Culture

Long before “decolonization” was a glint in the eyes of left-leaning political scientists, Hyder Ali, an upstart mercenary soldier turned sultan of Mysore, and his nepo baby son, Tipu Sultan, fought four bloody wars to keep the British from controlling the south of India. If wars were like soccer league tables, the Hyder/Tipu team would have come out on top with an enviable record of three wins to one loss. That loss was the final match otherwise known as the Fourth Anglo Mysore War, in which Tipu was defeated by the inspired generalship of the future Duke of Wellington. Tipu died in battle and the general was soon comfortably billeted in his late adversary’s summer palace.

No matter how many jurisdictions discover the hard way that wealth taxes backfire, in California an initiative is collecting signatures to put a "one-time" (ha!) 5 percent tax on the net worth of the state’s roughly 200 billionaires on November’s ballot. Hey, those guys are rich. They won’t even notice. But the funny thing about people and money is that even folks with lots like to keep it. The 2026 Billionaire Tax Act is slyly retroactive, a variety of pre-crime legislation – applying to anyone resident in California on 1 January this year, looping a bungee cord around the ankles of would-be absconders. Thus billionaires such as Peter Thiel scrambled to establish a presence in a lower tax state before midnight on New Year’s Eve.

Long ago, in a different world, I edited a magazine called InStyle Weddings, which showcased the nuptial celebrations of the rich and famous. Melania Knauss Trump graced the cover of our spring 2005 issue, in her wedding gown, next to the headline “Behind the Scenes at the Trump Wedding.” My boss at the time had attended Donald and Melania’s January 2005 knot-tying at Mar-a-Lago, as an invited guest, alongside other Manhattan media machers, plus politicians, movie stars, famous athletes and... Jeffrey Epstein. The Trump Organization furnished the quotes for our article, and also approved all the photos.

When Billie Eilish declared, during her acceptance speech for song of the year with “Wildflower” at last night’s Grammy awards, that “I feel like we just need to keep fighting and speaking up and protesting, and our voices really do matter,” she was speaking in the approved register. "Fuck ICE," she added but it was more of the same. In contrast to the Golden Globes, where the neutral tenor of the event was made up of tame jokes about the age of Leonardo DiCaprio’s girlfriends, the Grammys have turned into an opportunity for musicians to express political outrage. The awards themselves went as expected last night. Kendrick Lamar and Bad Bunny were the big winners of the night along with Eilish.

As far as teaser trailers for summer blockbusters go, it takes quite a lot to make jaded audiences – or cynical critics – sit up and say, “What the hell?” But what’s exactly what the latest trailer for Christopher Nolan’s eagerly awaited The Odyssey has done. Not because it has featured a couple of new shots of Tom Holland’s Telemachus squaring off with Robert Pattinson’s villainous Antinous, or Matt Damon’s Odysseus participating in the bloody sack of Troy with his fellow Greeks, but because it introduces the most unexpected cameo of the year, possibly of the decade. Ladies and gentlemen, enter the latest feature of Nolan’s all-star cast: the hip-hop artiste Travis Scott, appearing in the somewhat unlikely role of a staff-beating herald.

Hello, it’s me, your Gen X auntie who spends too much time online. I regret to inform you that I’ve been on a journey and, like Hermes bringing information from the underworld to mortals, I am here to tell you about the poor, unfortunate lost souls I’ve become aware of against my will. They have names like Sneako and Clavicular – and if I have to know about them, you do too. It starts with a livestream and a boys’ night out, although these aren’t your ordinary frat boys or celebrities. They are some of the internet’s most infamous edgelords, caricatures of men, masculinity and fashion.

The casting of the new James Bond is the biggest story in Hollywood at the moment. The sheer amount of disinformation and exaggeration that has accompanied snippets of news about the production of a new 007 adventure is remarkable, even by the standards of La La Land. Ever since the Bond franchise was purchased by Amazon, taken out of the restrictive hands of Barbara Broccoli and Michael G. Wilson, and placed in the care of Amy Pascal and David Heyman, the question of who’s doing what has been a source of fascination. The hiring of Dune’s Denis Villeneuve to direct was broadly seen as a smart, auteur-ish move; the decision to entrust the script to Peaky Blinders’ Steven Knight, who has written an awful lot of bad films and television series, less so.