Culture

It must feel pretty good to be Seth Rogen today. His Apple TV series The Studio –in which he stars as a beleaguered studio chief attempting to walk the fine line between commercial and artistic respectability – has been nominated for an impressive 23 Emmy awards. This ties the second season of The Bear (2023) for the most nominations for a comedy. Rogen himself could potentially win plaudits for writing, acting and directing, and the show itself looks like the one to beat in the category of best comedy series. The show’s opponents include The Bear – which ceased to be funny at least two seasons ago – as well as Hacks and Only Murders in the Building, both of which have had their moment in the sun.

It’s been 50 years since audiences first thrilled to the thudding theme music and bared teeth of the original Jaws. The movie, released on June 20, 1975, immediately had customers lining up around the block, recouping its then-astronomic $20 million production cost within a week. It still stands alongside Rocky and Star Wars as one of a trio of enduring “high-concept” mid-70s blockbusters. In keeping with Sylvester Stallone’s boxing picture and George Lucas’s space opera – and most other Hollywood money-spinners – it’s easy to forget that there was nothing inevitable about the film’s long-lasting success.

A British film fan recently took to social media to share an unusual experience that had happened to her while visiting the Picturehouse cinema in central London. She was standing in the foyer, watching the trailer for the forthcoming superhero picture The Fantastic Four: First Steps, when she became aware of a middle-aged man standing next to her, enjoying the same preview. He then said, in apparent surprise, “Look! I’m in that!” She turned to him, expecting to see some character actor with a one-line role, and it was none other than Pedro Pascal: film and television star, self-appointed nemesis to J.K. Rowling and “the internet’s daddy.

When I’m first invited to a sojourn in Madrid to learn about the life and work of Francisco Goya and the conservation work of Factum Arte, I’m thrilled but also a little apprehensive. While art-themed travel is right up my street and I live a mere train trip from the Spanish capital, Goya’s work is known for being a little, well, dark – particularly during his later years. As a fan of the Botticellis of this world, spending a few days with the artist famous for his "black paintings" was not something I was sure I’d enjoy.  And yet, three days later, as I stand in front of Goya’s grave in La Ermita de San Antonio de la Florida, I find myself moved in a way I never could’ve anticipated.

The news that Pixar’s latest picture, the alien-contact family comedy Elio, has been an egregious flop at the American box office, grossing a mere $20.8 million on its opening weekend, has been greeted with both surprise and disappointment. Surprise, because Pixar has long been seen as the gold standard of contemporary animation, and disappointment, because its films are not supposed to flop. No fewer than 13 of their pictures are in the 50 highest-grossing animated films of all time roster, and nine have won Best Animated Feature at the Oscars, most recently 2020’s Soul. And if there had been rumors that the company was in trouble, these were apparently put to bed by the enormous, epochal success of Inside Out 2 last summer, which grossed $1.7 billion at the box office.

When I studied English literature at Oxford about two decades ago, the issue of tutor-student relations was a vexed one. On the one hand – so the reasoning went – students were adults, over the age of consent and entitled to make their own decision as to whether they wanted to indulge in sexual congress with the men and women responsible for inculcating a knowledge and, hopefully, love of their subject into them. On the other, there were clear – although sometimes blurred – conflicts of interest relating to these invariably older figures also on occasion being responsible for marking their favored students’ examinations.

In a largely patchy summer for blockbusters – the excellent 28 Years Later aside – Joseph Kosinki’s F1 stands out for two distinct reasons. The film has arrived at an interesting time for the sport, which is finding increased popularity in the United States among demographic groups that previously may have ignored it – such as younger women – due to the success of the Netflix show Drive to Survive, accordingly name-checked in the movie. That show gives a behind-the-scenes look at Formula One racing and is now onto its seventh series.

Was anyone out there desperate for a third instalment of the 28 Days Later series? It has been nearly two decades since 28 Weeks Later. Many who were once thrilled to the adventures of hapless humans attempting to dodge the ravages of surprisingly fast-moving zombies have moved onto other genre fare, not least The Last of Us. However, the astonishingly visceral trailers for 28 Years Later, soundtracked by a vintage audio recording of Rudyard Kipling’s poem ‘Boots’, were some of the most compelling and attention-grabbing trailers ever made. So does the film live up to its advertisements? Thankfully, it does.

So, in the end, it wasn’t so much Oh, Mary! as it was Not Tonight, Mary! Cole Escola’s out-there, queer-as-they-come farce, revolving around the strained relationship between the “foul and hateful” Mary Lincoln, a dipsomaniac with ambitions to be a cabaret singer, and honest Abe, here presented as a pitiful figure so deep in the closet he may as well be in Narnia, was widely regarded as the play to beat at this year’s Tonys. There hasn’t been an out-and-out comedy that’s won the major awards for a considerable time, let alone one that emerged from off-Broadway, and it’s testament to Escola’s prowess (as well as some of the most laudatory reviews in recent memory), that it was front-runner for Best Play.

No one feuds quite as well as a celebrity woman. Don’t believe the sickly sweet farce between Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo, ego, bright lights and competition for stage time have always provoked infighting. But while leading ladies used to duke it out Bette Davis and Joan Crawford style, today’s celebrity duels are a lot nastier.Over the weekend, Patti LuPone did something unheard of – she apologized. Or, at least, she released an apologetic statement. While appearing on Broadway in The Roommate, LuPone complained to the theater next door about a sound bleed from the Alicia Keys musical Hell’s Kitchen. After the sound was adjusted, LuPone sent the tech team some flowers and a thank you note.

Almost three decades after the Good Friday Agreement was signed in 1998, it is possible, if not always easy, to see the funny side of the Troubles. Derry Girls, Lisa McGee’s coming-of-age television series, and Milkman, Anna Burns’s surreal novel, wring laughs as well as tears out of mayhem. There are few laughs in Steve McQueen’s Hunger, which did “for modern film” according to one critic, “what Caravaggio did for Renaissance painting.” For those who prefer horror unmediated by fiction, Patrick Radden Keefe’s Say Nothing is the best example of longform journalism since Capote’s In Cold Blood. But along with their setting, these dazzling creations have something else in common: to get made, they all needed the backing of a producer or publisher from the UK or US.

There are few American shows more acclaimed and successful in the past decade than Succession, Jesse Armstrong’s peerless study of the corrupting influence of money and power, as illustrated through a Murdoch-esque media dynasty led by Brian Cox’s bull-like Logan Roy. The series was magnificent because it blended hysterical, unexpected black humor (step forward the excellent Matthew Macfadyen as Tom Wambsgans, who is hilarious virtually every moment he’s onscreen) with the serious thespian pyrotechnics of a starry cast including Cox, Kieran Culkin and the great Jeremy Strong, who, rumor has it, did not believe that he was making a comedy but a serious study of moral decay.

If you haven’t yet heard the names Dominic McLaughlin, Arabella Stanton or Alastair Stout, then rest assured, in a couple of years they will be entirely inescapable. They are the three actors who have been cast in the new and highly anticipated Harry Potter television series, which is going into production for HBO later this year with a likely broadcast date of late 2026 or 2027. Respectively, they’re playing Harry, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, and they have been picked after a long search that has seen 32,000 children put themselves forward (or, more likely in many cases, been put forward by their ambitious parents) to play the iconic trio in the new adaptations of J.K. Rowling’s wizarding series.

Tony Gilroy’s Andor, having concluded its second season on Disney+ this week, stands as a monumental achievement given the pressures of Disney-era Star Wars leadership and its Kathleen Kennedy authoritarian “The Force is Female” complex.  The excellence seems almost accidental, a trick of timing and opportunity. With Gilroy exercising the authority of an auteur director from outside the world of science fiction, equipped with sensibilities derived from corporate thrillers and conflicts that pit differing clans of elites against one another, the series is the standout of an otherwise unmemorable or eagerly forgotten era of Star Wars creations.

“And now, the end is here, and so I face the final curtain”... If Tom Cruise isn’t quite Sinatra performing “My Way,” then the long-anticipated, much-hyped apparent finale to the Mission: Impossible series has a similarly valedictory feel to it. Ever since a youthful Cruise first took to movie screens in 1996 in the first, Brian de Palma-directed film – which those with long memories might recall was unfairly criticized on release for being virtually incomprehensible – the movies have been a welcome part of the contemporary movie-going experience.

In February 1951, Leonard Bernstein led the New York Philharmonic through the première of a symphony by an American composer unknown at Carnegie Hall. The composer in question was Charles Ives, by then too frail to attend in person. He listened from home when the concert was broadcast a few weeks later. An experimenter by instinct, Ives’s work had already proved an inspiration to a younger generation of radical American composers including John Cage, Lou Harrison and Morton Feldman. But that Ives listened from afar to the première, at long last, of his Second Symphony – completed in 1902 – was symbolic of the distance he maintained from America’s classical mainstream.

Donald Trump has thrown another trade grenade. His latest idea – a 100 percent tariff on all foreign-made films – is crude, impractical and potentially disastrous for his frenemies in the Hollywood industry that he has suddenly decided to champion. Announcing the tariffs via Truth Social, Trump tried to paint movies produced overseas as a danger: not just to America’s film production industry, but national security too. “WE WANT MOVIES MADE IN AMERICA, AGAIN!" he thundered. Invoking national security to justify these tariffs is legally shaky. Practically, it’s not clear how you even impose tariffs on a complex, multi-national production like a modern movie. Films shot in Croatia, edited in the UK and funded by America pose an administrative nightmare.