badbrainstorm

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Leaders of SAG-AFTRA signaled they are making good headway in contract negotiations with the major studios, suggesting Hollywood may avert a second strike.

In a video message to members Saturday, SAG-AFTRA President Fran Drescher and Chief Negotiator Duncan Crabtree-Ireland shared no details of the talks, but said they were progressing well.

“We are having an extremely productive negotiations that are laser focused on all the crucial issues you told us are most important to you,” Drescher said.

The talks with the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers began June 7 and are being closely watched in light of the ongoing writers’ strike, which began May 2.

The writers’ strike has brought nearly all scripted production to a halt in Los Angeles. But an actors’ strike could be even more destabilizing for the film and TV industry.

An agreement with the actors, coming on the heels of a contract recently negotiated by the Directors Guild of America, would likely put more pressure on Writers Guild of America and the AMPTP to resolve their standoff, although guild leaders have stressed they would not be bound by terms negotiated by other guilds.

Actors have been vocal in their support of writers and share many of the same demands to boost pay and improve working conditions that they say have eroded during the streaming era.

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SAG-AFTRA members have already authorized their leaders to call a strike if they can’t reach a deal on a new film and TV contract before their contract expires June 30.

The last time actors went on strike was in 2000 in a dispute over their commercials contract. The previous actors’ strike against the major film and TV studios was in 1980.

Despite the tensions, SAG-AFTRA leaders expressed optimism they could reach a deal that would avert another walkout.

“We have a very narrow window of time remaining before our contract expires,” Crabtree-Ireland said in the video. “We remain optimistic that we will be able to bring the studios, networks, streamers along to make a fair deal.”

SAG-AFTRA, which represents some 160,000 performers and broadcasters, is seeking increased wages to counter inflation, higher residuals from streaming and protections from the use of AI. Additionally, the union wants to bolster contributions to its health and pension plans and curb the practice of self-taped auditions, a trend that accelerated during the pandemic.

The video message was first reported by Deadline.

[–] badbrainstorm@lemmy.ml 1 points 1 year ago* (last edited 1 year ago)

Noise pollution is the worst part of living in a city, personally. I cannot wait until everything is EV. Though I've still seen jackasses making them make loud motor noises with speakers. Fucking car culture my dudes

 

Should go without saying, but:

Telegram and Twitter were big spreaders of misinformation during the Russian coup attempt. Credit: Avishek Das/SOPA Images/LightRocket via Getty Images

The potential coup attempt in Russia by a paramilitary organization may already be over(opens in a new tab), but the misinformation sure did flow during the breaking global event.

On Friday, news quickly spread that the Kremlin-aligned private army known as Wagner Group, led by "Putin's chef" Yevgeny Prigozhin, was leaving the war in Ukraine and marching towards Moscow. This breaking news caught many by surprise, and people flocked to social media in an effort to make sense of what appeared to be a coup attempt.

However, with information sparse as events in Russia were still unfolding, misinformation and wild speculation ran rampant online, showing that modern day social media and internet news sources are still highly flawed and lacking.

A major issue with this particular event is that many of the most popular platforms in the country aren't ones that get much use in the western world. Telegram, for example, is extremely popular in non-English speaking countries like Russia. Much of the breaking news surrounding the coup attempt was first being posted there, and in Russian.

English speakers not only had to understand the language, but be familiar with which Telegram channels were legitimate sources of information. Due to lackadaisical moderation on the platform, many English-language users that are on Telegram tend to be far right-wingers and biased towards Putin's regime. These accounts are not the best sources of information, if they even have any actual on-the-ground info to begin with.

Much of what flowed on Telegram eventually did make its way to English-speaking users in the U.S., Europe, and elsewhere via Twitter. And that poses yet another problem. Since Elon Musk acquired the platform, Twitter has gone through changes that don't exactly bode well for it as an invaluable breaking news resource like it once was.

For example, prior to Musk, the blue checkmark meant that a user was verified by Twitter as the journalist or expert that the individual claimed they were. Remember, the purpose of the checkmark was to make sure these users couldn't be impersonated. Now, however, anyone who pays $8 per month for Twitter's premium subscription service, Twitter Blue, gets a blue checkmark.

Furthermore, those paid blue checkmark users now get priority placement in Twitter's For You feed algorithm, and in the replies to other users' tweets. And, echoing the issue on Telegram, many Twitter Blue subscribers are not far, ideologically speaking, from the Putin regime.

​​"It's probably not good that during a major breaking news event, the ongoing Wagner mutiny in Russia, the majority of viral false and misleading claims are from accounts with Twitter Blue subscription, whose posts are promoted by Twitter's algorithm," observed(opens in a new tab) Shayan Sardarizadeh, a journalist that covers disinformation and conspiracy theories at BBC Verify.

The issues on Twitter became so obvious that they quickly even became meme-fodder(opens in a new tab) on the platform. For example, many blue checkmark users began spreading information in long tweet threads about the Russian coup, regardless of the fact that they had no expertise on the matter.

It also didn't help that Elon Musk, who owns the platform and has more than 144 million followers, decided not to use his reach to promote experts or journalists on the ground. Instead, Musk deemed(opens in a new tab) a cryptocurrency and tech entrepreneur who hosts larger Twitter Spaces audio chats, the provider of the "best coverage of the situation," and referred his followers to their account.

And unfortunately for those most affected, like people living in Russia, online information was hard to come by as well. Internet observatory NetBlocks reported(opens in a new tab) that the country's major telecommunications providers were blocking users from accessing Google's popular news aggregator, Google News.

Wagner Group now appears to have reversed course and will no longer march towards Moscow. Instead, the paramilitary group will join the Kremlin and again turn their focus to Ukraine, the country that Russia has invaded, to continue a war that has been subjected to its own disinformation campaigns. However, this potential coup, which lasted less than 24 hours, put a big spotlight on how the internet may be worse off than ever before when it comes to spreading accurate information during breaking global news events.

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The increasingly public feud between Russian military leaders and the head of a Russian paramilitary group escalated dramatically on Friday, when Yevgeny Prigozhin, the head of the paramilitary Wagner Group, accused Russian armed forces of attacking his soldiers and vowed retaliation. It was a shocking accusation, one with unpredictable consequences for Prigozhin, Russia, and the country’s invasion of Ukraine.

“The evil that the military leadership of the country brings forward must be stopped. They have forgotten the word ‘justice,’ and we will return it,” Prigozhin said in a recording published Friday on Wagner’s social media, according to the Wall Street Journal.

The Russian Ministry of Defense denied Prigozhin’s allegations that the military had launched a strike on Wagner fighters, calling it a “provocation.” Kremlin spokesperson Dmitry Peskov said late Friday that Russian President Vladimir Putin was “aware” of Prigozhin’s claims, and that the Kremlin was taking “all necessary measures.”

Shortly after, Russian law enforcement said that in response to Prigozhin’s statements, Russia’s security services, the FSB, have launched a criminal case over calls for an armed uprising. “We demand to stop these unlawful actions at once.”

Russia’s deputy head of military intelligence went as far as to call it a “coup” attempt in a video urging Wagner fighters to stand down. Russia’s prosecutor general also announced that Prigozhin was now being investigated “on suspicion of organizing an armed rebellion,” reports the New York Times. Prigozhin himself, for what it’s worth, denied he was carrying out a coup, calling it a “march of justice.”

Videos and images posted to social media late Friday showed Russian security forces patrolling the streets of Moscow and another Russian city, reportedly close to where Wagner troops are deployed in Ukraine.

Prigozhin, whose Wagner forces helped take the city of Bakhmut, has been increasingly vocal in his attacks against the Russian military’s leaders, posting more and more scathing criticism of the top brass over the war effort and accusing generals of denying Wagner the ammunition and support needed to fight effectively.

Prigozhin has generally avoided direct criticism of Putin himself, but earlier on Friday he had posted a video on Telegram with a stunning assessment of Russia’s war effort. In it, he attacked the Russian military’s — and, by extension, Putin’s — rationale for the war, basically saying the threat of NATO aggression through Ukraine was made up by Russia’s top brass and corrupt elites. The war, Prigozhin said, was “needed for a bunch of scumbags to triumph and show how strong of an army they are.” He included a diatribe against Russian Defense Minister Sergei Shoigu, who Prigozhin claimed pushed for war to secure a promotion, and whose decisions led to the deaths of thousands of Russian soldiers.

Prigozhin has taken a very public — and very risky — part in the war in Ukraine, and he may have finally crossed a line that he has been butting up against for many weeks. Yet this story is very much still developing, and both the Russian government and Prigozhin have an interest in pushing their own propaganda at this moment.

Prigozhin is a Putin ally and a political survivor, but those often have limits in Putin’s Russia. Still, whatever is unfolding is yet another crack in Russia’s war machine, and a window into some of the dysfunction of the Russian state — dysfunction, in part, of Putin’s own making. Who is this Prigozhin character, and what does he want?

Prigozhin, the man at the center of this, is an unlikely, and imperfect, challenger of Russia’s war effort.

Known as “Putin’s chef,” he has been something of a fixer for Putin’s regime. He isn’t exactly in Putin’s inner circle but has the skills and connections to make himself useful and needed. This may be setting up a troll farm to sow political discord abroad, including in the 2016 US elections, or acting as the frontman for Wagner, a private mercenary-like force to do the Kremlin’s bidding. In both cases, Prigozhin fulfilled the interests of the Russian state, but with just enough distance to offer Putin a measure of plausible deniability.

Prigozhin has claimed to be the founder of the Wagner Group, but the reality is likely much more complicated. He is more likely the convenient figurehead of the group, which Russia has relied on for years to do its bidding around the world in places where it did not want to openly commit troops or resources, and where it could operate in a kind of gray zone. That again granted Moscow a degree of plausible deniability as it exerted its influence and interests in other corners of the globe, from Syria to Mali to Venezuela. It also gave Putin a kind of independent power center, a paramilitary outside of the formal military structures.

That all started changing in Ukraine, where Wagner, and Prigozhin himself, took on an increasingly public role in the war.

Wagner filled a specific operational and public relations need for Russia. The group’s fighters — a portion of them convicts recruited from Russian prisons — bogged down and attrited Ukrainian forces at a time Russia’s military was in disarray. The group achieved its most substantial victory in Bakhmut, one of Russia’s main territorial gains since last summer. But that victory took months, and came at an astounding casualty rate.

But as the battle for Bakhmut ground on, Prigozhin got more and more outspoken about what he saw as the failures of the Russian military and its leaders. In one video Prigozhin posted in May, he stands in a field, apparently surrounded by corpses of dead Wagner fighters. “Shoigu! Gerasimov! Where are the fucking shells!” Prigozhin says, referring to the minister of defense and the military’s chief of the general staff. “They came here as volunteers and died so you could gorge yourselves in your offices.”

These kinds of critiques are frankly shocking for a guy who is largely dependent on Putin’s largesse; in a country where open criticism of the government, and especially the war, is often brutally crushed; and within a military apparatus where insubordination of this magnitude is rarely tolerated.

Some have interpreted Prigozhin’s braggadocio as an oligarch feeling himself, and seizing on the incompetence of the Russian military to create his own power center — maybe even playing the long game to challenge Putin.

But even before Prigozhin escalated his rivalry with the Russian military this week, experts I’ve spoken to really doubted Prigozhin was actually a Putin rival and could build his own power center in the Russian state. Instead, then, it made sense to look as Prigozhin as a functionary who was seizing an opportunity in an otherwise dicey environment.

There is a place — even within Russia’s controlled media environment — for a convenient foil, a guy to get out front and complain about Russian military incompetence. It focuses and puts pressure on the war’s generals, but not on the war’s mission or its necessity. It is not necessarily a permanent or stable spot to be in, and becomes even more precarious when Prigozhin outruns his usefulness.

Experts told me this spring that the worst thing for Prigozhin is for the Ukraine war to end. “Prigozhin clearly understands that there will be no safe retirement for him,” Sergey Sukhankin, a senior research fellow at the Jamestown Foundation, told Vox earlier this year. “He knows that if the current regime, or if his Wagner Group, goes down, he goes down with them.”

There were signs then, as now, that Prigozhin might overstep his ambitions. How that will play out for him — and for Russia right now — is extremely unclear, although the view from where Prigozhin sits looks pretty bleak. If the Russian military is launching attacks against him and his fighters, and if the security services are really investigating him, then any serious challenge to the Russian state or military looks pretty doomed right about now. But the fact that Russia had to rely on Wagner, and Prigozhin, to wage its war helps explain why Russia has struggled militarily since invading Ukraine, and that is unlikely to change, no matter what’s next for Prigozhin.

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Miniatures in movies are way more common than you expect, and one of the most stylish filmmakers keeping them alive is Wes Anderson. A black-and-white photo shows a man’s face looking out of a miniature moon with a telescope attached. A completely normal and not terrifying visualization of the man in the moon. A Trip to the Moon (1920)

Miniature use dates back just about far as the movies do, with filmmakers like Georges Méliès using them in the 1920s.

Star Wars was revolutionary for visual effects, but the limited computer technology of the 1970s meant filmmakers had to get creative. To pull off their ambitious vision, the team at Industrial Light and Magic built intricate miniatures of ships, trenches, and more for the original Star Wars.

In the 2020s, our computer technology is better than ever. And yet, even today, miniatures still get used. Just look at The Mandalorian, Blade Runner 2049, Harry Potter, The Dark Knight, and more. Two men are finding the right camera angle, one standing on a box, to shoot views of the large pink Grand Budapest Hotel miniature set. Filmmakers work on the hotel miniature for the movie The Grand Budapest Hotel. Courtesy of Simon Weisse/Focus Features A woman stands on a table among miniature buildings about her height, made to look like vintage skyscrapers in a city. Filmmakers work on miniature sets for Asteroid City. Courtesy of Simon Weisse/Focus Features

In order to go big, sometimes filmmakers go small. Check out Vox’s latest video to learn more about miniatures from one of Wes Anderson’s model makers, Simon Weisse

 

Although the first episode of Marvel’s Secret Invasion series only premiered Wednesday, people can’t stop talking about its, um, final moments. Maria Hill, who’s been played by Cobie Smulders since 2012's The Avengers, has weighed in on what she thinks happened. The news has already pervaded most of the nerdernet, but just in case you’re lucky enough not to know...

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Image for article titled Cobie Smulders Has Thoughts About the Secret Invasion Premiere's Ending

Maria Hill, right-hand woman to Nick Fury, has died, shot in the gut by a renegade Skrull masquerading as her friend and mentor. The question that fans have been obsessed with since Secret Invasion’s inaugural episode debuted is whether Hill realized it was a Skrull in disguise, or whether she believed she had been betrayed. Smulders has her own answer.

Speaking to Vanity Fair, Smulders chooses the happier of the two options. “To have Fury see himself, to know that Hill thinks that Fury shot her—that’s the pain of that moment,” Smulders told the publication. “I like to think that she, by the time she passed, knew it wasn’t him. Initially, it’s terrifying and so confusing. But I’d like to think she got there.”

Personally, I agree with Smulders’ assessment, mainly because Maria Hill was a very smart, capable person who knew she was literally at that moment chasing shape-shifting aliens who wanted her dead, and thus were a much, much, much likelier culprit than the real Nick Fury. Maria Hill ain’t no dummy... er, weren’t no dummy.

This, of course, begs the question of whether Maria Hill is really dead, given that the Marvel Cinematic Universe is currently the Marvel Cinematic Multiverse, where theoretically an infinite number of Maria Hills could be running around. The character is rumored to star in The Marvels, which will premiere this November. Smulders says, “I don’t know anything about that,” as legally obligated by the ominous vow of silence Marvel Studios forces their stars to make. It hardly matters—these are comic book movie, no one ever needs to stay dead if a future story requires it—but there’s a much easier explanation. Maria Hill did appear in Spider-Man: Far From Home, only to be revealed to be Soren the Skrull in disguise, accompanied by Talos as Nick Fury, operating as the former SHIELD director’s agents while he was on vacation out in space.

Dead or not, Hill/Smulders had a hell of a run. Even if you don’t count Far From Home, she was in all four Avengers films, and appeared in Captain America: Civil War. Goodbye, Maria and Cobie. You’ll be missed. Maybe. Probably. Oh, who the hell knows—or rather, who the hell is allowed to say?

 

Netflix's promotional Streamberry site, inspired by the parody version of the streaming platform in the Black Mirror Season 6 episode "Joan Is Awful," is indeed using your image in a marketing campaign in the UK.

Launched Tuesday, Netflix's Streamberry site(opens in a new tab) allows you to "sign up" to the platform, which looks remarkably like Netflix's own. Signing up requires you to upload or take a photo of yourself which "may end up on a billboard" — an instant red flag if you've watched the Black Mirror episode.

A screenshot of the Streamberry sign up up which resembles Netflix's site.

A little too familiar. Credit: Screenshot: Netflix

I've seen what happens to the lead character of "Joan Is Awful," so I decided against using my own image for this experiment. Instead, I found a dog on Unsplash, named him something villainous, and uploaded its likeness instead.

A mockup of the Streamberry site showing a small dog in a photo editor.

Behold, Moriarty. Credit: Alvan Nee / Netflix

Once you've adjusted the image, you need to "consent to Netflix's use of my image for its marketing campaign," and "read and agree[d] to the Terms of Service and Privacy Agreement(opens in a new tab)" to move forward.

In these terms, you'll note that "by interacting with this Experience, you grant the Netflix entity that provides you with this Experience, its affiliates and respective successors and assigns and anyone authorized by any of them (collectively, “Netflix”), the irrevocable, perpetual, worldwide, non-exclusive right to record, depict, and/or portray you and use, and grant to others the right, but not the obligation, to record, depict, and/or portray you and use, your actual or simulated likeness, name, photograph, voice, actions, etc. in connection with the development, production, distribution, exploitation, advertising, promotion and publicity of this Experience, in all media, now known and later devised, and all languages, formats, versions, and forms related to such Experience without compensation to you or any other individual, unless prohibited by law."

Basically, you're letting Netflix use whatever image you upload for its Black Mirror marketing campaign — like they told you they would.

If you agree, you'll be served a mockup of the site with your image and name as the next star of Joan Is Awful.

A mockup of the Streamberry site showing a small dog as the star of a fake show called "Moriarty is Awful"

A terrible star. Credit: Alvan Nee / Netflix

And sure enough, Netflix is using these images for its marketing campaign in the UK. Here's poor ol' Moriarty, shamed as the awful lead of his own show, apparently on a billboard in Stratford, London.

Now, it's likely this is a rolling billboard, as I've seen other(opens in a new tab) people's(opens in a new tab) "_____ Is Awful" images popping up on Twitter in the same spot. And there's other(opens in a new tab) billboards(opens in a new tab) popping up elsewhere in the UK. Whether or not these are simply photoshopped is beside the point, too — the Black Mirror Twitter account is sharing them across the internet, so this is still effective marketing.

The whole thing looks exactly like Streamberry CEO Mona Javadi (Leila Farzad) wants in the episode, explaining to a journalist the company uses "an infinite content creator capable of willing entire multiverses into existence" to create the show using an algorithm and user monitoring.

"The aim here is to launch unique, tailored content to each individual in our database, all 800 million of them, created on the fly by our system. The most relatable content imaginable."

It's exactly what Netflix's marketing team is doing. It makes so much sense. If you signed up and suddenly see your face on a billboard, that's on you.

And if you're wondering what you've signed up to with Netflix itself, these are the most Streamberry-ish parts of Netflix's real user agreement.

How to watch: All seasons of Black Mirror are now streaming on Netflix.(opens in a new tab)

Shannon Connellan is Mashable's UK Editor based in London, formerly Mashable's Australia Editor, but emotionally, she lives in the Creel House.

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Nuclear bombs keep going off over the horizon of Asteroid City (population 87). “Another atom bomb test,” the characters declare, with some combination of intrigue and boredom. They trot out of the diner to look at the tiny mushroom cloud, snap a few pictures, and go back inside for more coffee. It’s 1955. This isn’t unusual anymore.

Living in the shadow of the bombs is what Wes Anderson’s Asteroid City is about — literal bombs, and also a host of other life-shattering things like loss, and existential dread, and a world changing so fast it’s hard to hang on to it. Real things, in other words, the kind everyone has to deal with. The emotions we can’t outrun, but we try to anyhow.

That Anderson set Asteroid City in 1955 is a bit of trickery, a degree of separation between the characters’ reality and our own. We live in (dare I say) uniquely frightening times, but so do these people, for whom the Cold War and a rapidly changing social order is their psychic wallpaper. Much of the movie is specifically set in September 1955, a month bookended by two events: the United States’ decision to embark on Project Vanguard, which would try unsuccessfully to beat the Soviets at putting a satellite into space; and the tragic car accident that took the life of James Dean, the iconic actor who embodied the rising rebellion of the youth. (I don’t think it’s an accident that a cop car in hot pursuit of a careening vehicle keeps rushing through the town’s one intersection.)

“If you wanted to live a nice, quiet, peaceful life, you picked the wrong time to get born,” General Gibson (Jeffrey Wright) exhorts a crowd of teenagers and their parents, assembled in Asteroid City to celebrate the landing of a meteorite there thousands of years earlier. The children have entered their wildly advanced science experiments in a contest, which the military plans to snap up; the space race is in their eyes. Later, when things go south, youths are interrogated in a manner suspiciously reminiscent of the House Un-American Activities Committee. Grown men fight, and others try to calm them down by reminding them, “We’re not in Guadalcanal anymore.” Two men point guns at one another against the backdrop of a desert. “We’re not in Guadalcanal anymore.” Focus Features

It feels reminiscent of something real, but this is also all fiction — as the movie’s narrator puts it, “an apocryphal fabrication.” Fiction puts a layer between us and real history, a way of looking at the past through different eyes. It has another function, too: Through fiction, we process our emotions by proxy, whether we’re the artists or the audience.

That’s the subject of Asteroid City, which nests fiction inside of fiction inside of fiction. (I promise it’s easier to watch than it sounds.) Here is the most succinct description of the levels of its made-up-ness: It is a scripted movie that pretends to be a TV show in which actors stage a fictionalized version of the making of a play telling the fictional story of a place that doesn’t exist. We also see the play, but it is shot like a movie. (I am Alice, tumbling down the rabbit hole.)

The central, in-color plot of the film centers on the group gathered in Asteroid City for a three-day meteorite celebration when their lives are upended by a, shall we say, unexpected visitor. But Asteroid City actually introduces itself to us as an old-school anthology TV show, shot in black and white, hosted by a sonorous host (Bryan Cranston). What we’re about to see, he gravely tells us, is the story behind the making of a play called Asteroid City, about a place that doesn’t exist. It’s both an apocryphal fabrication and an “authentic look into the work of a theatrical production.”

What follows intercuts the color story — which turns out to be kind of a hyperreal version of the “play,” which we see shot as a film — and black-and-white scenes, often staged like little mini-plays, about various moments during Asteroid City’s production. (The play, not the movie we’re watching. If you need a walk or a stiff drink right now, that’s fine.)

This all means that in this movie Scarlett Johansson, for instance, plays an actress who plays an actress playing an actress. Similarly, Jason Schwartzman — the closest to a lead this absurdly stacked cast has — plays an actor who is desperate to figure out the motivations of his character, a war photographer who burns his hand on a sandwich iron. (Schwartzman is styled to reference several famous actors, perhaps most significantly a very famous photo of James Dean.) A fairground teeming with attractions and also signs that say things like “Alien Parking” and “Spacecraft Sighting.” Many classic theatre and movie references litter Asteroid City, including this one, which recalls Billy Wilder’s 1951 classic Ace in the Hole. Focus Features

Piling on these layers, each with its own combination of artifice and “authenticity,” is where Anderson shows what he’s doing. He’s interested in those piles. The impossible pursuit of authentic emotion through making art that can never really be all that “real” is one of Asteroid City’s themes; a fair amount of the film dwells on an acting class and its students, who are trying, in the style of The Actors Studio and “the method,” to find ways to give authentic performances in the very contrived medium of the theater.

But there’s an added layer to what Anderson’s after. Humans have always processed their feelings through art, but modernity adds a wrench to the whole existence thing. There’s an aspect of alienation — of feeling as if the machines and inventions we build, which are terrifying enough to be able to wipe us out (like the bomb) or seemingly to take over our world altogether (like, say, generative AI), are estranging us from one another and even from ourselves. Art has always been the counterbalance to this, which is in part why groups like The Actors Studio sprung up in the early part of the 20th century. If you are working at a desk all day clacking on a typewriter, or operating a machine, or building a bureaucracy that might work like a machine, then going to the theater is supposed to jolt you back to remembering that you, at least, are not a machine.

It’s tantamount to either a confession or an explanation from someone like Anderson, whose work employs considerable artifice in its pursuit of authenticity. I confess that I don’t really like Anderson’s style, and have not loved most of his movies. It took me two viewings to really figure out Asteroid City. But I do admire that he’s an artist whose aesthetic is so firmly defined that even non-cinephiles can make poor imitations of his work using AI; in fact, it’s those replicas’ inability to actually latch onto the emotion that powers his work (the melancholy, the grief, the impishness) that make me appreciate him more.

That’s what I came to appreciate about this movie, and the more I think about it, the more wise I think it is. In Asteroid City, Anderson builds several worlds mediated by layers of performance, artifice, and technology, in which nonetheless real humans grieve, long for one another, fall in love, get hurt, and feel wonder. The layers they’ve put between themselves and their emotions crack and crumble. Their worlds are rocked, which leaves them thinking about things like the meaning of life, the existence of God, and whether they’re as alone as they feel like they are. The answer, he suggests, is found by sinking into the apocryphal fabrications of the artist’s imagination. “You can’t wake up,” the characters chant near the end of the movie, “if you don’t fall asleep.”

Asteroid City is playing in theaters.

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For the entirety of my writing life, Cormac McCarthy has been a mountain. Some of the novelists of my generation found the mountain beautiful; others found it oppressive. But virtually all of us, whatever our position or attitude, existed in its shade.

In spite of the enormity of his shadow, however, I’ve never before written about the author of so many novels I’ve studied and admired. In the two decades since my first book was published, I’ve fielded the boilerplate question about my influences no end of times, name-checking an almost absurdly ragtag crew: Shirley Hazzard, Denis Johnson, William S. Burroughs, Amos Tutuola, Lydia Davis, Toni Morrison, John Berger, Ursula K. Le Guin — even, just a few weeks ago, whoever ghost-wrote David Lee Roth’s memoir, “Crazy From the Heat.” But one name I’ve conspicuously avoided all these years has been that of McCarthy, who died last week at 89. Why on earth is that?

From the first paragraph — from the first sentence — “All the Pretty Horses” reconfigured my understanding of novelistic language so radically that months would pass before I felt able to read anyone else. All these years later, its opening still hits me with the force of incantation: The candleflame and the image of the candleflame caught in the pierglass twisted and righted when he entered the hall and again when he shut the door. Book cover for "All the Pretty Horses" by Cormac McCarthy, featuring a black-and-white image of a horse's mane.

(Knopf)

That line has lost none of its mystery, its austerity, its elegant foreboding. Part of what makes it so memorable, of course, is its odd, self-consciously archaic cadence — the oft-cited ‘biblical’ loftiness of McCarthy’s prose, which may be one reason few writers of my generation care to cite him as an influence. But although I registered the novel’s considerable stylistic debts both to Hemingway and Faulkner — not to mention “A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” — I was so intoxicated by its music that the point seemed academic. It didn’t matter that McCarthy’s literary models were obvious, because he wrote as well as they did and occasionally better. For a would-be novelist struggling under my own debilitating anxiety of influence, no more valuable lesson existed. I received it as a physical sensation. I could breathe.

But something even more powerful was at work as I read, something harder to make sense of, let alone characterize: At the time I thought of it — always in italics — as the sound. Intuitively, on the margins of my consciousness, I came to understand: The sound was the thing. It set the mood, it lit the world, it kept everything in motion. This second lesson was, if possible, even more pivotal than the first: Never mind your plot outline, your carefully thought-out themes, your take on human nature. Forget your own name if you have to. It may take years, it may be agony — but find the sound. That’s all you need. The rest of it will follow.

The news of McCarthy’s death — somehow surprising, even startling, in spite of his age — is the reason, of course, for this belated mea culpa. I can’t help but think, looking back, that certain younger writers, myself included, resisted acknowledging McCarthy’s influence not because of what he was, necessarily, but because of what he represented — and whatever our conception of him now, he has also, with his passing, come to represent the past.

But this was true, curiously enough, even during the long years of McCarthy’s prime. Vital as his best work always was to me as a point of reference, the man himself, and how he (purportedly) lived — his Olympian detachment, his monkish day-to-day existence, his refusal to give interviews or readings or to besmirch himself in any of the myriad ways demanded of working writers nowadays — always seemed an impossible act to follow. A man with a beard wearing black clothes in front of a brick wall with graffiti.

John Wray was in a rough place when he picked up Cormac McCarthy’s “All the Pretty Horses.” It set fire to his writing and changed his life.

(Julio Arellano)

Until the runaway success of “Horses,” when McCarthy was 59, none of his novels had sold more than a few thousand copies, and he gave every impression of finding obscurity pleasant. At times his very existence, out there somewhere, banging contentedly away on his Olivetti Lettera, could feel ... daunting, I suppose. He regularly refused lucrative speaking engagements, teaching positions, and — needless to say — any social media presence whatsoever. What young writer could get away with that today? Perhaps more to the point, would any of them want to?

For this reason and others, McCarthy’s passing feels to me — as I’m sure it does to many — like the closing of a long and momentous chapter in American letters. He was, de facto, the last of the great Harold Bloom-anointed White Cisgender Male Authors, and no small number of critics and academics, I suspect, are now quietly wishing that era Godspeed.

White cisgender male though I am, far be it from me to disagree: I’ve never felt the awe and adoration for Bellow and Mailer and Irving that seemed mandatory among well-read middle-class readers of my parents’ generation, and I’ve always been slightly nauseated by Updike’s randiness and verbal exhibitionism. McCarthy, however, though he was born in the same year as Philip Roth, was never a member of that particular gentlemen’s club. I imagine he must have struck a writer like Updike as a walking anachronism, a coelacanth-like living fossil from the high modernist age. And in fact — occasionally for the worse, but very, very often for the better — that’s exactly what he was.

None of which is to say that McCarthy’s body of work, or even his worldview, has subsided into irrelevance with his death — just the opposite. I was recently asked by a music magazine to write a list of “novels for metalheads,” and my thoughts went instantly to “Blood Meridian,” his end-of-days magnum opus of the American West. The conjunction of metal and McCarthy isn’t as far-fetched as it might seem; in its pitch-black reckoning with humanity’s most self-annihilating urges, the novel could easily be read as an allegory for the Anthropocene. The apocalyptic orange skies that recently darkened the East Coast might have been conjured directly from its dread-filled pages.

I had a dog-eared copy of “Blood Meridian” beside me when I wrote the following passage in my most recent novel, in which a teenage boy hears heavy music for the first time: “He was being offered the same purifying fear, the same catharsis, the same revelation midnight slasher movies gave: that everything wasn’t going to be all right. Not now and not ever. And that made perfect sense to him.”

 

There’s no shortage of movies already based on real-life, historical incidents surrounding the Stock Market, but everything in the first trailer for Sony’s upcoming Dumb Money film — a biographical comedy-drama covering the events of the GameStop short squeeze — beautifully demonstrates why we have such an appetite for them. Especially when it involves a David vs Goliath-like plot where “the little guy” takes on the Wall Street establishment.

Directed by Craig Gillespie of I, Tonya (2017) and Cruella (2021), Dumb Money is a dramatized retelling of how a bunch of amateur investors on the r/WallStreetBets subreddit intentionally inflated struggling GameStop’s stock to screw over the hedge funds who were shorting it while getting rich at the same time.

Pete Davidson and Paul Dano in a screenshot taken from the upcoming movie Dumb Money. Considering this movie is based on real events, the least believable thing about it is that these two dudes are brothers.

Image: Sony

A lot of big names are attached to this project. Paul Dano as Keith Gill — otherwise known by his online alias of Roaring Kitty — a former financial analyst who became the driving force behind the movement. Pete Davidson plays Keith’s brother, Kevin Gill, while Seth Rogan and Nick Offerman portray Gabe Plotkin and Kenneth C. Griffin respectively — two of the hedge fund managers wrapped up in the incident. Sebastian Stan, Anthony Ramos, America Ferrera, Shailene Woodley, and Vincent D’Onofrio also feature.

Interestingly, Sony says that Dumb Money is based on The Antisocial Network — a book written by Ben Mezrich on the GameStop short squeeze. That bodes well considering Mezrich also wrote The Accidental Billionaire, which was later adapted for the big screen as The Social Network (2010). There’s currently no age rating assigned to the movie arriving in theaters in the US on September 22nd.

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