far-reaching.”

The Jan. 3 report of smoke at the Lachman burn area came in shortly before noon, according to a dispatch log of the incident. Firefighters from Fire Station 23 — one of two stations in the Palisades — arrived on the scene about 10 minutes after they were dispatched.

A couple minutes later, they reported “N/S,” or nothing showing, according to the log. A few minutes after that, they canceled the dispatch for an engine from Fire Station 69, the other Palisades station.

The last entry in the log was from 12:20 p.m., indicating that an L.A. County crew was working in the area.

The L.A. County Fire Department said in a statement that the crew was at the scene for less than 30 minutes conducting an “informal ‘lessons learned’ discussion of their actions from the night of the fire.”

“They did not gear up or perform any work while there and they did not see anything of note,” the statement said.

The L.A. County crew left the scene about 12:40 p.m.

The Times previously reported that firefighters were ordered to roll up their hoses and leave the burn area of the Lachman fire on Jan. 2, even though they had complained that the ground was still smoldering and rocks remained hot to the touch. The paper reviewed text messages among three firefighters and a third party, sent in the weeks and months after the fire, in which they discussed the handling of the blaze.

LAFD officials also opted not to use thermal imaging technology to detect lingering hot spots. Despite warnings of extreme winds leading up to Jan. 7, they failed to pre-deploy any engines or firefighters to the burn area — or anywhere in the Palisades.

At least one battalion chief assigned to the LAFD’s risk management section has known for months that crews had complained about hot spots after the Lachman fire. But the department kept that information hidden from the public.

At the Tuesday fire commission meeting, newly appointed Fire Chief Jaime Moore — in an apparent reference to The Times reporting — slammed what he called media efforts to “smear” firefighters who battled the worst fire in city history.

“Something that’s been very frustrating for me as fire chief, and through this process, is to watch my friends in the media smear our name and the work that our firefighters did to combat one of the most intense fires, the Palisades, the wind-driven monstrosity that it was,” Moore, a 30-year LAFD veteran, said on his second day on the job.

He added: “The audacity for people to make comments and say that there’s text messages out there that say that we did not put the fire out, that we did not extinguish the fire. Yet I have yet to see any of those text messages.”

Moore made those remarks despite having been tasked by Mayor Karen Bass with conducting an investigation into The Times report about the LAFD’s response to the Lachman fire.

Bass had requested that Villanueva investigate, saying that “a full understanding … is essential to an accurate accounting of what occurred during the January wildfires.”

Critics have said it would be improper for the LAFD to investigate itself and called for an independent review.

Before the City Council confirmed his appointment as chief, Moore also had called for an outside organization to conduct the inquiry, describing the reports of the firefighters’ warnings on Jan. 2 as alarming.

On Tuesday, he said he would review the LAFD’s response to the Lachman fire.

“I will do as Mayor [Karen] Bass asked, and I will look into the Lachman fire, and we will look at how that was handled, and we will learn from it, and we’ll be better from it,” he said.

A Bass spokesperson said Wednesday that the mayor “has made clear to Chief Moore” that the investigation into the Lachman fire should be conducted by an independent entity.

The LAFD has not responded to a question about who will conduct the probe.

With the release of Wicked: For Good today, a travel company has named the top 10 most beautiful destinations to experience real-life Disney charm

A stunning little-known city just a stone’s throw from the UK is like stepping foot into a real-life Wicked movie. Travel company Omio released their findings in time for the release of smash-hit musical Wicked: For Good today (November 21).

Colmar in France is filled with Disney-inspired charm, pastel houses and stunning canals. To get there is easy too, requiring just a 1hr 30 flight from London to Strasbourg, before a 55 minute drive to the city. Other recommended destinations in the top 10 include Sintra in Portugal, Lake Bled in Slovenia and the UK’s very own Isle of Skye.

The list came as part of a new survey that found more than a third of Gen Z (36%) are more likely to travel with friends they “hold space” for in the year ahead compared to just 12% of Boomers.

The ‘holding space’ phrase – meaning to be emotionally present with who you are with – became a viral meme during Wicked’s press tour in 2024, but now fans are incorporating it into their holidays.

These friendship trips can lead to a deeper bond and create lasting memories according to travel company Omio, mirroring the evolving relationship between the characters Elphaba and Glinda.

More than a quarter of Brits (28%) quizzed in Omio’s latest ‘Now Next 2025-2026 Travel Report’ say they’re influenced by film and TV when choosing where to go. Despite Oz not being a viable destination for jetsetters, whimsical fairytale-inspired destinations are found to be on the rise.

The report also reveals that almost two-fifths (37%) of women internationally want to feel connected, with 44% planning family and friend reunions. Wellbeing-led escapes are found to be on the rise with more than half (59%) of travellers wanting to return from holidays feeling recharged.

The report also discovered that people are opting for unique travel plans, with 32% preferring under-the-radar locations that would make people green with envy. Veronica Diquattro, President of Consumer and Supply Business Europe, said: “Our extensive inventory makes finding the best route to niche destinations simple.

“Gen Z leads the charge. They are purposeful planners, determined to travel more, for longer, and sustainably. Omio meets their expectations with breadth, flexibility and digital-first solutions.

“Our report reveals a new age of smart, conscious and value-driven travel. The desire to explore is stronger than ever, and Omio is at the forefront, ensuring every trip is seamless.”

Omio’s top 10 recommended fairytale destinations

1. Colmar, France: Disney-inspired charm, pastel houses and canals for cottage-core queens
2. Schwangau, Germany: a village in Bavaria, southern Germany. It’s a gateway to the iconic Neuschwanstein Castle, a magical hilltop fairytale castle that famously inspired Disney’s Sleeping Beauty Castle.
3. Sintra, Portugal: Home to whimsical palaces and castles nestled in lush hills, plus candy-coloured palaces for the perfect girls’ trip.
4. Hallstatt, Austria: a picturesque village nestled by lakeside magic, with mountain backdrop drama.
5. Český Krumlov, Czech Republic: A small city with a large castle complex and a charming medieval old town.
6. Isle of Skye, Scotland: A rugged and scenic island with dramatic landscapes.
7. Lake Bled, Slovenia: A picture-perfect lake surrounded by forested mountains.
8. Giant’s Causeway, Ireland: An iconic World Heritage Site in Northern Ireland, steeped in legend and folklore.
9. Isola Bella, Lake Maggiore, Italy: A combination of grand architecture, vibrant floral displays, hidden grottoes, and the presence of white peacocks.
10. Grindelwald, Switzerland: Stunning natural scenery featuring towering snow-capped mountains and lush valleys.

Movies can become forever memorable through the magic of a singular image, that celebrated “one perfect shot” that illuminates everything before and after it. The Envelope asked directors of five awards-contending documentaries to talk about the shot their film couldn’t live without.

‘Apocalypse in the Tropics’

Director Petra Costa’s sequel to “The Edge of Democracy” (a 2020 Oscar nominee) examines the powerful role played by evangelical Christianity in Brazilian politics and the rise of far-right former President Jair Bolsonaro.

“I chose the shot of the Statue of Justice, decapitated and upside down,” says Costa, describing a scene in front of the Supreme Federal Court in Brasilia after Bolsonaro’s supporters sacked the nation’s seat of government on Jan. 8, 2023. “[It] symbolizes much of this story on many levels. This film is ultimately using Brazil as a metaphor for the current crises of our democracies worldwide. This picture symbolizes how violent speech is, not just violent speech. It produces violent action, and that was what brought Bolsonaro to power.”

‘Folktales’

Rachel Grady and Heidi Ewing’s “Folktales”

(Magnolia Pictures)

Directors Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady (2007 Academy Award nominees for “Jesus Camp”) follow a group of adolescents through a year at a traditional Norwegian folk high school.

“The first time you see the Tree of Life in the movie,” says Ewing, describing a powerfully symbolic image in the story, “it’s shot from below. It’s a wide angle and it’s almost like a creature. I call it Guillermo del Toro’s tree, because it’s knotty and dead, but it’s everything. It’s breathtaking and there was no other tree like it in the forest. It inspired the whole layer in the film that became the myth of Odin and using Norse mythology as a metaphor for growing up, and we use the tree as our centerpiece.”

‘Predators’

Director David Osit (“Mayor”) unpacks the complex and disturbing legacy of the TV exposé “To Catch a Predator,” which became a pop-culture phenomenon during its run in the mid-aughts.

“So much of my film is about looking at images, and part of it was me looking at images … and really just thinking: The only way I know how to make this movie is I’ve got to give someone the experience I’m having, making the film and looking at material. So there was an image that I filmed, but it didn’t mean anything to me until I saw it. And that’s the image that I chose. There’s this moment in the film where I’m interviewing Dan Schrack, who is one of the decoys who … was involved in what happened in Texas. [The subject of the show’s sting operation took his own life, which led to the show’s cancellation.] I’m having him look at some pictures, and I get a shot from behind him. What I didn’t notice during the filming … was my reflection, perfectly placed in a small mirror. Only for a split second did I think to myself, ‘Oh no, I ruined the shot.’ Immediately afterwards, I felt a deeper understanding … that I couldn’t take myself out of this movie. It wasn’t my intent to be in it, but more often than not, documentaries neuter and make invisible the acts of their creation. And every single time I tried to film this movie, the opposite was happening. My identity, my motivations, my interests kept asserting themselves, and that shot was it. That was the shot where I realized what the film was.”

‘Seeds’

Carlie Williams in “Seeds.”

(Brittany Shyne)

Shot in black and white, Brittany Shyne’s debut feature explores the lives and challenges of Black farmers in south Georgia.

“The scene that I always go back to is with Carlie Williams, the 89-year-old farmer,” Shyne says. “It’s a moment when we’re in his house, and he gets up from his chair, and he goes over to tend to his daughter, Lois. I really like that moment, because we could see a father who’s utterly devoted to his child, making sure that her health is OK. I love that moment of tenderness, because that is something I try to view throughout the whole film, this kind of familial care that we see between generations.”

‘The Tale of Silyan’

(National Geographic Documentary Films)

The Macedonian film, from 2020 Oscar nominee Tamara Kotevska (“Honeyland”), is the story of Nicola, who rescues an injured stork from a landfill after the collapse of his family farm.

“The moment when Nicola captures the stork,” Kotevska says. “It completely changed the course of the film and the story itself. We thought that it was going to be more of a sad story, but it ended up being more of a hopeful story — not a happy one, but a hopeful one. It eventually became a story of a man saving a stork and a stork saving a man.”

Stranger Things star Caleb McLaughlin appeared on BBC The One Show and opened up about the final season of the show

Stranger Things fans are bracing themselves to bid farewell to the beloved programme that has captivated audiences since 2016, as the final instalment of the science fiction drama draws to a close.

Caleb McLaughlin, who portrays Lucas Sinclair in the Netflix series created by Matt and Ross Duffer, has reflected on wrapping up filming, describing it as the “best day”.

The star joined fellow cast members Finn Wolfhard, Noah Schnapp and Gaten Matarazzo on BBC’s The One Show on Monday (November 10) evening, where he discussed the upcoming final season with presenters Alex Jones and Angelica Bell, reports the Manchester Evening News.

Alex immediately remarked: “You’ve been together for ages, you’ve grown up together and the chemistry between you is so brilliant.”

The presenter then enquired: “What was it like to film that last moment before they shouted ‘that’s a wrap?'”

Caleb confessed: “It was really emotional honestly. I reference a 90s anime flashback, I felt like I was reminiscing on my future, my present and the past.”

He continued: “I’ve been on the show almost half my life, I mean all of us have. It’s been 10 years, it’s wild. It’s something so deep that I can’t truly understand yet because my frontal lode is still closing but it was an emotional day but one of my best days.”

When questioned about whether he’d managed to take any mementoes from the set, the actor disclosed: “With permission, my bandanna, a wright locket and some clothes from each season.”

After the explosive finale of series four, Netflix unveiled the trailer for series five last month, showing our beloved Hawkins youngsters gearing up for a final showdown with Vecna.

The clip reveals where Vecna (Jamie Campbell Bower) has been lurking, as it begins with the arch-villain stepping out from the shadows in the Upside Down’s version of Hawkins’ town hall, declaring: “We can begin.”

It then switches to the residents of Hawkins, who find themselves “stuck” in their town due to military intervention as authorities attempt to contain the chaos Vecna unleashed at the close of series four.

The tension escalates as Finn Wolfhard’s Mike Wheeler and his mates devise one final assault against Vecna to “end this once and for all”.

The trailer also features Eleven (Millie Bobby Brown) using her abilities to soar through the sky, whilst Max (Sadie Sink) is shown being carried from the hospital by Lucas (Caleb McLaughlin), who then finds himself chased by a demodog.

In the trailer’s closing moments, an epic confrontation is hinted at, as Vecna lifts Will into the air towards him, saying: “You are going to help me…one…last…time.”

The One Show airs weekdays from 7pm on BBC One and iPlayer

If you see “Christy,” you’ll remember Christy the person, not “Christy” the movie. This biopic of West Virginia’s other famous coal miner’s daughter Christy Martin, the first female boxer to make the cover of Sports Illustrated, is an efficiently inspiring and harrowing one when the physically transformed, emotionally present Sydney Sweeney is holding the screen as Martin. But otherwise, under David Michôd’s direction, it’s one more machine-pressed product that may as well have been chatbot-prompted into existence.

That’s a shame because early on, when butch, athletic, semi-openly gay Christy is just a picked-on high schooler punching her way into feeling good about herself, you can detect a keen level of attention, especially in the script by Mirrah Foulkes and Michôd, to what’s unspoken in these types of tales: the violence and verve that can mark a boxing talent and the pressure to conform in a male-dominated sport. In this case, it leads Christy to deny a part of her identity.

It’s a very specific tension that has made movies about female boxers in the 21st century — from “Girlfight” and “Million Dollar Baby” through last year’s “The Fire Inside” — so much more interesting as empowerment case studies than the male-centered ones, which still seem rooted in conventional mythmaking. (We’re still living in the Rocky Balboa Universe.)

As memorably conveyed with twang, sweat and tenacity by Sweeney, the young Christy is a natural competitor whose fists give her an out from the judgmental eyes of small-town life, most notably those of her mom (an effectively chilly Merritt Wever). She fights as if she’s been attacked, but can make winning in the ring look both spirited and a foregone conclusion.

That energy and commitment to turn boxing into a career gets an opportunistic fine-tuning — a feminizing pink kit — when she’s hooked up with trainer Jim Martin, played by an eerily dead-eyed Ben Foster as the ghoul-in-waiting he turned out to be. Foster’s Jim, believably disturbed and shady but a bit on the nose, isn’t the movie’s first problem. That would be Michôd’s addiction to montage-ifying every significant dramatic turning point, slathering on the music to keep the timeline moving.

But the famously chameleonic Foster’s portrayal is the film’s most curious dilemma, because it doesn’t allow us to see why Christy would trust her future to his judgment, much less marry him. It’s as if “Christy,” looking backward through a bloody yet unbowed lens, is afraid of presenting Jim Martin as anything but a shifty sleazebag, when what that does is undercut Sweeney’s more delicate job of convincing us why she’d stay with him for decades.

Sweeney manages it anyway, because, despite what you may have assumed, she’s a sturdy in-the-moment actor, especially with her eyes. Still, the movie’s lack of nuance about how toxic relationships develop makes this central twosome a head-scratchingly imbalanced one. Everyone invariably falls into two camps: unfailingly supportive (a sensitive dad played by Ethan Embry; Katy O’Brian as a former rival) or, whenever Wever reappears, jaw-dropping callousness. Much more galvanizing as a combo platter of high-wattage persuasion and dominance is Chad L. Coleman in his handful of scenes as Don King.

The central problem with “Christy” — which needs to be both uplifting about its star subject’s achievement and complex about her journey of sexuality and trauma — is that it screams for a treatment grittier than the slick melodrama we’ve been given. It’s all highlights and lowlights, rarely interested in the in-between stuff that makes watching all the rounds of a bout so necessary to appreciating what it means to survive on the canvas.

Coronation Street fans are convinced Cassie Plummer and Becky Swain are linked in some way, and now a scene on the ITV soap featuring a phone call has added fuel to the theory

Fans think there’s a secret link between two Coronation Street characters, and the latest episode may have ‘confirmed’ this.

Cassie Plummer spoke about helping someone with business in Spain, before speaking in Spanish on the phone. With fans already suspecting prior to this that Cassie could be somehow linked to villain Becky Swain, this scene left fans wondering if it was a given now.

After all, Becky returned from the dead months ago and it was revealed for the past four years, she has been hiding out in Spain. She’s now being told she has to return there to stop her cover being blown, with Becky wanting daughter Betsy to go with her, as well as her ex Lisa Swain.

All the sudden talk about Spain, and a scene last week that involved both Cassie and Becky, has sparked a theory that they secretly know each other. So when Cassie spoke in Spanish and revealed all about her link to the country, fans wondered if this was proof that she and Becky know each other, and that Cassie knows all about her dodgy dealings.

READ MORE: Coronation Street fans ‘work out’ Glenda’s new love interest – and he’s a familiar faceREAD MORE: Coronation Street’s Jodie Prenger promises more comedy after criticism over dark scenes

Taking to social media, one fan said: “Cassie speaking Spanish and knowing someone in Spain… helped him with his business… she must know Becky!! The links are starting to link.”

Another fan agreed: “If this isn’t a clue to Cassie knowing or recognising dodgy business in Spain *couch* Becky I don’t know what is. Surely this isn’t coincidence.”

A third fan added: “So Cassie can speak Spanish and helped an ex out with his ‘business’ in Spain. Oh she is so gonna be the one to reveal backhand Becky’s dodgy dealings!”

A final comment read: “So, Cassie’s talking about a Spanish boyfriend, Peter’s name being dropped recently, and Becky’s been living in Alicante. Is this all a coincidence??”

It follows another theory suggesting Cassie might know Becky, and could trigger her downfall. Fans noted her watching as Carla Connor confronted Becky for kissing Lisa Swain, and she seemed very interested.

Viewers may recall Cassie was sleeping rough while she was taking drugs. She’s now in recovery, but could Cassie and Becky have crossed paths when Cassie was on drugs?

One theory is that Becky was her dealer as others wondered if she arrested her. A fan commented: “Cassie looked like she thinks she’s seen Becky somewhere before!”

Another said: “Right it can’t just be me, it’s going to transpire Cassie knows Becky somehow isn’t it? ISN’T IT?!” A third fan wrote: “That was a look of recognition for Cassie surely. Has Becky arrested her in the past?”

A theory suggested: “Oh she’s come across her before in her past… drugs?” as another read: “I reckon she was a mate of that Tia and was in the shadows and witnessed her murder/death.” A further tweet said: “Sold her drugs is more like it.”

The theories kept on coming with one reading: “Has Becky arrested her at some point?” as someone suggested they met in Spain. A final tweet said: “I’m thinking Cassie may have had some dealings with Rebecca in the past.”

Coronation Street airs Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at 8pm on ITV1 and ITV X. * Follow Mirror Celebs and TV on TikTok , Snapchat , Instagram , Twitter , Facebook , YouTube and Threads .

When Xavier “X” Atencio was plucked by Walt Disney in 1965 to be one of his early theme park designers, he was slotted on a number of projects that placed him out of his comfort zone.

Atencio, for instance, never would have envisioned himself a songwriter.

One of Atencio’s first major projects with Walt Disney Imagineering — WED Enterprises (for Walter Elias Disney), as it was known at the time — was Pirates of the Caribbean. In the mid-’60s when Atencio joined the Pirates team, the attraction was well underway, with the likes of fellow animators-turned-theme park designers Marc Davis and Claude Coats crafting many of its exaggerated characters and enveloping environments. Atencio’s job? Make it all make sense by giving it a cohesive story. While Atencio had once dreamed of being a journalist, his work as an animator had led him astray of a writer’s path.

Atencio would not only figure it out but end up as the draftman of one of Disneyland’s most recognizable songs, “Yo Ho (A Pirate’s Life for Me).” In the process, he was key in creating the template for the modern theme park dark ride, a term often applied to slow-moving indoor attractions. Such career twists and turns are detailed in a new book about Atencio, who died in 2017. “Xavier ‘X’ Atencio: The Legacy of an Artist, Imagineer, and Disney Legend” (Disney Editions), written by three of his family members, follows Atencio’s unexpected trajectory, starting from his roots in animation (his resume includes “Fantasia,” the Oscar-winning short “Toot, Whistle, Plunk and Boom” and even stop-motion work in “Mary Poppins”).

For Pirates of the Caribbean, Atencio is said to have received little direction from Disney, only that the park’s patriarch was unhappy with previous stabs at a narration and dialogue, finding them leaning a bit stodgy. So he knew, essentially, what not to do. Atencio, according to the book, immersed himself in films like Disney’s own “Treasure Island” and pop-cultural interpretations of pirates, striving for something that felt borderline caricature rather than ripped from the history books.

Xavier “X” Atencio got his start in animation. Here, he is seen drawing dinosaurs for a sequence in “Fantasia.”

(Reprinted from “Xavier ‘X’ Atencio: The Legacy of An Artist, Imagineer, and Disney Legend” / Disney Enterprises Inc. / Disney Editions)

Indeed, Atencio’s words — some of those quoted in the book, such as “Avast there! Ye come seeking adventure and salty old pirates, aye?” — have become shorthand for how to speak like a pirate. The first scene written for the attraction was the mid-point auction sequence, a section of the ride that was changed in 2017 due to its outdated cultural implications. In the original, a proud redheaded pirate is the lead prisoner in a bridal auction, but today the “wench” has graduated to pirate status of her own and is helping to auction off stolen goods.

At first, Atencio thought he had over-written the scene, noticing that dialogue overlapped with one another. In a now-famous theme park moment, and one retold in the book, Atencio apologized to Disney, who shrugged off Atencio’s insecurity.

“Hey, X, when you go to a cocktail party, you pick up a little conversation here, another conversation there,” Disney told the animator. “Each time people will go through, they’ll find something new.”

This was the green light that Atencio, Davis and Coats needed to continue developing their attraction as one that would be a tableau of scenes rather than a strict plot.

Tying it all together, Atencio thought, should be a song. Not a songwriter himself, of course, Atencio sketched out a few lyrics and a simple melody. As the authors write, he turned to the thesaurus and made lists of traditional “pirating” words. He presented it to Disney and, to Atencio’s surprise, the company founder promptly gave him the sign off.

“Yo Ho (A Pirate’s Life for Me),” Atencio would relay, was a challenge as the ride doesn’t have a typical beginning and ending, meaning the tune needed to work with whatever pirate vignette we were sailing by. Ultimately, the song, with music by George Bruns, underlines the ride’s humorous feel, allowing the looting, the pillaging and the chasing of women, another scene that has been altered over the years, to be delivered with a playful bent.

The song “altered the trajectory” of Atencio’s career. While Atencio was not considered a musical person — “No, not at all,” says his daughter Tori Atencio McCullough, one of the book’s co-authors — the biography reveals how music became a signature aspect of his work. The short “Toot, Whistle, Plunk and Boom,” for instance, is a humorous tale about the discovery of music. And elsewhere in Atencio’s career he worked on the band-focused opening animations for “Mickey Mouse Club.”

“That one has a pretty cool kind of modern instrument medley in the middle,” Kelsey McCullough, Atencio’s granddaughter and another one of the book’s authors, says of “Mickey Mouse Club.” “It was interesting, because when we lined everything up, it was like, ‘Of course he felt like the ride needed a song.’ Everything he had been doing up to that point had a song in it. Once we looked it at from that perspective, it was sort of unsurprising to us. He was doing a lot around music.”

Xavier “X” Atencio contributed concepts to Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion, including its famous one-eyed cat.

(Reprinted from “Xavier ‘X’ Atencio: The Legacy of An Artist, Imagineer, and Disney Legend” / Disney Enterprises Inc. / Disney Editions)

Atencio would go on to write lyrics for the Country Bear Jamboree and the Haunted Mansion. While the Haunted Mansion vacillates between spooky and lighthearted imagery, it’s Atencio’s “Grim Grinning Ghosts” that telegraphs the ride’s tone and makes it clear it’s a celebratory attraction, one in which many of those in the afterlife prefer to live it up rather than haunt.

Despite his newfound music career, Atencio never gave up drawing and contributing concepts to Disney theme park attractions. Two of my favorites are captured in the book — his abstract flights through molecular lights for the defunct Adventure Thru Inner Space and his one-eyed black cat for the Haunted Mansion. The latter has become a fabled Mansion character over the years. Atencio’s fiendish feline would have followed guests throughout the ride, a creature said to despise living humans and with predatory, possessive instincts.

In Atencio’s concept art, the cat featured elongated, vampire-like fangs and a piercing red eye. In a nod to Edgar Allan Poe’s story “The Black Cat,” it had just one eyeball, which sat in its socket with all the subtlety of a fire alarm. Discarded eventually — a raven essentially fills a similar role — the cat today has been resurrected for the Mansion, most notably in a revised attic scene where the kitty is spotted near a mournful bride.

Xavier “X” Atencio retired from Disney in 1984 after four-plus decades with the company. He drew his own retirement announcement.

(Reprinted from “Xavier ‘X’ Atencio: The Legacy of An Artist, Imagineer, and Disney Legend” / Disney Enterprises Inc. / Disney Editions)

Co-author Bobbie Lucas, a relative of Atencio’s colloquially referred to by the family as his “grandchild-in-law,” was asked what ties all of Atencio’s work together.

“No matter the different style or no matter the era, there’s such a sense of life and humanity,” Lucas says. “There’s a sense of play.”

Play is a fitting way to describe Atencio’s contributions to two of Disneyland’s most beloved attractions, where pirates and ghosts are captured at their most frivolous and jovial.

“I like that,” Lucas adds. “I like someone who will put their heart on their sleeve and show you that in their art.”

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.”