writer

A TOP screenwriter working on the new James Bond film has let slip that the role may already have been cast and the audition process completed.

The identity of the next 007 remains shrouded in mystery, but Steven Knight appeared to suggest a decision had been made.

Speaking on BBC Radio 4’s Today show, the Peaky Blinders creator was asked whether he had written the film with the chosen actor in mind or based on what he already knew about the character.

He replied that it was “a bit of both”, seemingly confirming that an actor had been picked.

Steven added: “It does make life a little bit easier if you know who that person is, but also you have to write the character, not the actor.”

He went on to discuss the honour of writing for such an iconic franchise.

DOUBLE AGENTS

James Bond could see its first ever husband and wife casting for next movie

unlikely star

New Brit actor ‘makes James Bond shortlist’ as screentests ‘begin in days’

Steven said: “The thing with Bond is that it’s its own universe and its own franchise, so there are certain rules.

“Obviously, you have to move it along, but I love where it sits.

“I love that it’s British and it’s not DC or Marvel. The only thing I can say is I feel like I’m doing my duty for King and country.

“It’s something that, if you’re a British writer, you have to do.”

The next Bond will fill the shoes of Daniel Craig, who last played the secret agent in 2021’s No Time to Die.

Slow Horses actor Jack Lowden remains one of the frontrunners for the coveted role, while a host of other stars have been linked to the part since Craig’s departure.

Jack’s co-star Gary Oldman also appeared to fuel speculation during a recent TV appearance on Canada’s The Morning Show.

Discussing rumours that Lowden was on the shortlist, he told the host: “We’re going to find out pretty soon, aren’t we? Because they have picked him.”

The Oscar winner then doubled down, saying: “They have made their choice, but they have not announced it yet.”

Rachel Cusk is not a people pleaser. The prolific, award-winning British author’s novels are often plotless, discursive and frustratingly obtuse. Yet Cusk has found a large fan base for her work, mainly because she is a deft excavator of the human psyche, a writer who can articulate emotional states with uncanny precision and insight.

On a formal level, Cusk’s new book, “Life Of M,” closely adheres to the rigorously calibrated approach that has been so successful for her across 11 novels. In classic Cusk fashion, “Life of M” unfolds from the inside out. It is resolutely internal and hermetic, told from the point of view of a highly observant and self-conscious narrator. When Cusk writes that a character’s smile “had a sweetness that almost seemed to reproach those who looked at it for their dim and suspicious view of life,” it’s that “almost” which saves the line from sinking of its own weight, one of Cusk’s nuanced brushstrokes that give her prose lift and bounce.

“Life of M” is a two-hander. The primary driver of the narrative is an unnamed writer who has approached a famous actor — the M of the title — with the proposition of ghosting her autobiography. This is the extent of Cusk’s setup. The novel is about as stark and stripped of biographical details as a Samuel Beckett story. Cusk is far more interested in how the writer’s identity is unmoored by the actor, and how the world bends to M’s will and thus changes its shape in her presence: “Standing in the street, I realized that I could not be myself around M. She was friendly, generous, disarmingly modest, yet everything I did or said in her company was false. It was as if I was acting, while M came across as authentic and real.”

Author Rachel Cusk

(Siemon Scamell-Katz)

Interspersed between these scenes are chapters that shift time and tone. They appear at first to be the writer’s own story, reflections on the past and life apart from M; the “we” in these sections might be referring to siblings or partners. But they are too strange to be memoiristic: “In the evening we flower; like strange nocturnal plants we put out our display.” Then: “Even if we spend the evening at home this feeling of integration, or our interior and our exterior fusing together, occurs.” Are we in M’s head? Is the collective pronoun meant to be a proxy for her private and public selves? These sections are the least effective parts of Cusk’s book, as they are frustratingly indeterminate and hazy.

As the writer and the actor spend time together, and the narrator tries to pry open some small window into M’s psyche, the process of gathering material is constantly being thwarted by M’s casual instructability. It seems M has perfected the art of using candor as a carapace, so that the image of her authentic self recedes the more Cusk’s writer spends time with her. M is not governed by the usual impulses of the civilian; she has no use for love or hate, desire or abnegation. “Acting involved pretending to be other people, whose own emotional states —such as she understood them — could preoccupy her for a time,” writes Cusk. “Once they were completed, she was as locked out of these recordings as the millions of other eyes that watched them.”

M and the writer move through highly mediated spaces that amplify certain features and downgrade others, a kind of edited, hyperreal landscape. M researches a part in a mansion that has been meticulously art-directed to resemble the house of a family who in fact never lived there. Cusk describes these spaces in great detail, as if they were fetish objects. The mansion’s interior is “not heavy or dark,” she writes, “rather it is light and mellow and the panels have finely carved patterns around their edges.” It is the seduction of surfaces Cusk is exploring here, the ways we are taken in by so much that is chimerical: lavish interiors, actors, our own doubled selves.

Cusk has previously explored this gap between truth and signifiers of truth in her “Outline” trilogy. But “Life of M” feels different, perhaps because the world feels far different than it did eight years ago, when “Kudos,” the last book in the trilogy, was published. Now that we have fallen straight through the looking glass of the internet, that gap has narrowed to the extent that we are having far greater difficulty discerning reality from its uncanny simulations. Sadly, we are complicit in this occluding of authentic experience. Millions of us toggle so frequently between our real lives and the well-curated fantasyland of our social media personas that it’s scrambled our neural pathways. We are living the double consciousness of public figures no less readily than a celebrity like M. The notion of a “complete inversion of internal and external that fame brings about” is no longer exclusive to the famous.

According to internet gossip, Cusk’s M is in fact a shadow portrait of Natalie Portman. And there are strong hints in the text that indicate this might be the case. But to think of this novel solely as a journey to the center of Portman’s mind is not only irrelevant; it cheapens Cusk’s project. What the novelist is getting at here resonates far beyond a single celebrity. This is a short, potent book that has much to say about the spiritual rot of our present culture.

Weingarten is the author of “Thirsty: William Mulholland, California Water and the Real Chinatown.”

A lawsuit filed in federal court on Friday accuses writer and director Taylor Sheridan of stealing the idea for his powerhouse success “Yellowstone” from Lauren J. Salkin, a Virginia-based journalist and screenwriter.

Requests for comment from representatives for Sheridan, Paramount and NBCUniversal, all among those named as defendants in the lawsuit, were not immediately returned on Saturday.

The lawsuit says that Salkin spent more than 10 years developing a series to be called “Sovereign Nation,” which is described as “a dramatic television series centered on tribal governance, casino-driven economic power, and a modern war over land and development” with the overall project copyrighted beginning in 2010 and a specific pilot script copyrighted in 2016.

Having submitted the project to Sheridan’s management company, Elevate Entertainment, in February 2017, according to the filing, Salkin later received an email message that included the statement, “Taylor thanks you very much for your interest. Unfortunately, he’s unavailable for TV projects.”

Soon after, Paramount greenlit Sheridan’s “Yellowstone” project, with the first episode airing on June 20, 2018.

The lawsuit goes on to catalog a list of similarities between “Sovereign Nation” and “Yellowstone,” stating, “What then appeared in ‘Yellowstone’ was not merely another Western about land or family. It included specific expressive choices already embodied in Salkin’s materials.”

Kevin Costner in “Yellowstone.”

(Paramount)

Actors Gil Birmingham and Danny Huston were mentioned in Salkin’s original pitch deck as potential casting ideas for her show. Both would later appear on “Yellowstone.” The lawsuit goes on to say that the subsequent “Yellowstone” spinoffs “1883,” “1923,” “Marshalls” and “Dutton Ranch” are therefore also based on Salkin’s work.

The lawsuit states, “Copyright law does not protect the abstract idea of a Western, a land dispute, an Indian casino, or a powerful family — and that is not Plaintiff’s claim. The infringement alleged here lies in the copying of Salkin’s particular expressive choices and their coordinated selection and arrangement.”

The lawsuit asks for a jury trial, an injunction against ongoing and future copyright infringement and unspecified damages.

“Yellowstone” ran for five seasons from 2018-2024. Sheridan, who is also behind shows such as “Tulsa King,” “Landman” and “Mayor of Kingston,” is set to move his production company from Paramount to NBCUniversal in 2029. Sheridan was also nominated for an Academy Award in 2017 for best original screenplay for the neo-western “Hell or High Water.”

For every actor, musician, writer and artist who has become a wealthy and enduring celebrity, exponentially more of them have enjoyed a brief, shining moment, never to be heard of again. What separates those who last from those who fade away? Is it luck, talent, drive, destiny? All of the above?

It’s an intriguing question that may have no definitive answer, but one that director Kent Jones (2018’s acclaimed “Diane”) and Oscar-nominated screenwriter Samy Burch (“May December”) lovingly and lyrically consider in the often first-rate “Late Fame.” The film is based on an 1895 novella by Arthur Schnitzler (also author of the book that became “Eyes Wide Shut”), which went unpublished until 2014.

A quietly captivating Willem Dafoe plays Ed Saxberger, a New York post office veteran of 37 years in a seemingly satisfying if decidedly low-key existence. For him, it’s work, then maybe a game of pool with his blue-collar buddies at a local bar (though he’s six years sober) and a solo return to his Greenwich Village walk-up.

That is, until one night, he’s approached outside his apartment building by a somewhat affected but seemingly earnest young man who goes by his last name, Meyers (Edmund Donovan). With his elevated speech, tony air and throwback attire, he’s like someone from another era; you could see him as one of Jay Gatsby’s pals or a bon vivant who drops by on “Downton Abbey.”

Meyers proceeds to tell an astonished Ed that he’s a huge fan of his long-forgotten 1979 poetry collection entitled “Way Past Go,” the postal worker’s fleeting brush with literary success. “They just slap you across the face with their style and with their relevancy,” extols Meyers of the poems. “They’re timeless.”

Really, what writer, no matter how detached from their past, could resist that kind of sweet talk?

A meet-up with Meyers’ “artistic community,” a circle of so-called intellectuals known as the Enthusiasm Society, leads Ed to humbly dip a toe back into his vanished creative side. He’s not unaware that Meyers’ mostly 20-something male friends have — like many — romanticized the gritty abandon of lower Manhattan’s bygone literary scene and perhaps Ed’s tenuous place in it. They might be poseurs tossing around references to Ginsberg and Bukowski, but the welcome mat the group offers Ed is enticing and inspiring.

Still, a visit to Meyers’ sleek apartment, admittedly paid for by his parents, confirms for Ed the kind of youthful privilege at play here, so unlike the scrappier downtown bohemia of his own artistic heyday.

The wild card in the Society is Gloria (Greta Lee, dazzlingly good), an impish sprite who’s hard to pin down. Is she really a working stage actor? Ed gets swept up in her performative antics and elusive, larger-than-life allure. (She’s older than her fellow Society members but decades younger than Ed.) When they develop a teasing flirtation, it’s one of the less credible turns here, given how authentic Ed is — and how dubious she appears (though some truth on that front will later unfold).

This tilt toward Gloria causes the film to lose its way a bit, pulling focus from the more potentially vital mentor-disciple dynamic between Ed and the anxious, navel-gazing Meyers. Plus, Donovan is excellent here, so less of him is, well, less.

That said, there’s a bravura second-act scene that finds Gloria performing an impassioned version of the 1929 Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill torch song “Surabaya Johnny” for an appreciative cabaret audience, one that includes a rapt Ed. It verifies Gloria’s singing talent and proves a perfect match for her showy, cagey persona: the love child of Marlene Dietrich and Sally Bowles.

If the story has a through line, it concerns the planning and execution of an evening of live readings from the Society’s works, with a new poem from Ed as its centerpiece. A few of the obstacles layered in — Ed’s struggle to write and some show-night personality conflicts — feel a tad obligatory. But the event itself has its high points, including the piece Ed finally reads.

In addition, an awkward meeting between Ed and a smooth literary agent (Jake Lacy), along with a mini-subplot involving phone calls from Ed’s frustrated sister about their dying brother, come off slightly wedged in. Not much payoff there.

No matter. There’s wisdom and depth to the film’s themes of growing old, dashed dreams and the magic of rediscovery, plus a deliciously ironic final twist. Jones manages his superb cast with aplomb and cinematographer Wyatt Garfield evocatively captures lower Manhattan’s wintry, burnished glow.