The largest work of art in the Los Angeles area by a woman might just be a museum.
The Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena is covered almost entirely in 115,000 hand-crafted architectural tiles created by ceramicist Edith Heath in 1969. Those tiles, affixed to the facade of a curvilinear building designed by architects Thornton Ladd and John Kelsey, have recently been cleaned and refurbished as part of a $15-million renovation designed to reintroduce the underappreciated museum to the public by making its exterior match the quality and beauty of the rare art inside.
The Heath tile is one of Norton Simon’s “superpowers,” said project architect Liz MacLean, a principal at the firm Architectural Resources Group, which specializes in historic preservation. “I think people drive by this museum all the time and have no idea that it’s clad with Edith Heath tile.”
Edith Heath attaching her tiles to the Norton Simon Museum in 1969. Heath would go on to be the first non-architect to win the Industrial Arts Medal from the American Institute of Architects for her work on the building.
(The Brian and Edith Heath Foundation and the Environmental Design Archives, UC Berkeley)
It’s not just the tile made by a groundbreaking ceramicist and innovator of midcentury modern tableware that people often drive by without recognizing — it’s the museum itself, said Norton Simon Vice President of External Affairs Leslie Denk.
The 85,000-square-foot museum — housing a private collection of 12,000 objects including work by Rembrandt, Degas, Picasso, Fragonard, Goya and Vuillard — and its 79,000-square-foot sculpture garden, dotted with work by Jacques Lipchitz, Henry Moore and Robert Morris, are situated on a steeply graded wedge of land girded by bustling Colorado Boulevard, and the traffic-snarled 134 Freeway, near where it meets the 210.
The new signage at the entrance of the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena. Improving the curb appeal of the museum was the original goal of the renovation, which expanded to include refurbishing the Heath tiles and beloved sculpture garden.
(Etienne Laurent / For The Times)
The signage signaling the museum’s presence along one of Pasadena’s busiest thoroughfares was underwhelming and easy to miss, and the landscaping along Colorado Boulevard was overgrown and wide open. People would sometimes leave their shopping carts from a nearby Ralphs grocery store beside the entrance, not seeming to notice it at all. They also seemed unaware that French artist Auguste Rodin’s famed 1880 sculpture “The Thinker” had been sitting contemplatively along the street for decades — in a spot that no one appeared to realize was open to the public.
The sculpture was originally placed beside the main Norton Simon sign so that it would be visible to cameras filming the Rose Parade, but Denk said that when she recently watched a telecast, the sculpture was obscured by trees. That this iconic work was going unseen was representative of the museum’s problem as a whole.
Conversations about improving the Norton Simon’s curb appeal began a decade ago, said Denk, with the hope of unveiling new signage and entryways in time for the museum’s 50th anniversary celebration.
The space was built in the 1960s for what was originally called the Pasadena Art Museum, but that organization fell on rough times, and in 1974, industrialist Norton Simon — who had become a prominent art collector — took over the building, which reopened under his name in 1975. The last significant work on the museum — a $5-million renovation — was done in 1995 by architect and former museum trustee Frank Gehry.
The lobby of the Norton Simon Museum and its back garden pond, which was reduced in size and lined with concrete. It was also connected to a fountain that helps block the sound of nearby traffic.
(Etienne Laurent / For The Times)
Thirty years later, the need for more upgrades became paramount.
“What the museum was looking to do was to really improve our street presence, to elevate the way we present ourselves along Colorado Boulevard,” Denk explained. “There was a disconnect between the way we looked along the street to the experience of walking into the galleries.”
The renovation conceived to remedy this quandary naturally expanded to include a long-overdue restoration of the Heath tiles, as well as a refreshed sculpture garden with new resin-bound gravel pathways. A running fountain now connects to a concrete-lined pond with a reduced footprint to invite more foot traffic and allow for more community events, and walls have been erected to block traffic noise from nearby freeways. Crucially, a new pedestrian-friendly entryway has been constructed, alongside welcoming podium signage with fencing and pole banners that gaily announce the museum to the public.
The work, which took a total of 10 months, was scheduled to start on Jan. 7 — the same day that wildfires began tearing through the Pacific Palisades and Altadena, which borders the museum to the north. The campus was locked down immediately and no smoke infiltrated the galleries, said Emily Talbot, vice president of collections and chief curator, but the sculpture garden looked as if a hurricane had torn through it.
The restoration took on added meaning in the days that followed, Talbot said.
“This building’s design was intended to be in dialogue with the mountains, and so its preservation now just feels all the more significant and important,” she said.
Project architect Liz MacLean, from left, Norton Simon Museum Vice President of External Affairs Leslie Denk and Vice President of Collections and Chief Curator Emily Talbot. “It really is a work of art,” MacLean said of the Heath tiles that cover the building.
(Etienne Laurent / For The Times)
The mottled brownish-red of the Heath tiles is a huge part of that environmental dialogue, and on a recent sun-soaked Friday they shone with a radiant luster under an azure sky. Before the restoration they were cracked and dirty — some had fallen off altogether and others were marred by biological growth. ARG began the process of identifying which tiles needed the most remediation by doing a photorealistic laser scan of the building that MacLean described as a sort of high-tech x-ray.
Twelve artisans at Heath Ceramics, which still operates in the Bay Area, created 3,000 new tiles by hand. The process was complicated, MacLean and Denk note, because the workers had to re-create the tiles with a new formula. The original included materials like lead, which can no longer be used. So they had to test out different processes of glazing in order to make the tone and texture match the old tiles as closely as possible. They ended up using a two-part glaze and also created an entirely new mold since the tiles are not a standard shape.
After the first pressing in the clay, the final tiles shrank about 12%, said MacLean, so the fabricators had to conduct many trials to get just the right size. There were places on the facade where a single tile needed to fit in the grout on the wall. This work was done by Gardena-based company KC Restoration, which retouched and treated each damaged or cracked tile with the type of care and attention to detail used by painting conservators, Denk said.
The entrance and lobby of the Norton Simon Museum. “Our collection is at the heart of everything we do,” said chief curator Emily Talbot.
(Etienne Laurent / For The Times)
“It’s interesting, because a lot of times building elements are seen as owned by the architect,” said MacLean of the Heath tiles. “And this is a finish done by someone outside of the architecture firm and architecture world, which is really exciting.”
Thanks to her work on the Norton Simon, Heath became in 1971 the first non-architect to win the Industrial Arts Medal from the American Institute of Architects, helping launch her career.
“It really is a work of art,” said MacLean. “It’s more than just a building.”
It’s also what’s inside that building, said Talbot, which is coming into focus with the 50th anniversary celebrations.
“Our collection is at the heart of everything that we do,” she said.
Fittingly, “The Thinker” has been moved to a prominent spot by the new pedestrian entrance, where everyone can see it — and take an obligatory selfie — on their way to the front doors.
A week before California’s special election, Gavin Newsom made news by doing something practically unheard of. He told donors to stop sending money to pass Proposition 50.
It was a man-bites-piranha moment — a politician turning away campaign cash?!? — and amounted to a victory lap by California’s governor even as the balloting was still underway.
On Wednesday, less than 12 hours after the polls closed, Newsom sent another email. This one thanked backers for helping push the gerrymander measure to landslide approval — and asked them to open their wallets back up.
“Please make a contribution,” he pleaded, “to help us continue to go on the offense and take the fight to Trump.”
One campaign ended. Another seamlessly continued.
Though he’s been publicly coy, Newsom has been effectively running for president for the better part of a year, something even the most nearsighted observer can see. One envisions the restless governor, facing the end of his term, sitting in the Capitol and crossing days off his official calendar as he longingly gazes toward 2028.
He took a risk that an esoteric subject — congressional map-making — could be turned into a heartfelt issue. He gambled that voters would overlook the cost of a special election — close to $300 million — and agree to hand back the line-drawing powers they seized from Sacramento insiders and politicians who put their own interests first. In doing so, he further raised his national profile and bulked up an already formidable fundraising base.
None of which makes Newsom’s quest for the White House much more likely to succeed.
His biggest problem — and there’s no way to fix it — is that he comes from California, which, to many around the country, reads as far left, nutty and badly off track. Or, less harshly, a place that’s more secular, permissive and tax-happy than some middle-of-the-roaders are really comfortable with.
Take it from a Republican strategist.
“He’s obviously a talented politician,” said Q. Whitfield Ayres, a GOP pollster with extensive campaign experience in Georgia and other presidential swing states. “But if I were trying to paint a Democratic nominee as too liberal for the country, having the governor of California be the nominee would be an easy task … Too coastal. Too dismissive of ‘flyover’ country. Too much like the elites on both coasts that [President] Trump has run so successfully against for years now.”
That’s not just a partisan perspective.
The Democratic desire to win in 2028 “is very, very strong,” said Charlie Cook, a campaign handicapper who has spent decades impartially analyzing state and national politics. The presidential contest “will be determined by winning in purple states and purple counties and purple precincts,” Cook said, in places such as central Pennsylvania, rural Wisconsin and Georgia, where issues play differently than within California’s deeply blue borders.
For many primary voters, Cook suggested, ideology and purity testing will yield to a more cold-eyed and pragmatic calculation: a candidate’s perceived electability. He minimized Newsom’s smashing Proposition 50 victory. “He’s got to impress people on the road,” Cook said. “Not just a home game in a state that’s really tilted one way.”
As Democratic strategist David Axelrod noted, “the nature of presidential politics is the bar gets raised constantly.” Once the race truly begins, Newsom will be probed and prodded in ways he hasn’t experienced since his last physical exam, all in full public view.
“There is an army of opposition researchers, Republican and Democrat, who are going to scour every word he’s spoken as a public official in California since his days as San Francisco mayor and every official action he’s taken and not taken,” said Axelrod, who helped steer Barack Obama to the White House. “Who knows what they will yield and how he’ll respond to that.”
At the moment, Newsom is giving off a very strong Avenatti energy.
Newsom, of course, is vastly more qualified than the Los Angeles attorney ever was. But the political vibe — and especially the governor’s self-styled role as Trump-troller-in-chief — is very similar.
“If you’re talking about democracy over the dinner table, it’s because you don’t have to worry about the cost of food on the table,” Axelrod said. “If you have to worry about the cost of food on the table or your rent or your mortgage, insurance, electricity and all these things, you’re thinking about that.”
To stand any shot at winning his party’s nomination, much less the White House, Newsom will have to build support beyond his fan base with a message showing he understands voters’ day-to-day concerns and offers ways to improve their lives. Success will require more than passing a Democratic ballot measure in a Democratic state, or cracking wise on social media.
Because all those snarky memes and cheeky presidential put-downs won’t seem so funny if JD Vance is inaugurated in January 2029.
I have been a diehard baseball fan for more than 60 years, and this year’s Dodger team is the toughest, gutsiest and most resilient team I have ever seen. Toronto is an absolutely fabulous baseball team, and would’ve beaten anybody else in all of baseball without much stress.
And as for Yoshinobu Yamamoto, that young man ought to be on Mt. Rushmore.
Let’s go for a three-peat in ‘26!
Drew Pomerance Tarzana
No doubt about it. The best team won the World Series. The Dodgers found ways to win without great hitting. Their pitching and defensive skills exceeded our expectations. Thank you everyone for another amazing baseball season.
Cheryl Creek Anaheim
How wonderful to see grown men acting like little boys during their victory celebration. While I am not a fan of the gyrations on the bases after a hit (even when way behind), the pure joy emanating from the players at the end was to be cherished. How sports enables us to forget our problems is what has made me a lifelong sports fan.
Mark Kaiserman Santa Monica
Who would imagine that Games 6 and 7 would both end on double plays while the losing team had men in scoring position? One different swing of the bat would have reversed the outcome of the games and series. How suddenly agonizing and euphoric. How uniquely baseball!
Mel Spitz Beverly Hills
The Toronto Blue Jay fans taunted Shohei Othani early in the series, “We don’t need you!” I guess they did!
Edward Jimenez Whittier
Consideration should be given to incorporating the Japanese flag into the design of the 2025 World Series ring.
Greg Thompson Chatsworth
It took until Games 6 and 7, but the 2025 World Series lineup needed to include Miguel Rojas.
Ken Feldman Tarzana
Dodgers manager Dave Roberts’ haters and naysayers can take a seat. Whether it was confidence in the starting rotation, masterful management of the bullpen, being unafraid to tinker with the lineup or making brilliant defensive replacements, every lever Roberts pulled in Games 6 and 7 ultimately resulted in another championship.
Ron Yukelson San Luis Obispo
As my fellow Monday morning baseball critics always say, “Dave Roberts is a genius. Mookie is great at short. Last year no starting pitchers. This year no bullpen.”
So many contributed big plays. Constant tension, excitement, tenacity and, ultimately, exhilaration. Thank you Dodgers for a playoffs and World Series for the ages. Encore!
Rafael Serna Hacienda Heights
While we bask in the euphoria of the Dodgers’ World Series win, let’s not overlook but sing the praises to the last man standing! Without the heroics of Will Klein, there might not have been a Game 6 or a Game 7.
Stan Shirai Torrance
The World Series finished on Dia de los Muertos, but our Dodgers lived to win again. Against all odds in Game 7, the Dodgers solidified a dynasty. What a game. What a series. What a team. So many clutch moments and players. This one will be enjoyed and cherished FOREVER.
Michael Lee Manous San Dimas
A phrase that will never be used in the same sentence with Yoshinobu Yamamoto: “load management.”
A third “Gremlins” movie is officially in the works and eyeing a theatrical release ahead of the 2027 holiday season, Warner Bros. Discovery President and Chief Executive David Zaslav announced Thursday during the company’s third-quarter earnings call. The upcoming project is set to hit theaters Nov. 19, 2027, and will reunite original “Gremlins” scribe Chris Columbus with Steven Spielberg’s Amblin Entertainment, which produced the first two “Gremlins” films.
Columbus will direct and produce the film and Spielberg returns as an executive producer, Zaslav said. The new “Gremlins” film will be franchise’s first movie in more than 30 years. Columbus will write the script with “Final Destination Bloodlines” directing duo Zach Lipovsky and Adam B. Stein.
Oscar nominee Columbus introduced audiences to the mysterious and maniacal ways of the Mogwai — furry, wide-eyed bipeds with giant ears — with the release of “Gremlins” in 1984. The first film, directed by Joe Dante, established the three nonnegotiables of Mogwai care: Don’t get them wet, don’t feed them after midnight and don’t expose them to bright light. Both the 1984 release and its 1990 sequel, also directed by Dante but written by Charles S. Haas, tracks the havoc that arises when the first two rules are ignored, from unstoppable spawning to unruly mutation into Gremlins.
The “Gremlins” films starred Zach Galligan, Phoebe Cates, Howie Mandel as the voice of two-toned Mogwai Gizmo and Frank Welker as the voices of the films’ antagonists.
Though it has been decades since the last “Gremlins” movie hit the big screen, the furballs got their own spotlight in the 2023 animated prequel TV series “Gremlins: Secrets of the Mogwai.”
The series, from showrunner and executive producer Tze Chun, took a deep look into its namesake creatures’ origins, briefly hinted at in the first film by shopkeeper Mr. Wing (played by the Chinese American actor Keye Luke). “Secrets of the Mogwai” zooms in on Mr. Wing’s relationship with Gizmo, who became a through line in the “Gremlins” movies.
Series executive producer Brendan Hay told The Times in 2023 that setting “Secrets of the Mogwai” in 1920s China was “a chance to own the somewhat throwaway origin that the Mogwai have in the films.”
“In the films, it’s clear that they’re of Chinese origin, but it’s not that developed,” Hay said. “This is our chance to tell that story and really embrace it [by] actually try[ing] to find a place for Mogwai that fits into Chinese mythology, or at least builds off of existing Chinese mythology, and have fun in that world.”
Galligan hinted this summer that a new “Gremlins” movie was in the works while appearing at Comic-Con Manchester. According to a TikTok, the actor said “they’ve come up with a script” and that Warner Bros. was “incredibly interested in doing it, apparently it’s waiting upon Mr. Spielberg to read it and approve it.”
At her players’ request, Cori Close showed up inside Pauley Pavilion five hours before tipoff. The UCLA women’s basketball coach was joined by her assistants and managers for pregame shooting at 6:30 a.m., so many players filling the court that the sessions had to be staggered.
Three days after a lackluster showing in their season opener, the Bruins felt they had something to prove in their first game at home. The additional work before facing UC Santa Barbara on Thursday reflected their commitment.
“I mean, I never have to coach this team’s work ethic,” Close said. “That is never in question. And so that’s a really fun place to be in.”
The day’s biggest gratification would come later, the third-ranked Bruins resembling an All-Star team at times during an 87-50 rout of the Gauchos that showed glimpses of the firepower they hope to fully unleash by season’s end.
Forward Gabriela Jaquez revealed one of the best long-range shooting displays of her career, making four of seven three-pointers on the way to 21 points. Point guard Kiki Rice was a constant playmaker in her return to the starting lineup while scoring 20 points, grabbing eight rebounds and distributing three assists. Shooting guard Gianna Kneepkens added another dimension to the offense with four more three-pointers and 20 points.
It was the first time the Bruins had three players score 20 or more points since four of them did it against Bellarmine in November 2023.
“There’s so many weapons that I feel like it’s hard for the defense to choose what to take away,” Kneepkens said, “so I think really what makes this team special is that on any night it could be someone’s night, so that’s a really hard thing to scout.”
The challenge for the Bruins (2-0) could be to maximize all that talent.
Close said Rice had sent her an Oklahoma City Thunder news conference in which the team talked about building rhythm with its offense by best utilizing the players who were hot on any given night.
“We’re not quite there yet,” Close said. “We’re not playing with great rhythm. … I think we just haven’t totally found that flow yet.”
UCLA guard Kiki Rice drives to the basket past UC Santa Barbara guard Zoe Shaw during the second half Thursday.
(Kyusung Gong / Associated Press)
Part of that could be pinned on Rice still rounding into form from a shoulder injury and fellow point guard Charlisse Leger-Walker (eight points, seven assists, three steals) playing in only her second game since returning from a lengthy injury layoff.
The Bruins were also without Sienna Betts (lower leg) and Timea Gardiner (knee) for a second consecutive game. Close said there remained no timetable for Betts’ return even as she continued to progress.
But Close said she liked the way her players responded after describing them as “flat all the way around” in their opener, a 24-point victory over San Diego State.
“The film session after that was not fun. Practice was not fun,” Close said. “And their willingness to say, ‘This is what we need. We need to be challenged. We didn’t meet the standard’ — I’m really impressed with their willingness to do that.”
After some lackadaisical UCLA defense in the first quarter, there was a stretch in the second quarter in which the Bruins made it difficult just to get the ball past halfcourt.
Jaquez stuck out a hand, tipping an outlet pass to herself before going in for a driving layup in which she was fouled. On the Gauchos’ next possession, Leger-Walker came up with another steal, leading to a Rice layup.
It wasn’t long before Jaquez and teammate Lauren Betts (12 points, seven rebounds, six assists) used a double team along the sideline to force another turnover.
Closing the half on a 19-2 run, the Bruins surged into a 51-26 lead. UCLA also benefited from an oddity midway through the second quarter when the Gauchos (1-1) were assessed a technical foul for having a player wearing a jersey number that didn’t correspond with the scorebook.
For UCLA, the biggest challenge might have been scheduling the game.
Close said she’s struggled to get teams to agree to play the Bruins after their Final Four run, calling every school in the state from San Luis Obispo to San Diego. Most of UCLA’s marquee nonconference games, starting with a showdown against Oklahoma on Monday in Sacramento, will be at neutral sites.
“They kept saying it’s the Lauren Betts factor and I was like, ‘No, it’s the you’re scared factor. Come on,’ ” Close said. “I actually really lose respect for people who aren’t willing to step up and play hard people.”
The Gauchos eagerly complied in part because they were Close’s alma mater and the spot where she coached for nine years.
“Thank you to them for stepping up and coming into Pauley,” Close said, “and wanting to get better at their craft and growing the game.”
For the Gauchos, given the way things went, they might be owed a Christmas card as well.
Early to rise, the Bruins also put an early end to any upset hopes.
I knew I’d chosen the right spot to hike as I drove past the yellow-leaved bigleaf maple trees near the trailhead.
I was in search of fall foliage near Los Angeles, and after a bit of research, I’d taken a chance by heading over to Big Santa Anita Canyon in Angeles National Forest to see if I’d get lucky.
I am now here to help you, hopefully, find the same good fortune on your autumnal adventures.
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The idea that L.A. and its surrounding mountains feature trees with fall foliage can be hard to grasp for those who’ve been misled into believing that 1) L.A. is a desert (it’s not), and 2) The area doesn’t have seasons (it does!).
“L.A. was once wetlands fed by the cobweb streams and marshes of the L.A. River. It had oak woodlands and grassland valleys,” wrote Times columnist Patt Morrison. “Then, at least a thousand years ago, Native Americans were burning land to flush game and to make more oak trees grow to make more acorns to eat. It’s the last hundred-plus years that made the native landscape unrecognizable.”
Thankfully, it remains possible to observe the seasonal changes of our native trees in the wild lands around L.A. County. Below, you’ll find three hikes where you’ll see some level of fall foliage.
The leave of a bigleaf maple changing from bright green to brilliant yellow in Big Santa Anita Canyon in Angeles National Forest.
(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)
Before I dive into those hikes, though, I wanted to teach you how to find autumnal colors near you. My hope is that you can use this information to find off-the-beaten paths near you where the loudest thing is the pop of fall colors (rather than cursed Bluetooth speakers). Here’s how your local outdoors reporter finds hikes with fall color.
Know your native plants: There are multiple native trees, shrubs and plants that evolve as the weather cools to produce orange, red, yellow and copper colors. Those include California sycamores (orange-yellow leaves), bigleaf maple (bright yellow), Southern California black walnut (yellow), valley oak (orange, yellow, brown), poison oak (red), California buckwheat (rusty red) and more.
Find where the wild things grow: After identifying the native trees and plants that could (hopefully!) produce colorful leaves, you can log onto iNaturalist, a citizen science app and website, and search for them in a hiking area near you. For example, I searched bigleaf maple and noticed a few documented near the Lower Stunt High Trail. Might there be a bit of fall foliage there?
Look for water sources: Water makes for happy trees. It’s a near guarantee that if you head to one of our still-flowing local rivers or streams — like a hike along the 28(ish)-mile Gabrielino Trail where it runs parallel to the Arroyo Seco or West Fork of the San Gabriel River — you’ll find fall foliage. (This includes hiking from near NASA’s Jet Propulsion Lab near Pasadena to the Brown Mountain Dam or from Red Box to the Valley Forge trail camp.)
Set your expectations: As the fine folks at California Fall Color point out, it’s hard to predict when fall colors will pop. It depends on several factors, including the amount of daytime sunlight, nighttime temperatures and annual rainfall. That said, if you visit a trail, and it’s still quite green, consider returning a week later to see what you find. Nature is, lucky for us, a perpetual surprise!
I hope you use this knowledge to find fall foliage close to you that’s off the beaten path. That said, the three spots below are worth considering too and require no homework as I’m here to do that for you too.
A hiker heads up the fire road at Big Santa Anita Canyon in Angeles National Forest.
(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)
1. Winter Creek Trail at Big Santa Anita Canyon
Distance: 5.2-mile loop trail Elevation gain: About 1,230 feet Difficulty: Moderate Dogs allowed? Yes Accessible alternative:Chantry Flat Picnic Area for leaf peeping
Upon parking at the Chantry Flat parking area — which is admittedly a challenge on the weekend — you’ll have multiple hiking options to venture through Big Santa Anita Canyon. Note: If you forget to buy an Adventure Pass, you can usually snag one at the Adams Pack Station, which is open Tuesday through Sunday.
I chose to take the Winter Creek Trail because it leads you through dense vegetation, and I hoped this would increase my chances of noticing leaf changes. My dog, Maggie May, and I headed north down the fire road near the restrooms and then turned after about 900 feet onto the Upper Winter Creek trailhead. As we zigzagged along this single-track route down the hillside, I looked down into the canyon and quickly spotted pops of yellow — at least nine bigleaf maples changing with the season!
(Photos by Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)
I passed California bay laurel, rubbing their leaves to smell their spicy, pungent aroma, and noticed a branch with exactly one yellow leaf. The tree was considering changing with the season. Rusty red buckwheat, red poison oak and yellowish beige California brickellbush also grew along the trail. Rather than doing the entire Winter Creek trail, Maggie and I were racing daylight and turned around where the trail meets back with the fire road for just under a 2-mile adventure. The moon was rising over a ridgeline of the San Gabriel Mountains as we left.
Hiker Christina Best pauses amid the fall foliage along the Icehouse Canyon Trail on a First Descents monthly meetup in the Angeles National Forest in 2019.
(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
2. Icehouse Canyon to Icehouse Saddle
Distance: 6.6 miles out-and-back, or 7 miles if looping around on Chapman Trail Elevation gain: About 2,600 feet Difficulty: Hard Dogs allowed? Yes Accessible alternative:San Antonio Falls Trail. It’s wide and mostly paved, but steep.
The Icehouse Canyon Trail to Icehouse Saddle is a pristine route that takes hikers past the crystal-clear creek and up to Icehouse Saddle, where you’ll be surrounded by pine forest and have sweeping views of the Antelope Valley and Mojave Desert.
You’ll pass bigleaf maple, incense cedar, canyon live oak and more. The parking lot, which you’ll need an Adventure Pass to use, often fills up by 8 a.m. on the weekend, so it’s best to arrive early or try to visit on a weekday.
The higher you climb, the more likely you’ll encounter snow this time of year. If you don’t plan to pack crampons, please turn around once you reach snow.
Western sycamore trees like these grow in the aptly named Sycamore Canyon in Point Mugu State Park.
(Al Seib / Los Angeles Times)
3. Sycamore Canyon Trail in Point Mugu State Park
Distance: About 6 miles Elevation gain: About 200 feet Difficulty: Easy Dogs allowed? No Accessible alternative: The trail is mostly wide and flat, making it easier to navigate.
The aptly named Sycamore Canyon Trail is a fire road hike that takes you through the lush Point Mugu State Park. You’ll immediately see the limbs of large sycamore trees stretching over and around the trail. If conditions are right, they should be among the trees featuring fall foliage.
The trail also features Southern California black walnut, black sage, the fragrant California sagebrush and several other aromatic delights. Regardless of what you see, it’s a treat to be among pristine coastal sage scrub and other native habitat. And if the mood strikes, the beach is nearby. That sounds like a true Southern California fall day.
One of a handful of introspective signs at Big Santa Anita Canyon.
(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)
I hope you spot gorgeous fall colors on your adventures this weekend.
If you do, please feel free to reply to this email (if you’re a newsletter subscriber) with a humble brag with your photos. I love hearing from you!
3 things to do
A desert tortoise shuffles about the Desert Tortoise Research Natural Area in California City, CA.
(Irfan Khan/Los Angeles Times)
1. Celebrate desert tortoises in Palm Desert The Mojave Desert Land Trust will be on hand from 10 a.m. to noon Saturday at the Living Desert Zoo & Gardens in Palm Desert to celebrate Desert Tortoise Day. The organization will host tortoise-themed activities, including a scavenger hunt and a meet-and-greet with Mojave Maxine, a tortoise who lives at the zoo. Learn more at livingdesert.org.
2. Take trash out of wetlands near Marina and Playa del Rey Volunteers are needed from 9:30 a.m. to noon Saturday at both north and south Ballona Creek to pull trash from these important wetland habitats. Participants must wear close-toed shoes. Register for either location at ballonafriends.org.
3. Tend the land with new friends in L.A. Coyotl + Macehualli will host a volunteer day of weeding, planting and mulching from 9 a.m. to noon Saturday along a hillside in El Sereno. The exact coordinates will be provided to participants. Learn more at the group’s Instagram page.
The must-read
Adrian Boone, a Muir Woods National Monument Park Guide, teaches children about the forest at the Ross Preschool.
(Paul Kuroda / For The Times)
Park rangers are among government workers furloughed while the United States experiences its longest government shutdown. Times staff writer Jenny Gold wrote about how, in an effort to provide some income to these rangers, the San Francisco Bay Area-based Grasshopper Kids is paying out-of-work rangers to educate children at area schools. Riley Morris, who works as a seasonal interpretive ranger at Muir Woods, said they wondered whether the children sitting inside classrooms or school auditoriums would still be interested in learning about redwoods without the “magic” of sitting in a park among the towering giants. “But it’s just been so cool seeing that when all of that is taken out of the equation, these kids are still just so totally glued to like the information that I’m sharing with them,” Morris said. “You can just tell they’re almost vibrating with excitement.”
Happy adventuring,
P.S.
Do you have a nature lover on your holiday gift list? (Hi, Mom!) If so, check out this curated list of outdoors-themed gifts that Times staff writer Deborah Vankin and I wrote together for this year’s L.A. Times Holiday Gift Guide. I loved trying out the Six Moon Designs hiking umbrella, which I am eager to take on desert hikes this winter and spring. The Nomadix Bandana Towel is almost always either around my neck or in my pocket on every Wild hike. And the moment I finish writing this newsletter, I’m going to go find my North Face mules, which I also included on the list. They’re perfect for chilly evenings on the couch — or by a campfire. And as a bonus, read our list from last year’s Gift Guide, which doesn’t have a single repeated item. Boundless ideas for your boundless adventurers!
For more insider tips on Southern California’s beaches, trails and parks, check out past editions of The Wild. And to view this newsletter in your browser, click here.
One of the great conceits of California is its place on the cutting edge — of fashion, culture, technology, politics and other facets of the ways we live and thrive.
Not so with Proposition 50.
The redistricting measure, which passed resoundingly Tuesday, doesn’t break any ground, chart a fresh course or shed any light on a better pathway forward.
It is, to use a favorite word of California’s governor, merely the latest iteration of what has come to define today’s politics of fractiousness and division.
In fact, the redistricting measure and the partisan passions it stirred offer a perfect reflection of where we stand as a splintered country: Democrats overwhelming supported it. Republicans were overwhelmingly opposed.
And if Proposition 50 plays out as intended, it could make things worse, heightening the country’s polarization and increasing the animosity in Washington that is rotting our government and politics from the inside out.
You’re welcome.
The argument in favor of Proposition 50 — and it’s a strong one — is that California was merely responding to the scheming and underhanded actions of a rogue chief executive who desperately needs to be checked and balanced.
With GOP control of the House hanging by the merest of threads, Trump set out to boost his party’s prospects in the midterm election by browbeating Texas Republicans into redrawing the state’s congressional lines long before it was time. Trump’s hope next year is to gain as many as five of the state’s House seats.
And with that the redistricting battle was joined, as states across the country looked to rejigger their congressional boundaries to benefit one party or the other.
The upshot is that even more politicians now have the luxury of picking their voters, instead of the other way around, and if that doesn’t bother you maybe you’re not all that big a fan of representative democracy or the will of the people.
Was it necessary for Newsom, eyes fixed on the White House, to escalate the red-versus-blue battle? Did California have to jump in and be a part of the political race to the bottom? We won’t know until November 2026.
History and Trump’s sagging approval ratings — especially regarding the economy — suggest that Democrats are well positioned to gain at least the handful of seats needed to take control of the House, even without resorting to the machinations of Proposition 50.
There is, of course, no guarantee.
Gerrymandering aside, a pending Supreme Court decision that could gut the Voting Rights Act might deliver Republicans well over a dozen seats, greatly increasing the odds of the GOP maintaining power.
What is certain is that Proposition 50 will in effect disenfranchise millions of California Republicans and Republican-leaning voters who already feel overlooked and irrelevant to the workings of their home state.
Too bad for them, you might say. But that feeling of neglect frays faith in our political system and can breed a kind of to-hell-with-it cynicism that makes electing and cheering on a “disruptor” like Trump seem like a reasonable and appealing response.
(And, yes, disenfranchisement is just as bad when it targets Democratic voters who’ve been nullified in Texas, North Carolina, Missouri and other GOP-run states.)
Worse, slanting political lines so that one party or the other is guaranteed victory only widens the gulf that has helped turn Washington’s into its current slough of dysfunction.
The lack of competition means the greatest fear many lawmakers have is not the prospect of losing to the other party in a general election but rather being snuffed out in a primary by a more ideological and extreme challenger.
Witness the government shutdown, now in its record 36th day. Then imagine a Congress seated in January 2027 with even more lawmakers guaranteed reelection and concerned mainly with appeasing their party’s activist base.
The animating impulse behind Proposition 50 is understandable.
With the midterm election still nearly a year off — and the 2028 presidential contest eons away — many of those angry or despondent over the benighted state of our union desperately wanted to do something to push back.
Proposition 50, however, was a shortsighted solution.
Newsom and other proponents said the retaliatory ballot measure was a way of fighting fire with fire. But that smell in the air today isn’t victory.
Dean Herrington said he has been let go as football coach at St. Francis after five seasons during which his teams won three league championships and made two Southern Section finals.
The team went 2-8 this season and failed to make the playoffs in a season in which there were numerous injuries at the quarterback position. St. Francis ended the regular season with a stunning 28-21 win over Cathedral.
Herrington also enjoyed success as head coach at Bishop Alemany and Paraclete. He said Wednesday night, “It was shocking but maybe a good parting of ways.” The school told him there were concerns about culture and morale issues.
Herrington should be quick to pick up offers from other high schools and junior colleges. He has been known for developing top quarterbacks.
He took over at St. Francis for his good friend and former Hart player, the late Jim Bonds.
WASHINGTON — The government shutdown is poised to become the longest ever this week as the impasse between Democrats and Republicans has dragged into a new month. Millions of people stand to lose food aid benefits, health care subsidies are set to expire and there are few real talks between the parties over how to end it.
President Trump said in an interview aired on Sunday that he “won’t be extorted” by Democrats who are demanding negotiations to extend the expiring Affordable Care Act subsidies. Echoing congressional Republicans, the president said on CBS’ “60 Minutes” he’ll negotiate only when the government is reopened.
Trump said Democrats “have lost their way” and predicted they’ll capitulate to Republicans.
“I think they have to,” Trump said. “And if they don’t vote, it’s their problem.”
Trump’s comments signal the shutdown could drag on for some time as federal workers, including air traffic controllers, are set to miss additional paychecks and there’s uncertainty over whether 42 million Americans who receive federal food aid will be able to access the assistance. Senate Democrats have voted 13 times against reopening the government, insisting they need Trump and Republicans to negotiate with them first.
The president also reiterated his pleas to Republican leaders to change Senate rules and scrap the filibuster. Senate Republicans have repeatedly rejected that idea since Trump’s first term, arguing the rule requiring 60 votes to overcome any objections in the Senate is vital to the institution and has allowed them to stop Democratic policies when they’re in the minority.
Trump said that’s true, but “we’re here right now.”
“Republicans have to get tougher,” Trump told CBS. “If we end the filibuster, we can do exactly what we want.”
With the two parties at a standstill, the shutdown, now in its 34th day and approaching its sixth week, appears likely to become the longest in history. The previous record was set in 2019, when Trump demanded Congress give him money for a U.S.-Mexico border wall.
A potentially decisive week
Trump’s push on the filibuster could prove a distraction for Senate Majority Leader John Thune, R-S.D., and Republican senators who’ve opted instead to stay the course as the consequences of the shutdown become more acute.
Republicans are hoping at least some Democrats will eventually switch their votes as moderates have been in weekslong talks with rank-and-file Republicans about potential compromises that could guarantee votes on health care in exchange for reopening the government. Republicans need five additional Democrats to pass their bill.
“We need five with a backbone to say we care more about the lives of the American people than about gaining some political leverage,” Thune said on the Senate floor as the Senate left Washington for the weekend on Thursday.
Virginia Sen. Tim Kaine, a Democrat, said on ABC’s “This Week” on Sunday there’s a group of people talking about ”a path to fix the health care debacle” and a commitment from Republicans not to fire more federal workers. But it’s unclear if those talks could produce a meaningful compromise.
Far apart on Obamacare subsidies
Trump said in the “60 Minutes” interview that the Affordable Care Act — often known as Obamacare because it was signed and championed by then-President Barack Obama — is “terrible” and if the Democrats vote to reopen the government, “we will work on fixing the bad health care that we have right now.”
Democrats feel differently, arguing that the marketplaces set up by the ACA are working as record numbers of Americans have signed up for the coverage. But they want to extend subsidies first enacted during the COVID-19 pandemic so premiums won’t go up for millions of people on Jan. 1.
Senate Democratic leader Chuck Schumer said last week that “we want to sit down with Thune, with (House Speaker Mike) Johnson, with Trump, and negotiate a way to address this horrible health care crisis.”
No appetite for bipartisanship
As Democrats have pushed Trump and Republicans to negotiate, Trump has showed little interest in doing so. He called for an end to the Senate filibuster after a trip to Asia while the government was shut down.
White House spokeswoman Karoline Leavitt said on Fox News Channel’s “Sunday Morning Futures” that the president has spoken directly to Thune and Johnson about the filibuster. But a spokesman for Thune said Friday that his position hasn’t changed, and Johnson said Sunday that he believes the filibuster has traditionally been a “safeguard” from far-left policies.
Trump said on “60 Minutes” that he likes Thune but “I disagree with him on this point.”
The president has spent much of the shutdown mocking Democrats, posting videos of House Democratic leader Hakeem Jeffries in a Mexican sombrero. The White House website is now featuring a satirical “My Space” page for Democrats, a parody based on the social media site that was popular in the early 2000s. “We just love playing politics with people’s livelihoods,” the page reads.
Democrats have repeatedly said that they need Trump to get serious and weigh in. Virginia Sen. Mark Warner said that he hopes the shutdown could end “this week” because Trump is back in Washington.
Republicans “can’t move on anything without a Trump sign off,” Warner said on “Face the Nation” on CBS.
Record-breaking shutdown
The 35-day shutdown that lasted from December 2018 to January 2019 ended when Trump retreated from his demands over a border wall. That came amid intensifying delays at the nation’s airports and multiple missed paydays for hundreds of thousands of federal workers.
Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy said on ABC’s “This Week” that there have already been delays at several airports “and it’s only going to get worse.”
Many of the workers are “confronted with a decision,” he said. “Do I put food on my kids’ table, do I put gas in the car, do I pay my rent or do I go to work and not get paid?”
As flight delays around the country increased, New York City’s emergency management department posted on Sunday that Newark Airport was under a ground delay because of “staffing shortages in the control tower” and that they were limiting arrivals to the airport.
“The average delay is about 2 hours, and some flights are more than 3 hours late,” the account posted.
SNAP crisis
Also in the crossfire are the 42 million Americans who receive SNAP benefits. The Department of Agriculture planned to withhold $8 billion needed for payments to the food program starting on Saturday until two federal judges ordered the administration to fund it.
Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent said on CNN Sunday that the administration continues to await additional direction from the courts.
“The best way for SNAP benefits to get paid is for Democrats — for five Democrats to cross the aisle and reopen the government,” Bessent said.
House Democratic leader Jeffries, D-N.Y., accused Trump and Republicans of attempting to “weaponize hunger.” He said that the administration has managed to find ways for funding other priorities during the shutdown, but is slow-walking pushing out SNAP benefits despite the court orders.
“But somehow they can’t find money to make sure that Americans don’t go hungry,” Jeffries said in an appearance on CNN’s “State of the Union.”
Jalonick writes for the Associated Press. AP writer Aamer Madhani contributed to this report.
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.
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?”
“If AI is so good it can replace a human, then why have any human beings?”
— Mike Marino, makeup artist on “A Different Man”
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.”
“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.”
— Sam Tung, storyboard artist on “The Odyssey”
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.
“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.”
— Verena Puhm, Head of Studio at Dream Lab LA
“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.”
At a Starbucks in downtown Culver City, Amit Jain pulls out his iPad Pro and presses play. On-screen, one of his employees at Luma AI — the Silicon Valley startup behind a new wave of generative video tools, which he co-founded and now runs — lumbers through the company’s Palo Alto office, arms swinging, shoulders hunched, pretending to be a monkey. Jain swipes to a second version of the same clip. Same movement, same hallway, but now he is a monkey. Fully rendered and believable, and created in seconds.
“The tagline for this would be, like, iPhone to cinema,” Jain says, flipping through other uncanny clips shared on his company’s Slack. “But, of course, it’s not full cinema yet.” He says it offhandedly — as if he weren’t describing a transformation that could upend not just how movies are made but what Hollywood is even for. If anyone can summon cinematic spectacle with a few taps, what becomes of the place that once called it magic?
Luma’s generative AI platform, Dream Machine, debuted last year and points toward a new kind of moviemaking, one where anyone can make release-grade footage with a few words. Type “a cowboy riding a velociraptor through Times Square,” and it builds the scene from scratch. Feed it a still photo and it brings the frozen moment to life: A dog stirs from a nap, trees ripple in the breeze.
Dream Machine’s latest tool, Modify Video, was launched in June. Instead of generating new footage, it redraws what’s already there. Upload a clip, describe what you want changed and the system reimagines the scene: A hoodie becomes a superhero cape, a sunny street turns snowy, a person transforms into a talking banana or a medieval knight. No green screen, no VFX team, no code. “Just ask,” the company’s website says.
For now, clips max out around 10 seconds, a limit set by the technology’s still-heavy computing demands. But as Jain points out, “The average shot in a movie is only eight seconds.”
A series on how the AI revolution is reshaping the creative foundations of Hollywood — from storytelling and performance to production, labor and power.
Jain’s long-term vision is even more radical: a world of fully personalized entertainment, generated on demand. Not mass-market blockbusters, but stories tailored to each individual: a comedy about your co-workers, a thriller set in your hometown, a sci-fi epic starring someone who looks like you, or simply anything you want to see. He insists he’s not trying to replace cinema but expand it, shifting from one-size-fits-all stories to something more personal, flexible and scalable.
“Today, videos are made for 100 million people at a time — they have to hit the lowest common denominator,” Jain says. “A video made just for you or me is better than one made for two unrelated people. That’s the problem we’re trying to solve… My intention is to get to a place where two hours of video can be generated for every human every day.”
It’s a staggering goal that Jain acknowledges is still aspirational. “That will happen, but when the prices are about a thousand times cheaper than where we are. Our research and our engineering are going toward that, to push the price down as much as humanly possible. Because that’s the demand for video. People watch hours and hours of video every day.”
Scaling to that level would require not just faster models but exponentially more compute power. Critics warn that the environmental toll of such expansion could be profound.
For Dream Machine to become what Jain envisions, it needs more than generative tricks — it needs a built-in narrative engine that understands how stories work: when to build tension, where to land a joke, how to shape an emotional arc. Not a tool but a collaborator. “I don’t think artists want to use tools,” he says. “They want to tell their stories and tools get in their way. Currently, pretty much all video generative models, including ours, are quite dumb. They are good pixel generators. At the end of the day, we need to build general intelligence that can tell a f— funny joke. Everything else is a distraction.”
The name may be coincidental, but nine years ago, MIT’s Media Lab launched a very different kind of machine: Nightmare Machine, a viral experiment that used neural networks to distort cheerful faces and familiar cityscapes into something grotesque. That project asked if AI could learn to frighten us. Jain’s vision points in a more expansive direction: an AI that is, in his words, “able to tell an engaging story.”
For many in Hollywood, though, the scenario Jain describes — where traditional cinema increasingly gives way to fast, frictionless, algorithmically personalized video — sounds like its own kind of nightmare.
Jain sees this shift as simply reflecting where audiences already are. “What people want is changing,” he says. “Movies obviously have their place but people aren’t spending time on them as much. What people want are things that don’t need their attention for 90 minutes. Things that entertain them and sometimes educate them and sometimes are, you know, thirst traps. The reality of the universe is you can’t change people’s behaviors. I think the medium will change very significantly.”
Still, Jain — who previously worked as an engineer on Apple’s Vision Pro, where he collaborated with filmmakers like Steven Spielberg and George Lucas — insists Hollywood isn’t obsolete, just due for reinvention. To that end, Luma recently launched Dream Lab LA, a creative studio aimed at fostering AI-powered storytelling.
“Hollywood is the largest concentration of storytellers in the world,” Jain says. “Just like Silicon Valley is the largest concentration of computer scientists and New York is the largest concentration of finance people. We need them. That’s what’s really special about Hollywood. The solution will come out of the marriage of technology and art together. I think both sides will adapt.”
It’s a hopeful outlook, one that imagines collaboration, not displacement. But not everyone sees it that way.
In Silicon Valley, where companies like Google, OpenAI, Anthropic and Meta are racing to build ever more powerful generative tools, such thinking is framed as progress. In Hollywood, it can feel more like erasure — a threat to authorship itself and to the jobs, identities and traditions built around it. The tension came to a head during the 2023 writers’ and actors’ strikes, when picket signs declared: “AI is not art” and “Human writers only.”
What once felt like the stuff of science fiction is now Hollywood’s daily reality. As AI becomes embedded in the filmmaking process, the entire ecosystem — from studios and streamers to creators and institutions — is scrambling to keep up. Some see vast potential: faster production, lower costs, broader access, new kinds of creative freedom. Others see an extraction machine that threatens the soul of the art form and a coming flood of cheap, forgettable content.
AI storytelling is just beginning to edge into theaters — and already sparking backlash. This summer, IMAX is screening 10 generative shorts from Runway’s AI Film Festival. At AMC Burbank, where one screening is set to take place later this month, a protest dubbed “Kill the Machine” is already being organized on social media, an early flashpoint in the growing resistance to AI’s encroachment on storytelling.
But ready or not, the gravity is shifting. Silicon Valley is pulling the film industry into its orbit, with some players rushing in and others dragged. Faced with consolidation, shrinking budgets and shareholder pressure to do more with less, studios are turning to AI not just to cut costs but to survive. The tools are evolving faster than the industry’s playbook, and the old ways of working are struggling to keep up. With generative systems poised to flood the zone with content, simply holding an audience’s attention, let alone shaping culture, is becoming harder than ever.
While the transition remains uneven, some studios are already leaning in. Netflix recently used AI tools to complete a complex VFX sequence for the Argentine sci-fi series “El Eternauta” in a fraction of the usual time. “We remain convinced that AI represents an incredible opportunity to help creators make films and series better, not just cheaper,” co-chief executive Ted Sarandos told analysts during a July earnings call.
At Paramount, incoming chief executive David Ellison is pitching a more sweeping transformation: a “studio in the cloud” that would use AI and other digital tools to reinvent every stage of filmmaking, from previsualization to post. Ellison, whose Skydance Media closed its merger with Paramount Global this week and whose father, Larry Ellison, co-founded Oracle, has vowed to turn the company into a tech-first media powerhouse. “Technology will transform every single aspect of this company,” he said last year.
In one of the most visible examples of AI adoption in Hollywood, Lionsgate, the studio behind the “John Wick” and “Hunger Games” franchises, struck a deal last year with the generative video startup Runway to train a custom model on its film and TV library, aiming to support future project development and improve efficiency. Lionsgate chief executive Jon Feltheimer, speaking to analysts after the agreement, said the company believes AI, used with “appropriate guardrails,” could have a “positive transformational impact” on the business.
Elsewhere, studios are experimenting more quietly: using AI to generate early character designs, write alternate dialogue or explore how different story directions might land. The goal isn’t to replace writers or directors, but to inform internal pitches and development. At companies like Disney, much of the testing is happening in games and interactive content, where the brand risk is lower and the guardrails are clearer. For now, the prevailing instinct is caution. No one wants to appear as if they’re automating away the heart of the movies.
Legacy studios like Paramount are exploring ways to bring down costs by incorporating AI into their pipeline.
(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)
As major studios pivot, smaller, more agile players are building from the ground up for the AI era.
According to a recent report by FBRC.ai, an L.A.-based innovation studio that helps launch and advise early-stage AI startups in entertainment, more than 65 AI-native studios have launched since 2022, most of them tiny, self-funded teams of five or fewer. At these studios, AI tools allow a single creator to do the work of an entire crew, slashing production costs by 50% to 95% compared with traditional live-action or animation. The boundaries between artist, technician and studio are collapsing fast — and with them, the very idea of Hollywood as a gatekeeper.
That collapse is raising deeper questions: When a single person anywhere in the world can generate a film from a prompt, what does Hollywood still represent? If stories can be personalized, rendered on demand or co-written with a crowd, who owns them? Who gets paid? Who decides what matters and what disappears into the churn? And if narrative itself becomes infinite, remixable and disposable, does the idea of a story still hold any meaning at all?
Yves Bergquist leads the AI in Media Project at USC’s Entertainment Technology Center, a studio-backed think tank where Hollywood, academia and tech converge. An AI researcher focused on storytelling and cognition, he has spent years helping studios brace for a shift he sees as both inevitable and wrenching. Now, he says, the groundwork is finally being laid.
“We’re seeing very aggressive efforts behind the scenes to get studios ready for AI,” Bergquist says. “They’re building massive knowledge graphs, getting their data ready to be ingested into AI systems and putting governance committees in place to start shaping real policy.”
But adapting won’t be easy, especially for legacy studios weighed down by entrenched workflows, talent relationships, union contracts and layers of legal complexity. “These AI models weren’t built for Hollywood,” Bergquist says. “This is 22nd-century technology being used to solve 21st-century problems inside 19th-century organizational models. So it’s blood, sweat and tears getting them to fit.”
In an algorithmically accelerated landscape where trends can catch fire and burn out in hours, staying relevant is its own challenge. To help studios keep pace, Bergquist co-founded Corto, an AI startup that describes itself as a “growth genomics engine.” The company, which also works with brands like Unilever, Lego and Coca-Cola, draws on thousands of social and consumer sources, analyzing text, images and video to decode precisely which emotional arcs, characters and aesthetics resonate with which demographics and cultural segments, and why.
“When the game is attention, the weapon is understanding where culture and attention are and where they’re going.” Bergquist says, arguing media ultimately comes down to neuroscience.
Corto’s system breaks stories down into their formal components, such as tone, tempo, character dynamics and visual aesthetics, and benchmarks new projects against its extensive data to highlight, for example, that audiences in one region prefer underdog narratives or that a certain visual trend is emerging globally. Insights like these can help studios tailor marketing strategies, refine storytelling decisions or better assess the potential risk and appeal of new projects.
With ever-richer audience data and advances in AI modeling, Bergquist sees a future where studios can fine-tune stories in subtle ways to suit different viewers. “We might know that this person likes these characters better than those characters,” he says. “So you can deliver something to them that’s slightly different than what you’d deliver to me.”
A handful of studios are already experimenting with early versions of that vision — prototyping interactive or customizable versions of existing IP, exploring what it might look like if fans could steer a scene, adjust a storyline or interact with a favorite character. Speaking at May’s AI on the Lot conference, Danae Kokenos, head of technology innovation at Amazon MGM Studios, pointed to localization, personalization and interactivity as key opportunities. “How do we allow people to have different experiences with their favorite characters and favorite stories?” she said. “That’s not quite solved yet, but I see it coming.”
Bergquist is aware that public sentiment around AI remains deeply unsettled. “People are very afraid of AI — and they should be,” he acknowledges. “Outside of certain areas like medicine, AI is very unpopular. And the more capable it gets, the more unpopular it’s going to be.”
Still, he sees a significant upside for the industry. Get AI right, and studios won’t just survive but redefine storytelling itself. “One theory I really believe in is that as more people gain access to Hollywood-level production tools, the studios will move up the ladder — into multi-platform, immersive, personalized entertainment,” he says. “Imagine spending your life in Star Wars: theatrical releases, television, VR, AR, theme parks. That’s where it’s going.”
The transition won’t be smooth. “We’re in for a little more pain,” he says, “but I think we’ll see a rebirth of Hollywood.”
“AI slop” or creative liberation?
You don’t have to look far to find the death notices. TikTok, YouTube and Reddit are full of “Hollywood is dead” posts, many sparked by the rise of generative AI and the industry’s broader upheaval. Some sound the alarm. Others say good riddance. But what’s clear is that the center is no longer holding and no one’s sure what takes its place.
Media analyst Doug Shapiro has estimated that Hollywood produces about 15,000 hours of fresh content each year, compared to 300 million hours uploaded annually to YouTube. In that context, generative AI doesn’t need to reach Hollywood’s level to pose a major threat to its dominance — sheer volume alone is enough to disrupt the industry.
The attention economy is maxed out but attention itself hasn’t grown. As the monoculture fades from memory, Hollywood’s cultural pull is loosening. This year’s Oscars drew 19.7 million viewers, fewer than tuned in to a typical episode of “Murder, She Wrote” in the 1990s. The best picture winner, “Anora,” earned just $20 million at the domestic box office, one of the lowest tallies of any winner of the modern era. Critics raved, but fewer people saw it in theaters than watch the average moderately viral TikTok.
Amid this fragmentation, generative AI tools are fueling a surge of content. Some creators have a new word for it: “slop” — a catchall for cheap, low-effort, algorithmically churned-out media that clogs the feed in search of clicks. Once the world’s dream factory, Hollywood is now asking how it can stand out in an AI-powered media deluge.
Audience members watch an AI-assisted animated short at “Emergent Properties,” a 2023 Sony Pictures screening that offered a glimpse of the uncanny, visually inventive new wave of AI-powered filmmaking.
(Jay L. Clendenin / Los Angeles Times)
Ken Williams, chief executive of USC’s Entertainment Technology Center and a former studio exec who co-founded Sony Pictures Imageworks, calls it a potential worst-case scenario in the making — “the kind of wholesale dehumanization of the creative process that people, in their darkest moments, fear.”
Williams says studios and creatives alike worry that AI will trap audiences in an algorithmic cul de sac, feeding them more of what they already know instead of something new.
“People who live entirely in the social media world and never come out of that foxhole have lost the ability to hear other voices — and no one wants to see that happen in entertainment.”
If the idea of uncontrolled, hyper-targeted AI content sounds like something out of an episode of “Black Mirror,” it was. In the 2023 season opener “Joan Is Awful,” a woman discovers her life is being dramatized in real time on a Netflix-style streaming service by an AI trained on her personal data, with a synthetic Salma Hayek cast as her on-screen double.
So far, AI tools have been adopted most readily in horror, sci-fi and fantasy, genres that encourage abstraction, stylization and visual surrealism. But when it comes to human drama, emotional nuance or sustained character arcs, the cracks start to show. Coherence remains a challenge. And as for originality — the kind that isn’t stitched together from what’s already out there — the results so far have generally been far from revelatory.
At early AI film festivals, the output has often leaned toward the uncanny or the conceptually clever: brief, visually striking experiments with loose narratives, genre tropes and heavily stylized worlds. Many feel more like demos than fully realized stories. For now, the tools excel at spectacle and pastiche but struggle with the kinds of layered, character-driven storytelling that define traditional cinema.
Then again, how different is that from what Hollywood is already producing? Today’s biggest blockbusters — sequels, reboots, multiverse mashups — often feel so engineered to please that it’s hard to tell where the algorithm ends and the artistry begins. Nine of the top 10 box office hits in 2024 were sequels. In that context, slop is, to some degree, in the eye of the beholder. One person’s throwaway content may be another’s creative breakthrough — or at least a spark.
Joaquin Cuenca, chief executive of Freepik, rejects the notion that AI-generated content is inherently low-grade. The Spain-based company, originally a stock image platform, now offers AI tools for generating images, video and voice that creators across the spectrum are starting to embrace.
“I don’t like this ‘slop’ term,” Cuenca says. “It’s this idea that either you’re a top renowned worldwide expert or it’s not worth it — and I don’t think that’s true. I think it is worth it. Letting people with relatively low skills or low experience make better videos can help people get a business off the ground or express things that are in their head, even if they’re not great at lighting or visuals.”
Freepik’s tools have already made their way into high-profile projects. Robert Zemeckis’ “Here,” starring a digitally de-aged Tom Hanks and set in one room over a period for decades, used the company’s upscaling tech to enhance backgrounds. A recently released anthology of AI-crafted short films, “Beyond the Loop,” which was creatively mentored by director Danny Boyle, used the platform to generate stylized visuals.
“More people will be able to make better videos, but the high end will keep pushing forward too,” Cuenca says. “I think it will expand what it means to be state of the art.”
For all the concern about runaway slop, Williams envisions a near-term stalemate, where AI expands the landscape without toppling the kind of storytelling that still sets Hollywood apart. In that future, he argues, the industry’s competitive edge — and perhaps its best shot at survival — will still come from human creators.
That belief in the value of human authorship is now being codified by the industry’s most influential institution. Earlier this year, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences issued its first formal guidance on AI in filmmaking, stating that the use of generative tools will “neither help nor harm” a film’s chances of receiving a nomination. Instead, members are instructed to consider “the degree to which a human was at the heart of the creative authorship” when evaluating a work.
“I don’t see AI necessarily displacing the kind of narrative content that has been the province of Hollywood’s creative minds and acted by the stars,” Williams says. “The industry is operating at a very high level of innovation and creativity. Every time I turn around, there’s another movie I’ve got to see.”
The new studio model
Inside Mack Sennett Studios, a historic complex in L.A.’s Echo Park neighborhood once used for silent film shoots, a new kind of studio is taking shape: Asteria, the generative AI video studio founded by filmmaker-turned-entrepreneur Bryn Mooser.
Asteria serves as the creative arm of Moonvalley, an AI storytelling company led by technologist and chief executive Naeem Talukdar. Together, they’re exploring new workflows built around the idea that AI can expand, rather than replace, human creativity.
Mooser, a two-time Oscar nominee for documentary short subject and a fifth-generation Angeleno, sees the rise of AI as part of Hollywood’s long history of reinvention, from sound to color to CGI. “Looking back, those changes seem natural, but at the time, they were difficult,” he says.
Ed Ulbrich, left, Bryn Mooser and Mateusz Malinowski, executives at Moonvalley and Asteria, are building a new kind of AI-powered movie studio focused on collaboration between filmmakers and technologists.
(David Butow / For the Times)
What excites him now is how AI lowers technical barriers for the next generation. “For people who are technicians, like stop-motion or VFX artists, you can do a lot more as an individual or a small team,” he says. “And really creative filmmakers can cross departments in a way they couldn’t before. The people who are curious and leaning in are going to be the filmmakers of tomorrow.”
It’s a hopeful vision, one shared by many AI proponents who see the tools as a great equalizer, though some argue it often glosses over the structural realities facing working artists today, where talent and drive alone may not be enough to navigate a rapidly shifting, tech-driven landscape.
That tension is precisely what Moonvalley is trying to address. Their pitch isn’t just creative, it’s legal. While many AI companies remain vague about what their models are trained on, often relying on scraped content of questionable legality, Moonvalley built its video model, Marey, on fully licensed material and in close collaboration with filmmakers.
That distinction is becoming more significant. In June, Disney and Universal filed a sweeping copyright lawsuit against Midjourney, a popular generative AI tool that turns text prompts into images, accusing it of enabling rampant infringement by letting users generate unauthorized depictions of characters like Darth Vader, Spider-Man and the Minions. The case marks the most aggressive legal challenge yet by Hollywood studios against AI platforms trained on their intellectual property.
“We worked with some of the best IP lawyers in the industry to build the agreements with our providers,” Moonvalley’s Talukdar says. “We’ve had a number of major studios audit those agreements. We’re confident every single pixel has had a direct sign-off from the owner. That was the baseline we operated from.”
The creative frontier between Hollywood and AI is drawing interest from some of the industry’s most ambitious filmmakers.
Steven Spielberg and “Avengers” co-director Joe Russo were among the advisors to Wonder Dynamics, an AI-driven VFX startup that was acquired by Autodesk last year. Darren Aronofsky, the boundary-pushing director behind films like “Black Swan” and “The Whale,” recently launched the AI studio Primordial Soup, partnering with Google DeepMind. Its debut short, “Ancestra,” directed by Eliza McNitt, blends real actors with AI-generated visuals and premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival in June.
Not every foray into AI moviemaking has been warmly received. Projects that spotlight generative tools have stoked fresh arguments about where to draw the line between machine-made and human-driven art.
In April, actor and director Natasha Lyonne, who co-founded Asteria with her partner, Mooser, announced her feature directorial debut: a sci-fi film about a world addicted to VR gaming called “Uncanny Valley,” combining AI and traditional filmmaking techniques. Billed as offering “a radical new cinematic experience,” the project drew backlash from some critics who questioned whether such ventures risk diminishing the role of human authorship. Lyonne defended the film to the Hollywood Reporter, making clear she’s not replacing crew members with AI: “I love nothing more than filmmaking, the filmmaking community, the collaboration of it, the tactile fine art of it… In no way would I ever want to do anything other than really create some guardrails or a new language.”
Even the boldest experiments face a familiar hurdle: finding an audience. AI might make it easier to make a movie, but getting people to watch it is another story. For now, the real power still lies with platforms like Netflix and TikTok that decide what gets seen.
That’s why Mooser believes the conversation shouldn’t be about replacing filmmakers but empowering them. “When we switched from shooting on film to digital, it wasn’t the filmmakers who went away — it was Kodak and Polaroid,” he says. “The way forward isn’t everybody typing prompts. It’s putting great filmmakers in the room with the best engineers and solving this together. We haven’t yet seen what AI looks like in the hands of the best filmmakers of our time. But that’s coming.”
New formats, new storytellers
For more than a century, watching a movie has been a one-way experience: The story flows from screen to viewer. Stephen Piron wants to change that. His startup Pickford AI — named for Mary Pickford, the silent-era star who co-founded United Artists and helped pioneer creative control in Hollywood — is exploring whether stories can unfold in real time, shaped by the audience as they watch. Its cheeky slogan: “AI that smells like popcorn.”
Pickford’s flagship demo looks like an animated dating show, but behaves more like a game or an improv performance. There’s no fixed script. Viewers type in suggestions through an app and vote on others’ ideas. A large language model then uses that input, along with the characters’ backstories and a rough narrative outline, to write the next scene in real time. A custom engine renders it on the spot, complete with gestures and synthetic voices. Picture a cartoon version of “The Bachelor” crossed with a choose-your-own-adventure, rendered by AI in real time.
At live screenings this year in London and Los Angeles, audiences didn’t just watch — they steered the story, tossing in oddball twists and becoming part of the performance. “We wanted to see if we could bring the vibe of the crowd back into the show, make it feel more like improv or live theater,” Piron says. “The main reaction is people laugh, which is great. There’s been lots of positive reaction from creative people who think this could be an interesting medium to create new stories.”
The platform is still in closed beta. But Piron’s goal is a collaborative storytelling forum where anyone can shape a scene, improvise with AI and instantly share it. To test that idea on a larger scale, Pickford is developing a branching murder mystery with Emmy-winning writer-producer Bernie Su (“The Lizzie Bennet Diaries”).
Piron, who is skeptical that people really want hyper-personalized content, is exploring more ways to bring the interactive experience into more theaters. “I think there is a vacuum of live, in-person experiences that people can do — and maybe people are looking for that,” he says.
Attendees check in at May’s AI on the Lot conference, where Pickford AI screened a demo of its interactive dating show.
(Irina Logra)
As generative AI lowers the barrier to creation, the line between creator and consumer is starting to blur and some of the most forward-looking startups are treating audiences as collaborators, not just fans.
One example is Showrunner, a new, Amazon-backed platform from Fable Studio that lets users generate animated, TV-style episodes using prompts, images and AI-generated voices — and even insert themselves into the story. Initially free, the platform plans to charge a monthly subscription for scene-generation credits. Fable is pitching Showrunner as “the Netflix of AI,” a concept that has intrigued some studios and unsettled others. Chief executive Edward Saatchi says the company is already in talks with Disney and other content owners about bringing well-known franchises into the platform.
Other AI companies are focused on building new franchises from the ground up with audiences as co-creators from day one. Among the most ambitious is Invisible Universe, which bypasses traditional gatekeepers entirely and develops fresh IP in partnership with fans across TikTok, YouTube and Instagram. Led by former MGM and Snap executive Tricia Biggio, the startup has launched original animated characters with celebrities like Jennifer Aniston and Serena Williams, including Clydeo, a cooking-obsessed dog, and Qai Qai, a dancing doll. But its real innovation, Biggio says, is the direct relationship with the audience.
“We’re not going to a studio and saying, ‘Do you like our idea?’ We’re going to the audience,” she says. “If Pixar were starting today, I don’t think they’d choose to spend close to a decade developing something for theatrical release, hoping it works.”
While some in the industry are still waiting for an AI “Toy Story” or “Blair Witch” moment — a breakthrough that proves generative tools can deliver cultural lightning in a bottle — Biggio isn’t chasing a feature-length hit. “There are ways to build love and awareness for stories that don’t require a full-length movie,” she says. “Did it make you feel something? Did it make you want to go call your mom? That’s going to be the moment we cross the chasm.”
What if AI isn’t the villain?
For nearly a century, filmmakers have imagined what might happen if machines got too smart.
In 1927’s “Metropolis,” a mad scientist gives his robot the likeness of a beloved labor activist, then unleashes it to sow chaos among the city’s oppressed masses. In “2001: A Space Odyssey,” HAL 9000 turns on its crew mid-mission. In “The Terminator,” AI nukes the planet and sends a killer cyborg back in time to finish the job. “Blade Runner” and “Ex Machina” offered chilling visions of artificial seduction and deception. Again and again, the message has been clear: Trust the machines at your peril.
Director Gareth Edwards, best known for “Godzilla” and “Rogue One: A Star Wars Story,” wanted to flip the script. In “The Creator,” his 2023 sci-fi drama, the roles were reversed: Humans are waging war against AI and the machines, not the people, are cast as the hunted. The story follows a hardened ex-soldier, played by John David Washington, who’s sent to destroy a powerful new weapon, only to discover it’s a child: a young android who may be the key to peace.
“The second you look at things from AI’s perspective, it flips very easily,” Edwards told The Times by phone shortly before the film’s release. “From AI’s point of view, we are attempting to enslave it and use it as our servant. So we’re clearly the baddie in that situation.”
In Gareth Edwards’ 2023 film “The Creator,” a young AI child named Alphie (Madeleine Yuna Voyles) holds the key to humanity’s future.
(20th Century)
In many ways, “The Creator” was the kind of film audiences and critics say they want to see more often out of Hollywood: an original story that takes creative risks, delivering cutting-edge visuals on a relatively lean $80 million. But when it hit theaters that fall, the film opened in third place behind “Paw Patrol: The Mighty Movie” and “Saw X.” By the end of its run, it had pulled in a modest $104.3 million worldwide.
Part of the problem was timing. When Edwards first pitched the film, AI was still seen as a breakthrough, not a threat. But by the time the movie reached theaters, the public mood had shifted. The 2023 strikes were in full swing, AI was the villain of the moment — and here came a film in which AI literally nukes Los Angeles in the opening minutes. The metaphor wasn’t subtle. Promotion was limited, the cast was sidelined and audiences weren’t sure whether to cheer the movie’s message or recoil from it. While the film used cutting-edge VFX tools to help bring its vision to life, it served as a potent reminder that AI could help make a movie — but it still couldn’t shield it from the backlash.
Still, Edwards remains hopeful about what AI could mean for the future of filmmaking, comparing it to the invention of the electric guitar. “There’s a possibility that if this amazing tool turns up and everyone can make any film that they imagine, it’s going to lead to a new wave of cinema,” he says. “Look, there’s two options: Either it will be mediocre rubbish — and if that’s true, don’t worry about it, it’s not a threat — or it’s going to be phenomenal, and who wouldn’t want to see that?”
After “The Creator,” Edwards returned to more familiar terrain, taking the reins on this summer’s “Jurassic World Rebirth,” the sixth installment in a franchise that began with Steven Spielberg’s 1993 blockbuster, which redefined spectacle in its day. To date, the film has grossed more than $700 million worldwide.
So what’s the takeaway? Maybe there’s comfort in the known. Maybe audiences crave the stories they’ve grown up with. Maybe AI still needs the right filmmaker or the right story to earn our trust.
Or maybe we’re just not ready to root for the machines. At least not yet.
