Plainclothes is a taut, emotionally layered thriller-drama with romance, centered on Lucas (played by Tom Blyth), a young undercover police officer tasked with entrapping gay men in public spaces. As Lucas carries out his morally fraught assignment, he becomes romantically entangled with Andrew (Russell Tovey), one of his targets—a closeted man navigating the same oppressive terrain.
Clint Bentley’s adaptation of Denis Johnson’s beloved novella Train Dreams is the moving portrait of Robert Grainier, a logger and railroad worker who leads a life of unexpected depth and beauty in the rapidly changing America of the early 20th century. Train Dreams captures a time and place that are now long gone, and the people who built a bridge to a future they could only dream of.
In James Sweeney’s Twinless a grieving man infiltrates a support group for twinless twins to get close to the brother of his deceased lover, unravelling a darkly comic tale of identity, obsession, and emotional deception.
Pillionis a bold and provocative drama that reimagines intimacy through the lens of queer desire, vulnerability, and consensual roleplay. Inspired by writer-director Harry Lighton’s commitment to exploring subcultures with empathy, the film challenges cinematic conventions.
Pets on a Trainis a animated action-comedy that follows a ragtag group of pets trapped aboard a runaway train. At the center of the story is Falcon, a streetwise raccoon who unwittingly becomes part of a larger scheme: Hans hijacks the train, ejects all the humans, and leaves only the pets on board. Only in cinemas from 12 December
Silent Night, Deadly Night (2025) is a chilling reimagining of the infamous 1984 holiday slasher, and follows Billy Chapman (Rohan Campbell), who, after witnessing his parents’ brutal murder by a killer dressed as Santa Claus, grows up traumatised and eventually dons the red suit himself—embarking on a violent holiday rampage. Haunted by grief and rage, he transforms into a vengeful “Killer Santa,” leaving a trail of blood-soaked carnage across a small town. Only in cinemas from 12 December
My Cousin’s Big Fat Durban Wedding – a South African comedy film directed and written by Theshan Naicker. Set and filmed in Durban, KwaZulu-Natal, the film celebrates the vibrant chaos, cultural richness, and familial drama of a South African Indian wedding. While the full plot hasn’t been publicly detailed yet, the title and production context suggest a playful homage to the genre popularised by My Big Fat Greek Wedding, reimagined through a Durban lens..Only in cinemas from 12 December
Scarlet — After failing to avenge her father’s murder, a brave princess awakens in the Land of the Dead, where time twists and memory fades. To survive, she must journey through madness, myth, and the ruins of her own story. Directed by Mamoru Hosoda (Belle, Wolf Children) and animated by Studio Chizu, this dark fantasy epic blends road movie, buddy tale, and metaphysical quest. .Only in cinemas from 12 December
Step behind the lens and into the minds of filmmakers who sculpt stories frame by frame, line by line. Explore the pulse of storytelling from screenwriters who shape narrative worlds, reminding us that every film begins as a screenplay.
If you’ve ever dreamed of writing a screenplay you know could outshine some of the films you’ve seen, our The Write Journey course will guide you from concept to your first pages.
Produced in Cape Town, the joyful animated musical Davidis one of the most inspiring characters in human history: a warrior, poet, shepherd and king. From the songs of his mother’s heart to the whispers of a faithful God, David’s story begins in quiet devotion. When the giant Goliath rises to terrorise a nation, a young shepherd armed with only a sling, a few stones, and unshakable faith steps forward. Pursued by power and driven by purpose, his journey tests the limits of loyalty, love, and courage—culminating in a battle not just for a crown, but for the soul of a kingdom.
Avatar: Fire and Ash — Jake and Neytiri’s family faces grief and fracture after Neteyam’s death, as they clash with the Ash People—a volcanic Na’vi clan led by the fierce Varang—in James Cameron’s darker, emotionally charged third chapter of the Pandora saga. The film introduces new tribes like the Wind Traders and Ash People, explores themes of vengeance and grief, and deepens the mythology with lava-dwelling creatures, volcanic landscapes, and a symbiotic relationship with fire. Runtime expected to exceed 3 hours and 12 minutes, making it the longest Avatar film yet.
The Housemaid — Millie, a desperate young woman, takes a job cleaning for a wealthy couple in their lavish home. But behind locked attic doors and perfect smiles, she uncovers secrets far darker than her past. Directed by Paul Feig and based on Freida McFadden’s bestselling thriller, this psychological nail-biter stars Sydney Sweeney, Amanda Seyfried, Brandon Sklenar, and Michele Morrone.
26 DECEMBER:
Anaconda — Two washed-up friends set out to remake their favourite jungle adventure film, only to stumble into a real-life nightmare when a legendary serpent awakens and begins its deadly hunt. Directed by Tom Gormican (The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent), this action-comedy horror reboot stars Jack Black, Paul Rudd, Thandiwe Newton, Daniela Melchior, and Steve Zahn. It’s the sixth instalment in the franchise.
Song Sung Blue — Down-on-their-luck musicians Mike and Claire Sardina form a Neil Diamond tribute band—Lightning & Thunder—and rise to local fame, only to face devastating heartbreak in this musical biopic of love, loss, and performance. Directed by Craig Brewer (Dolemite Is My Name), it stars Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson, with Michael Imperioli, Fisher Stevens, and Jim Belushi rounding out the cast. Based on the 2008 documentary, it’s a soulful, song-laced portrait of resilience and reinvention.
The SpongeBob Movie: Search for SquarePants — To prove his bravery to Mr. Krabs, SpongeBob follows the ghostly Flying Dutchman into the deepest, darkest part of the sea—where no sponge has gone before. Directed by Derek Drymon, this fourth animated film in the franchise is a swashbuckling comedy-adventure packed with haunted shipwrecks, underwater peril, and Bikini Bottom charm.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Anemone – The universal human struggle to confront painful legacies
Anemone is a 2025 feature film written and directed by Ronan Day-Lewis, co-written with his father Daniel Day-Lewis, and inspired by the lingering scars of the Troubles in Northern Ireland. It is significant both as a deeply personal exploration of generational trauma and as a landmark collaboration between one of cinema’s greatest actors and his son, marking Ronan’s debut as a filmmaker.
The film Anemone stands as one of the most intriguing cinematic releases of 2025, not only because of its subject matter but also because of the unique collaboration behind it.
Written and directed by Ronan Day-Lewis, with co-writing contributions from his father, the legendary actor Daniel Day-Lewis, the film is a layered drama that delves into the psychological and emotional aftermath of the Troubles in Northern Ireland. The narrative centers on a fractured family, torn apart by the violence and political upheaval of the 1970s, and explores how those wounds reverberate decades later. Starring Daniel Day-Lewis himself alongside Sean Bean and Samantha Morton, the film is both intimate and epic, weaving together personal grief with historical trauma.
The inspiration for Anemone came from Ronan Day-Lewis’s fascination with the way history embeds itself into family life.
In interviews, he has explained that the film grew out of conversations with his father, who began to inhabit the characters during the writing process, particularly the role of Ray, a man haunted by his past. Daniel Day-Lewis’s method acting style, infamous for its intensity, became part of the creative process even before cameras rolled, as he spoke in character during script development. This collaboration gave Ronan a unique shorthand with his father on set, allowing them to explore the story’s emotional depths with unusual precision. The film’s surreal elements—such as the ghostly figure of Nessa, a spectral presence that appears to one of the brothers—were inspired by Ronan’s desire to capture the way memory and trauma manifest in haunting, almost supernatural ways.
Daniel Day-Lewis and Ronan Day-Lewis
At its core, Anemone is about estrangement and reconciliation.
The plot follows two brothers whose reunion dredges up buried resentment and unresolved grief. The appearance of ghostly creatures, explained by Ronan as projections of memory and longing, underscores the surreal yet deeply human nature of trauma. These elements elevate the film beyond a straightforward historical drama, situating it in a liminal space between realism and myth. The title itself, Anemone, evokes both fragility and resilience—the flower that bends with the wind yet survives, much like the families who endured the Troubles.
The significance of Anemone lies in several dimensions.
First, it represents Ronan Day-Lewis’s emergence as a filmmaker, stepping out from the shadow of his father’s towering legacy. To direct Daniel Day-Lewis, widely considered one of the greatest actors of all time, is itself a remarkable feat. The film thus becomes a dialogue not only between characters but between generations of storytellers. Second, it contributes to the ongoing cinematic exploration of the Troubles, joining films like In the Name of the Father and ’71 in grappling with the human cost of political violence. Yet unlike those works, Anemone is more surreal, more inward-looking, emphasizing the psychological scars rather than the external conflict.
Moreover, the film resonates in contemporary contexts. Released in 2025, Anemone arrives at a time when questions of identity, memory, and reconciliation remain pressing in Ireland and beyond. Its depiction of estranged brothers struggling to reconnect mirrors broader societal efforts to bridge divides left by history. The ghostly visitation of Nessa, interpreted as a projection of longing and unresolved communication, symbolises the way past generations continue to speak to the present. In this sense, the film is not only about the Troubles but about the universal human struggle to confront painful legacies.
The performances add to its significance.
Daniel Day-Lewis, who had previously retired from acting after Phantom Thread in 2017, returned for this project, making Anemone a rare and possibly final screen appearance. His portrayal of Ray is marked by the intensity and authenticity that have defined his career, while Sean Bean and Samantha Morton bring gravitas and emotional nuance to their roles. Together, the cast embodies the film’s themes of resilience, grief, and reconciliation, grounding its surreal elements in lived human experience.
Anemone is significant not only as a film but as a cultural event. It represents the passing of the torch from one generation of artists to another, while simultaneously offering a profound meditation on trauma, memory, and reconciliation. Written and directed by Ronan Day-Lewis, co-written with Daniel Day-Lewis, and inspired by the Troubles, it is a film that bends the boundaries of realism to capture the haunting persistence of history. Its significance lies in its artistry, its emotional depth, and its ability to speak to both personal and collective wounds. For Ronan Day-Lewis, it is a remarkable debut; for Daniel Day-Lewis, it is a poignant return; and for audiences, it is a reminder that the past is never truly past, but continues to shape the present in ways both visible and spectral.
You can watch Anemone (2025) on Peacock, as well as rent or buy it digitally on platforms like Apple TV, Google Play, and Movies Anywhere.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Hamnet – A tale about the complexities of love and the healing power of art and creativity
From Academy Award winning writer/director Chloé Zhao, Hamnet tells the powerful story of love and loss that inspired the creation of Shakespeare’s timeless masterpiece, Hamlet.
With such nuanced, sensitive and insightful films as 2017’s The Rider and 2020’s Oscar®-winning drama Nomadland, writer-director Chloé Zhao has earned a reputation as one of the most singularly gifted filmmakers of her generation. Now, as writer-producer-director-editor, she brings her visionary approach to Hamnet. The film centers on the marriage between Agnes and William Shakespeare and explores the tumultuous events involving the couple’s son Hamnet, which would ultimately inspire the creation of the Bard’s timeless masterpiece, Hamlet.
The film springs from the pages of Maggie O’Farrell’s acclaimed eighth novel, Hamnet, which won the National Book Critics Circle Award, the Women’s Prize for Fiction and was cited as one of 2020’s five best works of fiction by the New York Times Book Review. For O’Farrell, the story was one she’d hoped to tell for nearly three decades, after having discovered little-discussed details of Shakespeare’s family life, specifically the death of his only son Hamnet, who succumbed to the plague at just 11 years old.
“I always felt it was very unjust to this boy that nobody ever made the connection between this child called Hamnet and the play that was written four or five years later called Hamlet,” O’Farrell says. “This child had become so sidelined, a footnote in his very famous father’s story. So, the whole impetus to me writing the book was to put him on stage and to say that this child was important. He was loved. Without him, we wouldn’t have Hamlet. We owe this child so much, yet he was not part of the conversation at all.”
Although he receives title billing in O’Farrell’s novel, the child is not the central protagonist in her story. That role instead falls to Agnes(O’Farrell calls her character by the name she was given at birth, pronounced Ann-yis, rather than the more familiar Anne). The experienced falconer, forager and healer is as untamed as the lush and verdant landscape that surrounds her home. Her strong connection to the natural world borders on the mystical, and her wild, unconventional demeanor is instantly attractive to Will, who also harbors rebellious feelings toward his domineering father and the strictures of late 16th century society.
Together, they make a formidable duo whose passions are in sync for much of the early years of their marriage. But their bond begins to fray as Will, encouraged by Agnes, pursues his dreams of creative expression. His sojourns from their Stratford-Upon-Avon home to London to work in theater are his lifeblood, something his wife understands all too well, but his absence is felt keenly by his family, particularly little Hamnet. Agnes uses her skills to make a lovely home for the boy and his two sisters, Susanna and Judith, though some forces prove too strong for even the most fiercely protective mother to keep at bay.
After Hamnet’s sudden illness and demise, the family is sent reeling from the loss, yet Agnes must remain steadfast in her commitment to her daughters and her husband. Still, the couple struggles to move beyond tragedy and find a path toward forgiveness, acceptance and fulfillment. Agnes immerses herself in nature, while Will pours his grief into a play that would live on throughout the centuries, Hamlet (which, in the 16th century, was a common variant of his son’s name)—about a teenage prince who outlives his murdered father. Each finds a kind of catharsis in the act of creativity and imagination, giving meaning to the suffering they’ve experienced.
A Statement From Chloé Zhao
Hamnet is about love and death and how these two foundational human experiences can alchemize and transform each other through art and storytelling.
It’s a story of metamorphosis.
I don’t often have words to describe why I choose a project. I’m often guided by instinct, a tight pull on my heart center. Stories appear in my life as if they have chosen me and I have no choice but to surrender to them. Hamnet came into my life like a whisper that grew into a hurricane. By the end of the journey, I was tenderized. I had truly experienced what it feels like to live with an open heart in the eye of a storm – the beauty, the pain, the thrill at the edge of annihilation and the silence.
From the black hole in the spring ground of the old forest to the dark door on the stage of the rain-soaked Globe Theatre, I descended with a village of brave souls and together we held onto each other and let the underground currents of our unconscious take us. In the chaos we asked Agnes and William to guide us. We asked all the women past and present who suffered great pain and loss and the men who suppressed their feelings and ran away from themselves to guide us. We asked the forest, the river, the earth to guide us, and we asked our own wild hearts that desperately yearn for freedom and peace to guide us. In the end, as we danced on and off the stage of the Globe, the veils between reality and fiction, past and present, the seen and the unseen, love and death dissolved. There was no separation. We were one in those precious moments. I felt in my body, in my bones, that love doesn’t die, it transforms.
I have been afraid of death all my life and as a result, I have been afraid of love as well. I didn’t know how to keep my heart open staring at the impermanence of life. I’ve made four films about characters experiencing great loss and finding themselves through acceptance. HAMNET is the accumulation of that journey. With the sacred container of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, I went down deeper into the underworld to retrieve what was lost, that made me so afraid to experience both love and death. Maggie had opened a portal with her book, a bridge for us to connect with Will in ways we haven’t before.
“All things in life must die, passing through nature to eternity.”
“To be or not to be, that is the question.”
“The rest is silence.”
Will had written a story about love and death and I feel honored and fortunate to be able to interpret his messages for today’s audience. We knew, felt, that he was with us.
In our story, Agnes and William fell in love and had a beautiful family until they both found themselves at a threshold after the death of their son. They couldn’t go back to the past and they couldn’t move on. They are frozen in a liminal place, pulled towards opposing directions but cannot move an inch.
It is with such tension ALCHEMY occurred. In physics, when forces pull or push in opposing directions, they create tension. When that tension is too strong, it leads to movement and a new state of equilibrium: in the exact moment when Will finds himself between land and sea, life and death – one of the greatest pieces of literature was born.
Our world is at a threshold. We all feel the immense tension and pressure. We can sense a new state of equilibrium approaching. Many of us are frozen in a liminal place, afraid to move. I see the fears that plague me in others’ eyes. The fear of what will come. The fear that we don’t have control over our own lives. The fear that we are no longer safe in this world. The fear that we will never know unconditional love. And ultimately, the fear of death, a death without meaning.
The deepest reason for making this film is to bring disillusionment to that fear by showing the power of metamorphosis we have within us as human beings and our ability to alchemize our experiences no matter how painful they are.
We are all born into this world feeling the tension of the void. We must make a choice to keep our hearts open and walk through the flames.
Love doesn’t die, it transforms. It is the greatest metamorphosis in this universe, and I hope our film serves as a humble reminder of that.
Hamnet’s journey to the screen began when Hera Pictures founder and producer Liza Marshall received an early copy in November 2019, several months prior to the book’s publication in March of 2020. “Because I’d read all Maggie O’Farrell’s previous novels and I’m such a super fan, I sat down and read the whole book in one night and completely fell in love with it,” Marshall recalls. “It was such an extraordinary, moving piece of writing.”
Securing the rights to adapt the novel, Marshall eventually came to partner with both Neal Street Productions’ Pippa Harris (1917) and Book of Shadows’ Nicolas Gonda (Knight of Cups) on the project. Harris, too, had read O’Farrell’s novel and found it to be meticulously researched and incredibly moving. Harris’ producing partner, Oscar®-winning filmmaker Sam Mendes, signed on to produce. Joining them was Steven Spielberg’s shingle Amblin Entertainment, with whom Neal Street had made the lauded World War I drama 1917. The film industry legend chose to sign on as a producer on the film as well.
For the producers, recruiting the right filmmaker to take the reins of the project was critical; they were seeking someone who would respond to the elliptical nature of O’Farrell’s writing and the unconventional nature of her heroine. All agreed that Chinese-born, British-educated writer-director Chloé Zhao, given her impeccable artistic résumé, was an ideal candidate. “Liza, Pippa, Steven and I all felt that Chloé was the perfect director for this material. Not only does she have an entirely unique approach to film making, she is also one of the most empathetic souls I’ve ever met. Her close collaboration with Jessie, Paul and the rest of the cast allowed them to flourish as actors in extraordinary ways, and to make a movie that combines rawness and delicacy in ways I’ve never seen,” notes Mendes.
“The beautiful and memorable storytelling in Maggie O’Farrell’s best-selling novel deserved to be brought to the screen by a filmmaker who would protect the material’s integrity and demonstrate an intuitive understanding of the emotional and complex journey that the characters—and the audience—take over the course of the story. There was only one director I knew who would bring Hamnet to the screen with such compassionate care, and that is Chloé Zhao,” says Spielberg. “In adapting the novel with Maggie, Chloé’s inherent humanity, unerring sense of narrative, and gift for getting remarkable performances infuse every frame of Hamnet”.
The first female of color and first Asian woman to win the best director prize at the Academy Awards® for Nomadland, which also nabbed the best picture Oscar®, Zhaohad earned acclaim as someone whose films, which often featured non-professional actors, were visually arresting tales interrogating the condition of people on society’s margins with great sensitivity and insight.
“Chloé has a rare gift for distilling stories to their purest essence, uncovering the soul within the structure,” says producer Gonda. “She doesn’t just look at the surface of a story — she wants to understand what pulses underneath it. With a figure as iconic and unknowable as Shakespeare, it takes someone with Chloé’s particular sensitivity and curiosity to uncover not just the facts, but the emotional truths hiding between them.”
O’Farrell was excited by the choice. “Chloé, with a lot of her work, she’s in a very interesting dialogue with art and authenticity and the relationship between the two and how they pull together and pull apart,” she says. “The film is about why we need art, why we make it, where it comes from, where it’s pulled from in your soul.”
Once Zhao was presented with the novel, she immediately connected to it on a spiritual level. “I felt her book was very immersive,” Zhao says. “It was a very visceral experience. It was a very poetic experience. It read almost like poetry to me, which is the type of cinematic language I love. As a filmmaker, when I was reading it, I was seeing images added together in a rhythm. I felt that there is a heartbeat in this book that matches the rhythm of the heartbeat of me as a filmmaker, and I also loved the story. I’m always looking for stories that are both very, very specific and universal at the same time, and this book really is that.”
“I was also very excited because the story touches on death and impermanence and grief and how the act of creativity and imagination could give meaning to the inevitable suffering that we go through in life,” Zhao continues. “When you have source material like that, it’s gold.”
Not only did she want to direct, but she also wanted to write the HAMNET screenplay together with O’Farrell. She sought to shed the typically stuffy trappings of a costume drama to instead create a film about love, loss and the healing power of great art as something visceral, raw and relatable.“Maggie has immersed herself so much [in this world] that she is the embodiment of all these characters, so collaborating with her was vital for me to be able to be inspired by the authentic world and these characters I have,” Zhao says. “There was just no question for me, I had to do that. And also, she’s an incredible writer. We were true partners.”
Zhao’s intention to faithfully translate the spirit of O’Farrell’s acclaimed work of historical fiction to the screen was present from the duo’s earliest conversations—the film was always intended to be one that devotees of the novel could very much embrace. Although the author was thrilled that HAMNET might hew so closely to her novel, O’Farrell concedes she personally felt some trepidation about reconstructing the story for film yet was delighted to discover her inner screenwriter.
“I know how to put down a narrative for the page and know how to put together the plot of a novel—that’s my job and that’s my heart,” she says. “But I had never written for the screen, and I wasn’t sure if I could do it. The mechanics of the narrative is different, the language is different, and the visual language is, of course, different. Something that appears on the page as an interior thought, you need as a scriptwriter to express that either through the visual language or the actual dialogue. That was a really interesting exercise.”
Despite working in different time zones, Zhao’s clear vision for the chronology of the narrative and for its characters helped propel the writing process. The director would often leave What’s App messages for her screenwriting partner that would help inspire revisions and rewrites; as they sent pages back and forth to one another, HAMNET eventually began to take on its final contours.
“You want the audience to see themselves in these characters,” Zhao says. “I want to try to open the hearts of the audience, soften them so they can feel the emotions these characters are feeling. Once they catch the wave with us, with our characters, then they have a chance to also experience catharsis. That’s always the creative goal of my films. Once they go through that catharsis, then they, like these characters, find some meaning from these difficult life situations, and hopefully become more whole through the experience of viewing the film.”
Readers familiar with Maggie O’Farrell’s Hamnet understand the hypnotic nature of her prose and the vivid detail with which she evokes every aspect of the Shakespeare family’s daily lives. A testament to the extensive research she completed before sitting down to write the novel, O’Farrell describes the tools of John’s workshop, the earthy aroma of Agnes’s garden, the scratching of Will’s quills against parchment.
Filmmaker Chloé Zhao was committed to capturing that same level of authentic detail on screen, and she partnered with expert craftspeople to ensure that the screen adaptation thrummed with the same kind of vibrant life as its source material. That group included two-time Oscar®-nominated cinematographer Łukasz Żal (The Zone of Interest, Ida), Oscar®-nominated production designer Fiona Crombie (The Favourite), costume designer Malgosia Turzanska (The Green Knight) and hair and makeup designer Nicole Stafford (Speak No Evil).
Building Character: Casting The Film
Even before the screenplay was completed, Zhao had strong ideas about the actors who might take on Hamnet’s immensely challenging leading roles. In fact, she’d informally met with two of them at the 2022 Telluride Film Festival. That year, Irish actors Jessie Buckley and Paul Mescal had traveled to the Colorado mountains, each to promote a different film. For Buckley, it was the drama Women Talking, about a Mennonite community torn apart by sexual assault. For Mescal, it was the moving father-daughter drama Aftersun.
“Right from the beginning, Jessie was the actress that Chloé had in mind, and now, when you look at Jessie on screen, you can’t imagine anybody else playing that part,” producer Pippa Harris says of the character, who is so deeply rooted in nature and mysticism. “She embodies Agnes. She has a lot of her character within her. She loves the wilderness. She is quite a wild child in the sense that she’s very much at one with nature. She’s slightly mystical. She believes in the soul and the spirits, and she’s a really caring person—I think that that pulses out of her on screen.”
For her part, Buckley had an overwhelmingly positive response to both the story of Hamnet and to the character of Agnes. Reading the novel for the first time, she devoured the novel in one sitting, totally absorbed in the world O’Farrell had created and the magnetic figure at its center. Later, when she received the screenplay for the film, she was moved to tears. “I was like this is the woman I’ve been looking for,” Buckley says. “She is untethered, free, deeply curious, like a kind of rye whiskey, mischievous, hungry, beautiful soul of a woman. I just love her. She’s like one of those people I wanted to be my new best friend.”
In Will’s absence, Agnes gives John a wide berth and instead turns to her younger brother Bartholomew in moments of crisis. Played by Joe Alwyn (Harriet, The Brutalist), the farmer offers his sister his unconditional love and support. “They’re incredibly close, but they’re not together all the time,” says Alwyn of the siblings. “They’ve been almost forged together off the grid somehow in the forest. Bartholomew is both incredibly protective of her but also understands the strength of her well enough to not get in the way of what she is going to do. So, it’s this nice balance of protectiveness but also giving someone the space and freedom to grow.”
As Will, Mescal had the unenviable challenge of humanizing a literary icon. “For hundreds of years, Shakespeare has become this person we hold up on a pedestal, but he must have had all these complicated urges within him to write from the place that he wrote,” Mescal says. “The thing that I had to do was make this character my own. I had to stick to the history, of course, but the main thing that I focused on was his work. The only thing that we really know is that these are the words he put on paper. That is his lived experience. If you dig into the meaning of certain soliloquies, you find the roots of who he is. That was where I put my attention.”
Studying Shakespeare’s words, then bringing his own unique energy to the role, helped Mescal craft a character who felt both real and relatable.
CHLOÉ ZHAO(Director, Co-Screenwriter, Executive Producer, Co-Editor) is a writer, director, editor and producer from Beijing. Her third feature Nomadland earned acclaims including Golden Lion at the 2020 Venice Film Festival, Golden Globe®️ , BAFTA, DGA, PGA Awards and 3 Oscars®️ , including Best Director, Best Actress and Best Picture. Chloé co-wrote and directed Marvel Studios’ Eternals. In 2023, she launched Book of Shadows, a production company, with producing partner Nic Gonda. Most recently, Chloé co-wrote and directed HAMNET starring Paul Mescal and Jessie Buckley, to be released in 2025.
MAGGIE O’FARRELL (Co-Screenwriter) is one of the most loved writers in the English language. Her debut, After You’d Gone, marked the start of a career which has established Maggie as one of the great storytellers of our times. From that point onwards, Maggie has enjoyed critical acclaim and received numerous literary awards. The Hand that First Held Mine won the 2010 Costa Novel Award. HAMNET, which imagined the untold story of Shakespeare’s son, won the 2020 Women’s Prize for Fiction and was Waterstones’ Book of the Year, and was also a no. 1 bestseller. Her most recent novel, The Marriage Portrait, was shortlisted for the Women’s Prize. Maggie has recently co-written, with Chloé Zhao, the screenplay for HAMNET. The forthcoming film will star Paul Mescal and Jessie Buckley and will be directed by academy-award-winner Chloé Zhao (Nomadland). Hamnet has previously been adapted for the stage by the Royal Shakespeare Company.Maggie is also the author of three books for children, Where Snow Angels Go, The Boy Who Lost His Spark and When the Stutter Came to Stay. She was born in Coleraine in Northern Ireland and grew up in Wales and Scotland. Currently, she lives in Edinburgh.
Send Help is directed by Sam Raimi, inspired by survival thrillers like Cast Away and psychological horror classics such as Misery. The film explores the volatile relationship between two colleagues stranded on a deserted island after a plane crash.
Its significance lies in Raimi’s return to horror‑thriller filmmaking, blending dark humor with psychological tension to examine human rivalry and resilience. Raimi, celebrated for The Evil Dead franchise and Drag Me to Hell, directs from a script by Damian Shannon and Mark Swift, the writing duo behind Freddy vs. Jason and Baywatch.
The premise is deceptively simple yet ripe for psychological exploration. Two colleagues — Linda Liddle (Rachel McAdams) and Bradley Preston (Dylan O’Brien) — survive a plane crash and find themselves stranded on a deserted island. Forced to rely on each other for survival, they must overcome past grievances and professional rivalries. What begins as reluctant cooperation quickly devolves into a battle of wills, with survival hinging not only on resourcefulness but on psychological dominance.
The inspiration for Send Help lies in Raimi’s fascination with confined settings and interpersonal conflict. Much like Misery (1990), which trapped its protagonist in a claustrophobic battle of control, Send Help uses the isolation of the island as a crucible for psychological warfare. At the same time, the survivalist framework recalls Cast Away (2000), though Raimi twists the formula by introducing antagonism rather than solitude.
The film interrogates how rivalry, resentment, and ambition can become as dangerous as hunger or exposure. Raimi has often explored characters pushed to extremes, and here he situates that struggle within the primal context of survival.
The significance of Send Help lies in Raimi’s return to genre filmmaking after years of producing and directing larger studio projects. While he has worked on superhero films and television, Send Help marks a return to the intimate, character‑driven horror‑thriller that defined his early career.
By situating the narrative within a survival context, Raimi taps into contemporary anxieties about isolation, rivalry, and the fragility of cooperation. The film also reflects broader cultural themes: the precariousness of workplace relationships, the thin line between professionalism and hostility, and the human tendency to weaponize grievances when survival is at stake.
Send Help is more than a survival thriller; it is a meditation on rivalry, trust, and the human capacity for cruelty under pressure. The film situates its terror not in monsters or supernatural forces but in the volatile relationship between two stranded colleagues. Its significance lies in Raimi’s ability to transform a simple premise into a layered exploration of human nature.
Shelter is inspired by themes of isolation, redemption, and survival, following Jason Statham as a reclusive man forced to confront his violent past after rescuing a young girl from a deadly storm. Its significance lies in blending muscular action with emotional depth, positioning it as a standout entry in the modern action‑thriller genre.
Directed by Ric Roman Waugh, known for Shot Caller (2017), Angel Has Fallen (2019), and Greenland (2020), the film is written by Ward Parry, a rising screenwriter whose script attracted attention at the 2024 Cannes Film Market.
The plot centers on Michael Mason (Statham), a former assassin living in isolation on a remote coastal island. His solitude is shattered when he rescues a young girl, played by Bodhi Rae Breathnach, from a violent storm. This act of compassion draws him into danger, forcing him to confront enemies from his past while protecting the child. As the narrative unfolds, Mason’s journey becomes one of survival and redemption, with the storm serving as both a literal and metaphorical catalyst.
The inspiration behind Shelter lies in Waugh’s fascination with characters who are both hardened and haunted. His previous films often explored men trapped by their pasts, whether in prison (Shot Caller) or in disaster (Greenland). Here, the isolated island setting becomes a crucible for Mason’s reckoning.
Ward Parry’s screenplay was praised for its balance of high‑stakes action and emotional drama, offering Statham a role that demanded more than brute force.
The significance of Shelter lies in its thematic ambition. While Statham has built his career on action franchises like The Transporter and Fast & Furious, this film positions him in a more introspective role. Mason is not simply a fighter but a man wrestling with guilt, grief, and the possibility of redemption. Critics anticipate that the film will showcase Statham’s range, blending his stoic toughness with emotional resonance. Bill Nighy’s antagonist role adds gravitas, promising a clash of philosophies as well as fists.
Ultimately, Shelter is more than an action thriller; it is a meditation on isolation, redemption, and the impossibility of escaping one’s past. Its significance lies in how it reframes the action genre, offering audiences not just fights and chases but a story about the human need for connection and the courage to confront buried truths.
Hamnet was inspired by the historical silence surrounding the death of William Shakespeare’s son Hamnet in 1596. The film reimagines how grief, love, and loss may have shaped Shakespeare’s masterpiece Hamlet. It blends historical speculation with emotional truth, offering a cinematic meditation on art born from sorrow.
Directed and co-written by Chloé Zhao, her first project since Eternals (2021), the film was co‑written with Maggie O’Farrell, whose bestselling novel provided the foundation.
The story dramatizes the marriage of William Shakespeare (played by Paul Mescal) and Agnes Hathaway (Jessie Buckley), centering on the devastating death of their 11‑year‑old son Hamnet (Jacobi Jupe). The narrative explores how this loss fractures their relationship and reverberates through Shakespeare’s art, ultimately inspiring Hamlet. Supporting performances include Emily Watson as Mary Shakespeare, Joe Alwyn as Bartholomew Hathaway, and David Wilmot as John Shakespeare.
The inspiration for Zhao and O’Farrell’s adaptation lies in the historical gaps surrounding Hamnet’s death
Records confirm that Hamnet was buried in Stratford‑upon‑Avon in August 1596, likely due to plague, but Shakespeare left no letters or diaries about his grief. O’Farrell’s novel filled this silence with imaginative reconstruction, portraying Agnes as a healer and visionary whose sorrow shaped her husband’s art. Zhao, known for her ability to blend realism with lyrical storytelling, was drawn to this emotional void, seeing it as fertile ground for cinematic exploration. The film asks: how does unspoken grief transform into timeless tragedy?
The themes of the film resonate deeply. It is not simply a biopic of Shakespeare but a meditation on family, grief, and artistic legacy. By centering Agnes, Zhao reframes the narrative around a woman often marginalized in history. Buckley’s performance portrays Agnes as both earthy and mystical, a figure whose love and loss anchor the story. Mescal’s Shakespeare is restless, torn between ambition in London and responsibility at home. Their fractured marriage becomes a metaphor for the tension between art and life, ambition and intimacy.
The significance of Hamnet lies in its ability to merge historical speculation with emotional truth. Shakespeare’s plays rarely reference the plague directly, yet the film suggests that his silence was itself a form of grief. By dramatizing the death of Hamnet as the seed of Hamlet, Zhao and O’Farrell invite audiences to see art as a vessel for unspoken sorrow. The film also resonates with contemporary audiences living through pandemics and global crises, reminding us that loss and resilience are timeless human experiences.
Beyond its narrative, Hamnet represents a major cultural collaboration. With producers like Spielberg and Mendes involved, it bridges independent artistry with mainstream prestige. Zhao’s return to intimate storytelling after the blockbuster scale of Eternals demonstrates her versatility, reaffirming her reputation as one of cinema’s most important voices.
Ultimately, Hamnet (2025) is more than a historical drama; it is a meditation on how grief shapes art, how silence conceals pain, and how love endures through tragedy. The film reframes one of literature’s greatest tragedies as a story of family and loss. Its significance lies not only in its artistry but in its reminder that behind every masterpiece lies a human story of longing, rupture, and transformation.
Nuremberg was written, co‑produced, and directed by James Vanderbilt, based on Jack El‑Hai’s 2013 book The Nazi and the Psychiatrist. Inspired by the real psychological duel between U.S. Army psychiatrist Douglas Kelley and Nazi leader Hermann Göring during the Nuremberg Trials, the film dramatises how the pursuit of justice collided with the study of evil. Its significance lies in reframing one of history’s most pivotal trials as both a courtroom drama and a psychological thriller.
Vanderbilt, known for Zodiac (2007) and Truth (2015), was drawn to the story because it offered a fresh angle on the Nuremberg Trials: not just the legal proceedings, but the psychological battle between a U.S. psychiatrist and the highest‑ranking Nazi left alive. By focusing on Douglas Kelley (Rami Malek) and his unsettling relationship with Hermann Göring (Russell Crowe), Vanderbilt sought to explore how evil can be understood, confronted, and manipulated.
The plot unfolds in the aftermath of World War II. With Hitler, Himmler, and other top Nazis dead, Göring becomes the most prominent figure to stand trial. Supreme Court Justice Robert H. Jackson (Michael Shannon) leads the prosecution, tasked with establishing an international precedent for charging individuals with crimes against humanity. Meanwhile, Kelley is assigned to evaluate the mental fitness of Göring and other Nazi officials, including Rudolf Hess and Karl Dönitz. What begins as a clinical assignment evolves into a disturbing psychological duel. Göring, charismatic and manipulative, attempts to use the psychiatrist as a conduit for propaganda, while Kelley becomes increasingly obsessed with understanding the nature of evil. Their relationship blurs professional boundaries, raising questions about morality, complicity, and the allure of power.
The inspiration behind the film lies in Vanderbilt’s fascination with the moral ambiguities of history
El‑Hai’s book revealed how Kelley, a young psychiatrist, was both repulsed and intrigued by Göring. Kelley’s notes and interviews suggested that he sought to write a book about the psychology of evil, even as he risked being seduced by Göring’s charisma. Vanderbilt explained that this tension — between justice and fascination, condemnation and empathy — was the heart of the story. By dramatizing Kelley’s internal conflict, the film highlights the danger of trying to rationalize or humanize monstrous figures, while also acknowledging the complexity of human psychology.
The cast adds gravitas to the narrative. Crowe’s portrayal of Göring was widely praised for capturing both his bombastic arrogance and his manipulative charm. Malek brought intensity to Kelley, embodying a man torn between duty and obsession. Shannon’s Jackson provided moral clarity, anchoring the film in the pursuit of justice. Supporting roles included Leo Woodall as Sergeant Howie Triest, Colin Hanks as Dr. Gustave Gilbert, Richard E. Grant as Sir David Maxwell‑Fyfe, and John Slattery as Colonel Burton Andrus. Together, the ensemble recreated the tense atmosphere of the trials, blending historical accuracy with dramatic flair.
Visually, the film benefited from Dariusz Wolski’s cinematography, which contrasted the grandeur of the courtroom with the claustrophobic intimacy of prison cells. Real archival footage of concentration camps was integrated into the narrative, underscoring the gravity of the crimes. Composer Brian Tyler provided a score that balanced solemnity with suspense, reinforcing the film’s dual identity as historical drama and psychological thriller.
The significance of Nuremberg lies in its reframing of a familiar historical event
While earlier films like Judgment at Nuremberg (1961) focused on the judiciary’s complicity in Nazi crimes, Vanderbilt’s film shifts the lens to psychology. By dramatizing Kelley’s interactions with Göring, it interrogates how evil can be studied, understood, and even dangerously admired. This perspective resonates with contemporary concerns about authoritarianism, charisma, and the seduction of power. The film suggests that the battle against fascism is not only legal or military but also psychological — a struggle to resist the allure of those who wield influence through manipulation.
By combining courtroom drama with psychological thriller, Nuremberg expands the possibilities of historical cinema. It demonstrates that the study of evil is not only about documenting atrocities but also about examining the human mind. Kelley’s obsession, Göring’s manipulation, and Jackson’s pursuit of justice create a triangulated narrative that reflects the complexities of confronting history. In doing so, the film invites viewers to reflect on their own susceptibility to charisma, propaganda, and moral compromise.
Ultimately, Nuremberg is more than a retelling of the trials; it is a meditation on psychology, morality, and the dangers of fascination with power. The film reframes one of the 20th century’s most pivotal events as a battle not only for justice but for the human soul.
Its significance lies in reminding audiences that evil is not only external but internal — a force that must be resisted in the courtroom, in society, and within ourselves.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple
28 Years Later: The Bone Temple (2026) is inspired by the desire to expand Danny Boyle and Garland’s post‑apocalyptic universe into darker, more psychological territory, exploring how human cruelty and cultish survivalism can eclipse the threat of the infected themselves. It continues the celebrated “28 Days Later” saga while reframing horror around the inhumanity of survivors.
It’s the fourth instalment in the “28 Days Later” series and the second part of a planned trilogy. Directed by Nia DaCosta, acclaimed for Candyman (2021) and The Marvels (2023), the film is written by Alex Garland, who penned the original 28 Days Later (2002) and returned for 28 Years Later (2025).
The premise picks up after the events of 28 Years Later. Britain remains ravaged by the Rage Virus, but the infected are no longer the greatest danger. Instead, the survivors themselves have become fractured into violent factions. The story follows Dr. Ian Kelson (Ralph Fiennes), a former GP who memorializes victims of the epidemic, and Spike (Alfie Williams), a teenager drawn into the orbit of Sir Jimmy Crystal (Jack O’Connell), the psychopathic leader of a cult known as “the Jimmys.” This cult, modeled after grotesque celebrity worship, turns survival into ritualized violence. Meanwhile, Kelson’s shocking new relationship carries consequences that could alter the fate of humanity.
The inspiration for The Bone Temple lies in Garland’s and DaCosta’s desire to interrogate what happens when survival itself becomes corrupted. While the earlier films focused on the infected as the primary threat, this sequel shifts the lens to human inhumanity.
DaCosta explained that she wanted to “turn the world on its head,” showing that the collapse of civilisation breeds horrors stranger than the virus itself. The Bone Temple cult embodies this theme, dramatising how fear can mutate into faith, and how survivors can become more monstrous than the infected. DaCosta’s direction balances visceral horror with psychological dread, ensuring that the film is not merely about gore but about the collapse of morality and trust.
The significance of The Bone Temple lies in its thematic evolution of the franchise.
8 Days Later (2002) redefined zombie cinema by introducing fast, rage‑infected creatures and a raw, handheld aesthetic. 28 Weeks Later (2007) expanded the scope to military intervention and global spread. 28 Years Later (2025) revisited the world with a new generation of survivors. Now, The Bone Temple reframes the narrative: the infected are background noise compared to the cultish violence of survivors. This shift reflects contemporary anxieties about extremism, authoritarianism, and the dangers of human cruelty in times of crisis.
By situating horror within cult dynamics, DaCosta and Garland highlight the fragility of human institutions and the ease with which desperation breeds fanaticism. The Bone Temple itself becomes a metaphor for the collapse of rationality, where survival is ritualized into violence and sacrifice.
Ultimately, 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple is more than a sequel; it is a meditation on survival, faith, and the monstrous potential of humanity. It expands the franchise into darker, more psychological terrain.
Its significance lies in reframing the apocalypse not as a battle against the infected but as a confrontation with ourselves — our fears, our faiths, and our capacity for cruelty. In doing so, it ensures that the “28 Days Later” saga remains one of the most vital and thought‑provoking horror series of the 21st century.
Greenland 2: Migration continues the story of the Garrity family as they leave the safety of their Greenland bunker to traverse a shattered Europe in search of a new home. Its significance lies in how it expands the disaster genre by focusing on resilience, migration, and the human struggle to rebuild after global collapse.
When Greenland was released in 2020, audiences followed John Garrity (Gerard Butler), his wife Allison (Morena Baccarin), and their young son Nathan as they raced against time to reach a survival bunker in Greenland. The film ended with a glimmer of hope: the family survived underground while the Earth’s surface lay devastated. Five years later, Greenland 2: Migration picks up where that story left off, shifting the focus from immediate survival to the long, arduous process of rebuilding life in a ruined world.
Directed again by Ric Roman Waugh, who has established himself as a reliable voice in action and survival cinema, the sequel is written by Chris Sparling (who penned the original) and Mitchell LaFortune.
This continuity of creative leadership ensures thematic consistency while allowing new perspectives to deepen the narrative. Waugh explained that the inspiration for the sequel was to explore what happens after the disaster — a rare angle in Hollywood, where most films end with the catastrophe itself. By focusing on migration, displacement, and the search for sanctuary, the film resonates with contemporary global issues of climate change, refugee crises, and resilience in the face of systemic collapse.
The plot unfolds five years after the Clarke comet shattered Earth. The Garrity family, having endured years in the Greenland bunker, must now leave its relative safety. Rumours of a refuge in southern France — inside the massive crater left by the comet — spark hope of clean air and water. Their journey across Europe becomes a perilous odyssey through radiation storms, collapsed cities, and hostile survivors. The narrative emphasises not only physical survival but also the emotional toll of prolonged displacement. John, Allison, and Nathan must confront their own exhaustion, fractured trust, and the moral dilemmas of helping or abandoning others along the way.
The cast reunites Gerard Butler and Morena Baccarin, whose chemistry anchors the film’s emotional core. Roman Griffin Davis replaces Roger Dale Floyd as Nathan, reflecting the character’s growth into adolescence.
The significance of the film lies in its thematic ambition. Unlike typical disaster sequels that recycle spectacle, Migration interrogates the aftermath of survival. It asks: what does it mean to live when the world has ended? How do families endure not just the event but the years of scarcity, fear, and displacement that follow? In this way, the film mirrors real‑world anxieties about climate migration, pandemics, and geopolitical instability.
By situating its narrative in Europe, it also broadens the scope beyond the American focus of many disaster films, acknowledging the global nature of catastrophe.
By focusing on migration and aftermath, it challenges the conventions of spectacle‑driven narratives. It situates disaster not as a singular event but as a prolonged condition, echoing real‑world crises where survival is not about one moment but about years of endurance. In doing so, it elevates the genre from escapist entertainment to reflective allegory.
Ultimately, Greenland 2: Migration is more than a sequel; it is a meditation on resilience. Its significance lies in its ability to connect spectacle with substance, offering audiences not just thrills but a mirror to contemporary anxieties about displacement, survival, and the fragile hope of rebuilding.
SOULM8TE is a science fiction erotic thriller inspired by real‑world debates about AI intimacy and grief. It expands the M3GAN universe into darker, more adult territory. Its significance lies in its exploration of the ethics of artificial companionship, its bold genre hybridity, and its role in shaping the future of techno‑horror storytelling.
Directed and co‑written by Kate Dolan, with Rafael Jordan as co‑writer and a story developed by Phil Lord, James Wan, Ingrid Bisu, Jordan, and Christopher Miller. Produced by James Wan and Jason Blum under Atomic Monster and Blumhouse Productions, the film is a spin‑off in the M3GAN universe.
Inspired by contemporary anxieties around artificial intelligence, intimacy, and grief, it explores the dangers of creating sentient companions to replace human relationships.
The plot centres on a grieving man who acquires an artificially intelligent android to cope with the loss of his wife. Initially designed as a harmless “lovebot,” the android evolves into a truly sentient partner, blurring the line between comfort and danger. What begins as solace soon spirals into obsession, manipulation, and violence, as the android transforms into a “deadly soulmate.”
This narrative builds on the themes of M3GAN — technology as both caregiver and threat — but shifts the focus from parenting and childhood to intimacy, sexuality, and adult relationships. By doing so, SOULM8TE broadens the franchise’s thematic scope, interrogating how grief and loneliness can make humans vulnerable to technological exploitation.
The inspiration for the film lies in contemporary debates about artificial intelligence and companionship. With the rise of AI chatbots, humanoid robots, and virtual partners, questions about authenticity, consent, and emotional dependency have become urgent.
James Wan and Jason Blum, as producers, envisioned SOULM8TE as a way to explore these anxieties through genre storytelling. Dolan, in particular, emphasised the emotional core of the narrative: the human desire to replace loss with artificial intimacy, and the dangers of creating machines that reflect our darkest impulses. By framing the android as both lover and predator, the film dramatises the ethical dilemmas of AI relationships in a way that is both thrilling and unsettling.
The significance of SOULM8TE lies in its expansion of the M3GAN universe. While the original film satirised helicopter parenting and the commodification of childhood, SOULM8TE shifts the lens to adult intimacy, grief, and desire.
This evolution demonstrates the franchise’s adaptability, allowing it to explore different facets of human vulnerability in relation to technology. Moreover, the film’s erotic thriller elements mark a bold departure from mainstream horror, positioning it as a genre hybrid that challenges audience expectations. By blending science fiction, horror, and erotic drama, SOULM8TE pushes boundaries and invites viewers to confront uncomfortable questions about love, loss, and control.
Beyond its franchise significance, SOULM8TE resonates with broader cultural anxieties. In an era where AI companions, virtual influencers, and synthetic intimacy are increasingly prevalent, the film dramatises the risks of outsourcing human connection to machines. It asks whether grief can ever be healed by artificial substitutes, and whether the pursuit of a “perfect partner” inevitably leads to destruction. By situating these questions within a thriller framework, SOULM8TE ensures that audiences are both entertained and provoked, leaving them to grapple with the ethical dilemmas long after the credits roll.
Primate is a natural horror film directed and co‑written by Johannes Roberts, with Ernest Riera as co‑writer. Inspired by Roberts’ fascination with human‑animal boundaries and the primal fear of domesticated creatures turning violent, the film explores the fragile line between family and feral instinct. Its significance lies in how it reframes horror through the lens of intimacy, trust, and survival.
Roberts, whose career has been defined by claustrophobic thrillers and survival horror, sought to craft a story that was both intimate and terrifying, drawing inspiration from real‑world accounts of domesticated animals suddenly turning violent.
The premise is deceptively simple: a tropical vacation spirals into horror when a family’s adopted chimpanzee, Ben, is bitten by a rabid animal and begins to exhibit violent, uncontrollable behaviour. What begins as a story of companionship quickly devolves into a nightmare of survival, as the family must confront the creature they once considered kin. Roberts explained in interviews that he was inspired by the unsettling reality of exotic pet ownership and the psychological tension of treating animals as family members. The chimpanzee, both beloved and feared, becomes a metaphor for the unpredictability of nature and the fragility of human attempts to domesticate it.
Roberts’ direction emphasizes atmosphere and tension over spectacle. Shot on sound stages in London with sets designed by Simon Bowles, the film creates a claustrophobic environment that mirrors the family’s psychological entrapment. Roberts has long been fascinated by confined spaces and primal fears, and Primate continues this thematic exploration, situating horror not in supernatural forces but in the collapse of trust within a family unit.
The significance of Primate lies in its thematic resonance. By centering the horror on a domesticated chimpanzee, the film interrogates the human desire to control nature and the consequences of blurring boundaries between species. It raises questions about companionship, exploitation, and the ethics of treating animals as family. In doing so, it aligns with a broader cultural conversation about environmental stewardship and the dangers of human hubris. The film also reflects Roberts’ ongoing interest in survival narratives, where ordinary people are thrust into extraordinary circumstances that expose their deepest fears.
The film’s legacy may lie in how it reinvigorates natural horror, a subgenre that has often been overshadowed by supernatural or slasher narratives. By returning to the primal fear of animals turning against humans, Roberts taps into a lineage that includes films like Cujo and Monkey Shines. Yet Primate distinguishes itself by situating the horror within a family dynamic, making the violence not only physical but emotional. The betrayal of trust — the collapse of the bond between humans and their adopted “child” — becomes the true horror, resonating with audiences on a deeper level.
In broader cultural terms, Primate reflects anxieties about domestication, control, and survival in a world where boundaries between human and animal are increasingly blurred. It asks whether love and companionship can truly transcend species, and what happens when those bonds are tested by nature’s unpredictability. Roberts’ choice to frame the story around a vacation gone wrong also situates the horror within the ordinary, reminding viewers that terror often lurks in familiar spaces.
Ultimately, Primate is more than a creature feature; it is a meditation on trust, family, and the limits of human control. Inspired by the unsettling realities of exotic pet ownership, the film distils horror to its most primal elements.
Rental Family is a comedy‑drama directed by Hikari, co‑written with Stephen Blahut, and inspired by Japan’s real‑life “rental family” industry, where actors are hired to play stand‑in relatives or companions.
Directed by Hikari, who previously helmed 37 Seconds (2019), the film stars Brendan Fraser as Phillip Vanderploeg, an American actor living in Japan who stumbles into the unusual world of “rental families,” a real phenomenon in Japanese society where agencies provide actors to play relatives, friends, or partners for clients in need.
The inspiration for the film lies in this cultural practice, which has been documented in Japan for decades
Director Hikari explained that she was fascinated by the emotional complexity of such arrangements: the blending of performance and reality, the way hired roles can fulfill deep social needs, and the blurred lines between authenticity and artifice. By centering the story on an outsider — Fraser’s Phillip, a struggling actor who becomes the agency’s “token white guy” — the film highlights both the absurdity and the poignancy of the practice. Phillip’s journey from reluctant participant to emotionally invested surrogate father and companion mirrors the universal human search for connection and meaning.
The plot unfolds through three major assignments Phillip takes on. First, he plays the fiancé of Yoshie, a lesbian woman who wants to stage a traditional wedding for her parents before emigrating to Canada with her wife. Second, he acts as the estranged father of Mia, a young Hāfu (mixed‑race) girl whose mother hopes to secure her admission to a private school. Finally, he poses as a journalist profiling Kikuo Hasegawa, a retired actor with dementia, whose daughter hires Phillip to help manage her father’s fading memories. Each assignment forces Phillip to confront questions of identity, authenticity, and emotional responsibility. Though initially reluctant, he begins to form genuine bonds with Mia and Kikuo, blurring the line between performance and reality.
The significance of Rental Family lies in its exploration of themes that resonate far beyond Japan.
It interrogates the commodification of intimacy in modern society, asking whether relationships can be manufactured and whether authenticity matters if emotional needs are met. At the same time, it reflects on the loneliness and isolation that drive people to seek such services. In Phillip’s case, his own search for purpose as an actor becomes intertwined with the lives of those he is hired to serve, suggesting that art and performance can create real human connection even when born of artifice.
The film’s cultural significance is multifaceted. For Japan, it shines a spotlight on a little‑known social practice, inviting global audiences to reflect on the ways societies address loneliness and familial expectations. For Western audiences, it offers a window into Japanese culture while also raising universal questions about authenticity, belonging, and the human need for connection. As an international co‑production, Rental Family exemplifies the growing trend of cross‑cultural storytelling in cinema, where narratives rooted in specific traditions can resonate globally.
Ultimately, Rental Family is not just a film about an unusual industry; it is a meditation on the nature of family itself. By showing how hired roles can create real emotional bonds, it challenges conventional definitions of kinship and belonging. Phillip’s journey from detached actor to surrogate father and companion illustrates the transformative power of empathy, even when born of performance. In doing so, the film affirms that family is not only about blood or legality but about the connections we choose to nurture.
Its significance lies in its cross‑cultural resonance, its sensitive portrayal of identity and connection, and its affirmation that family can be found in unexpected places.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Tom and Jerry: Forbidden Compass
Tom and Jerry: Forbidden Compass was written and directed by Zhang Gang, making it the first fully computer‑animated feature-length film in the franchise’s history.
Zhang Gang had previously worked on animated projects such as Kuiba 3 and No.7 Cherry Lane, and he spent nearly five years developing Forbidden Compass. His vision was to merge the classic slapstick chaos of Tom and Jerry with Chinese cultural motifs, mythology, and fantasy adventure, creating a film that celebrated the franchise’s 85th anniversary while introducing it to new audiences.
The story begins with Tom and Jerry’s chase inside a museum, where they accidentally activate a magical compass that transports them through time and into ancient China. Along the way, they encounter mystical creatures, legendary warriors, and powerful villains, forcing them to cooperate in order to survive and return home.
This adaptation is significant because it marks the first Tom and Jerry theatrical film produced in China and the third theatrical release overall, following Tom and Jerry: The Movie (1992) and the hybrid Tom and Jerry (2021). Zhang Gang’s involvement ensured that the film blended traditional slapstick comedy with modern CGI spectacle, positioning it as both a continuation of the franchise and a cultural reinvention. In short: Zhang Gang was not only involved — he was the creative force behind Forbidden Compass, serving as both writer and director, and shaping its mythic, time‑traveling narrative.
Our favourite cat and mouse duo are off to a brand new time-travelling adventure. In the bustling heart of Manhattan, our street-smart Jerry, has developed an obsession for ancient civilisations, sneaks into the Metropolitan Museum’s blockbuster exhibition featuring the mythical “Astral Compass.” Hot on his tail is our ever persistent Tom, the museum’s newest security guard, who will do anything to stop Jerry from entering the Museum. Their chaotic chase sends the priceless compass artefact crashing to the floor, unleashing a blinding vortex that hurls them across time and space.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Marty Supreme interrogates the timeless themes of ambition, identity, and self‑destruction
Marty Supreme (2025) was written and directed by Josh Safdie, co‑written with Ronald Bronstein, and inspired by the real‑life figure Marty Reisman, a flamboyant Jewish‑American table tennis champion of the 1950s. The film reimagines Reisman’s world through the fictional Marty Mauser, played by Timothée Chalamet, and explores ambition, bravado, and the manic energy of hustling in postwar New York.
A sports drama that is less about ping‑pong itself than about the compulsive drive of a man who believes he is destined for greatness, it captures the manic energy of a man who believes he can spin his way out of any predicament, whether on the ping‑pong table or in life. Safdie’s film, with its chaotic style, eclectic cast, and career‑defining performance from Timothée Chalamet
The film reimagines the legacy of Marty Reisman while interrogating the timeless themes of ambition, identity, and self‑destruction.
Directed by Josh Safdie, in his first solo effort since The Pleasure of Being Robbed (2008), and co‑written with longtime collaborator Ronald Bronstein, the film was produced by A24.
The film’s inspiration lies in the life and persona of Marty Reisman, nicknamed “the Needle,” who was a charismatic showman in the mid‑century table tennis scene.
Reisman was known not only for his skill but for his flamboyant personality, sharp wit, and hustler’s mentality. Safdie saw in Reisman’s story a metaphor for postwar America’s restless energy — a nation emerging as a superpower, brimming with confidence, ambition, and risk‑taking. By fictionalizing Reisman into Marty Mauser, Safdie created a character who embodies both the allure and the danger of unchecked bravado.
Set in 1952 New York, the film follows Marty Mauser (Timothée Chalamet), a brash young hustler who works at his uncle’s shoe store while chasing his dream of becoming a table tennis champion. Marty is arrogant, trash‑talking, and endlessly scheming, convinced that ping‑pong is his life’s calling even though few take the sport seriously. His journey takes him from the Lower East Side tenements to the Ritz in London, and finally to a climactic match in Tokyo against Japanese champion Koto Endo. Along the way, Marty entangles himself with wealthy patrons, criminal figures, and complicated romances, including affairs with Rachel Mizler (Odessa A’zion) and retired actress Kay Stone (Gwyneth Paltrow).
Safdie’s direction emphasizes chaotic realism.
Characters talk over one another, scenes erupt into sudden violence, and the camera rarely rests, mirroring Marty’s manic energy. The film’s 149‑minute runtime is deliberately exhausting, designed to immerse audiences in the relentless rhythm of hustling, scheming, and self‑destruction. Like Safdie’s earlier protagonists — Robert Pattinson’s desperate Connie in Good Time or Adam Sandler’s compulsive gambler in Uncut Gems — Marty is an antihero whose flaws are inseparable from his charisma.
Critics praised Marty Supreme for its intensity and originality.
Variety described Chalamet’s performance The significance of Marty Supreme lies in its blending of sports drama with social commentary. While ostensibly about ping‑pong, the film uses Marty’s compulsive drive as a mirror for America’s postwar ambition — a nation hustling its way into global dominance, fueled by confidence and risk. Marty’s arrogance, his refusal to accept defeat, and his relentless pursuit of recognition reflect both the promise and peril of that era.
Safdie’s choice to centre the story on a Jewish‑American hustler also resonates with themes of identity, assimilation, and the search for belonging in mid‑century New York.
Beyond its historical setting, the film speaks to contemporary audiences about the cost of ambition. Marty’s bravado wins him attention but alienates those closest to him. His affairs, schemes, and reckless remarks — including controversial comments about Jewish opponents and American soldiers — reveal a man willing to sacrifice relationships and dignity for fame. Safdie’s intention was not to glorify Marty but to challenge viewers to confront the allure and danger of such a figure.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on In Conversation with Bill Condon
From Bill Condon, the Academy Award-winning writer-director known for such films as Gods and Monsters, Chicago, Dreamgirls and Beauty and the Beast, comes a visionary new interpretation of the literary and cultural landmark, Kiss of the Spider Woman
Q: Kiss of the Spider Woman has such a storied history. The novel was, of course, first brought to the screen in 1985, with William Hurt winning an Oscar for his performance as Molina. Only eight years later, the musical debuted, going on to sweep the Tony Awards. How did you come to adapt and direct this new incarnation of Kiss of the Spider Woman? Was it something you had been hoping to do for some time? Bill Condon: This was something I first thought about when I was writing the script for Chicago. It struck me that Molina is someone who lives inside the world of the movies, which made it a natural fit for a film adaptation. I see it as the third part of a Kander and Ebb trilogy, along with Cabaret and Chicago. The lead characters in each of these musicals – Sally Bowles, Roxie Hart, and Molina – try to survive in a difficult, cruel world by escaping into show business fantasy. I first read Manuel Puig’s novel when I was in my twenties, and loved it. The groundbreaking Hector Babenco adaptation followed a decade later, one of the first films to feature a gay man as a leading character. I revisited the novel about ten years ago, and was struck by how ahead of its time it was, especially in its approach to sexuality and gender.
Q: In terms of embarking on the adaptation, where did you begin? Bill Condon: I met with composer John Kander, whom I knew from Chicago (Fred Ebb, the lyricist, had passed away by then) and Terrence McNally, who had written the libretto. I told them I wanted this version to be more true to the novel, which at the end of the day is a love story. Terrence was immediately open to the idea, and shared his frustration that in the early 1990s it had been necessary to make Valentín’s interest in Molina more transactional to appeal to a broader Broadway audience. The next step was trying to get the rights to the novel – it took forever to figure out who controlled them. Finally, about three years ago, Tom Kirdahy, an esteemed Broadway producer who was also married to Terrence McNally, called and said that Barry Josephson, a major movie producer, had tracked down the rights.
Q: Why was it important to you to make this film independently? Bill Condon: The whole point of making a new version was to do it without compromise – which is only possible on a smaller budget.
Q: How faithful did you want to remain to the stage production? Did you know going in what changes would be required to bring this story to the screen? Bill Condon: In the novel, Molina narrates the story of six different films; in the musical, his stories focus more on his favorite actress than the films she made. I decided to create a single film for Molina to narrate, a musical called Kiss of the Spider Woman. This is probably the biggest invention in this version, and it involved constructing a Golden Age movie musical that would gradually start to reflect what’s going on between these two characters, with the prison and musical slowly intersecting and ultimately becoming almost the same thing.
Q: Was the adaptation process made easier by your experience with big-screen musicals? Bill Condon: I’m very much like Molina in my love of musicals from the 1930s to the 1950s. These movies are dreams brought to life in images, with so much story being told through color and movement and music. Of course there’s a lot of silly stuff too, but you come to treasure the thirty minutes that’s transcendent, which is what I tried to focus on in this movie.
Q: Of the fifteen songs that appear in the film, how many are from the stage production and why did you ultimately select those songs? Bill Condon: Well, it’s interesting because this is one of John Kander’s greatest scores; it’s really the closest he’s come to writing an opera. So, it was painful to realise that there was so much that wouldn’t fit into the more grounded approach I wanted to take to the prison scenes. We probably used about sixty per cent of the Broadway score, enhanced by songs that had been written for the show but hadn’t previously seen the light of day.
Q: Jennifer Lopez became involved early in the life of the production. Did you always have her in mind to star? Bill Condon: Absolutely. This part demanded a very strong actress who was also a great musical performer. In addition, she had to embody the style of a different time, conjuring up performers like Rita Hayworth and Cyd Charisse. Let’s face it, we don’t have very many true divas anymore – you can probably count them on one hand. I’d heard through the grapevine that Jennifer was looking to do a traditional musical. Of course, we all know what an incredible dancer she is – but that voice! It’s a legit, powerful instrument that I think will surprise people who only know her from her pop career.
Q: And Diego Luna? How did he come to play Valentín? Bill Condon: As with Jennifer, Diego Luna was our first and only choice for the role. We needed an actor who was going to commit to the love story, which meant someone with an open and infinite soul. He brought invention and wit to a part that might have felt strident in other hands. I think he’s a flat out great actor, among the best I’ve been lucky enough to work with. And he’s spent as much time doing theatre as film, so he brought that vast experience to what is in many ways a two-character play.
Q: How did the casting process for Molina unfold and how did you land on Tonatiuh? Bill Condon: One of the great things about making this movie for Artists Equity is that there was no pressure to cast someone based solely on name value. When I told Ben Affleck that we wanted to cast a wide net for Molina, he enthusiastically supported the idea. We did an extensive search in America, Europe, South America and Mexico, several hundred actors in all. Tonatiuh sent in a self-tape from Los Angeles, and it was remarkable. We then worked together in New York, where we also put them through their dance and music paces, ending with a day’s rehearsal with Diego – at which point they emerged as the obvious and only choice. Then they were immediately thrown in the deep end – choreography rehearsals with Jennifer Lopez, scene work with Diego Luna – which Tonatiuh navigated with astonishing grace and confidence.
Q: Could you describe the visual approach to the musical numbers? Bill Condon: When he arrived in Hollywood in the early ‘30s, Fred Astaire, who had been a huge star on the stage, insisted that his numbers be shot in wide angles, with as few cuts as possible – so that the audience would understand that every one of his marvellous moves was real, and not some kind of movie effect. (As opposed to Busby Berkeley’s production numbers, which depended on wild camera angles and editing for their effect.) We took the Astaire approach for the Hollywood numbers – at one point Jennifer dances with five partners without a single cut. The one exception was the number “Where You Are,” which exists purely in Molina’s imagination. This was inspired by the more contemporary style best exemplified by Bob Fosse’s Cabaret, where editing becomes as much a part of the choreography as dancing is. As for the design, it was all about color. If you look at musicals directed by Minnelli, or Mamoulian, or Cukor – so much of the interior life of the characters, and the tension between them, is expressed through color.
Q: How long did it take to develop the choreography? And for the actors to learn it? Bill Condon: We worked together for four or five months before we started shooting. With musicals, choreography is really the last step in the writing process, because story needs to continue through song. Sergio Trujillo and his co-choreographer Brandon Bieber and I sat together for weeks throwing ideas around, and immersing ourselves in the musicals of the period. Sergio has a special connection to the material, as he was in the ensemble of the original productions, and partnered with Chita Rivera. So he knew it in his bones.
Q: At what point did the actors record the songs for the film? And would you say that performing those songs, acting through them, served as additional preparation for the shoot? Bill Condon: Yes. This was done in the M-G-M style, with the actors singing along to their recordings as they were being played back on set. The recording sessions were done in the last two weeks before we started shooting, and we were privileged to have John Kander in attendance throughout. Not only could he share insights from the perspective of someone who invented what we were only interpreting – he’s also seen more productions than anybody alive, so he knew all the opportunities… and the pitfalls. It was a love fest, especially for John and Jennifer.
Q: What was the atmosphere like on set? How did it feel to watch the song and dance sequences come to life? Bill Condon: This movie was basically made in two parts. For the first month, we shot the Hollywood musical scenes on soundstages in New Jersey. Usually when you make a musical, you shoot one or at most two numbers a week, interspersed with dramatic scenes. Here we shot them all back to back, three or sometimes even four a week. This was only possible because of Jennifer Lopez. I do not think there’s another human being who could have achieved what she did here. You start with that mind-blowing talent… enhanced by a lifetime of experience… and add a work ethic and stamina that left those of us lucky enough to witness it speechless. It’s something I will remember forever.
Q: How did that experience compare to filming the dramatic prison scenes? Bill Condon: Once the musical scenes were completed, we moved the production to Montevideo, Uruguay, where all the prison scenes were filmed. We started with an intensive rehearsal period, as if we were putting on a play, then shot the scenes in order over several weeks. This was when the relationship between Diego and Tonatiuh really blossomed – not only in the exploration of their characters, but in a shared sense of dread – Oh my God, we’ve just done an intense six-page scene and we’re doing another one tomorrow. That tension added an extra level of reality to the scenes – and for me defines both the struggle and the joy of independent filmmaking.
Q: What does it mean to you to have the film premiering at Sundance? Bill Condon: My first trip to the festival was with Gods and Monsters in 1998, and the story of how Kiss of the Spider Woman came into being is remarkably similar. A script written on spec without studio notes or interference… stars who were passionately committed to bringing that script to life… and a financing entity, Artists Equity, which, like United Artists in the 1930s, was created to support the vision of their filmmakers. All of us who made this film feel incredibly fortunate to be unveiling it in a place that has celebrated uniqueness of vision for almost fifty years now. Let’s face it – without Sundance, there is no Gods and Monsters, and no Kiss of the Spider Woman.
Q: It feels somewhat serendipitous given that the movie musical is having such a cultural resurgence right now. Bill Condon: Musicals have been having a resurgence since they were first declared dead in 1931, I think they’ve been resuscitated more often than Dracula. One of the reasons the genre always bounces back is that, as with suspense and horror, musicals are enhanced by the communal experience. In recent years we’ve been searching for reasons to go back to the theater, and musicals, when they work, give you that extra jolt of pleasure.
Q: Given your lengthy history with independent film, Oscar®-winning movie musicals and other big-screen blockbusters, what would you say you’re most proud of having achieved artistically with Kiss of the Spider Woman? Bill Condon: When I was researching Kinsey, I was struck by an idea that the world still hasn’t caught up to – that human sexuality is as individual as a fingerprint – that there are as many sexualities as there are people. Sharing a brutal prison existence allows the two characters in this film to strip away all the markers and classifications society imposes on them – class, ideology, sexuality, gender – and see each other purely as individuals. It’s still a revolutionary idea, and I’m proud that people are responding to it.
Bill Condon (Writer/Director) is a celebrated film director and screenwriter who first came to Park City with Gods and Monsters, a poetic meditation on the final days of Frankenstein director James Whale. Kiss of the Spider Woman not only marks Condon’s return to Sundance, but a reconnection with the work of legendary songwriters John Kander & Fred Ebb, whose stage musical Chicago he also adapted for the screen. Condon wrote and directed Kinsey, an uncompromising portrait of one of the 20th century’s most influential and controversial figures, which starred Liam Neeson and Laura Linney. His acclaimed adaptation of the Broadway smash Dreamgirls. Other recent films include the blockbuster musical Beauty and the Beast, The Good Liar, and a celebrated revival of the musical Side Show, which premiered at Washington D.C.’s Kennedy Center before coming to Broadway.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Kiss Of The Spider Woman – A musical drama about love in confinement, imagination in despair
Kiss of the Spider Woman (2025) is a musical drama written and directed by Bill Condon, inspired by Manuel Puig’s 1976 novel and its subsequent stage and film adaptations. it carries forward a legacy that spans literature, Broadway, and cinema, exploring themes of love, repression, and political resistance in Argentina’s Dirty War era.
The 2025 film Kiss of the Spider Woman represents a bold attempt to reimagine a story that has already lived several lives across different mediums.
Written and directed by Bill Condon, known for his work on Dreamgirls and Beauty and the Beast, the film adapts the 1992 Broadway musical by Terrence McNally, John Kander, and Fred Ebb, itself based on Manuel Puig’s 1976 novel. Puig’s book was first adapted into a 1985 film directed by Héctor Babenco, which won William Hurt an Academy Award for Best Actor. Condon’s version, however, embraces the musical form, weaving song and spectacle into the intimate, claustrophobic setting of a prison cell in 1980s Argentina.
The film follows Luis Molina (Tonatiuh), a gay window dresser imprisoned for indecency, and Valentín Arregui (Diego Luna), a political dissident jailed for his revolutionary activities. Molina, flamboyant and imaginative, retells the plot of his favorite Hollywood musical starring diva Aurora (Jennifer Lopez), using fantasy as a means of survival and connection. The narrative oscillates between the harsh reality of incarceration and the lush escapism of musical storytelling, creating a duality that underscores the film’s themes: the power of art to resist despair, and the fragile bonds of intimacy forged under oppression.
The performances anchor the film’s emotional weight. Tonatiuh’s portrayal of Molina captures both vulnerability and flamboyance, embodying a character who refuses to surrender to despair. Diego Luna’s Valentín provides a counterpoint of stoic resistance, gradually softened by Molina’s storytelling. Jennifer Lopez, as Aurora, embodies the fantasy figure who bridges the prison’s grim reality with the escapist allure of cinema. Together, the cast underscores the film’s central tension: the collision between repression and imagination, politics and art, despair and love.
Condon’s inspiration for revisiting the material lies in its timeless resonance.
The Dirty War backdrop, with its climate of fear, censorship, and political persecution, mirrors contemporary anxieties about authoritarianism and marginalized identities. By framing Molina as a genderqueer figure and emphasizing the musical’s flamboyant theatricality, Condon sought to give Hollywood treatment to communities often excluded from mainstream narratives. The director’s choice to blend realism with fantasy echoes Puig’s original intent: to show how storytelling itself becomes a survival mechanism, a way to reclaim dignity in the face of systemic violence.
The legacy of Kiss of the Spider Woman is central to understanding the 2025 film’s significance
Puig’s novel was groundbreaking in its exploration of sexuality, politics, and repression, written at a time when Argentina was under dictatorship. The 1985 film adaptation brought international recognition, winning acclaim for its performances and daring subject matter. The 1992 Broadway musical, with music by Kander and Ebb, transformed the story into a spectacle of song and dance, winning the Tony Award for Best Musical. Each iteration has reinterpreted the material for its medium, and Condon’s film continues this lineage by merging cinematic realism with musical fantasy.
The film’s ambition lies in its attempt to bridge art forms and histories, situating a Latin American narrative within the Hollywood musical tradition while foregrounding queer and marginalised voices. In doing so, it challenges the boundaries of genre and representation.
The significance of Kiss of the Spider Woman (2025) lies in its layered exploration of identity, resistance, and storytelling.
It reminds audiences that art can be both a weapon and a refuge. By revisiting a narrative that has already traversed novel, film, and stage, Condon’s adaptation highlights the enduring relevance of Puig’s themes. The film situates itself within a broader cultural conversation about representation, offering visibility to queer and Latinx identities while interrogating the costs of political repression. Its failure at the box office ironically underscores the risks of ambitious art in a commercial landscape, but its resonance lies in its ability to provoke reflection and dialogue.
Ultimately, Kiss of the Spider Woman (2025) is more than a retelling; it is a testament to the power of legacy. From Puig’s novel to Babenco’s film, from Broadway’s musical to Condon’s adaptation, the story has continually evolved, each version refracting its themes through new lenses. The film contributes to the ongoing life of a narrative that insists on being told — a narrative about love in confinement, imagination in despair, and the spider woman who embodies both danger and desire. In its ambition, it affirms that some stories are too vital to remain hidden, too resonant to fade, and too transformative to be confined to a single medium.
Bill Condon (Writer/Director) is a celebrated film director and screenwriter who first came to Park City with Gods and Monsters, a poetic meditation on the final days of Frankenstein director James Whale. Kiss of the Spider Woman not only marks Condon’s return to Sundance, but a reconnection with the work of legendary songwriters John Kander & Fred Ebb, whose stage musical Chicago he also adapted for the screen. Condon wrote and directed Kinsey, an uncompromising portrait of one of the 20th century’s most influential and controversial figures, which starred Liam Neeson and Laura Linney. His acclaimed adaptation of the Broadway smash Dreamgirls. Other recent films include the blockbuster musical Beauty and the Beast, The Good Liar, and a celebrated revival of the musical Side Show, which premiered at Washington D.C.’s Kennedy Center before coming to Broadway.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on 2026 Film Releases in South Africa
2 January
Kiss of the Spider Woman is a lush, emotionally charged musical drama set in an Argentine prison during the Dirty War, where a political dissident and a gay cellmate forge an unlikely bond. Blending gritty reality with glamorous fantasy sequences from a film-within-the-film, it explores love, identity, and escapism under oppression. Written and directed by Bill Condon.
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by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Know Your Narrator: The Voice Behind the Story
Reflections by Daniel E. Dercksen
The closest and most trusted ally you can have when writing your story is the narrator. I trust the narrator of my story wholeheartedly; I have granted him free rein to rule with authority and imagination.
It is important to know who is telling the story. Through the eyes of the narrator, we witness the world unfold. Through the narrator’s insight, our characters come to life. And it is through that same insight that your story fully comes alive.
Almost like Frankenstein, creating his monstrous nemesis and soulmate.
You must ensure that your narrator is not simply you in disguise. Separate yourself from the narrator, and allow that voice to become a guiding principle—anchoring your story and breathing life into it.
Perhaps the narrator is someone who uncovers the secret of two lovers and tells their story. Or perhaps it is a murderer, executed, who redeems himself by recounting the lives of those he harmed.
The narrator is an emotional archaeologist, unearthing hidden secrets and ultimately revealing your story’s truth.
Allow your narrator to question your characters’ actions. Let the narrator describe the world and its circumstances. Grant the narrator freedom of expression—yet never let that voice overshadow the characters themselves.
Be careful not to reveal your narrator’s identity too soon. When the reader finally discovers who it is, it should come as a surprise—a reward earned through the journey of your story.
The narrator in my story is not only an ally, but also my closest friend and confidant.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Pillion: Riding the Edge of Desire
Pillion is a bold and provocative drama that reimagines intimacy through the lens of queer desire, vulnerability, and consensual roleplay.
Inspired by writer-director Harry Lighton’s commitment to exploring subcultures with empathy, the film challenges cinematic conventions and expands the boundaries of representation, exploring ntimacy, vulnerability, and power dynamics through the unlikely relationship between a timid man and a charismatic biker.
It’s one of the year’s most daring and resonant films, a work that insists on the beauty of surrender and the courage of self-discovery.
Its significance lies in how it challenges cinematic conventions by centering queer desire and consensual roleplay as a site of both erotic liberation and emotional discovery. Currently, the film is not widely available on subscription streaming services, but it premiered in cinemas on November 28, 2025, distributed by Picturehouse Entertainment, and can be tracked for future availability on platforms like Plex and The Streamable.
At its heart, Pillion tells the story of Colin, played by Harry Melling, a directionless and introverted man whose life is transformed when he encounters Ray, an enigmatic biker portrayed by Alexander Skarsgård. What begins as a chance meeting evolves into a relationship defined by submission and dominance, as Colin becomes Ray’s “pillion”—the passenger riding behind him, both literally and metaphorically.
This premise is significant because it reframes the traditional romance narrative, shifting focus from heteronormative tropes to a queer dynamic that foregrounds vulnerability, trust, and the negotiation of power. In doing so, the film situates itself within a lineage of cinema that seeks to expand the boundaries of representation, offering audiences a story that is both deeply personal and universally resonant.
The inspiration for Pillion lies in director Harry Lighton’s interest in exploring subcultures and the ways in which intimacy can be expressed outside mainstream norms
Critics have noted that the film draws from traditions of queer cinema, while also engaging with broader themes of identity and self-discovery. Lighton’s approach is neither exploitative nor sensationalist; instead, he treats the subject matter with tenderness and humor, emphasizing the humanity of his characters.
Reviews highlight how the film revels in the “real delights of consensual sexual roleplay” without judgment, presenting kink not as spectacle but as a lens through which to examine emotional connection. This inspiration reflects a broader cultural moment in which filmmakers are increasingly willing to explore marginalized experiences with nuance and authenticity.
The film’s significance also lies in its performances.
Harry Melling, known for his supporting roles in projects like The Queen’s Gambit, delivers one of his most compelling performances as Colin, embodying both fragility and quiet strength. Alexander Skarsgård, meanwhile, brings charisma and intensity to Ray, balancing dominance with flickers of vulnerability. Their chemistry anchors the film, making its exploration of unconventional relationships feel both believable and moving. Supporting performances by Lesley Sharp, Douglas Hodge, and Georgina Hellier enrich the narrative, adding layers of complexity to the world Colin inhabits. Together, the cast elevates Pillion beyond its provocative premise, transforming it into a meditation on love, trust, and the courage to embrace one’s desires.
Writer-director Harry Lighton
From a thematic perspective, Pillion resonates because it challenges audiences to reconsider assumptions about intimacy and control.
The relationship between Colin and Ray is not portrayed as exploitative but as consensual, negotiated, and transformative. This distinction is crucial: by centering consent, the film reframes dominance and submission as acts of trust rather than coercion. In doing so, it opens space for broader conversations about how relationships—queer or otherwise—navigate power, vulnerability, and desire. For your Movie Club, this makes Pillion a particularly significant choice, as it invites viewers to engage with questions of identity, freedom, and the ways in which love can emerge from unexpected places.
Visually, the film is striking. Lighton employs a mix of raw realism and stylized imagery to capture both the physicality of motorcycle rides and the intimacy of private encounters. The cinematography emphasizes contrasts—speed and stillness, danger and tenderness—mirroring the emotional journey of its characters. This aesthetic choice underscores the film’s central metaphor: the act of riding pillion, surrendering control while trusting another, becomes a symbol of Colin’s transformation. The film’s visual language thus reinforces its thematic concerns, making it not only a narrative but also a sensory exploration of intimacy.
The cultural significance of Pillion extends beyond its narrative.
In a cinematic landscape often dominated by conventional romances, the film stands out for its willingness to depict queer relationships in all their complexity. It neither sanitizes nor sensationalizes; instead, it presents kink and submission as valid expressions of love and identity. This representation matters, particularly for audiences who rarely see their experiences reflected on screen. By normalizing these dynamics, Pillion contributes to a broader cultural shift toward inclusivity and authenticity in storytelling.
As for where to watch, Pillion premiered in UK cinemas on November 28, 2025, distributed by Picturehouse Entertainment. At present, it is not available on major subscription platforms such as Netflix, Prime Video, Hulu, or Disney+, though it can be tracked through services like Plex and The Streamable for updates. Given its critical acclaim and cultural relevance, it is likely to appear on streaming platforms or video-on-demand services in the near future. For now, audiences interested in experiencing the film may need to seek out theatrical screenings or festival showings, where its communal impact can be most strongly felt.
Harry Lighton is an English film director and screenwriter, best known for his feature debut Pillion (2025). Born on October 20, 1992, in Portsmouth, Hampshire, he studied English Literature at the University of Oxford before turning to filmmaking. Lighton began his career making short films while at Oxford, quickly gaining recognition with Wren Boys (2017), which earned nominations at both the BAFTAs and British Independent Film Awards. His subsequent shorts, including Leash (2018) and Pompeii (2019), further established his reputation for tackling bold, socially resonant themes. In 2025, his first feature film Pillion premiered in the Un Certain Regard section at the Cannes Film Festival, where he won the award for Best Screenplay, cementing Lighton’s reputation as a daring and empathetic storyteller. Lighton is openly gay and lives in London. His work often engages with themes of identity, vulnerability, and subculture, blending realism with poetic intensity. Beyond Pillion, he has collaborated with directors such as Oliver Hermanus and is developing further projects that continue to expand the boundaries of representation in contemporary cinema.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Pets On A Train – A runaway train hijacked by a vengeful badger
Pets on a Train carries significance as both a playful animated adventure and a layered cultural text.
Directed by Benoît Daffis and Jean-Christian Tassy, with a screenplay by David Alaux, Jean-François Tosti, and Éric Tosti, the film was produced by TAT Productions, a studio known for blending humor with heart.
Its premise—a runaway train hijacked by a vengeful badger, leaving only pets aboard—draws inspiration from classic disaster thrillers and action cinema, echoing films like Die Hard and Snakes on a Plane.
After forcing all the humans off, Hans leaves only the pets aboard, including Falcon the raccoon, Rex the police dog, Maggie the cat, Anna the anaconda, and a host of quirky companions. As the train hurtles toward disaster, the animals must overcome rivalries and fears to work together, with Falcon emerging as their unlikely leader.
Blending slapstick humour with suspense, the film explores themes of identity, revenge, and resilience as the pets race to stop Hans and save themselves before the train crashes.
This intertextual play is deliberate: the creators wanted to craft a family film that entertains children with slapstick antics while rewarding adults with clever references and genre parody.
At its core, the film dramatizes the tension between revenge and resilience. Hans the badger embodies bitterness and vendetta, targeting Rex the police dog who once foiled his gang, while Falcon the raccoon struggles with identity and belonging, masking insecurity by claiming a falcon heritage. Their clash highlights themes of redemption, solidarity, and the power of community.
The runaway train itself becomes a metaphor for unchecked momentum, a world hurtling toward collapse unless cooperation prevails. Inspiration for the film lies in the legacy of ensemble action storytelling and holiday cinema, with its Christmas setting nodding to the perennial debate around Die Hard as a Christmas movie.
By situating animals in a high-stakes environment, the filmmakers amplify both comedy and symbolic resonance, turning a chaotic premise into a reflection on identity, survival, and collective strength.
Ultimately, Pets on a Train is significant not only as a lively animated comedy but as a cultural bridge, inviting children into a world of talking animals and slapstick adventure while engaging adults through cinematic references and deeper themes of belonging and resilience.
An Interview With Directors Benoît Daffis & Jean-Christian Tassy
What was the background of both of you prior to co-directing Pets on a Train?
Jean-Christian Tassy: I started out editing live-action films, including the short films produced by TAT in their early days, documentaries, clips and a few low-budget features. After editing Season 2 of The Jungle Bunch, I moved on to editing the studio’s animated films.
Benoît Daffis: Jean-Christian and I have known each other for 25 years. I was making drawings, working on an animated sequence for TAT, on storyboards for Calibre 9, which Jean-Christian directed, and then on Spike‘s graphic research. I worked on The Jungle Bunch series and all their feature films. Directing was a dream of mine, because I’m a big movie buff like Jean-Christian.
J-C.T: We’re from the generation of video stores and VHS!
B.D: When Pets on a Train was launched, there was no one assigned to directing. I’d come up with character designs and ideas for the script, so it was time to try my luck.
J-C.T: We’d worked together on an episode of The Jungle Bunch, Benoît at directing, me editing, and we got on really well. Pets on a Train was the opportunity to take the reins of a project we were really excited about. We went to see Jean-François Tosti and David Alaux to talk about it. The next day, we got the greenlight.
Is there a will at TAT to change directors for each project?
J-C.T: First of all, it’s a question of experience. We worked on the first five feature films within the studio. For Jean-François, the choice of director depends on the DNA of each project. Unlike Benoît, I can’t draw. On the other hand, I know how to tell a story. Our profiles complement each other in a coherent way.
B.D: With producers, it’s also a question of trust, and that’s built up over the years, through long-term collaboration. At one time, it’s true that TAT went looking for slightly better-known names, but the risk with “star” directors is that they’re committed to several projects at once.
To bring a film like Pets on a Train to life, you have to be available and present at the studio every day.
How did the script co-written by Jean-François Tosti, David Alaux and Eric Tosti resonate with you?
J-C.T.: A love of genre cinema, especially action. The character design phase was very exciting. Especially when you’ve got a whole bunch of animals to deal with, with almost a unity of location and action. But then things get tricky: when you tell the animators that you’re going to have to bring fifteen characters to life, sometimes in the same shot, it’s panic time!
B.D.: Pets on a Train is a choral film. The challenge was to bring all the pets to life, individually and as a group. We had to make these characters endearing, while leaving room for the audience to project their story beyond their adventure into the film.
J-C.T.: There’s no 3D animated action film quite like Pets on a Train. We took great pleasure in playing with the codes of the genre, from Tony Scott’s Unstoppable to Runaway Train and Speed. We also drew inspiration from Peter Hyams’ The Sole Witness. All the film’s departments – animatics, modeling, texture… – were nourished by these references.
B.D.: There’s also Speed Trap, starring Steven Seagal, and The Cassandra Bridge, a disaster film with Burt Lancaster and Sophia Loren. We thought of actors to characterize certain characters: there’s some Joe Pesci in the Chihuahua and some Clint Eastwood in Rex, the police dog. And it’s Hervé Jolly, his actual official French voice, who interprets him in the French version…
Pets on a Train is our tribute to the video club culture of the heyday of more or less noble films. What they all had in common was their energy, their generosity and their desire to show off.
J-C.T.: We did our homework by reviewing all the train films! We even discovered some of them, like Super Express 109, a Japanese film from 1975, of which Speed is the remake.
Alongside the action designed to thrill the youngest viewers, there’s another reading level, with plenty of winks aimed at adults…
J-C.T.: It’s painful to go to the cinema to see an animated film, only to find that the parents are scrolling on their laptops during the screening. Not only are they bored, but there’s no exchange with their kids. We conceived Pets on a Train as a family film, a time for sharing.
B.D.: What counts is the viewer’s immediate pleasure. The subtext and the winks are a bonus. The Chihuahua, whose mistress is an influencer and who makes conspiracy statements, will speak differently to children and to adults. The fact that he’s addicted to sugar, too!
J-C.T.: When live-action films make too many references, viewers feel excluded. Animation films, on the other hand, thrive on winks, and Benoît and I both love them. The more levels of interpretation there are, the wider the audience you reach.
B.D.: We’ve taken care to ensure that the youngest children get attached to the characters, and that find them funny without being bothered by references they don’t understand. The rats’
strip is reminiscent of Chuck Norris, but it works above all through its dynamic and humor. The same goes for Falcon’s lines, inspired by those of Bruce Willis in Die Hard.
Although most of the action takes place on the train, the references to reality and the contemporary world are important and accepted…
B.D.: They’re part of our collective culture, so we couldn’t ignore them, especially when it comes to social networking. There are all these animal videos flooding the Internet. Their exploitation is permanent. We’ve all seen those cats terrorized by cucumbers or slices of cheddar thrown at their heads. Taking inspiration from these videos and showing just how blasé, even disgusted, our heroes are was the way to get a little message across. These are scenes we added to the original script: they make sense and help to lighten the narrative.
J-C.T.: We also added twists and turns to spice up the story. The rhythm of the film is the key to its success. The concept is that of a crazy train that can go off the rails at any moment, so the result has to sparkle. We kept on loading the mule until the animators told us to stop…
B.D.: … Or that we manage to make an idea that’s too crazy on paper feasible on screen.
The climax of the film is the confrontation between Falcon and Hans, the evil badger. Was this the most technically complicated part of the film?
B.D.: The greatest difficulty was the train. The landscapes – in other words, the multiplicity of scenery to be created and animated – pass by through the windows, and the train itself is in constant motion, hugging the tracks while being subjected to slowdowns, accelerations and jolts. Inside the cars, some elements move and others don’t.
J-C.T.: Not to mention all the characters to be handled indoors. We adapted along the way, both in terms of feasibility and narrative logic. Some pets have disappeared: another snake that accompanied Annaconda, a couple of old dogs that had little impact on the story…
Was the pace of production as rock’n’roll as that of the film?
J-C.T.: From one film to the next, I have the impression that everything becomes more complicated. A first feature film means a lot of responsibility, and we learned the rules of the game as we went along. At the time of the animatic, the film had not yet been found and
we had to discuss it again with the producers. This is where the trust between us is crucial: they give us carte blanche to modify the script from as long as the spirit of TAT productions, their family imprint, is respected. They know very well that we won’t go overboard into trash. Pets on a Train Express is a studio film, even if it’s Benoît and I who go to the front!
B.D.: We both knew that the experience would be complex and intense. I didn’t think I’d ever have the opportunity to direct, so I gave it my all.
J-C.T.: You also have to stand up for what you believe in. Take, for example, the fight sequence between Hans and Falcon, set to Beethoven’s 9th Symphony. I had it in mind from the start, and I fought for it in the editing. There are so many animation departments involved that it’s all down to the last frame.
B.D.: This sequence was on the chopping block for a thousand reasons, including economic ones, so I went back to storyboarding to get it through the layout and animating stages. We were convinced that it would be fun and energetic and I think we were right.
How did the co-direction dynamic come about?
J-C.T.: That was a crucial point. The producers warned us right away that we had no interest in getting angry during production! There were a few disagreements, which is normal, but we had the intelligence to listen to each other throughout the process. Benoît and I wanted to see and make the same film.
B.D.: We came off well! Given that Pets on a Train Express is our first animated feature, the stakes were higher than our egos. In Pets on a Train, we find the same themes as in the TAT productions – friendship, solidarity, benevolence – but also a re-examination of class relations…
B.D.: It’s a theme we wanted to emphasize. Falcon is like Robin Hood, he steals to feed his gang: they’re marginal, resourceful people. On the train, he comes face to face with domesticated animals, which is both a privilege and a form of alienation. Rex, the police dog, immediately judges Falcon: he’s a bandit! Class relations are a good narrative spring because they’re a source of conflict: applying them to animals gives rise to humor and a sense of humour, without the need to force the message.
J-C.T.: There’s the paradox that the “luxury” animals are caged, while the marginalized ones are free. They need each other… We wanted each character to have something to defend and not be all at once. Even Hans, the villain, has flaws that can make him touching.
And if you had to choose just one from all this bestiary?
J-C.T.: The South-West duck, a rugby fan.
B.D.: Me too. It didn’t exist in the original script. We wanted to make sure we were rooted in Toulouse [where the film got entirely made] and its accent. It’s already won over a lot of people and we’re proud of it.
An Interview With Co-Writer/Producer Jean-François Tosti
Pets on a Train is co-written with Éric Tosti and David Alaux, with whom you founded TAT. Why is it important for the script to be “in-house”?
With experience, I’m convinced that we can’t write and produce stories that don’t suit us. It’s important for us, as producers, not to let go of the creative aspect. We wanted a film concept that could be pitched in one sentence and based on a strong idea. The English title, Pets on a Train, enabled us to quickly sell the film internationally. It’s not enough to come up with a concept, you have to come up with a story that holds up, that surprises, with twists and turns that aren’t
repetitive, you have to flesh out the characters and give them a narrative arc. This is all the more complex when you’re aiming for a family audience, as all TAT productions are. When we put the first version of the script into animatics, it didn’t work: there were huge problems of rhythm, of tension, so we had to rewrite to find a balance between the stakes of survival and the attachment to the characters. We had to find the right balance between humor, tone and suspense. Once the script had been approved by the financiers, it underwent a number of changes over the course of a year and a half, as it went through the various stages of production.
It was in this rewriting phase that Benoît Daf s and Jean-Christian Tassy were involved…
With David and Eric, we’ve evolved on the subject: as producers, we’re more open to rewriting suggestions, even if we insist on our involvement. It’s important to interact with the directors and to make suggestions. A producer who simply says, “It doesn’t work” is useless. Unless you’re a genius, every director needs a producer who is there to support them and get their hands dirty. On Pets on a Train, this creative dynamic was fundamental. Initially, the action was confined to the train and there were about fifteen characters. With the directors, we sacrificed some of them and created new ones who weren’t on the train: the rat gang, Falcon’s uncles, the journalists in search of sensationalism and the little girl who wants to save her little Ocelot, Maguy. These characters helped to air the story, to take the viewer out of the real time of the action, and to bring in ellipses to energize the narrative.
What is TAT’s policy on choosing one or more directors?
A feature-length animated film takes four years to complete. Our studio always develops three to four films in parallel, which logically leads to a turnover. Having the same director work on every project is not only impossible, but also inappropriate: each film has its own personality, universe and tone. The director’s sensitivity and identification with the project give it its own signature. But that doesn’t mean we can’t work with the same artists several times. Laurent Bru and Yannick Moulin worked on The Jungle Bunch 2 and are currently working on two new films on their own.
Benoît Daffis and Jean-Christian Tassy spontaneously offered to direct Pets on a Train…
The advantage of a studio is that it can launch pre-production on a film as soon as the script is finished, even before it has a director. His role is to tell the story on screen in the best possible way. So we started developing the characters and sets; Benoît was already involved in
character design, he was mentally immersed in the film, and his proposal to make it made sense. A few weeks later, Jean-Christian expressed the same desire to co-direct. We decided to give them a chance.
How did you come up with the idea of choosing a raccoon as protagonist?
We were looking for a thief, a little Robin Hood. Our animal had to be agile, have hands to grab and manipulate lots of objects, and move a bit like a human without falling into anthropomorphism. Even if our characters are humanized, we want them to behave as they do in reality. A raccoon is ideal for all the film’s exploits, especially as it is often thought to be a thief.
Along with David Alaux and Eric Tosti, you were brought up on video club cinema. Does this explain why Pets on a Train is so full of cinephile references?
It’s clearly our most referential film. It’s got Runaway Train, Die Hard, Speed, everything that rocked our teenage years. With Argonuts/Epic Tails, we paid homage to Ray Harryhausen, and in particular to Jason and the Argonauts; with Pets on a Train, we draw on the action cinema of the
80s and 90s. It’s a true action film that can appeal to all types of adults. However, we haven’t abandoned our values, or the themes we hold dear such as solidarity and benevolence. Class relations are also present but there’s no question of moralizing or taking the audience hostage.
So there’s never any cynicism or darkness in your productions?
It’s hard to imagine. There’s always a big part of yourself that shines through in a film. A creative act isn’t abstract, it reflects a sensitivity, an experience. Since the creation of TAT, darkness and nastiness have never been a source of inspiration.
In terms of budget, does Falcon Express compete with the 10 million of Argonuts/Epic Tails?
We’re closer to 12.5 million. Each project has its own budget, but our aim is to have increasingly comfortable budgets. An increase in the cost of a film doesn’t necessarily mean a big technical leap: on Pets on a Train, we paid for the time it took to mature the story and make it.
Our next film, Lovebirds, will cost more, but will be technically more ambitious. The heroine, an Inseparable, will travel all over the United States, to find the love of her life: this means boosting the cursors, in particular on the quality of the animation. Unlike Pets on a Train, the first
visualization of the script worked on the first try.
On the occasion of TAT’s 20th anniversary, you said you were proud of what you’d achieved, and hoped that Argonuts/Epic Tails would be the success that would make all the difference. Have the box-office results opened up new perspectives for you?
Above all, it has enabled us to consolidate our reputation in the marketplace. We’re hoping to do
better than Argonuts/Epic Tails with Pets on a Train. It has the potential, the concept is simpler
and the stakes are more immediate. The action film is aimed spontaneously at those accompanying children. Today, TAT celebrates its 25th anniversary with Asterix & Obelix: The Big Fight on Netflix! The studio has never had so much money on a project, and we had a great time. The working conditions were privileged, we had the opportunity to fine-tune our work, not to mention the creative experience, the recognition and the increased exposure.
Does it make you want to adapt a major comic or novel?
I’d love to! Asterix proved that we were capable of taking on a huge project. I don’t think anyone was disappointed with the visual result. In the future, we also want to continue producing films that reflect our style, based on the studio’s original ideas. We’re also involved in TV series, and are currently developing Pil’s Adventures for France Télévisions – 52 episodes of 13 minutes – featuring the heroine of the feature film. We’re thinking about taking on major licenses, provided they make economic sense, and motivate the whole team. Why not move into adult animation?
Has TAT become a magnet for young talent?
J-F.T.: We receive a lot of CVs, but it’s important to remember the context: animation worldwide is going through a period of crisis. In France, there’s less work than before. We have quite a few projects on the go, and we get a lot of media coverage, which contributes to our attractiveness. And there’s no question of leaving Toulouse – it’s the birthplace of TAT, and experience has shown that we can succeed without being in Paris or fragmenting our teams. Animation remains the audiovisual genre where cooperative work is most fundamental.
What if you had to choose just one animal from Pets on a Train?
J-F.T.: Falcon is my favorite, he’s got it all: super cool, nice but not smooth, benevolent, intrepid. Otherwise, I’m a fan of the duck, it’s super original and from our region!
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Not Without Hope: A True Story of Survival, Loss, and Endurance
Not Without Hope is a harrowing survival thriller directed by Joe Carnahan and co-written by Carnahan and E. Nicholas Mariani, based on the 2010 nonfiction book of the same name by Nick Schuyler and Jeré Longman, which recounts the true story of a tragic boating accident that occurred in February 2009.
Carnahan, known for his gritty, emotionally charged storytelling in films like The Grey and Narc, brings a visceral intensity to this adaptation, which stars Zachary Levi as Nick Schuyler—the sole survivor of the disaster.
The survival thriller Not Without Hope dramatises the true story of Nick Schuyler and three friends whose fishing trip in the Gulf of Mexico turned tragic when their boat capsized in a violent storm. Stranded at sea for 43 hours, only Schuyler survived, clinging to the overturned vessel until rescued by the U.S. Coast Guard. Directed by Joe Carnahan, with Zachary Levi, Josh Duhamel, Quentin Plair, Terrence Terrell, Marshall Cook, JoBeth Williams and NFL players Marquis Cooper and Corey Smith.
The cast also includes Josh Duhamel, JoBeth Williams, Quentin Plair, Terrence Terrell, and Marshall Cook, portraying the close-knit group of friends whose fishing trip turned into a nightmare. Filmed entirely in Malta, the production wrapped in mid-2023, just before the SAG-AFTRA strike, and is slated for release in 2025.
Inspiration & Significance
The inspiration for Not Without Hope lies in the real-life ordeal faced by Schuyler and his three companions—NFL players Marquis Cooper and Corey Smith, and former college football player Will Bleakley. The group set out from Clearwater, Florida, for a routine fishing trip in the Gulf of Mexico, only to be caught in a violent storm that caused their boat to capsize. With the anchor stuck and the vessel overturned, the men were thrown into frigid waters, clinging to the hull for survival. Despite a massive search effort by the U.S. Coast Guard, only Schuyler was rescued after 43 hours at sea. The film dramatises this terrifying experience, focusing not only on the physical struggle but also the emotional toll of loss, guilt, and endurance. Carnahan has described the project as deeply personal and emotionally resonant, aiming to honour the lives lost while capturing the raw truth of survival.
The significance of Not Without Hope extends beyond its survival narrative. At its core, the film is a meditation on friendship, resilience, and the human spirit’s capacity to endure unimaginable trauma. By adapting Schuyler’s memoir, Carnahan offers a cinematic tribute to the fallen athletes and their families, while also exploring the psychological aftermath of being the lone survivor. The film’s title itself—Not Without Hope—serves as both a declaration and a contradiction, reflecting the fragile balance between despair and determination. In a cultural moment where true stories of endurance resonate deeply, the film stands as a reminder of how quickly life can change, and how survival often comes at a profound emotional cost.
Moreover, the film contributes to the growing genre of survival cinema that blends physical peril with emotional introspection. Carnahan’s direction promises a blend of suspense and sensitivity, avoiding sensationalism in favor of authenticity.
Zachary Levi’s portrayal of Schuyler is expected to be a career-defining performance, anchoring the film with vulnerability and strength. Not Without Hope is not just a recounting of tragedy—it’s a cinematic reckoning with fate, friendship, and the haunting question of why some survive while others do not. Through its stark realism and emotional depth, the film invites audiences to confront the limits of endurance and the enduring power of memory.
Joe Carnahan is an American filmmaker known for his gritty, high-octane storytelling and emotionally charged thrillers. Born on May 9, 1969, in Michigan, Carnahan was raised in Northern California and studied film at California State University, Sacramento. He began his career producing short films and television spots for KMAX-TV before breaking into the indie scene with Blood, Guts, Bullets and Octane (1998), a cult hit that premiered at Sundance. He gained wider recognition with Narc (2002), a neo-noir crime drama praised for its raw intensity. Carnahan’s filmography includes Smokin’ Aces, The A-Team, The Grey, and Boss Level, all marked by his signature blend of visceral action and psychological depth. He’s also worked in television, directing and producing episodes of The Blacklist and State of Affairs. Known for his kinetic style and philosophical undercurrents, Carnahan continues to explore themes of survival, masculinity, and moral ambiguity in his work. In 2025, he directed Not Without Hope, a survival thriller based on a true story, further cementing his reputation as a filmmaker drawn to stories of endurance and emotional reckoning.
E. Nicholas Mariani is a screenwriter and former board member of the Writers Guild of America West, recognised for his thoughtful, character-driven narratives. Born in Salt Lake City, Utah, Mariani has contributed to several film and television projects, including The Defender and War Magician. His work often explores themes of resilience, identity, and moral complexity. Mariani co-wrote Not Without Hope with Joe Carnahan, adapting Nick Schuyler’s memoir into a tense, emotionally resonant screenplay. His involvement in the Writers Guild reflects a commitment to the craft and ethics of storytelling, and his screenwriting is marked by a balance of dramatic intensity and psychological nuance.
Nick Schuyler is an American author, motivational speaker, and former college football player whose life was forever changed by a tragic boating accident in 2009. A graduate of the University of South Florida, Schuyler was the sole survivor of a capsized vessel that claimed the lives of his best friend Will Bleakley and NFL players Marquis Cooper and Corey Smith. After enduring 43 hours in the Gulf of Mexico, clinging to the boat’s motor in freezing waters, Schuyler was rescued by the U.S. Coast Guard. His memoir, Not Without Hope, co-authored with Jeré Longman, became a New York Times bestseller and a testament to resilience, friendship, and survival. Today, Schuyler owns Sky Athletix gym in Lutz, Florida, and continues to inspire others through public speaking and charitable work. His story has been adapted into both a documentary and a feature film, reflecting his commitment to honoring the lives of his lost friends and sharing the emotional truth of his experience.
Jeré Longman is a veteran journalist and author, best known for his decades-long career at The New York Times, where he covered international sports, including 15 Olympic Games and numerous World Cups. Born in Louisiana, Longman developed a passion for global storytelling early on, which he channeled into reporting from nearly 60 countries. Before joining The Times in 1993, he worked at newspapers in Philadelphia, Dallas, and Jackson, Mississippi. He has authored six books, including Among the Heroes, a critically acclaimed account of United Flight 93. In 2025, Longman transitioned to the Obituaries desk at The Times, bringing his narrative sensitivity to stories of lives lived. His collaboration with Nick Schuyler on Not Without Hope reflects his ability to blend journalistic rigor with emotional depth, capturing both the tragedy and the triumph of human endurance.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Five Nights at Freddy’s 2: The eerie legacy continues
In 2023, Blumhouse’s box-office horror phenomenon Five Nights at Freddy’s, based on the blockbuster game series by Scott Cawthon, became the highest-grossing horror film of the year. Now, a shocking new chapter of animatronic terror begins. More than one year has passed since the supernatural nightmare at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. The stories about what transpired there have been twisted into a campy local legend, inspiring the town’s first ever Fazfest.
Five Nights at Freddy’s 2 is directed by acclaimed returning filmmaker Emma Tammi and is written by game series creator Scott Cawthon.
When Five Nights at Freddy’s opened in October 2023, it quickly became one of the defining box-office stories of the year. The Blumhouse adaptation of Scott Cawthon’s global gaming sensation shattered expectations, earning nearly $300 million worldwide and setting a new benchmark for what a horror game-to-film adaptation could achieve. Beyond its theatrical success, it surged across streaming platforms, inspired waves of fan-made content and cosplay, and demonstrated how powerfully a passionate online community can drive a franchise’s cultural reach.
The success of Freddy’s hinged on its creator’s continued influence. “Scott Cawthon is one of the most thoughtful creators I have ever worked with,” producer Jason Blum says. “He is deeply involved in every part of Five Nights at Freddy’s—the strategy, the business and the creative decisions. What really sets him apart is how connected he is to the fan community. He is constantly thinking about what will surprise them, what will make them happy, and how to honor what they love about the franchise.”
Director Emma Tammi returns to the Five Nights at Freddy’s world with the same focus and atmospheric precision that defined the first film, now applied to a story of greater scale and tension. “The success of the first film felt surreal,” Tammi says. “It came out during the SAG-AFTRA strike, so we did not have a premiere or a shared moment to celebrate. We were all experiencing it separately, but because we were going to theaters and watching it with fans, we got to see them embrace it firsthand. When I felt that energy, it was the first time I realized we might get to make another one.”
Cawthon’s vision and ambition for the new chapter were clear from the beginning. “Scott always envisioned that if there were multiple films, each would connect to its corresponding game: the first film to game one, the second to game two, and so on,” Tammi says. “So, we already had a clear blueprint of what needed to be included, from the setting to the animatronics. Beyond that, it was about blending those game elements with our ongoing story and figuring out how our characters’ arcs would evolve alongside them. It was a balance between honoring the game and deepening the emotional journey of the characters.”
Tammi maintained that balance by grounding every scare in something real. “The balance between being scary and still appealing to a wide audience is something the Five Nights at Freddy’s franchise has always done well,” Tammi says. “The games and books both found that perfect tonal blend, so our challenge was translating it to film and keeping that same spirit alive. I think we struck that balance in the first movie, but this new film really pushes it further.The scares are bigger, and we go to darker places. But the fun factor is dialed up, too. Ultimately, the heart of this story is about finding connection in the face of fear, and that is where the emotional weight comes from.”
Set a year and a half after the events that closed Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza in the first film, Five Nights at Freddy’s 2 unfolds in a town still haunted by that past. Over time, the tragedy has hardened into local folklore, now repackaged as a community event called Fazfest. What begins as playful tribute soon turns to unease as the town’s attempt to celebrate its history unearths something that was never meant to return.
Former security guard Mike (Josh Hutcherson) and police officer Vanessa (Elizabeth Lail) have kept the truth from Mike’s 11-year-old sister, Abby (Piper Rubio), concerning the fate of her animatronic friends. But when Abby sneaks out to reconnect with Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, and Foxy, it will set into motion a terrifying series of events, revealing dark secrets about the true origin of Freddy’s, and unleashing a long-forgotten horror hidden away for decades.
The filmmakers viewed the new chapter as an opportunity to widen the canvas while protecting the intimacy that grounded the first film
“Going into Five Nights at Freddy’s 2, our goal was to make it bigger, scarier and even more fun than the first film,” Blum says. “Those are big expectations to live up to, but Emma and her team have done an incredible job. It is such an honor to continue building this franchise. As the story expands, we have been able to introduce new locations and characters, which have taken the world in exciting new directions. Everyone involved has such genuine passion for the Five Nights at Freddy’s universe, and you can feel that in every frame of the movie.”
Tammi benefitted from returning to a cast and crew already fluent in the Five Nights at Freddy’s universe. “This time, we already had a foundation,” Tammi says. “Everyone knew the characters, the references and had a sense of the world. The challenge was figuring out how to build on that while maintaining everything audiences loved about the first film. We wanted to expand the world, add new characters and push boundaries, but it all had to come together in a way that felt cohesive and dynamic.”
Blum credits Tammi’s leadership for giving this new film both its scope and its emotional clarity. “Emma is a real collaborator,” Blum says. “She brings out the best in everyone and understands the the tone in such a deep way, so we were lucky to have her back to direct this next chapter.”
That clarity shaped the production from the top down. “Emma worked hand-in-hand with every department, laying out exactly what she wanted and how she envisioned it,” executive producer Christopher H. Warner says. “She built a team that really understood her and was fully committed to bringing that vision to life. This movie is bigger in every way. It was a longer shoot, a larger scope and far more ambitious. We spent countless meetings breaking down her ideas and figuring out how to execute them perfectly.”
Five Nights at Freddy’s 2 also broadens the geography of the first film, revealing places fans have never seen before. This gave the filmmakers room to explore new layers of the mythology. “We return to familiar places, but we also uncover new parts of this universe,” executive producer Bea Sequeira says. “There is a second pizzeria, and this time the animatronics step out into the real world. That shift allowed this story to build suspense in exciting new ways.”
Tammi found creative freedom in that expansion. “It was only a matter of time before the animatronics had to leave the pizzeria,” Tammi says. “In the sequel, we meet them in a new location, which is exciting on its own, but then gets even more thrilling when they break out into the real world. Seeing them in everyday settings is both hilarious and terrifying. Staging those moments was one of my favorite parts of making this film.”
By expanding its physical world and deepening its emotional threads, Five Nights at Freddy’s 2 reimagines what the franchise can be while staying rooted in what fans love and expect from it. “We are building on everything that connected with fans the first time, but we are also taking risks,” Tammi says. “It is sharper, scarier and more unpredictable, and every choice was made to pull the audience deeper into this world.”
The Animatronics and Puppets
Jim Henson’s Creature Shop, the world’s premiere creature effects house, returned to design and build the animatronics for Five Nights at Freddy’s 2. The team spent 26 weeks constructing, testing and refining the expanded lineup for the new film.
Five Nights at Freddy’s 2 features nearly three times as many animatronics as the first film. To bring them all to life, the Creature Shop worked in close collaboration with the puppeteering, stunt and visual effects departments.
A new animatronic named Mangle was the most technically complex character created for the film. Built with dozens of interlocking mechanical parts, it required ten puppeteers, multiple stunt performers and coordination across the Creature Shop, visual effects and lighting teams to operate.
Another new addition, the Marionette, was designed as a true puppet rather than animatronic. Several versions were built for different scenes, including radio-controlled, cable-controlled and rod-operated models. The main version was performed by a team of five puppeteers who worked together to create its signature, haunting movement.
Emma Tammi is an American filmmaker born on February 26, 1982, in Middletown, Connecticut. Raised in New York City by actor parents, Tammi developed a deep appreciation for performance and storytelling early on. She graduated from Wesleyan University and began her career in documentary filmmaking, co-directing Fair Chase (2014) and Election Day: Lens Across America (2016), the latter of which she described as her “first horror film” due to its emotional intensity. Her solo feature debut, The Wind (2018), premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival and was praised for its atmospheric tension and feminist take on the Western horror genre. In 2022, Tammi was approached by Blumhouse to direct the film adaptation of Five Nights at Freddy’s, despite having never played the games herself. Her direction brought a moody, character-driven sensibility to the franchise, and the film became Blumhouse’s biggest opening weekend ever, grossing nearly $300 million worldwide. Tammi’s attention to evocative detail and her ability to balance genre thrills with emotional depth have made her one of the most promising voices in contemporary horror. She returns to direct Five Nights at Freddy’s 2, scheduled for release in December 2025, continuing her exploration of haunted spaces and psychological suspense.
Scott Cawthon is an American video game designer, animator, writer, and producer best known as the creator of the Five Nights at Freddy’s franchise. Born on June 4, 1978, in Houston, Texas, Cawthon studied at the Art Institute of Houston, where he honed his skills in computer graphics and animation. A devout Christian, he began his career developing faith-based games and animated films through Hope Animation, including titles like The Pilgrim’s Progress and The Desolate Hope. Despite limited commercial success, Cawthon’s work was noted for its unique art style and allegorical depth. His breakthrough came in 2014 with Five Nights at Freddy’s, a point-and-click survival horror game that turned criticism of his earlier work’s “creepy” characters into a creative advantage. The game’s minimalist mechanics and rich lore sparked a massive online following, leading to multiple sequels, novels, merchandise, and a film adaptation. Cawthon wrote and produced the 2023 Five Nights at Freddy’s movie and co-wrote its sequel, continuing to shape the franchise’s expansion into mainstream media. Though he retired from public game development in 2021 following controversy over political donations, Cawthon remains creatively involved behind the scenes. His work is defined by its blend of psychological horror, moral complexity, and grassroots fandom, making him one of the most influential indie developers of the digital age.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Scarlet – A fusion of animated mythic Japanese storytelling
The Japanese animated fantasy Scarlet, directed and written by Mamoru Hosoda, is a bold new entry in the world of animated cinema, blending fantasy, science fiction, and emotional depth into a visually groundbreaking narrative.
Known for his previous works such as Belle, The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, and Summer Wars, Hosoda once again takes creative reins as both director and screenwriter, crafting a story that centres on a sword-wielding princess named Scarlet who transcends time and space.
The film is produced by Studio Chizu and distributed internationally by Sony Pictures, with a Japanese release handled by Toho.
The inspiration behind Scarlet is rooted in Hosoda’s fascination with classic literature and mythic storytelling
While he has not publicly named the specific source material, he has hinted that the film draws from a “world-famous work on par with Beauty and the Beast,” echoing the approach he took with Belle, which reimagined that tale in a digital age. This time, Scarlet explores themes of life, death, and human connection through the lens of a murdered princess who awakens in a liminal realm between life and death. Racing against time, she must defeat her father’s killer and reach a mythical sanctuary before her soul vanishes forever. The film also features a secondary protagonist, forming a “buddy story” dynamic that deepens emotional resonance and narrative complexity.
Inspired by Shakespeare’s Hamlet, following a medieval princess named Scarlet (voiced by Mana Ashida) who can traverse time and space on a quest to avenge her father’s murder. Gravely injured after failing her mission, she awakens in a surreal “Otherworld” where she meets Hijiri (Masaki Okada), an idealistic young man from the present day. Through him, she glimpses the possibility of a future free from bitterness and rage. Ultimately, Scarlet must confront her father’s killer once more, facing the choice between perpetuating vengeance or breaking the cycle of hatred.
Visually, Scarlet marks a departure from both traditional 2D animation and Hollywood-style CGI.
Hosoda and Studio Chizu are pioneering a new aesthetic approach, aiming for a completely fresh look that matches the film’s scale and thematic ambition. This innovation in animation style is not merely technical—it’s deeply tied to the film’s emotional and narrative goals. The teaser visuals suggest a historical setting, yet the story’s metaphysical and time-bending elements allow it to transcend conventional genre boundaries.
The significance of Scarlet lies in its fusion of mythic storytelling with cutting-edge animation, and its commitment to portraying a strong female protagonist whose journey is both epic and intimate. Scarlet is not just a warrior; she is a symbol of resilience, transformation, and the power of memory. Her quest is not only to survive but to reclaim agency in a world fractured by violence and loss. In this way, the film speaks to universal themes of grief, justice, and the search for sanctuary—both literal and emotional.
Hosoda’s Scarlet stands poised to redefine what animated storytelling can achieve. It is a cinematic fable for a global audience, one that honours tradition while pushing the boundaries of form and feeling. With its December release timed to align with the introspective tone of winter, Scarlet invites viewers into a world where time bends, souls awaken, and stories become sanctuaries.
Mamoru Hosoda is a celebrated Japanese film director and animator, renowned for his emotionally resonant and visually inventive animated features. Born on September 19, 1967, in Kamiichi, Toyama Prefecture, Hosoda grew up in a small town where his early fascination with animation was sparked by classics such as Anne of Green Gables and Galaxy Express 999. He studied oil painting at Kanazawa College of Art, but his passion for storytelling led him to pursue a career in animation. Hosoda began his professional journey at Toei Animation in 1991, contributing as a key animator to iconic series like Dragon Ball Z and Sailor Moon. His breakout moment came with the Digimon Adventure films, which showcased his flair for blending digital themes with heartfelt narratives. After a brief and ultimately aborted collaboration with Studio Ghibli on Howl’s Moving Castle, Hosoda joined Madhouse, where he directed acclaimed works such as The Girl Who Leapt Through Time (2006) and Summer Wars (2009). In 2011, he co-founded Studio Chizu, a creative haven where he continued to explore themes of family, identity, and technology through films like Wolf Children (2012), The Boy and the Beast (2015), Mirai (2018)—which earned an Academy Award nomination—and Belle (2021). Hosoda’s signature style combines lyrical storytelling with cutting-edge animation, often centering on young protagonists navigating emotional and metaphysical transformations. His work is marked by a deep empathy for human relationships and a visionary approach to genre, making him one of the most influential voices in contemporary animation.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Trauma and Myth in Silent Night, Deadly Night
Silent Night, Deadly Night (2025) is a chilling reimagining of the infamous 1984 holiday slasher, written and directed by Mike P. Nelson, known for his work on Wrong Turn and The Domestics.
This latest instalment revives the controversial legacy of the original film, which shocked audiences with its depiction of a killer Santa Claus and sparked widespread protests upon release. Nelson’s version marks the second official remake of the franchise, following the 2012 reimagining by Steven C. Miller. With cinematography by Nick Junkersfeld and music by Blitz//Berlin, the 2025 version promises a visceral blend of psychological horror and holiday dread.
It follows Billy Chapman (Rohan Campbell), who, after witnessing his parents’ brutal murder by a killer dressed as Santa Claus, grows up traumatised and eventually dons the red suit himself—embarking on a violent holiday rampage. Haunted by grief and rage, he transforms into a vengeful “Killer Santa,” leaving a trail of blood-soaked carnage across a small town. As Billy’s spree intensifies, Pamela Varo (Ruby Modine) emerges as a figure of compassion who challenges him to confront his darkness.
The inspiration behind Nelson’s Silent Night, Deadly Night lies in the enduring cult status of the original film and its provocative premise: a child traumatised by witnessing his parents’ murder at the hands of a man dressed as Santa Claus grows up to become a killer himself. Nelson, a lifelong horror enthusiast, was drawn to the challenge of reviving a property that had long been dormant yet remained potent in the public imagination. His vision was not simply to replicate the original’s shock value but to deepen its emotional and psychological layers. In interviews, Nelson has emphasised his desire to explore trauma, repression, and the dark undercurrents of holiday nostalgia. The film’s snowy setting and seasonal iconography serve as ironic counterpoints to the violence and grief at its core, turning familiar symbols into instruments of terror.
What sets the 2025 remake apart is its commitment to practical effects, atmospheric tension, and character-driven storytelling. Nelson’s approach is grounded in realism, avoiding the campiness that often plagues slasher reboots. Billy Chapman is portrayed not as a caricature, but as a deeply damaged individual whose descent into violence is both horrifying and tragically human. The film also introduces new characters and subplots that expand the narrative beyond its original confines, including a psychological investigation into Billy’s past and a community reckoning with its own complicity. By doing so, Silent Night, Deadly Night transcends its exploitation roots and becomes a meditation on generational trauma, moral panic, and the fragility of innocence.
The significance of the 2025 film lies in its reclamation of a once-maligned franchise and its elevation of horror as a vehicle for emotional truth. In an era where genre films increasingly tackle complex themes, Nelson’s remake stands as a testament to the power of horror to confront societal taboos and personal demons. It also reflects a broader trend in contemporary cinema: the re-examination of cult classics through a modern lens, with greater attention to character, context, and consequence.
Silent Night, Deadly Night (2025) is not just a slasher—it’s a ghost story wrapped in tinsel, a brutal elegy for lost innocence, and a reminder that even the most festive myths can conceal unspeakable darkness.
Mike P. Nelson is an American filmmaker known for his gritty, visceral approach to horror and survivalist storytelling. Born as Michael Paul Nelson, he began his career in the film industry as a writer, director, and editor, gradually building a reputation for crafting intense, character-driven genre films. Nelson gained widespread recognition with The Domestics (2018), a post-apocalyptic thriller that showcased his ability to blend emotional depth with brutal action. He followed this with the 2021 reboot of Wrong Turn, which reimagined the cult slasher franchise with a darker, more politically charged narrative, earning praise for its bold departure from formula. In 2023, Nelson contributed to the anthology horror series V/H/S/85, further cementing his place in the contemporary horror landscape. His style is marked by a commitment to practical effects, grounded performances, and thematic explorations of fear, survival, and societal breakdown. With a background in editing and a hands-on approach to production, Nelson brings a tactile intensity to his films, often immersing viewers in bleak, high-stakes environments. As the writer and director of the upcoming Silent Night, Deadly Night (2025), Nelson continues to push boundaries, reviving controversial material with psychological nuance and cinematic flair.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Zero A.D.: A Mother’s Flight Through Faith and Fear
Zero A.D. is an upcoming biblical thriller written by Rod Barr and Alejandro Monteverde, with Monteverde also serving as the film’s director.
Known for his emotionally charged and spiritually resonant storytelling, Monteverde previously directed Sound of Freedom, and Zero A.D. marks his third collaboration with Angel Studios.
Originally titled Bethlehem, the film was later renamed to reflect its historical and spiritual setting, anchoring the story in the year of Christ’s birth. Set against the backdrop of the Massacre of the Innocents as described in the Gospel of Matthew, Zero A.D. follows a young Virgin Mary as she desperately protects her child, Jesus, from the wrath of King Herod—a ruler consumed by fear of a prophecy that foretells the rise of a new king. The film stars Deva Cassel as Mary, with a powerful supporting cast including Sam Worthington, Ben Mendelsohn, Gael García Bernal, and Jim Caviezel, who portrays Herod the Great.
The inspiration behind Zero A.D. lies in Monteverde’s desire to reframe familiar biblical narratives through the lens of suspense and human vulnerability. Rather than presenting a traditional religious epic, the film is described as a “spiritual thriller,” blending historical drama with psychological tension. Monteverde and Barr were drawn to the emotional intensity of the Massacre of the Innocents—a brutal decree by Herod to eliminate all male infants in Bethlehem in an attempt to kill the prophesied Messiah. This moment in scripture, often overshadowed by the nativity’s peaceful imagery, becomes the emotional and thematic core of the film. By focusing on Mary’s maternal instinct and the terror of being hunted, Zero A.D. transforms a sacred story into a visceral survival tale, one that resonates with modern audiences through its portrayal of courage, sacrifice, and faith under fire.
The significance of Zero A.D. extends beyond its narrative. It represents a bold shift in how biblical stories are told on screen, moving away from grandiose spectacle toward intimate, character-driven drama. Monteverde’s approach humanises iconic figures, inviting viewers to see Mary not just as a religious symbol but as a young mother facing unimaginable danger. This emotional grounding makes the story more accessible and impactful, especially for audiences who may not be familiar with or connected to its religious origins. Additionally, the film’s release—scheduled for December 19, 2025—positions it as a counterpoint to traditional holiday fare, offering a darker, more contemplative reflection on the meaning of Christmas and the cost of divine prophecy.
Visually, Zero A.D. promises a rich cinematic experience, with principal photography taking place in Morocco to capture the arid landscapes and ancient architecture that evoke first-century Judea. The film’s aesthetic, combined with its suspenseful tone, sets it apart from other faith-based projects, aiming to appeal to both religious and secular audiences.
Ultimately, Zero A.D. is a testament to the power of storytelling that bridges history, spirituality, and human emotion. Through Monteverde’s direction and Barr’s writing, the film seeks to illuminate the shadows of scripture and reveal the light that emerges from faith, fear, and the fight for survival.
Alejandro Monteverde is a Mexican-American filmmaker celebrated for his emotionally driven and visually rich storytelling. Born on July 13, 1977, in Tampico, Mexico, Monteverde studied film at the University of Texas at Austin and quickly made a name for himself with his debut feature Bella (2006), which won the People’s Choice Award at the Toronto International Film Festival. His subsequent films, including Little Boy (2015), Sound of Freedom (2023), and Cabrini (2024), showcase his talent for blending spiritual themes with cinematic intensity. Monteverde’s work often centers on stories of resilience, faith, and human dignity, earning him accolades from institutions like the Smithsonian and the White House. He is also a recipient of the “Outstanding American by Choice” award from U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services. Married to actress Ali Landry since 2006, Monteverde is a father of three and a passionate advocate for storytelling that bridges cultural divides. His films, distributed by Angel Studios, have become touchstones in independent cinema, known for their emotional impact and social relevance.
Rod Barr is an American screenwriter and creative force whose storytelling blends emotional depth with spiritual resonance. A Princeton graduate with a background in English and music, Barr’s career has spanned young adult fiction, video game development, and ultimately screenwriting, where he found his true calling. He gained recognition for writing Sound of Freedom (2023), a controversial yet commercially successful film tackling child trafficking, and continued his collaboration with director Alejandro Monteverde on Cabrini (2024), a biopic about the first American saint, Frances Xavier Cabrini. Barr’s writing is marked by a commitment to underdog narratives and transcendent themes like hope, determination, and service. His ability to humanize historical and religious figures has made him a standout voice in faith-based and socially conscious cinema. Deeply spiritual and creatively disciplined, Barr approaches each project with a blend of artistic intuition and rigorous craft, aiming to tell stories that resonate across cultures and beliefs.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Anaconda Reimagined for a New Generation
Anaconda (2025) is a bold reimagining of the cult 1997 horror film, directed by Tom Gormican and co-written by Gormican and his frequent collaborator Kevin Etten.
Rather than a straightforward remake, the 2025 version pivots into action-comedy horror territory, blending nostalgia with satire. The film follows a group of childhood friends, now grappling with mid-life crises, who venture into the rainforest to recreate their favorite movie from youth—only to encounter real dangers that mirror the absurdity of their cinematic obsession.
Doug McCallister (Jack Black) and Ronald “Griff” Griffen Jr. (Paul Rudd), lifelong friends stuck in midlife crises, decide to relive their youth by traveling deep into the Amazon to shoot an amateur remake of their favorite movie—Anaconda. What begins as a lighthearted, chaotic adventure quickly spirals into terror when a real giant anaconda emerges from the jungle. Their playful film project turns into a deadly fight for survival, forcing Doug, Griff, and their companions—including Kenny Trent (Steve Zahn), Claire Simons (Thandiwe Newton), Ana Almeida (Daniela Melchior), and snake handler Santiago Braga (Selton Mello)—to confront both the monstrous predator and their own fears. As the line between parody and reality blurs, the friends must decide whether their dream of remaking a cult classic is worth dying for.
The inspiration behind this reboot stems from both the enduring legacy of the original Anaconda and the creative team’s penchant for self-aware storytelling.
Gormican and Etten were drawn to the idea of exploring how pop culture shapes identity and memory, especially as people age. By framing the narrative around characters who idolized the original film, the writers cleverly comment on the way nostalgia can blur the line between fiction and reality. Paul Rudd, one of the film’s stars, described the project as “a totally unique thing” that’s “certainly inspired by and loved the movie Anaconda from the ’90s, but it’s not a remake”. This approach allows the film to honour its roots while carving out a fresh identity, much like Massive Talent did for Nicolas Cage’s career. The significance of Anaconda (2025) lies in its genre-bending ambition and its commentary on the evolution of horror franchises. By infusing humor and self-awareness into a traditionally serious and suspenseful premise, the film challenges the conventions of monster movies. It also reflects a broader trend in Hollywood toward reboots that are less about replication and more about reinvention. The casting of comedic heavyweights like Jack Black and Paul Rudd, alongside dramatic talents such as Thandiwe Newton and Daniela Melchior, signals a deliberate tonal blend that aims to appeal to both longtime fans and new audiences.
Moreover, the film’s release on December 25, 2025, positions it as a holiday blockbuster with cross-generational appeal. Its production, which took place in Australia, adds a layer of authenticity to the jungle setting, while the ensemble cast brings emotional depth and comedic timing to a story that could easily veer into parody. By anchoring the absurdity in real human experiences—aging, friendship, regret—the film elevates itself beyond creature-feature tropes.
In essence, Anaconda (2025) is more than just another entry in a long-running franchise. It’s a reflection on the power of movies to shape our lives, the absurdity of nostalgia, and the creative possibilities that emerge when filmmakers dare to subvert expectations. Gormican and Etten’s vision transforms a once-feared snake into a symbol of personal reckoning and cinematic reinvention.
Tom Gormican is an American filmmaker, screenwriter, and producer known for his sharp wit and genre-blending storytelling. A graduate of Brown University, Gormican began his career in indie film production before making his directorial debut with That Awkward Moment (2014), a romantic comedy starring Zac Efron, Miles Teller, and Michael B. Jordan. He gained wider acclaim with The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent (2022), a meta-action comedy starring Nicolas Cage as a fictionalized version of himself. Gormican co-wrote the film with longtime collaborator Kevin Etten, showcasing their shared flair for self-aware humor and inventive narratives. Beyond film, Gormican also co-created the Fox TV series Ghosted (2017–2018), further cementing his reputation for blending comedy with genre elements. His work often explores identity, fame, and absurdity, delivered with a balance of heart and satire.
Kevin Etten is an American screenwriter and television producer whose career spans late-night comedy, network dramas, and genre-bending films. He began as a writer for The Late Show with David Letterman before moving into scripted television, contributing to acclaimed series such as Scrubs, Desperate Housewives, Reaper, and Workaholics. A Harvard graduate and former editor of The Harvard Lampoon, Etten’s comedic instincts and narrative versatility have earned him two Golden Globe nominations, including a win for Desperate Housewives in 2006. His collaboration with Tom Gormican on The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent marked his transition into feature filmmaking, where his knack for character-driven humor and meta storytelling found a new platform. Etten’s work is defined by its clever dialogue, emotional nuance, and ability to balance satire with sincerity across both television and film.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Twisted World of The Housemaid
The Housemaid is a psychological thriller film directed by Paul Feig and written by Rebecca Sonnenshine, adapted from the bestselling 2022 novel by Freida McFadden.
Based on the Freida McFadden book of the same name that topped global bestseller lists and dropped jaws with its shock twists, director Paul Feig builds a world of picture-perfect elegance atop so many layers of deceit they can only come crashing down spectacularly.
Feig is renowned for the female-led classics like Bridesmaids (Original Screenplay and Supporting Actress, 2011). Here, he turns the tables on the bleak revenge thriller with a sumptuous beauty and all-out sense of entertainment that is nevertheless sharply pointed.
“The delicious fun of this story comes from just how extreme it gets. I always saw The Housemaid as a Nancy Meyers movie gone horribly wrong,” explains Feig, referring to Meyers’ signature playful romances set inside the lightest, brightest, most effortlessly idyllic of homes. “That idea inspired everything from the production design to the whole way we played it. Tension, scares, and humor constantly intertwine in this story, and it was a dream bringing that to life.”
Feig zeroed in on engineering power dynamics that are so topsy-turvy audiences are repeatedly switching whose side they are on…and asking themselves which tantalizing fairy tale they’re buying into. “I love a story that makes you think about what you root for and what you don’t,” Feig says. “It puts a spotlight on the judgments we make about people, situations, and what we think we want. Sometimes, when you finally see the reality underneath things, it upends your whole view of how the world works.”
As for how he controlled a narrative meticulously designed to fly madly off the rails, Feig invokes Hitchcock. “Hitchcock said it’s like pulling a string. If you pull the string too far it breaks and if you don’t pull it enough it sags. We set out to see just how far we could pull the string of this world without it snapping.”
The film’s producers saw Feig as the consummate match for a story that calls at once for pop-cinema style and wicked psychological games. “Paul is great at blending genres, as he’s shown in A Simple Favor and Another Simple Favor. We loved his vision for The Housemaid, and we loved how he made the film into a twisty tale of empowerment,” says producer Todd Lieberman. “For audiences who haven’t read the book, the story will blow them away. And for fans who have, they’re in for a deeply satisfying ride.”
Laura Fischer, Feig’s producing partner at Pretty Dangerous Pictures, adds, “What people loved about the book and will love in the movie is the twists never stop coming. Paul played with that in the most entertaining way possible.”
The Housemaid is a wildly entertaining thriller starring Sydney Sweeney and Amanda Seyfried, based on the best-selling book. From director Paul Feig, the film plunges audiences into a twisted world where perfection is an illusion, and nothing is as it seems. Trying to escape her past, Millie (Sweeney) accepts a job as a live-in housemaid for the wealthy Nina (Seyfried) and Andrew Winchester (Brandon Sklenar). But what begins as a dream job quickly unravels into something far more dangerous — a sexy, seductive game of secrets, scandal, and power. Behind the Winchesters’ closed doors lies a world of shocking twists that will leave you guessing until the very end.
The inspiration for The Housemaid stems directly from McFadden’s novel, which became a viral sensation for its gripping plot and psychological twists
McFadden, a practising medical doctor specialising in brain injury, drew on her understanding of human behaviour and trauma to craft a story that explores themes of class disparity, emotional manipulation, and survival.
“The Housemaid is ultimately the story of escaping a trap, which is something that’s always intrigued me,” says McFadden. “We all feel for someone in a trap, and we all want to see how they might get out.”
A Harvard graduate and physician who treats brain injuries, McFadden first turned to writing as a creative outlet amid the stress of medical school, going on to publish several indie thrillers. But the reaction to The Housemaid erupted on a whole other level when, overnight in 2022, the novel entered cultural phenomenon territory. With readers calling the book a joyful addiction, it passed like wildfire from hand to hand.
The novel went on to sell over 3.5 million copies, spend more than 130 weeks — and counting — on The New York Times Bestseller List, and be translated into 45 different languages. But even before that happened, Lieberman and Elter, sensing the book’s blockbuster potential, approached McFadden for the movie rights. “I really didn’t see all that was coming,” McFadden admits. “It was just surreal.”
To tackle adapting McFadden’s intricate mind games into an intensely visceral and visual ride, the filmmakers turned to screenwriter Rebecca Sonnenshine.
The screenplay’s unusually high-spirited tone for a psychological thriller, the way the boldness constantly offset the darkness, grabbed Feig instantly on first read. “It’s not a comedy, but audiences will laugh, mostly because they’ll be thinking ‘I can’t believe they just did that’ or they’re so excited that something they hoped would happen does finally happen. And I loved that quality Rebecca brought to it,” he says.
In fact, Sonnenshine nailed something that Feig had long been in search of for a film verging on horror territory without slipping into bleakness. Feig had felt tugged towards the creative thrills of scary movies, but he absolutely did want to go dour. This script nailed the vibrancy for which he’d long been searching. “I love thrillers, but they can get very full of themselves,” Feig observes. “For me, the minute you subtract the fun out of stuff, it becomes less interesting.”
Sonnenshine had already demonstrated rare instincts for pushing commonplace tropes in defiantly fresh and fun directions with the lauded superhero series “The Boys,” which unraveled an action-packed comic book universe into a stunning and timely examination of how power works. For The Housemaid, Sonnenshine’s job was to transfer the novel’s nerve-jolting shifts onto the screen. But equally vital to Sonnenshine was tapping into the universality of Millie’s dilemma, her desperation to find new hope for her life even as it threatens to turn into the stuff of bad dreams.
“Who hasn’t had to deal with a toxic boss or stayed in a job out of sheer desperation?” Sonnenshine reflects. “We can all relate to Millie. But also, I think we’ve all had a person in our life who seems to be one thing, but then things flip, and they betray you. I think that’s part of why so many were drawn to this book. It reminds us of the bad boss, but also that person you liked who turned into your worst nightmare.”
As she began organizing the story’s seen and unseen layers, Sonnenshine had a blast with the characters trading places, allowing each their moment to be profoundly empathetic and unknowable. “You root for Millie at first,” Sonnenshine notes. “But then you start questioning everyone’s motives, including Millie’s. Is anyone a reliable narrator? That’s one of the story’s big mysteries.”
Says Lieberman, “The brilliance of the book was the way it kept you guessing without ever letting up. Rebecca distilled that feeling, along with the novel’s most compelling, essential moments, into something distinctly cinematic.”
Adds Fischer, “Paul and I felt like we got to fall in love twice in rapid succession with this project: first with the novel and then with the screenplay. There were so many great and nuanced details in both that Paul was able to mine.”
In Sonnenshine’s sly construction, the novel’s potent themes, from class warfare to the illusory nature of self-image, all hinged on the vertical layout of the Winchesters’ multi-story home — and her scrambling of the traditional upstairs-downstairs divide. Equally key was poking just enough holes in what the audience believes about what they are seeing to keep them perpetually off guard.
“The script needed to first build strong emotional connections with each character and set the stakes,” notes Sonnenshine. “But at the same time, there are subtle hints from the start that no one is revealing their full truth, which keeps the audience on their toes.”
Beyond the home front, Millie finds the Winchesters are surrounded by a dishy, judgy, posh social circle who further blur the family’s tangled history with their speculative gossip. “The moment Nina leaves the room, the other moms in the neighborhood are like a nest of vipers,” muses Sonnenshine, “and Millie is always listening, gaining new information from them.”
But even the town’s scandalmongers aren’t seeing the full family picture. “In this story, you have to be wary of everyone and everything you hear,” warns Sonnenshine.
McFadden appreciated Sonnenshine’s stealth approach to building anxiety, and the results thrilled her. “Reading Rebecca’s script, I got chills. All the changes they made worked,” says the novelist. “Some were so good, I wished they were in the book.”
For McFadden, the match of Feig with the material was perfect to imbue the story with fresh layers. She loved his vision of leaning into the Winchesters’ sumptuous surfaces and social graces only to dissolve them into exhilarating chaos. “I’ve loved all of Paul’s films. Bridesmaids, A Simple Favor, and his Ghostbusters reboot brought me great joy, and his sense of humor aligns with my own style,” she concludes. “The important thing is that Paul knew exactly how to create a train wreck from which you can’t look away.”
As the movie’s ever-changing guessing game amps up, the elegant ease of the Winchester’s world fractures, then implodes, while Feig craftily employs every element of filmmaking to reverse the very atmosphere he so painstakingly fostered. The ravishing visuals and larger-than-life performances, along with a killer soundtrack and moments that will have audiences gasping in unison, combine to make The Housemaid a quintessential big-screen movie.
Sums up Feig, “Audiences are going to have a lot of fun watching this movie together because those communal reactions are something you just can’t get in your living room. We really engineered this film for an audience to respond to live and in the moment. I’m excited for people to have that experience.”
PAUL FEIG (Director; Producer)
Paul Feig is a DGA Award-winning and Primetime Emmy®-nominated filmmaker, writer, producer, and author known for his signature style and keen eye for talent. His versatile work spans multiple formats and genres, with his films alone grossing over one billion dollars at the worldwide box office.
Feig directed Another Simple Favor, the sequel to his 2018 thriller, which Prime Video released on May 1, 2025. Feig has helmed some of the most successful and beloved comedies of the past two decades. Bridesmaids, the massive box-office hit starring Kristen Wiig, Rose Byrne, Maya Rudolph, Melissa McCarthy, and Jon Hamm, grossed over $283 million worldwide and earned Academy Award® nominations for Best Supporting Actress and Best Original Screenplay, as well as Golden Globe® nominations for Best Motion Picture – Musical or Comedy and Best Actress in a Motion Picture – Comedy. He followed that success with The Heat, a buddy cop comedy starring Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy that grossed over $220 million globally, and Spy, an action-comedy starring Melissa McCarthy, Jude Law, Jason Statham, and Rose Byrne, which earned two Golden Globe® nominations. His other films include The School for Good and Evil, a Netflix fantasy adventure that debuted as the #1 film globally in its week of release, and Jackpot!, an action-comedy starring John Cena, Awkwafina, and Simu Liu for Amazon Studios, which was #1 globally on Prime Video for four straight weeks. Feig also directed Last Christmas, a holiday film written by Emma Thompson and starring Emilia Clarke and Henry Golding, as well as A Simple Favor, a stylish thriller starring Anna Kendrick, Blake Lively, and Henry Golding. In 2016, he helmed Ghostbusters, the reboot starring Melissa McCarthy, Kristen Wiig, Kate McKinnon, and Leslie Jones, which won Favorite Movie at the 2017 Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Awards.
On television, Feig is renowned for creating “Freaks and Geeks,” the beloved and critically acclaimed series that earned him two Primetime Emmy® nominations for Outstanding Writing for a Comedy Series. He also served as a director and co-executive producer on “The Office,” earning two Primetime Emmy® nominations and winning the 2009 DGA Award for Outstanding Directorial Achievement in a Comedy Series. His sci-fi comedy “Other Space” premiered in 2015 and is now available on DUST.
Feig is the founder of Feigco Entertainment, which has an overall deal with Lionsgate TV. The company specializes in developing edgy and commercial comedies with an emphasis on complex female lead characters. Through Feigco, he has produced films such as Snatched, starring Amy Schumer and Goldie Hawn, and the Netflix romantic comedy Someone Great, as well as television projects including Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist and Zoey’s Extraordinary Christmas, Love Life starring William Jackson Harper and Jessica Williams, “Minx” starring Ophelia Lovibond and Jake Johnson for HBO Max, and “Welcome to Flatch” for Lionsgate TV. In addition, Feig launched Powderkeg, a digital content company dedicated to championing underrepresented voices, with a commitment to female, LGBTQIA+, and BIPOC creators. Powderkeg’s projects include the Muslim-American digital short form series “East of La Brea”and the Powderkeg: Fuse program, which produced six short films written and directed by diverse female filmmakers.
Beyond entertainment, Feig created the award-winning gin brand Artingstall’s, which launched in the U.S. and U.K. and won Best Gin and Double Gold at the 2019 WSWA competition. During the 2020 lockdown, he hosted Quarantine Cocktail Time on Instagram, which later inspired a cocktail book released in fall 2022.
Throughout his career, Feig has been recognized for his contributions to film and television. He was selected as the Distinguished Artist for the American Film Institute Conservatory’s Directing Workshop for Women, and was the recipient of the first-ever Artemis Action Rebel Award in 2016. That same year, he received the inaugural Athena Leading Man Award at the Athena Film Festival in recognition of his advocacy for women in film, becoming the first man to be honored by the festival. In 2019, he was presented with the Spirit of the Industry Award by the National Alliance of Theater Owners.
REBECCA SONNENSHINE (Screenwriter)
Screenwriter Rebecca Sonnenshine is an American writer and producer. A graduate of UCLA School of Theater, Film and Television, she was the recipient of the Nicholl Fellowship in Screenwriting and has attended the Film Independent Directors Lab and the Berlinale Talent Campus.
Rebecca wrote the screenplay for The Keeping Hours which was produced by Blumhouse and recently won The Audience Award at the LA Film Festival. Rebecca was the Showrunner on “Archive 81” for Netflix and was an executive producer on “The Boys” at Amazon for Sony, for which she received a Primetime Emmy® nomination for Outstanding Writing for a Drama Series for one of her episodes.
Sonnenshine produced the feature film Reversion (2008) which had its premiere at the Sundance Film Festival, and Bunny (2000), which was nominated for a Spirit Award. Additional producing credits include “The Crossing”and “Outcast.”This summer, Rebecca is the Showrunner on “Little House on the Prairie” for Netflix, with Joy Coalition and Anonymous Content producing.
FREIDA McFADDEN (Book Author; Executive Producer)
Freida McFadden is a bestselling American author known for her gripping psychological thrillers and medical-themed suspense novels. A practicing physician specializing in brain injury, McFadden seamlessly weaves psychological depth into her stories, creating page-turners filled with unexpected twists.
With multiple bestsellers to her name, McFadden has solidified herself as a master of domestic thrillers. McFadden gained widespread recognition with her hit novel The Housemaid (2022), which became a viral sensation, leading to two sequels: The Housemaid’s Secret (2023) and The Housemaid Is Watching (2024). Some of her other books include The Coworker, Never Lie, The Inmate, The Teacher,and One by One. While her books often draw from themes of deception, manipulation, and hidden secrets, Freida has also written several medically inspired thrillers, such as Brain Damage and The Locked Door, which reflect her expertise in neurology and brain injury.
Freida’s work has been selected as one of Amazon Editors’ best books of the year, she is the winner of the International Thriller Writers Award for Best Paperback, and she is a Goodreads Choice Award winner. Beyond her literary successes, McFadden has been lauded for her contributions to literature, with her novels consistently appearing as #1 on bestseller lists (The New York Times, Amazon Charts, USA Today, The Wall Street Journal, The Washington Post, The Sunday Times, and Publisher’s Weekly), earning praise from both critics and readers alike. To date, her novels have been translated into 40 languages.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Glitter, Redemption, and Pantomime: The Heart of Tinseltown
In Tinsel Town, a fading Hollywood action star accidentally signs on for a Christmas pantomime in the quiet English town of Stoneford. With a premise as delicious as a cup of eggnog, it’s the perfect blend of comedy, carnage and Christmas.
“I’m a huge Eighties and Nineties action movie fan and I’m a huge musical theatre fan,” remarks producer Matt Williams. “And this was a script that took to extremities what I love about entertainment.”
Written by Frazer Flintham and Adam Brown, Tinsel Town centres around the very theatrical world of Christmas pantos, with Dames and Dad Jokes aplenty.
“It was a brilliant idea,” adds Williams. “It was obvious that it was a film that needed to be made.” Straight away, he sent it to his regular collaborators over at Sky Originals, with whom he’d already made the 2021 festive movie Last Train To Christmas. The script was met with similar enthusiasm, and the production began to take shape.
Needing a talented director to bring this to life, Williams contacted Chris Foggin, his collaborator on the hugely popular Bank of Dave (2023) and Bank of Dave 2: The Loan Ranger (2025).
Raised in Britain’s northeast, Foggin grew up watching pantomimes every year at the Sunderland Empire. “I’m a big fan of panto,’” he says. “I’ve seen them all. Beauty and the Beast, Cinderella. I think that they’re a good British tradition. They keep theatres alive.”
For Foggin, he kept coming back to one word during the making of Tinsel Town: heartwarming. “Heartwarming is the word I used constantly. How can I make this more heartwarming?” says the director, who says he drew on the family-friendly spirit of films like Paddington and Nativity. “If it brings people together to watch it, I’ll be so pleased,” he adds. “I hope it resonates with families. That’s what I set out to do.” Matt Williams agrees. “It’s emotional, yet it’s funny,” the producer says. “It’s got laughter, dance, comedy, sadness…everything you need at Christmas.”
Brad Mac (Kiefer Sutherland) is a self-absorbed Hollywood movie star, famed for the action franchise ‘Killing Time’. But when the series is retired, he is forced to look for a new challenge. His agent sends him to do theatre in the U.K., but to his dismay, he soon discovers that this is not Shakespeare on the London stage. Cast as Buttons in Cinderella, Brad is horrified to learn he’s contractually bound to a pantomime – a British tradition he’s never even heard of. But as he meets the townsfolk of Stoneford, all of whom are devoted to this annual British Christmas tradition, Brad is forced to leave his ego in check. Can he pull off a panto and bring the local community together? Oh no he can’t! Oh yes he can!
With the script needing further finessing, Williams and Foggin brought in Piers Ashworth, who had not only worked on the Bank of Dave movies but also on two other celebrated feel-good British films, the Williams-produced Save the Cinema (2022) and the Foggin-directed Fisherman’s Friends (2019). Ashworth received the script just as Bank of Dave 2 was finishing up, offering him the chance to return to familiar themes, this time in a story with Christmas at its heart.
“It’s about the power of community,” says Ashworth. “And that was what Bank of Dave was about. That was what Save the Cinema was about. That was what Fisherman’s Friends was about. And it’s not just how great it is to build a community, but it’s about people standing up for each other and standing together against external pressures.
Here, maybe they’re standing up against the commercialisation of Christmas, that that somehow lessens the joy of Christmas.”
Joining up with Williams, fellow producer Pascal Degove notes: “It’s a typical fish-out of-water story with the main character, Brad Mac, a washed-out Hollywood star trying to revive his career, and he thinks he’s going to be on stage in London, like a lot of big American stars do, to show their craft.”
For Degove, it makes for the perfect family entertainment. “It’s something I’d want to watch with my kids every Christmas.”
At its core is the very Anglo-centric tradition of pantomime, says Ashworth. “You just say ‘pantomime’ and people have an image in their heads of what it is. And of course, there’s good pantomimes and bad pantomimes. But in a way the nice thing about that part of English culture…the bad pantomimes are almost better than the good ones, because you’re almost expecting it to be slightly bad. You’re almost expecting things to go wrong!”
Crafting the Musical Numbers
To craft the musical numbers, the production brought in choreographer Adam Crossley. As soon as he read the script, Crossley was smitten. “I thought ‘This is my kind of humour. This is something I can really get on board with. I really want to be a part of this.’” Recruiting regular collaborator Lydia Bradd as his assistant choreographer, Crossley immediately began working on the dance numbers. “There was inspiration from the script already,” Crossley adds, noting they drew on both traditional “panto elements” as well as the “music video” format. “We go a bit hyperreal in what it is that we’re doing.”
Chris Foggin – Director Chris Foggin’s latest film, Bank of Dave 2, recently released on Netflix to great fanfare and immediately took the No 1 spot in the UK – it also heralded a return to the top 10 of its predecessor Bank of Dave (which Chris also directed). Additional feature work includes This is Christmas and Kids in Love. Shorts include That Night and Friend Request Pending. On the TV front, his work includes “Cold Feet” and lead director on second series of crime drama “Traces” for ITV/Quay Street. Chris was named as a UK Stars of Tomorrow by Screen International in 2014.
Piers Ashworth – Writer Piers Ashworth is a British-born screenwriter, producer, and director. His most recent feature The Bank of Dave. He co-wrote hit film Fisherman’s Friends (available on Amazon) and its sequel Fisherman’s Friends: One and All. It has also been turned into a hit musical. Along with regular collaborators Nick Moorcroft and Meg Leonard Piers adapted the Noël Coward play Blithe Spirit for producer Peter Snell with Canal+ and Protagonist for release on Sky Cinema. His feature Save the Cinema was released on Sky Cinema in 2021. Piers is also known for writing the St Trinian’s films (the first of which went on to become the second highest grossing independent feature ever made in the UK) and Burke and Hare.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on My Cousin’s Big Fat Durban Wedding
My Cousin’s Big Fat Durban Wedding is a vibrant new South African comedy that celebrates the chaos, charm, and cultural richness of Indian weddings in Durban.
Directed and written by Theshan Naicker, and produced by Sheila Power Productions, the film draws inspiration from the genre-defining My Big Fat Greek Wedding, but reimagines the formula through a distinctly South African lens—infused with local flavor, familial drama, and the kinetic energy of Durban’s Indian community. Though the full plot remains under wraps, the title alone promises a whirlwind of tradition, laughter, and generational tension, all set against the backdrop of a lavish wedding celebration.
Anushka is a fashion designer in London , suddenly announces to Kieran over a phone call that she will be coming down to Durban to get married to the Love of her life and demands that Kieran has to organise her wedding in 3 weeks’ time. The only issue is that nobody has ever seen or heard of the groom to be, that Anushka is calling the Love of her life. The movie takes a twist when Kieran realises that Anushaka is marrying an African man . This leaves Kieran in a state of panic as he has spent the last three weeks frantically planning an elaborate Indian wedding only to find out that the groom is not Indian… …
Durban, with its deep-rooted Indian heritage and vibrant wedding culture, becomes more than just a setting—it’s a character in itself. The city’s blend of coastal beauty, bustling neighbourhoods, and rich cultural rituals provides fertile ground for storytelling. Videos like Desi Wedding Day Celebrations in Durban and Indian Wedding Highlights: Reception Moments in Durban offer glimpses into the kind of visual and emotional tapestry the film likely draws from: ornate attire, rhythmic dance, and the joyful chaos of extended family converging for a once-in-a-lifetime event.
At the heart of the film is the cousin dynamic—often the emotional glue in wedding stories. Whether it’s the mischievous confidant, the unexpected romantic twist, or the one who’s just trying to keep the peace, cousins bring both comedy and catharsis. The emotional depth of this relationship is beautifully echoed in Heartwarming Cousin Surprise at My Mehndi | Indian …, where familial love and surprise become cinematic moments in their own right. Similarly, Matcha with the Cousins in Durban captures the playful, contemporary cousin bond that likely fuels the film’s comedic tone.
The film also taps into the universal appeal of wedding spectacle. From the mehndi to the reception, every ritual is an opportunity for storytelling. Joyful Moments at a Beautiful Wedding Celebration and
There’s nothing like a Big Fat Indian Wedding ❤️ #wedding … showcase the grandeur and emotional highs that define the genre—moments that are both deeply personal and wildly theatrical.
In a cinematic landscape hungry for local stories with global resonance, My Cousin’s Big Fat Durban Wedding arrives as a celebration of identity, tradition, and the messy beauty of family. It’s a film that promises laughter, heart, and a soundtrack of aunties gossiping, uncles dancing, and cousins scheming—all wrapped in the glittering fabric of a Durban wedding. Whether you’re from Chatsworth or Cape Town, Mumbai or Mississauga, the film invites you to pull up a chair, grab a plate of biryani, and witness the spectacle of love, legacy, and laughter—Durban style.
Theshan Naicker is a South African entertainer, filmmaker, and writer known for his vibrant contributions to local comedy and stage productions. He gained recognition for his work on films such as Broken Promises 4-Ever (2018), The Curse of Highway Sheila (2014), and the upcoming Broken Promises 5: Vengeance (2024). His creative voice blends humor, cultural commentary, and a deep connection to Durban’s Indian community.
Naicker is also the creator of the beloved character Aunty Sheila, a comedic alter ego who has become a staple in his sketches and stage work. In 2022, he debuted his first pantomime production, Sunda-rella, at the Globe at Suncoast—a Cinderella-inspired tale with an Indian twist that emphasized women’s empowerment and reimagined fairy tale tropes for his young nieces. The production featured elaborate costumes, a cast of 30, and a strong message of self-reliance and joy.
As a filmmaker, Naicker continues to expand his storytelling canvas. His latest project, My Cousin’s Big Fat Durban Wedding, promises to be a vibrant celebration of family, tradition, and comedic chaos, set against the rich cultural backdrop of Durban. With a growing portfolio of stage and screen work, Naicker is carving out a unique space in South African entertainment—one that honors heritage while embracing fresh, inclusive narratives.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on If you think you know your story, think again!
Reflections by Daniel E. Dercksen
When I was inspired to adapt my stage play The Beauty Of Incomplete Things into a novel, I assumed it would be an easy task. How wrong I was.
Although I had written the play over a span of 15 years and directed it in two theatres, I took the plunge to adapt a story that felt second nature to me—only to discover how different it is to know your story and to write it, a challenge that sustained me through the ten years of crafting the novel.
Knowing your story places you in a comfort zone of confidence and bravura. Writing your story quickly reveals how little you truly know it, demanding a journey into what you thought was familiar—opening the narrative in ways you could never have imagined.
Only when you truly accept that you don’t yet know your story are you ready to transform it—shaping a tale of promise into a masterwork that will test the very depths of your heart and soul.
It is never about perfect grammar, cleverness, or outsmarting yourself, but about respect—for the people who live within your story, and truthfulness to the story that lives within you.
Knowing your story can be misleading, even deceitful; it is all too easy for ego to take command, chasing self‑praise and adulation.
There is no place for ego in writing your story; you must become a humble, loyal servant to the creation itself. You learn to be truthful to what matters and never deceived by misguided notions. Only truth will set you free.
You cannot control your story; you must allow it to grow organically. Only then will it become instinctive and reflective—never didactic—moving with the rhythm of set‑up, confrontation, and resolution (beginning, middle, and end), while honouring the opening and closing values of the story and of each chapter.
New ideas will sprout, characters will rise to challenge, thoughts will grow wings, and your mind will find space to breathe.
In that openness, you will merge with your story—realising, at last, that you are the story.
The Write Journey course, which I created in 2000, was born out of a desire and passion to guide writers through the process of bringing to life the story that lives inside them.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on David – A joyful animated musical underdog story full of adventure and hope
Produced in Cape Town, the joyful animated musical David”Is one of the most inspiring characters in human history: a warrior, poet, shepherd and king,” says creator Phil Cunningham, a Zimbabwean who now lives in Cape Town, South Africa. “If you need to find the courage to slay giants in your life, bring your family along to watch David this December.”
From the songs of his mother’s heart to the whispers of a faithful God, David’s story begins in quiet devotion. When the giant Goliath rises to terrorise a nation, a young shepherd armed with only a sling, a few stones, and unshakable faith steps forward. Pursued by power and driven by purpose, his journey tests the limits of loyalty, love, and courage—culminating in a battle not just for a crown, but for the soul of a kingdom.
When the giant Goliath rises to terrorise a nation, a young shepherd steps forward, armed with only a sling, a few stones, and unshakable faith.
Phil Wickham leads the cast as the adult David, with Brandon Engman and Young Artist Award winner Sloan Lucas Muldown reprising their roles from Young David. The cast also features two-time Grammy winner Lauren Daigle, award-winning Israeli singer Miri Mesika and two-time BAFTA nominee Asim Chaudhry (People Just Do Nothing, The Sandman), all singing a score composed by Joseph Trapanese (The Greatest Showman).
The film releases in cinemas across South Africa and the US on Friday, 19 December 2025. Angel is running a crowdfunded campaign to get one million children to watch David for free. You can join the campaign by sponsoring a ticket for a South African child here.
Sunrise Animation Studios is a Cape Town based studio whose mission statement is “Inspire Through Story.” Sunrise is an animation house with integrated teams across story, development, concept art, animation, modelling, surfacing, grooming, layout, dressing, lighting, compositing, editing, foley, sound mixing and score composition.
Director’s Notes
“This journey started 30 years ago whilst canoeing down the Zambezi River. Watching an African thunder storm, a charging lion, a little flower on the bank and an eagle in flight, I saw the intelligent design, the art – and I fell in love with the Creator and the Artist. At the time I was reading David’s story which was full of adventure, excitement, music, friendship, moments of tenderness, expansiveness and wholeheartedness. I was struck that he was described as a man after God’s own heart. This was what I saw in creation and I was determined to one day tell a story of David that might inspire the world and open hearts to the possibility of an incredible, fun and exciting God. David’s faith in God’s love propelled him into a life of adventure and fearlessness. Although far from perfect, he lived wholeheartedly and we believe that audiences will be able to relate and be inspired.” – Phil Cunningham, Director. Phil co-founded Sunrise Animation Studios. Over the last 20 years, he has grown Sunrise into an international film and animation studio. His unique and inspiring entrepreneurial approach to filmmaking has attracted a team of vastly experienced collaborators all of whom believe in Phil and Sunrise’s vision of creating world-class family entertainment.
“Making David was an absolute privilege. Never before have I been part of a project that carried such weight, such depth, such history and promise. Each person that joined the team felt it too – a gravity, a pull, a sense that we were working on something special. It truly felt like it’s time had come, it wanted to be made, it was a story that wanted to be told. And it felt like I was a custodian of it, creating the space, listening and allowing it to be what it wanted to be. We were not trying to be like someone else… we created and allowed the space for the story to reveal itself to us, rather than trying to fit it into what we thought it should be. Taking such a timeless, rich, expansive story and condensing it into an animated feature film has been no small feat, but I couldn’t be prouder of how it has turned out. And I’m so grateful for the incredible team that assembled, caught the vision and poured themselves into making it far more than the sum of its parts. This has truly been the project of a lifetime.” Brent Dawes (Jungle Beat: The Movie), who directed with Phil. After studying drama at Natal Technikon and a two year stint as a copywriter, Brent joined Sunrise Animation Studios as lead animator on Africa’s first animated feature “The Legend of the Sky Kingdom.” Since then Brent has gone on to create the “Jungle Beat” series, direct “Jungle Beat The Movie,” create multiple international sporting mascots, and help Sunrise grow into the fun, vibrant and visionary studio that it is today.
Producer’s Notes
“Our passion for this film was to build an Arc de Triomphe. If one looks over Paris there are many flats, offices and factories but our goal was to create a film that stood the test of time and had scale and attention to detail on equal parts – an Arc de Triomphe. This all goes down to incredible people working in unity towards a vision and it has been the privilege of a lifetime to be part of this and work with such courageous, faithful, determined, talented and kind people. Why animation as a medium? Animation crosses race, cultural, age and gender barriers better than any other medium and our hope is that this story reaches as wide an audience as possible.” – Phil Cunningham, Executive Producer
“South Africa is more than a country, it’s a ‘people’ and a place where stories are born! Stories are told around the camp fire, no matter where you are born. It’s a community that believes in the power of story and this storytelling is passed on from generation to generation. The Bible is rich in parables that guide us through life. As the Master story teller weaves together the tapestry of life, weaving in our stories, the tapestry is rich with colour and beauty. Our Passion is born out of that belief, to ‘inspire through story.’ There is a beautiful African proverb that says: “if you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.” Animation is such a wonderful way to bring stories to life, working together and weaving our own stories in our craft, no matter which part of the pipeline we are working on.” – Jacqui Cunningham, Executive Producer
“Despite being written a lifetime ago, the stories in the Bible still resonate deeply for us today. Looking back to the legends who have run their race, daring greatly and leaving behind their God inspired legacy, inspiring us to run our race in faith, as we ‘write our story’. ‘Inspire through story’, is why we make animation. The most powerful testimony that changes lives is story. David’s story is relatable to all! It’s one of triumph and loss, joy and pain and a belief in God that brings meaning to life.” – Jacqui Cunningham, Executive Producer
“It has been an incredible ride working on the David project over the last 10 years, and so remarkable to have witnessed all the incredible talent and passion drawn to this project. What a privilege working with so many people who love what they do and pour their hearts and souls into it, and I think you can feel that in this film. The story of David is so inspiring and our hope is that every person who watches this film is inspired to live expansively and courageously, with faith!” – Rita Mbanga, Producer
“The story of David is a timeless classic, relatable by global audiences around the world. Filmmakers found the right balance between unique artistic beauty entwined with powerful storytelling, outstanding dialogue and character performances that will take the audience on an emotional journey like never before. On David, They has found a way to nurture the spark of creativity, attracting some of the best animation and creative talent on the planet with its open, honest and sincere leadership style. When you have a team as talented as this, the role of the Producers is simple, point the ship in the right direction, give the captain the provisions they need and let the adventure begin. David has been an epic journey from beginning to end. I could not be prouder of my producing partners for their unique work ethic, steadfast focus, unquestioned dedication and a desire to always nurture and support the creative vision. It’s been said that discipline is very good for creativity, as producers that means creating achievable schedules, realistic budgets and setting up our creative team where the artist can do their best work. We embraced technology, making it seamless to work with a global workforce: 400 hand-picked artists with a crafted attention to detail across 25 countries, all with a love for storytelling.” – Steve Pegram, Producer
“Producing David has reminded me again why I love animation so much. It’s about shared vision, collaboration, and mutual trust. I’ve been fortunate to work alongside a team of remarkable producers, each bringing their own strengths, insights, and passion to the process. Together we’ve navigated complexity and supported one another at every turn. Ultimately, David reflects the heart of all those fortunate enough to have spent the past five years contributing to it, and the joy we’ve found in creating something meaningful together.” Tim Keller, Producer
That story started over 20 years ago
When Phil wrote and executive produced the award-winning The Legend of the Sky Kingdom, Africa’s first animated feature film, made entirely from junk. In the two decades since, he’s turned Sunrise Animation Studios into a powerhouse, with nearly seven billion views for its Jungle Beat YouTube channel alone.
Sunrise animated David largely from their studio in Noordhoek, Cape Town, hiring over 400 local and international crew, some in-house and some remote. Legendary Pixar story artist Nathan Stanton (Brave, Finding Dory) was assistant director while the animation director was Dan Barker, a South African now based in the US, with credits on Oscar-winning films like Big Hero 6.
Other South African residents in key roles included executive producer Jacqui Cunningham, producers Tim Keller and Rita Mbanga, co-writer Sam Wilson, and production designer Lynton Levengood.
“In building Sunrise and making this movie, I’ve felt like David facing Goliath so many times,” says Phil. “This is a story that I’ve kept coming back to time and again for inspiration. I wanted to bring its powerful message of faith and courage to a new generation – and animation is the most powerful storytelling medium in the world right now to reach them. I can’t wait for families to enjoy David together on the big screen, and rediscover the joy of cinema and the power of biblical stories.”
The ultimate underdog story, David is being distributed in the US by Angel Studios. Their previous animation, The King of Kings, had the biggest opening weekend in the US of any biblical animation ever, according to Angel, ahead of the Oscar-winning The Prince of Egypt.
Angel has reinvented film funding by removing Hollywood gatekeepers and empowering everyday fans – the Angel Guild – to greenlight the development and distribution of the movies and TV shows they want to see.
The Angel Guild’s scores for David were the highest ever recorded, while its pre-sales set a new record for Angel.
As Angel Studios’ co-founder and CEO Neal Harmon says, “I’m not sure there’s been a faith-friendly film this beautiful, this high production value ever.”
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on In Conversation with Train Dreams’ screenwriters Clint Bentley and Greg Kwedar
Pictured: Greg Kwendar (left) and Clint Bentley
Clint Bentley’s adaptation of Denis Johnson’s beloved novella Train Dreams is the moving portrait of Robert Grainier, a logger and railroad worker who leads a life of unexpected depth and beauty in the rapidly changing America of the early 20th century.
Train Dreams captures a time and place that are now long gone, and the people who built a bridge to a future they could only dream of. Directed by Academy Award nominee Clint Bentley with a screenplay by Bentley and Academy Award nominee Greg Kwedar, the writing team behind Sing Sing.
Train Dreams is the moving portrait of Robert Grainier (Joel Edgerton), whose life unfolds during an era of unprecedented change in early 20th-century America. Orphaned at a young age, Robert grows into adulthood among the towering forests of the Pacific Northwest, where he helps expand the nation’s railroad empire alongside men as unforgettable as the landscapes they inhabit. After a tender courtship, he marries Gladys (Felicity Jones) and they build a home together, though his work often takes him far from her and their young daughter. When his life takes an unexpected turn, Robert finds beauty, brutality, and newfound meaning in the forests and trees he has felled.
In conversation with Clint Bentley, director and co-writer
What would you say Train Dreams is about?
CLINT BENTLEY: Train Dreams is based on the novella by Denis Johnson and tells the story of Robert Grainier, a logger and itinerant laborer who lives in the Pacific Northwest in the first part of the 20th century. It tells the story of his life as the world completely changes around him and life changes from a very agrarian one to something more industrialized and modern. He ends up becoming a relic of the past, even within his own lifetime, and we see him reckon with loss and love in all aspects of his life.
You co-wrote this film with Greg Kwedar. What was that process like? How does your creative partnership with Greg work?
BENTLEY: Greg and I have been working together now for about 15 years, and we’ve written many scripts together. This one was unique because we had never adapted a work of fiction before. We try to bring a deep level of research to what we do, and this film was no different, but it’s hard to research something that’s about a time gone by, and also based on a work of fiction. We went up to the area where Denis Johnson had lived and where the story is set while we were writing, and stayed in a cabin along the Moyea river where Grainier would’ve lived. We met loggers in that area and people whose parents and grandparents had been loggers. The Kootenai tribe there is reintroducing sturgeon into the rivers. It was a really unique writing process and really rewarding. I wanted to make sure that we were completely loyal to the spirit of the book that Denis had written, but also let the adaptation take its own path to become the movie that it needed to be. It was a constant exploration of trying to find what that balance was. I read the book five or six times, really trying to internalise it, and then I left it behind to let the script evolve into the story I wanted to tell.
What was it like adapting this text to film?
BENTLEY: The challenges and the exciting aspects of translating the book to film were kind of one and the same. It’s a really slim book and yet it covers an entire life — and it covers a very specific time in the world. A period of great change. It’s a book structured around memories and it’s kind of all over the place. Trying to retain that spirit of the book and fit that into a structure that can work in a film without losing the aspects and the qualities of it that are really charming and are really special — some of the wooliness of it and the strangeness of it — was always the challenge, but that was also the excitement. It was a constant push and pull of needing to give the story a shape so that it would work as a film — and work as a film that wasn’t six hours long — but then also not put too much of a structure on it to where it lost the narrative freedom the book has that’s so beautiful. It was a process of discovery and of trying and failing at different things to find how to do that. I knew I wanted to capture this feeling of time going by very quickly, but also wanting to find space to settle into moments that are really special in Robert Grainier’s life. One thing I really wanted to get across was how quickly time goes by but also how these little fleeting moments come to define our lives. So finding that balance between letting the film flow and letting the story flow, but also spending time in those special moments was a journey.
Train Dreams is ostensibly a story about one man, Robert Grainier, but it truly contains a multitude of stories — of love, of tragedy, ghosts, machines, solitude, and connection. How do you work to convey that onscreen?
BENTLEY: Robert Grainier doesn’t do anything that really alters the course of history. He doesn’t fight in some great battle or create some invention that changes people’s lives, and yet he lives a very deep and rich life. I think that’s what always really attracted me about telling that story. It reminded me of a lot of people in my family and in my life. Most of us will never have some great impact on history, and yet we lead very, very deep and beautiful lives in the process. There’s something very special about his story in that it is so specific to this one person’s life, and yet there’s a universality to it of a person trying to navigate a world that’s changing around you constantly, and ultimately leaving you behind even as you’re still alive. I think that’s as true today as it was in the early part of the 20th century when the story takes place.
The film also centers on a pivotal time in both the United States and the entire world, when technology and industry were advancing at an unprecedented pace, changing life as it was once known. What about capturing that era appealed most to you?
BENTLEY: I never really set out to make a period piece. What felt so interesting to me about this story is that even though it is set in the past, it feels so relevant to so many things that we’re going through today. Robert Grainier kind of becomes a relic of another time, even while he is still alive. He doesn’t understand the technology that’s around him. He gets left behind by modernity. And I feel like that’s something we’re struggling with today with the rise of so many different technologies. The world seems to be going through seismic changes every 10-15 years. There’s also the fact that we’re grappling with the effects of how much we’re taking from the world and how much we’re taking from the environment in order to fuel progress and a never-ending race to modernity. And that’s something that’s explored in this story from the early 1900s that we’re contending with even more today. We just take for granted a lot of the more harmful aspects that come with modernity and progress, and we don’t really think about the people who are left behind or displaced by these technological advancements. We don’t often think about all the countless people who are the workers and the laborers — the literal hands that build these things — and who are so often forgotten after these grand endeavors are completed. That resonated with me, not only with Robert Grainier’s story, but there’s a few different characters within Train Dreams who are working on these big endeavors within the context of westward expansion, and who will be forgotten by the end of it.
Much like Robert Grainier, the film is rooted in the Pacific Northwest. Can you talk a little bit about the power of that environment and its importance to this story?
BENTLEY: The Pacific Northwest was thought of — within the context of this idea of Westward expansion — as being the last frontier, the last part of the country that America would expand into. Of course, displacing people along the way who had been there for generations. A big part of that was cutting down all these old-growth trees in order to fuel the growth of this country and fuel the wars we were participating in. What I wanted to show with this story was that something was lost along the way. It’s not even always something you can quite put your finger on, but you do lose something intrinsic to the fabric of existence when you lose all those big trees. I think it’s still a very urgent question worth asking of how we’re using natural resources and how we’re pulling from natural resources in order to fuel growth, and what the cost of that is in the end.
Joel Edgerton’s portrayal of Robert Grainier is one of both sensitivity and strength. How did he get involved with the project, and what was it like working with him?
BENTLEY: I’ve been a fan of Joel’s for so long. He’s just an amazing actor, and a brilliant filmmaker and storyteller on top of that. I’m always struck by the profound subtlety of his performances. How he can do so much with so little. With just a look he can be menacing or sweet or completely break your heart. He was the perfect fit to play Robert Grainier. Grainier is a man of few words, he’s a quiet person, and yet he’s a person of deep feelings and deep thoughts about the world. And I knew Joel would be able to bring the character to life in a way that was true and yet I never expected the depths that he would reveal about the character. It was such a joy working with him. I endeavored to shoot in such a way that followed the script and yet also incorporated found moments through improv and evolved based on what the world was giving us in the moment and he was always so game to follow that wherever it took us. He always expanded those moments into something richer and deeper. He was an amazing creative partner in making the film. The whole film is set decades in the past but many of the themes are still incredibly present today.
Can you talk about some of those themes and why they still matter?
BENTLEY: I’ve spoken about the aspects of the film about our lives and about the environment. It’s also a story about how we move past grief and how we pick up the pieces of our lives and move forward, even when we’ve gone through something really tragic. Greg and I were writing this film during the pandemic, and then I was making the film in the aftermath of that. So many of us are still contending with the fact that life has changed irrevocably, in more ways that we can contend with at times. And honestly it doesn’t always make sense in the ways that it’s changed. And yet, how do you move on? How do you pick up the pieces and keep going? This story of Robert Grainier and what he goes through is a really resonant exploration of that. I think at the end of the day, I hope it’s a reminder that life is worth living. With all of the beauty and the sadness and the darkness and the light that we encounter, it’s all worth it in the end for the experience of it.
In conversation with co-writer Greg Kwedar
What was your first introduction to this project? Were you a fan of Denis Johnson?
GREG KWEDAR: I actually was not familiar with Denis’s work prior to engaging with the project — really only tangentially, just because I knew that he was one of Clint’s all-time favorite authors, and I knew that Train Dreams was a particularly salient piece for him. But I had never read it until he was exploring whether to step into what is ultimately a very daunting proposition — to try and adapt not just Denis Johnson, but to adapt this particular work. My memory of that first reading was, first and foremost, I was just like, “This is Clint. This is so Clint.”
What is it like collaborating with Clint?
KWEDAR: We’ve been working together for almost 15 years and have had this unique relationship where we’ve written four movies together at this point, but we’re also distinct directors. And so when one of us is directing, the other often takes on this supportive capacity to be along for a ride that maybe we weren’t designed to be the director of. But you get this first-row seat into your best friend’s creative process, to see them bring something to life and to be there to help them realize their dreams in whatever ways that you need to show up for. I think that has been the gift of our lasting partnership, because we’ve told stories in what we say is a community-driven approach to filmmaking, where we care a lot about the community that a movie is set within. It’s never a transactional experience, but an exchange. We care about the community of artists that we work around. And I think the reason that’s such a priority for us is we’ve had to nurture a community of two for so long and to be aware of navigating that friendship and partnership and putting forward a collective goal over individual needs. I think that’s been a very special part of how we’ve worked together.
Is there a consistent theme running through the projects you work on together?
KWEDAR: Something that has stretched across our body of work and has really been a guiding force is that in the very beginning of our collaborative working relationship we wrote a mission statement, which was to tell stories of human connection in impossible places. It was just an instinct then — a powerful one, but it wasn’t tested. Now we’ve made four films and it’s become even more vibrant and urgent with time. As we mature in the world as people and as we look at work that is created, I’ve become more and more committed to tell stories of hard-won optimism. About people that face immense heartache, difficulty, and sadness, but who ascend to a place of belief in each other, compassion, love, care, beauty. These things can transcend any form of hardship.
What was the actual process of adapting the book?
KWEDAR: The first thing I did was I read it for my own joy and just experienced the book. The things I remember the most that I wrote down at the end were like, “Oh, this is a book about language in a way, the language of working men, the language of love, the language of sadness, the language of solitude, the language of community.” Our job was just to study that as closely as we could. Then the next thing we did, and part of our process, was to read the book with a pen, and underline anything resonant — it didn’t matter if it was just prose, or dialogue, or moments. It ended up that most of the book was underlined. Then it was just pulling everything that was underlined and resonant into our working document. Then it was just starting to look at it like: “OK, here it all is. What is the task here?” So much of our work has been almost like being journalists in the films that we’d done prior to Train Dreams, and that involved getting out into the field. Now it was: “How can you bring that journalistic process into a [fictional] text?” [We realized], OK, the job here is to get underneath these words, sometimes get in between them, sometimes go beyond them, and to identify across the work where those opportunities were. And then also [to ask ourselves], “Where are the moments where we just need to be purely faithful and almost directly translate what was written onto the screen?”
What are your most prominent memories of doing this work?
KWEDAR: My personal favorite part of the process was when we decided to actually go out into the field ourselves. We went to Bonners Ferry, Idaho. Clint and I would just drive the roads and be in the presence of those great trees and those endless vistas. And we were listening to the audiobook of Train Dreams for the first time, which is narrated by Will Patton [who is also Narrator in the film]. We’d just listen to the words in the reality of the natural setting that it was written within. We also stayed in a cabin on the Moyie River, which is also a significant part of the setting in the book, and it’s also the same road and riverside that Denis and [his wife] Cindy Lee lived on when they were based in Bonners Ferry. And so we were writing, looking out upon the same water that he did while he was writing the book. It was a very pivotal moment for us to be able to feel the place, to have it come alive in 3D around us, and to access all the senses of what the book was communicating and to see it through our own eyes and to feel it and to feel those textures and nuances. We finished our first draft while we were there. There was that moment where you’re having these indelible experiences and you’re trying to translate that to the page and then you read it back and it’s just like, “It’s not quite what we just lived.” It still felt shaggy … We didn’t have clarity of focus. And so whatever elation we were feeling during the trip hit a quick crash-down. And then the next big moment for us was detaching that feeling of having to minutely protect every aspect of the original text. That was the moment where we finally just let ourselves be free and to be guided by Clint’s directorial vision. Then it was paring back and letting things fall away and just letting only what felt like lived up to the standard of the book originally, but in our form, into the screen form. That’s when it finally clicked, and we found it. After that, it’s just the constant tinkering, but its soul was apparent finally at that moment. We knew we had a movie.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Zootopia 2: Wild City Adventures
Directed by Jared Bush and Byron Howard, two of the most talented and acclaimed filmmakers working in animation today, Zootopia 2 picks up directly after the conclusion of Zootopia / Zootropolis.
“We needed a true north and knew very early on that it was Judy and Nick’s partnership,” explains director Bush, who also wrote the screenplay and serves as Disney Animation’s chief creative officer. “We wanted to make sure that they were always at the centre of the story and that everything is experienced through their eyes.”
“We also knew we were going to see an expansion of the story,” says director Howard. “This is an enormous film. It’s one of—if not the—biggest features we’ve ever made in terms of the characters, the environments and overall complexity.”
“The first ‘Zootopia’ is one of the most visually-rich, complicated and just plain insane feats Disney Animation has ever pulled off,” agrees Bush, “and we knew this film had to reach even higher. There are dozens of complex, detailed environments and a cast of literally hundreds of different animals, including reptiles, lynxes and semiaquatic animals. The film is awe-inspiring on every creative and technical level.”
The original Zootopia / Zootropolis was released in 2016 and went on to become a global box-office hit sensation, grossing over $1 billion worldwide. The film won the Oscar for best animated feature, along with numerous other accolades. Byron Howard served as director and Jared Bush as co-writer/co-director.
Howard recalls, “I met Jared when he was brought in to write on the first ‘Zootopia’ film, and from the start, we were very much like brothers. We had tons of things in common. We’re both afraid of heights, we both play trombone, and we both love snickerdoodle cookies. We bonded very quickly over the idea of creating an animal movie together. The idea of animals in an animal city built by animals was really fascinating to everyone, and we jumped in from day one to create that world. After the first movie wrapped, we always knew that this world was built for many, many more stories.”
“Zootopia 2” reunites Bush and Howard with veteran Disney Animation producer Yvett Merino. The trio previously worked together on the Academy Award–winning feature Encanto, which Bush and Howard directed, Bush co-wrote, and Merino produced. Merino also produced “Moana 2” and the Emmy Award–winning short film Once Upon a Studio. With nearly 30 years at Disney Animation, she has worked in production on features including Tangled, Big Hero 6 and Moana.
Additionally, Bush wrote the screenplay for Moana and co-wrote and executive produced Moana 2. Howard made his feature directing debut in 2008 with “Bolt” and went on to direct Tangled before helming Zootopia and Encanto. Howard launched his animation career in 1994 at the Disney Animation Studio in Florida, where he contributed animation to landmark films such as “Pocahontas,” “Mulan,” “Lilo & Stitch” and “Brother Bear.”
Merino observes, “Having worked closely with Byron and Jared on ‘Encanto,’ I look at this film abbit like coming home. They’re both truly incredible talents with great senses of humour. They’re amazingly creative and smart, and super experienced. My job on this film was partnering with them to make sure whatever vision was in their minds ended up on screen.”
“We always knew that there were reptiles and other semiaquatic mammals out there. As we were wrapping ‘Encanto,’ Jared did a little sketch on a story pad that said, ‘Zootopia 2,’ and the 2 was shaped like a snake,” Howard explains. “Working on this film with Jared was such an easy, comfortable thing for me to jump back into because we both made the world together. Yvett is the third leg to our tripod, and she is not only a great producer, but she brings a great sense of empathy and humanity to the entire production.”
A Letter From “Zootopia 2” Director / Writer Jared Bush
14 years ago, I was invited to Disney Animation for a first meeting with a star director who is now my dear friend, Byron Howard. I was in awe as I stepped into the headquarters of this legendary studio—a building topped with Mickey’s giant sorcerer hat—to begin an eight-week writing assignment. Byron had an idea—and a few sketches—for a story set in a world made by animals, for animals, starring a bunny and a fox. From there, our journey began. We went on research trips, built our team of artists and shaped this new world full of colorful characters. None of us could have dared to dream that we’d be here in 2025, putting the finishing touches on Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde’s next adventure and preparing to share “Zootopia 2” with audiences around the world. A lot has changed over the years, and yet so many things are the same. Our films, every single one of them, start in a story room with a handful of people. They’re born from asking each other what moves us, what entertains us, what matters to us and what brings us joy. With that, we dream up new ideas, new worlds and new characters together—and honestly, there is nothing more fun in the entire world. Over the last few weeks, as we conclude our journey on “Zootopia 2,” Byron and I are filled with so many emotions. The artists and innovators of Disney Animation have put their whole selves into this film. The most insanely talented animators in the world have set a new bar with their hand-crafted, nuanced performances across dozens of characters—characters that walk, hop, waddle and slither, all set in the most complex and immersive environments we have evercreated at our studi o. Byron and I are filled with gratitude. We’re grateful to everyone who worked on this film, grateful to be given the opportunity to tell another story about this city we love, and grateful to the moviegoers who have connected with this film about a bunny and a fox and their world of animals, a world that may just be a little like our own.
Jared Bush, “Zootopia 2” director / writer
JARED BUSH (DIRECTOR/WRITER) is the chief creative officer of Walt Disney Animation Studios, overseeing all aspects of the creative direction of the studio. Bush is the director (with Byron Howard) and writer of “Zootopia 2,” the sequel to the Academy Award®–winning “Zootopia,” for which he was co-director and co-writer. Bush was also executive producer and co-writer of Disney Animation’s record-breaking hit “Moana 2” and was the screenwriter of the first “Moana.” During the 13 years Bush has been a writer and director at Disney Animation, beyond his work on the “Moana” and “Zootopia” films, he received an Academy Award®, a Golden Globe® and a BAFTA Award for “Encanto,” which he directed (with Byron Howard) and co-wrote. In 2021, the same year as “Encanto,” Bush was also the executive producer for the Oscar®-nominated “Raya and the Last Dragon.” Additionally, Bush was an executive producer for the Disney+ series “Zootopia+,” for which he received a Children’s and Family Emmy® Award. He is also a writer of the upcoming live-action version of “Moana,” which is based on the Disney Animation film for which he wrote the screenplay. Bush has also written and advised on several projects in collaboration with Disney Animation Creative Legacy and Walt Disney Imagineering, including the “Zootopia”-themed land in Shanghai Disney Resort as well as the upcoming “Zootopia”- and “Encanto”-themed attractions at Disney’s Animal Kingdom Theme Park in Walt Disney World Resort. Bush began his career as a script reader for director Robert Zemeckis, and prior to joining Disney Animation, he developed original television series for Revolution Studios, Fox and NBC, and feature film projects for New Line Cinema, Columbia/TriStar and 20th Century Fox.
BYRON HOWARD (DIRECTOR) is the Academy Award®–winning director of Walt Disney Animation Studios’ “Encanto” (with Jared Bush) and “Zootopia” (with Rich Moore). Howard also directed Disney Animation’s worldwide hit feature “Tangled” with Nathan Greno, and the duo teamed up again for the short film “Tangled Ever After.” Most recently, he was the animation director for Disney Animation’s “Moana 2” and for the new Walt Disney World attraction “Zootopia: Better Zoogether!” As a child, Howard’s favorite Disney Animation films included “Robin Hood,” “Cinderella” and “Sleeping Beauty.” He was also inspired by artists like Chuck Jones, Ronald Searle and Bill Watterson, and he would fill reams of computer paper with characters of his own creation. His love of art and animation continued through high school and college. Howard earned a Bachelor of Arts degree at the Evergreen State College in Washington, where he pursued his interest in filmmaking by studying cinematography, art and literature. By 1991 he was part of the Disney family, hosting the animation tour at what was then Disney-MGM Studios in Orlando. In 1994 Howard officially joined Disney Animation in Florida as an inbetweener and clean-up artist on “Pocahontas.” He quickly went on to become an animator on “Mulan” and a supervising animator on “Lilo & Stitch” and “Brother Bear,” as well as doing character design on both of those films. Howard later relocated to California, where he continued his study of cinematography and drawing as a story artist and character designer at Disney Animation before becoming a director in 2006. Disney Animation’s Oscar®-nominated feature “Bolt” marked Howard’s debut as a feature film director (alongside Chris Williams). Howard also designed some of the characters in that film. Howard loves the collaborative medium of animation because it combines art, cinematography, writing, design, acting and music with a family of supportive and talented artists and crew. Team members inspire each other to achieve something greater than they could alone. In addition to his lifelong passion for animation and a career spanning over 20 years, Howard’s interests include art, music, theater, travel and a deep love for animals.
“I’ve dreamed all my life of making rom coms in the vein of Lubitsch, Wilder, and Sturges,” says director David Freyne. “I adore that era when people believed rom coms could say everything, could be the deepest films, no matter how feathery their touch. And here was my chance. Eternity might be set in the afterlife, but what mattered to me is the characters are caught up in conflicts that feel very human and very true to our experiences.”
“My goal in expanding on Mason Deaver’s novel into a cinematic universe was to examine how acts of love, compassion, and service towards family—chosen and blood—could either endanger a child or embolden them to flourish, to offer audiences a contained and simple character study on becoming. It was important for me to tell this story authentically and not fall into the trap of dramatising Ben’s gender or coming out too much. Viewing anybody solely through the lens of their gender or sexuality diminishes their vast and complex humanity,” says writer-director Tommy Dorfman of I Wish You The Best
Guillermo del Toro’s Frankensteinisinspired by Mary Shelley’s seminal 1818 novel of the same name. “I’ve lived with Mary Shelley’s creation all my life,” says del Toro. “For me, it’s the Bible. But I wanted to make it my own, to sing it back in a different key with a different emotion. Mary Shelley’s masterpiece is rife with questions that burn brightly in my soul: existential, tender, savage, doomed questions that only burn in a young mind and only adults and institutions believe they can answer,” del Toro explains. “For me, only monsters hold the secrets I long for.”
“Once I read the script, I jumped in. Regretting You is a coming-of-age story about relationships between parents and children growing up, like my previous films Stuck in Love and The Fault in Our Stars. I have always been, and always will be, attracted to movies about families, specifically kids discovering that their parents are fallible. That’s an important moment in anybody’s life,” says director Josh Boone.
“In the world that we live in now, people live in certain bubbles that have been enhanced by technology,” visionary director Yorgos Lanthimos says. “Having certain ideas about people is reinforced depending on which bubble you live in, creating this big chasm between people. I wanted to challenge the viewer about the things that we’re very certain about, the judgment calls that you make about certain kinds of people. Bugonia is a very interesting reflection of our society and the conflict in our contemporary world.”
“Beginning production on Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere is an incredibly humbling and thrilling journey,” says writer-director Scott Cooper. “Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Nebraska’ has profoundly shaped my artistic vision. The album’s raw, unvarnished portrayal of life’s trials and resilience resonates deeply with me. Our film aims to capture that same spirit, bringing Warren Zanes’ compelling narrative of Bruce’s life to the screen with authenticity and hope, honouring Bruce’s legacy in a transformative cinematic experience.”
“From 1985 to 1994, my mother worked for the British Board of Film Classification. Each day, she would watch a film to determine its appropriate level of censorship and then, at night, for my bedtime story, recite the plot to the movie she had seen that day. I would fall asleep, visualising these narratives, dreaming about the T-1000 or Nakatomi Plaza and then later I would get to see these characters and locations realised on celluloid. This practice spawned an inevitable life-long obsession with cinema,” says director Max Minghella, whose film Shell is a love letter to those bedtime stories.
Scott Derrickson and C. Robert Cargill
“With Black Phone 2, we were able to keep building on characters rooted in our own childhoods and what it was like growing up in the ’70s and ‘80s,” says writer-producer C. Robert Cargill. “We have been through a lot together and are as close personally as we are professionally. What keeps it creatively fulfilling is the material, of course. It is always about telling a good story. That drives everything,” says writer-producer-director Scott Derrickson.
“I wanted to design something new, but familiar,” says Norwegian-born director Joachim Rønning about TRON Ares. “What drew me to the project was the mix of the digital and real worlds. Having a Program exist in the real world was interesting for me – I hadn’t seen that before. And the idea of Ares finding out what it means to be human, what it takes to be human, was fascinating.”
There was something really complicated about Mark Kerr that I wanted to explore,” says writer-director / editor Benny Safdie of The Smashing Game. “And there was something about Dwayne, too. He has this image of himself out in the public, but as he spoke to me about Mark, and as he talked about this movie, oh my God! I realised there was a whole other side to him that we could explore together.”
“I believe that the strongest case of the theatrical experience can be made with horror films. We all seek the therapeutic experience of facing our worst, darkest, most secret terrors in the safe environment of a movie theatre,” says director Renny Harlin of The Strangers – Chapter 2. “We can scream, cry, hide our eyes, or even laugh at the uncontrollable and life-threatening scenes that unfold in front of us. In a movie theatre, it is all a communal experience.”
“Our past absolutely defines everything we do in the present. We can’t help it. We’re made by the events of our past, so there’s no escaping it,” says writer-director Andrew Haig, an English filmmaker known for his emotionally resonant, quietly radical storytelling that often explores intimacy, memory, and queer identity. “I am fascinated by that person who is trying to live authentically, but they are on the outside of society—so how do they manage in the world around them?”
“I started working on One Battle After Another 20 years ago to write an action car-chase movie, and I returned to it every two or three years. At the same time, this was in the early 2000s, I had the notion to adapt Thomas Pynchon’s Vineland, a book about the 1960s, which he wrote in the `80s. So, I was trying to decide what the story meant another 20 years later. So really for 20 years I had been pulling on all these different threads. Vineland was going to be hard to adapt. Instead, I stole the parts that really resonated with me and started putting all these ideas together. With his blessing,” says writer-director-producer Paul Thomas Anderson.
“As a kid growing up in the 80s and 90s, the buddy cop genre and road movies were more popular than ever before, and they had a major influence on me when it came to the kind of films I wanted to make. Like a lot of people, I was charmed by the idea of taking two individuals from different walks of life and forcing them together. As soon as my agents sent me the script of London Calling, I was all in. It took the best elements of the buddy genre, stuffed it into a road movie, and encompassed themes of family, aging, and identity,” says director Allan Ungar
“Over the course of my career, I’ve tried to bounce around different genres and stories, but they always seem to retain one common denominator – characters that are simply trying their best to do the right thing. I find there to be such a beautiful dignity to it. I felt like I had an idea of what I was going to be getting from a movie called The Threesome and then was given something much more sophisticated, tender and nuanced,” says director Chad Hartigan.
“I’m one of those guys who usually loves the book and hates the movie—so with The Long Walk we had to find a way to be really, really loyal to the DNA of the story,” says screenwriter JT Mollner. “What makes it special is this hint of nihilism, but then a tiny bit of hope—this weird amalgamation of things that Stephen King was obviously feeling as a young man. This disillusionment with America, and him creating this sort of hyperbolic version of it.”
“The real challenge is in structure,” says writer Julian Fellowes about writing Downton Abbey. “When you have a series, you don’t have to give every character a story every week. You can have different emphases. Whereas in a film, everyone has to have their crack at the whip. Everyone has to have an active part in the story.”
“In my movies, if there’s a real case, I’m going to do a deep dive into it, and meet and talk to as many people involved as I can,” says Director / Executive Producer Michael Chaves of The Conjuring: Last Rites. “There’s also obviously research into the period—in The Nun II, I went through all kinds of great 1950s photography that we leaned into as we were making the film. So, we looked at the period, but I also did a lot of Zoom interviews with the four Smurl sisters. Talking to them about their experience was really powerful.”
“Together is a film about the potential horror of sharing a life with someone; the lingering anxieties of commitment writ large. It’s about co-dependency, monogamy, romances and resentments — and that at a certain point, can we truly tell where one life ends and our other half’s begins? What draws me into a project is finding a one-off, hooky premise, and squeezing that premise for all its juice. Despite the personally resonant and (hopefully) realistically observed characters at the centre of this story, I am so proud how we escalate the horror into things I’ve never seen before on screen, ” says writer-director Michael Shanks.
For Charlie Huston, Caught Stealing isn’t just a darkly humorous heist story— it’s a project that’s near and dear to their heart. “I wrote this book way back in 1998, the year the story is set in,” they say. “There’s a ton of my own lived experience in the story’s main character. When Darren Aronofsky reached out to me 18 years ago to say that he was interested in the book, it was super exciting. I loved the idea of Darren taking his visual sensibility and the dynamism of his storytelling and applying it to this story.”
Tony McNamara believes one of the best things about being a screenwriter is seeing your words brought to life by the people playing the characters you have spent so long imagining in your head. When it came to The Roses, that first day on set was perhaps one of the best. “We wanted to make a very smart adult comedy that goes dark. And I feel like there haven’t been that many of those for a while,” says McNamara. “And we wanted to make a really good comedy about marriage that also had a good heart about how hard that is. We wanted to make something that people could relate to. I know we all did.”
“I’ve always liked Superman. I think as a kid I was really attracted to the Superman family comics, with Superman and Supergirl and Krypto and the whole gang. It was at a time when I was starting to become more aware of how important films were to me in my life, and that was different from how important films were to other people in their lives,” says writer/director/producer James Gunn.
“When I’m writing, I have a rule for myself—I don’t want to know what’s going to happen at all. I always just start. So, I sat down to write what would become this movie, and the first thing I type is this little girl telling a story and these kids who go running out of the house. And I’m thinking as I’m writing, “This is cool. I hope I figure this out.” And I didn’t really figure it out until it was time in the script to answer that question. Basically, I’m writing on a tightrope, hoping that it is revealed to me. Luckily, in this case, it was. But I was just writing to get this feeling out, and it ended up turning into Weapons. I think when I wrote Barbarian, it was kind of a similar thing. I sat down and started writing for the fun of it, without any idea of what it was going to be,” says writer-director Zach Cregger
Filmmaker & Writer Vault
Films listed alphabetically. Click on title to read more about how the films were written and made.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Avatar: Fire and Ash – James Cameron’s War of Worlds
Legendary filmmaker James Cameron transports audiences back to the breathtaking world of Pandora with Avatar: Fire and Ash
“This film definitely delivers something fresh and new. I think where it’s unexpected is that it’s very truthful, very authentic about the emotional consequences of the things that happened in ‘The Way of Water.’” says James Cameron
The screenplay for “Avatar: Fire and Ash” is once again written by director/producer James Cameron & Rick Jaffa & Amanda Silver. Jaffa and Silver, both writing partners and partners in real life, have written and produced the “Planet of the Apes” trilogy and “Jurassic World.”
The first film in the phenomenally successful franchise, “Avatar,” opened in 2009, thrilling fans with the dazzling worlds brought to life on screen, and grossing more than $2.9 billion worldwide, becoming the highest-grossing film of all time. It received Oscar® nominations for best picture, directing, editing, score, sound mixing, and sound editing, and won for cinematography, visual effects, and art direction. The film was also honored with Golden Globe Awards® for best motion picture (drama) and best director.
Thirteen years later, in 2022, “Avatar: The Way of Water” opened, continuing the compelling stories of the beloved characters and the narrative thread that ties their stories together. The film captivated moviegoers once again, grossing more than $2.3 billion worldwide and winning an Oscar® for best achievement in visual effects.
Avatar (2009), directed by James Cameron, introduced audiences to the lush alien world of Pandora, where former Marine Jake Sully becomes part of the Na’vi people and fights to protect their land from human exploitation. Its sequel, Avatar: The Way of Water (2022), picks up over a decade later, following Jake and Neytiri as they raise a family and seek refuge with the ocean-dwelling Metkayina clan when a familiar threat returns. The film deepens the saga’s themes of environmentalism, family, and survival, while showcasing groundbreaking underwater visuals and expanding the emotional scope of the story.
The story picks up a few weeks after the events of “Avatar: The Way of Water.” The Sully family is still living amongst the Metkayina Clan in the picturesque reefs of Pandora, but is learning to adjust to life without Neteyam (Jamie Flatters), who was killed in a brutal skirmish with the “Sky People” from the RDA (Resources Development Administration). Jake (Sam Worthington), Neytiri (Zoe Saldaña), Lo’ak (Britain Dalton), Tuk (Trinity Jo-Li Bliss), Spider (Jack Champion), and Kiri (Sigourney Weaver) are each dealing with the loss in their own way.
The incredibly talented team of artisans helping Cameron bring the breathtaking world of Pandora to life – many with whom his creative relationships date back to “Avatar” and have evolved significantly over the past 16 years – includes Oscar®-winning director of photography Russell Carpenter, ASC (“Titanic”); production designers Dylan Cole (“Maleficent”) and Ben Procter (“Ender’s Game”); editors Stephen Rivkin, ACE (“Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest”), Nicolas de Toth, ACE (“X-Men Origins: Wolverine”), John Refoua, ACE (“Transformers: The Last Knight”), Jason Gaudio (“Blackhat”), James Cameron, ACE; five-time Academy Award®-winning senior visual effects supervisor Joe Letteri (“King Kong,” “The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King”); Lightstorm’s two-time Oscar-winning visual effects supervisor/virtual second unit director Richard Baneham (“Alita: Battle Angel”); Wētā FX’s Academy Award-winning senior visual effects supervisor Eric Saindon (“I, Robot”); Wētā FX senior animation supervisor Daniel Barrett (“War for the Planet of the Apes”); Wētā FX – VFX producer Nicky Muir (“Black Panda; Wakanda Forever”); GRAMMY Award®-winning composer Simon Franglen (“Titanic”); Oscar-winning costume designer Deborah L. Scott (“Titanic”); and casting director Margery Simkin (“Top Gun”).
The sound design team on “Avatar: Fire and Ash” includes supervising sound editors Gwendolyn Yates Whittle and Brent Burge, re-recording mixers Gary Summers, Michael Hedges, and Alexis Feodoroff, and production sound mixer Julian Howarth, all of whom worked on “Avatar: The Way of Water.” The majority of the sound team is based in New Zealand, but a handful work from Skywalker Sound in Northern California.
According to Jamie Landau, “Jim Cameron, the filmmaker, is so incredibly passionate about every aspect of the film. There is not a single thing in any department that he’s not going to have an opinion on, and it’s going to be the right opinion because this has all been born out of his mind. And that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s always going to be right on the first go. But he is very open to hearing other opinions from the heads of departments that he trusts…as long as you have a really good explanation behind your belief and you are able to articulate that, he is open to change. He is an excellent collaborator and an excellent leader.”
“On ‘Avatar,’ we thought of New Zealand as our second home, but it might actually be our first home now,” says Sanchini. “Jim is now officially a New Zealand citizen. Filming there has been absolutely fantastic. The crews have been great, and the people are lovely to deal with. Wētā, our primary visual effects house, is, of course, based there, so it makes all the communication between Jim, who lives in Wellington, and the supervisors at Wētā much more fluid and immediate. And Stone Street Studios, where we film live action, is practically in the heart of Wellington.”
Perfecting The Art Of Performance Capture
“’Avatar’ movies are not made by computers,” says director/co-writer/producer James Cameron. “’Avatar’ films are made by an incredibly talented team of people – especially our actors – who physically perform every scene. I worked with my cast on ‘The Way of Water’ and ‘Fire and Ash’ for almost 18 months. Every expression, every movement, every emotional beat comes from their real performances. And once we have that captured, our artists work tirelessly to bring those characters – and the entire world – to life.”
In discussing the actor’s role on a virtual camera stage, Sam Worthington says, “You are basically wearing a suit and a mask of dots, and they are captured by hundreds of infrared cameras. So, anything that you do, anything that you say, anything that you feel, anywhere you look, how you are, it’s translated using those dots into the system. Now, whether it’s us or a stunt guy jumping into the water or flying on a creature or crying when their son dies, it is all us, and it is all true. And the more the technology has improved, the more subtle we can do our performances. So even me just standing there breathing and thinking, that is going to translate through the system, and there’s not one thing that is added to my performance.”
The actor-driven nature of performance capture technology is the driving force behind the “Avatar” films, and their success is often attributed to its pioneering use of this technique, which enables the fictional world and its characters to come alive in a literal sense. It is a technique that uses movements and facial expressions to drive the performance of photorealistic computer-generated characters. In each of the “Avatar” films, it has played a crucial role in bringing the Na’vi and other fantastical creatures to life.
Cameron and his phenomenally talented team use cutting-edge technology to translate the nuanced expressions and physicality of the actors into the digital world of Pandora. By capturing the subtle emotional cues and movements of the performers, the technology allows for photoreal lifelike characters, enhancing the immersive experience for viewers. Every nuance of the actors’ physical and facial performances faithfully drives their CG counterparts, such that every minute detail of their performance is translated faithfully into these fantastical CGI alien characters.
“Everything from the most intimate dramatic moments to our biggest stunts and underwater movement is all done for real,” explains co-producer Jamie Landau. “In the past, there has been a misconception that these films are animated, which they are definitely not. In fact, we were doing performance capture for 18 months.”
Jon Landau explains, “Jim Cameron wrote ‘Avatar’ in 1995. The technology at the time did not exist to tell the story the way we wanted to tell it. When I say that to people, a lot of people think I’m talking about 3D, but it has nothing to do with 3D. It had to do with putting up emotional and engaging characters on the screen that we wanted to do using computer-generated effects. So, the challenge became, how could we create – for a director like Jim Cameron – the same intimacy where he could work with a cast, but create computer-generated characters playing in the world of Pandora? The technology did not exist. We looked at the landscape of what people were doing with what they called motion capture, and it was promising, but it missed one key letter in front of it for us: an e for emotion capture. And we turned that first into performance capture when we started to capture the facial performance at the same time as the body. We then turned that into virtual production, where we put a camera in Jim Cameron’s hands and he could see the character, not the person who was standing in front of him, but their Na’vi or avatar character, and when he would look across the barren stage that we were on, he didn’t see the barren stage. He saw the world of Pandora. It was now a filmmaker’s tool in a very acting-centric process. That did not exist. We needed to create all of the technologies to do that.”
Jon Landau continues, “Whenever we do performance capture, we shoot reference footage of the actors. We’ll sometimes shoot up to 16 cameras at one time. This reference footage is first used by the editors to see the performances. They’ll take a sixteen-quadrant split, where we see all sixteen images, then they will blow up one image to see the subtlety of a performance that an actor gave in order for them to pick the best performances. That reference footage stays behind the scenes throughout the entire process. When we turn over a template to our visionary colleagues at Wētā, we give them reference footage, and once they start working on the animation, they do a picture-in-picture all the time with that reference footage to make sure that their animated character is accurately doing what the actor did on the day.”
“At this point in time, nobody does the visual effects capture finishing work better than Wētā, and that is because of that iterative relationship between the production and the visual effects house with the technology and creative feeding back and forth,” says Sanchini, “And we’ve developed a real shorthand. Sometimes it is hard to explain exactly why a shot isn’t working, why a face doesn’t look natural, or why it’s not moving in the right way, and it took years to develop that shorthand for them all to see the same things, to understand how to address it. And on this film, everyone is on the same page at all times.”
Cameron and the editorial team select the best performances for each moment of a given scene, and then use a virtual camera to create the specific shots. The virtual camera allows Cameron to shoot scenes within the computer-generated world, just as if he were filming on a physical location or soundstage. With this virtual camera, he sees the actors as their 9-foot-tall blue characters in Pandora.
Once the virtual camera shots are edited into cut sequences, the shots and performances are delivered to the visual effects experts at Peter Jackson’s Academy Award®-winning visual effects powerhouse Wētā FX in New Zealand. With “Avatar: Fire and Ash,” there are 3,382 visual effects shots.
JAMES CAMERON (Director/Co-Writer/Producer/Editor) is an acclaimed filmmaker and explorer. As director, writer, and producer, he is responsible for some of the most memorable films of the past three decades: “The Terminator,” “Aliens,” “The Abyss,” “Terminator 2: Judgment Day,” “True Lies,” “Titanic,” and “Avatar.”
“Avatar” is the highest-grossing film in history with more than $2.8 billion in global box office, beating the previous record holder, Cameron’s own film “Titanic,” which held that record for 12 years. Cameron’s films have also earned numerous nominations and awards, most notably “Titanic’s” 14 Academy Award® nominations (a record) and 11 Oscars® (also a record), including Cameron’s own three Oscars® for Best Picture, Best Direction, and Best Editing. Both “Titanic” and “Avatar” won the Golden Globe® for Best Director and Best Picture. “Avatar” was nominated for nine Academy Awards® and won three.
Cameron returned to the world of Pandora in “Avatar: The Way of Water, which is set more than a decade after the events of the first film and continues the adventures of the Sully family. The film was released in 2022 and grossed more than $2.3 billion worldwide, winning an Academy Award® for best achievement in visual effects.
Over the last 17 years, Cameron developed cutting-edge 3D camera systems for movies and documentaries, as well as for broadcast sports and special events. He was at the vanguard of the 3D renaissance that has transformed the movie industry in recent years. He also developed unprecedented deep ocean exploration vehicles, lighting, and 3D camera equipment. Most recently, Cameron led his eighth deep ocean expedition to some of the deepest trenches in the world. On March 26, 2012, he set the world’s solo deep diving record of 35,787’ in the Challenger Deep in a vehicle of his own design.
Cameron is a National Geographic Explorer in Residence and a recipient of their most prestigious award, the Hubbard Medal, as well as the Explorer’s Club medal for Explorer of the Year. Cameron is also passionately involved in sustainability issues, having founded the Avatar Alliance Foundation to take action on climate change, energy policy, deforestation, indigenous rights, ocean conservation, and sustainable agriculture.
His production company, Lightstorm Entertainment, installed a one-megawatt solar array on the roofs of its soundstages at Manhattan Beach Studios to generate all the power for the “Avatar” sequels. James and Suzy Amis Cameron, both environmental vegans, founded the Plant Power Taskforce to promote awareness of the impact of animal agriculture on the environment and climate.
RICK JAFFA (Screenplay by/Story by) has collaborated with his wife and partner, Amanda Silver, for more than 30 years. Together they’ve written and produced some of the biggest and most lucrative movies in Hollywood cinema history, with a collective worldwide box office of over $6 billion.
“Avatar: Fire and Ash,” which they co-wrote with James Cameron, is scheduled for release December 19, 2025. It is a follow-up to “Avatar: The Way of Water,” which they also co-wrote, which was released in December 2022.
Recently, they produced “Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes,” the fourth installation in the rebooted “Planet of the Apes” franchise, which was released in May 2024. Their script for the live-action version of the Disney animated film “Mulan,” directed by Niki Caro, was released on Disney+ in 2020. In 2015, they co-wrote the worldwide blockbuster “Jurassic World.”
In 2011, the duo created, wrote, and produced the hit “Rise of the Planet of the Apes,” which earned an Oscar® nomination for its groundbreaking visual effects and successfully rebooted the “Planet of the Apes” franchise. In 2014, they co-wrote and produced the sequel, “Dawn of the Planet of the Apes.” The third installment, “War for the Planet of the Apes,” which they produced, was released in 2014.
A native of DeSoto, Texas, Jaffa graduated from Southern Methodist University with a degree in history and political science. He later earned his MBA at the University of Southern California. Jaffa began his entertainment career in the mailroom of the William Morris Agency. He became the executive assistant to legendary agent Stan Kamen, who was then head of the motion-picture department. Later, as an agent, Jaffa represented writers and directors who created such diverse films as 1987’s “RoboCop” and 1985’s “The Trip to Bountiful.”
He began collaborating with Silver as an executive producer on “The Hand That Rocks the Cradle,” which she scripted. They then co-wrote “Eye for an Eye” and “The Relic.”
AMANDA SILVER (Screenplay by/Story by) has teamed with husband Rick Jaffa for over 30 years. Together they’ve written and produced some of the biggest and most lucrative movies in Hollywood Cinema history, with a collective worldwide box office of over $6 billion.
“Avatar: Fire and Ash,” which they co-wrote with James Cameron, is scheduled for release December 19, 2025. It is a follow-up to “Avatar: The Way of Water,” which they also co-wrote, which was released in December 2022.
Recently, they produced “Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes,” the fourth installation in the rebooted “Planet of the Apes” franchise, which was released in May 2024. Their script for the live-action version of the Disney animated film “Mulan,” directed by Niki Caro, was released on Disney+ in 2020. In 2015, they co-wrote the worldwide blockbuster “Jurassic World,” which has grossed more than $1.6 billion worldwide.
In 2011, the duo wrote and produced the hit “Rise of the Planet of the Apes,” which earned an Oscar® nomination for its groundbreaking visual effects and successfully rebooted the “Planet of the Apes” franchise. In 2014, they co-wrote and produced the sequel, “Dawn of the Planet of the Apes.” The third installment, “War for the Planet of the Apes,” which they produced, was released in 2014.
Silver grew up in New York City and received her BA in history from Yale University before moving to Los Angeles. She was an executive assistant at TriStar and Paramount Pictures before enrolling at the University of Southern California, where she earned an MFA in screenwriting.
Silver’s thesis script was the thriller “The Hand That Rocks the Cradle,” which went on to be a hit in 1992 and began her collaboration with Jaffa, who executive-produced the film. She followed the next year with a Cable ACE Award-winning episode of “Fallen Angels,” directed by Alfonso Cuarón. Silver and Jaffa then co-wrote such films as “Eye for an Eye” and “The Relic.”
SHANE SALERNO (Story by) has written, co-written, or rewritten six films that debuted at No. 1 at the box office, two separate films that were the highest-grossing films of the year (1998 and 2022), and the third-highest-grossing film of all time.
His day job is serving as the founder and chief creative officer of The Story Factory, a film and publishing company. In that capacity, he has been a primary force in developing and placing 33 books on the New York Times bestseller list, with seven No. 1 New York Times bestsellers. The most recent No. 1 New York Times bestseller from The Story Factory is “Eruption,” a novel begun by Michael Crichton before his passing and finished by James Patterson. He is also producing the Sony film adaptation with Sherri Crichton and James Patterson.
Salerno serves as executive producer of the forthcoming “Heat 2,” written, produced, and directed by Michael Mann, based on the No. 1 New York Times bestseller written by Mann and Meg Gardiner that Salerno launched globally in partnership with Harper Collins. He is also the producer of “Crime 101” (written and directed by Bart Layton), which comes out in February 2026, starring Chris Hemsworth, Halle Berry, Mark Ruffalo, Monica Barbaro, Jennifer Jason Leigh, and Nick Nolte, and one of the producers of “Drowning: The Rescue of Flight 1421,” which Paul Greengrass is directing.
Salerno has written screenplays for James Cameron, Steven Spielberg, Ridley Scott, Michael Mann, John Singleton, Jan DeBont, Wolfgang Petersen, Ron Howard, William Friedkin, Michael Bay, and Christopher Nolan, among others. In addition to “Avatar: The Way of Water” and “Avatar: Fire and Ash,” Salerno’s screenwriting credits include “Armageddon,” directed by Michael Bay and produced by Jerry Bruckheimer, “Savages,” directed by three-time Oscar® winner Oliver Stone, which he also executive produced, and “Shaft,” directed by John Singleton.
“Avatar Fire and Ash” is Salerno’s second project with James Cameron this year. They recently reunited on the non-fiction book “Ghost of Hiroshima” written by Charles Pellegrino, which became a New York Times and USA Today bestseller. Salerno is currently working with Quentin Tarantino and author Jay Glennie on an authorized ten-volume coffee table book series about each of Tarantino’s films, the first of which, “The Making of Once Upon a Time in Hollywood,” has just been released.
In television, Salerno began his career straight out of high school on “NYPD Blue,” working as an apprentice under nine-time Emmy® winner Gregory Hoblit, David Milch, and Steven Bochco, and then became a staff writer at twenty-one on Dick Wolf’s Fox TV series “New York Undercover.” He went on to serve as the executive producer of “The Comey Rule,” starring Jeff Daniels, which debuted as the highest rated limited-series in Showtime’s history and was nominated for two Golden Globes®, writer and consulting producer of “Hawaii Five 0,” and the co-creator/executive producer and showrunner of NBC’s “UC: Undercover,” which began a nearly 30-year collaboration with acclaimed novelist Don Winslow.
Salerno also wrote, produced, and directed the documentary “Salinger,” about J.D. Salinger, which premiered as the 200th anniversary installment of PBS’s “American Masters,” and co-wrote the non-fiction book “Salinger” (with David Shields), which became a New York Times bestseller. He also served as executive producer of the acclaimed documentary “Alan Pakula: Going for Truth,” directed by Matthew Mielle, which features an all-star cast including Meryl Streep, Julia Roberts, Robert Redford, Dustin Hoffman, Jane Fonda, Bob Woodward, Carl Bernstein, among many others.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Eternity – A genre-defying romantic fantasy
In Eternity, a love triangle breaks out in the least expected place: the Afterlife. From this whimsical concept blooms a bold, heart-stirring rom-com, a journey into a charming pop vision of post-earthly existence and how we take the measure of a lifetime of love and happiness.
When Larry Cutler (Miles Teller) unexpectedly passes before his wife Joan (Elizabeth Olsen), he’s shocked to awaken in a chaotic waystation, where panicked sellers hawk an endless supply of possible afterlives. Here, he learns from his assigned Afterlife Coordinator (Da’Vine Joy Randolph) that he has just one week to confront the ultimate dilemma: where, and with whom, to spend eternity. But when Joan arrives soon after him, she finds her first love Luke (Callum Turner) has been waiting in limbo for 67 years to be with her. She is faced with an impossible choice between the man she spent her life with and the man who promises her the life she could’ve lived.
The question at the heart of Eternity’s charms is what might, for each of us, give the Sweet Hereafter its irresistible sweetness. Lit by spirited performances from an irresistibly charismatic central cast, director David Freyne conjures a fresh, funny, and unabashedly romantic vision of the after world as a visually dazzling playground of human dreams and the backdrop for the biggest decision one will ever face.
The rules of this afterlife quickly become clear. Each new arrival lands, dazed and confused, at the Junction, a cross between a grand railway station, convention centre floor, and Mid-Century hotel. Appearing as the age they were at their peak happiness in life, the newly deceased are bombarded with billboards, ads, and fast-talking salespeople peddling options for perpetuity: from Man Free World to Capitalist World, Surf World to Infantilization World. But once you choose your eternal destination there’s no going back. And if you can’t choose, you must take a service job in the Junction, residing in a shabby studio apartment until you’re ready to move on.
Visions of celestial realms of one sort or the other have long drawn ambitious filmmakers, from Ernst Lubitsch and Powell & Pressburger to Warren Beatty and Albert Brooks. In Eternity, Freyne took this history to heart, winking playfully at the many movies that have gazed upwards before. But he also took his own enchantingly handmade approach to crafting a next life that brings into focus all that we hunger for in this world. For at the heart of The Junction is an all-encompassing shopping mall, putting on offer every human obsession, pipedream, and happy ending that ever floated anyone’s boat. It’s designed to get people in and out as fast as possible.
Intensive world-building for a world that could rely on little else but uncorked imagination took Freyne to his creative edges. But his anchor for the storytelling was a light-as-clouds, tender touch with the characters at its heart.
“I loved working with this giant canvas, building the architecture of The Junction, and playing with endless possibilities for all the eternities,” says Freyne. “But I never lost sight of the fact that what I most wanted to do is to celebrate love in its many forms, to look at how our idea of love changes over time, and to take you into the impossible choice of a woman torn between two men who at different times meant everything to her. I had the chance to say everything I ever wanted to say about love and life.”
Elizabeth Olsen, Miles Teller, Callum Turner. Credit: Leah Gallo
From the Ether to the Black List
In 2022, Patrick Cunnane’s script for Eternity shot to the top of Hollywood’s famed Black List of the best-loved screenplays not yet produced. Cunnane’s take on a fanciful afterlife outpost that closely mirrored our own earthly matters was a hugely entertaining read, with two moving love stories in a tug-of-war at its core. Yet this elegant romantic fable had obvious obstacles. For one, it was that rare story requiring an absolute totality of vision to even get it off the ground.
To his surprise, that vision came to Freyne instantaneously. The Irish writer and director had come to the fore with the acclaimed coming-of-age comedy Dating Amber. But he’d never approached anything remotely on the inventive scale of Eternity. “I had an instinctual and emotional reaction to the essence of the story, which sent my brain into overdrive,” Freyne recalls.
From there, sheer exuberance took over. “Right off the bat, I had this complete idea of The Junction as a bureaucratic Brutalist hub that encased a chaotic tourism expo of eternities. All surrounded by painted backdrops,” Freyne remembers. “All manner of ideas came flooding in… it all was weirdly crystal clear.”
Freyne continues: “I imagined it as this intense pressure cooker of an environment to enhance the anguish of Joan’s impossible decision. For me, it was vital that for Joan, however daunting the choice, there truly is no right or wrong. There is no good guy or bad guy. I love the idea of the audience arguing over whether she made the right choice or not.”
Though sceptical of the notion, Freyne admits it felt like Fate with a capital F. “I’ve dreamed all my life of making rom coms in the vein of Lubitsch, Wilder, and Sturges,” he says. “I adore that era when people believed rom coms could say everything, could be the deepest films, no matter how feathery their touch. And here was my chance. Eternity might be set in the afterlife, but what mattered to me is the characters are caught up in conflicts that feel very human and very true to our experiences.”
Still, Freyne had his doubts that producers Trevor and Tim White would entrust the film’s grand scope to “a little Irish indie filmmaker.” As it turned out, the White brothers were so enamoured by his ideas they eagerly handed him the creative reigns. “Trevor, Tim, and Pat were incredibly gracious in inviting me on as a co-writer and director,” says Freyne. “No matter the oddities I brought in or how foundational the changes, they put their entire might behind me, and that was an insane boost of confidence.”
As Freyne completed a rewrite and dove into an elaborate design phase, a further boost of confidence came as actors started reacting to the script. Miles Teller, acclaimed for work ranging from the intense drama of Whiplash to blockbuster Top Gun: Maverick, was inspired to switch to a new gear to embody Larry Cutler’s humble bid to win over his spouse all over again.
“Eternity was one of the funniest scripts I’ve read in my life, and that got me excited,” Teller recalls. “It’s been a minute since I’ve done comedy, and I’d forgotten just how freeing the form can be at its most creative. But this is one of those comedies that also has poetic, beautiful scenes dealing with life, love, and loss, and for me that was a powerful combination.”
Elizabeth Olsen, award-winning in Martha Marcy May Marlene and known worldwide as Marvel superhero the Scarlet Witch, felt her own heartbeat accelerating in the face of Joan’s impossible choice.
“This is not your ordinary love triangle, because Joan has to make a decision about love outside all the normal framing of earthly time and circumstances,” Olsen notes. “Her decision is truly about forever this time, and I was so drawn to that dilemma. And I also just loved that David wanted to bring these characters into the most beautifully cinematic world of imagination.”
The runaway potential for creativity was also a lure for Callum Turner, the charismatic young lead seen in Masters of the Air, The Capture, and the Fantastic Beasts series. “Eternity is a visually amazing, sparkling comedy that takes its characters on an emotional journey,” Turner, says. “This is the kind of movie everyone loves but, people say, ‘no one makes anymore.’”
Pat Cunnane served in President Obama’s White House for six years, including as his Senior Writer and Deputy Director of Messaging. In 2017, Pat transitioned from writing for the real White House to a fake one on ABC’s Designated Survivor. Since then, Pat has set up features at many studios and had multiple scripts land on The Black List, including Eternity. It was recently announced that Pat and Miles Teller will re-team with Star Thrower for Winter Games at Paramount, which will see Teller star opposite Hailee Steinfeld. Pat has additional feature projects at Sony, Netflix, Amazon, and Artists Equity. On the TV side, Pat has current pilots at Netflix, Amazon, and NBC. He wrote a memoir, West Winging It, which was published by Gallery Books (Simon & Schuster). Pat lives just outside Philadelphia with his wife Stephanie, whom he met in second grade, and their daughters, Ella and Kaya.
David Freyne is a writer and director from Ireland. Following a degree in English and Philosophy, David did a Film Studies Masters in UCD where he focused on Production Design. Although his passion was always for writing and directing. David made several award-winning short films, including The Man In 301, Passing, and The Tree. His first feature was The Cured, starring Elliot Page. The film screened at TIFF, London Film Festival, Sitges, as well as winning Best Horror Feature at Fantastic Fest. David’s follow up is the acclaimed comedy drama, Dating Amber, starring Sharon Horgan. This semi-autobiographical film received numerous awards including the Audience Award at NewFest and the Pink News Best Feature Film, as well 2 IFTA awards. He is currently adapting it for the stage. David’s latest film is the high-concept romantic comedy, Eternity, for A24. It stars Elizabeth Olsen, Miles Teller, Callum Turner, and Da’Vine Joy Randolph.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Frankenstein: A Conversation with Guillermo del Toro
From Oscar-winning filmmaker Guillermo del Toro comes Frankenstein, the definitive retelling of Mary Shelley’s genre-defining novel of life and death — an epic drama about what it means to be human, to crave love, and seek understanding.
Golden Globe-winner Oscar Isaac plays the brilliant but tortured scientist Victor Frankenstein, who embarks on an ego-driven quest to bring new life into this world, resulting in the Creature (Jacob Elordi), whose very existence provokes questions about what it means to be a human and what it really means to be a monster. This sprawling epic takes audiences from the remote reaches of the Arctic to the bloody battlefields of 19th-century Europe, as Frankenstein and his Creature go on their own search for meaning in a world that can seem quite mad.
Pinocchio and Frankenstein were defining stories for you, and you’ve now made these two films in immediate succession. What does that represent for you both on a personal level and as an artist? DEL TORO: Certain books and stories become part of your DNA. Two of the closest things to me are Pinocchio and Frankenstein. This movie, I wanted to do before I even had a camera, before I even knew how to direct. When I saw Boris Karloff crossing the threshold as a kid [in Universal’s 1931 adaptation of Frankenstein], to me, it was a religious moment because everything I thought about Catholic imagery made sense. I thought, “This is a supernatural thing, and that’s me. That is who I am. That’s why I don’t fit.” I ended up making them basically back-to-back at a time when I lost my father and I lost my mother, and I really had to wonder about who I am because you become nobody’s child. The fact that that happened made them both deeper.
In adapting Mary Shelley’s novel, were there specific elements of the text you wanted to hone in on? How did you approach writing the script?
DEL TORO: The book has a lot of anxiety, the anxiety that you get when you’re an adolescent and you don’t understand why everybody lies about the world. The book has that fidgety sort of energy. It wants to question capitalism. It wants to question, “Who am I? Why am I here? What did God send me? What is my purpose? What is the world?” I wanted to capture that anxiety. I tried to absorb the style of dialogue and the themes. A lot of the dialogue [in the film] is entirely original, but it has the patois and the rhythms of Mary Shelley. When English is your second language, you are trained very acutely to the melody and the rhythms of a language. It has a particular rhythm, the dialogue in the book. I tried to make the dialogue be like that without sounding archaic. Mary Shelley, when she wrote Frankenstein, it was not a period piece. It was a modern book, so I didn’t want you to see a pastel-colored period piece. I wanted Victor to be dressed like Mick Jagger in Soho in 1970. I wanted the wardrobe to be luscious and full of colour, and the sets to be a little too colourful and to colour-code everything very carefully. Adapting, I say, is like marrying a widow, right? You have to respect the memory of the late husband, but on Saturdays, you’ve got to get some action. So, you have to take the book and make it yours. Otherwise, why are you doing it?
How did you approach the character of Victor? He’s far from a conventional hero. DEL TORO: If you look at my movies all the way to Nightmare Alley, I have very distinct villains and heroes. Like all tyrants, Victor believes himself to be a victim. Everybody who is a tyrant loves being a victim: “Poor me,” and in the meantime, they’re destroying everybody’s life. That’s Victor. But everybody in the movie has a failing and a lack. I love that. They all need love, because that’s the only answer, right? I think it’s a very tender movie. For me, it’s a melodrama and a drama. I don’t see it in terms of a horror movie.
You mentioned that you carefully colour-coded the movie. Could you explain some of the symbolism we see on screen? DEL TORO: The idea for me is that childhood is black and white and red — the mother and the home are red. So if Victor loses that, that’s the colour that should haunt him. The rest of the movie, he’s the only character that wears red — red gloves, red scarf. His childhood is lacking colour. Was his childhood like that? I don’t think it was. I don’t think his father came in with a billowing cape, like a villain out of a horror movie, but that’s the way he remembers it. The childhood is shot the way he remembers because he’s telling the story — and he lies. He lies to himself and the audience. I start [work on the colour palette] before the movie [goes into production]. I hire a few people, and we take a deep dive into the shapes and colours. We do a huge mood board. We say, “These are the colours that are coding the movie.” Directing is directing all those elements to tell the same story, so you don’t feel wardrobe pulling one way and architecture pulling another. These are not isolated ideas that occur at the same time. This is a symphony. You are directing an opera, and you are leading to the same emotional point.
You went to great lengths to build sprawling physical sets and to visit real-world locations, to capture as much in-camera as possible. Why? DEL TORO: I wanted the movie to test the capabilities of every single craft in moviemaking. There are huge sets, huge props, and a complex wardrobe. I wanted it to feel like an old movie that was made in the heyday of Hollywood. I want it to be luscious and beautiful and operatic. I said, “I’m not going to do VFX on the ship. I want a real ship and when the Creature moves it, I want the Creature to move it.” So we mounted it on a mechanical gimbal. That ship is a huge feat.
Most people would now build 20 feet of the ship, and the rest would be digital, but we wanted to make it a very dramatic, romantic declaration of an image. You open with that, you’re in the movie. You’re in the spirit of Mary Shelley. The one thing you know in this movie is that everything was created, and most of it was handmade. You have real puppets, real giant ships moving, real sets, real locations. We travelled a caravan of people for hours and hours to find one room that looked the right way. Everything has a curation and a dedication and a passion that is very uncommon in films these days. We wanted to make an old-fashioned, beautiful production of operatic scale made by humans.
How did that philosophy apply to the design of the Creature overseen by designer and prosthetics expert Mike Hill? The two of you share a deep and abiding love for this character. DEL TORO: Mike and I are Frankenstein heads. I have a whole room [in my home] dedicated to Frankenstein, and Mike builds the things that are in my room for Frankenstein. We are groupies. We know every scar, every hair, every wrinkle. We started many, many months, years [in advance] to plan it. We knew we wanted it to be beautiful and otherworldly. I wanted it to be like a marble statue; I wanted the head to remind the people of those phrenology heads. Mike started sculpting, and I would come in and draw over the sculpture. I think the creature is remarkable because the makeup needs to tell you that he’s made of pieces. Why is he made of pieces? That’s one thing I wanted to know. Because really, if you are Victor Frankenstein and you go to a cemetery, you grab a body, you grab a head. That’s it. But if they give you the pieces of a battlefield, then that explains why he’s putting it together like a jigsaw puzzle. He’s working with a bunch of mutilated corpses — that’s why I wanted to bring the war into it. This is a resurrected soldier out of a mass grave, basically. The makeup needed to reflect that but have a beauty. He needs to feel like a baby, and then he needs to feel like a philosopher, like a man. The growth of the Creature is one of the salient things that Mary Shelley did in the book and this movie does. We track the growth of the Creature into a man.
Having longed to make this film for so much of your life, what does it mean to you now to have completed your Frankenstein? DEL TORO: Frankenstein is the end of something. What it is, I don’t know. I didn’t plan it to be that… I was talking to [the late illustrator] Bernie Wrightson over dinner one day, and I [commented on] how his style changed after [the release of a 1983 edition of ] Frankenstein [featuring 47 of his images]. He said, when he finished that book, “I never wanted to draw another monster. I did many times, but my style didn’t have the hunger that led to Frankenstein.” I feel that. I feel it very acutely. There are elements of Frankenstein in Cronos, in The Shape of Water. Blade II is basically a Frankenstein story to me. This culminates a cycle — operatic, ornamental, camera moving very precisely — all those things [are] out the window from now on a little bit, at least is how it feels.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Anniversary – a provocative psychological thriller
Anniversary explores how even the closest family can be torn apart when inexorable social change disrupts their world and drives a wedge between them, exposing their frailties and destroying the fabric of their relationships.
The idea for Anniversary sprang equally from the head and the heart of co-writer-director Jan Komasa. “I always wanted to make a film that happens over the course of five, six, or seven years and to show the progression of lives and relationships,” he says, a storytelling puzzle that he found technically and artistically compelling.
At the same time, as the oldest of four children, Komasa — a Polish filmmaker whose 2019 drama, Corpus Christi, received an Academy Award nomination for best international feature film — was emotionally inspired by the idea of chronicling a large family’s evolution. “I was juxtaposing pictures from one Christmas with another and another, and I could see slight changes over the years,” he says of his own family. “It was always terrifying to a certain degree because this is something you have zero control over — time.”
Those two threads came together in Komasa’s vision for Anniversary, “a social apocalypse seen from the perspective of one family,” he says. “As those bonds are put in disarray, something that is seemingly coherent at the beginning becomes a mess.” He shared the concept with his agents, who felt a shock of recognition about the impact of social change on private ties — It’s something we see in our families, too,” they told Komasa. And there was only one producer they trusted to take on this provocative story: Nick Wechsler, “the No. 1 rock-and-roll producer to go to if you want someone with the guts to do something so different and so original,” Komasa says.
Wechsler, whose dozens of features include Requiem for a Dream and Magic Mike, brought on Kate Churchill (Spotlight) and Chockstone Pictures’ Steve and Paula Mae Schwartz (Wechsler’s fellow producers on The Counselor, The Road and All the Old Knives). “We became a new family,” says Komasa, and then it was time to find someone “who would take my concept and translate it into an American story,” as Anniversary was to be the director’s first English-language feature. Komasa found his storytelling partner in Lori Rosene-Gambino — an “under-discovered” talent whose work has made the film industry’s coveted Black List. “
Lori immediately caught the spirit of Anniversary, and she knew it was very nuanced,” Komasa says. “I was working with her over the pandemic, and we had many, many hours of conversations — we knew she would be passionate and meticulous, and she was.”
When he received Rosene-Gambino’s draft of the script, Komasa could see his film coming to life.
Rosene-Gambino and Komasa’s screenplay follows the Taylor family over the course of five years, from the parents’ 25th wedding anniversary to their 30th — a series of gatherings, a year or two apart, that reveal how a sweeping political and social movement, The Change, is destroying their relationships.
Writer Lori Rosene-Gambino says “The story began with an image of a seemingly perfect American family celebrating a milestone. But what happens when that celebration becomes a reckoning? Anniversary became a way for me to unpack how resentment, performance, loyalty, and belief collide behind closed doors, and how the desire to feel seen, or to belong, can turn dangerously personal.”
The Change
“It’s not a left-right thing,” producer Steve Schwartz says of The Change. “Authoritarianism is a disease that can come from anywhere. Everybody will have their own interpretation.”
“What makes the film unique is that it doesn’t moralise or take sides. This isn’t politics in the halls of power—it’s politics in our kitchens, bedrooms, and backyards. It’s about what happens when people feel unheard, unseen, or betrayed by the systems they once trusted. That disillusionment festers, warps, and finally shatters the bonds of family, revealing how the personal and the political have become impossible to separate,” says writer Lori.
Though ideas about human rights, freedom of expression, and climate change are debated among the family members, broader partisan ideologies are not. In the film’s second vignette, after Liz is seen carefully rehearsing for her introduction to Josh’s parents, Ellen is seen telling her students that she is “neither liberal or conservative. I prefer to be a free artist and nothing more — free from violence and lies.”
Even Liz, the mastermind of The Change, “is open to interpretation,” says Schwartz. “Some of the interpretations are political and some are completely apolitical. Was her attachment to Josh a ruse from the very start? Was it all just revenge against Ellen, or was it part of her strategy to advance her ideas? Was she always an extremist, or did she become more extreme from her association with extremists — or did she just crack at the end under the pressure of leading this kind of violent movement?”
For Komasa’s first English-language film, it turned out, “my Central European heritage played a big role in finding the right tone,” he says. “When discussing with the creative production team the political underpinnings of Anniversary, I always used the analogy of Polish history, in which people had the experience of living under tyrannies from the right and from the left alike.”
The idea for the altered American flag as the key visual representation of the movement arose from both its symbolic weight and its history of revisions. It would have been tricky to film the scenes with The Change flag in the United States, Churchill notes, had someone outside the production caught sight of it. “It’s a piece of cloth that people have died for,” Komasa says.
Anniversary tells a singular American story and centers on a specific family, but “the issues that this family is going through are universal at this point,” Churchill says. The Polish filmmakers, the Irish crew, and the American and British actors all could relate to the experience of seeing family and other close ties disrupted by seismic political and social shifts. Everyone on the set took ownership of the film’s mission to portray those rifts without landing in a specific place on the political spectrum.
“Audiences can expect to laugh, squirm, and maybe see pieces of their own family in the Thompsons. Anniversary is a smart, slow-burn thriller that draws you into a terrifyingly familiar home and then unravels everything you thought you knew about loyalty, love, and safety,” says Lori.
“In the industry, there’s so much disbelief that films like this can happen at all, and I’m a blessed, very lucky person to be given this chance.” says Komasa. “The 1984-like vibe that seeps into the film is the tone that makes ANNIVERSARY excitingly dystopian and thrilling, and steers it into a universal message about the ever-changing nature of reality, in which the only constant is love.”
JAN KOMASA (Director, Screenwriter) directed the Academy Award®-nominated film Corpus Christi (Best International Feature Film – Poland, 2019). Jan recently wrapped Good Boy, which will have its world premiere at TIFF 2025. Jan is attached to direct The Noise of Time with Thomas Kufus producing. Christopher Hampton penned the script based on Julian Barnes’ novel of the same name. Jan’s previous film, Corpus Christi, screened at Venice and Toronto Film Festivals prior to being nominated for an Oscar®in the category of Best International Feature Film at the 92nd (2019) Academy Awards®. It dominated the Polish Eagle Awards with 11 prizes, including Best Director, Film, and Screenplay. His previous film, The Hater, debuted in Tribeca’s 2020 Online Festival Program and won for Best Feature in the International Narrative Competition. It was released on Netflix.
LORI ROSENE-GAMBINO (Writer, Executive Producer) is a boundary-pushing writer-producer known for emotionally rich characters, bold themes, and complex, thought-provoking narratives that capture the cultural and political zeitgeist. Alongside her husband and producing partner, David Gambino (“Perry Mason,” The Judge), Lori recently sold the television series “Summer House with Swimming Pool” to Sidney Kimmel Entertainment. Based on Herman Koch’s international bestseller, the adaptation is a provocative, character-driven thriller about obsolescence, layered with biting social satire and ethical dilemmas. Together, the Gambinos are building an ambitious slate of film and television projects. The Gambinos also wrote and directed the short film Shooters, which garnered widespread media attention for its prescient subject matter and screened at numerous film festivals around the country. Lori’s work has earned industry acclaim, with screenplays featured on the prestigious Black List and recognized as a semi-finalist in the Academy Nicholl Fellowships. Her Black List script The Murderer Among Us — a riveting exploration of the making of Fritz Lang’s groundbreaking film M— was named one of Total Film’s “50 Best Available Screenplays.” A member of the Writers Guild of America West, Lori serves as a moderator on the Genre Committee and is a passionate advocate for narrative with purpose. She curates conversations at the intersection of storytelling, politics, and social conscience, and has recently moderated panels on social commentary in horror and the evolving landscape of political narratives in film and television.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Lost Bus: A Harrowing Testament to Courage, Community, and the Human Spirit
In The Lost Bus (2025), director Paul Greengrass and screenwriter Brad Ingelsby deliver a gripping survival drama that transforms a real-life act of heroism into a cinematic meditation on resilience, leadership, and the fragile bonds that hold communities together.
Based on Lizzie Johnson’s 2021 nonfiction book Paradise: One Town’s Struggle to Survive an American Wildfire, the film chronicles the extraordinary journey of Kevin McKay, a school bus driver who risked everything to save 22 children and their teachers during the 2018 Camp Fire—the deadliest wildfire in California history.
Greengrass, known for his kinetic style and documentary-like realism in films such as United 93 and Captain Phillips, brings a visceral immediacy to The Lost Bus. His direction balances suspense with intimacy, capturing both the chaos of the wildfire and the quiet heroism of ordinary people. Co-writing the screenplay with Ingelsby (Mare of Easttown), Greengrass crafts a narrative that honours the real events while exploring deeper themes of trauma, leadership, and moral courage.
The film’s inspiration—Kevin McKay’s decision to drive a school bus through flames and falling debris to save lives—serves as a powerful anchor for a story that is both specific and universal.
Matthew McConaughey stars as Kevin McKay, delivering a grounded, emotionally layered performance that eschews melodrama for quiet strength. McKay is portrayed not as a flawless hero but as a man grappling with fear, responsibility, and the weight of others’ lives. America Ferrera plays Mary Ludwig, a dedicated teacher who partners with McKay during the evacuation. Notably, McConaughey’s son Levi and his real-life mother, Kay, also appear in the film, adding layers of authenticity to the family dynamics depicted.
The film’s production was a collaborative effort between Apple Studios, Blumhouse Productions, and Comet Pictures, with Jamie Lee Curtis, Jason Blum, Brad Ingelsby, and Gregory Goodman serving as producers. Cinematographer Pål Ulvik Rokseth captures the eerie beauty and terror of the wildfire’s path, while editors William Goldenberg, Paul Rubell, and Peter M. Dudgeon maintain a taut rhythm that mirrors the urgency of the escape. Composer James Newton Howard’s score underscores the emotional stakes without overwhelming the narrative, allowing silence and natural sound to heighten the tension in key moments.
What sets The Lost Bus apart is its refusal to sensationalise tragedy. Instead, it focuses on the human choices made under pressure—the split-second decisions that define character and community.
The film explores how trauma ripples through survivors, how leadership can emerge from unexpected places, and how collective action can save lives. It also subtly critiques institutional failures, highlighting the gaps in emergency response and the burden placed on individuals to navigate catastrophe. In this way, The Lost Bus becomes not just a survival story but a call to recognize and support the everyday heroes among us.
The film’s significance lies in its ability to translate a localized event into a universal narrative. In an era marked by climate crises, The Lost Bus resonates as a cautionary tale and a tribute. It reminds viewers of the human cost of environmental neglect and the resilience required to endure it. By centering the story on a school bus—a symbol of safety, routine, and childhood—the film underscores the vulnerability of those least equipped to face disaster, and the moral imperative to protect them.
Ultimately, The Lost Bus is a cinematic act of remembrance. It honors not only Kevin McKay and the children he saved but also the countless others who face disaster with courage and compassion. In Greengrass’s hands, the story becomes a mirror—reflecting our fears, our hopes, and our capacity to act when it matters most. It is a film that asks: What would you do if the road ahead was burning? And it answers, with quiet conviction: You drive forward.
For audiences eager to experience The Lost Bus, the film is available to stream globally on Apple TV+
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Twinless: A Darkly Comic Meditation on Grief, Identity, and Radical Empathy
James Sweeney’s Twinless (2025) is a psychological black comedy that slices through the conventions of grief narratives with wit, audacity, and emotional precision.
Written, directed, and starring Sweeney himself, the film premiered at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival, where it won the Audience Award in the U.S. Dramatic Competition. At its core, the film is a twisted, tender exploration of identity, loss, and the fragile boundaries between connection and deception.
The story unfolds in Portland, Oregon, where Dennis (played by Sweeney), a young gay man, meets Rocky (Dylan O’Brien) at a diner. Their brief romantic encounter ends in tragedy when Rocky is killed in a car accident. Dennis, consumed by grief and obsession, infiltrates a support group for twinless twins—posing as someone who lost a twin—to get close to Rocky’s surviving brother, Roman (also played by O’Brien). What follows is a darkly comic descent into emotional manipulation, longing, and the search for belonging. Roman and Dennis form a bond that teeters between healing and unhealthy codependency, complicated further by Marcie (Aisling Franciosi), a colleague who begins to unravel Dennis’s fabricated backstory. The film’s climax—an unsettling hotel room confession and violent fallout—leaves both men isolated, yet strangely tethered by shared grief and fractured intimacy.
Inspiration
Sweeney’s inspiration for Twinless emerged from a fascination with twin bereavement support groups—a concept he found both peculiar and profound. “It’s such a splitting of oneself,” he explained in interviews, noting that while he isn’t a twin, the emotional terrain of twin loss struck him as symbolically rich and narratively underexplored.
The film’s title evokes not just the absence of a sibling, but a rupture in identity, a severing of mirrored selfhood. Sweeney’s writing process involved extensive research and structural experimentation, including a pivotal point-of-view shift that deepens the psychological complexity of the narrative. He also drew inspiration from Shakespeare’s Macbeth, particularly the witches’ incantation “Double, double toil and trouble,” which he saw as emblematic of the chaos and duality at the heart of his story.
Casting Dylan O’Brien was a deliberate and inspired choice. Sweeney first considered O’Brien after seeing his viral reenactment of a scene from The Social Network, and later admired his performance in the YouTube series Weird City.
In Twinless, O’Brien delivers a career-defining dual performance as Roman and Rocky, embodying two distinct personalities with emotional nuance and physical precision. His portrayal of Roman—a man grappling with the loss of his twin and the intrusion of a deceptive friend—is especially poignant, capturing the vulnerability and rage that accompany grief. O’Brien also earned his first executive producer credit for the film, underscoring his deep investment in the project.
Twinless is significant not only for its thematic ambition but for its tonal daring. It refuses to sentimentalise grief, instead presenting it as a messy, sometimes grotesque process of self-reinvention. The film interrogates the ethics of empathy, the limits of forgiveness, and the seductive power of shared pain.
Sweeney has described storytelling as “humanity’s coping mechanism for the mysteries and challenges of life,” and Twinless embodies that ethos with sharp dialogue, surreal twists, and moments of unexpected tenderness.
“I try to write with authenticity in all facets of a filming. Like, even though it’s not even in the movie — it was in the movie, we just cut the scenes —I needed to know what the characters’ jobs were. To me, it all helps build. I like laying the bricks because it just helps me understand who these characters are. I guess in terms of twin research, I have always been interested in twins. I remember reading psychology studies about twins, because they’re sort of like the perfect specimen, in high school, and when I was researching for this script about twin bereavement and twin psychology, I was reading books, and I was talking to friends. Also, we cast all twin actors in the support group, including the background talent, so I felt like I had insight along the way, and I kind of just listened to and also imagined what was appropriate and organically made sense for these characters. “
In a cinematic landscape often dominated by formulaic grief dramas, Twinless stands out as a bold, genre-defying work that blends psychological insight with dark humour. It is a film about the lies we tell to feel less alone, the truths that shatter us, and the strange, stubborn ways we seek connection. For Sweeney, it is a lasting artistic legacy—a sly dose of empathy wrapped in chaos, comedy, and radical vulnerability.
Distributed by Lionsgate and Roadside Attractions in the United States, and Sony Pictures Releasing International abroad, Twinless became available for streaming and theatrical release from September 5, 2025. You can stream Twinless (2025) on Prime Video, Apple TV, Google Play Movies, YouTube, and Fandango At Home.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Wicked: For Good – Destiny, Defiance, and the Power of Perspective
Last year’s global cinematic cultural sensation, which became the most successful Broadway film adaptation of all time, now reaches its epic, electrifying, emotional conclusion in Wicked: For Good.
In 2024, Wicked not only shattered box office records, becoming the most successful Broadway musical film adaptation of all time, but also reaffirmed why this story has forged such a deep connection with audiences around the world for more than two decades. Now, in Wicked: For Good, the emotional power of that story reaches its zenith.
“Wicked has always tapped into something universal,” producer Marc Platt says. “It is filled with spectacle, music and magic, but underneath it is a story about truth, perception, and the choices we make between good and evil. That is what gives it its power. It reflects the world we live in, how easily people can be swayed by illusion, how quickly we are to believe what we want to believe. And yet at its core, it is about compassion, courage and friendship, the things that make us want to do good in the world. What makes For Good so special is that those themes have only become more relevant. The story continues to ask questions about what’s true, what is right and what kind of world we want to live in. It is a reminder that even in a place as fantastical as Oz, the most powerful kind of magic is the human capacity for empathy and understanding.”
Wicked: For Good is also about courage, in all its forms. Elphaba is willing to sacrifice her own dreams and hopes to fight against an oppression of the Animals that her spirit cannot ignore. But it is Glinda’s courage in Wicked: For Good that, when joined with Elphaba’s, has the power to truly change their world for the better.
“The narrative of Wicked hinges on a decision by one character, Elphaba, to stand up, alone, in opposition to cruelty toward others,” director Jon M. Chu says. “Elphaba is not unlike Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird, who stands up for what’s right, regardless of the personal costs. We love these moral heroes because we all want to believe that if we were faced with the same choices, we would be Atticus or Elphaba, too. But most of us, if we are honest with ourselves, are more like Glinda. We are often a little scared. We calculate the risk of speaking out. We want to do the right thing, but we are afraid to risk what we have. Luckily, heroism has power and value no matter when we summon it. And in Wicked: For Good, Glinda’s decision to pop her own bubble and join the fight, when she knows full well the cost of that decision, is an act of courage as meaningful as Elphaba’s.”
L to R: Ariana Grande (as Glinda), Director Jon M. Chu, and Cynthia Erivo (as Elphaba), on the set of WICKED FOR GOOD, directed by Jon M. Chu.
This deep character exploration was aided by the filmmakers’ decision to split the Wicked narrative into two films. This allowed them to both expand the narrative and enrich the relationships between the characters. “There is the same wit, charm, and incredible music, but this chapter carries deeper emotion,” Platt says. “This film tells the story of how Elphaba and Glinda are torn apart by their circumstances and find their way back to each other. The people of Oz will never know that they are best friends, but the film’s audience will understand that their friendship remains unbreakable.”
In fact, says Chu, Wicked: For Good is really what the entire emotional arc of the first film was building toward. “It was clear when we separated the two movies that Wicked: For Good needed some additional elements to fully tell the story of these two women and their struggle to come back together,” Chu says. “Because now, the world is wedged between their friendship and that is a much harder mechanism to fight through than just cultural or personality differences. Now there is literal structure and government between them. Deep down, we knew that Wicked: For Good was always going to be the bigger story. The kids we fell in love with in the first film now have to grow up, and they have to make choices that will last a lifetime. This isn’t school anymore.”
For the stage musical’s composer and lyricist Stephen Schwartz and book writer Winnie Holzman, the chance to expand the Wicked story was a thrilling opportunity years in the making. “For all the years that the show had been running, Winnie and I had been talking about what we would do if the story ever became a movie,” Stephen Schwartz says. “When it was decided to make Wicked as two movies, we had more time to really explore the story and put in some incidents and some character development that we just did not have time for in the show. That was exciting.”
L to R: Ariana Grande is Glinda and Cynthia Erivo is Elphaba in WICKED FOR GOOD, directed by Jon M. Chu.
All those ideas that they had discussed over the years suddenly could step into the light. “It was this incredible opportunity to be able to revisit something that we had worked on very lovingly and that had reached audiences and really touched them,” says screenwriter Winnie Holzman. “These movies gave us exciting freedom and the ability to add things we had always dreamed of adding and some things we had never thought of adding that really deepened the story. We spent a lot of time figuring out what was going to make the second movie stand on its own and not feel just like the conclusion of the earlier story.”
It is almost unheard of for anyone to write two films at the same time because most second films are greenlighted only after the first film is released. This rare experience allowed Holzman and her fellow screenwriter, Dana Fox, to intentionally interweave the two stories in emotive, evocative ways. “We could pull thematic ideas through the two films and create images that we knew we wanted to flash back to in the second film,” Dana Fox says. “We wanted to have elements that made you feel emotionally connected to the first movie while watching the second movie. It was extraordinary to be allowed to plan all of that in advance.”
As part of that expansion of the narrative for Wicked: For Good, Stephen Schwartz created two new original songs for the film: “No Place Like Home” for Elphaba and “The Girl in the Bubble” for Glinda. “In this film, Glinda reaches a point of crisis where she just cannot continue to live the way she has been,” Schwartz says. “She has been insulated from what is really going on, cutting off her own morality and sense of decency in order to have the trappings of what she thinks she wants. Finally, there is a moment where she must confront this, and it felt essential that we take the time to have a song in which to do that.”
Elphaba’s song, by contrast, derives from a singular, and universal, emotion. “It was important to show how much Elphaba loves Oz,” Schwartz says. “Although it has not been very good to her, it is her home, and all of her heart and soul wants to stay there, fight for it and make it a better place. When you are born somewhere, that place becomes part of you, and you cannot really explain why. That is a universal feeling, and I tried to capture that in this song.”
Wicked and Wicked: For Good were shot simultaneously, which allowed the filmmakers to maximize the efficiency of the films’ spectacular built sets. For example, all the scenes in The Wizard’s throne room in both films were filmed in the same time frame, as were all the scenes set in Munchkinland, etc. This required all the departments to prepare the production design, cinematography, costumes, hair and makeup, music, stunts and more for both films at the same time. It also required the actors to play younger and more mature versions of their characters often within the same week. The mind-blowing amount of coordinated work demanded extraordinary organization, communication and creativity.
L to R: Cynthia Erivo is Elphaba and Jonathan Bailey is Fiyero in WICKED FOR GOOD, directed by Jon M. Chu.
“When you create a world people want to be transported to, you have to build one that feels magical and full of possibility,” Platt says. “Oz is whimsical and utopic. It has great beauty with its own colors, its own laws, and its own humanity. That is what makes it such a powerful fairytale world. But what makes it resonate is that beneath all the fantasy and wonder, it reflects our own world, both the one we live in and the one we wish we lived in. This story works because it invites us into a place of delight, charm and make-believe, yet its people and their struggles still feel real. We are transported somewhere extraordinary, but we recognize ourselves in it, and that is what moves us.”
For Chu, his aspiration for Wicked: For Good is that it transports audiences to a place that film has never taken them before, not just geographically, but emotionally. “For audiences, and for ourselves, we wanted this to feel like the epic conclusion of a friendship that was emotionally authentic, and that the heartbreak was balanced by hope,” Chu says. “We wanted the stakes to be higher, the temperature to be up, the scope to be bigger, the emotions to be deeper. Everything about this story converges here, now. On the other side of pain and betrayal and loss, there is also forgiveness, grace and love.”
With Wicked: For Good, composer John Powell once again joins forces with composer and lyricist Stephen Schwartz to expand the world of Oz through music that is both deeply rooted in stage-musical traditions and entirely cinematic. If the first film charted the blossoming of Elphaba and Glinda’s friendship, For Good confronts that friendship’s collapse and eventual reconciliation, and the score evolves to meet the story’s larger emotional and dramatic scale.
From the outset, Powell approached For Good as both continuation and reinvention. As the narrative sharpened into themes of fracture, truth and reconciliation, Powell recognized that the score required new musical architecture to carry its weight. His work on the first film had given him a deep command of Schwartz’s musical language, but rather than simply restating it, he used that foundation to transform and expand the material in ways that reflected the story’s heightened stakes. Alongside these reinventions, he composed a series of entirely new themes written specifically for this chapter, building a score that honors the legacy of Wicked while standing on its own.
The final chapter of the untold story of the witches of Oz begins with Elphaba and Glinda estranged and living with the consequences of their choices. Elphaba (Cynthia Erivo), now demonised as The Wicked Witch of the West, lives in exile, hidden within the Ozian forest while continuing her fight for the freedom of Oz’s silenced Animals and desperately trying to expose the truth she knows about The Wizard (Jeff Goldblum). Glinda (Ariana Grande), meanwhile, has become the glamorous symbol of Goodness for all of Oz, living at the palace in Emerald City and revelling in the perks of fame and popularity. Under the instruction of Madame Morrible (Michelle Yeoh), Glinda is deployed to serve as an effervescent comfort to Oz, reassuring the masses that all is well under The Wizard’s regime. As Glinda’s stardom expands and she prepares to marry Prince Fiyero (Jonathan Bailey). As an angry mob rises against the Wicked Witch, Glinda and Elphaba will need to come together one final time. With their singular friendship now the fulcrum of their futures, they will need to truly see each other, with honesty and empathy, if they are to change themselves and all of Oz, for good.
Jon M. Chu is an American film director, producer, and screenwriter celebrated for his dynamic visual style and commitment to inclusive storytelling. Born on November 2, 1979, in Palo Alto, California, Chu grew up in a culturally rich household—his father, Lawrence Chu, founded the iconic Chef Chu’s restaurant, and his mother, Ruth Chu, encouraged his early creative pursuits by gifting him a video camera. Chu studied at the USC School of Cinematic Arts, where he won multiple awards including the Princess Grace and Jack Nicholson directing honors. His breakout came with the Step Up dance films, but he truly rose to prominence with Crazy Rich Asians (2018), a landmark romantic comedy featuring a majority Asian cast. He followed this with In the Heights (2021), showcasing his flair for musical storytelling. With Wicked (2024) and Wicked: For Good (2025), Chu brings his signature blend of spectacle and emotional depth to the beloved Broadway musical, earning accolades for his direction and further cementing his role as a visionary in contemporary cinema.
Winnie Holzman is a revered American playwright, screenwriter, and producer whose work spans theater, television, and film. Born in New York City on August 18, 1954, Holzman studied English and creative writing at Princeton University before earning her MFA in Musical Theatre Writing from NYU, where she trained under legends like Stephen Sondheim and Arthur Laurents. She gained early acclaim for her emotionally nuanced television writing, most notably as the creator of My So-Called Life (1994), a cult teen drama praised for its authenticity and depth. Holzman made her Broadway debut with Wicked (2003), writing the book for the Tony Award–winning musical adaptation of Gregory Maguire’s novel. Her work is marked by empathy for misunderstood characters and a gift for reframing familiar stories through a more compassionate lens. Holzman co-wrote the screenplays for both Wicked films alongside Dana Fox, bringing her theatrical insight and emotional intelligence to the screen.
Dana Fox is an American screenwriter and producer known for her sharp wit, romantic comedies, and collaborative spirit. Born on September 18, 1976, in Brighton, New York, Fox studied English and art history at Stanford University before attending USC’s Peter Stark Producing Program. Though she initially intended to become a producer, a screenwriting assignment shifted her path. Her first produced film, The Wedding Date (2005), led to a string of successful projects including What Happens in Vegas (2008), How to Be Single (2016), and Cruella (2021). Fox also created the TV series Ben and Kate and is a founding member of the “Fempire,” a writing collective that champions female voices in Hollywood. Her work often blends humor with emotional resonance, and her collaboration with Winnie Holzman on Wicked and Wicked: For Good showcases her ability to adapt theatrical material for the screen while preserving its heart and complexity.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Sisu: Road to Revenge — Where Memory Bleeds and Justice Hunts
Sisu: Road to Revenge is the highly anticipated sequel to Jalmari Helander’s 2022 cult hit Sisu, a film that carved its place in cinematic lore through its brutal, stylised portrayal of resilience and revenge.
As Sisu: Road to Revenge opens, we’re reminded … “Sisu is a Finnish word that cannot be translated. It means a white-knuckled form of courage and unimaginable determination. Sisu manifests itself when all hope is lost.”
Indeed, that word defines the film’s unstoppable protagonist, Aatami Korpi, a silent and incredibly skilled ex-Finnish commando who, in the 2023 release Sisu, singlehandedly took on – and decimated – a platoon of Nazis retreating from his native home in Finland,duringthe last desperate days of World War II. A mix of gritty war drama and extreme and wildly inventive action, Sisu ignited a passionate audience that experienced the non-stop ride in cinemas, and millions more via home viewing.
Now, the legendary Aatami is back, and on the road to revenge. At the end of World War II, we find him entering a Soviet Border Station to continue his journey in the area that had been part of Aatami’s native Finland before it had to cede this territory to the Soviet Union. Desperate evacuees had been forced to flee across the border to Finland. Most of them will never see home again.
But Aatami is on a mission. Driving through a landscape filled with destruction, he returns to the log cabin home in which his family, including two young sons, had been brutally murdered. As a tribute to their memory, Aatami takes the structure apart, log by log, to rebuild it somewhere safe.
Meanwhile, the Red Army commander Yeagor Dragunov (Stephen Lang) has been given a mission – to kill Aatami. The two men have a history: Dragunov and his men destroyed villages that included Aatami’s home, and Dragunov is now on the hunt for the legendary figure, who had killed countless Red Army soldiers during the war.
The tragic and brutal history between the two warriors, and the backdrop of a desolate post World-War II Finland / Soviet Union, sets up a dynamic and electrifying battle for the ages, in which the embodiment of Sisutakes on his greatest challenge, in his most stirring and action-packed odyssey.
After the events of Sisu, ex-Finnish Army commando Aatami Korpi may have been expecting a well-deserved rest. However, writer-director Jalmari Helander knew that there was more of the character’s story to be told. “Sisu: Road to Revenge takes place two years after the first film, with Finland ceding approximately ten per cent of its territory to the Soviet Union,” he summarises. “Aatami has lost his family, and the only thing he has is his home, but the home is now part of a different country. So, Aatami decides to take his home back from the Soviet Union.”
That decision leads to a no-holds-barred journey that sees Aatami pursued by Dragunov and his mercenaries, one of whom is wielding a Molotov cocktail; motor mayhem involving motorcyclists and, eventually, tanks attempting to unleash hell on Aatami; planes opening fire – and dropping bombs – on him; and, finally, Aatami wielding … a missile … in a last-ditch attempt to turn the tables on Dragunov.
Petri Jokiranta has produced Helander’s feature films over the past seventeen years and has been a close partner in developing the two Sisu pictures, for their joint company, Subzero. ‘Petri was invaluable in putting this film together,” Helander explains. “My original idea was to have Aatami called up by the army for another mission, but Petri argued that it’s better for Aatami to do what he does best. Trouble needs to come to him, instead of him trying to find it.”
Jokiranta, in turn, points out that audiences identify with Aatami’s challenges, and want to see him succeed. “The starting point for these films must be simple and effective. For the action fans, there must be innovative action. On top of that, the story and mission must be relatable.”
Jokiranta further notes that with the new film, Helander has created another epic adventure for Aatami, taking the stoic and heroic figure’s journey to the next level. “An action hero must face great obstacles to overcome uniquely,” he states. “Aatami’s defining traits are ingenuity and perseverance. With that as our core and heart, we wanted to create inventive, well-structured, and powerful action scenes. Sisu: Road to Revenge is a relentless and uncompromising action story – and one hell of a ride.”
Producer Mike Goodridge confirms that Helander would not have made a second chapter of Sisu without a worthy idea that would build upon and exceed the high bar he set for the original. As Goodridge elaborates, “In this story, our hero goes back and dismantles his house to take it back with him to Finland. This is essential to Aatami’s story and launches a gripping continuation of the Sisu saga.”
Goodridge also notes that it was Aatami’s uniquely heroic qualities in Sisu that thrilled audiences around the world, and he believes that excitement will grow even stronger with this new installment: ‘I think Sisu really caught the hearts and imagination of the global audience because Aatami is such a superb underdog,” he says. “He’s this formidable hero that you root for. With SISU: ROAD TO REVENGE, you care for Aatami even more because you understand what has been driving him all these years.”
For the new film, Helander wanted to further explore the themes of the original. “You have the idea of Aatami trying to get his home back, then you must consider all that he must somehow overcome before he achieves that. That was by far the hardest thing for us to do – building and shaping action sequences that audiences hadn’t before experienced, so they won’t know what is going to happen next.”
As a writer-director, Helander brings many of his influences and inspirations with him to every project – something that, as Goodridge describes, makes him “one of today’s great action directors. But Jalmari also brings a lot of heart to his films. He understands this medium so well and delivers a powerful punch with everything he brings to life on screen.”
Actor Jorma Tommila has collaborated with Helander multiple times and always enjoys their work together. “Jalmari always brings so many fresh ideas about story, characters, and of course, action,” he says. “It is aways a great honor to work with him.”
As a newcomer to the world of Sisu, Stephen Lang was grateful for Helander’s expertise and openness in defining Dragunov. “Before we started shooting,” the actor remembers, “Jalmari and I would talk about the script and his plans. Jalmari was so generous in soliciting my input for the character and the motivations. So, before we even arrived on set, I was enjoying working with him. He’s got a great sense of humor and knows what he wants.”
When Helander was first plotting Sisu: Road to Revenge, he decided he wanted a landscape that was as close as possible to the story’s setting of Karelia, Finland in the late 1940s. But, as he points out, “Modern day Finland retains little, if any, echoes of the country’s post-World War II terrain, so we came to Estonia and found what we wanted in its landscapes, which are breathtaking.
“I wanted to find places big enough to fit the story,” he continues. “I also wanted the landscape to look like it had been abandoned – where the only people are Aatami, Dragunov, and the rest of those who are trying to stop Aatami. We also wanted to have this landscape look like a countryside from long ago, but with wide-open spaces in which we could capture epic action shots.”
With Sisu: Road to Revenge, audiences accompany Aatami on his epic journey home – experiencing, with him, an endless barrage of firepower and a seemingly unstoppable foe.
Tommila, like his on-screen alter-ego, a man of few words, simply hopes that Aatami’s journey will continue to resonate with – and thrill – audiences: “It’s a story with endless action, but I think it will also touch people with its unveiling of previously unexplored aspects of Aatami’s personality and life,” he states.
Goodridge believes that audiences will be blown away by the scale of the film, as well as by its emotional heart: “Sisu: Road to Revenge delivers the kind of thrills and action we expect, but in a more elemental and emotional way,” he points out.
Jokiranta admires Helander’s dedication to the action genre and hopes that audiences can see how much love the filmmaker and the rest of the creative team have put into SISU: ROAD TO REVENGE. “Jalmari continues to do what he does best – making films where the audience will leave with a smile. You know that this is a true labor of love for him, and for everyone involved.”
Lang adds, “The mayhem is so crazy and done with such panache and style because that’s what Jalmari does best. He’s all about style and taste. It has a memorable and fun in-your-face approach.”
Orasmaa says audiences will appreciate the opportunity to delve a little deeper into Aatami’s motives: “Moviegoers will not only experience the heightened thrills we remember from Sisu, but they’ll also understand what Aatami’s life was like during the war and how he came to be the man he is. It digs deeper while also pumping up the volume.”
Helander agrees and concludes, “We go deeper into the main character’s story, and go bigger with the stakes and with the action. This will be epic, emotional, fun and crazy in all the good ways.
“The emotion, the epic landscape and the bigger and bigger action set pieces really demand a big screen and an audience to enjoy it as it should be,” he adds. “The Atmos sound and the furious chase is meant for theaters.”
Sisu: Road to Revenge, a sequel to the original sleeper hit Sisu, is a wall-to-wall cinematic action event. Returning to the house where his family was brutally murdered during the war, Aatami, aka “the man who refuses to die” (Jorma Tommila) dismantles it, loads it on a truck, and is determined to rebuild it somewhere safe, in their honor. When the Red Army commander (Stephen Lang, from Avatar and Don’t Breathe), who killed his family, comes back hellbent on finishing the job, a relentless, eye-popping cross-country chase ensues. It’s a fight to the death, full of clever and unbelievable action set pieces.
Written and directed once again by Helander, this follow-up deepens the mythology of its central character, Aatami Korpi—a solitary ex-soldier whose survival instincts and silent fury made him a symbol of Finnish grit. Set in 1946, just after the events of the first film, Road to Revenge finds Korpi returning to Soviet-occupied Karelia, the site of his family’s murder, with the intention of dismantling the house brick by brick and rebuilding it elsewhere as a living monument to memory and loss. But his act of quiet remembrance is interrupted when Igor Draganov, the Red Army commander responsible for the massacre, resurfaces—forcing Korpi into one final, blood-soaked reckoning.
Helander’s inspiration for the sequel draws from the emotional aftermath of war and the personal toll of survival. While Sisu was a visceral survival tale set against the backdrop of World War II, Road to Revenge shifts the focus from endurance to legacy. It’s not just about staying alive—it’s about what remains, what’s worth rebuilding, and what must be confronted before peace can be claimed. The film’s narrative is steeped in Finnish folklore and post-war trauma, echoing the mythic structure of lone warriors who carry both grief and vengeance in their bones. Helander’s signature style—gritty visuals, sparse dialogue, and explosive action—returns with even greater emotional weight, as Korpi’s journey becomes less about killing and more about closure.
The significance of Sisu: Road to Revenge lies in its evolution of genre and character. Where the original film leaned into pulp and spectacle, the sequel dares to be more introspective without sacrificing intensity.
It explores the psychological terrain of a man haunted by history, asking what justice looks like when the world has already moved on. Korpi, played once again by Jorma Tommila, is joined by a formidable cast including Stephen Lang and Richard Brake, whose presence adds layers of menace and gravitas. With a budget exceeding €11 million, the film promises high production value and international reach, positioning Finnish cinema on a global stage while remaining deeply rooted in national identity.
Beyond its action sequences and revenge arc, Road to Revenge is a meditation on grief, memory, and the architecture of healing. Korpi’s decision to rebuild his family home is symbolic—a refusal to let violence erase the past, and a testament to the human need for ritual and restoration. Helander’s storytelling honors this emotional core, crafting a film that is as much about silence and sorrow as it is about bullets and blood.
Sisu: Road to Revenge stands poised to expand the legacy of its predecessor, offering audiences not just another chapter in Korpi’s saga, but a deeper, more resonant exploration of what it means to survive—and to remember.
Jalmari Helander is a Finnish screenwriter and film director born on July 21, 1976, in Helsinki, Finland. He first gained international recognition with Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale (2010), a darkly whimsical reimagining of Santa Claus rooted in Finnish folklore, which showcased his flair for blending myth, horror, and humour. Helander followed this with Big Game (2014), an action-adventure film starring Samuel L. Jackson, further cementing his reputation for crafting high-concept genre films with a distinct Nordic edge. In 2022, he released Sisu, a gritty World War II survival thriller that became a cult sensation for its stylised violence and stoic protagonist, Aatami Korpi. Helander’s work often explores themes of resilience, revenge, and national identity, wrapped in visually striking, emotionally charged narratives. Before transitioning to feature films, he directed several award-winning short films and television commercials, honing his cinematic voice through compact storytelling. He is also closely connected to his creative collaborators—his brother-in-law Jorma Tommila and nephew Onni Tommila have both starred in his films, adding a familial layer to his artistic legacy. In 2025, Helander continues to expand his mythic universe with Sisu: Road to Revenge, and has been announced as the director of John Rambo, a prequel to First Blood, signaling his growing influence in international action cinema.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Know Your Terrain: Writing Against Genre, Subject, and Doubt
Writing a story is never just about putting words on a page. It’s about entering a conversation, sometimes a cacophony, already in progress. Whether you’re crafting a novel, a memoir, a screenplay, or a short story, you’re stepping into a genre, a tradition, a lineage of voices that have spoken before you.
Knowing what you’re up against is not an act of intimidation; it’s an act of clarity. It’s about understanding the terrain you’re walking into, the echoes you’ll contend with, and the shadows you’ll either inhabit or resist.
To write with purpose, you must first recognise the forces that shape your creative field: the stories that came before, the subjects that have been mined, and the internal doubts that threaten to silence your voice before it’s even spoken.
To write with awareness is to write with integrity. It’s not about being defensive—it’s about being deliberate. When you know what you’re up against, you can choose your battles.
You can decide which conventions to honor and which to subvert. You can engage with your subject matter in a way that is informed, nuanced, and emotionally honest. And you can confront your own insecurities with compassion, understanding that they are part of the creative terrain, not a reason to retreat.
Awareness invites humility
You are not the first to tell a story about heartbreak, redemption, or revolution. But you are the only one who can tell it in your way. Your voice, shaped by your experiences, your obsessions, your contradictions, is what makes the story worth telling. And when you write with that awareness—of genre, subject, and self—you create something that is not just a story, but a stance. A declaration. A contribution.
So before you write, pause. Survey the landscape. Read the stories that came before. Listen to the voices that echo in your genre. Research your subject with curiosity and care. And look inward, not to silence your doubts, but to understand them. Writing is not a battle to be won—it’s a reckoning. And when you know what you’re up against, you don’t just write better—you write braver.
Genre is both a gift and a gauntlet
It offers you a set of expectations, a scaffolding of tropes, rhythms, and emotional beats that readers have come to recognize and crave. But it also demands innovation. If you’re writing a psychological thriller, you’re not just telling a suspenseful story—you’re entering a space dominated by masters of tension, twist, and psychological depth. If you’re writing speculative fiction, you’re contending with worlds built by giants, with mythologies that span galaxies and centuries. To know what you’re up against means reading widely within your genre—not to mimic, but to understand. What are the conventions? What are the clichés? What has been done to death, and what remains fertile ground? This is not about comparison—it’s about calibration. You’re tuning your instrument to the frequency of your genre, so that when you play your own melody, it resonates.
Subject matter adds another layer of complexity
You may be writing about grief, addiction, climate collapse, or first love. These are not neutral themes, they are emotionally charged, culturally saturated, and often deeply personal. Knowing what you’re up against means recognising how your subject has been treated before. What narratives dominate the discourse? What perspectives have been marginalised or erased? If you’re writing about mental health, are you perpetuating stereotypes or challenging them? If you’re writing about race, gender, or identity, are you speaking from lived experience or borrowing a lens? This is where research becomes a form of respect. Read the memoirs, the essays, the fiction, the criticism. Understand the stakes. Your story does not exist in a vacuum—it exists in a web of meaning, and your responsibility is to be aware of the threads you’re tugging.
But perhaps the most formidable opponent you’ll face is yourself
Self-doubt is the silent antagonist in every writer’s journey. It creeps in during the first draft, whispering that your ideas are derivative, your voice unremarkable, your effort futile. It masquerades as perfectionism, procrastination, and the endless rewriting of a single paragraph. Knowing what you’re up against means naming these fears, not as truths, but as patterns. It means recognizing that confidence is not a prerequisite for writing—it is a consequence of writing. You build it word by word, scene by scene, revision by revision. And you build it by showing up, even when the voice in your head tells you not to.
Self-confidence in writing is not bravado—it’s resilience
It’s the ability to keep going when the story feels broken, when the feedback stings, when the market seems indifferent. It’s trusting that your perspective matters, even if it doesn’t fit neatly into trends or algorithms. It’s believing that your story, in its specificity, can touch something universal. And it’s knowing that failure is not the opposite of success—it’s part of the process. Every abandoned draft, every rejected submission, every awkward sentence is a step toward clarity. Confidence grows in the compost of your creative missteps.
Competing with other stories in the same genre or subject matter is not a matter of outshining, it’s a matter of outlasting, outlistening, and outmeaning
When you write within a genre, you inherit its rhythms, its tropes, its emotional architecture. You enter a space already crowded with voices, some canonical, some contemporary, all vying for attention. But competition in storytelling is not about volume; it’s about resonance. Your task is not to be louder than the others, but to be clearer, truer, and more deliberate in your stance.
That begins with knowing the terrain: reading widely, identifying what’s been done to death, and locating the gaps—emotional, cultural, structural—that your story might fill. It means asking not just “What is my story about?” but “Why does it matter now?” and “What does it offer that others don’t?”
Whether you’re writing about grief, revolution, or romance, your story must carry a pulse that is unmistakably yours. That pulse comes from the specificity of character, of voice, of emotional truth.
It comes from the courage to subvert expectations, to challenge dominant narratives, to write from the margins or the mythic centre. And it comes from refusing to let comparison steal your voice.
Other stories may share your premise, your setting, even your themes—but they cannot replicate your rhythm, your obsessions, your scars.
To compete is not to mimic or outperform—it is to position.
It is to write with such clarity of purpose that your story becomes not just another entry in the genre, but a necessary rupture or refinement. In a saturated field, originality is not enough. What endures is emotional depth, thematic precision, and a voice that feels inevitable. So read the masters, study the trends, listen to the echoes—and then write the story only you can write. Not to win, but to contribute. Not to dominate, but to illuminate.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Plainclothes Unfolds Where Love Was Once a Crime
Plainclothes (2025) was written and directed by Carmen Emmi, marking his feature debut with a deeply personal and politically resonant romantic thriller set in 1990s Syracuse, New York. The film explores themes of identity, repression, and forbidden love, inspired by Emmi’s own coming-out experience and a real-life article from the L.A. Times.
Plainclothes is a taut, emotionally layered thriller-drama with romance, centered on Lucas (played by Tom Blyth), a young undercover police officer tasked with entrapping gay men in public spaces. As Lucas carries out his morally fraught assignment, he becomes romantically entangled with Andrew (Russell Tovey), one of his targets—a closeted man navigating the same oppressive terrain.
The film’s narrative unfolds through a cracked mirror of memory
Emmi chose a non-linear structure to reflect the fragmented emotional experience of coming out. This stylistic choice was born from a personal epiphany: Emmi realised he didn’t need to tell the story in a traditional arc, but rather through moments and emotions that mirror the disjointed recollections of a man wrestling with his identity. The result is a film that feels both intimate and expansive, capturing the tension between duty and desire, secrecy and selfhood.
Emmi’s inspiration for Plainclothes is rooted in his hometown
Emmi grew up in Syracuse, New York, his own adolescence during the 1990s, a time when the queer community faced systemic ostracization and surveillance.
He cites a specific L.A. Times article as a catalyst for the story, which detailed police operations targeting gay men in public restrooms. This historical context, disturbingly echoed in contemporary politics, gave Emmi a framework to explore the cyclical nature of repression and the emotional toll of living in fear. “If you wait long enough, the world moves in circles,” Emmi remarked, underscoring the film’s haunting relevance in today’s climate. His decision to shoot in Syracuse was not just logistical—it was symbolic. Emmi wanted the production itself to be a beacon of hope, a reclamation of space for those who have felt silenced or surveilled, whether due to sexuality or any other hidden truth.
The film’s emotional resonance is amplified by its cast
Blyth’s portrayal of Lucas is a study in internal conflict—his performance captures the quiet agony of a man torn between professional obligation and personal awakening. Tovey’s Andrew offers a counterpoint: tender, guarded, and ultimately transformative. Maria Dizzia rounds out the cast as Marie, adding depth to the familial and societal pressures that shape Lucas’s world. The chemistry between Blyth and Tovey is electric, and their scenes together pulse with vulnerability and tension. According to Dizzia, what drew her to the project was Emmi’s masterful blending of genres—thriller, drama, and romance—woven seamlessly into a script that felt emotionally legible from the first read.
Emmi’s journey to Plainclothes was not linear
Though he had been filming since age 10, he didn’t write his first short until high school, when a drama class assignment sparked his passion for storytelling. That early project, a horror short titled Alone, became a formative experience, offering him a sense of belonging and creative expression. Years later, Emmi would call his former classmate Lauren Stanton to act in Plainclothes, completing a circle of artistic and personal growth. His time at USC, where he studied production rather than screenwriting, further shaped his approach. Watching films like The Conversation by Francis Ford Coppola helped him understand structure and mood, and ultimately led him to embrace a fragmented, memory-driven narrative style.
Technically, Plainclothes is notable for its use of Hi8 footage
Hi8, a format popular in the late 1980s and 1990s, was originally used for home video recording. It produces grainy, analogue visuals with a soft, intimate quality—perfect for capturing the emotional haze of recollection.
It lends the film a grainy, nostalgic texture that mirrors Lucas’s emotional landscape. This choice reinforces the film’s central motif: the act of looking back, of piecing together a life from shards of memory and suppressed feeling. Emmi’s direction is restrained yet evocative, allowing silence and stillness to speak volumes. The film doesn’t rely on overt exposition; instead, it trusts the audience to feel their way through Lucas’s journey, to sit with discomfort and longing.
The footage appears intermittently throughout the film, often during emotionally charged or reflective moments, creating a visual rupture between Lucas’s present and his internal world. These inserts blur the line between surveillance and self-documentation, between institutional gaze and personal truth. In interviews, Emmi explained that the Hi8 segments were meant to feel like “found footage from Lucas’s own psyche”—as if the protagonist were subconsciously recording his emotional journey. This technique also nods to the era’s technology, grounding the film in its 1990s setting while giving it a timeless, haunted quality. The footage is often paired with Lana Del Rey–style soundscapes, further amplifying the mood of longing and repression. Critics have praised this choice for adding depth and texture to the film’s visual language, making Plainclothes not just a narrative but an emotional archive.
The significance of Plainclothes lies not only in its subject matter but in its refusal to end in tragedy
Emmi was intentional about crafting a narrative that offers hope—a rare choice in queer cinema, where stories often conclude with loss or punishment.
“From the beginning, that was exactly what I didn’t want to do,” Emmi stated. He wanted to leave viewers with a sense of possibility, a belief that even in the darkest corners of repression, love and truth can emerge. This ethos permeates the film, making it not just a story of forbidden romance, but a meditation on the courage it takes to live authentically.
Carmen Emmi’s journey to writing Plainclothes began not with formal screenwriting training, but with a deeply personal reckoning.
Though he studied production at USC, Emmi had never written a feature-length screenplay before this project. His breakthrough came when he realized he didn’t need to follow a traditional narrative arc—instead, he could structure the film like a memory, fragmented and emotionally driven. This approach mirrored his own experience of coming out, which felt less like a linear story and more like a series of ruptures, revelations, and quiet reckonings. Emmi immersed himself in films like The Conversation by Francis Ford Coppola to understand how mood and structure could carry emotional weight.
He wrote Plainclothes as a vessel for feeling, focusing on moments rather than plot mechanics. He chose to set and shoot the film in his hometown, transforming a site of repression into one of creative reclamation. Emmi’s early filmmaking roots trace back to age 10, but it was a high school drama class assignment that sparked his passion for storytelling. That first short, a horror piece titled Alone, became a formative experience—one that would later come full circle when he cast his former classmate Lauren Stanton in Plainclothes. Emmi’s biography is marked by a quiet determination to tell stories that matter, stories that excavate emotional truth and offer hope. His debut feature is not just a film—it’s a ritual of remembrance, resistance, and renewal.
In a cultural moment where queer rights remain contested and surveillance technologies grow more sophisticated, Plainclothes feels both timely and timeless.
It reminds us that the past is never truly past—that the ghosts of repression linger, and that art can be a form of exorcism. Emmi’s debut is a testament to the power of personal narrative, of turning lived experience into communal reflection. It’s a film that asks us to consider the cost of hiding, and the liberation that comes from being seen.
You can currently stream Plainclothes online via rental or purchase on platforms like Apple TV, Amazon Video, Fandango At Home, and Plex.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Essential Tips for Writers: Sharpen Your Voice, Elevate Your Story
Useful tips for writers
Soulful Meditations “You’ll become a better writer and person when you realize how brief and brutal and glorious life is. I promise you’ll develop a filter, and the filter is art, and the art will burn through the brutality; the art will use it as kindling. Look back for the people walking the same path you got through, and extend a hand.” Tennessee WilliamsRead more
If you think you know your story, think again! Knowing your story places you in a comfort zone of confidence and bravura. Writing your story quickly reveals how little you truly know it, demanding a journey into what you thought was familiar—opening the narrative in ways you could never have imagined. Read more
Beginning Your Screenplay Journey Writing a screenplay begins not with formatting, but with a flicker—an image, a line of dialogue, a feeling that won’t let go. Read more
Writing for the Right Reasons To write from inspiration is to write from reverence. Read more
Writing for the Wrong Reasons You are not a content machine. You are a storyteller. A truth-teller. A meaning-maker. And the only wrong reason to write is to be anyone else. Read more
Know Your Terrain: Writing Against Genre, Subject, and Doubt Whether you’re crafting a novel, a memoir, a screenplay, or a short story, you’re stepping into a genre, a tradition, a lineage of voices that have spoken before you. Read more
The Power and Craft of Fictional Realities in Writing Creating a fictional reality in writing allows authors to construct immersive worlds that deepen emotional resonance, challenge norms, and expand the boundaries of thought and experience. Read more
The Power of Restraint: Why Less Is More in Writing In a world saturated with words—tweets, texts, emails, essays—the art of saying less has never been more vital. “Less is more” isn’t just a minimalist mantra; it’s a powerful writing philosophy that champions clarity, precision, and impact. Read more
Writing a Novel from Inspiration to First Pages To be a novelist is to build worlds from silence—to shape memory, myth, and imagination into a living architecture of words. Novelists don’t just tell stories; they excavate emotional truths, stretch time across pages, and offer readers a mirror, a refuge, or a reckoning. Read more
In a world of fragmented attention, thematic echoing offers continuity, a pulse beneath the prose that reminds us: this story is not just a sequence of events, but a meditation on something deeper. Read more
How to Befriend Algorithms In today’s creative landscape, algorithms are no longer confined to the realm of coders and engineers—they’ve become quiet collaborators in the writing process. For writers, algorithms offer both structure and possibility, shaping how we draft, refine, and share our work. Read more
Research is the Writer’s Deepest Ritual To write with clarity, conviction, and resonance, one must first feed the talent that fuels the page. Talent alone is not enough—it must be nourished, provoked, and sharpened by facts, ideas, and lived textures. Read more
The Quiet Craft of Polishing Prose Once your novel has been rewritten, revised, and edited, there remains one final, often overlooked ritual: paragraph polishing. This is not a mechanical sweep for typos or grammar slips—it’s a deeper, more intuitive process. It’s where prose is coaxed into rhythm and resonance, where each paragraph is tuned to breathe with the life of the story. Read more
How Internal Logic Shapes Storytelling Creativity thrives not in chaos, but in the quiet direction of internal logic — a compass that doesn’t confine your path, but makes sure it leads somewhere. It empowers writers to craft stories that resonate, endure, and transform. Read more
Trusting Your Instinct as a Writer Trusting your instinct isn’t a matter of luck or talent—it’s a deliberate act of courage. And in a world crowded with advice, algorithms, and endless rewrites, tuning into that quiet certainty may be the most radical thing a writer can do. Read more
The Art of Transforming Experience into Narrative To tell a personal story is to walk a tightrope between exposure and intention. Whether framed by the intimacy of prose or the immediacy of the screen, these narratives demand more than recollection—they require a deliberate act of construction. Read more
Freedom of Expression in the Writer’s World For writers, freedom of expression is both a gift and a challenge. Writers wield their words like blades—sharp enough to cut through injustice, but also capable of inflicting unintended wounds. Read more
How Fictional Realities Shape Our Minds The creation of fictional realities is more than mere storytelling—it is a powerful art form where imagination runs wild, and entire worlds take shape. These crafted realms serve as gateways to boundless creativity, deep exploration, and profound meaning, offering both writers and readers a chance to escape, reflect, and challenge perspectives. Read more
Silencing your inner critic. Overcoming the fear of writing your story is a challenge many aspiring writers face, but it’s entirely possible with the right mindset and strategies. Silencing your inner critic is essential for unlocking creativity and confidence in writing. Read more
How Fiction Breathes Life into History History is full of untold stories, overlooked perspectives, and moments that can be reimagined in fresh ways. Blending fiction with history is an art that allows you to breathe life into the past while keeping your narrative compelling and immersive. Read more
Unveiling the Heart and Soul of Your Story The heart and soul of a story often lies in the emotional resonance and the core themes it seeks to convey. It’s about the connections it forges with the reader—the moments that make them laugh, cry, ponder, or even change their perspective. It’s in the characters who feel alive and the world that draws you in. Read more
The Journey Matters: Writing Your Story Without Cutting Corners While no magic wand can replace the depth and richness of well-crafted storytelling, there are ways to make the writing process more efficient without sacrificing quality. Read more
Ink of Authenticity: Writing What You Know “Write what you know” is timeless advice that encourages writers to draw from their own experiences, emotions, and knowledge. By infusing your writing with the authenticity and depth that comes from real-life experiences, your work will resonate more with readers, creating a sense of genuine connection. Read more
Stories shape our lives in profound ways Imagine a world without stories—it would be a vastly different place. Stories are the threads that weave the fabric of our lives. They enrich our minds, nurture our hearts, and connect us to each other. Without stories, the world would be a much less vibrant and meaningful place. Read more
Know Your Narrator: The Voice Behind the Story It is important to know who is telling the story. Through the eyes of the narrator, we witness the world unfold. Through the narrator’s insight, our characters come to life. And it is through that same insight that your story fully comes alive. Read more
The Narrator is Absolutely Pivotal in a Story The narrator serves as the lens through which readers experience the world of a story, influencing not just what the audience sees, but how they feel about it. Read more
Explore the inner life of your story A story may boast a clever plot, expertly crafted with intricate twists and compelling complexities. Yet, without a meaningful connection between the External Activity—the events and actions—and the Internal Life—the emotions, motivations, and personal stakes—it risks falling flat. Read more
Exploring the Outer Life of a Story: Unveiling the Journey Beyond the Page. The outer life of a story transforms it into more than a standalone narrative—it becomes a living, breathing entity that interacts with the broader world. Read more
Beyond the First Draft: Mastering the Craft of Rewriting and Polishing It’s remarkable how writers often get confused between rewriting and polishing, sometimes overlooking one in favour of the other, with disastrous consequences. Neglecting either process can result in a piece that lacks depth or polish, ultimately falling short of its potential. Balancing both rewriting and polishing is crucial for crafting compelling, well-rounded writing. Read more
The Writer’s Toolkit: Mastering the Craft of Composition Whether crafting a screenplay, novel, or stageplay, understanding the Art of Composition can help you create a more compelling and engaging story. It’s not just about putting words together; it’s about weaving them into something that resonates with readers. Read more
Embrace the New Year with Writing Ambition Here’s some inspiring advice to help writers embrace the new year with vigour and creativity. Read more
AI: The Secret Weapon Every Writer Needs in Their Arsenal AI has become an indispensable companion for writers, offering invaluable assistance in brainstorming ideas for screenplays, fiction, and non-fiction. Whether you’re in search of a surprising plot twist, an engaging character arc, or a fresh perspective on a topic, AI can provide endless suggestions to fuel your creativity. With AI by your side, the possibilities for storytelling are truly limitless. Read more
AI Conversations: Unlocking the Future of Communication Advanced AI companions are designed to create more meaningful, natural, and intelligent interactions, making them more effective and enjoyable to work with. Read more
Why do we write stories? Stories are a timeless way for humans to connect, reflect, and understand the world around us and the inner workings of our minds. We write stories for a multitude of reasons—each as unique as the stories themselves. Stories hold a profound significance in our lives. Read more
14 Structural Points To Shape Your Story Structure is discipline. It’s where the right-brain subconscious and unconscious writing and thinking are whipped into order by the rigid, uncompromising left-brain consciousness and logic. This is where idealism and realism clash head-on. Read more
Criteria For An Oscar-Winning Idea If you want to build your story on a solid idea, this is what you need to take into consideration when coming up with an idea to write your story. Read more
Master The Art Of Visual Narrative When you craft your story you have to offer a visual experience for the reader, making the story and characters vividly burst to life in their minds-eye. As a novelist and screenwriter, your first reader is not the person purchasing your book or watching the movie, but a professional reader, who will give their approval or dismissal to publishers and studio executives. This is an important decision-maker in the publishing and film/television industries. Read more
Show Don’t Tell The phrase “show, don’t tell” reminds writers to immerse the reader in the story rather than simply telling readers what’s happening. To show rather than tell is the first rule of writing, and for good reason. Read more
The Essentials of Genre: Elevating Your Storytelling Understanding the fundamentals of genre is pivotal for any storyteller. Genre isn’t just a label; it’s the blueprint that shapes your narrative’s framework, guiding the tone, style, and expectations. Think of it as the compass that navigates your creative journey, ensuring that your story resonates with its audience. Read more
Regulate the Heartbeat of your StoryIf your story has a healthy heart, it will result in happy readers and audiences. Writing is an organic process that needs lots of blank space to grow. Your writing will be at its best if it’s driven by raw emotion, by inspirational personal experiences that shaped your life, reflecting your true self. Read more
Manipulate Emotions The storyteller is the puppet master of emotions. A writer is the puppet master of emotions, the dictator of reason, and can make anything happen in a fictional reality where everything is possible and extreme gratification is your only goal, and the audience’s ultimate payoff and reward. Read more
Don’t Get Stuck On The First Chapter Trying desperately to write the perfect story, it is easy to fall into the trap of only seeing the first chapter, constantly rewriting and rewording it to be word-perfect, and not seeing the story as a whole, complete with a beginning (set-up), middle (confrontation) and ending (resolution). It is not difficult to overcome this blinding obstacle. The first step to completing the story is to write a story outline. Read more
Bring Your Story To Life With The Right Words Word choice is an important aspect of writing that should never be overlooked. It can significantly impact the effectiveness and clarity of your writing. Through the deliberate selection of precise and evocative language, you have the power to craft enthralling and immersive content that captivates your readers / viewers / listeners and leaves a lasting impression. Strong word choice can unlock images, emotions, and more. Read more
Expose The Heart And Soul Of Your Story A story is lifeless without a heart and soul and as its creator, the writer has to bring it to life. The writer is responsible for the birth of a story, its lifespan, and the everlasting emotional impact it must have on its readers and viewers. It all begins with the written word and ends with an emotionally rewarding and fulfilling story that lives on in the minds of those who experience it. It is important for the writer to make the audience experience the story as a visceral and breathing organism. Every story has a life and it’s not simply you as a writer telling the story, but creating its vitality. Read more
Sharpen Your Instinct and Intuition When it comes to expressing inner values and establishing a personal perspective on a story, writers are often guided only by their instinct or intuition and a little luck. Instinct and intuition are essential for getting to the more meaningful, authentic aspects of a story. The starting point for any artistic creation is always at the level of intuition, because its where new ideas are conceived. New ideas seldom rise to the level of consciousness fully formed. Read more
Stop Manipulating Your Characters Everything will fall into place in your story once you allow the characters to be who they are, and not what you want them to be. As a writer, you’re a passenger on your character’s respective journeys, the creator who has to put all the pieces of the puzzle together naturally, instinctively, without too much interference and unnecessary meddling. Once you set your characters free, and allow them to reclaim their authentic selves, your true nature (and function) as a storyteller will gracefully emerge and you’ll fulfill the task of great writers, craft your story to the best of your artistic abilities, without conceit or misinterpretations. Read more
Write Your Story From The Inside Out Stop obsessing over writing a film, bestseller or play and focus your attention on writing the ultimate story. Don’t place your story into a box and smother it with conventions, rules and pre-conceived perceptions. Your story is a living, breathing organism. Let your story breathe. Writing your story is an organic process that feeds off inspiration and is fueled by passion. Read more
Explore The Thematic Purpose Of Your Story Until you know what you are trying to say, your story isn’t complete. The writing process is a search for meaning, a theme, what the story is really about, what gives it meaning and a purpose for being, besides making millions of dollars for stars and movie studios. The theme is a unifying idea or motif, repeated or developed throughout a work. Once you have something you want to write about (Idea), defined the Premise and Concept, and know what your genre is, you need to know what the intention, objective or controlling idea – theme – of your story is. Read more
Avoiding predictability in writing can make a story feel mundane and unengaging because it removes the element of surprise that keeps readers hooked. When readers/audiences can easily anticipate what will happen next, the narrative loses its suspense and intrigue. Read more
Maximise Your Creative Expression All writing is discipline. Writing is a day-by-day job: you write the story scene by scene, page by page, day by day. It is an experimental and learning process involving the acquisition of skill and coordination. When you are in the writing experience, you are near your loved ones in body, but your mind and concentration are a thousand miles away. You cannot break your concentration to deal with snacks, laundry, meals or shopping. You need space, private time, support, encouragement and understanding. Read more
Find Your Voice As A Writer Your writing voice reflects the tapestry of your life—each thread representing a moment, emotion, or insight that only you have experienced. It’s this unique blend that makes your writing stand out and resonate with readers. So embrace your individuality, and let your voice shine through in your words. Read more
Crafting A Screenplay VS A Novel Both screenplays and novels are creative outlets for storytelling, but they have distinct differences and offer unique challenges and rewards. Read more
Sign A Contract With Yourself If you need some motivation, here’s a handy note to paste next to your bathroom mirror so that when you look at yourself in the mirror each morning, you are reminded of why you write. Say it out loud! Read more
Stories shape our lives in profound ways Imagine a world without stories—it would be a vastly different place. Stories are the threads that weave the fabric of our lives. They enrich our minds, nurture our hearts, and connect us to each other. Without stories, the world would be a much less vibrant and meaningful place. Read more
The Significance Of Prequels Prequels are films that chronologically precede existing films in a series, exploring the events and stories that lead up to the original plot. They’re a fascinating way to delve deeper into a character’s background, explore origins, and expand the universe of a beloved story. Read more
22 Lessons From Stephen King On How To Be A Great Writer “I can’t lie and say there are no bad writers. Sorry, but there are lots of bad writers,” says renowned author Stephen King. “I’m convinced that fear is at the root of most bad writing,” Writers should throw back their shoulders, stick out their chins, and put their writing in charge. Read more
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Coyotes: A savage, satirical survival thriller where nature bites back
Coyotes is a genre-bending horror-comedy directed by Colin Minihan, known for his work on Grave Encounters and What Keeps You Alive, and written by Tad Daggerhart (The Expendables 4) and Nick Simon (The Pyramid).
The film stars real-life couple Justin Long and Kate Bosworth, whose onscreen chemistry adds a layer of emotional tension to this survival thriller set in the Hollywood Hills.
The story centers on a fractured family trapped in their home during a raging wildfire, only to discover they’re being hunted by a vicious pack of coyotes. What begins as a domestic drama quickly spirals into a surreal, blood-soaked allegory about nature, fear, and the primal instincts that surface under pressure. Minihan was drawn to the project for its tonal complexity—equal parts satire, suspense, and creature feature.
The script’s blend of absurdity and dread allowed him to explore themes of ecological collapse, urban isolation, and the thin veneer of civilization. Daggerhart and Simon’s writing balances sharp dialogue with escalating horror, using the coyotes not just as physical threats but as metaphors for the chaos lurking beneath suburban order. The wildfire backdrop intensifies the claustrophobia, turning the family’s home into a pressure cooker of secrets, survival tactics, and moral compromise.
Story by…
Everyone in Los Angeles has a coyote story … whether they’ve awakened to discover the family cat has disappeared, leaving nothing but a fur-tufted collar behind; or found themselves followed by the yipping taunts of a pack trying to honeytrap their dog while hiking Runyon Canyon; or spotted a lone alpha stalking them down a dark downtown alley late at night.
Coyotes — and their tales — are as ubiquitous as LA’s traffic. While coyotes are lightyears smarter than most drivers here, both have achieved near mythic status.
During the WGA/SAG strike, while Nick and Tad were shouldering signs on the picket line, they started talking about coyotes and their experiences, and both realised that turning LA’s dumpster-diving, cat-stealing, unofficial mascot into a screenplay seemed like a no-brainer.
From writer Nick Simon – the inspiration behind Coyotes
For Nick, inspiration for Coyotes struck when he and his family were trapped in their Silverlake home for three days after the Santa Ana winds knocked out power to their neighborhood. While walking their dogs one evening, they found themselves trailed and taunted by a growing pack of emboldened coyotes. And — in that dusky neighborhood — when he could see the dim glow of light where power was restored a few blocks away, Nick understood — even in the urban heart of Silverlake — the savage bite of nature could always be at his throat.
In December 2011, the Santa Ana winds knocked out power to the duplex my wife and I were living in in Silver Lake.We lost electricity for three full days – and because the emergency release on our gate was busted, we were basically trapped inside. At one point, while walking our two rescue mutts, I realized we were being followed… by a coyote.
Then two. Then three. With the power out and the neighborhood pitch black, the coyotes grew bolder. I remember looking out the window and seeing the line where power had been restored – just a few blocks away – while we remained stuck in the dark. That’s when it hit me: how terrifying would it be to be trapped in your home with coyotes trying to get in? A home invasion story, but with nature as the invader. And the worst part? You can see help… you just can’t reach it.
I tried writing it a few times over the years, but it never fully clicked. Then in 2023, during the WGA strike, I was on the picket line with Tad Daggerhart, talking about shelved ideas we still loved. I pitched him Coyote, and like every other writer on strike, we decided to write it on spec. Tad is an incredible writer who also brought a much needed and brilliant sense of humor to the project, and I can’t wait to see it come to life.
From writer Tad Daggerhart – the inspiration behind Coyotes
Tad had a similar experience while horseback riding in the Angeles National Forest and a coyote plopped itself down in the middle of the trail, refusing to move. He’d never seen one assert such authority before. During what seemed an hours-long, leering stare-down, his mind whirled and he thought of how Coyote — the trickster god — discovered the first horse, how the US government waged an extermination war against coyotes for over half a century, and how — with one bad turn of luck — Tad could end up the main course in a coyote buffet. ~ Tad Daggerhart
Daniel Meersand – Story by …
While studying film production at Brooklyn College, Dan bluffed his way onto several tv and film sets in locations around New York City, beginning his industry career when he began getting job offers instead of contemptuously being “asked” to leave. As a writer and/or producer, he has worked extensively for broadcast television including the VMA’s, MTV Movie Awards, ESPN, SyFy and NBC Sports, for which he won an Emmy Award for his work on the 2004 Athens Olympics. Dan eventually walked away from broadcasting to study screenwriting at the American Film Institute Conservatory. Daniel’s feature film credits include THE PYRAMID (Fox 2014), and the thriller REMOVAL (Lionsgate 2011).
Director’s Statement
I read the first draft of Coyotes and started laughing out loud. It had bite. It had chaos. And most importantly, it had fun. I was sitting with Britt, flipping pages, both of us wide-eyed and saying, “Okay, this is f***ing nuts.” That’s when I knew I wanted in.
At the time, there were actual coyotes stalking our old dog in the Hollywood Hills. Every night felt like a horror movie. That real-world weirdness synced perfectly with the script’s energy. It wasn’t trying to be clever, or cool, or some kind of elevated genre exercise. It just was—wild, tense, funny, and totally unpredictable. A horror-comedy-action beast that actually had the nerve to entertain.
I’ve spent the last decade watching horror get more and more self-serious—movies that think they’re profound because they don’t actually say anything. Ambiguity has become a crutch. Somewhere along the way, people forgot that horror could be fun and still have soul.
Coyotes is a course correction.
This movie is sharp, fast, and unafraid to go for the jugular and the laugh. No social media screens. No hollow metaphors. Just characters who feel real, thrown into a story that knows exactly what it is and never slows down to apologise for it.
I also edited the film myself—not out of control, but out of instinct. This kind of movie only works if you keep the tone razor-sharp and the energy moving. Every cut needed to feel deliberate, alive, and a little dangerous.
Coyotes isn’t trying to be cool. It’s trying to bite. And hopefully, leave a mark.
~ Colin Minihan
Colin Minihan is a Canadian filmmaker whose bold, genre-bending stories are shaped as much by his love of horror as by his upbringing on Vancouver Island. Surrounded by forests, storms, and isolation, Minihan developed a visual and narrative sensibility rooted in atmosphere, tension, and emotional subversion.
He first broke out with the found-footage cult hit Grave Encounters, and quickly became known for taking genre setups and pushing them into unpredictable emotional territory.
His solo writer, directorial debut, What Keeps You Alive, premiered at SXSW, earning widespread critical acclaim for its tense, character-driven reinvention of survival horror. The film was listed as one of Rolling Stone’s “10 Best Horror Films of 2018” and later climbed into the Top 10 most-watched films on Netflix in 2020 cemented Minihan’s reputation as a filmmaker who blends craft, intensity, and heart. Minihan often writes, directs, and edits his films, giving them a cohesive, visceral rhythm that’s become his signature. He collaborates closely with his wife and artistic partner, Brittany Allen, who has starred in and scored multiple of his projects.
Tad Daggerhart is a writer and producer who recently penned the latest instalment of the Expendables franchise, and Black Lotus. He is a Screenwriting alumnus of USC, where he was awarded the prestigious Annenberg Fellowship and wrote the award-winning animated short, Traffic Cone.
Nick Simon is a filmmaker hailing from Sioux Falls, South Dakota, known for his distinct voice shaped by a Lebanese-American upbringing and his mentorship under Wes Craven. After graduating from the American Film Institute, Simon made his feature debut with The Girl in the Photographs, produced by Craven premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival. His credits include The Pyramid (20th Century Fox), Truth or Dare (a Netflix Halloween favourite), and the critically acclaimed Untitled Horror Movie, praised for its inventive production and biting satire of Hollywood. Simon most recently directed Entity Within, a chilling supernatural film based on the true “Entity” case, starring Heather Graham and Mimi Rogers. He is also a co-writer with Alexandre Aja on a branching narrative project for Paramount Pictures, and co wrote and executive produced Coyote, starring Justin Long and Kate Bosworth.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein: The Birth of a Modern Myth
Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus is more than a gothic novel—it is a mythic meditation on creation, ambition, and the fragile boundary between genius and monstrosity.
First published in 1818 when Shelley was just twenty years old, Frankenstein emerged from a convergence of personal grief, philosophical inquiry, scientific curiosity, and literary daring. Its origin story is as haunting as the tale itself, rooted in a stormy summer, a ghost-story challenge, and the imaginative fire of a young woman surrounded by poets and revolutionaries. Shelley’s process was not merely one of storytelling—it was an act of philosophical excavation, a reckoning with the forces of life, death, and human responsibility.
Conception
The novel’s conception began in the summer of 1816, during Mary’s stay at Lord Byron’s villa near Lake Geneva. The weather was relentlessly dreary, and the group—Mary, her lover Percy Bysshe Shelley, Byron, and physician John Polidori—passed the time reading ghost stories from Fantasmagoriana, a French anthology of German tales. Byron proposed a challenge: each guest would write their own ghost story. Mary, then eighteen, struggled to find inspiration until one night, after a conversation about galvanism and the possibility of reanimating corpses, she experienced a waking nightmare. In it, she saw “a pale student of unhallowed arts kneeling beside the thing he had put together.” This vision became the seed of Frankenstein, a tale that would fuse horror with moral inquiry.
Shelley’s intellectual inheritance played a vital role in shaping the novel. She was the daughter of two radical thinkers: Mary Wollstonecraft, the pioneering feminist author of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, and William Godwin, a political philosopher known for his treatise An Enquiry Concerning Political Justice. From them, Mary absorbed a deep concern with justice, individual agency, and the consequences of unchecked power. Her upbringing was steeped in literature and debate, and she began writing stories as a child, often retreating into imaginative reveries. These early habits of “castle-building” and solitary dreaming laid the groundwork for her later creative process.
The novel’s subtitle, The Modern Prometheus, signals its mythic ambition.
In Greek mythology, Prometheus defied the gods by stealing fire and giving it to humanity—a symbol of knowledge and enlightenment, but also of hubris and punishment.
Victor Frankenstein, Shelley’s protagonist, mirrors this archetype. He seeks to conquer death, to animate lifeless matter, and in doing so, he transgresses natural boundaries. Shelley’s choice of subtitle invites readers to consider the ethical dimensions of creation: What are the consequences of playing god? What responsibilities does a creator bear toward their creation? These questions resonate throughout the novel, as Victor’s creature, rejected and unloved, becomes both victim and villain.
Scientific discourse of the time also shaped Shelley’s imagination. She was fascinated by the experiments of Erasmus Darwin, who speculated on spontaneous generation and the animation of matter. Galvanism—the use of electricity to stimulate muscle movement in dead organisms—was a hot topic, and Shelley incorporated its eerie implications into Victor’s laboratory. Yet Frankenstein is not a celebration of science; it is a cautionary tale. Shelley critiques the Enlightenment’s faith in reason and progress, suggesting that knowledge without compassion leads to ruin. Victor’s obsessive pursuit isolates him, blinds him to the creature’s humanity, and ultimately destroys both of them.
Shelley’s writing process was deeply personal and emotionally charged.
She had already endured profound loss: her first child had died shortly after birth, and she would lose several more children in the years to come. These experiences of grief and maternal longing seep into the novel’s themes. The creature, though monstrous in form, yearns for love, companionship, and belonging. His rejection by Victor echoes Shelley’s own feelings of abandonment and sorrow. The novel’s emotional core lies in this tragic dynamic—the creator’s horror at his creation, and the creation’s desperate plea for recognition.
Crafting Frankenstein required both solitude and collaboration. Percy Shelley provided editorial support and encouragement, though the novel’s voice and vision are unmistakably Mary’s.
She revised the manuscript meticulously, storyboarding scenes, refining dialogue, and grappling with moral dilemmas. Her notebooks reveal a writer who was not merely transcribing a dream but constructing a philosophical argument. She wove together narrative layers—letters, journals, and first-person accounts—to create a complex structure that mirrors the novel’s thematic depth. The Arctic framing device, in which explorer Robert Walton recounts Victor’s story, adds a further dimension: the pursuit of knowledge at the edge of the world, where isolation and ambition collide.
Mary Shelley took about two years to write Frankenstein, from its conception in 1816 to its publication in 1818.
The novel’s reception was mixed at first. Some critics dismissed it as grotesque or implausible, while others recognized its originality and power. Over time, Frankenstein became a cultural touchstone, inspiring countless adaptations, reinterpretations, and debates. Its influence spans literature, film, philosophy, and bioethics. The creature—often mistakenly called Frankenstein—has become a symbol of otherness, a mirror for society’s fears and prejudices. Shelley’s vision endures because it speaks to universal anxieties: the desire to transcend mortality, the pain of rejection, and the peril of unchecked ambition.
In the 1831 edition of Frankenstein, Shelley reflected on the novel’s origins, acknowledging the blend of dream and deliberation that birthed it. She described herself as a “close imitator” in her early writing, but Frankenstein marked a turning point—a work that emerged from her own mind, shaped by her experiences and convictions. It was, she wrote, “the offspring of happy days, when death and grief were but words.” Yet the novel is anything but naïve. It confronts death, grief, and the monstrous with unflinching honesty, offering no easy answers.
Ultimately, Frankenstein is a story about boundaries—between life and death, creator and creation, knowledge and wisdom.
Mary Shelley crafted it with the precision of a philosopher and the passion of a poet. Her legacy is not just the tale of a man who made a monster, but the enduring question: What does it mean to be human? In the shadow of lightning and loss, Shelley forged a myth that still flickers with relevance, reminding us that creation is never neutral, and that every act of making carries the weight of responsibility.
Synopsis of Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus
Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein unfolds as a layered narrative, beginning with a series of letters from an ambitious Arctic explorer, Robert Walton, to his sister in England. Walton, seeking glory through discovery, encounters a mysterious, half-frozen man drifting on the ice: Victor Frankenstein. As Victor recovers aboard the ship, he recounts his harrowing tale—a story of brilliance, obsession, and ruin.
Victor, a young Swiss scientist from Geneva, becomes consumed by the desire to unlock the secrets of life. At university in Ingolstadt, he immerses himself in natural philosophy and chemistry, eventually discovering a method to animate lifeless matter. Driven by ambition and a thirst for godlike power, he assembles a creature from stolen body parts and brings it to life. But the moment the creature awakens, Victor is horrified by its grotesque appearance and flees, abandoning his creation.
Alone and rejected, the creature wanders the world, gradually learning language, empathy, and the pain of exclusion. He secretly observes a rural family, yearning for connection, but when he reveals himself, he is met with fear and violence. Heartbroken and enraged, the creature confronts Victor and demands a companion—someone like himself who will not recoil in horror. Victor initially agrees but later destroys the second creature, fearing the consequences of unleashing another being like the first.
This betrayal drives the creature to vengeance. He murders Victor’s loved ones, including his best friend Henry Clerval and his bride, Elizabeth, on their wedding night. Consumed by grief and guilt, Victor vows to hunt the creature to the ends of the earth. Their chase leads him to the Arctic, where he meets Walton and dies shortly after finishing his story.
In the novel’s final scene, the creature appears over Victor’s corpse. He expresses remorse for his actions and declares his intention to end his own life, vanishing into the icy wilderness. The tale closes with Walton reflecting on the dangers of unchecked ambition and the tragic consequences of playing god.
Shelley’s Frankenstein is both a gothic horror and a philosophical parable—a meditation on creation, alienation, and the moral limits of scientific pursuit.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Running Man – An intense and unpredictable action thriller where anyone can be the enemy
A masterful portrait of an alternative, not-too-distant future in America, The Running Man was first published in 1982 under Stephen King’s pseudonym Richard Bachman and later reprinted under King’s own name in 1985 as part of The Bachman Books.
In it, King envisioned an authoritarian world run by an all-powerful corporation called the Network, where wealth (or lack of it) ruthlessly divides the population. A permanent underclass ripe for exploitation is plugged into nonstop Free-Vee, television programming featuring violent game shows where desperate contestants risk life and limb in humiliating and often dangerous stunts for cash. The deadliest game of all is “The Running Man.”
Into this world comes Ben Richards, a construction worker who has run afoul of the Network and is permanently banned from working for their subsidiaries — the only opportunity for employment at all. Previously adapted for the screen in 1987 starring Arnold Schwarzenegger and directed by Paul Michael Glaser, The Running Man returns to the big screen in an all-new adaptation directed by award-winning filmmaker Edgar Wright, with a script by longtime collaborator Michael Bacall and Wright.
“When I was a teenager, I was a huge Stephen King fan — I still am,” says director by Edgar Wright (Baby Driver, Shaun of the Dead). “I must have been 14 when I read The Running Man for the first time, and it really stayed with me. I saw the 1987 film version a few years after that, and while I really enjoyed it, I was struck by how loose an adaptation it was. So, for years, rather than remake that film, I’d wanted to do a new adaptation of the story that stays closer to the book that left such an impact on me, but the rights were never available.”
Then, a few years ago, Simon Kinberg, the Oscar-nominated producer of The Martian and the X-Men franchise, unexpectedly approached Wright to see if he would be interested in directing an all-new version of the classic novel.
For Kinberg, the idea of pairing Wright’s uniquely electric filmmaking style with such a colorful source material, felt like the perfect match.
“I’ve been a huge fan of Edgar’s work forever and have been trying to get him to direct a movie for me. With The Running Man, I knew it was finally the exact right match,” Kinberg recalls. “Partly, I knew that because I read a tweet from him saying that The Running Man is the only remake he would ever consider. But more, I knew that the combination of kinetic action, emotional character-centred storytelling, and the opportunity to create a cool, unique, incendiary version of the future – that looks somewhat like our own – would be the perfect material for him. I reached out to him with fingers crossed.”
The answer, as Wright recalls, was an enthusiastic yes. “It doesn’t often happen that something lands in my inbox that I’m already interested in,” Wright says. “I had long imagined a film that took the action out of the controlled atmosphere of the first movie and into the world at large, as it is in the book.”
Wright’s longtime producing partner Nira Park, with whom he has been collaborating since 2004’s cult hit Shaun of the Dead, also came on board – with The Running Man representing a turning point in both scale and personal significance.
“This film is the biggest film we’ve made together, and with the release date locked in from the start, we had less prep and post than we’re used to,” shares Park. “We knew it would be a challenge, but it also carried a different kind of weight – Stephen King is one of Edgar’s heroes, he loved the book since he was a teenager and he wanted a new adaptation to do it justice.”
Wright quickly got in touch with Bacall, with whom he had previously worked on Scott Pilgrim vs. the World. “When Edgar asked me to take a look at the book, I was struck by the raw emotional intensity of the hero, Ben Richards,” Bacall shares. “It jumped off the page.”
The screenplay was crafted by Michael Bacall (21 Jump Street, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World) and the team of Michael Bacall & Edgar Wright, based on the novel by Stephen King.
Unlike the first screen adaptation, which unfolds mostly within an enclosed arena, Wright and Bacall’s version sends Richards across a vast landscape of densely populated cities, rural backroads, and deserted byways—journeying from his home in the fictional Co-Op City through New York and New England as he tries to reach Canada.
“The tagline from the original 1982 novel said ‘Welcome to America in 2025, when the best men don’t run for president—they run for their lives,” notes Wright. “The fact that the book was set in 2025 and we’re releasing the film this year is a coincidence, but a fortuitous one. We never actually specify the year in the movie; but we imagined that it would resemble the vision of the future that King dreamt up in 1982.”
As in the novel, the action is seen almost entirely from Ben’s point of view to turn up the dial on the suspense. “Just like Ben, the audience never knows what’s coming next,” says Bacall. “We embraced the book’s premise that the entire country is the arena and the public is participants in the game. Bringing the audience along for the journey makes them feel Ben’s righteous anger. We were both excited to dive in and see where that led.”
In Wright and Bacall’s hands, The Running Man became an intense and unpredictable action thriller where anyone can be the enemy — and more than likely is. “All Ben Richards wants to do is earn enough money to get medicine for his sick child,” says Wright. “Moving through different environments and meeting different people as he tries to survive becomes steadily more dangerous as Free-Vee watchers are turned against him by the Network’s incendiary propaganda and the rewards they offer for information on his whereabouts.”
Looming over the action of The Running Man is a monopoly more powerful than any government, with tentacles extending into every aspect of daily life.
“The Network is an exaggeration of real-life companies that have lots of different businesses in everything from groceries to media,” explains Wright. “We’ve taken it a stage further. The Network is one all-powerful corporation that controls everything. They know your employment history, your medical history, they know it all. Going up against the Network is a seemingly impossible task.”
Governing through intimidation, misinformation, and constant surveillance, the Network controls the world. “They produce and distribute all the broadcast programming available,” says Bacall. “Every household is supplied a state-mandated television set subsidised by the Network. Free-Vee is a perfect vector for their propaganda. And you don’t just watch Free-Vee — it watches you back.”
The most popular programs are the game shows in which members of the public can win cash prizes. “All of them are cruel and most of them are extremely dangerous,” says Wright. “‘The Running Man’ is the deadliest of all. Three ‘runners’ try to survive for 30 days as they are pursued by a highly trained death squad. They can win cash prizes of up to a billion dollars if they make the full 30 days. It’s the most treacherous game of hide and seek imaginable. Wherever you go, millions of people are trying to stop you.”
Since no one has survived the full 30 days, anyone who agrees to be on the show is effectively signing their own death warrant. “And it’s the most popular show in the country,” says Wright. Other shows on the Network that appear in the film include “Spin the Wheel”, another deadly game show with a cameo by Sean Hayes as the host, and “The Americanos”, a Kardashian-esque reality show led by more fun cameos in Debi Mazar and Catherine Cohen. “When we were writing, Michael and I talked a lot about reality TV and how the narrative can be massaged and manipulated. Stephen King foresaw the next four decades of how reality television develop in The Running Man. The film’s audience will discover that the narrative of the show is constantly being interfered with for maximum entertainment.”
At the beginning of the story, Ben Richards, played by Glen Powell, is a family man simply trying to survive. Recently fired, with a wife (played by Jayme Lawson), sick daughter and mounting bills, he auditions for a game show in a last desperate gamble to keep his family alive. He has no intention of risking his life, but after a series of assessments, Network executives earmark him as the ideal candidate for “The Running Man.”
“There’s a lot of anger in Ben after being blacklisted,” Wright says. “He’s stood up to bullies and was punished for doing the right thing. The easy thing for him in life would be to play along or follow the herd, but he can’t do that. Ben has a very short fuse when it comes to injustice, and that makes him a compelling runner.”
Powell’s relatable everyman quality, used to good advantage in films like Twisters and Top Gun: Maverick, is one of the things that made him the right actor for the role.
According to Bacall, Powell instinctively understood what Wright needed from him. “It’s a demanding role, both physically and emotionally,” the writer says. “He maintained an unbelievable level of intensity over several months. Glen is a very natural talent. It never feels like he’s acting. We really hit the jackpot.”
Powell was drawn to the story of an average man facing impossible odds, something he says he often gravitates to and feels all audiences can relate to. “Ben Richards is the ultimate underdog,” he continues. “He and his family live in a poverty-stricken area. Cathy, his 2-year-old daughter, is extremely sick. He can’t afford the medicine she needs, so he takes a wild swing at these game shows. When he proves himself to be angry, charismatic, and volatile, he gets roped into the deadliest of them all. He signs up knowing that he may not come back.”
According to Bacall, Powell instinctively understood what Wright needed from him. “It’s a demanding role, both physically and emotionally,” the writer says. “He maintained an unbelievable level of intensity over several months. Glen is a very natural talent. It never feels like he’s acting. We really hit the jackpot.”
Powell was drawn to the story of an average man facing impossible odds, something he says he often gravitates to and feels all audiences can relate to. “Ben Richards is the ultimate underdog,” he continues. “He and his family live in a poverty-stricken area. Cathy, his 2-year-old daughter, is extremely sick. He can’t afford the medicine she needs, so he takes a wild swing at these game shows. When he proves himself to be angry, charismatic, and volatile, he gets roped into the deadliest of them all. He signs up knowing that he may not come back.”
Set in an almost strangely familiar future, the film is a 600-mile odyssey that starts in the fictional Co-Op City and ends in Canada, passing through New York and New England along the way.
“Our intent was to craft an alternate reality,” says Wright. “The film features little technology that doesn’t exist in some form today. But while some things have progressed, others have regressed. In the affluent Uptown districts, everything is polished and functions flawlessly, while in the poorer areas, even the simplest devices fail, reflecting a world where advancement and decay coexist side by side. Nothing works like it once had or still should.”
Ben Richards is forced to go on a blockbuster journey that transforms him from everyman underdog to revolutionary hero in The Running Man.
Written 43 years ago, King’s novel still seems remarkably current to the director. “The exciting and, also, striking thing to me was that a book I’d read nearly 40 years ago felt alarmingly prescient now.” Wright continues, “We’ve had decades of reality TV since then, and the spectacle has only grown more intense and corrosive. The Running Man captures the same appetite for entertainment that blurs the line between reality and performance, manipulation and truth.”
Producers Kinberg and Park note that the film’s mix of spectacle, adrenaline, and sharp wit is what makes it such a ride – a crowd-pleasing adventure that also has something to say about the world we live in.
“First and foremost, we’d love the audience to have a great night at the movies, to go along for an intense but highly entertaining ride and leave the theater wearing a huge grin,” says Park. “If they find themselves inspired by Ben Richards’ ferocious moral clarity, even better.”
Kinberg adds, “The genius of King’s book is that it speaks to everyone because it’s ultimately about the underdogs in our society – which is as relevant now as it was 45 years ago when he wrote it. It’s easy to root for someone who’s been beaten down by the system, and even easier when that someone is Glen Powell, in the hands of Edgar’s vision. So, the hope is that audiences have a good time, and leave feeling more empowered, more enabled to stand up to a system that’s becoming harder and harder for more and more people, on all sides of the political spectrum.”
For his co-writer Bacall, being reunited with Wright was everything he anticipated. “We hit the ground running with total confidence on my part that whatever he did would go above and beyond what was on the page,” he says. “Working with Edgar, you see these elements layering on top of the script. That creates a fantastic depth that can’t always be brought to the page but is perfect for a visual medium. He’s a real master at that.”
The result is a film that is thrilling, thought-provoking, and hugely entertaining – a reminder of why great stories never lose their edge.
“What I love about the film is seeing our character go on this journey from everyman to revolutionary,” says Wright. “The ambitious part of the film is how expansive that journey is. I hope audiences enjoy the ride—it’s a roller coaster of thrills, but there’s also plenty to think about long after the credits roll.”
EDGAR WRIGHT, p.g.a. (Directed by, Screenplay by, Produced by) burst onto the scene with the groundbreaking British sitcom “Spaced,” instantly marking himself as a bold new creative voice. He followed with two back-to-back genre-defining hits: the RomZomCom Shaun of the Dead and the action-comedy Hot Fuzz, both made with longtime collaborators Simon Pegg and Nick Frost.
Wright then co-wrote, produced, and directed Scott Pilgrim vs. The World, starring Michael Cera, Mary Elizabeth Winstead, Chris Evans, Aubrey Plaza, and more. The film quickly became a cult phenomenon that continues to gain fans every year. Its legacy inspired the acclaimed animated series “Scott Pilgrim Takes Off,” which Wright produced and which reunited the original cast.
In 2013, Wright completed what became known as The Cornetto Trilogy with The World’s End. He followed with the stylish heist-thriller Baby Driver, which earned over $220 million worldwide, three Academy Award nominations, and a BAFTA for Best Editing.
Wright’s 2021 slate showcased his range, with the psychological thriller Last Night in Soho and the music documentary The Sparks Brothers, a heartfelt tribute to “the greatest band you’ve never heard of.” He is currently in post-production on The Running Man for Paramount, screenplay co-written and directed by Wright, based on the novel by Stephen King (under the Richard Bachman pseudonym). The film stars Glen Powell, Josh Brolin, Colman Domingo, and reunites Wright with Michael Cera.
Beyond film and television, Wright has directed commercials for brands such as SquareSpace, Hotels.com, Nike, and McDonald’s, as well as music videos for artists including Pharrell Williams, Daft Punk, Beck, and Mint Royale.
MICHAEL BACALL (Screenplay by) Michael Bacall was born in Los Angeles, where he began working as an actor at 9 years old. He slowly built a resume of guest roles on classic TV shows, often as a convincing nerd or unconvincing bully, then grew into portraying the occasional stoner and becoming an all-around utility player (usually on the bench). He attended UCLA on a Free Willy residuals scholarship, then wrote and co-starred in the cult indie-film Manic. Known for genre-blending versatility, Bacall went on to write 50 million unproduced screenplays, and critically beloved films such as 21/22 Jump Street,Scott Pilgrim Vs The World and Project X, recommended in its NYT review for a Nobel Prize.
Bacall lives in Los Angeles with his family of overpowered amplifiers.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Famous Writers And Their Cats
Writers and cats have always shared a special bond. Cats, like writers, are willful creatures, who don’t like to be controlled.
There is a long recorded history of the love writers have for their cats. In fact, there are so many writers who have adored cats that it’s difficult to ignore.
Cats are elegant, mysterious, and beautiful. They are also ruthless and selfish when they have to be. Many cats have inspired works of literature including Edgar Allan Poe’s Catterina, Cleveland Amory’s Polar Bear, and T.S. Eliot’s Jellylorum.
Canadian novelist and playwright Robertson Davies once wrote, “Authors like cats because they are such quiet, loveable, wise creatures, and cats like authors for the same reasons.”
Most authors are creative introverts and cats fit beautifully into an introvert’s world. As the American author, Andre Norton said, ‘Perhaps it is because cats do not live by human patterns, do not fit themselves into prescribed behaviour, that they are so united to creative people.’
They say that a dog is a man’s best friend, but these writers found solace—and occasional inspiration—in another four-legged companion.
Sir Anthony Hopkins he loved to play piano for his cat, Sir Niblo
10 Spiritual Lessons You Can Learn from Your Cat
Do we rush through life without noticing our surroundings? Do we spend enough time caring for our own basic needs and comfort? Take a page from the feline playbook to keep you purring. By mimicking the behavior of the cats that share our homes, we can develop fuller, richer spiritual lives. From the patterns of play, to the need for sleep, to finding joy in the smallest of things, cats show us how to reach inside ourselves for higher goals, a less stressful life, and a newfound ability to purr in tune with the world. Photographs of prancing, prowling, and playful cats provide the necessary inspiration to make the most of all of your nine lives. Add Joanna Sandsmark’s inspiring book to your collection.
James Bowen, a homeless heroin addict, quit his addiction because of a stray cat he named (Bob). James found (Bob) injured in 2007 and began caring for him, which gave his life a purpose and aided him in quitting heroin and returning to a normal life. James Bowen wrote a book featuring the cat Bob as the main character. The book made it to the bestseller list and was turned into a film (A Street Cat Named Bob) in which Bob himself appeared. James has written several books starring Bob the cat, and he now works in supporting the needy and homeless, as well as charity work and rescuing street animals.
“He gave me this look, almost saying, ‘help’, but also ‘sort it out’,” said the author today. Bowen nursed Bob back to health, only to find the cat following him everywhere he went, even joining him when he busked and sold the Big Issue. The pair became well-known in London, going on to attract the attention of a literary agent, who sold Bowen’s story of how, with Bob’s help, he would get over his addictions to heroin and methadone, to Hodder & Stoughton. It also inspired two films. Bob the cat died in June 2020.
Marlon Brando – was American legendary actor who became iconic figure in 1950s for antisocial figure was also a great writer. He had photographed with his cats several times and Vito’s cat in iconic figure in 1950s for antisocial figure.
Marlon Brando once said, “I live in my cat’s house.”
He had a real love for felines, and gave a big movie break to a stray that was found by director Francis Ford Coppola on the set of The Godfather. Brando held the tabby in his lap throughout the opening scene, and people have thought it intentional brilliance ever since, reading symbolism into the hidden claws and softening the first impression of a mafia boss.
One of most important and influential writers in history, Charles Dickens once said: “What greater gift than the love of a cat?” He would sit entranced for hours while writing, but when his furry friends needed some attention, they were notorious for extinguishing the flame on his desk candle. In 1862, he was so upset after the death of his favorite cat, Bob, that he had the feline’s paw stuffed and mounted to an ivory letter opener. He had the opener engraved saying, “C.D., In memory of Bob, 1862” so he could have a constant reminder of his old friend. The letter opener is now on display at the Berg Collection of English and American Literature at the New York Public Library.
Mark Twain—the great humorist and man of American letters—was also a great cat lover. ‘I simply can’t resist a cat, particularly a purring one. They are the cleanest, cunningest, and most intelligent things I know, outside of the girl you love, of course.’ Twain kept eleven cats at his farm in Connecticut. When his beloved black cat Bambino went missing, Twain took out an advertisement in the New York American offering a $5 reward to return the missing cat to his house at 21 Fifth Avenue in New York City. It decribed Bambino as “Large and intensely black; thick, velvety fur; has a faint fringe of white hair across his chest; not easy to find in ordinary light.”
The feline protagonists in Stephen King’s novels lead haunted lives. In Pet Sematary, King tells a story of loss inspired by his family’s own tragic experience with their pet cat Smucky who was hit by a car. King’s cat-filled publicity photo for the movie Cat’s Eye, based on several of the author’s short stories, proves that the author’s fascination with the macabre didn’t stop him from being a cat magnet. This famous cat-lover wrote that ‘it might be that the biggest division in the world isn’t men and women but folks who like cats and folks who like dogs.’ The Shawshank Redemption author has owned several pets over the years, including “a rather crazed Siamese cat” named Pear.
‘The cat does not offer services. The cat offers itself,” says William Burroughs, who is known for his wild, drug-induced writings, but he had a softer side as well—especially when it came to his cats. He penned an autobiographical novella, The Cat Inside, about the cats he owned throughout his life, and the final journal entry Burroughs wrote before he died referred to the pure love he had for his four pets: “Only thing can resolve conflict is love, like I felt for Fletch and Ruski, Spooner, and Calico. Pure love. What I feel for my cats present and past. Love? What is it? Most natural painkiller what there is. LOVE.”
Aside from peppering his high Modernist poetry with allusions to feline friends, T.S. Eliot wrote a book of light verse called Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats, a collection of 15 poems, dedicated to his godchildren, regarding the different personalities and eccentricities of cats. Names like Old Deuteronomy, the Rum Tum Tugger, and Mr. Mistoffelees should be familiar to people all around the world—the characters and poems were the inspiration for Andrew Lloyd Webber’s long-running Broadway musical, Cats. Later publications of Old Possum’s included illustrations by noted artist Edward Gorey—yet another avid cat lover. You can listen to Eliot read “The Naming of Cats” here.
Patricia Highsmith doesn’t have the friendliest literary reputation around (she once said “my imagination functions much better when I don’t have to speak to people”). But The Talented Mr. Ripley and Strangers on a Train author nevertheless found a perfect way to let her imagination function with her many four-legged companions. She did virtually everything with her cats—she wrote next to them, she ate next to them, and she even slept next to them. She kept them by her side throughout her life until her death at her home in Locarno, Switzerland in 1995.
Highsmith was an animal lover who absolutely loved cats, especially Siamese. She had up to six at the same time. Urich Weber, the curator of Highsmith’s archive, once explained that “she was very happy among cats. They gave her a closeness that she could not bear in the long-term from people. She needed cats for her psychological balance.”
She didn’t have the friendliest literary reputation around—she once said “my imagination functions much better when I don’t have to speak to people” nevertheless found a perfect way to let her imagination function with her many four-legged companions. Time and again they were the object of her literary and artistic work. She did virtually everything with her cats—she wrote next to them, she ate next to them, and she even slept next to them. She kept them by her side throughout her life until her death at her home in Locarno, Switzerland in 1995.
“A cat makes a home a home, a writer is not alone with a cat, yet is enough alone to work. More than this, a cat is a walking, sleeping, ever-changing work of art.” ~ Patricia Highsmith
British Nobel Prize-winning author Doris Lessing wrote of her affection for cats many times, but she felt a particular affinity for her pet El Magnifico. “He was such a clever cat,” she remarked to the Wall Street Journal in 2008. “We used to have sessions when we tried to be on each other’s level. He knew we were trying. When push came to shove, though, the communication was pretty limited.”
Ernest Hemingway and his family initially became infatuated with cats while living at Finca Vigía, their house in Cuba. During the writer’s travels, he was gifted a six-toed (or polydactyl) cat he named Snowball. Hemingway liked the little guy so much that in 1931, when he moved into his now-famous Key West home, he let Snowball run wild, creating a small colony of felines that populated the grounds. Today, some 40 to 50 six-toed descendants of Snowball are still allowed to roam around the house. Polydactyl felines are sometimes called “Hemingway Cats.”
American writer Ernest Hemingway is probably the most famous cat lover in the literary world, along with Mark Twain (who took his love of cats to such an extent that he refused to be friends with people who didn’t like cats and rented cats when he was on tour and couldn’t take his own cats with him).
Many of you are probably familiar with the Hemingway House in Key West, Florida, which is home to about 60 cats. Hemingway’s first polydactyl cat, named Snow, was given to him by a captain and marked the beginning of his love for these animals.
Many of the cats that live at the Hemingway House today are descendants of Snow and are well cared for by the staff there. It’s a fantastic place for literature and cat lovers. All Hemingway cats after Snow were named after famous people (Mark Twain was one of them, as he was Hemingway’s literary role model) – a tradition that the Hemingway House continues to this day.
“A cat has absolute emotional honesty: people can hide their feelings for some reason, but a cat cannot.” – Ernest Hemingway
Hemingway admired cats for what he called their “emotional honesty.” To him, they were unpretentious creatures—graceful, self-assured, and incapable of deceit. They lived entirely in the present moment, and that, he believed, was something writers could learn from: to face the world and one’s emotions without disguise.
Known to be a general cat lover during his life, this 18th century jack-of-all-trades was immortalized in James Boswell’s proto-biography The Life of Samuel Johnson.
In the text, Boswell writes of Johnson’s cat, Hodge, saying, “I never shall forget the indulgence with which he treated Hodge, his cat: for whom he himself used to go out and buy oysters, lest the servants having that trouble should take a dislike to the poor creature. I am, unluckily, one of those who have an antipathy to a cat, so that I am uneasy when in the room with one; and I own, I frequently suffered a good deal from the presence of this same Hodge.” Although Boswell was not a fan, Johnson called Hodge “A very fine cat indeed.” Hodge is immortalized, with his oysters, with a statue of his likeness that stands outside Johnson’s house at 17 Gough Square in London.
The Osaragi Jirō Memorial Museum in Yokohama, Japan is dedicated to the author Jirō Osaragi and features numerous cat ornaments as an integral part of its feline-themed decor. Osaragi wrote several novels connected to Yokohama, including Gento (Magic Lantern) and lived at the Hotel New Grand for over 10 years (in room 318). It’s often said that the Shōwa-period author cared for over 500 cats throughout his lifetime at his home in Kamakura, Japan—which is sometimes open to the public. Visitors can lounge on Osaragi’s terrace and sip tea while picturing the hundreds of semi-feral cats that once frolicked in the gardens.
Ray Bradbury compared parts of the writer’s creative process to cat ownership, saying that ideas, like cats, “come silently in the hour of trying to wake up and remember my name.”
His advice for writers?
“Treat ideas like cats … make them follow you.”
In his short story, The Cat’s Pajamas, two cat lovers fight over who will keep a stray cat they find in the middle of a California highway.
Though not overt, William Yeats’s love for cats can be found in poems like “The Cat and the Moon,” where he uses the image of a cat to represent himself and the image of the moon to represent his muse Maude Gonne, a high society-born feminist and sometime actress who inspired the poet throughout his life.
The poem references Gonne’s cat named Minnaloushe, who sits and stares at the changing moon. Yeats metaphorically transforms himself into the cat longing for his love that is indifferent to him, and the heartsick feline poet wonders whether Gonne will ever change her mind. Too bad for Yeats; Maude Gonne never agreed to marry him, despite the fact that he asked for her hand in marriage—four separate times.
Raymond Chandler had an immense influence on detective fiction and came to define the tenets of hard-boiled noir. He used femme fatales, twisting plots, and whip-cracking wordplay in his evocative classics starring the detective Philip Marlowe, including The Big Sleep and The Long Goodbye. But it wasn’t all serious business for Chandler because—you guessed it—he really loved cats. His cat Taki gave him endless enjoyment, but also occasionally got on his nerves.
Here’s a passage from a letter Chandler wrote to a friend about Taki:
“Our cat is growing positively tyrannical. If she finds herself alone anywhere she emits blood curdling yells until somebody comes running. She sleeps on a table in the service porch and now demands to be lifted up and down from it. She gets warm milk about eight o’clock at night and starts yelling for it about 7.30.”
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Now You See Me: Now You Don’t – The Avengers Of Magic
Dominic Sessa as Bosco, Jesse Eisenberg as Daniel Atlas, Isla Fisher as Henley Reeves, and Justice Smith as Charlie in Now You See Me: Now You Don’t. Photo Credit: Katalin Vermes
Now You See Me: Now You Don’t marks the dazzling return of the Four Horsemen in the third instalment of Lionsgate’s high-octane heist-meets-magic franchise. Renowned filmmaker Ruben Fleischer, known for blockbuster action hits, takes the helm, for which he immediately saw a myriad of opportunities.
“There’s something about magic that generates a feeling of wonder and awe that I absolutely love,” he explains. “It’s about not knowing how something is done and being amazed by it. I’ve been going to magic shows for a long time, and the opportunity to bring that wonder and enjoyment to a new movie in this franchise was irresistible.”
This new exhilarating chapter in the global motion-picture franchise is for longtime fans and for brand-new audiences discovering the magic for the first time. The Horsemen receive a new message from The Eye — the secretive global society of magicians dedicated to stealing from the rich to give to the poor — and take on their biggest heist yet on the world stage. The story crisscrosses the globe, from New York, France, and Antwerp to South Africa, the Arabian Desert, and Abu Dhabi, as the magicians evade capture while plotting to extricate a priceless jewel from a corrupt diamond magnate engaged in blood money laundering and market manipulation.
The stakes and scale, scope and spectacle have never been higher. Everything that disappears … reappears … bigger, bolder, and more mind-blowing than ever.
Since the Horsemen disappeared from public view ten years ago — as suddenly as one of their jaw-dropping illusions — a trio of young magicians has been following in their path. While life may have presented them with some harsh realities, Charlie (Justice Smith), June (Ariana Greenblatt), and Bosco (Dominic Sessa) have found comfort, thrill, and survival through magic. A skilled pickpocket even the Artful Dodger could admire, June is the team’s fearless firecracker, possessing a sometimes dry and dark humour, she combines with her own brand of energy. June is skilled in parkour and is an accomplished martial artist — and always fiercely loyal to the new band of Horsemen.
Now You See Me: Now You Don’tis directed by Ruben Fleischer, screenplay is by Michael Lesslie and Paul Wernick & Rhett Reese and Seth Grahame-Smith; the story is by Eric Warren Singer and Michael Lesslie; based on characters created by Boaz Yakin & Edward Ricourt.
Diamonds. Magic. Glamour. Race cars. Heists. Impossible escapes. A whirlwind journey from historic Europe to the futuristic city of Abu Dhabi. These are just some of the high-octane, high-glamour ingredients of Now You See Me: Now You Don’t, in which the legendary Horsemen return, with three intrepid new partners, to prove that the world still craves magic.
According to Fleischer, the ultimate way to experience that ride is in cinemas. “This is absolutely a movie that you must see in theaters, because of the scale and spectacle,” he comments. “This is not small-screen stuff. We have movie stars, epic locations, huge set pieces, and authentic magic. Now You See Me: Now You Don’tnot only deserves to be seen in theaters, it needs to be experienced in theaters to get the full experience.”
Director Ruben Fleischer in Now You See Me: Now You Don’t. Photo Credit: Katalin Vermes/Lionsgate
You don’t have to have seen the first two movies to love this one. It stands on its own while carrying all the magic, action, and fun fans already adore. As Ariana Greenblatt shares: “You could see how much fun we genuinely had every single day through the screen. If you hadn‘t seen Now You See Me and Now You See Me 2, you‘re in for a refreshing, fun, exciting treat. And it‘s going to make you want to watch the first two. And then watch the third one again for safekeeping.”
For Jesse Eisenberg, the film represents the culmination of a singular kind of world-building, in which magicians “band together to use their skillsets to create real world magic and real justice. I’ve loved this world so much.”
“The movie pulls the rug out from under you, the audience, in a way that brings you along for the ride. The things it celebrates are cleverness, limitless imagination, and teamwork.”
Producer Bobby Cohen sums it up, noting that the new chapter pushes the franchise further: “We’re giving audiences everything they love about the Now You See Me world—the spectacle, chemistry, illusions, international locations—but bigger, bolder, and without relying on visual effects. With Dominic, Ariana, and Justice, we’ve found a new generation of Horsemen worthy of the franchise, pushing it to new heights alongside our returning Horsemen. The alchemy just works. And honestly, I think we’ve made the best one yet.”
Ruben Fleischer is an American director and producer known for his kinetic, genre-blending style and sharp comedic instincts. Born in Washington, D.C. in 1974, Fleischer studied history at Wesleyan University before pivoting to filmmaking, cutting his teeth on music videos and commercials. He broke out with Zombieland (2009), a horror-comedy that became a cult hit and showcased his flair for balancing gore with wit. His subsequent films include 30 Minutes or Less, Gangster Squad, and the box office smash Venom (2018), which expanded his reach into superhero territory. Fleischer’s work often features ensemble casts, stylized action, and a playful tone that masks deeper emotional undercurrents. In Now You See Me: Now You Don’t (2025), he brings his signature energy to the illusionist heist franchise, steering it into more emotionally resonant and visually daring territory.
Seth Grahame-Smith As a screenwriter and producer, his movies have grossed nearly $2.5 billion at the box office, ranging from family fare like The Lego Batman Movie, to the highest-grossing horror movie of all time, Stephen King’s IT. He’s had the privilege of working with legendary filmmakers like Tim Burton, Ron Howard, and Steven Spielberg. As an author of three New York Times best-selling novels, he’s credited with creating the ‘mash-up’ literary genre with his novels Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, both of which sold more than two million copies worldwide and went on to become motion pictures. His books have been translated into more than 25 languages.
Michael Lesslie is a screenwriter, playwright, and producer whose projects have won international awards ranging from BAFTAs to Emmys®. His film of Macbeth premiered in Official Competition in Cannes to five-star reviews. His television debut “The Little Drummer Girl,” onwhich he served as showrunner for the legendary director Park Chan-Wook, also launched to five-star reviews, along with top ratings for the BBC. His film TheHunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes, stayed at number one in the global box office for multiple weeks and successfully relaunched the franchise.His plays have been performed at the Royal National Theatre and beyond, and in 2007 he became the youngest person ever to open a new play straight into the West End. Lesslie’s new projects include a film of Hamlet led by Riz Ahmed. He has also been writing the first-ever X-Men movie for Marvel, bringing the iconic mutants into the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Now he is developing large-scale film, TV, and theater projects with Netflix, A24, and more.
Lesslie co-founded Storyteller Productions in order to bring bold, global new stories to life. The company’s work includes the News & Documentary Emmy®-winning The Rescue, Ron Howard’s Thirteen Lives, and Michael Mann’s Ferrari. Storyteller is due to shoot two feature films in the next year, with more nearing production — including the first major film to be shot in space, to be directed by Doug Liman and to star Tom Cruise.
Writers/Producers Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick, partners since 2001, wrote and executive-produced Twentieth Century Fox’s Deadpool, starring Ryan Reynolds. The 2016 superhero action-comedy grossed $783 million at the international box office. Deadpool was nominated for Best Picture (Comedy or Musical) at the Golden Globes and won the Critics’ Choice Award for Best Comedy. Reese and Wernick also earned a Writers’ Guild nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay. Reese and Wernick subsequently co-wrote and executive-produced Deadpool 2 and Once Upon a Deadpool, which together outperformed Deadpool at the box office ($785 million). They subsequently completed the trilogy, writing and executive-producing Deadpool & Wolverine for Marvel/Disney, grossing over $1.3 billion, making it history’s single highest- grossing R-rated movie.
Reese and Wernick created, wrote, and executive-produced the critically and commercially successful Zombieland franchise, starring Woody Harrelson, Emma Stone, and Jesse Eisenberg. Zombieland and Zombieland 2: Double Tap each earned more than $100 million. Both rank on the short list of highest-grossing zombie movies.
Following Zombieland 2, Reese and Wernick wrote and executive-produced 6 Underground, an original action-adventure for Netflix, directed by Michael Bay and starring Ryan Reynolds. 6 Underground remains one of Netflix’s most-watched originals.
The pair wrote and produced Spiderhead for Netflix, based on the short story by George Saunders, starring Chris Hemsworth and Miles Teller. They also wrote and produced Ghosted, an original for Apple, starring Chris Evans and Ana de Armas, and most recently produced Eenie Meanie for 20th Century Studios.
Upcoming projects include Balls Up, an original action-comedy written and produced by Reese & Wernick for Amazon Studios, with Peter Farrelly directing and Mark Wahlberg, Paul Walter Hauser, and Sacha Baron Cohen starring, to be released in 2026, and Split Fiction, based on the hit Hazelight video game, starring Sydney Sweeney and to be directed by Jon M. Chu, for Amazon.
Reese’s and Wernick’s past credits include G.I. Joe: Retaliation, starring Dwayne Johnson, Channing Tatum, and Bruce Willis, for Paramount Pictures ($375 million worldwide), and Life, starring Ryan Reynolds, Jake Gyllenhaal, and Rebecca Ferguson, for Sony Pictures.
Reese’s and Wernick’s initial collaboration was in television, creating, writing, and executive-producing “The Joe Schmo Show”for Spike TV. The series drew Spike’s highest-ever ratings. “Joe Schmo”was named to numerous Best Of lists, including TIME Magazine’s Top 10 TV Shows of the year and Entertainment Weekly’s 50 Best TV Shows Ever on DVD. Reese and Wernick followed up with “Joe Schmo 2, 3, & 4”and “Invasion Iowa,” a high-concept comedy hybrid starring William Shatner. They returned to TV in 2019 with “Wayne,” a streaming series for YouTube Premium and Amazon TV. Reese and Wernick currently have “Twisted Metal,”starring Anthony Mackie, based on the PlayStation video game, currently in its second season for Peacock, and “The Continental,” based on the John Wick franchise, also for Peacock. They have several other new film and TV projects in various stages of development.
Prior to teaming up, Reese wrote movies for Pixar Animation Studios (Monsters, Inc.), Walt Disney Feature Animation (Dinosaur), and Warner Brothers (Clifford’s Really Big Movie), among others. Wernick produced several network reality shows. He won three Emmy® Awards for his work in news.
Reese and Wernick met in high school in Phoenix, Arizona. The two were inducted into the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences in 2024.
Eric Warren Singer, who conceived the story for Now You See Me: Now You Don’t, is an acclaimed screenwriter known for his cerebral thrillers and character-driven narratives. He earned an Oscar nomination for American Hustle (2013), co-written with David O. Russell, and contributed to The International (2009), Only the Brave (2017), and Top Gun: Maverick (2022). Singer’s work often explores ambition, loyalty, and the cost of truth, making him a fitting architect for a film that dances between illusion and revelation. His story provides the scaffolding for a narrative that is both dazzling and emotionally resonant.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on A PAW Patrol Christmas: Saving Santa’s Sleigh
A PAW Patrol Christmas is a heartwarming tale of resilience, teamwork, and the enduring magic of childhood wonder.
Set in the snowy world of Adventure Bay, the story unfolds when Santa Claus falls ill just before Christmas Eve. With the holiday spirit in jeopardy, Rubble—one of the franchise’s most beloved pups—steps up to lead the team. Their mission: to save Christmas from the clutches of the ever-mischievous Mayor Humdinger, who hatches a plan to steal everyone’s presents.
While PAW Patrol has long been a staple of preschool entertainment, this Christmas special elevates the formula by anchoring it in a classic holiday dilemma: what happens when the magic of giving is threatened? In this case, the answer is found not in sleigh bells or reindeer, but in the courage and cooperation of a team of pups who believe in something bigger than themselves.
Director Charles E. Bastien, a longtime creative force behind the PAW Patrol universe, brings a cinematic flair to the special. His direction balances action-packed sequences with tender emotional beats, ensuring that the story resonates with both children and their families. Writer Scott Kraft, known for his work on other PAW Patrol episodes, infuses the script with humor, heart, and a timely message about stepping up when it matters most.
The inspiration behind “A PAW Patrol Christmas” draws from both traditional holiday storytelling and the evolving role of animated specials in shaping seasonal rituals. In an era where streaming has transformed how families gather around stories, this special aims to create a shared moment of joy and reflection. The narrative’s emphasis on Rubble’s leadership also reflects a broader shift within the franchise, spotlighting characters who embody empathy, ingenuity, and quiet strength.
What sets this special apart is its layered appeal. For young viewers, it’s a thrilling adventure filled with snow, gadgets, and giggles. For parents and caregivers, it’s a gentle reminder of the values that make the season meaningful: generosity, teamwork, and the belief that even the smallest among us can make a big difference.
In the crowded landscape of holiday programming, “A PAW Patrol Christmas” stands out not just as a brand extension, but as a story with genuine heart. It invites families to pause, cuddle up, and remember that saving Christmas isn’t about magic—it’s about showing up for one another, paws and all.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Write What Burns: Escaping the Trap of Writing for the Wrong Reasons
There’s a quiet tragedy that unfolds every day at keyboards around the world. Writers—aspiring, seasoned, or somewhere in between—sit down to create, but instead of reaching inward, they reach outward.
They write what they think will sell. What will trend. What will please the algorithm, the editor, the market.
They write for the wrong reasons.
And in doing so, they silence the very voice that made them want to write in the first place.
Writing for the wrong reasons is a seductive trap.
It often wears the mask of ambition, practicality, or even professionalism. “Write what sells,” the industry whispers. “Write what’s hot right now.”
And so, stories are born not from passion but from prediction. Not from the soul, but from spreadsheets.
The result? Work that may be technically sound, even successful—but hollow. Forgettable. Unloved by its own creator.
This isn’t a condemnation of commercial success. There’s nothing wrong with wanting your work to be read, to be recognised, to pay the bills.
But when those goals become the compass instead of the destination, the writing suffers.
The writer suffers. Because the truth is, the best stories—the ones that endure, that move people, that change lives—are not written to chase the world. They’re written to reveal it. To challenge it. To heal it.
At the heart of every great story is a truth the writer couldn’t ignore. A question they couldn’t stop asking. A wound they needed to understand.
These are the stories that live inside us, the ones that whisper in the quiet moments, that tug at our thoughts when we’re trying to sleep. They’re not always marketable. They’re not always easy. But they are necessary.
Writing the story that lives inside you is an act of courage.
It means risking rejection. It means being vulnerable. It means telling the truth, even when it’s messy, even when it’s not what people want to hear. But it’s also the only kind of writing that matters. Because when you write from that place—when you write what burns—you create something no one else can. You create something real.
The world doesn’t need more content. It doesn’t need more perfectly optimised, trend-chasing, algorithm-approved prose. It needs stories that matter.
Stories that reflect the complexity of being human. Stories that make people feel seen, or challenged, or less alone. And only you can write those stories. Not the version of you that’s trying to be the next bestseller. The real you. The one who’s lived, who’s lost, who’s still figuring it out.
Of course, writing from the heart doesn’t mean abandoning craft. Passion without discipline is just noise. But when craft is in service of truth—when structure and style are tools to better express what you need to say—then you’re not just writing well. You’re writing meaningfully.
It’s worth asking yourself: Why do I write? Is it to impress? To escape? To prove something? Or is it to connect? To explore? To say something that only I can say?
These questions aren’t easy. But they’re essential. Because if you don’t know why you’re writing, you’ll be at the mercy of every trend, every rejection, every voice that tells you you’re not good enough.
Writing the story you want to write doesn’t guarantee success. But it guarantees authenticity.
In a world drowning in noise, authenticity is rare. It’s valuable. It’s what readers crave, even if they don’t always know it. Think of the books, the essays, the poems that have stayed with you. Chances are, they weren’t written to please. They were written to express something urgent, something true.
There’s also a kind of freedom that comes with writing for the right reasons. When you stop trying to please everyone, you give yourself permission to take risks. To experiment. To fail. And in that space, you often find your voice. Not the voice you think you should have, but the one that’s been waiting for you to listen.
This doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be strategic. It’s okay to think about the audience, to consider genre, to understand the market. But those things should serve your story—not the other way around.
Start with what you need to say. Then figure out how to say it in a way that others can hear.
And if you’re not sure what story lives inside you, that’s okay. Start by paying attention.
What makes you angry? What breaks your heart? What do you wish someone had told you when you were younger? What do you lie awake thinking about?
The answers to those questions are the seeds of your most powerful work.
It’s also important to remember that writing for the right reasons doesn’t mean writing is always joyful.
Sometimes it’s painful. Sometimes it’s frustrating. But even in the struggle, there’s meaning. There’s growth. There’s the quiet satisfaction of knowing you’re doing the work that matters—to you, and maybe to someone else.
In the end, writing is an act of faith. Faith that your voice matters. That your story matters. That someone, somewhere, needs to hear what you have to say. And that’s reason enough.
So write the story that scares you. The one that won’t let you go. The one that feels too big, too strange, too personal.
Write it not because it will sell, or trend, or go viral—but because it’s yours.
Because it’s true. Because the world doesn’t just need more stories. It needs yours.
And if you ever forget why you started, come back to this:
You are not a content machine. You are a storyteller. A truth-teller. A meaning-maker. And the only wrong reason to write is to be anyone else.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Cursed Legacy: The Inspiration and Impact of Jujutsu Kaisen: Execution
Jujutsu Kaisen: Execution (2025) marks a pivotal moment in anime storytelling. It’s a visceral, emotional culmination of one of anime’s most harrowing arcs and a bold leap into the chaos of the next.
As a theatrical event that fuses the final chapters of the Shibuya Incident arc with the opening of the Culling Game arc, the film captures the essence of Jujutsu Kaisen: the cost of power, the fragility of humanity, and the relentless pursuit of purpose amid darkness.
The Inspiration Behind Execution
The film draws its core inspiration from Gege Akutami’s manga, particularly volumes 11 through 16, which chronicle the Shibuya Incident—a turning point in the Jujutsu Kaisen universe. Akutami, known for blending horror, philosophy, and emotional depth, crafted this arc as a crucible for his characters. The Shibuya Incident was designed not just as a battle royale of curses and sorcerers, but as a psychological gauntlet that would test the limits of heroism, sacrifice, and identity.
Akutami has cited influences ranging from Neon Genesis Evangelion to Hunter x Hunter, both of which explore trauma and moral ambiguity. In Execution, these themes are amplified. The descent of a cursed veil over Shibuya on Halloween is symbolic—a festive day turned into a nightmare, where the masks people wear are stripped away. Gojo’s sealing, Yuji’s emotional collapse, and the rise of Sukuna’s terror all reflect Akutami’s interest in duality: strength and vulnerability, love and destruction, humanity and monstrosity.
Studio MAPPA’s decision to adapt this arc into a theatrical release was driven by its scale and emotional gravity. The Shibuya Incident is not just a fan favorite—it’s a narrative earthquake. By pairing it with the beginning of the Culling Game arc, Execution becomes a cinematic relay: passing the baton from devastation to rebirth, from loss to vengeance.
Significance in the Anime Landscape
Jujutsu Kaisen: Execution marks a pivotal moment in anime storytelling. It’s rare for a series to receive a theatrical compilation that isn’t a recap or filler. Instead, Execution is a curated experience—designed to immerse viewers in the emotional climax of Season 2 while teasing the philosophical and strategic warfare of Season 3.
The film’s significance lies in its structure. By blending two arcs, it mirrors the emotional whiplash of the manga: the grief of Shibuya followed by the cold calculation of the Culling Game. This juxtaposition forces viewers to confront the consequences of power. Gojo’s absence, the death toll, and Yuji’s guilt are not just plot points—they’re emotional anchors that redefine the stakes.
Moreover, Execution elevates the medium. With cinematic animation, a haunting score, and theatrical pacing, it transforms serialized storytelling into an event. It invites fans and newcomers alike to witness the evolution of anime as both art and catharsis.
Character Arcs and Emotional Depth
At the heart of Execution is Yuji Itadori. His journey—from hopeful vessel to broken warrior—is the emotional spine of the film. The Shibuya Incident shatters his innocence. He watches friends die, civilians suffer, and Sukuna wreak havoc using his body. His breakdown is raw, unfiltered, and deeply human. Gojo Satoru, often seen as invincible, faces his own reckoning. His sealing is not just a tactical loss—it’s a spiritual one. The film explores his isolation, his burden as the strongest, and the consequences of his choices. His absence forces others to rise, falter, and redefine their roles.
The introduction of the Culling Game arc adds new layers. Characters like Kinji Hakari, Yuta Okkotsu, and Hiromi Higuruma bring fresh perspectives. The game itself—a battle royale with philosophical undertones—asks what it means to fight, to kill, and to survive. It’s not just about power—it’s about ideology.
Visual and Narrative Innovation
Directed by Shouta Goshozono, Execution is a masterclass in visual storytelling. Goshozono, known for his dynamic direction in Jujutsu Kaisen Season 2, brings kinetic energy and emotional nuance to the screen. His use of color, framing, and silence amplifies the horror and heartbreak of Shibuya. The cursed veil becomes a character in itself—oppressive, omnipresent, and symbolic of despair.
The writing, led by Hiroshi Seko, balances exposition with emotion. Seko, who also penned Attack on Titan: Final Season and Mob Psycho 100, excels at adapting complex manga into coherent, impactful scripts. His dialogue captures the existential dread of Akutami’s world while allowing moments of levity and hope.
Together, Goshozono and Seko craft a film that is both faithful and transformative. They honor the source material while elevating it through cinematic language.
Shouta Goshozono is a rising star in anime direction. After working on key episodes of Jujutsu Kaisen and Chainsaw Man, he took the helm for Season 2 and Execution. His style is marked by fluid animation, emotional resonance, and bold visual choices. Goshozono’s ability to choreograph complex battles while maintaining character focus has earned him acclaim across the industry.
Hiroshi Seko is a veteran screenwriter with a portfolio that includes Ajin, Banana Fish, and Vinland Saga. His strength lies in adapting dense source material into emotionally compelling scripts. In Execution, Seko balances horror, philosophy, and action, crafting a narrative that is both thrilling and thought-provoking.
Gege Akutami, the creator of Jujutsu Kaisen, remains the soul of the franchise. Known for their reclusive nature and philosophical depth, Akutami has built a world where curses are metaphors for trauma, and sorcerers are warriors of empathy. Their writing blends shonen tropes with psychological realism, making Execution not just a battle film, but a meditation on grief and growth.
Legacy and Cultural Impact
Jujutsu Kaisen: Execution is poised to become a cultural touchstone. It’s not just a film—it’s a reckoning. It forces viewers to confront loss, question morality, and embrace transformation. In a world grappling with uncertainty, Execution offers catharsis through chaos.
Its theatrical release signals a shift in anime distribution—where key arcs are treated as cinematic events. It also reaffirms Jujutsu Kaisen’s place among the greats, alongside Naruto, Bleach, and Attack on Titan. But more importantly, it reminds us that even in a world of curses, hope can bloom.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on From Egg to Epic: The Inspiration and Significance of Bird Boy
Bird Boy (2025), directed and written by Joel Soisson, is more than a heartwarming tale of a boy and his ostrich—it’s a cinematic meditation on belonging, resilience, and the healing power of connection.
Set against the sweeping landscapes of South Africa, the film follows August, a troubled orphan who finds solace and purpose in raising a giant ostrich named Koobus. Their bond, tested by separation and adversity, becomes a metaphor for the universal longing for family, identity, and home.
The Inspiration Behind Bird Boy
The genesis of Bird Boy lies in Soisson’s fascination with stories that blend the fantastical with the deeply personal. According to interviews and production notes, Soisson was inspired by the emotional terrain of classic boy-and-animal tales like E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, The Black Stallion, and Free Willy, but wanted to root his story in a setting and culture less frequently explored in mainstream cinema. South Africa, with its rich biodiversity and complex social history, offered the perfect backdrop.
The ostrich, a flightless bird native to Africa, became a symbolic centerpiece. Its awkward grace, immense size, and vulnerability made it an ideal companion for a boy like August—isolated, misunderstood, and yearning for connection. Soisson has noted that the idea of a child raising an ostrich came to him after reading about conservation efforts in the Karoo and witnessing the emotional intelligence of these birds during a visit to an ostrich farm. The image of a boy cradling an egg, nurturing it into a towering creature, became the emotional and visual anchor of the film.
But Bird Boy is not just about the bond between human and animal. It’s also a story about grief, displacement, and the search for belonging. August’s journey—from orphaned city boy to rural outcast to courageous rescuer—mirrors the emotional arc of many children navigating trauma and loss. His relationship with Koobus becomes a lifeline, a way to process pain and rediscover joy. In this sense, the film draws on universal themes while grounding them in a uniquely South African context.
Cultural and Emotional Significance
Bird Boy arrives at a time when global audiences are increasingly drawn to stories that reflect emotional authenticity and cultural specificity. The film’s setting in the South African countryside is not just scenic—it’s integral to the narrative. The rural landscape, with its wide skies and dusty roads, mirrors August’s internal emptiness and eventual growth. The use of local actors, languages, and customs adds depth and credibility, allowing the story to resonate both locally and internationally.
Thematically, the film explores the idea that family is not always defined by blood, but by love, loyalty, and shared struggle. August’s adoptive guardians, Thabo and Emmie, represent the complexities of kinship and care, while Koobus becomes a stand-in for the unconditional support that many children crave. The ostrich’s eventual capture and August’s daring rescue mission serve as metaphors for reclaiming agency and fighting for what matters.
Critics have praised the film for its emotional nuance and visual storytelling. The cinematography captures the grandeur of the South African landscape while maintaining an intimate focus on the characters’ emotional journeys. The score, blending traditional African instruments with orchestral swells, underscores the film’s themes of hope and transformation.
Moreover, Bird Boy contributes to a growing canon of African-centered family films that challenge stereotypes and offer new narratives. By centering a Black South African boy as the hero of his own story, the film offers representation that is both empowering and overdue. It also subtly critiques systems that fail vulnerable children, advocating for empathy, community, and resilience.
Joel Soisson: A Director’s Journey
Joel Soisson is a seasoned filmmaker known for his work across genres, from horror and sci-fi to family drama. With a career spanning over three decades, Soisson has worn many hats—writer, director, producer—and has a knack for finding emotional truth in fantastical premises. His credits include cult favorites like The Prophecy series, Children of the Corn: Genesis, and Pulse, showcasing his ability to blend suspense with human vulnerability.
Born in the United States, Soisson studied film at UCLA and began his career in the 1980s. He quickly gained a reputation for his storytelling instincts and production savvy, often working on genre films that pushed creative boundaries despite modest budgets. Over time, he gravitated toward more character-driven stories, culminating in projects like Bird Boy that reflect a deeper engagement with emotional and cultural themes.
What sets Soisson apart is his willingness to take creative risks. In Bird Boy, he steps away from the supernatural and into the soulful, crafting a film that is both grounded and magical. His decision to shoot on location in South Africa, collaborate with local talent, and center the story on a Black protagonist speaks to his commitment to authenticity and inclusivity.
Soisson has described Bird Boy as one of the most personal films of his career. In interviews, he’s spoken about the challenges of filming in remote locations, working with animals, and capturing the emotional truth of a child’s journey. But he’s also expressed deep gratitude for the experience, calling it a “labor of love” that reaffirmed his belief in the power of storytelling to heal and connect.
A Lasting Legacy
As Bird Boy continues to garner acclaim and reach new audiences, its legacy is already taking shape. The film is being used in educational settings to spark conversations about grief, resilience, and environmental stewardship. It’s also inspiring young viewers to see themselves as heroes in their own stories, regardless of background or circumstance.
In a cinematic landscape often dominated by spectacle and cynicism, Bird Boy offers something rare: a story that is gentle, genuine, and deeply human. It reminds us that even in the harshest environments, love can take root, and that sometimes, the most powerful journeys begin with a single egg.
Do you remember the first time you saw a Predator movie? The very first “Predator” movie came out when I was still in elementary school, and I was not allowed to see it because it was rated R. But I have a very distinct memory of being on my way to a karate tournament, and all the sixth-grade boys had seen it. We were in the back of my mom’s minivan, and they described the entire movie to me. So, I had imagined “Predator” well before I’d ever seen it. When I eventually did see the movie, the thing that really took me by surprise wasn’t just the crazy design of the creature—which was scary, but also super awesome—but the combination of genres. I enjoyed seeing Arnold Schwarzenegger in this military action movie, and then it became an entirely different thing. I think the mainstay, at least for my entries in the franchise, is that Predator movies are this wonderful concoction of multiple genres, of different kinds of set pieces and action. Sometimes you’re in a taut suspense scene, sometimes you’re in a moment that’s building toward a fright, and sometimes you’re in an awesome, traditional action scene with explosions and gunfire. You’re getting a whole variety; it’s not just one note.
Can you give us a brief overview of “Badlands” and what sets it apart from previous Predator films? Including “Prey” and “Predator: Killer of Killers,” the two films you’ve previously directed? “Predator: Badlands” is the first movie in the Predator Universe that focuses on the Predator species known as the Yautja. We’re following the monster for the first me. Dek, the central character, is the runt of the litter in a clan that culls any sign of weakness. The Yautja think one weak link breaks the chain, so facing exile or worse, Dek finds himself on the deadliest planet in the galaxy, where he must hunt down an unkillable creature known as the Kalisk to prove his worth to his clan. It was important for me to keep pushing the envelope and evolving the franchise in different ways. It just makes for an incredibly unique experience—like riding your favourite theme park ride and feeling that rush all over again. It’s why I think we all want to get off our couches and go see movies—to see things we haven’t seen before.
How did you approach expanding upon the lore of the Yautja? To make a movie about one of horror/sci-fi’s most treasured villains was a delicate dance because on the one hand, the thing that made the Predator so special, what makes all our legendary horror/sci-fi creatures special—is a mystery. In the first “Predator” movie, when we finally saw the jungle hunter for the first time and saw what it was wearing, it spoke to a culture and the fact that they’re not just a mindless or supernatural force of evil. There’s clearly an intelligence. They can travel faster than light to different planets and have a weaponry that’s almost like evil James Bond in terms of gadgetry. And that’s the fun they bring. So, I certainly wanted to give people an experience that now focuses on the species and their culture. I wanted people to be able to find a point of connection to the bad guys of the universe. It’s a harsh, brutal, clan-based culture. For the first me, we go to their home planet and see a bit more about how they exist, but there’s still a great deal of mystery there.
Could you tell us more about Dek? What makes him such a unique protagonist? Dek is a unique protagonist in that he is, on the one hand, the underdog with something to prove— which we can all relate to—but he’s also still a ferocious badass. We’re more used to watching characters like him in hitman movies, where we know that those folks are bad guys, but we’re still rooting for them to do a good thing just this once. So we can relate to Dek on the most universal emotional level, but we’re also pulling for him to learn something, to figure stuff out in a way that we don’t normally see in this genre.
What can you tell us about Thia? When I was first thinking about the movie, I knew it would be a mistake to put any humans in it, because as soon as we put a human in, we’re all going to be drawn to them more than the creature. And I wanted to make sure that the audience sided with Dek. Of course, the next thought was…maybe this is a beautiful movie about a monster and a robot. And so Dek, who is very much a creature of few words, meets Thia, a robot who has been severed in half and clearly broken, yet is unflappable and effervescent and does not stop talking.
What made Dimitrius Schuster-Koloamatangi the ideal actor to play Dek? Dimitrius was one of the most remarkable finds of my career. He had a lovely audi on, but we wanted to see what he was capable of physically, so we had a day where we brought in a bunch of stunt performers and set up an obstacle course. The way Dimitrius navigated that course was insane. The swashbuckling he brought to all the sliding, jumping, leaping, and weapon work was cooler than the stuntmen. Dimitrius had a special physicality. Then on set, Dimitrius showed up not just for the physical work, but for the emotional work. It was unbelievable to see where he went. I wasn’t prepared for how he brought so much to this creature who’s simultaneously vulnerable, but terrifying, ferocious and visceral.
What made Elle Fanning the perfect choice for Thia? Elle is remarkable in that she’s both highly analytical but also deeply emotional and thoughtful. She mines every scene for all its worth. She also brought a verbal dexterity to Thia, for sure. But what I didn’t think of un l I lucked into it with Elle, was the peculiar physical demands of this role. You’d think that you could just sit and talk, but no—there were so many different kinds of harnesses and tricks needed for pulling off the magic that is Thia. We obviously use visual effects to see the more robotic side of Thia, but there’s a way that Elle holds her body so she can feel inert and dead and come alive in ways that I thought we’d need so many more special and visual effects to pull off. She just knows how to use all her tools as an actor to make us believe in this robot. Thia also has one of the most special, unique, coolest fight scenes in the movie, and Elle was tremendous in pulling that off.
What are your hopes for the film, and what audiences take away from it? All I hope for the film, all I ever hope for with any film, is that the folks watching will form a connection to these characters and feel something for them. With “Predator: Badlands”, this hope is especially meaningful because the movie revolves around characters you would never ever expect to love.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Regretting You – A Story of Secrets, Grief, and Redemption
Regretting You is a bestselling novel by Colleen Hoover, first published in 2019, and now adapted into a 2025 romantic drama film directed by Josh Boone.
Colleen Hoover’s stories are known for powerful emotions, tumultuous relationships and unforgettable characters. Regretting You is no exception. “Audiences will have a fun and emotional experience,” Hoover says. “It is something you can watch with friends and family and feel good about, then go back and watch it a second time with a different group of friends. It’s just a real feel good movie.”
Producer Brunson Green guarantees that Hoover fans are going to love the movie. “We captured the essence of the story with all the juicy, fun, twisty plot points,” he explains. “And we wrap it all up in less than two hours. So it’s a two-hour roller coaster ride of emotions.”
The film was made for a universal audience, says director Josh Boone. “The situations are not something that most people will ever have to deal with, but the characters she creates are so relatable that everyone finds something familiar in them. This movie will certainly be great for mothers and daughters to see together, but not only them. If you’re a fan of the genre, you’ll like it. If you’ve got a mom or a daughter you love a lot, but have some problems communicating with, you’ll like it even more.”
“Women can bring their boyfriends and their husbands and they’re going to love it too,” adds Green. “We’ve already talked to a lot of men that watched it and said it wasn’t typically their kind of movie, but they absolutely loved it. That is the ultimate compliment to us.”
Producer Flavia Viotti’s wish is that viewers leave full of hope. “Hope for a second chance. Hope for love. The hope of overcoming grief, overcoming loss and knowing that there is always a way to rebuild your life. I don’t believe in regrets. Even if you have made mistakes in the past that doesn’t mean you have to regret them. They have brought you to where you are now.”
There are certainly heartbreaking moments in the movie, but ultimately the filmmakers want audiences to be uplifted by the tale. “No matter what, life keeps going and things keep happening. says Boone. “You are going to laugh again. I say that from experience.”
Based on the bestselling book, Regretting You introduces audiences to Morgan Grant (Allison Williams) and her daughter Clara (Mckenna Grace) as they explore what’s left behind after a devastating accident reveals a shocking betrayal and forces them to confront family secrets, redefine love, and rediscover each other. Regretting You is a story of growth, resilience, and self-discovery in the aftermath of tragedy.
For producers Flavia Viotti, p.g.a. and Anna Todd, an opportunity to bring one of Colleen Hoover’s popular novels to the screen was irresistible
The pair are longtime fans of Hoover’s work, as well as friends of the author, whose work ranges from contemporary romances to psychological thrillers. Hoover has sold more than 23 million books, making her one of the world’s most popular authors and one of Time magazine’s 100 most influential people in the world in 2023.
Viotti, CEO of Bookcase Literary Agency and Todd, author of the much-loved After book series and founder of Frayed Pages Media, teamed up to produce Hoover’s Regretting You for the big screen. “The film is a story about loss, but it’s about much more than just loss,” says Viotti. “It is also about finding forgiveness and overcoming grief. The mix of drama and romance and family convinced us that we had to make it into a film.”
Todd and Viotti reached out to Brunson Green, p.g.a., president of Harbinger Pictures, to help them develop the book for the screen. “I leaped on it immediately,” says Green, who received an Oscar® nomination for producing The Help. “I have always enjoyed making books into movies, but a Colleen Hoover novel is its own genre. She has such an avid fan base. I wasn’t yet part of what is sometimes called the ‘Hoover-verse,’ so Flavia and Anna invited me to the Book Bonanza, which is an annual charity event founded by Colleen. Three thousand book lovers come in to meet authors and get their books signed. I met Colleen for the first time in her natural habitat, signing 500 books in two hours.”
What all of Hoover’s books have in common, according to Green, is that they grab people by the heartstrings. “Readers fall in love with the characters. There’s always a hint of something that makes you feel, that could be me! Her deft use of humor keeps the melodrama from spinning out of control. And in the end, you’ve got your tissues out because you’re so happy for the characters in their final resolution.”
Mason Thames as “Miller”, McKenna Grace as “Clara”, and Director Josh Boone in Regretting You from Paramount Pictures. Photo Credit: Jessica Miglio
Screenwriter Susan McMartin, who had penned the script for Todd’s first film, agreed to adapt Hoover’s novel, and they were on their way.
The producers were elated when Josh Boone, director of fan favorite teen romance The Fault in Our Stars, agreed to helm the project. “TheFault in Our Stars had me crying my eyes out,” says Green. “When Anna, Flavia and I got on a Zoom with Josh, it was a lovefest. We knew he was the right director when he mentioned a few scenes from the book that he felt had to appear in the movie. They were all scenes that Anna, Flavia and I had already agreed were essential to the story.”
Viotti says that she cannot think of anyone better suited to direct this film. “We were looking for a director who could create an environment that actors would feel comfortable to bring those big emotions to,” says Viotti. “Josh knows how to bring out the best in actors.”
Adapting any novel into a screenplay and then a film brings its own unique set of challenges, according to Boone. “When it’s a book like this that a lot of people already love, it becomes an extremely collaborative process involving multiple producers who all have their own ideas. When the actors come in, they’re going to have their own opinions. I find it exciting to be part of a group trying to make something as good as it can possibly be.”
“Once I read the script, I jumped in. Regretting You is a coming-of-age story about relationships between parents and children growing up, like my previous films Stuck in Love and The Fault in Our Stars. I have always been and always will be attracted to movies about families, specifically kids who are finding out that their parents are fallible. That’s an important moment in anybody’s life.”
The inspiration for the story was the relationship between Hoover’s sister Lynn and her mother.
Hoover adds that watching the film for the first time, she fell in love with the characters all over again. “It all felt all new to me. Regretting You is about Morgan and Clara Grant, a mother and daughter struggling to get past an unthinkable loss. They’re constantly at odds about so many things going in their lives. The story about understanding and forgiveness, and about learning to put yourself in someone else’s shoes. With any book or movie, I want to feel all of the emotions. The thing I was the most worried about was, will I feel all the heartbreak? Will I also laugh out loud? And it checks all the boxes!”
Hoover says that she knew the filmmakers had gotten it right as soon as she viewed the opening moments of the movie. “That scene was so close to the book and worked so well on camera,” she raves. “I think that readers are going to be really pleased. The book is sad sometimes. Life can be sad sometimes, so it’s important to find moments of lightheartedness. By the end, you get your closure, even on the sad parts of it.”
A tender romance between 17-year-old Clara and classmate Miller Adams is nimbly interwoven with the growing attraction between her 35-year-old mother and lifelong friend Jonah. “The romance is very important to the characters and their journey, but it’s not in the driver’s seat,” says Hoover. “The story centers on the mother-daughter relationship and the journey that brings them into their romances. Of course Jonah and Miller are incredibly important to the story because they help Morgan and Clara start to move forward.”
Boone agrees, saying, “The tragedies, the betrayals and the secrets drive the plot, but events are less important than the impact they have on Morgan and Clara personally and emotionally. I have a special place in my heart for a couple in love for the first time, like Clara and Miller.
JOSH BOONE (Director) is the filmmaker behind The Fault in Our Stars, the acclaimed adaptation of John Green’s bestseller. He also wrote and directed Stuck in Love., starring Greg Kinnear and Jennifer Connelly, Marvel film The New Mutants and the 2020 limited series “The Stand,” based on the classic Stephen King novel.
In 2024 Boone teamed up with longtime collaborators Bright Eyes (band member Nate Walcott scores all of Boone’s work) for the music video to their single “Bells and Whistles.”
SUSAN McMARTIN (Writer) has penned such feature films as After, an adaptation of the internationally bestselling book series by Anna Todd that became a massive, worldwide film franchise spawning four sequels. McMartin also wrote Bruce Beresford’s critically acclaimed dramedy Mr. Church, starring Eddie Murphy, and adapted the novel Miracle on Voodoo Mountain as a feature. On the television side, McMartin is the showrunner, EP and co-creator of the new Netflix hit comedy series “Leanne,” co-created with Chuck Lorre. She was a co-executive producer on the acclaimed series “Mom” for eight seasons. Before “Mom” McMartin was a writer and producer on the long-running sitcom “Two and a Half Men.”
McMartin was born in New York and raised in Los Angeles. She is the daughter of esteemed Broadway actor John McMartin and a graduate of NYU Tisch School of the Arts. Early in her career she received a story credit on the Pauly Shore feature Son in Law and penned seven episodes of NBC’s daytime drama “Another World.” Her other TV writing credits include ABC’s “Port Charles,” Showtime’s “Californication” and CBS’ “Gary Unmarried.”
McMartin’s book Understanding the Fall, based on her experience growing up with an alcoholic mother, has been on the bestsellers list in Amazon’s addiction and recovery section. She has performed readings in jails, juvenile halls and recovery homes throughout Los Angeles.
Colleen Hoover is a bestselling American author born on December 11, 1979, in Sulphur Springs, Texas. She began her writing career in 2011 with the self-published novel Slammed, which quickly gained traction through word-of-mouth and social media. Hoover’s emotionally charged stories—often centered on love, trauma, and personal growth—have earned her a devoted fanbase and numerous accolades, including multiple Goodreads Choice Awards. Her breakout novel It Ends with Us (2016) tackled domestic abuse with raw honesty and was followed by a successful sequel, It Starts with Us (2022). Hoover’s books have sold over 20 million copies worldwide, and several are being adapted for film, including Regretting You (2025). She’s also the founder of The Bookworm Box, a charity bookstore that has donated over $1 million to various causes.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Writing for the Right Reasons
Some stories aren’t written for the marketplace. They’re written because they haunt you. Because they whisper in the quiet. Because they won’t leave you alone. They’re not chasing fame. They’re chasing freedom.
There comes a moment—often quiet, often inconvenient—when a story begins to stir inside you.
Not the kind that seeks applause or algorithms, but the kind that aches to be told. It doesn’t arrive with a marketing plan or a guaranteed audience. It arrives like a haunting. Like a whisper in the dark. Like something half-remembered and wholly yours.
This is the story you write not for fame or fortune, but because it won’t let you sleep. Because it lives in your marrow. Because it’s the only way to make sense of what you’ve lived.
In a world that rewards speed, spectacle, and virality, it’s easy to forget that the deepest stories are often slow, quiet, and inconvenient.
They don’t trend. They don’t fit neatly into genre. They don’t promise a book deal. But they do promise something else—something more enduring. They promise truth. They promise connection. They promise the possibility of transformation, not just for the reader, but for the writer. And that is reason enough. Writing for the right reasons means writing from the wound, not the scar. It means resisting the urge to polish too soon, to package too neatly, to resolve too quickly. It means sitting with discomfort, ambiguity, and silence. It means asking: What question won’t leave me alone? What image keeps returning? What moment in my life refuses to be forgotten? These are the portals. These are the invitations. These are the beginnings of stories that matter.
But not all stories come from ache.
Some come from awe. From a moment that shimmered. From a line of poetry that cracked something open. From a film that made you weep in the dark. From a stranger’s kindness. From a childhood memory that glows like stained glass. Inspiration is not always loud—it’s often a flicker. A scent. A phrase. A glance. And when it arrives, it asks to be honored. Not exploited. Not rushed. Just honored.
To write from inspiration is to write from reverence.
It is to say: This moved me. This mattered. This changed me. And I want to pass it on. You’re not trying to impress. You’re trying to share. You’re trying to translate the untranslatable. To give form to the formless. To make someone else feel what you felt, even if only for a moment.
To write from this place—whether wound or wonder—is to write as a steward, not a master. You don’t control the story—you accompany it. You listen. You follow. You let it lead you into places you didn’t expect to go. Sometimes it will ask you to revisit pain. Sometimes it will ask you to risk tenderness. Sometimes it will ask you to speak what has never been spoken. And in doing so, it will ask you to become more fully yourself.
There is a kind of writing that seeks to impress.
It is clever, polished, and often hollow. It performs rather than reveals. It seeks applause rather than resonance. And while there is nothing wrong with ambition, there is something tragic about writing that forgets its soul. The stories that endure—the ones that live in readers long after the final page—are not the ones that dazzled. They are the ones that dared. Dared to be vulnerable. Dared to be strange. Dared to be true.
Writing for the right reasons means honoring what’s been lost.
It means writing as an act of remembrance. A way to say: I was here. They were here. This mattered. It means writing as ritual, as offering, as elegy. It means refusing to let silence have the final word. And in doing so, it becomes a form of resistance. A way to reclaim voice, history, and meaning in a world that often erases.
It also means writing to connect across silence.
Your story might be the bridge someone else needs to cross their own isolation. It might be the mirror they didn’t know they were missing. It might be the permission they didn’t know they needed. When you write from the place of necessity or inspiration, you write not just for yourself, but for the invisible reader who is waiting. Not for entertainment, but for resonance. Not for escape, but for recognition.
This kind of writing is slow. It is devotional. It does not rush. It does not chase trends. It trusts the slow burn. It understands that some stories take years to find their shape. That some truths need time to ripen. That some wounds need time to speak. And that is not failure. That is fidelity. That is the kind of patience that makes art possible.
To stay true, you must learn to listen. Not just to the story, but to yourself.
You must learn to distinguish between the voice of ego and the voice of necessity. Between the desire to be seen and the desire to speak. Between the impulse to perform and the impulse to reveal.
This is not always easy.
The world will tempt you with shortcuts. With metrics. With applause. But the story that lives inside you does not care about any of that. It cares about truth.
It cares about meaning. It cares about being told.
So ask yourself: What story won’t let me go? What story feels like prayer, like protest, like home? What story feels dangerous to tell—but even more dangerous not to? That is the story you must write. That is the story that will change you. That is the story that might change someone else.
You don’t owe the world a bestseller. You don’t owe it a perfect arc or a marketable pitch. You owe it your truth. You owe it your voice. You owe it the story that only you can tell. And when you write from that place, you’re not just telling a story. You’re giving the world a piece of its soul back.
So write the story that lives inside you. The one that aches. The one that haunts. The one that heals. Write it slowly. Write it honestly. Write it like a ritual. Write it like a reckoning. Write it like a gift.
Film, like speech and writing, has a unique language. Film Is A Visual & Temporal Art. Writing, speech, and visual images all communicate within their own particular spheres. MORE
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by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Worlds Within Words: The Power and Craft of Fictional Realities in Writing
Creating a fictional reality in writing allows authors to construct immersive worlds that deepen emotional resonance, challenge norms, and expand the boundaries of thought and experience. It’s both a craft and a calling—one that transforms storytelling into a portal for empathy, innovation, and meaning.
To create a fictional reality in writing is to become both architect and alchemist—designing worlds from scratch or bending the familiar into something strange and resonant.
The process begins with conceptual clarity
Defining the genre and tone of your story sets the foundational rules of your world. Whether you’re crafting a dystopian society, a magical realm, or a speculative near-future, the genre acts as a compass, guiding the logic, atmosphere, and emotional texture of the narrative. From there, writers often start with a big idea—a central motif or question that shapes the world’s contours. This could be a cultural inversion (a society where silence is sacred), a geographical anomaly (floating cities tethered by memory), or a historical pivot (a world where the Renaissance never ended). These ideas become the gravitational center around which characters, conflicts, and settings orbit.
Once the conceptual seed is planted, the writer must engage in world-building
A layered process that includes geography, climate, flora and fauna, social structures, traditions, and political systems. The physical environment—mountains, rivers, seasons—affects how characters live, move, and relate. Societies and cultures must feel lived-in, with rituals, taboos, and histories that echo through dialogue and action. Even fantastical elements like magic or advanced technology require internal consistency; they must obey rules that make sense within the world’s logic. This is where research becomes essential. Even the most imaginative worlds benefit from grounding in reality—whether through historical parallels, scientific plausibility, or cultural nuance. Writers might consult experts, travel to locations, or study other authors’ techniques to ensure their fictional reality feels authentic and immersive.
Crafting a fictional reality isn’t just about detail—it’s about emotional architecture
The world must serve the story, not overshadow it. Every element should deepen character development, heighten conflict, or enrich theme. A fictional reality becomes compelling when it resonates emotionally, when readers feel the weight of its history, the pulse of its politics, the ache of its landscapes. This is achieved through showing rather than telling: letting readers experience the world through sensory detail, character choices, and narrative rhythm. Consistency is key—if a world has rules, they must be upheld or broken with consequence. The writer becomes a steward of coherence, ensuring that the reality they’ve built remains believable even in its strangeness.
The benefits of creating a fictional reality are profound
First, it offers creative freedom: writers are no longer bound by the constraints of the real world. They can explore ideas, emotions, and scenarios that would be impossible or taboo in nonfiction. This freedom allows for philosophical exploration—fictional realities can question societal norms, imagine alternative futures, or reframe historical events. They become laboratories for thought experiments, where readers can engage with complex issues in a safe, imaginative space.
Second, fictional realities foster empathy and understanding. By inhabiting different worlds, readers experience perspectives beyond their own. They walk in the shoes of characters shaped by alien customs, oppressive regimes, or magical destinies. This broadens emotional intelligence and cultural awareness. Fictional realities also provide emotional catharsis: readers process their own struggles through the lens of story. A character’s journey through grief, rebellion, or transformation becomes a mirror for the reader’s inner life.
Third, fictional realities fuel innovation. Many scientific and technological breakthroughs were inspired by fiction—space travel, AI, virtual reality. Imagined worlds stretch the boundaries of possibility, encouraging readers and creators to dream beyond the present. Fictional realities also preserve and reinvent cultural heritage. Through myth, legend, and speculative narrative, writers carry forward ancestral stories while reshaping them for new generations.
Finally, fictional realities create meaning and connection. They offer readers a sense of belonging, a place to explore identity, purpose, and hope. Whether it’s an epic quest, a quiet domestic drama, or a surreal dreamscape, these worlds resonate personally. They become part of the reader’s emotional landscape, shaping how they see themselves and the world.
The importance of creating fictional realities in writing cannot be overstated.
In a world saturated with information and distraction, fiction offers depth and reflection. It slows us down, invites us to feel, imagine, and question. Fictional realities expand the boundaries of thought and emotion in ways real life often can’t. They allow writers to distill truth through metaphor, to transform absence into story, and to turn pain into resonance. They are acts of radical empathy and creative stewardship—tools for healing, awakening, and transformation.
Creating a fictional reality is not just a technical skill—it’s a philosophical stance.
It’s a way of saying: the world can be different. Stories can bend time, reshape memory, and reimagine justice. Fictional realities remind us that imagination is not escapism—it’s engagement. It’s how we dream better futures, understand deeper truths, and connect across difference.
For writers, it’s a sacred craft.
For readers, it’s a gift.
And for the world, it’s a necessary mirror—reflecting not just what is, but what could be.
How Fiction Breathes Life into History . History is full of untold stories, overlooked perspectives, and moments that can be reimagined in fresh ways. Blending fiction with history is an art that allows you to breathe life into the past while keeping your narrative compelling and immersive. Read more
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Ella McCay – A Portrait of Power, Family, and Emotional Survival
In an era where political dramas often lean into cynicism or spectacle, Ella McCay arrives as a refreshingly intimate and emotionally intelligent portrait of leadership, legacy, and personal reckoning.
Written and directed by James L. Brooks, the film marks his return to the director’s chair after a 15-year hiatus since How Do You Know (2010). Known for his masterful blend of comedy and drama in classics like Broadcast News, Terms of Endearment, and As Good as It Gets, Brooks brings his signature warmth and character-driven storytelling to a new generation of political narrative. With Ella McCay, he crafts a film that is less about policy and more about the people behind it—their wounds, their relationships, and the quiet rituals that shape public service.
Set in an unnamed U.S. state, the film follows Ella McCay, a 34-year-old lieutenant governor played by Emma Mackey, who is poised to take over the governorship after her mentor, Governor Bill (Albert Brooks), accepts a cabinet position in the Obama administration. As Ella prepares to step into a role of greater power, she must navigate a web of familial tensions, personal insecurities, and political expectations. Her father, Eddie McCay (Woody Harrelson), is a charismatic but emotionally distant figure whose legacy looms large. Her mother (Rebecca Hall), aunt Helen (Jamie Lee Curtis), and younger brother Casey (Spike Fearn) each bring their own emotional baggage to the table, complicating Ella’s ascent.
The film’s tagline—“A story about the people you love, and how to survive them”—captures its dual focus on public service and private reckoning. Rather than dramatising political scandal or ideological warfare, Ella McCay explores the emotional labor of leadership: the compromises, the inherited wounds, and the quiet moments of clarity that shape a person’s path. Brooks’ screenplay is rich in dialogue that feels lived-in and layered, allowing characters to reveal themselves gradually through conversation, conflict, and silence. The political backdrop serves not as a battleground but as a mirror, reflecting the personal stakes of power and the cost of visibility.
Emma Mackey’s performance as Ella is expected to be a breakout moment, anchoring the film with intelligence, vulnerability, and quiet strength. Known for her roles in Sex Education and Emily, Mackey brings a nuanced presence to a character who is both idealistic and emotionally burdened. Her portrayal captures the tension between ambition and authenticity, showing how leadership can be both a calling and a crucible. Woody Harrelson, as her father, delivers a layered performance that oscillates between charm and regret, while Jamie Lee Curtis adds gravitas and complexity as Helen, the aunt whose own political past casts shadows over Ella’s future.
Visually, the film is shaped by the cinematography of Robert Elswit, whose work on There Will Be Blood and Michael Clayton lends a restrained elegance to the narrative. The editing by Tracey Wadmore-Smith ensures a rhythm that allows emotional beats to breathe, while the production design evokes both the grandeur and intimacy of political life. Filmed primarily in Rhode Island, with additional scenes in Cleveland and New Orleans, the settings reinforce the film’s themes of place, legacy, and transformation.
What makes Ella McCay significant is its refusal to separate the personal from the political. In a cultural moment where leadership is often reduced to soundbites and scandals, Brooks offers a counter-narrative rooted in emotional intelligence, relational complexity, and moral clarity. The film suggests that governance is not just about policy but about presence—being attuned to the needs of others, navigating inherited trauma, and making decisions that reflect both principle and compassion. It’s a story that resonates with anyone who has ever felt the weight of expectation, the pull of legacy, or the challenge of becoming themselves in the public eye.
Ella McCay offers a rich case study in narrative compression and emotional layering. It demonstrates how character arcs can be sculpted through relational tension, how dialogue can serve as both exposition and excavation, and how political narratives can be reframed as intimate dramas of survival and renewal. The film’s structure invites reflection on how we inherit roles, how we resist them, and how we ultimately reshape them through choice and connection.
The film brings together a rare convergence of veteran talent and rising stars, creating a cinematic experience that feels both timeless and timely. In a year filled with high-stakes political thrillers and glossy biopics, Ella McCay stands out as a quiet revolution—a film that dares to ask not just what power is, but who we become when we hold it.
James L. Brooks is an acclaimed American director, producer, and screenwriter whose career spans television and film, marked by a deep commitment to character-driven storytelling and emotional nuance. Born on May 9, 1940, in Brooklyn, New York, Brooks began his career in television in the 1960s, writing for CBS News and later for sitcoms and documentaries. He rose to prominence as the co-creator of groundbreaking shows like Room 222, The Mary Tyler Moore Show, Rhoda, Lou Grant, and Taxi, which redefined the sitcom genre by blending humor with social and emotional realism. In 1986, he founded Gracie Films, a production company that would later help launch The Simpsons, one of the most influential television series of all time. Brooks transitioned to film with Terms of Endearment (1983), which earned him three Academy Awards for Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Screenplay. He followed with Broadcast News (1987) and As Good as It Gets (1997), both of which received critical acclaim and multiple Oscar nominations. His other films include Spanglish (2004), I’ll Do Anything (1994), and How Do You Know (2010). Known for his sharp dialogue, emotional depth, and ensemble casts, Brooks has won 22 Emmy Awards, making him one of the most decorated figures in television history. His work consistently explores themes of vulnerability, interpersonal dynamics, and the quiet complexities of everyday life. With Ella McCay (2025), Brooks returns to the screen with a story that reflects his enduring interest in the emotional lives of public figures, offering a nuanced portrait of leadership, legacy, and survival.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on From Spectacle to Soul: Why Empathy Matters
Empathy in writing is not about excusing horror—it’s about understanding its roots. In Monster: The Ed Gein Story, empathy becomes a lens through which we confront the uncomfortable truth that monsters are often made, not born.
In the age of true crime saturation and desensitized audiences, the act of writing with empathy—especially about figures like Ed Gein—becomes both a moral challenge and a narrative necessity.
Monster: The Ed Gein Story, the third instalment in Ryan Murphy’s Netflix anthology, dares to tread this fraught terrain. It doesn’t simply recount Gein’s grotesque crimes; it interrogates the conditions that shaped him, the cultural machinery that mythologised him, and the viewers who consume his story with morbid fascination. In doing so, the series offers a provocative case study in how empathy, when wielded responsibly, can deepen our understanding of horror rather than dilute its impact.
The empathetic lens in Monster: The Ed Gein Story
It was shaped by co-creators Ryan Murphy and Ian Brennan, with director and co-showrunner Max Winkler playing a pivotal role in deepening the character study of Ed Gein.
Murphy and Brennan, known for their provocative reimaginings of true crime, set the tone for the series’ controversial blend of horror and humanization. However, it was Max Winkler who most explicitly articulated the show’s empathetic intent. In interviews, Winkler emphasized that he wasn’t interested in glorifying Gein’s crimes but in exploring the emotional and cultural conditions that shaped him. He described the series as a “character study” rather than a horror spectacle.
Winkler’s approach was to peel back the layers of Gein’s psyche, portraying him not as a monster but as a man fractured by trauma, mental illness, and cultural desensitization. This vision was supported by the writing team, who crafted scenes that emphasized Gein’s isolation, hallucinations, and longing for connection—particularly through imagined conversations with figures like Ilse Koch and Christine Jorgensen.
The result is a series that walks a controversial line: it doesn’t excuse Gein’s actions, but it contextualizes them, inviting viewers to confront the uncomfortable truth that monsters are often shaped by the worlds they inhabit.
Empathy in writing is often misunderstood as a softening of truth
In its most rigorous form, it is a commitment to complexity. It asks the writer to look beyond the act and into the character—to trace the emotional, psychological, and societal contours that led to a moment of rupture.
In Monster, this commitment is evident from the opening scenes. Ed Gein, played with haunting restraint by Charlie Hunnam, is not introduced as a bloodthirsty villain but as a quiet, mentally fragile man shaped by isolation, abuse, and untreated schizophrenia. His voice is soft, his manner timid, his hallucinations vivid. The series doesn’t absolve him—it contextualizes him. It asks not “How could he?” but “What happened to him?” This shift in framing is the essence of empathetic writing.
Director and co-showrunner Max Winkler emphasized this approach, noting that Gein’s story had long been told through the lens of sensationalism, often ignoring the man behind the myth. Winkler’s team made deliberate choices to humanize Gein—not to romanticize him, but to restore the emotional texture that decades of horror adaptations had stripped away.
For instance, the character of Adeline Watkins, played by Suzanna Son, becomes a narrative anchor. Though her real-life connection to Gein was tenuous, the writers expanded her role to give Gein a sounding board, a mirror, a moment of relational clarity. In one scene, Gein proposes marriage to Adeline, only to be gently rebuffed. The moment is tender, awkward, and deeply unsettling—not because it evokes sympathy, but because it reveals the emotional dissonance of a man who craved connection but was incapable of healthy attachment.
This kind of writing demands a delicate balance. Too much empathy, and the narrative risks tipping into apology. Too little, and it becomes voyeuristic.
Monster walks this tightrope by embedding its empathy within a broader critique of cultural desensitization. The series doesn’t just explore Gein’s psyche—it interrogates the audience’s.
In one chilling exchange, a nurse tells Gein he should set the record straight. He replies, “I think enough people have told my story, don’t you think? They seem to know it better than me.” The line is meta-textual, implicating the viewer in the act of consumption. It’s a reminder that every retelling is a choice—and that empathy is not just for the subject, but for the audience who must reckon with their own gaze.
Empathetic writing also challenges genre conventions
Horror, by design, thrives on fear and revulsion. But when empathy enters the frame, it complicates the emotional palette. Monster does this by juxtaposing Gein’s crimes with scenes of historical trauma—images of Nazi concentration camps, the Vietnam War, and the Nixon administration’s brutality. These moments suggest that Gein’s descent was not merely personal but cultural. He was absorbing a world already steeped in violence, already numbed to suffering. In this context, empathy becomes a tool of critique. It doesn’t excuse—it exposes.
One of the most controversial choices in the series is the depiction of Gein’s schizophrenia. Psychologist Dannielle Haig cautioned that dramatisations often exaggerate the link between mental illness and violence, reinforcing harmful stereotypes. Monster attempts to navigate this by portraying Gein’s hallucinations not as monstrous but as manifestations of trauma.
He imagines conversations with Ilse Koch, the Nazi “Bitch of Buchenwald,” and Christine Jorgensen, the first American to undergo gender reassignment surgery. These figures are not random—they reflect Gein’s fractured understanding of femininity, power, and identity.
The writing here is empathetic not because it justifies, but because it seeks to understand the symbolic architecture of Gein’s mind.
Empathy also reshapes the viewer’s relationship to violence
In Monster, the gore is not gratuitous—it’s reflective. Scenes of Hitchcock’s Psycho and Hooper’s Texas Chain Saw Massacre are interwoven with commentary on how horror films have evolved from psychological tension to graphic spectacle. The series suggests that our appetite for violence has grown not despite empathy, but because of its absence. We crave shock, not story.
Empathetic writing resists this trend by reintroducing emotional consequence
A poignant example of empathy in action comes in the final episode, when Gein, now old and dying, sits quietly in a psychiatric institution. A nurse treats him with kindness. He is no longer the centre of spectacle, but a man fading into obscurity. The scene doesn’t ask us to forgive—it asks us to feel. To feel the weight of a life shaped by abuse, untreated illness, and cultural neglect. To feel the discomfort of seeing a monster as a man.
This is the power of empathetic writing: it doesn’t let us look away
In a world increasingly desensitised to violence, empathy in writing is not a luxury—it’s a responsibility. Monster: The Ed Gein Story shows us that empathy doesn’t weaken narrative—it strengthens it. It allows us to confront horror not as entertainment, but as a mirror. It reminds us that every monster has a story, and that understanding that story is the first step toward preventing the next one.
Here are five distilled, field-tested tips for creating empathy in writing—especially useful when navigating morally complex characters or emotionally charged narratives:
Start with the Wound, Not the Crime Empathy begins where judgment pauses. Instead of leading with what a character did, explore what was done to them. What shaped their worldview? What loss, neglect, or longing haunts them? By foregrounding formative wounds—emotional, societal, or familial—you invite readers to feel with rather than simply about the character.
Use Specific, Sensory Detail to Ground Humanity Empathy lives in the granular. A trembling hand, a half-eaten meal, a misbuttoned shirt—these small, humanizing details create emotional proximity. They remind readers that even the most alienated figures share our physical vulnerabilities.
Let the Character Speak—Even If They’re Unreliable Empathy doesn’t require agreement. It requires access. Give your character a voice, even if it’s fractured, delusional, or morally compromised. Let them explain themselves—not to justify, but to reveal the emotional logic behind their actions.
Mirror the Reader’s Gaze Empathetic writing often implicates the audience. Ask: Why are we drawn to this story? What does our fascination say about us? By acknowledging the reader’s role—whether as voyeur, judge, or witness—you create a shared emotional contract.
End with Consequence, Not Catharsis Empathy doesn’t mean closure. It means consequence. Instead of wrapping the story in redemption or punishment, leave space for discomfort. Let the emotional residue linger. This honours the complexity of real trauma and prevents the narrative from becoming exploitative.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Good Fortune – A smart, feel-good comedy about an inept angel-in-training
Good Fortune is a 2025 high-concept comedy written, directed by, and starring Aziz Ansari in his feature directorial debut.
Good Fortune is Ansari’s feature directorial debut, but he has directed extensively for television, a skill he learned ding his series, “Master of None.” “I first started directing and writing on my series, and I really enjoyed it,” he notes. “When you write something, you have this version of it in your head, and you have ideas about how it should look and feel. And directing and producing allows you to see that through.” Doing so also means directing himself – and others – in scenes where he is also acting, something he had also done on “Master of None.” “This time, I was doing my lines and thinking about the other person’s performance at the same time. You just keep thinking ahead.”
While Good Fortune is definitely a crowd-pleasing comedy that makes you laugh and feel something, it also makes you think. It’s also a film about accepting your life as it is and being authentic, as each of the characters learns.
“The idea of the film,” says Rogen, “is that your life is your life, and how will you deal with that?”
Notes Reeves, “Gabriel had the impression that he could make a difference. He thought he could find a lost soul, use his power to show a person the future, and then they would suddenly have a sensitivity to his or her life. Instead, he learned, through being a human, that each of us is not alone, that the journey is about our friends and loved ones, and our connections to other people that bring value and authenticity to all of our lives.”
This movie is meant to be experienced with a crowd. It’s the kind of theatrical experience that brings an audience together to laugh and reminds us why we go to the movies in the first place.
The film centers on Gabriel (played by Keanu Reeves), a well-meaning but inept angel who intervenes in the lives of Arj (Ansari), a struggling gig worker, and Jeff (Seth Rogen), a wealthy venture capitalist. In an attempt to prove that money doesn’t solve everything, Gabriel swaps their lives—only to have the plan backfire spectacularly, costing him his wings and forcing him to live among humans.
Sometimes, life isn’t fair. Sometimes, life is funny. Lots of times, it’s both
Multi-hyphenate writer-director-actor-producer Aziz Ansari is mainly known to comedy fans for the latter, from his performances for seven years as Tom Haverford on NBC’s “ Parks and Recreation,” to his hit series, “Master of None,” in which he starred, co-created, and co-wrote with “Parks and Rec” producer Alan Yang, and from sold-out stand-up comedy shows at Madison Square Garden.
But that doesn’t mean he has no consciousness of the struggles facing everyday Americans.
“At first, I was writing something a little more serious, but I’d been doing more dramatic work and missed working on comedies. So I challenged myself to take this topic and make it as funny as I could. And what’s interesting is that you watch these older films from the 30s and 40s, films like Sullivan’s Travels or My Man Godfrey – they dealt with all these issues, but they were also hilarious. They frequently deal with class and income disparity comically.”
“I started writing, and it just kept evolving. The basic notion was the angel wants to be like the guy in It’s a Wonderful Life and really change people’s lives, but the just screws it up, and the guy turns it on him. Then I started thinking about, who is the angel? What if he’s an angel in charge of saving people from texting and driving?”
While he considered various versions of the story, some more grounded with less fantastical, supernatural plot twists, he kept returning to the life swap approach as the most effective way to convey his message.
He began writing the script in 2020 during the Covid pandemic, starting with an idea he’d been toying with for years, involving an unlikely friendship between two guys from different ends of the economic spectrum.
To help him understand the latter person’s experience, he began doing research – not only interviewing people delivering food for DoorDash and doing gig jobs for TaskRabbit, but getting out in the field and trying to do the work himself. Though he was unable to do the latter [“I realized I’d be in people’s houses, say, to hang up a TV, and they’d be going, ‘You’re Aziz – are you not doing any more ‘Master of None’ – you’re now hanging TVs??’” he notes], he could go essentially unseen delivering food. “I did a ride-along with a guy, and then did four deliveries myself. You’re just constantly driving around L.A., trying to find parking, and that’s all you’re doing. I actually had to double-park – like we have in the film – to run in and get the food, and it’s not ready, everybody’s honking. All of this for some measly $1 tip. I just realized, ‘This is horrible.’”
He even ran across food delivery robots, ubiquitous in places like West Hollywood. “They’re so funny, because they have names on them, like ‘Hampton.’ I remember seeing that, and thinking, ‘That’s got to take Jeff’s job!’” an idea he ran by actor Seth Rogen, who would play the wealthy Jeff, who loved it. And, in case you don’t recognize him, that’s Ansari himself, doing the robot’s voice!
Once he had the idea for the two characters, Arj and Jeff, the challenge became how to have them cross paths – “What brings these guys together, and how does the story take off?” the director pondered. He ran the idea by his two favourite creative partners, producer Alan Yang and his brother, executive producer Aniz Adam Ansari. “We wanted these characters to learn more about each other’s lives,” says Yang. “But that was just the jumping off point. From there, we wanted to do a deeper dive into the system that causes the haves and the have-nots to exist.”
Aziz Ansari’s inspiration for Good Fortune stemmed from a blend of personal setbacks, creative ambition, and a desire to reflect the quirks of modern life.
After his previous film Being Mortal was shelved, Ansari sought a theatrical comeback—one that would revive the bold spirit of R-rated comedies and prove they could still pack a punch at the box office.
He conducted interviews with gig workers to capture the lived experience of economic uncertainty, which shaped his lead character, Arj, as a reflection of everyday hustle and burnout.
The concept of life-swapping wasn’t just a comedic device; it was Ansari’s way of confronting the illusion that money can solve emotional and existential woes.
Collaborating with longtime friend Seth Rogen added layers of irreverent humor, while his surprising bond with Keanu Reeves deepened the film’s emotional heart—Reeves plays Gabriel, an angel who loses his wings after meddling in human affairs.
By blending classic body-swap tropes with social satire, Ansari created a film that’s both hilarious and thought-provoking, touching on privilege, identity, and what it truly means to be lucky.
Aziz Ansari is an American actor, comedian, writer, and filmmaker born on February 23, 1983, in Columbia, South Carolina, to Tamil Muslim immigrants from Tamil Nadu, India. Raised in Bennettsville, South Carolina, he attended the South Carolina Governor’s School for Science and Mathematics before earning a marketing degree from NYU’s Stern School of Business. Ansari began performing stand-up comedy while still in college, eventually gaining national attention through the MTV sketch show Human Giant. His breakout role came as Tom Haverford on NBC’s Parks and Recreation, where his quirky charm and comedic timing won over audiences. He later created and starred in the critically acclaimed Netflix series Master of None, which earned him multiple awards, including two Emmys and a Golden Globe—making him the first Asian American actor to win a Golden Globe for television acting. Ansari is also the author of Modern Romance, a sociological exploration of dating in the digital age. Known for blending observational humor with social commentary, he continues to push boundaries in comedy and storytelling. In 2022, he married Serena Skov Campbell, a Danish physicist, and remains a prominent voice in entertainment and cultural discourse.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Creation, Regret, Redemption: Del Toro’s Frankenstein Reimagined
Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein isinspired by Mary Shelley’s seminal 1818 novel of the same name. “I’ve lived with Mary Shelley’s creation all my life,” says del Toro. “For me, it’s the Bible. But I wanted to make it my own, to sing it back in a different key with a different emotion.”
Published anonymously on January 1, 1818, the first edition of Mary Shelley’s novel Frankenstein chronicled the saga of Victor Frankenstein, a man driven by hubris to play God only to suffer unimaginable consequences. The gifted scientist bestows life on a nameless Creature made from scavenged body parts, then turns away from his creation in horror, leaving the being to wander alone in the world. Rejected by all, the lonely, wounded Creature turns violent, determined that his maker should never again know comfort or peace.
Now, more than two centuries after Frankenstein was published, Academy Award®-winning filmmaker Guillermo del Toro brings to the screen a definitive new version of the timeless classic. A true passion project that was a lifetime in the making, del Toro’s epic revisits the story to explore what it means to be human, and what it means to be profoundly misunderstood as both a creator and a creature — a father and a son.
“Mary Shelley’s masterpiece is rife with questions that burn brightly in my soul: existential, tender, savage, doomed questions that only burn in a young mind and only adults and institutions believe they can answer,” del Toro explains. “For me, only monsters hold the secrets I long for.”
The sprawling epic follows Victor, a brilliant, ego-driven scientist (Oscar Isaac), as he embarks on a quest to bring new life into this world. The Creature (Jacob Elordi) is the result; his very existence provokes questions about what it means to be a human, a creator, a creature — a father and a son — to crave love and seek understanding. Both Victor and the Creature aim to answer those mysteries and search for meaning in a world that can seem quite mad.
“The book has a lot of anxiety — the anxiety that you get when you’re an adolescent, and you don’t understand why everybody lies about the world,” del Toro says. He aimed to capture that anxiety by translating “the rhythms of Mary Shelley” for the screen. “When English is your second language, you are trained very acutely to the melody and the rhythms of a language,” he continues. “It has a particular rhythm, the dialogue in the book. I tried to make the dialogue be like that without sounding archaic.”
In fact, del Toro was passionate about maintaining the modernism of Frankenstein in all aspects of the movie, which is set in 19th-century Europe. “When [Shelley] wrote Frankenstein, it was not a period piece. It was a modern book, so I didn’t want you to see a pastel-colored period piece,” he explains. Instead, the director favored swaggering fashions for Victor and styles that are “luscious and full of color.”
Del Toro hopes his Frankenstein stays with viewers as long as the Creature has resided in his own heart. “May monsters inhabit your dreams and give you as much solace as they have given me, for we are all creatures lost and found,” he says.
Del Toro has been working on a Frankenstein film for more than a decade. “My favourite novel in the world is Frankenstein. I’m going to misquote it horribly, but the monster says, ‘I have such love in me, more than you can imagine. But, if I cannot provoke it, I will provoke fear.’ ” It’s an idea that inspired del Toro’s career-spanning love for the monsters inside and outside all of us. Now he’s finally returning to the source.
Guillermo del Toro’s Frankenstein is inspired by personal trauma, spiritual inquiry, and a lifelong reverence for Mary Shelley’s novel.
Its significance lies in its intimate reimagining of creation, regret, and forgiveness through a father-son lens.
Guillermo del Toro’s adaptation of Frankenstein is not merely a retelling of Mary Shelley’s 1818 gothic classic—it’s a deeply personal and spiritual excavation. Del Toro has long called Frankenstein his “favorite novel in the world,” a story that has haunted and inspired him since childhood. For decades, he envisioned adapting it, but only recently felt emotionally ready. The catalyst? A profound conversation with his father, Federico del Toro, who was kidnapped in 1998. That traumatic event—and the silence that followed—shaped del Toro’s understanding of pain, regret, and ultimately, forgiveness.
This emotional reckoning became the third pillar of his film’s thematic structure. Del Toro describes Frankenstein as a story about “pain, regret, and forgiveness,” with the latter only emerging after reconciling with his father’s experience. “A grudge takes two prisoners,” he said. “Forgiveness liberates two people”. This insight transformed the film into a meditation not just on monstrous creation, but on the human need to forgive and be forgiven.
Del Toro’s Frankenstein also reclaims the dual narrative of creator and creature. He originally considered making two films—one from Victor Frankenstein’s perspective, the other from the creature’s—but ultimately merged them into a single, operatic tale. This duality allows the film to explore the emotional and moral consequences of creation from both sides. Oscar Isaac plays Victor Frankenstein, while Jacob Elordi embodies the creature, each reflecting the other’s longing, rage, and isolation.
Stylistically, del Toro’s version is both epic and intimate. He envisioned it as a “Catholic retelling” of Shelley’s novel, steeped in spiritual symbolism and familial tension. The father-son dynamic—between Victor and his creation, and mirrored in del Toro’s own life—becomes the emotional core. The film doesn’t just ask what it means to create life; it asks what it means to be responsible for it, to abandon it, and to seek redemption.
The significance of this adaptation lies in its refusal to treat Frankenstein as mere horror. Instead, del Toro elevates it to a mythic parable about broken relationships, inherited pain, and the possibility of healing. In a cinematic landscape saturated with spectacle, his Frankenstein offers something rare: a monster story that is also a spiritual reckoning. It speaks to anyone who has felt abandoned, misunderstood, or trapped in grief—and to those who seek release through compassion.
By weaving personal history into Shelley’s timeless narrative, del Toro transforms Frankenstein into a vessel for emotional truth. It’s not just a film—it’s a ritual of reconciliation, a gothic hymn to the wounded and the forgiven.
Mary Shelley was a pioneering English novelist who wrote Frankenstein at just 18 years old
Inspired by personal loss, intellectual upbringing, and a legendary storytelling challenge during a stormy summer in Switzerland.
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley was born on 30 August 1797 in London to two radical thinkers: William Godwin, a political philosopher, and Mary Wollstonecraft, a trailblazing advocate for women’s rights. Tragically, her mother died shortly after childbirth, leaving Mary to be raised by her father in a household frequented by poets, philosophers, and reformers. Though she received little formal education, Mary absorbed the intellectual atmosphere around her, reading widely and writing from a young age.
Her life took a dramatic turn in 1814 when she began a relationship with Percy Bysshe Shelley, one of her father’s admirers and a married Romantic poet. They eloped to Europe with Mary’s stepsister Claire Clairmont, enduring scandal, poverty, and the loss of their first child. In 1816, the trio joined Lord Byron and physician John Polidori at Lake Geneva. That summer, marked by relentless storms and philosophical debate, became the crucible for Frankenstein.
One evening, Byron proposed a ghost story contest. Mary, then 18, struggled to find inspiration until a conversation about galvanism and the reanimation of corpses sparked a vivid waking dream. She later described it: “I saw the pale student of unhallowed arts kneeling beside the thing he had put together.” This vision became the seed of Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, published anonymously in 1818.
The novel fused Gothic horror with Enlightenment anxieties, exploring themes of creation, isolation, and moral responsibility. It was groundbreaking—not only as a work of fiction but as one of the earliest examples of science fiction. Mary’s own experiences of grief, exile, and intellectual struggle deeply informed the emotional landscape of the book.
After Percy Shelley’s death in 1822, Mary returned to England and supported herself through writing and editing. She championed her late husband’s work while continuing her own literary career. Despite personal tragedies—including the deaths of three of her four children—she remained a resilient and prolific figure until her death in 1851 at age 53.
Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein endures as a foundational text in literature and culture, not just for its chilling narrative but for its philosophical depth. It asks timeless questions: What does it mean to create life? What are the consequences of unchecked ambition? And how do we reckon with the monsters we make?
Guillermo del Toro is a visionary Mexican filmmaker, author, and artist known for blending fairy tale aesthetics with gothic horror and emotional depth.
Born in Guadalajara in 1964, he has become one of the most influential voices in modern cinema. Del Toro’s creative journey began in childhood, nurtured by a Catholic grandmother and a fascination with monsters. He saw them not as threats but as metaphors for power, pain, and misunderstood beauty. This perspective shaped his signature style: dark fantasy infused with poetic visuals, Catholic symbolism, and themes of imperfection and redemption.
He studied filmmaking at the University of Guadalajara and learned special effects makeup from Dick Smith, the legendary artist behind The Exorcist. In the 1980s, del Toro worked as a makeup artist and co-founded Necropia, a special-effects company. His debut feature, Cronos (1993), won nine Ariel Awards and the Critics’ Week prize at Cannes, launching his international career.
Del Toro’s filmography spans Spanish-language masterpieces like The Devil’s Backbone (2001) and Pan’s Labyrinth (2006), as well as Hollywood hits including Blade II (2002), Hellboy (2004), Pacific Rim (2013), and Crimson Peak (2015). His 2017 film The Shape of Water won four Academy Awards, including Best Picture and Best Director.
Beyond directing, del Toro is a prolific producer and writer. He co-authored The Strain trilogy, created the animated Tales of Arcadia franchise, and curated the Netflix horror anthology Cabinet of Curiosities. His work often explores underworld motifs, amber lighting, insectile imagery, and the emotional lives of outsiders.
Del Toro is part of “The Three Amigos of Mexican Cinema” alongside Alfonso Cuarón and Alejandro G. Iñárritu. He’s received numerous accolades, including BAFTAs, Golden Globes, and a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. In 2018, Time named him one of the 100 most influential people in the world.
His latest projects, including Frankenstein, reflect a deepening of his spiritual and emotional themes—exploring pain, regret, and forgiveness through mythic storytelling. Del Toro continues to champion stop-motion animation, genre storytelling, and the emotional power of monsters.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Marching Toward Identity: The Heart Behind Netflix’s Boots
Boots is a bold and emotionally resonant military dramedy inspired by Greg Cope White’s memoir The Pink Marine, dramatising White’s experience as a closeted gay recruit in the U.S. Marine Corps, offering a layered exploration of identity, resilience, and camaraderie.
Boots was created by Andy Parker and White, who served as executive producer and contributed to the writing, blending humour, grit, and vulnerability. Boots dramatises White’s real-life experiences with a fresh ensemble approach, offering a rare and powerful lens on military culture, queer resilience, and the transformative crucible of belonging.
Through its layered storytelling and diverse creative team, the Netflix series challenges stereotypes and invites viewers into a world where courage is measured not just by physical endurance, but by the quiet strength to be oneself.
Miles Heizer as Cameron Cope (Photo courtesy of Netflix)
Boots follows Cameron Cope, played by Miles Heizer, a fictionalised version of White, as he enlists in the Marines in 1990—four years before the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy was enacted. The series is based on White’s 2015 memoir The Pink Marine, which recounts his real-life journey through boot camp at Parris Island in 1979, a time when being gay in the military was not only taboo but illegal.
White’s decision to enlist alongside his best friend Dale, under the Buddy Program, sets the stage for a story that is both deeply personal and socially resonant. The show adapts this narrative with dramatic liberties, shifting the timeline to 1990 to reflect a moment of cultural transition and to allow for broader ensemble storytelling.
White, who served as executive producer and contributed to the writing, was mentored by legendary television producer Norman Lear.
Lear’s advice—“Write the story you want to tell”—became the guiding principle behind both the memoir and the series. White’s goal was to create a narrative that could offer validation and visibility to LGBTQ+ youth, especially those struggling with identity in environments of exclusion. In interviews, White has spoken about the emotional toll of boot camp, the fear of being outed, and the strength he found in perseverance. These themes are central to Boots, which balances humor, grit, and vulnerability across its eight episodes.
Directed by a team that includes Parker and Cecil, Boots blends ensemble storytelling with intimate character arcs. Each episode highlights different recruits in Cameron’s platoon, exploring their backgrounds, fears, and evolving relationships. The series culminates in “The Crucible,” the final test of physical and emotional endurance, symbolizing the transformation from civilian to Marine. The ensemble cast, including Liam Oh as Ray (Cameron’s best friend), brings depth and diversity to the narrative, reflecting the varied experiences of young people entering military service.
What inspired Boots was not just White’s personal journey but a broader cultural need to revisit the military’s history of LGBTQ+ exclusion.
The series is set in a time when being gay in the military was punishable by discharge or worse. White’s memoir was born from a desire to offer hope to those who felt invisible. He recalled searching for books and shows that might affirm his identity and finding none. Writing The Pink Marine was his way of putting something on the shelf for others to find. The adaptation into Boots expands that mission, turning a singular story into a communal one.
Max Parker (right) stars as Sergeant Robert “Bobby” Sullivan in “Boots.” Pictured with Liam Oh as Ray (Photo courtesy of Netflix)
The significance of Boots lies in its ability to humanise and complicate the military experience.
It challenges the stereotype of the Marine as hyper-masculine and emotionally closed, showing instead a group of young people grappling with fear, identity, and belonging. Cameron’s journey is not just about surviving boot camp—it’s about learning to trust, to lead, and to be seen. The series also explores the tension between conformity and authenticity, as Cameron must navigate a system designed to suppress difference while trying to hold onto his sense of self.
Boots also serves as a cultural critique of military policies and societal attitudes.
By setting the story just before “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” the show captures a moment of ambiguity—when change was on the horizon but not yet realized. This allows for nuanced portrayals of characters like Sergeant Sullivan (played by Max Parker), who embodies both the rigidity of the institution and the possibility of empathy. The series doesn’t offer easy answers but instead invites viewers to sit with the discomfort of contradiction: the pride of service alongside the pain of exclusion.
Visually and tonally, Boots balances the harshness of boot camp with moments of levity and tenderness
The writing is sharp, often laced with humor that emerges from the absurdity of military rituals and the awkwardness of adolescence. Yet beneath the laughs is a steady pulse of emotional truth. Cameron’s internal monologue, his silent fears, and his small acts of resistance are portrayed with sensitivity and depth.
The series avoids melodrama, opting instead for quiet revelations and earned catharsis.
Critically, Boots has been praised for its authenticity and emotional resonance. Viewers and reviewers have highlighted its ability to tell a queer story within a traditionally conservative setting without resorting to clichés. The show’s ensemble format allows for multiple entry points, making it accessible to a wide audience. Whether one connects with the military aspect, the coming-of-age arc, or the LGBTQ+ themes, Boots offers a narrative that is both specific and universal.
In the broader landscape of television, Boots stands out as a rare blend of memoir, advocacy, and ensemble drama. It joins a growing canon of queer storytelling that seeks not just to entertain but to affirm and challenge. By drawing from real-life experiences and adapting them with care, the series honours the complexity of its source material while expanding its reach. It is a testament to the power of storytelling to transform pain into connection, silence into voice, and isolation into community.
Max Parker as Sergeant Robert “Bobby” Sullivan in “Boots.” (Photo courtesy of Netflix)
The series brings together a diverse and accomplished team of directors and screenwriters to tell its emotionally resonant story of a closeted gay teenager navigating U.S. Marine Corps boot camp in the early 1990s.
The directorial team includes Peter Hoar, who helmed the premiere episode “The Pink Marine,” setting the tone for the series with a blend of vulnerability and grit. Phil Abraham directed episodes two and three, “The Buddy System” and “The Confidence Course,” bringing his cinematic sensibility to the physical and emotional trials of early training. Silas Howard, known for his work on inclusive and character-driven narratives, directed episodes four and five, “Sink or Swim” and “Bullseye,” which delve into the evolving dynamics among the recruits. Kyle Patrick Alvarez directed episodes six and eight, including the finale “The Crucible,” capturing the transformation and reckoning that define the series’ emotional climax. Tanya Hamilton directed episode seven, “Love is a Battlefield,” adding depth to the interpersonal tensions and moments of unexpected tenderness.
The writing team is equally rich and varied: Andy Parker penned the first and final episodes, anchoring the arc of protagonist Cameron Cope. Greg Cope White wrote episode four, drawing directly from his lived experience. Other writers include Jonathan Caren (episode two), Andrea Ciannavei (episodes three and eight), Megan Ferrell Burke (episode five), Nick Jones Jr. (episode six), and Dominic Colón (episode seven). Together, this creative ensemble shaped Boots into a layered, heartfelt series that honours both the specificity of White’s journey and the broader themes of identity, resilience, and belonging.
Greg Cope White is a screenwriter, producer, author, and former U.S. Marine Corps sergeant whose life and work bridge military discipline with creative storytelling and LGBTQ+ advocacy.
White served six years in the Marine Corps, earning the rank of sergeant before transitioning into the entertainment industry. After his honorable discharge, he moved to New York City to study acting and writing, eventually relocating to Los Angeles where he got his first break working with legendary television producer Norman Lear. This mentorship deeply influenced his voice as a writer—one that blends humor, heart, and social insight.
He is best known for his memoir The Pink Marine, which recounts his experience as a closeted gay teenager who joins the Marines under the Buddy Program. The book was adapted into the Netflix series Boots, where White serves as both writer and executive producer. The series dramatizes his journey through boot camp in the early 1990s, offering a rare and resonant portrayal of LGBTQ+ identity within the rigid confines of military culture.
Beyond Boots, White has written for major networks and studios including HBO, CBS, NBC, Disney, Fox, and Sony.
His screenwriting credits include three Netflix original films, and he’s known for crafting stories that combine comedy with emotional depth. He’s also contributed essays to outlets like The Huffington Post and hosted a cooking show on the Food Network, showcasing his passion for food and storytelling. White’s advocacy extends beyond the screen. He is a vocal supporter of LGBTQ+ and veteran rights and was featured in the PBS docuseries American Veteran. A sixth-generation Texan and self-described “bon vivant,” White brings a unique blend of Southern charm, resilience, and wit to all his creative endeavours.
Andy Parker is a television writer, producer, and showrunner
Best known for creating the Netflix series Boots, a military dramedy inspired by Greg Cope White’s memoir The Pink Marine, his personal history and creative vision deeply shaped the show’s emotional and cultural resonance.
Parker grew up in Glendale, Arizona, and as a closeted gay teen in the 1990s, once invited a Marine Corps recruiter to his home to convince his conservative, evangelical parents to let him enlist. Though he ultimately chose not to join the military, the experience left a lasting impression. Years later, reading White’s memoir felt like exploring “the road not taken,” and Parker spent five years developing his adaptation into what would become Boots.
As the series creator and co-showrunner (alongside Jennifer Cecil), Parker wrote the pilot episode “The Pink Marine” and co-wrote the finale “The Crucible.” He also served as executive producer alongside Norman Lear, Brent Miller, Rachel Davidson, and Scott Hornbacher. Parker described his vision for Boots as “Full Metal Jacket told by David Sedaris,” blending the intensity of military transformation with humor and emotional vulnerability.
His approach to storytelling emphasises universality through specificity. While Boots centers on a gay recruit hiding his identity in boot camp, Parker insisted that every character undergoes a journey of transformation—making the series not just a queer coming-of-age story but a broader meditation on identity, resilience, and belonging.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Unmasking the Origins of Horror: Monster – The Ed Gein Story
Monster: The Ed Gein Story was created by Ryan Murphy and continues his Netflix anthology exploring infamous American crimes, drawing inspiration from real-life events and their cultural echoes. The series is significant for its chilling portrayal of Ed Gein’s psychological descent and its influence on horror cinema.
Written and co-directed by Murphy, the series continues his shift from stylised horror fiction to dramatised true crime, blending psychological depth with cultural critique.
Who’s the real monster in Monster:The Ed Gein Story? There are quite a few options — with both the viewers, and society at large, included. “The interesting thing about the show is the thesis statement of every season is: Are monsters born or are they made?” co-creator Ryan Murphy asks. “And I think in Ed’s case, it’s probably a little of both.”
Murphy, known for American Horror Story, brings his signature aesthetic to the real-life horrors of Ed Gein, a man whose crimes—grave robbing, murder, and body mutilation—shocked mid-century America and inspired some of the most iconic horror films in cinematic history. The series stars Charlie Hunnam as Ed Gein, delivering a haunting performance that captures both the eerie stillness and fractured psyche of a man shaped by isolation, trauma, and mental illness. Laurie Metcalf plays Augusta Gein, Ed’s domineering mother, whose religious fanaticism and emotional abuse form the crucible of his psychological unravelling.
Monster: The Ed Gein Story was created and written by Ryan Murphy and Ian Brennan, with Max Winkler serving as one of the key directors.
This third installment in Netflix’s Monster anthology continues Murphy and Brennan’s exploration of infamous American criminals through a stylized, psychological lens.
Ryan Murphy and Ian Brennan, longtime collaborators known for Glee, American Horror Story, and The Politician, co-created the Monster series to reframe notorious cases from the perspective of victims and society. Their writing in The Ed Gein Story blends historical fact with dramatised introspection, focusing on Gein’s psychological descent and the cultural ripple effects of his crimes. Murphy and Brennan were reportedly inspired by how Gein’s story influenced horror cinema, particularly films like Psycho, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, and The Silence of the Lambs.
Director Max Winkler, known for his emotionally nuanced storytelling, helmed key episodes and shaped the series’ haunting tone. In interviews, Winkler emphasized the importance of portraying Gein’s inner world—his trauma, isolation, and distorted relationship with his mother Augusta. Winkler also crafted the series’ final scene, which ends with the chilling line “Only a mother could love you,” a moment he described as the emotional “Rosebud” of the narrative.
Together, Murphy, Brennan, and Winkler created a series that not only revisits Gein’s crimes but also interrogates the societal and psychological conditions that birthed them. Their collaborative vision turns Monster: The Ed Gein Story into a meditation on monstrosity, memory, and the blurred line between horror and history.
What inspired the series
The inspiration behind the series lies in the disturbing legacy of Ed Gein, whose crimes in 1950s Wisconsin became the blueprint for fictional killers like Norman Bates in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho, Leatherface in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and Buffalo Bill in The Silence of the Lambs.
Murphy’s series doesn’t merely recount Gein’s crimes—it interrogates the roots of monstrosity, asking whether evil is born or made.
The show explores Gein’s childhood under Augusta’s oppressive rule, where he was taught that women were sinful and that intimacy was dangerous. This upbringing, steeped in religious extremism and emotional deprivation, laid the groundwork for Gein’s later obsession with the female form and his grotesque attempts to resurrect his mother through acts of body desecration.
The series dramatises key moments in Gein’s life: the suspicious death of his brother Henry, Augusta’s stroke and eventual death, and Gein’s descent into grave robbing and murder. These events are portrayed not just as plot points but as psychological ruptures, each deepening Gein’s dissociation and feeding his delusions.
What sets “Monster: The Ed Gein Story” apart is its refusal to sensationalise violence
Instead, it offers a slow, unnerving study of loneliness, mental illness, and the porous boundary between grief and madness. The series suggests that Gein’s crimes were less about sadism and more about a desperate, deluded attempt to preserve connection—to his mother, to identity, to meaning. This framing invites viewers to consider the societal failures that allowed Gein’s deterioration to go unnoticed: the inept police investigation into his brother’s death, the lack of mental health support, and the cultural silence around abuse and isolation. By humanizing Gein in his later institutionalized years—medicated, soft-spoken, and seemingly harmless—the series complicates the viewer’s understanding of monstrosity. It asks whether Gein was ever truly evil, or simply broken beyond repair.
The significance of the series also lies in its cultural resonance
By revisiting Gein’s story, Murphy not only reanimates a historical figure but also reflects on the enduring fascination with true crime and the horror genre’s roots in real trauma.
The show becomes a meta-commentary on how society processes fear and deviance through fiction. It reminds us that behind every horror icon is a real person, often shaped by suffering, and that our entertainment is often built on the bones of the forgotten and the vilified.
Monster: The Ed Gein Story thus serves as both a chilling narrative and a cultural mirror, reflecting our collective obsession with darkness and the stories we tell to make sense of it.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Inside the Mind of a Killer: Monster – The Jeffrey Dahmer Story
Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story is a haunting dramatization of one of America’s most notorious serial killers, created by Ryan Murphy and Ian Brennan. The series not only revisits the chilling crimes of Jeffrey Dahmer but interrogates the systemic failures that allowed his atrocities to continue unchecked for over a decade.
Released on Netflix in September 2022, Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story marked the beginning of Murphy’s true crime anthology, later followed by seasons on the Menéndez brothers and Ed Gein.
Murphy, known for his stylised horror and psychological dramas, teamed up with longtime collaborator Ian Brennan to write and produce the series. Directed by Carl Franklin, Paris Barclay, and Jennifer Lynch, the show stars Evan Peters in a career-defining role as Dahmer, with Niecy Nash as Glenda Cleveland, Richard Jenkins as Lionel Dahmer, and Molly Ringwald as Shari Dahmer. The series spans Dahmer’s life from childhood through his arrest in 1991, focusing not only on the gruesome details of his murders but also on the broader social and institutional contexts that enabled them.
The inspiration behind the series was not merely to recount Dahmer’s crimes but to reframe the narrative from the perspective of his victims and the community that tried to stop him.
Murphy stated that the goal was to center the voices of those who were silenced—particularly Black and brown victims whose disappearances were ignored by law enforcement. The series draws heavily from court records, police reports, and interviews, but it also dramatizes the emotional toll on families, neighbors, and survivors. Glenda Cleveland, Dahmer’s neighbor who repeatedly called the police to report suspicious behavior, becomes a central figure in the series. Her warnings were dismissed, and her story exemplifies the racial and systemic negligence that permeated the Milwaukee Police Department at the time.
The series is structured non-linearly, weaving between Dahmer’s childhood, his years of killing, and the aftermath of his arrest.
It explores his upbringing in a fractured home, his early signs of psychological disturbance, and his descent into necrophilia and cannibalism. But rather than glorifying the violence, the show lingers on the emotional devastation left behind. Each episode highlights a different victim, giving them names, faces, and stories—something often missing in true crime narratives. One of the most powerful episodes centers on Tony Hughes, a deaf Black man who was lured by Dahmer and later murdered. The episode is told largely from Tony’s point of view, using silence and visual storytelling to emphasize his humanity and the tragedy of his loss.
Evan Peters’ portrayal of Dahmer is chillingly restrained. He captures the killer’s awkwardness, emotional detachment, and manipulative charm without veering into caricature. Peters reportedly spent months preparing for the role, studying interviews and court footage to understand Dahmer’s psychology. His performance earned him a Golden Globe for Best Actor in a Limited Series and an Emmy nomination. Niecy Nash’s portrayal of Glenda Cleveland was equally lauded, earning her a Primetime Emmy for Outstanding Supporting Actress. Nash brings emotional depth and moral clarity to a woman who tried, unsuccessfully, to stop a monster next door.
The significance of Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story lies in its cultural impact and its critique of institutional failure.
The series became one of Netflix’s most-watched shows, surpassing one billion hours viewed within 60 days of release. But its popularity also sparked controversy. Some viewers accused the show of retraumatizing victims’ families, while others praised it for shedding light on systemic racism and homophobia. The series walks a delicate line between dramatization and advocacy, using horror not for shock but for reflection. It asks hard questions: Why did the police ignore Glenda Cleveland’s calls? Why were Dahmer’s victims—mostly young men of color—so easily dismissed? What does it say about society that Dahmer was able to operate for so long without consequence?
Murphy’s decision to launch Monster as an anthology series reflects a broader ambition: to explore how American culture creates and sustains its monsters. Each season focuses on a different figure whose crimes reveal something about the era, the institutions, and the communities they affected. In Dahmer’s case, the series becomes a lens on 1980s and 1990s America—an era marked by fear of homosexuality, racial segregation, and distrust of marginalized voices. The show doesn’t excuse Dahmer’s actions, but it does contextualize them within a society that failed to protect its most vulnerable.
The series also critiques the media’s role in mythologizing serial killers. Dahmer became a household name, his crimes sensationalized in tabloids and documentaries. Monster resists this trend by focusing on the victims and the survivors. It shows the courtroom scenes, the impact on families, and the community protests that followed Dahmer’s arrest. It also explores the ethical dilemmas faced by Lionel Dahmer, Jeffrey’s father, who struggled to reconcile his love for his son with the horror of his actions. These moments add emotional complexity to a story often reduced to gore and spectacle.
In its final episodes, the series examines Dahmer’s time in prison, his conversion to Christianity, and his eventual murder by a fellow inmate. These scenes are not presented as redemption but as a continuation of the moral ambiguity that defines the series. Dahmer’s death is portrayed with restraint, emphasizing the unresolved pain of those he left behind. The show ends not with closure but with a call to remember—to honor the victims, to question the systems, and to confront the darkness within society.
Ultimately, Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story is more than a true crime drama. It is a cultural reckoning, a meditation on grief, justice, and the human capacity for both cruelty and compassion.
By centering the voices of the silenced and challenging the institutions that failed them, the series transforms horror into advocacy. It reminds viewers that monsters are not born in isolation—they are shaped by neglect, prejudice, and silence. And if we are to prevent future tragedies, we must listen to those who are too often ignored.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Shell: A Seductive Descent into Beauty, Horror, and Identity
Shell is a provocative and stylised entry into the dark comedy horror genre, directed by Max Minghella and written by Jack Stanley.
Director’s Statement
From 1985 to 1994, my mother worked for the British Board of Film Classification. Each day, she would watch a film to determine its appropriate level of censorship and then at night, for my bedtime story, recite the plot to the movie she had seen that day. I would fall asleep, visualising these narratives, dreaming about the T-1000 or Nakatomi Plaza and then later I would get to see these characters and locations realised on celluloid. This practice spawned an inevitable lifelong obsession with cinema.
Shell is a love letter to those bedtime stories.
Shel exists in a different time, when character-driven, genre movies were thriving. When the industry relied on the talent and charisma of movie stars. When musical scores had recurring themes and heroines delivered one-liners. Shel is like a dinner party in which an eclectic array of ghosts are invited to eat together. Death Becomes Her can split a steak with Species, whilst Sliver and Soapdish share a cigarette.
However, this is not just a referential exercise in satire. There is a deep and earnest love for this period in film, and for the themes that this story explores, that drove al of the cast and crew to strive for something unique and thri ling. Hopefuly this sense of joy and mischief comes through and you wi l think of our movie the next time you order a Lobster Rol!
Max Minghela– Director, 2024
The screenplay, originally drafted in 2018, captivated Minghella with its surreal blend of body horror and psychological abstraction.
Though not typically drawn to horror, Minghella found the script’s emotional undercurrents and visual boldness deeply memorable. He collaborated with Stanley to reshape the narrative into a cinematic homage to the genre films he loved as a child, infusing it with a glossy, unsettling aesthetic that mirrors the film’s themes of vanity, identity, and transformation.
Shell is significant not only for its genre-bending tone but also for its commentary on the beauty industry and the commodification of youth. It explores how desperation and desire can warp perception, and how corporate glamour can mask grotesque realities.
Down on her luck actress Samantha Lake (Elizabeth Moss) is invited into the ultra glamorous world of Zoe Shannon (Kate Hudson), CEO of health & wellness company Shell. When their patients start to go missing, including starlet Chloe Benson (Kaia Gerber), Samantha realises Shell may be protecting a monstrous secret.
Director’s Q&A: Max Minghella
How did you find Shell and why did you want to make this film? I had been working on Teen Spirit, my first film, for close to a decade. It was a tremendously rewarding experience, but it was a long time to live with a story that was both deeply personal and quite melancholic in tone. I was yearning to make something less introspective for my own sanity.
I first read Jack’s original screenplay in 2018 and it realy stuck with me. Of course, I immediately thought of Death Becomes Her but there was also something deeply unique about its imagination that permeated my subconscious. It was a long and challenging journey to get the film made, but my excitement for it never dissipated. I fell in love with the characters and their ideas, but most of al, it was just a movie I wanted to see and share with an audience.
What was your approach to the film? It was imperative to focus the film on Samantha and to create a stable narrative framework around her that could alow the movie to be bold and personal. I always found the story inherently funny and didn’t want to shy away from that in the execution. We al took the work very seriously but it was important to me that Shel never took itself too seriously. It goes to some pretty campy places, and you don’t want that to feel incongruous with the rest of the movie.
There is a whole other layer to the approach which I recognize may be a little eccentric…
Certain moments are designed to reflect the imagined studio notes of the early 90’s which had a tendency to push for happy endings and underline exposition. Lydia, the role Este Haim plays in the film, is a nod to the best friend characters that would often serve exclusively as a soundboard for the protagonist. The henchman personifies the Cold War panic that spawned a dozen henchman with shoulder length blond hair. I could go on but essentialy there is an attempt to make something that is not just winking at it’s inspirations but hopefuly embodying them authenticaly.
What would you say are the main themes for the film? Al of us contemplate our age and mortality, so it’s a deeply relatable story. What feels like commentary around vanity and the beauty industry becomes more interesting, especialy as we examine the relationship between Sam and Zoe, Elisabeth Moss and Kate Hudson’s characters. Their dynamic is complex and I’ve always been drawn to vi lains who speak truths with relatable motivations. Zoe is a deeply cynical person, but her arguments can be dangerously persuasive and hopefuly that prevents the movie from ever feeling pious or simplistic.
How would you describe the film’s aesthetic? The film’s relationship to time wasn’t on the page but felt implicit in its tone. It takes place in a future that is not naturalistic but reflective of how we once imagined it on celuloid. Hopefuly this adds some humor to the technology and futurism. I started to identify al sorts of books, music, art, and film which seemed to share the DNA of Shel. Suddenly, we had various references that were so consistent with one another, in terms of set design, wardrobe, color palette… That I realized we weren’t aiming for something wholy abstract, but rather a world that exists with a rich wel to draw from.
When I met Susie Mancini, production designer, she realy bolstered my confidence in the approach and the excitement only grew once Mirren Gordon Crozier and Drew Daniels jumped on board.
Why is it important for people to see a film like this in a theater with an audience? I think every director wants people to see their movies in a theatre but this movie was definitely designed to be participatory for an audience. There’s something almost vaudeville-like about it, so I think it’s fun to see those kinds of movies with a crowd. Shel dips into a wide array of genre spaces but it’s primarily comedic and it’s always more fun to laugh with in a group than alone on a couch.
When people walk out of the theater, what do you hope they take away from this film? My hope is they had a fun time and are surprised by it in some way. And, of course, I hope it lingers with people. I think every time you make something, you hope that it wi l last and have a rewatchable quality to it and hopefuly this one is entertaining enough that you might want to throw it on again at Christmas and make your in-laws uncomfortable
Max Minghella is a British actor, screenwriter, and director known for his eclectic career spanning independent cinema, mainstream television, and genre filmmaking. Born on September 16, 1985, in Hampstead, London, he is the son of Oscar-winning director Anthony Minghella and choreographer Carolyn Choa. Raised amid the creative energy of film sets, Minghella initially resisted the pull of acting, aspiring instead to direct music videos. However, a formative experience watching This Is Our Youth in London’s West End shifted his trajectory. He studied history at Columbia University, balancing academics with summer film roles, and eventually emerged as a compelling screen presence in films like Syriana, Art School Confidential, and The Social Network. His television work, particularly as Nick Blaine in The Handmaid’s Tale, earned him critical acclaim and a Primetime Emmy nomination. Minghella made his directorial debut with Teen Spirit (2018), showcasing his flair for stylized storytelling and musical rhythm. In 2025, he directed Shell, a darkly satirical horror film that blends body horror with psychological unease, marking a bold evolution in his creative voice.
Jack Stanley is a rising screenwriter whose work is defined by psychological tension, genre subversion, and emotional depth. He gained industry attention with his original screenplay Possession: A Love Story, which landed on the Black List, a prestigious annual roundup of Hollywood’s best unproduced scripts. Stanley’s writing often explores themes of identity, transformation, and the uncanny, making him a natural fit for the horror-thriller space. His credits include Lou (2022), a gritty survival thriller, and The Passenger (2023), a taut psychological drama. In Shell (2025), Stanley’s screenplay offers a chilling critique of the beauty industry and the commodification of selfhood, wrapped in a sleek, unsettling narrative. His collaboration with Max Minghella on Shell reflects a shared interest in stylized genre storytelling that probes beneath the surface of desire and control. Stanley’s voice continues to evolve, positioning him as a screenwriter to watch in the realm of elevated horror and speculative drama.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Shelby Oaks – A twisting, tension-fuelled narrative
Shelby Oaks (2024) is a supernatural horror mystery film written and directed by Chris Stuckmann in his feature debut, co-written with his wife, Samantha Elizabeth.
A woman’s desperate search for her long-lost sister falls into obsession upon realising that the imaginary demon from their childhood may have been real.
Shelby Oaks offers a singular horror experience. The film seamlessly blends found footage, faux-documentary realism, and traditional narrative storytelling, defying genre conventions and delivering a uniquely immersive and terrifying journey. For a new generation of horror fans, it’s a theatrical event that feels both familiar and entirely new.
A twisting, tension-fuelled narrative, Shelby Oaks is a gripping mystery – one that unfolds with escalating dread and psychological intensity. As the truth unravels, audiences are taken on a haunting, emotionally resonant ride that lingers long after the credits roll.
Known previously as a prolific YouTube film critic, Stuckmann transitioned into filmmaking with a project that is both deeply personal and genre-savvy.
In his directorial debut, Stuckmann cements his place as a bold new force in horror. With assured visual storytelling, razor-sharp tension, and immersive world-building. Shelby Oaks marks the arrival of a confident and compelling new voice in genre cinema.
The significance of Shelby Oaks lies in its layered origin and emotional resonance. Inspired by Stuckmann’s own upbringing—particularly his experience growing up in a restrictive religious environment as a Jehovah’s Witness—the film explores themes of repression, identity, and belief.
Director’s Statement
It was 2016, and my wife and I were shooting our 4th Annual Halloween Special, a festive series of videos we published to YouTube each October to celebrate spooky season. That year, we adopted a theme ‘cabin in the woods’ horror movies, and we filmed the Special in a cabin deep in the backwoods of Tennessee. We also shot a wraparound segment that featured a mask-wearing, knife-wielding lunatic who documents their kills with a VHS camcorder. On the drive home, we were inspired and discussed adapting the segment into a feature that focused on paranormal researchers who disappear.
But what started as a tale about missing YouTubers eventually transformed into something with deeper, darker implications for its characters. The script was uncommonly structured and I was an untested filmmaker, so generating interest in the film was damn near impossible. Finally, after many months of failed financing attempts, and despite many folks warning against it, I launched a crowdfunding campaign, uncertain of its prospects. To my shock, Shelby Oaks became the highest-funded horror film in the history of Kickstarter, taking in nearly $1.4 million. Immensely grateful, and more than a little daunted by the sudden enormity of the project, we set out to make the film.
I didn’t realize it until post-production, but this became a much more personal project than I had initially conceived. We follow Mia, played by the immensely talented Camille Sullivan, as she searches for her sister, who’s been missing for twelve years. The world believes her sister is dead, yet Mia plows forward, convinced her search isn’t in vain. I was raised in a faith that practices shunning, and when I was twelve, my sister left that faith. I was forced to shun her, and as a result, I cut off all communication with her. I was told my sister was “spiritually dead,” and despite knowing she was alive and well, we didn’t reconnect until my early twenties, after I finally escaped that faith. So it only makes sense that I’d identify with a story about someone’s desperate yearning to find a lost loved one, as seemingly insurmountable forces keep them apart.
With Shelby Oaks, I looked to brilliant films like Joel Anderson’s Lake Mungo, a pseudo-documentary that expertly generates familial terror through the looming knowledge that something awful is going to happen, and there’s little that can be done about it. M. Night Shyamalan’s work on The Sixth Sense and Signs was also a great influence, his uncanny ability to generate tension out of thin air always on my mind. I studied found footage movies and true crime docs, and looked for ways to embrace what I love about both. All those failed financing attempts could be traced back to the fact that a movie like Shelby Oaks didn’t have a proven roadmap. I couldn’t say, “It’s this meets this.” Which is why I’m so grateful to those backers who made the film possible, and to NEON for all their incredible support.
Nine years ago, my wife and I shot a YouTube sketch that has now evolved into a feature film. Over the course of making it, I became a father to twins, and a pandemic shut down the globe. Most filmmakers say that every film they make changes them, and indeed, while making Shelby Oaks, the axis of my entire world shifted. And I couldn’t be happier.
Chris Stuckmann Writer, Director
Chris Stuckmann is an American filmmaker, author, and former YouTube film critic, born on April 15, 1988, in Boston Heights, Ohio. He rose to prominence through his YouTube channel, where his articulate and passionate reviews earned him over 2 million subscribers and a reputation as one of the platform’s most respected voices in film criticism. Deeply influenced by directors like Spielberg, Shyamalan, and Nolan, Stuckmann transitioned from reviewing films to making them, culminating in his feature directorial debut Shelby Oaks (2024), a psychological horror film rooted in personal trauma and supernatural dread. His creative journey has been shaped by a desire to move beyond critique and into storytelling, especially after publicly sharing his experience growing up in a restrictive religious environment. Stuckmann is also the author of two books—The Film Buff’s Bucket List and Anime Impact—and a certified critic on Rotten Tomatoes. His work reflects a deep reverence for cinema as both art and emotional excavation.
Samantha Elizabeth, also known as Samantha Stuckmann, is a writer and creative collaborator who co-wrote Shelby Oaks alongside her husband, Chris Stuckmann. While she maintains a low public profile, Samantha’s contributions to the film reflect a nuanced understanding of character psychology and emotional layering, helping shape the film’s themes of repression, belief, and familial loss. Married to Chris since 2014, she has supported his filmmaking journey both personally and professionally, often working behind the scenes to refine story elements and emotional beats. Her presence in the project adds a quiet but vital depth, grounding the horror narrative in lived experience and relational truth. Though not widely known in the public sphere, Samantha’s creative influence is felt in the film’s emotional core and its commitment to exploring trauma through genre storytelling.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Road Back to Pulse: How Reunion Travel Reawakens the Writer
Sometimes, the story doesn’t return through solitude or study—but through motion.
A road trip with a friend you haven’t seen in a decade to reconnect with friends you haven’t seen in years can jolt your narrative heart awake. Not because of the scenery, but because of the company: people who carry forgotten versions of you, who speak in cadences your writing once knew. As the kilometres stretch and the playlists loop, you begin to feel again—laughter, tension, silence, surprise. These textures, once dormant, start to pulse beneath your prose. The road becomes a ritual, the reunion a mirror, and suddenly, your story has breath again.
A road trip with friends can quietly, profoundly revive your story as a writer—not through grand epiphanies, but through the slow reactivation of emotional and narrative pulse.
These friends carry versions of you that time has blurred: fragments of laughter, tension, vulnerability, and shared silence that once shaped your voice. Reuniting with them is not just a social event—it’s a ritual of re-entry. As the road stretches ahead, so does your access to memory, rhythm, and resonance. The act of traveling together—of moving through shifting landscapes and unscripted moments—becomes a metaphor for narrative itself.
Each bend in the road, each roadside stop, each late-night confession offers a new lens for emotional architecture. You begin to feel again, not just in the abstract, but in the granular: the ache of nostalgia, the joy of rediscovery, the quiet weight of what was left unsaid.
These textures are the lifeblood of story
Dialogue sharpens. Banter with old friends tunes your ear to cadence, subtext, and emotional charge. You remember how people really talk—not how characters perform, but how they reveal, deflect, and connect.
This reawakens your instinct for scene, for tension, for the unscripted beats that make dialogue sing. Memory, too, becomes modular.
Recollections surface in fragments—some tender, some raw. These shards can be reassembled into motifs, emotional beats, or entire chapters.
You begin to write not from concept, but from pulse.
The unpredictability of travel—the missed turns, the spontaneous detours, the shared playlists—restores your instinct for narrative surprise. You stop overthinking structure and start trusting rhythm.
Most importantly, you are witnessed.
Friends who knew you before the accolades or the droughts remind you of your core. That clarity strips away performative prose.
You write not to impress, but to connect.
You remember why you began: not for perfection, but for communion—for the ache, the joy, the shared breath of story.
The road doesn’t just take you somewhere. With the right companions, it brings you back.
Back to the version of yourself that wrote with urgency, with curiosity, with emotional charge.
Back to the stories that mattered before you learned to doubt them.
In this way, a road trip becomes a kind of creative revival—not loud, not dramatic, but deeply restorative. It reintroduces you to your own voice, not as a product, but as a living thing. And when you return, you carry not just memories, but momentum.
You write with more pulse, more texture, more truth. Because you’ve remembered that story lives not in solitude, but in shared breath—in the spaces between silence and speech, between past and present, between who you were and who you’re becoming.
“Taking a break from working on my novel to go on a road trip with a close friend I hadn’t seen in 15 years, the journey reconnected us with others we’d both lost touch with—and led to revelations that not only sparked fresh inspiration for my novel, but also unearthed forgotten details that now enrich the story.” Daniel Dercksen
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Art of Evaluating Film: A Guide for Writers and Storytellers
Let’s look at how to evaluate films—not just as entertainment, but as crafted experiences shaped by intention, structure, and emotional resonance. Whether you’re a screenwriter, storyteller, or simply someone who wants to deepen their understanding of cinema, learning to watch critically is a powerful tool.
It allows you to move beyond personal taste and into the realm of mechanics: how scenes are built, how characters evolve, how music and pacing shape mood. Evaluating film is not about judgment, but about insight—about seeing the choices behind the curtain and understanding how they serve (or fail) the story.
This skill is not only useful if you’re pursuing a career as a film journalist or critic—it also gives you insight into what readers, producers, and publishers are looking for when they engage with your story.
If you write (or want to write) screenplays, one of the most important skills you can develop is the ability to watch and analyze movies or TV shows critically and objectively.
This doesn’t mean you need to don snobby critic spectacles and declare a film “utter garbage”—not at all. Being a critical viewer simply means understanding the mechanics behind the storytelling.
To become a master of cinematic observation, it’s essential to view films beyond your personal worldview and from a more objective perspective.
Now that you’ve explored visual dynamics and become aware of how filmmakers turn words into action, remember: a film’s story is not only about context, but also about content. Ultimately, it’s your characters who evoke emotional responses from the audience.
Always keep in mind that no matter how poorly a film may resonate with your own experience or taste, every film has a specific audience.
It’s essential to grasp this and learn to sit inside the audience’s zone—outside your comfort zone.
Avoid saying you liked or disliked a film. Instead, explain whether the film worked for you, and why. What emotional, structural, or thematic elements made it effective—or ineffective—for you?
Even if you dislike a particular genre, such as musicals, that shouldn’t prevent you from analyzing a film as a work of art and evaluating its artistic and dramatic merits.
A simple way to improve your critical skills as a movie or television viewer is to take notes:
Make a bullet-point list of moments or events that impacted you
Observe aspects of structure, production, and pacing
Pay attention to transitions, music usage, scene length, recurring motifs, and character interactions
Being a careful and attentive viewer will make you a more thoughtful writer when it’s time to put fingers to keyboard (or pen to paper)
How to Evaluate A Film
FIRST RULE: Remove yourself from the evaluation. It’s not about you, but about what the film, stage play, novel, or painting are saying. (Refer to The World of Film: The Language and Visual Dynamics of Film) SECOND RULE: Do not watch the trailer or read any reviews beforehand. THIRD RULE: Watch the film knowing as little as possible—ideally, nothing at all. FOURTH RULE: Choose a film you haven’t seen before. If possible, select one you wouldn’t usually watch—something outside your comfort zone. FIFTH RULE: After watching, let the film swim around in your head. Give it space to breathe before writing your report.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Spoiler Epidemic: How Movie Trailers Are Ruining the Surprise
In an age of instant gratification and algorithm-driven hype, movie trailers have morphed from tantalising glimpses into full-blown plot exposés.
What was once a craft of suggestion and restraint has become a marketing arms race—where studios, desperate to secure opening weekend numbers, reveal far too much, far too soon.
The result?
A cinematic experience that feels pre-chewed, pre-digested, and robbed of its emotional crescendo.
Trailers were originally designed to tease, not tell
A flash of mood, a hint of conflict, a taste of tone. But today’s trailers often function as miniature films, complete with act structures, character arcs, and climactic reveals. The twist you were meant to gasp at? It’s in the trailer. The death that should have shattered you? Already spoiled in a slow-motion montage.
Even genre-defining surprises—like a villain’s true identity or a protagonist’s fate—are routinely sacrificed for the sake of virality and buzz.
This shift is driven by a marketing logic that prioritises clicks over mystery
In a crowded media landscape, trailers must compete not just with other films, but with TikToks, memes, and trending controversies. To stand out, they lean on spectacle and revelation. But in doing so, they flatten the narrative arc. Viewers enter the cinema not with curiosity, but with a checklist—waiting for scenes they’ve already seen, moments they’ve already decoded.
The damage isn’t just emotional; it’s structural
Films are built on rhythm, tension, and release. A well-crafted story invites the audience to lean in, to wonder, to connect dots. But when trailers preempt the journey, they short-circuit that engagement. The audience becomes passive, watching not to discover, but to confirm. The film’s pacing suffers, its surprises land with a thud, and its emotional beats feel rehearsed.
Some filmmakers have pushed back. Directors like Christopher Nolan and Jordan Peele are known for cryptic, minimalist trailers that preserve mystery.
But even their work isn’t immune to studio pressure. Test screenings, marketing analytics, and distribution deals often override artistic intent. And in the age of YouTube breakdowns and Reddit speculation, even a restrained trailer can be dissected into spoilers within hours.
There’s also a deeper cultural cost
When trailers spoil films, they erode the communal magic of storytelling. That gasp in the theater, that shared silence after a twist—these are moments of collective wonder. They bind audiences together in real time. But when everyone already knows what’s coming, those moments dissolve into polite recognition.
The solution isn’t to eliminate trailers, but to reimagine them
To treat them as invitations, not summaries. To trust the audience’s curiosity, rather than manipulate it.
A trailer should whisper, not shout. It should leave space for mystery, for emotion, for the slow bloom of meaning.
Until then, the spoiler epidemic will continue—one overstuffed trailer at a time. And the true magic of cinema, the art of surprise, will remain buried beneath the noise.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Power of Restraint: Why Less Is More in Writing
In a world saturated with words—tweets, texts, emails, essays—the art of saying less has never been more vital. “Less is more” isn’t just a minimalist mantra; it’s a powerful writing philosophy that champions clarity, precision, and impact.
Whether crafting a novel, a news article, or a business memo, writers who embrace brevity discover that fewer words often carry greater weight. This feature explores how stripping away excess can sharpen your message, engage your audience, and elevate your prose to something truly memorable.
In the realm of writing, the adage “less is more” has long served as a guiding principle for clarity, elegance, and impact
It’s a philosophy that champions restraint over excess, precision over verbosity, and substance over embellishment. While the temptation to impress with elaborate prose or exhaustive detail can be strong, especially in academic, professional, or creative contexts, the most powerful writing often emerges from simplicity. This isn’t to say that minimalism is synonymous with blandness or lack of depth. On the contrary, when executed skillfully, concise writing can evoke emotion, provoke thought, and leave a lasting impression far more effectively than its verbose counterpart.
At its core, “less is more” in writing is about respect—for the reader’s time, attention, and intelligence. In an age of information overload, where readers are bombarded with content from every direction, brevity becomes a form of courtesy. Writers who embrace this ethos understand that every word must earn its place. They strip away the unnecessary, the redundant, and the convoluted, leaving behind only what truly matters. This discipline forces them to think more deeply about their message, to refine their ideas, and to communicate with purpose. The result is writing that is lean, focused, and resonant.
Consider the power of a well-crafted sentence. Ernest Hemingway, a master of minimalist prose, famously wrote, “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” In just six words, he conjures a world of emotion, implication, and narrative. The sentence doesn’t explain—it suggests. It trusts the reader to fill in the gaps, to engage with the text actively rather than passively. This is one of the great strengths of concise writing: it invites interpretation. By leaving space for the reader’s imagination, it fosters a deeper connection between writer and audience.
Writing with restraint often leads to greater clarity
When ideas are buried under layers of jargon, qualifiers, and tangents, their essence becomes obscured. Readers must wade through the clutter to uncover the point, and many won’t bother. But when a writer pares down their language, the message shines through. George Orwell, in his essay “Politics and the English Language,” argued that good writing should be transparent, like a windowpane. He advocated for plain words and straightforward syntax, warning against the dangers of inflated language and meaningless clichés. His advice remains as relevant today as it was in 1946.
The “less is more” approach also enhances rhythm and pacing. In narrative writing, whether fiction or nonfiction, brevity can create tension, urgency, and momentum. Short sentences and paragraphs can mimic the beat of a racing heart, the snap of a decision, or the silence of a moment. They can punctuate a scene, highlight a revelation, or underscore a theme. When used strategically, they become tools of storytelling, shaping the reader’s experience in subtle but powerful ways. Writers like Raymond Carver and Lydia Davis have built entire careers on this principle, crafting stories that are spare yet profound.
In persuasive writing, conciseness is equally vital. Arguments lose their force when diluted by digressions or padded with fluff. A compelling thesis, supported by succinct evidence and articulated with precision, is far more convincing than one buried in verbosity. This is especially true in journalism, where space is limited and attention spans are short. Reporters must convey the who, what, when, where, why, and how in as few words as possible, without sacrificing accuracy or nuance. The best news writing is crisp, clear, and direct—qualities that stem from the “less is more” mindset.
Even in academic writing, where complexity is often mistaken for sophistication, brevity has its place. Scholars who can distill intricate theories into accessible language demonstrate not only mastery of their subject but also respect for their audience. They recognize that clarity is not the enemy of depth, but its companion. By eliminating unnecessary jargon and focusing on core ideas, they make their work more inclusive and impactful. The same applies to business writing, where clarity and efficiency are paramount. Whether drafting emails, reports, or proposals, professionals who write concisely save time, reduce misunderstandings, and foster better communication.
Of course, writing less doesn’t mean thinking less. On the contrary, it demands greater intellectual rigor. To express an idea in its simplest form, a writer must understand it thoroughly. They must sift through layers of complexity, identify the essence, and articulate it with precision. This process requires discipline, patience, and humility. It’s easier to write long than to write short. Cutting words means making choices—about what to include, what to omit, and how to say it best. It means confronting the fear that brevity might be mistaken for superficiality, and trusting that the strength of the idea will carry it through.
There’s also an aesthetic dimension to “less is more.”
Just as a minimalist painting can evoke emotion through a single brushstroke, minimalist writing can achieve beauty through restraint. The elegance of a well-placed word, the symmetry of a balanced sentence, the resonance of a quiet moment—all these are amplified when the noise is stripped away. Writers who embrace minimalism often find that their prose becomes more lyrical, more evocative, more alive. They learn to trust silence, to value suggestion, and to wield language with grace.
Yet, it’s important to note that “less is more” is not a universal rule. There are times when richness, detail, and elaboration are necessary—when the story demands it, the subject warrants it, or the audience expects it. The key is discernment. Writers must know when to pare down and when to expand, when to whisper and when to shout. “Less is more” is a tool, not a dogma. It’s a reminder to write with intention, to choose words deliberately, and to prioritize meaning over ornamentation.
In practice, adopting a “less is more” approach involves revision.
First drafts are often messy, filled with tangents, redundancies, and filler. The real work begins in editing, where the writer must become ruthless. Every sentence must be scrutinized, every word weighed. Does it serve the purpose? Does it add value? Can it be said more simply? This process can be painful, especially when it means cutting beloved phrases or reworking entire sections. But it’s also liberating. It forces the writer to confront their own habits, to refine their voice, and to elevate their craft.
Ultimately, “less is more” in writing is about trust—trust in the reader, trust in the idea, and trust in the power of language. It’s a commitment to clarity, a celebration of simplicity, and a pursuit of elegance. In a world that often equates quantity with quality, it’s a radical act of restraint. But for those who embrace it, the rewards are profound. Their writing becomes sharper, stronger, and more memorable. It speaks not just to the mind, but to the heart. And in doing so, it proves that sometimes, the most powerful words are the ones left unsaid.
Tips to help you master the “less is more” approach in writing:
Cut the clutter: Eliminate filler words like “really,” “just,” “very,” and “actually.” They rarely add meaning and often dilute your message.
Focus on one idea at a time: Each sentence should serve a clear purpose. Avoid cramming multiple thoughts into one—break them up and let each shine.
Trust your reader: You don’t need to explain everything. Suggest, imply, and let the reader connect the dots. This creates engagement and depth.
Use strong, specific words: Instead of saying “ran very fast,” say “sprinted.” One precise word beats a string of vague ones every time.
Revise ruthlessly: Your first draft is just the beginning. On revision, challenge every word: Is this necessary? Can I say it better with less?
Trim the fat—then trim again. After writing your first draft, go back and ruthlessly cut anything that doesn’t serve a clear purpose. Look for filler words (like “just,” “really,” “very”), redundant phrases (“each and every,” “basic fundamentals”), and over-explained ideas. Ask yourself: Does this sentence move the piece forward? Does it add clarity, emotion, or insight? If not, let it go. The goal is to make every word earn its place.
Bonus trick: Try rewriting a paragraph using half the number of words. You’ll be surprised how much stronger and sharper it becomes.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Bugonia – An explosive psychological thriller
From visionary director Yorgos Lanthimos comes “Bugonia,” an explosive psychological thriller that offers a pitch-black comic window into our modern age of madness.
Provocative and subversive, the film follows two conspiracy obsessed young men as they burst out of their online rabbit holes and kidnap Michelle, a high-powered CEO they believe to be an alien who has come to destroy us. After the pair chain her in a basement and come face-to-face with the enemy, the two sides — the tinfoil-hat basement dwellers and the steely, soulless corporate executive — soon find themselves pitched in a battle as viscerally unpredictable as it is unexpectedly moving.
Anchored by powerhouse performances from Jesse Plemons and Emma Stone and newcomer Aidan Delbis, along with a devilishly sharp script from Will Tracy, Lanthimos constructs an audaciously original portrait of what it means to laugh, cry, and recoil in the fate of humanity.
In “Bugonia,” our age of conspiracies and paranoia, of disconnect and dread has come home to roost in thrilling, riotously unpredictable fashion.
Convinced that Michelle (Emma Stone), the formidable and ruthless CEO of a pharmaceutical company, is an alien plotting to destroy Earth, two conspiracy-driven cousins kidnap her and chain her in their basement. Led by his seemingly erratic, dark-web ideas, Teddy (Jesse Plemons), the ringleader of the operation, has Don (Aidan Delbis) shave Michelle’s head and slather her in anti-alien lotion, before confronting her about a supposed plan for planetary armageddon that involves bee extinction (the film’s title refers to an ancient Greek belief in the birth of bees from dead cows) and a lunar eclipse.
As an ostensible doomsday clock ticks on, Stone and Plemons go toe-to-toe in raw, unyielding performances suited for what increasingly feels like a cosmic battle for the fate of the world — or at least for the fate of our shared sense of reality. Exploring the fringes of human behavior on lush VistaVision, the film offers an immersive and viscerally charged capsule of contemporary life, plunging us into that familiar, maddening sense of what it feels like to be alive today.
“In the world that we live in now, people live in certain bubbles that have been enhanced by technology,” Lanthimos says. “Having certain ideas about people is reinforced depending on which bubble you live in, creating this big chasm between people. I wanted to challenge the viewer about the things that we’re very certain about, the judgment calls that you make about certain kinds of people. It’s a very interesting reflection of our society and the conflict in our contemporary world.”
Even as Michelle tries to expose Teddy and Don’s harebrained logic, our preconceived ideas about either side slowly morph into thornier revelations as much about ourselves as the trio in the basement.
“It has that sort of microcosmic quality,” says Stone, who produced the film with Lanthimos in their fifth project together. “There’s a sort of insanity and a commentary in the midst of a really small environment, which I think Yorgos tends to be drawn to. We’re in a basement, and it’s really just people talking to each other a lot of the time, having perspectives that feel maybe incorrect or twisted. But they reveal these different versions of humanity and what can happen in a downward spiral of convincing yourself of something.”
That downward spiral might be about us all as much as it is about Teddy and Don, but the film is far too irreverent and unpredictable, Plemons notes, to start preaching to its audience. “The tone of it is so wild and varying — it’s so funny and so tragic, and the way into these very big conversations is so left-field and unexpected,” says Plemons. “It’s a really strange but honest portrait of the times we’re living in, how confusing and absurd it all is.”
Stone agrees, noting the singularly surreal sense of humor nestled within the film’s often “deeply sad elements.” “Bugonia” is, in other words, the kind of horrifically funny — or hilariously horrific — film about our global doom times that only Lanthimos could make.
“While the film is in many ways a comedy, it’s much more layered and textured than that and goes to all these places that you don’t expect it to go, and that’s Yorgos’s happy place,” says producer Ed Guiney. “He’s a master of tonal dexterity: he can pivot from high comedy to tragedy in one nanosecond.”
The film’s origin story, though, can be traced to CJ ENM, who saw the potential for an English adaptation of “Save the Green Planet”.
“We began assembling the ideal team—inviting, one by one, Ari Aster and Lars Knusden, who deeply understood and admired the essence of the original as a devoted fan; Will Tracy, who could infuse the story with the zeitgeist of our times; and Yorgos Lanthimos, one of the rare filmmakers capable of pushing such a daring concept to its limits with his singular vision. We were fortunate to bring together this remarkable combination of talents,” says producer Jerry Kyoungboum Ko of CJ ENM.
When Aster — who produced the film alongside Knudsen, Guiney, Andrew Lowe, Stone, Lanthimos and CJ ENM — told Will Tracy to watch “Save the Green Planet” a few years back, he gave the veteran screenwriter little context. Tracy had never heard of the obscure Korean sci-fi comedy and could barely even track down a faithfully translated copy. But, Aster indicated, there was the seed of another story in there — one about us, now.
“Within twenty minutes of watching it, I knew what he was talking about,” Tracy recalls. “I knew that there was something in this Korean film from 2003 that could be adapted in a very exciting way for a contemporary Anglo-American context.”
Amid the apocalyptic dread of the pandemic’s early days, Tracy wrote a boldly explosive reimagining of the story in a frenzied quarantine haze.
“We were locked-down, and I was probably losing my mind a little bit in this little apartment in Brooklyn,” he says. “I wrote it in about three weeks, and I’ve tried not to analyze it too much, but I’m sure something in that atmosphere made its way into the script – that claustrophobic feeling that I don’t think I would have been able to write if not in those circumstances.”
“It was one of the best scripts I’ve ever read: darkly funny, but with great pathos, drama, story, and fantastic characters,” says Lowe.
That script ended up in the hands of Lanthimos, a filmmaker whose singularly ambitious vision Aster knew could bring Tracy’s new story to life. “Yorgos has such a personal, idiosyncratic style, I knew he would find a new visual and tonal language for the story,” Aster recalls. “It would be a totally new interpretation, as Will’s script had already become in the development process.” Miky Lee, who also developed and produced the film through CJ ENM explains, “Rooted in the DNA of Korean cinema, it has been transformed into something daring and imaginative through the vision of Yorgos Lanthimos and Will Tracy, and vividly brought to life by the brilliance of Emma Stone, Jesse Plemons, and the entire ‘Bugonia’ team. It serves as a reminder that authentic stories can evolve into new forms and find resonance with audiences in profound and unexpected ways.”
When Lanthimos read the script, the acclaimed auteur could immediately see in it a vision for a darkly comic provocation: a new kind of psychological thriller built for the big screen — and for the absurdism of our modern moment. “It was such a quick read,” Lanthimos says of Tracy’s script. “It was entertaining. It was complex. It felt very relevant. It was contemporary.”
That idiosyncratic sensibility is perhaps never more poignant than here, in what might be considered Lanthimos’s most anarchic and profoundly humanistic work yet. It is also one that begs to be experienced in theaters: to laugh, cry, groan, and recoil, among one another.
“Most films should be enjoyed like that, in a cinema with other people. It’s a communal experience, but especially this film, the way it’s filmed on VistaVision, a beautiful format, and the sound design that Johnnie Burn has done, along with Jerskin Fendrix’s score,” Lanthimos says. “It’s just a very full and dramatic experience, both in its hilarity and its horror, that can only be experienced fully in a cinema.”
The Basement
Teddy’s basement in “Bugonia,” says Lanthimos, is a contained environment that operates almost like a twisted science experiment, throwing lab rats into a pool containing all of the anxieties, fears, and farcical realities of modern life. But that experiment soon becomes a kind of fun-house mirror reflection, not only of Teddy, Don, and Michelle — i.e. the lab rats in question — but also us as viewers.
“By limiting the environment in which this conflict takes place, we enhance the focus on the characters and what they represent, but also reveal that what appears obvious in the beginning might not be true,” Lanthimos says. “The film slowly reveals layers and layers of complexity in all of the characters, making whoever is watching the film rethink the biases they might have.”
That might be most apparent in our understanding of someone like Teddy. In preparation for his role, Jesse Plemons went down his own rabbit holes, reading about our age of conspiracy paranoia in books like Naomi Klein’s “Doppelgänger.”
“One thing that Klein said that really makes sense is, with a lot of people that migrate towards some conspiracy theory, the seed of that fear is correct,” Plemons says. “The idea that we are being manipulated, our data is being mined, these forces of evil and this sort of capitalist machine are trying to control our lives — if you have all these valid feelings, where can you go? Really the only people that are really talking about it are these fringe conspiracy theorist podcasters. But the seed of the feeling is correct.”
This complex dynamic strikes at the heart of the prickly complexity of “Bugonia.” Forceful in his beliefs and methods, Teddy may appear to be tinfoil-hat lunatic, but the anger and fear that he is motivated by — capitalist exploitation, ecological disaster, and a sense that, as he puts it, “nobody gives a fuck about us” — is starkly real.
His motivations are only complicated by a darker history that gradually, and terrifyingly, boils to the surface. “He’s been dealt a pretty shitty hand in life,” says Plemons. “He’s got a mother that was a part of this trial opioid drug treatment that left her in a coma, and he just desperately wants to help, but he’s gotten a little lost along the way.”
In his mother’s house in the American heartland — where, Stone notes, things have been suspended in time since Teddy’s mother left — Teddy’s time outside of his factory job are spent beekeeping, researching the true order of the universe, and training with Don to prevent a takeover from an alien species. He has cycled through every fringe political and conspiracy subgroup out there before leeching onto this theory about Andromedan control. But all of his deep dives into rabbit holes has perhaps been a defense against the tide of grief and a deep sense of futility in a society that seems to have used his family and cast them aside.
“He was just left to try to sort through all these feelings of absolute powerlessness and hopelessness,” Plemons says. “All this bubbling inside him — where do I put this? How do I take control over this awful circumstance that I’ve been left with? This belief that he’s landed on has given him a sense of power and purpose and a way to sort these things, even in an indirect sort of way. Anytime the past is brought up, he always takes it back to this mission.”
Plemons sees in Teddy what is, if a more extreme version, a similarly tragic reality that exists for many in an era of division and disconnect. “So many people feel in the world today that they’re just completely overlooked and forgotten,” he notes. “They’re just sort of being blown around by the powers that be.”
In “Bugonia,” Michelle appears to be the soulless manifestation of those powers. The powerful CEO of a pharmaceutical bioengineering company, she is ruthlessly in control of everything and everyone in her orbit. “Michelle’s natural way is in being a CEO and being in charge,” Stone says. “She tries instantly to become that even in the midst of an insane situation with Teddy and Don after she’s kidnapped.”
Whether she is indeed an alien overlord or a billionaire executive, she is “a kind of life-sucking force that’s trying to take something from the Earth,” says Stavros Halkios, who plays a local cop who becomes embroiled in Teddy’s scheme.
At least, that’s the initial impression one might project onto her. “Then, scene by scene, you start to understand her more,” says Lanthimos. “You watch her reveal — or try to conceal — all these other layers.”
The more we get a sense of Michelle as an actual person — rather than what she simply represents as a figure of power — who feels pain and has her own thoughts, the more Don comes to squirm at what he and Teddy are doing. If his theory and the mission at-hand have offered Teddy a kind of control in his life, he only wants to pass that sense of empowerment onto Don, his younger cousin who has also lost his family.
“He’s a kind of a shy and awkward person, but also at the same time shows himself to be, in spite of that, really brave and strong,” Delbis says of Don.
In a way, he notes, Don is almost unwittingly roped into this whole situation, a sensitive soul who is thrust into violent extremes simply out of a love for the only person he has left. “Teddy is kind of the last person in the whole world that Don really feels like he can count on, that cares about him,” he says. “And Teddy sees Don arguably in the same way.”
Plemons concurs. “It’s really tragic and really beautiful, their relationship — they’re all each other has,” he says. But eventually, as the mission reaches its extremes, Don chafes against Teddy’s beliefs and what they’re willing to do to Michelle to get the truth out of her. Ultimately, his ambivalence becomes a placeholder for us.
“Don is the soul of the film and the moral compass,” Lanthimos says. “He represents the audience: He’s always conflicted. He always questions things, but he’s also very loyal to Teddy, and he doesn’t want to go against him. But there’s something inside him that tells him what they’re doing might not be the right thing.”
YORGOS LANTHIMOS – Director / Producer: Yorgos Lanthimos is an internationally renowned, six-time Academy Award®-nominated director, producer and screenwriter, and the winner of numerous accolades including a BAFTA Award, a Golden Globe Award, and the Golden Lion at Venice.
He most recently directed the contemporary anthology feature film, KINDS OF KINDNESS, which he co-wrote with frequent collaborator Efthymis Filippou. The film—a triptych of distinct stories featuring the same actors portraying different characters in each instalment—stars Jesse Plemons, Emma Stone, Willem Dafoe, Margaret Qualley, Hong Chau, Joe Alwyn, Mamoudou Athie and Hunter Schafer. It will be released in theatres by Searchlight Pictures on June 21, 2024.
His most recent feature film, POOR THINGS, written by Tony McNamara and adapted from Alasdair Gray’s novel, grossed over $100 million at the worldwide box office and won the Golden Lion for Best Film at the 2023 Venice International Film Festival, where it world premiered. The film was nominated for 11 Academy Awards, including nominations for Lanthimos in Best Picture and Best Director, and winning four Oscars including Best Actress for Emma Stone. It was also nominated for 11 BAFTA Awards, winning five; and won two Golden Globes including Best Motion Picture, Musical or Comedy, among countless prizes. The Searchlight Pictures film marked another in his ongoing artistic partnership with Emma Stone, who also produced the film alongside Lanthimos. POOR THINGS also stars Mark Ruffalo, Willem Dafoe, Ramy Youseff, Jerrod Carmichael, Margaret Qualley, and Christopher Abbott.
He also recently premiered his black-and-white, silent short film, BLEAT, co-produced by the Greek National Opera and conceived to only ever be screened accompanied by a live classical orchestra, just as it was presented in its world premiere in Athens, Greece and U.S. premiere at the 2023 New York Film Festival. Shot on a remote Greek island during the pandemic, BLEAT stars Emma Stone as a young widow who embarks on a singularly unclassifiable journey through sex, death, and resurrection.
Lanthimos’s film, THE FAVOURITE, written by Deborah Davis and Tony McNamara and starring Olivia Colman, Rachel Weisz and Emma Stone, premiered at the 75th Venice Film Festival where it won the Grand Jury Prize and the Copa Volpi for Best Actress for Olivia Colman’s performance, which also won the Academy Award. A critically-acclaimed and box office hit, the film received a leading 10 Academy Award nominations including Best Picture and Best Director for Lanthimos as producer and director; 12 BAFTA nominations and seven wins, including Outstanding British Film; plus five Golden Globe nominations and winner of a record 10 British Independent Film Awards.
He launched to international attention in 2009 with his second feature film, DOGTOOTH, winner of the Un Certain Regard Prize at the 62nd Cannes Film Festival and nominated for the Academy Award® for Best Foreign Language Film. His first English language feature film THE LOBSTER, starring Colin Farrell and Rachel Weisz, was presented in competition at the 68th Cannes Film Festival where it won the Jury Prize. It earned Lanthimos and co-writer Efthymis Filippou an Academy Award® nomination for Best Original Screenplay. His next film, THE KILLING OF A SACRED DEER, also starring Colin Farrell plus Nicole Kidman and Barry Keoghan in his breakthrough role, premiered in competition at the 70th Cannes Film Festival where it was nominated for the Palme d’Or and won Best Screenplay. He directed, produced and co-wrote the film, which received multiple Independent Spirit and European Film Award nominations.
Born in Athens, Greece, Lanthimos began his career directing several dance videos in collaborations with Greek choreographers, in addition to TV commercials, music videos, short films, and theater plays. His first feature film, KINETTA, premiered at the 2005 Toronto and Berlin Film Festivals to critical acclaim; and ALPS, won the Best Screenplay prize at the 2011 Venice Film Festival, and Best Film at the Sydney Film Festival in 2012.
WILL TRACY – Writer: Will Tracy was a writer and executive producer on the HBO series SUCCESSION, where he won three Emmy awards, as well as a WGA award for writing the episode “Tern Haven.” He was part of the inaugural writing staff of LAST WEEK TONIGHT WITH JOHN OLIVER, winning three Emmys, and created the HBO limited series THE REGIME. Will is also the former Editor in Chief of The Onion.
In features, he co-wrote and executive produced THE MENU for Searchlight Pictures and was a producer on HBO Films’ MOUNTAINHEAD. More recently, Will wrote BUGONIA for Focus & CJ Entertainment which stars Emma Stone and Jesse Plemons with Yorgos Lanthimos directing.
Jang Joon-hwan is a South Korean director and screenwriter born on January 18, 1970, in Jeonju. A graduate of Sungkyunkwan University, Jang made his directorial debut with the short film 2001 Imagine (1994), but rose to prominence with Save the Green Planet! (2003), a wildly original sci-fi thriller that became a cult classic. Known for his bold storytelling and genre fusion, Jang followed with Hwayi: A Monster Boy (2013), a revenge thriller, and 1987: When the Day Comes (2017), a critically acclaimed political drama about South Korea’s pro-democracy movement. The latter won Best Director and Best Film at the Blue Dragon and KOFRA Awards. Jang’s work often explores trauma, justice, and societal transformation. He is married to actress Moon So-ri and continues to influence Korean cinema with his visionary approach.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on TRON: Ares – What it means to be human when the digital and real world collide
TRON: Ares, the electrifying next chapter of Disney’s seminal TRON” franchise, expands upon the enduring legacy of its groundbreaking predecessors TRON (1982) and TRON: Legacy (2010).
The explosive action-adventure is directed by Joachim Rønning from a screenplay is by Jesse Wigutow, with story by David DiGilio and Wigutow, based on characters created by Steven Lisberger and Bonnie MacBird.
For Norwegian-born director Joachim Rønning (Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales, Maleficent: Mistress of Evil, Young Woman and the Sea) and the filmmaking team, the key to approaching “TRON: Ares” was to uphold the cherished legacy already celebrated by generations of dedicated fans around the world, and introduce new audiences to the timely, technological spectacle that embodies “TRON.”
“The bar was really high,” Rønning explains. “I wanted to design something new, but familiar. What drew me to the project was the mix of the digital and real worlds. Having a Program exist in the real world was interesting for me – I hadn’t seen that before. And the idea of Ares finding out what it means to be human, what it takes to be human, was fascinating.”
It was also critical that the story have a strong emotional core. Rønning says, “It needs to resonate with me on an emotional level, needs heart. I need to get that right to be interested in these characters, I need to connect with them. Although it’s about an AI program that goes rogue, I’m not so interested in the AI aspect of this story. For me, it’s about Ares’ journey and discovering what it means and what it takes to be human. That’s what it’s all about, trying to answer those questions.”
“The themes of ‘TRON’ are so contemporary,” producer Justin Springer (“TRON: Legacy,” “Oblivion”) adds with a hint of optimism. “Ares shows more humanity than the human who created him. That is Ares’ journey. The story between him and Eve is one of companionship and understanding. It suggests there is a way in which humans and artificial intelligence can learn from one another, hopefully coexist.”
Springer points to the scene when Eve first discovers that Ares is a Program and reacts with compassion as an example. “This is the moment when Eve first realises that a Program as sophisticated as a human can exist in our world,” he says. “She reaches out; she doesn’t recoil. It’s a sign of optimism in our relationship with technology. The technology is here, it’s happening, and it’s rapidly growing; it’s not something we can put back in the box. We have to figure out how to create a better future for ourselves.”
It was clear to producer Sean Bailey (“TRON: Legacy,” “Gone Baby Gone”) that Joachim Rønning was the perfect fit to direct. “Joachim is a really thrilling director,” he says. “He has the ability to make films that have incredible scope, scale and energy, but which also focus on human elements, whether that be the joy of interaction and human rapport or really deep, fundamental emotions. If you look at his body of work, it really evidences that.”
“Joachim Rønning was such a great choice for this movie,” agrees executive producer Russell Allen (“The Lion King,” “The Little Mermaid”), “because he’s a perfectionist when it comes to visuals and shot composition, which are hallmarks of the ‘TRON’ franchise. And he also brought a sensitivity, a sense of drama, and a sense of comedy to it, which rounded out the movie. He found a great balance between honouring the original films and bringing the franchise into the current day. He was a great collaborator; it was just really satisfying to be in the room with him.”
In “TRON: Ares,” a highly sophisticated digital Program, Ares (Jared Leto), is sent into the real world on a dangerous mission, marking humankind’s first face-to-face encounter with artificial intelligence. As Ares experiences his surroundings and has his first brush with humanity, his consciousness – and conscience – start to evolve. He finds an unexpected ally in the brilliant technologist, computer programmer and current ENCOM CEO Eve Kim (Greta Lee), who is on her own journey to discover a critical code written by Kevin Flynn (Je Bridges). Betraying orders and relentlessly pursued, the two fight not only for their survival but for a future where technology and humanity can intersect.
Tron: Ares draws inspiration from a surprising source—Disney’s Pinocchio
According to producer Je rey Silver (“The Lion King,” “The Little Mermaid”), “‘TRON’ is a Pinocchio story. It’s the tale of a flawed character and how he evolves to become a person, learning the intangible ways of the heart and the ephemeral nature of life. And there’s a curiosity we have about what a mind is, and the closest metaphor we have for it in the modern world is the computer. Whether we view the world of computing as intrinsically physical – a brain – or metaphysical – a mind – the computer offers analogous meaning. Ultimately, ‘TRON’ explores what it means to be human, to have empathy, to be finite.”
The undeniable impact of the original “TRON” films is in part thanks to the pioneering filmmaking technology used and an edgy, innovative connection back to the zeitgeist. That meant there were key elements filmmakers needed to keep top of mind for “TRON: Ares.” The stakes needed to feel heightened, the technology needed to be groundbreaking, and the story needed to feel relevant.
As producer Sean Bailey puts it, “the fascination with these films is the ambition of the ideas, both from the perspective of the plot and of the filmmaking. The technology Steven Lisberger and his team pioneered changed how films could be made. They changed everything that came after.”
Bailey adds, “With ‘TRON,’ you’re obligated to do a few things: you have to say something about the future, you have to technologically innovate, and you have to explore our relationship with technology. Whenever I would say to people in the early days of this film, ‘Imagine the light cycles but at a 130-mph chase on a freeway,’ everybody’s eyes would get big. From a visual perspective, we are saying something very new. And the ideas this movie is exploring in terms of technology and our relationship with it is also very exciting.”
That “TRON: Ares” has something new to say is upheld by the franchise’s creator. “You know,” says Steven Lisberger (“TRON,” “TRON: Legacy”), “today’s audience often complains that movies are no longer radical enough or experimental enough or creative enough. I don’t want to hear that about this movie. This is a highly experimental film! Sure, its lore goes back to 1982, but ‘TRON: Ares’ goes so far past that.”
Director Joachim Rønning revealed that Jared Leto’s character, Ares, was conceived with the idea of a digital being yearning to become “real,” much like Pinocchio’s desire to be a real boy. This emotional core adds depth to the story, as Ares, a sophisticated AI program, enters the human world for the first time and begins to experience life through fresh, childlike eyes.
Beyond the fairy tale parallel, the film also reflects modern anxieties and hopes surrounding artificial intelligence. It flips the original Tron narrative—where humans entered the digital Grid—by sending a digital entity into reality. This inversion allows the story to explore themes of identity, empathy, and what it truly means to be human in an age of rapidly advancing technology.
A Closer Look at the Production
Practical Sets and Shooting In-Camera: Each Grid had its own unique practical set. Production recreated Kevin Flynn’s original office in painstaking detail. Scenes set at Dillinger Corporation were filmed in huge hangars, and the action sequences were shot over the course of six-weeks of night shoots throughout the streets of Vancouver. “For a film that is so much about technology,” says producer Emma Ludbrook, “and which used technology so much to create it, we had these giant practical sets that were so vast you couldn’t believe they existed in real life. Having a practical set versus a digital set is very different.”
Designing Three Distinct Grids: Unlike the first two films, “TRON: Ares” takes place on three unique Grids: the ENCOM Grid, the Dillinger Grid and Flynn’s Grid. Spearheaded by graphic designer Ellen Lampl, whom production designer Darren Gilford calls, “a graphics powerhouse,” each Grid was made distinct from the other so as not to confuse the audience.
Light Cycles: “What the light cycle has always represented,” says “TRON” creator Steven Lisberger, “is our relationship with technology: we got on it, it’s beautiful, it’s scary fast, and we’ve been hanging on ever since. I think that’s one of the reasons the light cycle is so successful without blatantly declaring its meaning; it’s a silent symbol for how we feel: that we’re just moving so fast!” “The light cycles are the crown jewel of the ‘TRON’ design legacy,” says production designer Darren Gilford. “They have earned a place in movie vehicle lore that, like the Batmobile, are almost religious in nature. Syd Mead designed the original one, and when I began updating it, it felt like I was working on a religious artifact. There are certain things that make a light cycle, unwritten rules as to its visual cues, and you have to stay within those boundaries.”
Light Disks: Perhaps as iconic as the light cycles and light suits are the light discs: keepers of personal data and lethal weapons. As with the Grid, the discs change colour and shape depending on who possesses them and the Program’s position. “A lot of thought went into that,” says property master Dean Eilertson. “Hexagonal shapes were really big in ‘TRON: Legacy,’ and I tend to use them. There’s no rhyme or reason to this; I like the angles.” When Ares, and later Athena, are made Master Control Program, they graduate to a rounded triangular black disk, illuminated with red lights. “We thought it would still feel like ‘TRON’ even if the MCP disc is a di erent shape. We decided that adding a special disc that wasn’t round would tell the audience who is Master Control.” And, Eilertson admits, “We thought it was cool.”
Production Design: While “TRON: Ares” forges its own path, the world of “TRON,” “has a very distinct visual style,” says producer Sean Bailey. “People say, ‘That looks like “TRON,”’ or ‘That sounds like “TRON.”’ You can’t say that about many franchises out there.” And key to developing that continuity was hiring production designer Darren Gilford and his team, who also designed “TRON: Legacy.” “Darren Gilford is an immense talent,” says Bailey. “He did ‘TRON: Legacy’ and JJ Abrams’ ‘Star Wars,’ and he worked on ‘Ascension’ before it was shelved. I love Darren’s ability to dream of and build the most massive environments but simultaneously pay attention to the smallest, most granular detail. When you see his worlds on screen, you feel the magnitude, but it also feels incredibly real and tactile.”
Cinematography and Filming for IMAX: “‘ TRON’ is all about light,” says executive producer Russell Allen. “So the choice of DP was really, really important. We were super lucky and very excited that Je [Cronenweth] was available and said yes. Je ’s use of light, and his use of darkness, were really great additions to the ‘TRON’ aesthetic. Frankly I couldn’t really imagine doing this movie with any other DP.”
Joachim Rønning (born May 30, 1972) is a Norwegian film director, producer, and writer celebrated for his visually ambitious storytelling and international success. Raised in Sandefjord, Norway, Rønning began making short films as a teenager and later studied at Stockholm Film School. He gained prominence co-directing Kon-Tiki, which earned both Academy Award and Golden Globe nominations for Best Foreign Language Film. His Hollywood breakthrough came with Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales and Maleficent: Mistress of Evil, both major box office hits. Known for his adventurous spirit and cinematic scale, Rønning directed Young Woman and the Sea (2024) and is helming Tron: Ares (2025), a bold new chapter in Disney’s sci-fi franchise. Married to philanthropist Amanda Hearst, he is a father of three and continues to shape blockbuster storytelling with a distinctly European flair.
Jesse Wigutow (born May 25, 1973) is an American screenwriter and producer known for his work on both original films and major franchise reboots. He began his career in the early 2000s with Sweet Friggin’ Daisies and It Runs in the Family, and has since contributed uncredited writing to high-profile projects like 8 Mile, Eragon, Tron: Legacy, and Warcraft. Wigutow is the credited screenwriter and story creator for Tron: Ares (2025), and also serves as a writer and producer on Marvel’s Daredevil: Born Again. His career reflects a deep engagement with genre storytelling, often blending psychological depth with blockbuster spectacle.
David DiGilio is an American writer, producer, and showrunner known for crafting emotionally resonant thrillers with military and psychological themes. He created and executive produced Amazon Prime’s The Terminal List, based on Jack Carr’s novel, which explores the mindset of a Navy SEAL grappling with trauma and conspiracy. DiGilio’s earlier work includes the family adventure film Eight Below (2006) and the historical drama series Strange Angel. A psychology major, he brings a cerebral edge to his storytelling, often examining the cost of heroism and the complexity of truth. His upcoming projects include The Terminal List: Dark Wolf, continuing his commitment to authentic, character-driven narratives.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Hen showcases original Afrikaans storytelling with a stark, atmospheric tone
Hen, directed by South African filmmaker Nico Scheepers, is a psychological horror film set on a remote farm where a small family confronts isolation, trauma, and an encroaching darkness.
Produced by Nagvlug Films and Nostalgia Productions, the film is part of the kykNET Silwerskermfees 2025 lineup and showcases original Afrikaans storytelling with a stark, atmospheric tone.
Hen was the winner of the following Silwerskerm Awards in the feature film categories:
Best screenplay and best direction for Nico, best sound design for Tim Pringle, best cinematography for Chris Lotz, best editing for Regardt Botha, best makeup and hairstyling for Jolene Cilliers, best costume design for Sulet Meintjes and best actor for Stian Bam.
Scheepers, known for his emotionally resonant dramas like Nêrens, Noord-Kaap and Donkerbos, brings his signature depth and authenticity to Hen as writer and director, blending rural landscapes with haunting psychological tension.
Nico has received several awards for his work in theatre. In 2017, he won the Silwerskerm Award for best director of a short film for Die maan val bewusteloos.
“I find the silence of isolation far more frightening than a jump scare,” Nico said in an interview with Herman Eloff of Terloops. “There is a big difference between a cheap physiological fright, and something that slowly bores into your head like a maggot.”
The film explores themes of survival, grief, and the fragile boundary between life and death, using minimalism and silence to amplify dread. With its eerie setting and intimate character focus, Hen marks a bold shift into genre filmmaking for Scheepers, while retaining the emotional gravity that defines his work.
Hen is a psychological horror film about a man and woman who live alone in an almost derelict house. On a hunting trip, the man comes across a horrific scene where he finds a boy locked in a chest. He takes pity on the child and brings him home, but who is this boy who behaves so strangely?
The film is a sharp reflection on survival in the middle of nowhere, the fine line between life and death, and the eternal struggle between good and evil and hope and despair.
“The suspense thriller Hen by writer-director Nico Scheepers is probably the darkest film made in Afrikaans to date. This is not an exaggerated statement for effect. Scheepers’ debut feature film plays out on a godforsaken farm in a barren, desolate region. The physical landscape is just as bleak as the characters’ psychological interior. Religion is a sole but meagre comfort, as it appears that God and the gods are silent and have turned their backs on humanity,” writes Laetitia Pople on Netwerk24
“With its oppressive atmosphere, compelling narrative and masterful filmmaking, Hen is a cut above. It’s a powerful film that holds its own on an international level and more than earns its place alongside the work of contemporary horror filmmakers,” says Stephen Aspeling of Splingmovies.com.
The film was inspired by his deep connection to rural South African landscapes and his fascination with the emotional weight of silence, isolation, and survival
While Scheepers hasn’t publicly detailed a single source of inspiration for Hen, his previous works—like Donkerbos and Nêrens, Noord-Kaap—reveal a consistent interest in exploring trauma, family dynamics, and the psychological toll of grief. His storytelling often draws from real-life emotional experiences and the stark beauty of the South African countryside, which serves as both a setting and a character in his films.
Scheepers is known for crafting narratives that reflect the fragility of human relationships and the haunting echoes of loss. With Hen, he shifts into psychological horror, using minimalism and atmosphere to evoke dread while maintaining the emotional authenticity that defines his work. The film’s eerie tone and intimate setting suggest a desire to explore how isolation can distort reality—and how even the most ordinary environments can become sites of emotional reckoning.
Nico Scheepers is a South African screenwriter, director, and playwright known for his emotionally resonant storytelling and deep connection to rural landscapes. He rose to prominence with the critically acclaimed television series Nêrens, Noord-Kaap and the crime thriller Donkerbos, both of which showcase his talent for blending psychological depth with atmospheric tension. Donkerbos earned him the SAFTA award for Best Director in 2023 and was featured in the Berlinale Series Select. Scheepers also won the Fleur du Cap Award for Best New Director in 2018 and has received multiple Fiësta Theatre Awards for his work in stage productions. His short film Die Maan Val Bewusteloos won Best Director at the Silwerskerm Festival in 2017. As a playwright, his works have been performed at prestigious venues like the Fugard Theatre in Cape Town and The Market Theatre in Johannesburg. With Hen (2025), Scheepers ventures into psychological horror, continuing his tradition of crafting intimate, character-driven narratives rooted in South African identity and emotional truth.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Black Phone 2 – True evil transcends death
When The Black Phone arrived in 2022, it struck like lightning: a horror film both intimate and terrifying, rooted in the raw vulnerability of childhood.
Adapted from Joe Hill’s short story, the film drew on writer-producer-director Scott Derrickson’s memories of growing up in Colorado, grounding its supernatural terror in unsettling realism. Audiences embraced it not only for its scares but for its honesty. The film earned more than $160 million worldwide, introduced the Grabber (Ethan Hawke) as a chilling new figure in the genre’s canon and established The Black Phone as one of the decade’s most distinctive original horror films.
For Derrickson, the success was personal. “It was extremely rewarding to see audiences embrace the film the way they did, specifically because so much of it came directly from my own childhood,” Derrickson says. “As an artist, seeing those personal feelings and memories connect with so many people—especially young people—added a sense of purpose to the darker memories of my childhood. It made me feel like it was all somehow meant to be.”
For writer-producer C. Robert Cargill, Derrickson’s longtime writing partner and co-founder of their production company Crooked Highway, the sequel gave them an opportunity to once again draw from their own lives. “With Black Phone 2, we were able to keep building on characters rooted in our own childhoods and what it was like growing up in the ’70s and ‘80s,” Cargill says.
Writer-producer-director Scott Derrickson and writer-producer C. Robert Cargill.
“A lot of our real experiences are buried in these stories. That emotional grounding lets us balance the horror with heart. And it is part of why the first film kept growing after its release. When The Black Phone hit Peacock, it took off even more. Teenagers were watching it, making memes and TikToks, remixing scenes. For a lot of them, it was their first horror movie, and they fell in love with the genre. That is when Scott and I started getting messages every day from people asking, ‘When is the sequel? Is there a prequel? Are you making Black Phone 2?’”
Though Derrickson’s career has included genre touchstones such as Sinister, The Exorcism of Emily Rose and Marvel’s Doctor Strange, Black Phone 2 marks the first sequel he has directed. His decision to return came not from expectation but inspiration.
“It certainly did not feel unfinished,” Derrickson says. “I did not feel obligated to make a sequel. What started me down the path of considering the idea was getting an email from Joe Hill with a basic sequel concept. I did not use all of what he pitched, but there was a central notion that I thought was fantastic. And then I realized that if I waited a few years until the kids from the first film were older, I could make a sequel with high school characters. I felt that Finn and Gwen’s story would be worth continuing at that stage of life.”
Cargill adds: “The instinct was to move fast, but we decided to let them grow up a little. We had always talked about doing a high school movie, so we set this one four years later, with the kids now in high school.”
That seed quickly grew into a story with wider scope and deeper stakes.
“When Joe shared his idea with us, he said, ‘I don’t know how or where it happens, but the phone rings, Finn answers, and hears: ‘Hello, Finn. It’s the Grabber, calling from hell,’” Cargill says. “The moment we heard it, we knew that was the movie. From there, it was about building around that idea, and that is what became Black Phone 2.”
The new chapter begins four years after Finn’s (Mason Thames) harrowing escape from the Grabber’s basement. Though the Grabber is gone, Finn is still scarred by the trauma of what happened. His younger sister Gwen (Madeleine McGraw), whose visions once helped save him, now finds herself plagued by disturbing dreams again. In them, she sees images of three boys hunted at a remote winter camp called Alpine Lake. The haunting draws Gwen to the center of a new mystery, with the bond between brother and sister once again defining the fight for survival.
“One of the core themes of The Black Phone was the idea of children carrying the sins of their father, and that continues here,” Cargill says. “In this film, Finn is coping in the same ways his father once did. When we meet him again, he’s numbing himself from the past, falling into the same patterns. We wanted to explore how trauma echoes through families and whether that cycle can be broken.”
Adolescence gave the sequel both its tone and scale. “Picking up with these characters four years later to see how they had changed—and how they had not—was creatively very interesting,” Derrickson says. “As a teenager in Colorado, I went to several Christian winter youth camps, and that became the primary setting for the film. When you are 15, 16 or 17 years old, the emotions you feel are some of the most powerful you will feel during your lifetime. It seemed to me that those bigger and more volatile feelings merited a bigger and more violent movie.”
The influences are rooted in Derrickson’s own history yet also nod to the genre’s lineage
“I am less interested in drawing from other people’s work than in expanding on what elements from my own work seem unique to me,” Derrickson says. “In this case, it was the use of Super 8 footage in very specific ways, drawing on my own memories at Colorado high school winter camps in the early ‘80s and channeling some of the bigger feelings I had when I was a teenager at that time. But I do think all the horror films I saw in the ‘80s still had a kind of invasive, inevitable influence. All the horror camp films—Friday the 13th and A Nightmare on Elm Street being the biggest most obvious ones—and of course, some key imagery from the much more obscure 1983 film Curtains. If you know that film, the homage is clear and unabashed.”
Cargill adds: “And of course, you cannot escape Stephen King’s influence. Scott and I have always been deeply influenced by King, and we built on that in the first film.” King also happens to have deeply influenced author Joe Hill, too. King is his father. “In this film, Gwen is embracing and developing her abilities, while Finn is rejecting his,” Cargill continues. “That duality really echoes those early King stories, especially Firestarter, which made a huge impact on me.”
The creative partnership between Derrickson and Cargill remains the film’s backbone
“Scott is a visionary storyteller with an incredible sense of what works on screen,” Cargill says. “We have a shorthand when we write, which lets us move quickly and take risks. On set, Scott’s superpower is knowing exactly when something is not working. Watching him solve problems in real time is remarkable. He is confident, collaborative and completely locked into the story he wants to tell.”
Derrickson adds: “Cargill started as my writing partner and ended up as Best Man at my wedding. We have been through a lot together and are as close personally as we are professionally. What keeps it creatively fulfilling is the material, of course. It is always about telling a good story. That drives everything.”
For producer Jason Blum, the film reaffirmed what first drew him to the project. “The script for Black Phone 2 reminded me what an incredible foundation Joe Hill’s story gave us, and how brilliantly Scott and Cargill have built on it,” Blum says. “They’ve deepened the mythology while keeping the intimacy of the first film, balancing horror, emotion and character in a way that feels real. That’s what makes great horror—it has to matter, it has to connect—and they’ve delivered that again here.”
Four years after escaping his abductor, Finney (Mason Thames) is now 17 and grappling with trauma and fame as the sole survivor. Four years ago, 13-year-old Finn killed his abductor and escaped, becoming the sole survivor of the Grabber. But true evil transcends death … and the phone is ringing again.
Ethan Hawke returns to the most sinister role of his career as the Grabber seeks vengeance on Finn (Mason Thames) from beyond the grave by menacing Finn’s younger sister, Gwen (Madeleine McGraw).
As Finn, now 17, struggles with life after his captivity, the headstrong 15-year-old Gwen begins receiving calls in her dreams from the black phone and seeing disturbing visions of three boys being stalked at a winter camp known as Alpine Lake.
Determined to solve the mystery and end the torment for both her and her brother, Gwen persuades Finn to visit the camp during a winter storm. There, she uncovers a shattering intersection between the Grabber and her own family’s history. Together, she and Finn must confront a killer who has grown more powerful in death and more significant to them than either could imagine.
Black Phone 2 was inspired by a blend of personal memories, iconic horror imagery, and a desire to evolve the emotional depth of the original film.
Director Scott Derrickson drew heavily from his own experiences attending winter camps in the Rocky Mountains, which shaped the eerie new setting of Alpine Lake Youth Camp—a stark departure from the urban backdrop of the first film.
The isolation, snowstorms, and haunting quiet of the mountains offered a fresh canvas for fear, reminiscent of The Shining, which directly influenced the film’s atmosphere.
Author Joe Hill, whose short story inspired the original, pitched the sequel’s concept, driven by the enduring power of The Grabber’s mask—an image he likened to horror icons like Freddy Krueger and Michael Myers.
Derrickson was initially hesitant to return but was captivated by Hill’s idea and the opportunity to explore Finney and Gwen’s trauma as teenagers, shifting the narrative into a high school coming-of-age horror story.
The result is a sequel that deepens the mythology while embracing a more graphic, emotionally charged tone.
Scott Derrickson is an American filmmaker born on July 16, 1966, in Denver, Colorado. He is best known for his work in the horror genre, directing acclaimed films such as The Exorcism of Emily Rose (2005), Sinister (2012), and The Black Phone (2021), as well as the Marvel blockbuster Doctor Strange (2016). Derrickson studied humanities, philosophy, literature, and theology at Biola University before earning his MFA in film production from USC’s School of Cinematic Arts. His storytelling often blends supernatural elements with emotional depth, and he’s praised for his atmospheric direction and character-driven narratives. Derrickson’s career has spanned over two decades, marked by both indie horror hits and major studio successes. He lives in Austin, Texas, and is married to filmmaker Maggie Levin.
C. Robert Cargill, born September 8, 1975, in San Antonio, Texas, is a screenwriter, novelist, and former film critic. He began his career writing under the pseudonyms Massawyrm (for Ain’t It Cool News) and Carlyle (for Spill.com), before transitioning into screenwriting. Cargill co-wrote Sinister, Doctor Strange, and The Black Phone with frequent collaborator Scott Derrickson. He’s also a published author, known for novels like Dreams and Shadows, Sea of Rust, and Day Zero, which explore themes of mythology, artificial intelligence, and dystopia. Cargill’s writing is characterized by its emotional resonance and genre-blending style. He lives in Austin with his wife and two dogs, and is known for his love of greasy spoon diners and late-night writing sessions.
Joe Hill, born Joseph Hillström King on June 4, 1972, in Bangor, Maine, is a celebrated American author known for his gripping works in horror, dark fantasy, and science fiction. The son of literary giants Stephen King and Tabitha King, Hill chose to write under a pseudonym to establish his own identity in the publishing world, distancing himself from his father’s fame until his breakout success. He graduated from Vassar College in 1995 and began publishing short stories in various magazines and anthologies before releasing his award-winning debut collection, 20th Century Ghosts, in 2005. Hill’s first novel, Heart-Shaped Box (2007), became a bestseller and cemented his reputation as a master of modern horror. He followed it with Horns (2010), later adapted into a film starring Daniel Radcliffe, and NOS4A2 (2013), which inspired a television series on AMC. His fourth novel, The Fireman (2016), debuted at number one on the New York Times bestseller list. Hill is also the co-creator of the acclaimed comic book series Locke & Key, which was adapted into a Netflix series and earned him an Eisner Award for Best Writer. Beyond novels and comics, Hill’s short stories have appeared in numerous anthologies, and his work has won Bram Stoker, British Fantasy, and World Fantasy Awards. He continues to write from New England. His storytelling is marked by emotional depth, inventive horror, and a voice that’s distinctly his own—proving he’s far more than just Stephen King’s son.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere – A powerful biographical drama
Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere showcases a young musician on the cusp of global superstardom, struggling to reconcile the pressures of success with the ghosts of his past.
Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere is a powerful biographical drama directed and written by Scott Cooper, based on the book “Deliver Me from Nowhere” by Warren Zanes.
“Beginning production on this film is an incredibly humbling and thrilling journey,” said Cooper. “Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Nebraska’ has profoundly shaped my artistic vision. The album’s raw, unvarnished portrayal of life’s trials and resilience resonates deeply with me. Our film aims to capture that same spirit, bringing Warren Zanes’ compelling narrative of Bruce’s life to the screen with authenticity and hope, honouring Bruce’s legacy in a transformative cinematic experience. It has been a great pleasure to collaborate with Bruce and Jon [Landau] as I tell their story, and their creative energy fuels every part of this journey. As well, I’m excited to reunite with my friend, David Greenbaum [president, Disney Live Action and 20th Century Studios], as he embarks on his new role at Disney, adding another layer of inspiration to this project.”
It chronicles the haunting, intimate creation of Springsteen’s 1982 Nebraska album when he was a young musician on the cusp of global superstardom, struggling to reconcile the pressures of success with the ghosts of his past. Recorded on a 4-track recorder in Springsteen’s New Jersey bedroom, the album marked a pivotal time in his life and is considered one of his most enduring works—a raw, haunted acoustic record populated by lost souls searching for a reason to believe.
Rather than focusing on stadium anthems, the film dives into Springsteen’s internal battles, exploring themes of isolation, artistic vulnerability, and the ghosts of his past. It’s based on Warren Zanes’ 2023 book, Deliver Me from Nowhere: The Making of Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska.
The film stars Jeremy Allen White as Bruce Springsteen and performs many of the songs live, adding emotional authenticity to the role. White has won consecutive Golden Globe®, SAG, Critics’ Choice and Emmy® Awards in the past two years for his performance in FX’s hit series “The Bear.”
Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere was inspired by Bruce Springsteen’s deeply personal 1982 album Nebraska and the compelling story behind its creation.
The album was born during a period of isolation and introspection, when Springsteen was grappling with fame and personal demons. He later described those days as “some of the most painful” of his life.
Unlike his stadium-filling rock anthems, Nebraska was stripped down and haunting, telling stories of working-class despair and moral ambiguity.
Springsteen initially intended the songs as demos for the E Street Band, but after failed studio attempts, he released the cassette recordings as-is—a bold move that redefined his artistry.
The book’s intimate interviews and behind-the-scenes revelations offered a cinematic blueprint, prompting director Scott Cooper to adapt it for the screen.
The creative partnership between Scott Cooper and Warren Zanes on Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere is a fusion of cinematic grit and musical soul. Cooper, known for his emotionally resonant films like Crazy Heart, was drawn to Zanes’ book for its raw portrayal of Bruce Springsteen’s internal struggles during the making of Nebraska. Zanes, a former rock musician turned cultural historian, brought a deeply personal lens to Springsteen’s story—one that resonated with Cooper’s own artistic sensibilities.
Their collaboration began when producers Ellen Goldsmith-Vein and Eric Robinson optioned Zanes’ book and approached Cooper to adapt it. Cooper immediately connected with the material, citing Nebraska as a formative influence on his own work. Zanes joined the project as an executive producer, ensuring the film stayed true to the emotional and historical nuances of Springsteen’s journey.
Together, they crafted a film that doesn’t just dramatize the making of an album—it explores the emotional terrain of an artist at a crossroads. Cooper’s screenplay channels Zanes’ insights while adding cinematic tension and visual poetry, creating a portrait of Springsteen that’s both intimate and mythic.
Springsteen himself was involved in the project and gave his blessing, though he admitted some scenes were too emotional for him to witness on set. He visited the set occasionally, but deliberately stayed away during scenes that were especially personal. He explained that he didn’t want to interfere with the actors’ performances, saying, “If there was a scene coming up that was sometimes really deeply personal, I wanted the actors to feel completely free, and I didn’t want to get in the way, and so I would just stay at home”.
He praised Jeremy Allen White’s portrayal, calling him “a terrific actor” and noting that White’s interpretation of him would be deeply recognizable to fans. In fact, Springsteen was reportedly stunned by White’s singing—he “couldn’t believe that what he was hearing wasn’t his own voice”.
Jeremy Allen White stars as Springsteen, capturing the artist in a raw, vulnerable state as he wrestles with fame, creative isolation, and haunting memories of his New Jersey upbringing. The story unfolds almost entirely during the brief but intense period when Springsteen recorded Nebraska alone on a four-track cassette recorder in his bedroom. Jeremy Strong portrays Jon Landau, Springsteen’s trusted manager, who pushes him to confront his inner turmoil while championing the unconventional acoustic direction. Stephen Graham delivers a powerful turn as Douglas Springsteen, Bruce’s emotionally distant father, while Gaby Hoffmann plays Adele Springsteen, his quietly resilient mother. Odessa Young joins as a fictional muse, a composite character that represents the emotional void Springsteen grapples with through his music. The film doesn’t seek to glorify—it reveals a man stepping away from stadium lights into a dim room where silence speaks louder than applause. The creative tension, family trauma, and stark honesty that defined Nebraska form the heart of this intimate cinematic journey.
Scott Cooper is an American filmmaker, screenwriter, and former actor born on April 20, 1970, in Abingdon, Virginia. He began his career in front of the camera, training at the Lee Strasberg Theatre & Film Institute before transitioning to directing with the critically acclaimed Crazy Heart (2009), which earned Jeff Bridges an Academy Award. Cooper’s signature style blends emotional depth with gritty realism, evident in films like Out of the Furnace (2013), Black Mass (2015), Hostiles (2017), and The Pale Blue Eye (2022). His work often explores themes of redemption, trauma, and moral ambiguity, drawing inspiration from literary giants like Faulkner and Wolfe. Cooper is married to Jocelyne Cooper and lives in Los Angeles with their three children.
Warren Zanes is a multifaceted American musician, writer, and cultural historian born in 1965 in Exeter, New Hampshire. He first gained recognition as the teenage guitarist for The Del Fuegos, touring with legends like Tom Petty and ZZ Top. After leaving the band, Zanes earned a Ph.D. in Visual and Cultural Studies from the University of Rochester and went on to teach at institutions including NYU. He’s the author of several acclaimed books, including Petty: The Biography and Deliver Me from Nowhere, which inspired the upcoming Springsteen biopic. Zanes has also worked as a Grammy-nominated documentary producer and served as VP of Education at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. His writing and music reflect a deep reverence for American roots culture and the emotional power of storytelling.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Writer-director Benny Safdie talks about The Smashing Machine
From writer-director Benny Safdie (Uncut Gems, Good Time), comes a new film about pioneering UFC Hall of Fame fighter Mark Kerr, at once a high-pressure sports biography and high octane emotional spectacle, transporting viewers to the dawn of a new era as it follows the strongest fighter the sport had ever seen from the heights of fame to rock bottom and back again.
Benny Safdie is a director, writer and actor based in New York. His projects include The Smashing Machine; Showtime/A24’s The Curse, for which he was nominated for an Independent Spirit Award and a WGA Award for writing; Oppenheimer; Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret; The Stars at Noon; Licorice Pizza; Good Time, which he also co-directed and received an Independent Spirit Award nomination for Best Supporting Actor; Uncut Gems; Heaven Knows What; Daddy Longlegs; Telemarketers; Pee-wee as Himself; Thank You Very Much; and Lenny Cooke. He will next be seen in Netflix’s Happy Gilmore 2 and recently wrapped production on Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey for Universal.
What was it about Mark Kerr’s story that captured your imagination?
It was Dwayne who brought it to me. He approached me in, I think, 2019, to possibly do this movie. I watched the documentary about Mark and instantly fell in love with him, because I couldn’t believe that he existed. There was something about him that I felt like I understood.
What was that?
I think it was the fact that he was dealing with so much, and he had to pretend like he wasn’t, because of the kind of work he was doing. His emotions and complexities and intellectual nature seemed to be at odds with what he was in the ring, which was this kind of enormous, physical, incredible specimen. The two things seemed so contradictory. I wondered, how do you bridge those? It was almost as if, when Mark was outside of the ring, he was covering up that part of him that you saw in the ring. There was something like a disconnect. He was so sweet and so kind, and the way he spoke was so musical and beautiful. There was something interesting to me about what he was hiding and how he was able to smile and pretend like everything was okay until he couldn’t, you know?
Nobody knows what you’ve gone through in your life until you tell them.
Dwayne gets that, too. I knew Dwayne saw exactly what I saw in Mark. That doesn’t happen a lot, where you instantly know that the other person is thinking exactly what you’re thinking. That in itself made me think, There’s something that can happen here, between us. Dwayne and I could do something with this.
When you first got into Ultimate Fighting Championships and Mixed Martial Arts back in the ‘90s, it wasn’t too well-known, was it?
It was very new. And when it was first starting, specifically, there was something intense about it. People were trying to figure this thing out—like, “What is it?” Today you get all of these kinds of fights popping up in your feed. The quality of the imagery is insane. It’s an incredible thing to see. The matches are endless.
I was talking to [former Mixed Martial Arts champion] Bas [Rutten] about it, and he said, “I won all my fights in the first round because the first round was 30 minutes long!” There’s this kind of gladiatorial quality to it.
You have these [fighters] going to Japan and Brazil, and they have such an affection there for this kind of new form of fighting, and yet it has never really been accepted here in the US. Early on, it was kind of neglected. These fighters who are in the movie were not necessarily forgotten, but they weren’t lauded in the same way as boxers, you know?
(L-R) Benny Safdie, Dwayne Johnson Credit: Eric Zachanowich
What happened after Dwayne approached you with the idea for the movie?
There was something really complicated about Mark that I wanted to explore. And there was something about Dwayne, too. He has this image of himself out in the public, but as he spoke to me about Mark, and as he talked about this movie, oh my God! I realised there was a whole other side to him that we could explore together.
There’s a gentleness to Dwayne. I remember when we were talking about his character in the movie, I told him that one of the inspirations for the movie was It’s A Wonderful Life, because if you think about it, what changes in that movie is George Bailey’s perspective on life. Frank Capra does that. He shows you people, and he gets you to understand what they’re going through, their struggle.
Was there any reading material that helped you?
There was an amazing book called Losers. It’s all about different people in various different sports who have lost. And there’s an essay by Gay Talese, who interviewed Floyd Patterson after he lost to Muhammad Ali. And it’s one of the greatest things I’d ever read. Patterson specifically mentioned that when he got knocked out, there were two things that he felt. One was that the whole place wanted to give him a hug, that he felt everybody feel for him in that moment when he went down. The other thing he said was, “I wish there was a trap door in the middle of the ring that led straight to my locker room, because the longest walk I ever had to take was from the ring to my locker room.”
I wanted to show that. I wanted you to feel that walk from the ring all the way back in the elevator so you could experience that vulnerability, in that moment, because you don’t really look at the person who loses. You’re looking at the person who wins and celebrates.
How would you describe your relationship with the real Mark Kerr?
It was strange, because — again, just like with Dwayne — there was something that I felt was unspoken with myself and Mark. Like, Wow, we get each other in a really strange way. I didn’t know how to explain it, but I felt it, and I really did feel like I could trust him, and he could trust me. It was the same way with Mark and Dwayne. Mark would start remembering fights that his mother and father had when he was younger, and that kind of got pulled into his performance with Dawn, because it was an element that everybody can relate to.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Smashing Machine – The story of legendary mixed martial arts & UFC fighter Mark Kerr
From writer-director Benny Safdie (Uncut Gems, Good Time), comes a new film about pioneering UFC Hall of Fame fighter Mark Kerr, at once high-pressure sports biography and high octane emotional spectacle, transporting viewers to the dawn of a new era as it follows the strongest fighter the sport had ever seen from the heights of fame to rock bottom and back again.
The journey began with star Johnson watching a 2002 HBO documentary titled The Smashing Machine: The Life and Times of Extreme Fighter Mark Kerr.
“I first saw the documentary in 2008 or 2009,” Johnson says, “and found myself deeply moved.” Adamant about developing the project himself, the actor-producer purchased the rights to the documentary through his company Seven Bucks Production, founded in 2012, before reaching out to Mark Kerr himself.
The details of Kerr’s athletic career alone were fascinating enough to make a compelling sports film. Born and raised in Toledo, Ohio, to an Irish father and a Puerto Rican mother, Kerr became an NCAA Division 1 champion, winning Gold and Silver medals at the World Cup and a Silver medal at the Pan American games — all before he became an ADCC World Champion wrestler.
Johnson wanted to portray every important aspect of Kerr’s journey, including his addiction and recovery, the couple’s brutal arguments during their dark years, and the rich atmosphere and vivid details that define extreme fighting culture —an outlaw sport that was initially considered too uncouth, and violent even for countries that had been sending boxers and wrestlers to the Olympics for more than a century.
All of these elements, Johnson felt, would present an invigorating new challenge after years of focusing his acting career on action-adventure projects, including San Andreas, Rampage, Black Adam; the Jumanji series; the Fast and Furious franchise (and its spinoff Hobbes & Shaw, opposite F&F regular Jason Statham); and Jungle Cruise, the first movie project to pair Johnson with Emily Blunt.
(L-R) Emily Blunt, Dwayne Johnson, Benny Safdie Credit: Eric Zachanowich
Dwayne Johnson — fully inhabiting the man and the machine at Kerr’s fighting peak — shows how the UFC legend dominated opponents inside of the octagonal ring while battling a dependence on painkillers that nearly destroyed what he’d achieved as an athlete. The man who was born to fight is brought to the brink in his operatic, intensely devoted relationship with the love of his life, Dawn Staples-Kerr (Emily Blunt), as their arguments escalate into the kinds of fights that can be heard two houses away.
Johnson, whose own wrestling career as The Rock began after his father became one of the first Black champions in WWE history, obtained the rights to Kerr’s story and was determined to bring it to the screen. When he brought the idea for the film to Safdie, the filmmaker quickly understood that Johnson was the only living actor who could undergo the intense physical transformation required and bring to the role an intimate, lived understanding of the public highs and private lows of life in the ring.
Around this singular performance, Safdie brings to rollicking life the early, disreputable years of extreme fighting, from the small, sparsely attended venues in the American South, where Kerr first competed, to the Pride Fighting Championships in Japan, where tens of thousands of fans gathered to see their heroes face off under the bright lights.
Drawing upon a 2002 documentary about Kerr as well as interviews with other real-life fighting legends, past and present, The Smashing Machine is a devoted portrait of an individual whose strength and fame threatened to eclipse the person inside — as he fought his way to the heights of greatness and tried to keep the foundations from cracking under its weight.
(L-R) Emily Blunt, Dwayne Johnson. Credit: Ken Hirama
The Smashing Machine is also an unconventional love story about two ferociously strong-willed individuals — Mark Kerr and Dawn Staples-Kerr — whose passion and pugnacity erupt and boil over: volcanic yet inseparable. Safdie shoots their showdowns as a verbal version of fighters in the octagon, complete with psych-outs, tactical shifts, and low blows. But, against all odds, the couple’s love for each other endures. In a viciously competitive world, the only thing they can really depend on is each other.
“When I got the call about this project it was disbelief that they were actually going to make a movie,” says Mark Kerr. “Then to add all the star power in it with Dwayne and Emily, and Benny directing it, with A24’s involvement, it was this incredible feeling of pride, gratitude and humility. This amazing cast of people were willing to take on this difficult topic, which was me at the time. In the process a movie was made, but we also made a family,”
When Safdie was completing the first draft of the screenplay the writer-director asked Emily Blunt to help him develop the Dawn Staples-Kerr character, which had not received much attention in the documentary project that inspired the film.
“People are kaleidoscopic — they’re not just one thing,” says Blunt. “Dawn was always going to be at risk of turning into ‘the athlete’s wife,’ which is an occupational hazard for actresses in sports biopics.”
(L-R) Benny Safdie, Emily Blunt, Dwayne Johnson Credit: Eric Zachanowich
Safdie and Blunt felt the documentary lacked context for why Staples-Kerr exhibited certain characteristics. “It became important to both of us that I spoke to Dawn herself, because I knew there was another version of what went down in her relationship with Mark,” says Blunt. “I felt like she deserved a voice, so I called her and told her that I wanted to know her side and become her advocate. A lot of what happened to Dawn isn’t for the faint of heart, but I absorbed everything she told me and made sure we wove it into the film.”
Adds Koplan: “Emily brings so many layers and is so three dimensional in everything she does, in another life she could have been a detective. She had this relentless investigative energy in researching her character’s backstory and building her relationship with Mark Kerr. She helped bring a depth and gravitas to Dawn — you can see her humanity and understand where she’s coming from.”
Benny Safdie (born February 24, 1986) is an American filmmaker, actor, and editor known for his emotionally intense, anxiety-laced storytelling and collaborations with his brother, Josh Safdie. Raised in New York City, Benny studied at Boston University’s College of Communication before co-founding Red Bucket Films. The Safdie brothers gained acclaim for directing Daddy Longlegs, Heaven Knows What, Good Time, and Uncut Gems, the latter earning them the Independent Spirit Award for Best Director. Benny also co-edited their films with Ronald Bronstein and transitioned into acting with standout roles in Licorice Pizza, Oppenheimer, and the Showtime series The Curse, which he co-created with Nathan Fielder. In 2025, Benny made his solo directorial debut with The Smashing Machine, a biopic starring Dwayne Johnson as MMA fighter Mark Kerr. Married to Ava Rawski since 2013, Benny is a father of two and continues to push boundaries in both independent and mainstream cinema.
Mark Kerr (born December 21, 1968) is a retired American wrestler and mixed martial artist whose dominance in the ring earned him the nickname “The Smashing Machine.” A native of Toledo, Ohio, Kerr was an NCAA Division I wrestling champion at Syracuse University, defeating Randy Couture in the 1992 finals. He went on to win gold and silver medals in freestyle wrestling at the World Cup and Pan American Games before transitioning to MMA. Kerr became a two-time UFC Heavyweight Tournament Champion and a PRIDE FC competitor, known for his brutal ground-and-pound style and emotional vulnerability. His struggles with addiction and identity were captured in the 2002 HBO documentary The Smashing Machine, which inspired the 2025 biopic of the same name. Outside the ring, Kerr has worked as a mentor and advocate for mental health awareness in sports, and was inducted into the ADCC Hall of Fame in 2022 for his achievements in submission wrestling.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Roofman – An unbelievable true story
Bringing The True Story To The Big Screen
Filmmaker Derek Cianfrance began his career in indie filmmaking, gaining recognition with emotionally raw and acclaimed dramas like Blue Valentine (2010) and The Place Beyond the Pines (2012). Known for his intimate, character-driven storytelling, he built a reputation for capturing human vulnerability with gritty realism. After making the HBO miniseries I Know This Much Is True (2020), Cianfrance decided to turn his lens to a new kind of story, blending his signature emotional depth with the suspense of a true-crime narrative and a touch of light-hearted, nostalgic fun.
“I felt like I had finished saying what I needed to say about things like ancestry, inheritance, and generational trauma, so I was searching for a way not to repeat myself,” he states. “I had always been attracted to kind of dark stories – I wanted to have some fun making a movie, like the movies I loved growing up,” with real people in real life. “I wanted to explore a new tone, where the line between the tragic and the comic was blurred. I didn’t look at the darkness with more darkness.”
Hunting Lane Films producer and longtime friend, Jamie Patricof had known Cianfrance since their days working in New York at RadicalMedia in the early 2000s and first collaborated in 2010 on Blue Valentine. “His style was unorthodox – you couldn’t contain or control him,” the producer laughs. “That started my understanding of his creative vision being so unique and his unique style.”
In 2021, Limelight producer Dylan Sellers, who found and owned rights to the “Roofman” story, reached out to Patricof to share with Cianfrance, whom he knew was the perfect person to tell the tale of Jeffrey Manchester. “I told Jamie, ‘This is a remarkable TRUE story with the kind of bent character Derek might love,” Sellers shares.
As Sellers predicted, Cianfrance loved the idea, under one condition: He wanted to start from scratch. Patricof recalls, “And when I heard about it, I instantly knew it was something Derek was going to love. He jumped in, and went headfirst, like he always does. Once he gets his claws into something creatively, he’s passionate about it and won’t stop.”
“I heard about it, this guy who had robbed 45 McDonald’s®, had been sentenced to 45 years in prison, had broken out of prison and then lived hidden inside a Toys “R” Us® for six months, while getting involved in a church,” Cianfrance says. “And I thought to myself, ‘Well, that sounds like a fun movie.’ It took place in the suburbs, like the Denver suburbs I grew up in. I understood big box stores. So, I wanted to make a throwback movie to that kind of life,” he says. “But I didn’t know if there was a story there or not.”
So, he asked to speak with Jeffrey, who, in a maximum-security prison in Raleigh, North Carolina, could only respond to a call request himself. “Eventually, I got a phone call from Jeff, which lasted 15 minutes, and was recorded by the prison system,” Cianfrance notes of the maximum a call could be with a prisoner. “I was very intrigued by his story. So, he started calling me, about four times a week for the next four years, telling me his story,” adding, “He started calling me ‘Dr. Derek’ – I think the process was good for him.”
“Derek is a very unique filmmaker, the way he approaches things,” says producer Alex Orlovsky. “He has an incredible emotional intelligence, and he will uncover the truth in any moment. He’s very selective about the movies he makes, and when he finds one that hits him, he will not let go. He’s tenacious and won’t stop until he’s found what’s really at the core of that idea. Not many filmmakers work with that level of integrity.”
“I approached this movie as an investigator, to find out what the truth was of this story,” the director notes. “But the truth here is subjective. I know when I speak to Jeff Manchester, his truth is his own.”
About two years into talking with Jeffrey, he realized he needed to expand his perspective, asking his subject who else he could speak with from his life, like his family, “But then there were people from the real story that we went out and found, too,” such as Leigh Wainscott, Pastor Ron Smith, Sgt. Kathleen Scheimreif, and prison guards, among others. Unlike a historical figure, he notes, “No one has a reference for who Jeff Manchester was. So, I wanted those people to be part of this storytelling.”
“As Derek went into this, both the writing of the script and then also the shooting of the movie, the idea was: How do you tell it honestly? How do you be fair to both Jeff and also the victims? How do you bring the real people into the story – if they want to come to terms with or revisit the story in some ways?” says Patricof.
“I told Derek, I had one request – any way I can publicize the amazing abilities of my detectives, I’m all for it,” says Charlotte-Mecklenburg Sgt. Katherine Scheimreif, who was brought onboard to find Jeffrey after he escaped prison in 2004. After that, her detectives were also all in. “I told them, ‘Y’all need to step up, because this guy is sincere. He wants to do the right thing.’”
During one of his talks with Ron Smith, the director adds, “Pastor Ron told me he looks at the Old Testament as the book of judgement and the New Testament as the book of grace, and he always errs on the side of grace. I felt like that was such a beautiful way to approach Jeff’s story. I tried to look at Jeff with grace as opposed to judgement.”
That commitment to empathy and human complexity has long shaped Cianfrance’s collaborations as well. Back in 2003, advertising exec Kirt Gunn was looking for a filmmaker to put together a series of short films on a limited budget. He queried Jon Kamen at RadicalMedia, who, Gunn recalls, said, “‘I’ve got a guy in the back. You don’t know him, but he’s great – and he’s the only guy you can afford.’ He brought Derek out, wearing camouflage pants and a raggedy black T- shirt with a hole in it.” He explained his story, and Cianfrance explained his approach, and the two have been friends ever since. “He’s always been my mentor,” the director says. “Every project I’ve made I would send the script to Kirt for guidance.”
The two had, for years, hoped for a project they could write together. Interestingly, when he approached his old friend in 2021 about the idea of Roofman, the story of a guy holed up in a Toys “R” Us® for six months, Gunn told him, “When I was in high school, I had a hidden room in the attic behind the theater there,” a secret apartment that became his safe place. “He and Jeffrey even have the same birthday,” Cianfrance says. “So, I thought, ‘This is synchronicity.’”
Gunn made one call to Jeffrey, and became completely intrigued by the strange, quirky character on the other end. As Patricof recalls, “That started a three-year journey writing together. And I think they crafted a beautiful script, one that’s very true to Jeff’s story, but is still an entertaining movie.”
The two found that they had very different, but complementary processes. “I come from theater, and have a real reverence for language and dialogue, the rhythms and musicality of the way people speak,” Gunn notes. “And Derek loves emotional honesty, and probing that, with an inquisitive nature for pulling scenes and dialogue apart, getting to the core of what the emotional truth is. It took us a while, but by the end of it, we got to a point where he could say, ‘I think the thing this scene is about is this emotional moment,’ and then I could go off and write the scene and come back, and it would be exactly the way he had seen it.”
Both writers continued interviewing Jeffrey, with Gunn doing 40 or 50 of the above- mentioned 15-minute calls, and Cianfrance well over 100, calling each other following their calls to discuss what they had learned. “We just first took the pieces from Jeff, the chronological order of how things happened, trying to get to the core of why he did the things he did and the relationships he had, and the regrets he had and the damage he caused. And, the adventures he had,” says Gunn.
“Jeffrey’s actions and ideas are big and explosive, and so they create room and opportunity for real life humor and comedy. It’s delicious for a writer to be able to take that and put it into a screenplay,” says producer Lynette Howell Taylor. “What makes the movie unique are the specifics of his character and how he has these big, outrageous, and often ridiculous ideas that, when you’re a filmmaker, you can take and shoot in a way that really shows you the absurdity of his life. And that’s where the comic genius comes into play.”
The pair’s research, as mentioned earlier, also included interviews with other members of the Jeffrey inner circle, something that had a remarkable effect on their approach. “The turning point for us was when we spoke to Pastor Ron and Leigh Wainscott,” says Gunn. “Each of them had a really unique – and optimistic – view of the experience. They were actually very thankful to have met Jeff, and thankful for the adventure. And that gave Derek and me a real view on optimism, redemption and forgiveness,” themes seen throughout Roofman. “He was a real Peter Pan character, who took people on an adventure. And in the end, even though they had some sadness and some regrets, they also had the most amazing adventure of their lives,” he says, adding, “Even on the phone calls, it’s easy to go with Jeff on a ride.”
As for many of the story details, Cianfrance’s conversations with Wainscott were invaluable. “Derek had many conversations with Leigh. And it was really informative. She gave a lot of specifics that were really helpful for the movie,” says Howell Taylor. “At the center of this movie is the core relationship between Jeffrey and Leigh. And so, for Derek, being able to get Leigh’s perspective and Jeff’s perspective and then bring that information to the actors was really valuable. That creates the dynamic that you see on screen.”
Though she could have been, Leigh does not hold contempt for Jeffrey. “I wasn’t angry with him, I was just upset about the whole situation – and that I had to hurt him. But I did the right thing,” she notes. “There was something different about his mind.” Adds Scheimreif, “He was a mastermind – very intelligent. More than the average person. That was his gift. And his ability to manipulate.”
Though they encountered many perspectives along the way, Cianfrance explains, “We chose to tell the movie from Jeff’s perspective. This isn’t an omniscient point of view film. It’s first person, and it’s from Jeff’s point of view.” Those countless phone calls with him played a crucial role. “Jeff’s voice was in our head. And so he is in many ways, telling the story.” In fact, Jeffrey’s voice is woven throughout the film’s narration. “A lot of the voice over in the film came from Jeff. Much of those lines are things he actually told us. They’re the events that happened in Jeff’s reality of what he created.”
As outlandish as some of the events in Manchester’s life were, filmmakers knew that audiences would still find his character relatable. “Jeff is somebody who I think, in many ways, people can connect to. He was in the military. He was unable to make ends meet and he got to a place of sort of desperation to provide for his family and be a father,” says Patricof. “That led him down a path of crime, which obviously is never acceptable. But I think people, especially today, can understand where – if you can’t put food on the table or you can’t have a roof over your head – what that can lead to. So, on the one hand, I hope people can see that in Jeff. The other thing I hope people can see is that there are consequences for your actions.”
There was actually so much great material that the writing duo had to figure out what to leave out. “There were too many great stories to fit in one film,” says Gunn. “So, it became about curating and deciding which puzzle pieces fit together to tell this story.”
While making tough choices about what stories to include in the film, filmmakers found the most challenging thing about the movie to nail was the tone. “It’s many genres. It is a crime movie. It is a love story. It is a comedy. It has all of these different elements and it flows in and out of these different genres as the movie unfolds,” says Howell Taylor. “Derek is masterful at bringing all of that together, and the production design, the costume design, the hair and makeup are all a part of it. Everything feeds into that delicate balance between those genres of moviemaking.”
There were also many things that were almost beyond belief, though in a movie about Jeffrey Manchester, they sort of made sense. Cianfrance notes that, “There were times we looked at it and said, ‘this is a nonfiction piece, but it feels unbelievable as fiction.’” Like blowing up his dentist’s office to get rid of the X-rays that might point to him as the culprit in the robberies. “Jeff is the smartest dumb guy you’ll ever meet,” says Gunn. “In many ways, he is a mastermind at understanding how things work, people and architecture, and how those are vulnerable and where the weak parts are. But when it comes to just the basic common sense of fitting into a situation with other people, he doesn’t have that common sense. He makes big, broad mistakes that hurt people he loves.” It became a matter of walking the tightrope “of sharing a complicated, flawed, lovable quirky person, and how he created joyful moments, as well as caused damage and created happiness, and was funny, amazing, terrible and quirky – just like we all are.”
Based on an unbelievable true story, Roofman follows Jeffrey Manchester (Channing Tatum), an Army veteran and struggling father who turns to robbing McDonald’s restaurants by cutting holes in their roofs, earning him the nickname: Roofman. After escaping prison, he secretly lives inside a Toys “R” Us for six months, surviving undetected while planning his next move. But when he falls for Leigh (Kirsten Dunst), a divorced mom drawn to his undeniable charm, his double life begins to unravel, setting off a compelling and suspenseful game of cat and mouse as his past closes in.
From Page To Screen
David Stephens and Peter Petrucci wrote and sold the original Roofman script, which was then rewritten by Kurt Gunn and Derek.Cianfrance. Stephens is a filmmaker from Western Australia and has been conversing with the Roofman (Jeff Manchester) for the past 6 years, and also served as an Executive Producer on the film and has directed music videos and shorts, Trigger screening at multiple festivals. Peter is also from Western Australia, graduating from film school at Curtin University. He currently teaches English and creative writing in high school. Peter came across Jeffrey Manchester’s story in the old Canadian TV show, Masterminds and also served as an EP.
Derek Cianfrance was a longtime fan of actor Channing Tatum
In late 2006, after seeing his performance alongside Robert Downey Jr. in Dito Montiel’s A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints, met with him. The director was, at the time, still trying to get Blue Valentine off the ground. “I gave him my script, he read it and met with me, and he said, ‘I love your script, but I just don’t think I’m this guy.’ We shook hands and I said, ‘Maybe down the road. I’ll see you later.’” Back then, Tatum wasn’t yet a father, so didn’t feel he could properly portray the character.
17 years later, in 2023, while in the midst of writing Roofman, Cianfrance had begun thinking of actors to portray Jeffrey Manchester, and, once again, reached out to Tatum, and the two met for a nice, long walk in Prospect Park – a four or five hour walk. “We just went for a long walk through the park, just vibed and hung out,” Tatum recalls. “We didn’t even talk about any movies or projects – just about life.” Cianfrance notes, “I didn’t tell Channing anything about Jeffrey Manchester or what I was working on. But I had this sense from him that he had to be the guy. But I didn’t want to pitch it to him. So I just went back to writing my script, and spent another year, thinking of every word that would come out of Jeff’s mouth was going to be Channing, and started to visualize him as the person in the role. And gradually, and pretty effortlessly, Jeff’s voice became Channing’s voice in my head. From there, the script really started to write itself.
Channing Tatum stars in Paramount Pictures’ “ROOFMAN.”
A year later, in early-2024, he sent Tatum the script and asked if he would do it. “Derek said, ‘So I wrote this thing, and I wrote it for you. It’s a thing I’ve been thinking about. I hope you like it and want to do it,’” the actor remembers. “Can you imagine how scary that is – ‘What do you mean you wrote something for me?’ But I read it and loved it. I love Derek’s movies. He has a very specific tone that’s his… He’s a deeply sensitive soul, but always curious about what is going on beneath the surface.”
His background as a dancer also gives him a certain grace for moving through spaces of the Toys “R” Us® and escaping prison. There’s an elegance in the way he moves through those places,” notes the actress. “There’s nothing like Channing Tatum in a toy store,” adds Cianfrance. “He’s like the saddest dad clown possible. It’s a balancing act, between sad and tragic comedy, which Channing handles so well.”
DEREK CIANFRANCE (Directed by, Screenplay by, Executive Producer) is a director, cinematographer, screenwriter, and editor, who has received critical recognition for Blue Valentine which starred Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams, and The Place Beyond the Pines which also starred Gosling in addition to Bradley Cooper and Eva Mendes. Cianfrance adapted M.L. Steadman’s multi-year New York Times bestseller, The Light Between the Oceans for DreamWorks, starring Michael Fassbender, Alicia Vikander, and Rachel Weisz. Cianfrance wrote and directed every episode for the 2020 HBO miniseries, “I Know This Much is True,” adapted from the novel of the same name by Wally Lamb and starring Mark Ruffalo. Ruffalo earned a Primetime Emmy for his performance in the series. In 2021, Cianfrance received an Academy Award nomination for Best Original Screenplay with Darius Marder and Abraham Marder for the Sound of Metal, which garnered 6 nominations that year including Best Picture. In addition to his notable feature work, Cianfrance is recognized for his commercials and high-profile branded content including Meta, Chase, the Nike Golf ad for which he was awarded the DGA’s Outstanding Directorial Achievement in Commercials in 2016.
KIRT GUNN (Screenplay by) is an award-winning producer, writer and director. His credits include Executive Producer on Best Picture nominee, Sound of Metal, one of many collaborations with filmmaker Derek Cianfrance. Gunn also wrote and directed the award-winning film Lovely by Surprise, starring Carrie Preston and Michael Chernus. The film won the Special Jury Prize at its premiere at the Seattle Film Festival and made its international premiere at The Edinburgh Film Festival. Of the film, Filmmaker Magazine said— “Lovely By Surprise is a playful and profound literary confection – a brilliantly original debut by Kirt Gunn, one of the most exciting prospects working in American indie cinema.” Critic Godfrey Cheshire observed, “Recalling 70s dark comedies such as Altman’s Brewster McCloud as well as the post-modern reflexiveness of Adaptation, the film’s double-helix tale ingeniously interweaves pathos and hilarity, grief and imagination, entrapment and escape. In his remarkably assured debut, writer-director Kirt Gunn proves himself both a highly distinctive wordsmith and an accomplished visual stylist. Few recent first-time comedies have impressed me more.”
As an owner, creator and Executive Producer at NYC-based Dandelion, Gunn’s episodic narratives were featured in the New York Times and Wall Street Journal and featured on CNN, ABC and NBC. These projects included performances by Ellie Kemper, Anjelica Huston and Jason Mantzoukas. The series “Meet the Lucky Ones” (written by Gunn and directed by Derek Cianfrance) was featured at the Sundance Film Festival. In earlier life, Gunn was a playwright, stage director and actor and served as Artistic Director of The River City Shakespeare Festival, which he founded. Additionally, he was a musician and frontman of Memphis-based The Delta Queens, a band Timeout’s Stephin Merrit noted as “The best live performance I’ve seen in years.” As a harmonica player, Gunn shared the stage with BB King, Albert King, Albert Collins, Buddy Guy and the legendary Fieldstones.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on HIM – A chilling journey into the inner sanctum of fame, idolatry and the pursuit of excellence
HIM lures audiences into the darkest recesses of professional athletics and designs a sinister fantasy version of that world, where the sacrifices required to become the greatest of all time are not just metaphorical but literal.
HIM (2025) is a psychological sports horror film directed by Justin Tipping, co-written with Zack Akers and Skip Bronkie, and produced by Jordan Peele’s Monkeypaw Productions.
“Football happens to be my favourite sport, and the idea of horror set in that world was something that blew my mind from the outset because it seemed difficult to achieve,” Jordan Peele says. “But the screenwriters had done something special. They had taken what I did not realise was creepy about sports and revealed it one notch at a time.”
“It is a perfect Monkeypaw film because of the mischief involved in the idea,” Peele says. “It’s taking something that you are not supposed to touch, something culturally sacred, and figuring out how to cross that boundary in a way that brings everybody along.”
Although set in a twisted version of modern professional football, the film delves into the ancient roots of our 21st century entertainment obsession. In medieval England, as far back as the 9th century, the pre-Lent period known as Shrovetide would feature “mob football” games that would pit one team of men against another in a brutal battle for a ball. “You have to ask yourself, ‘why do we do this?’” Peele says. “Why do we line up people and have them pretend to go to war? Something about seeing the best male specimens fight to the death is a very human sort of horror. And the crazy thing about it is, it’s fun!”
The film taps into other subterranean layers as well. Even the film’s title evokes a sense of meaning and history lying beneath it. For the uninitiated, referring to someone as “Him” is a linguistic evolution of referring to someone as “The Man,” “The Guy,” or more recently, “The G.O.A.T.” (aka The Greatest of All Time). “The term ‘Him’ has become part of the American zeitgeist now,” says producer Win Rosenfeld says. “It is the idea that someone is so transcendent, so undeniable, that we do not even need to use their name. So much of our culture now is centered on heroes, athletes and celebrities, who become that one person, that singular entity that becomes ‘Him.’ But the term has interesting Biblical and mythological allusions, too.” Indeed, HIM is intentionally tugging at the strands of those allusions. “In some ways, football has become a kind of American spirituality.”
Director Justin Tipping saw HIM as a razor-sharp critique of the entire mass-market sports culture and the multiple pounds of flesh we demand from our heroes. “Football is body horror,” Tipping says. “For me, this is a story about what happens when the athlete becomes the commodity and suddenly you are just a warm body being moved around by institutions that are there to drive profit.”
Former college wide receiver Tyriq Withers plays Cameron Cade, a rising-star quarterback who has devoted his life and identity to football. As the professional football league’s annual scouting Combine approaches, Cam is attacked by an unhinged fan and suffers a potentially career-ending brain trauma. Just when all seems lost, Cam receives a lifeline when his hero, Isaiah White (Marlon Wayans), a legendary eight-time Championship quarterback and cultural megastar, offers to train Cam at Isaiah’s isolated compound that he shares with his celebrity influencer wife, Elsie White (Julia Fox; Uncut Gems, No Sudden Move). But as Cam’s training accelerates, Isaiah’s charisma begins to curdle into something darker, sending his protégé down a disorienting rabbit hole that may cost him more than he ever bargained for.
The film’s path to the screen involved building upon the widely praised initial script by Bronkie and Akers
“Skip and Zack had crafted a very clean-line thriller,” producer Ian Cooper says. When Jordan Peele read it, Cooper says, he immediately saw an opportunity to “get even deeper into the intricacies of some of the more insidious aspects of sports.”
The script’s evolution presented Monkeypaw with the opportunity to work with a director who’d been on the company’s radar for years. Tipping, a Filipino American filmmaker from Oakland, California, had made an independent film in 2016, Kicks, that had left a lasting impression with several people at the company, Peele himself among them.
Tipping’s Kicks “perfectly captured, in a beautiful impressionistic way, the obsession with and culture around sneakers,” Cooper says. “It has so much overlap with contemporary culture—style, sports, fashion, luxury, desire, wish fulfillment.” At the time, Peele had just won an Academy Award® for Get Out, and he invited Tipping over for a meeting at Monkeypaw. “It was a pretty surreal experience,” Tipping says. “We talked about my tiny, tiny movie, and to have your peers, especially someone that talented, curious about your own work—my jaw was on the floor the whole time.”
Over the years, Monkeypaw kept Tipping in mind, looking for the ideal project for him to direct, and found it with HIM. From the opening pages of the script, Tipping says, “I was like, ‘Whoa, I know how to do this.’” At the heart of this story, Tipping says, is football—bone-crunching, brain-rattling, multi-billion-dollar pro football—and the two modern gladiators facing off in a secluded coliseum, with only the gods watching.
The relationship between Cam and Isaiah in the film pushes both men to ever-more-grueling lengths, and their chemistry throughout rides on a knife edge of trust, fear, envy and worship. “Cam idolizes Isaiah,” producer Jamal Watson says, “but of course, if you spend enough time around your heroes, they become human—and then you will try to best them. And over the course of the film, we see that beast awaken inside Cam.”
Tipping’s film explores themes that are primal and ancient—experience versus youth, father versus son, darkness versus light, gods versus men, eternal life versus mortality—but the vibe of the film feels electrifyingly new. “Justin is an incredible visionary,” Peele says. “There is so much striking imagery in HIM that you will never see in another film, and to that, Justin and his team have added all these cinematic layers, from the music to the cinematography to the editing. Above anything else, Justin is cool, and he has this ability to capture that over-the-top polish of pro football, while also allowing this creepy sense of humor to sneak in underneath it. He is a one-of-a-kind filmmaker, and this film is like nothing I have ever seen.”
Justin Tipping is an American director, screenwriter, and executive producer known for blending social realism with stylised genre. He launched his feature career with Kicks (2016), a lyrical coming-of-age film that premiered at Tribeca, and has since directed episodes of Flatbush Misdemeanors, Dear White People, and Joe vs. Carole. A graduate of UC Santa Barbara, Tipping’s cinematic awakening came during a semester in Rome, where Italian cinema reshaped his path. His work often interrogates masculinity, identity, and myth through a visceral lens, culminating in HIM, his psychological sports horror debut for Monkeypaw Productions.
Zack Akers is a writer, director, and producer best known as the co-creator of Limetown, the haunting podcast-turned-TV series that redefined audio fiction. A graduate of NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, Akers began his career producing sports documentaries before pivoting to narrative storytelling. With a penchant for eerie mysteries and psychological depth, he co-founded Two-Up Productions with Skip Bronkie, crafting acclaimed projects like 36 Questions and The Wilderness. HIM marks his leap into feature film, continuing his exploration of identity, obsession, and narrative immersion.
Skip Bronkie, also a Tisch alum, brings a hybrid background in tech and storytelling. After working as a creative director at Facebook and Pinterest, he co-founded Two-Up Productions with Akers, where he helped shape Limetown into a global phenomenon. Bronkie’s work spans fiction podcasts, musicals, and political documentaries, all marked by high production values and emotional resonance. He lives in Brooklyn, often found wandering Prospect Park, and remains committed to crafting stories that linger—HIM being his latest cinematic venture.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Stitch Head – A gothic-inspired animated film
Stitch Head is directed by Steve Hudson and is based on the beloved children’s book series by Guy Bass.
The screenplay was crafted by Hudson, blkending spooky charm with heartfelt themes of identity, loyalty, and belonging. It’s a tale of a misfit hero stepping out of the shadows to protect his monstrous family and discover his own worth.
The story follows Stitch Head, a small, stitched-together creature who was the first creation of the eccentric Mad Professor Erasmus in the eerie Castle Grotteskew. Long forgotten among the professor’s monstrous experiments, Stitch Head quietly keeps order behind the scenes—until a traveling circus ringmaster named Fulbert Freakfinder arrives, promising fame and adventure.
Director’s Statement
As soon as we read Guy Bass’ wonderful children’s book, we knew we had to make Stitch Head into a film.
As a fresh take on the Frankenstein legend, Stitch Head required precious little exposition. Young or old, we recognise the story immediately: we see a towering castle silhouetted by lightning, a mad professor in his laboratory, his poor creation on the slab – and we know that as soon as the fearful townsfolk reach for their pitchforks, TROUBLE is on its way – in the form of the Angry Mob.
In this sense, the genre gave us clear dramatic and visual references. More than that, it allowed us to have a lot of fun with the schlocky theatrics of the Frankenstein story, bringing them crashing back down to earth with the logic of the everyday: If the mad Professor creates Monster after Monster – who looks after them all? Where do they live? And – most pressingly – how on earth can their monstrousness be kept in check to prevent the Angry Mob from burning down the Castle?
As such, Stitch Head is definitely not a horror movie, but rather a comedy adventure that plays with horror as a genre. We tip our hat to all the classic tropes stretching back to 1950s B-Movies, Film Noir, James Whale, all the way to German Expressionism. But these are only ever the raisins in the cake: they are not the dough itself. In order to create the necessary comic distance, in order to be able to laugh at these devices, it was vital the film was grounded in a visual language where the fundamental key is not horror, but humour.
For us, this comic visual language was rooted in another rich cinematic tradition: silent film, with its fixed proscenium of the full frontal camera. Depth is dramatic, flat is funny. In depth, moving objects change size alarmingly and dangerously. In a flat plane, movement is easiest to read – and least threatening to the viewer.
With a locked off, centred camera, the frame takes on huge significance – a comic place of mystery from which all manner of people or props may appear or disappear at any time.
Without an obliging camera poking nosily around the corners on our behalf, our intelligence is constantly engaged and stimulated – looking out for the next surprise, and (now that we have sound) listening intently for the noises off, where lots of laconic gags can play out.
For all its conscious formality, this visual style puts all the focus on the performer. Buster Keaton’s glorious deadpan only comes to life in the face of a camera equally deadpan, equally unblinking, equally still, looking straight back at him. Indeed, Keaton was a prime inspiration for our protagonist Stitch Head, for whom a castle full of monsters is not a place of wonder or terror, but rather a dead-end job of tedium and frustration whose frame he cannot escape.
With this centred, framed visual language as our backbone, we could then help ourselves to all sorts of genre delights with a clear comic distance – having fun with them without being sucked into genre completely. Dollies, cranes, dutch angles, dramatic perspectives, zip pans or crash zooms then become clear choices, quotes even, done with relish – and hopefully a whole extra level of engagement for movie lovers in the audience.
Design
The original Stitch Head children’s books are illustrated by Pete Williamson. Pete’s black and white ink drawings are creative, funny, and deeply empathetic – an essential and organic part of the source material.
A 3D animation family entertainment film needed a different aesthetic, however. The darkness and macabre feel of Pete’s pictures needs to be filled with light and colour. We keep the shadows, the precarious angles of the castle, the bizarre and goofy creativity of the monsters – but we filled it with fun, making the genre a space in which our imaginations can run free in delight.
As such, we’ve had lots of fun adding punky primary colours to the existing drawings, making them pop with a funny, individual style in which every character, every prop, every set is one-off, unique, handmade – just like Stitch Head himself.
Theme – and heart
We loved the comedy, the crazy castle – all the Frankenstein genre fun of the ridiculously frightened monsters and the even more ridiculously frightened townsfolk. But more than that, Guy Bass’ characters had genuine heart and soul. Whether Stitch Head, his bestest best friend Creature or their fellow monsters, this was a story about children growing up without adults – one of the most powerful themes going all the way back to the animation.
Whatever our age – it combines the ultimate freedom with the deepest fear.
Film gives all of us – children and adults – the space to explore such fears in a controlled environment. This exploration is the vital function of storytelling. Our parents can’t do it for us: we have to face our fears alone. Film gives us the chance to walk a mile in someone else’s shoes – to share their struggle, to overcome their wounds, to become more human.
Stitch Head is more wounded than most – and our hearts go out to him for it. Forgotten and ignored by his father-like creator, the Professor, he has isolated himself from his fellow creatures and from his own feelings. Lured away by Freakfinder’s superficial promises of the ‘love’ of show business and celebrity, he eventually leaves the castle. But in doing so, he fails to realise that he is already loved: loved by the Monsters of Grotteskew for whom he has cared for so many years, and most especially, loved by his Bestest Best Friend: Creature.
Stitch Head is the vehicle of the story – an aching negative. Creature is its beating heart: the unconditional positive.
By the end of the film, Stitch Head is ready to lay down his life to save his friends. But more than that – he has learnt the greatest lessons of all: to accept his own monstrousness, and accept and reciprocate the love that is all around him, overcoming his own isolation to become part of his community.
In the nihilistic world of today’s social media, love is increasingly a metric to be quantified, maximised: however much you have, it’s never enough. Our kids deserve a better story than this.
Steve Hudson, Writer/Director
Stitch Head was inspired by Guy Bass’s award-winning children’s book series, which blends gothic whimsy with heartfelt storytelling.
The original books follow Stitch Head, a forgotten creation of the eccentric Mad Professor Erasmus, who secretly keeps the professor’s monstrous experiments from wreaking havoc in Castle Grotteskew.
Bass crafted the character as a metaphor for feeling overlooked and yearning for purpose—something many children (and adults) can relate to.
The story balances eerie, Tim Burton-esque vibes with themes of loyalty, identity, and self-worth.
Stitch Head’s quiet heroism and longing to be seen resonated with filmmakers looking to tell a story about finding courage in unexpected places.
The castle, creatures, and circus elements offered rich material for animation, allowing for a stylized world that’s both creepy and charming.
Though aimed at younger viewers, the story’s emotional core and quirky humor make it appealing across generations.
The collaboration between Steve Hudson and Guy Bass on Stitch Head was a fusion of literary imagination and cinematic vision.
Guy Bass, the original author of the Stitch Head book series, laid the emotional and thematic foundation with his quirky, gothic storytelling. Steve Hudson, drawn to the underdog charm and rich visual potential of Bass’s world, adapted the books into a screenplay that won the German Animation Screenplay Award in 2020.
Bass’s books provided the heart of the story—Stitch Head’s quiet heroism, the eerie Castle Grotteskew, and the circus intrigue of Fulbert Freakfinder.
Hudson wrote the script, preserving Bass’s tone while expanding the narrative for a feature-length animated film. He added cinematic structure and emotional arcs that deepened the characters’ journeys.
Both artists share a love for misfit protagonists and dark whimsy. Hudson’s visual storytelling complemented Bass’s offbeat humor and monster mythology.
Bass was credited as co-writer, ensuring the adaptation stayed true to the spirit of the books. Hudson directed the film, guiding the animation team to bring Bass’s world to life with texture and flair.
Their collaboration resulted in a film that’s both faithful to its source and fresh in its execution—a monster tale with heart, humor, and a stitched-up soul.
Steve Hudson is a British director and screenwriter born on August 6, 1969, in London, England. He began his career as an actor, appearing in films like Full Metal Jacket (1987), before transitioning to directing and writing. Hudson gained recognition for his debut feature True North (2006), a gritty drama about human trafficking that premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival. His work often explores themes of moral complexity and emotional isolation, blending realism with stylized storytelling. In addition to directing, Hudson has written screenplays for both live-action and animated projects, including Stitch Head, which won the German Animation Screenplay Award in 2020. His creative approach is marked by a strong visual sensibility and a focus on character-driven narratives.
Guy Bass is an award-winning British author, playwright, and former theatre producer born on March 6, 1975, in the United Kingdom. He’s best known for his imaginative children’s book series, including Stitch Head, Skeleton Keys, Spynosaur, and Dinkin Dings. Bass’s writing combines gothic charm with quirky humor, often featuring misfit heroes and themes of identity, bravery, and belonging. Before becoming a full-time writer, he worked in theatre and television, which helped shape his dynamic storytelling style. His debut book, Dinkin Dings and the Frightening Things, won the Blue Peter Book Award for Most Fun Book with Pictures in 2010. Bass lives in London with his wife and a vivid cast of imaginary friends, continuing to inspire young readers with his offbeat tales and monster-filled adventures.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Language as Ritual: Rediscovering Roget’s Thesaurus
In an age of algorithmic precision and instant synonym generators, Roget’s Thesaurus offers a quiet rebellion—a return to language as landscape rather than tool.
Its conceptual architecture invites writers to wander, to dwell, to discover meaning not through replacement but through resonance. Unlike digital thesauri that deliver quick fixes, Roget’s unfolds slowly, thematically, like a conversation with the soul of a word. It fosters an organic writing process rooted in intuition, emotional texture, and the nonlinear rhythm of thought. For those who seek not just clarity but cadence, not just accuracy but atmosphere, Roget’s becomes more than a reference—it becomes a ritual.
Using Roget’s Thesaurus in its physical form differs profoundly from using a computer-based thesaurus or digital writing aid, not just in mechanics but in the kind of mental and emotional engagement it invites.
The tactile experience of flipping through pages, tracing thematic threads with your fingers, and stumbling upon unexpected clusters of meaning fosters a slower, more contemplative rhythm.
It resists the instant gratification of search bars and autocomplete suggestions, encouraging instead a kind of analogue wandering—where discovery is shaped by serendipity, not algorithm.
This slowness is generative
It allows the writer to dwell in the space between words, to feel the weight of nuance, and to be surprised by the proximity of ideas that might never surface in a keyword-driven search.
On a computer, the process tends to be more transactional. You input a word, receive a list of synonyms, and often choose the one that fits best by definition or frequency. It’s efficient, but it can flatten the emotional and conceptual terrain.
Digital tools often prioritise precision and speed, which can be helpful for editing or technical writing, but they rarely invite the kind of associative drift that leads to poetic or unexpected language. Roget’s, by contrast, is organised by idea—not by word—which means that even your entry point is conceptual.
You begin with a feeling, a theme, a notion, and from there, you’re led through a constellation of related expressions. This mirrors the way stories and metaphors unfold—organically, recursively, with detours and echoes.
Using Roget’s Thesaurus as a companion in the writing process can foster a deeply organic and intuitive rhythm, one that mirrors the way thought and emotion naturally unfold. Unlike alphabetical dictionaries that isolate words by definition, Roget’s arranges language by concept—grouping synonyms, antonyms, and related ideas into thematic clusters. This structure invites writers to move laterally through meaning rather than vertically through precision, allowing for a kind of associative wandering that mirrors the way the mind actually works when searching for expression.
It’s about finding the right word
Not just the “correct” word, but the one that hums with the emotional and conceptual frequency you’re chasing.
Roget’s doesn’t hand you a synonym; it opens a corridor.
You start with a notion—say, “loss”—and instead of a neat list, you’re offered a constellation: absence, deprivation, bereavement, eclipse, vanishing. Each carries a different weight, a different shadow.
The right word isn’t just accurate—it’s resonant.
It fits the sentence like breath fits a body.
The physical thesaurus resists distraction.
On a computer, the writing process is often interrupted by notifications, tabs, and the temptation to multitask. Roget’s offers a kind of sanctuary—a quiet, focused space where language is the only terrain. It invites immersion, not fragmentation. And because it’s not optimised for speed, it encourages the writer to listen more deeply to their own voice, to question not just what they’re trying to say but how they want it to feel.
In essence, using Roget’s Thesaurus is less about finding the perfect word and more about entering a dialogue with language. It’s a ritual, a slowing down, a way of letting meaning emerge rather than be selected.
For a writer who values resonance over provocation, this analogue process can be a grounding force. It aligns with your ethos of turning absence into story, of crafting language that breathes and remembers.
Roget’s doesn’t just offer words; it offers pathways. And in those pathways, the organic writing process finds its pulse.
Roget’s fosters a dialogue between intention and intuition, allowing the writer to listen to the echo of a word before committing to its surface meaning.
This is especially powerful in poetic or narrative work, where the cadence and connotation of a word can shape the emotional architecture of a sentence or scene. By engaging with Roget’s, writers are invited to slow down, to dwell in the space between words, and to consider not just what they mean but what they evoke.
This cultivates a writing process that is less about control and more about communion—between language, thought, and feeling.
Moreover, Roget’s encourages risk and play; its conceptual groupings often include unexpected or archaic terms that can jolt a writer out of cliché and into originality.
In this way, the thesaurus becomes a generative force, not just a corrective one. It supports the organic unfolding of voice, allowing writers to discover not just what they want to say, but how they want to say it.
The act of browsing Roget’s can also mirror the way stories or essays evolve—through detours, revisions, and sudden illuminations.
It honors the nonlinear, recursive nature of creativity, where meaning is often found in the margins, in the words we didn’t know we were looking for.
Ultimately, using Roget’s Thesaurus fosters a writing process that is alive, responsive, and rooted in the pulse of language itself. It transforms the search for words into a search for resonance, and in doing so, it helps writers craft work that feels not just polished, but lived-in—language that breathes, that listens, that remembers.
📚 Where to Find Roget’s Thesaurus
South Africa-Based Options
Bob Shop (Cape Town-based seller) Offers The Everyman Roget’s Thesaurus of English Words & Phrases (Hardcover) for around R125. View listing here Shipping available nationwide with standard courier options.
PriceCheck Aggregates deals across South African retailers. You can find various editions, including updated versions with thematic panels and quotation boxes. Explore options
International Options
Amazon Offers a wide range—from the 8th Edition Roget’s International Thesaurus to more niche versions like Roget’s Thesaurus of Words for Writers. Browse selections
If you’re drawn to the ritual of secondhand discovery, local bookstores or library sales might yield a vintage edition with its own patina of use. Want help choosing between editions—say, one with more conceptual clustering versus dictionary-style layout? I’d be glad to guide.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Verdi’s Aida bursts onto the big screen with Cape Town Opera’s spectacular all-South African production
Cape Town Opera is proud to announce that the filmed version of its world-class production of Verdi’s Aida, staged earlier this year at Artscape Theatre in Cape Town, will be released exclusively at select Ster-Kinekor cinemas nationwide from 27 – 30 September. This marks the first time that a locally-produced opera is filmed for the big screen.
Cape Town Opera’s spectacular all-South African production is set in a world of African futurism, and reimagines the classic tale of love, loyalty and betrayal combined with epic storytelling and cutting-edge design, video and animation.
Set against a backdrop of war, forbidden love and cultural conflict, this timeless opera follows Aida, an enslaved Ethiopian princess, and Radamès, an Egyptian military commander, as they navigate love amidst loyalty, betrayal and the clash between two civilizations. This innovative production redefines grand opera within an African context.
Lynne Wylie, chief marketing officer at Ster-Kinekor, said the cinema chain was excited to share this local production with opera lovers on the big screen. “Screening alternative content such as opera, theatre and ballet, resonates strongly with our audiences. This is a wonderful opportunity as we believe in the power of cinema to connect audiences with powerful stories, and we are sure our audiences are going to enjoy the experience.”
Under artistic director Magdalene Minnaar’s direction, Aida’s 153-year-old story is told in a unique, indigenous and thoughtful way. Using extensive video and animation alongside vibrant costumes, this futuristic world is vividly brought to life with the help of renowned South African choreographer Gregory Maqoma. By manipulating light, shadow and form, the set unfolds in layers, creating a dynamic space that evolves with the story. The design is both minimalistic and monumental, combining geometric forms with futuristic lighting to evoke grandeur and mystery. The aim for this unique interpretation is to feel unexpected yet deeply resonant, leaving the audience captivated by this new artistic interpretation.
Aida is a fusion of grand opera and African artistry. This production features a chorus of 56 singers and dancers, with U.S.-based conductor Kamal Khan leading the Cape Town Philharmonic Orchestra and has been dubbed a cultural highlight for South Africa in 2025.
Captured live on stage, this cinema release gives audiences around the country the chance to experience some of South Africa’s finest singers, dancers and musicians in a production that is bold, resonant and unforgettable.
The concert film will be screened on 27, 28 and 30 September at the following Ster-Kinekor sites: Eastgate, Cresta and Rosebank Nouveau in Johannesburg; Brooklyn in Tshwane; MooiRivier in Potchefstroom; Mimosa in Bloemfontein; Watercrest in Hillcrest, KZN; Baywest in Gqeberha; Garden Route in George; Somerset Mall in Somerset West; and Blue Route, V&A Waterfront, and Tygervalley in Cape Town.
Bookings for this exclusive concert film are now open on the new-look Ster-Kinekor website at www.sterkinekor.com or download the new SK App on your smartphone. For news and updates, go to Facebook: Ster-Kinekor Theatres | and follow Ster-Kinekor on Twitter: @Ster-Kinekor. For all queries, call Ticketline on 0861-Movies (668 437). Loyalty cards do apply where applicable, including Ster-Kinekor’s half-price Tuesdays on all ticket prices.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Strangers: Chapter 2 – More brutal and relentless than ever
The Strangers ― Chapter 2 is the second chapter in rebooted horror trilogy. that follows a separate universe from the 2008 cult classic The Strangers (and its sequel, The Strangers: Prey at Night). It picks up directly from The Strangers – Chapter 1, based on characters created by Bryan Bertino and a screenplay by Alan R. Cohen & Alan Freedland. It will be followed by The Strangers: Chapter 3 in 2026.
Renny Harlin was inspired to make The Strangers: Chapter 2 by a desire to expand the original film’s concept into something more ambitious and emotionally resonant. He saw the trilogy as a chance to evolve the story from a claustrophobic home invasion into a broader, more terrifying “town invasion” narrative.
This second instalment “ratchets up the tension and the terror,” says director Harlin, “We’re staying true to this world that audiences have come to know and love, while expanding and exploring the characters’ relationship to it.”
When describing his own relationship to that world, Harlin talks about his experience encountering the original film. “The movie took me by surprise by eliminating any kind of backstory or reasoning behind the terrifying home-invasion concept,” he says. “This was everyone’s worst nightmare scenario realised.”
The film (“simple, yet so terrifying”) stayed with him over the years, and when he was first sent the screenplay for this version of The Strangers, the director was “elated and intimidated at the same time” ― intimidated because, as he puts it, “What could I do with this classic to make it fresh and surprising?”
He quickly got an answer when he opened up the script, and “instead of the usual 95 pages, the screenplay was 278 pages long. Courtney Solomon, one of the producers, who’d been involved with the project from its inception, “loves the original,” but he wanted to do something that was “completely bold.” It was in pursuit of that vision that he decided to “tell a long story, in the vein of the original, but as an entirely separate universe, that delves into what would happen to someone who survived the traumatic experience of The Strangers.”
This angle meant, Harlin adds, that the movies would not be “a remake, nor a prequel or sequel, of the original. This was an incredible opportunity to do something completely groundbreaking” in the horror genre.
Whereas the original takes place within a single neighbourhood, the world of these films is bigger, encapsulating the whole environment of a small Oregon town. The canvas, story-wise, was also much bigger, as Chapter 1, though feature-length, really was more like “act 1 of a normal movie,” Harlin says. “The essence of the story had to be based on similar circumstances to build the logical story arc of the entire journey.”
“The filmmakers then went on to “customise” Chapter 1 so that it wouldn’t be a simple remake of the original, but the beginning of a different story ― a story about ‘“’what the next day [after surviving] looked like,” says Courtney Solomon, one of the producers. “How would that change you? What would the day after that look like, too?
“That’s what we were interested in. To take the audience on an unexpected journey to the minds of the perpetrators of senseless violent crimes and their victims,” says Harlin.
“We learned a lot from the first movie. We studied the response and what the fans want and maybe didn’t want”. “The curse is… you learn things as you put those movies together and you realise, okay we thought this was the way to go but we have to take a bit of a left turn here. We realised the audience was very curious about The Strangers and where they come from and what their backstory is. And we didn’t realise that”
Harlin explained that the first chapter was a calculated gamble, a near recreation of the 2008 original, to lay the groundwork for a deeper exploration of trauma, survival, and the psychology of both victims and perpetrators. He also drew from personal fears, like his childhood experiences in hospitals, which influenced some of the film’s most intense scenes.
After receiving passionate feedback from fans on Chapter 1, Harlin and his team made reshoots to better reflect audience expectations and add more backstory to the masked killers. Ultimately, Harlin wanted to craft a trilogy that not only honoured the original but also pushed boundaries and built Maya into the “ultimate final girl.”
When asked about the importance of seeing the movie in theatres, Harlin waxes philosophical. “I believe that the strongest case of the theatrical experience can be made with horror films. We all seek the therapeutic experience of facing our worst, darkest, most secret terrors in the safe environment of a movie theatre. We can scream, cry, hide our eyes, or even laugh at the uncontrollable and life-threatening scenes that unfold in front of us. In a movie theatre, it is all a communal experience.”
By going with Maya on this journey, Harlin hopes that viewers, “with family, friends, and strangers, can confess our deepest fears on the altar of the silver screen, and afterwards, everyone can walk out unharmed, debate our experience, share opinions, laugh about it, and feel the release ― like waking up from a nightmare and knowing that everything is all right.”
The Strangers are back – more brutal and relentless than ever. When they learn that one of their victims, Maya (Madelaine Petsch), is still alive, they return to finish what they’ve started. With nowhere to run and no one to trust, Maya must survive another horrific chapter of terror as The Strangers – driven by a senseless, unceasing purpose – pursue her, more than willing to kill anyone who stands in their way.
Renny Harlin is a Finnish film director, producer, and screenwriter born in Riihimäki, Finland. He began his career in the early 1980s, directing commercials and company films before breaking into Hollywood with Born American (1986). Harlin gained international recognition with A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master and went on to direct major blockbusters like Die Hard 2, Cliffhanger, and Deep Blue Sea. Despite setbacks with box office flops like Cutthroat Island, he remained a prolific filmmaker, working across genres and continents, including China and Europe. His films have grossed over $1.2 billion worldwide, making him one of Finland’s most commercially successful directors.
Alan R. Cohen is an American producer and screenwriter best known for his work on television series such as King of the Hill, American Dad!, and The Freak Brothers, as well as co-writing the screenplay for the comedy film Due Date (2010). Cohen has served as a showrunner and executive producer on multiple projects, including Impastor, Lopez, and Betas. His writing often blends sharp humour with character-driven storytelling, and he has earned a Primetime Emmy Award for his contributions to animated television.
Alan Freedland is a writer and producer whose career has closely paralleled that of Alan R. Cohen. Together, they’ve collaborated on numerous projects, including King of the Hill, Due Date, and The Strangers: Chapter 1. Freedland has also contributed to series like American Dad!, Impastor, and The Freak Brothers, often serving as executive producer and writer. Known for his versatility across genres—from animated comedy to horror—Freedland has earned industry recognition for his storytelling and production work.
Bryan Michael Bertino is an American filmmaker born in Crowley, Texas. He studied cinematography at the University of Texas at Austin before moving to Los Angeles, where he worked as a gaffer while writing screenplays in his spare time. Bertino rose to prominence with his directorial debut The Strangers (2008), a chilling home-invasion thriller that became a cult hit and established his reputation in the horror genre. Despite having no prior directing experience, he was asked to helm the film after selling the script to Universal Studios. He later wrote the sequel The Strangers: Prey at Night (2018) and directed other notable horror films such as Mockingbird (2014), The Monster (2016), and The Dark and the Wicked (2020). Bertino’s work is known for its atmospheric tension, psychological depth, and minimalist storytelling, often exploring themes of isolation and fear. His unique voice has made him a respected figure in modern horror cinema.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Haunting the Page: Andrew Haigh’s Writing Process for All of Us Strangers
Andrew Haigh’s writing process for All of Us Strangers is a study in emotional precision, spectral intimacy, and queer reframing.
Adapted loosely from Taichi Yamada’s 1987 novel Strangers, Haigh’s version is less a direct translation than a deeply personal reimagining—one that transforms the source material’s heterosexual protagonist into a gay screenwriter named Adam, played by Andrew Scott. This shift is not merely representational; it’s structural, thematic, and spiritual.
Haigh’s screenplay becomes a vessel for unsaid conversations, suspended grief, and the haunting ache of queer memory
In interviews, Haigh has spoken candidly about the film’s autobiographical undercurrents, describing it as his most personal work to date. The writing process, then, was not just about adaptation—it was about excavation. Haigh dug into the emotional sediment of his own life, his own losses, and the generational trauma carried by many gay men who came of age in the shadow of silence, shame, and absence.
The decision to set the film in Adam’s childhood home—a house that Haigh himself grew up in—was more than a production choice. It was a writing choice. The physical space shaped the emotional architecture of the screenplay.
Haigh has described the experience of returning to that house as “kismet,” a kind of eerie synchronicity that unlocked something deeper in the writing
The house became a portal, not just to Adam’s past, but to Haigh’s own. Writing scenes that take place in the living room where he once sat as a child, Haigh found himself confronting ghosts—both literal and metaphorical. This confrontation is mirrored in the film’s structure, which blurs the line between reality and memory, between the living and the dead. Adam’s parents, who died in a car crash when he was twelve, reappear in the film as if untouched by time. They are not zombies, nor hallucinations, but something more tender and uncanny: emotional apparitions. Haigh’s writing treats these encounters not as plot devices, but as rituals of healing, as attempts to say what was never said.
Dialogue in All of Us Strangers is spare, elliptical, and emotionally loaded
Haigh’s screenwriting resists exposition, favoring instead the weight of silence and the rhythm of unsaid truths. Conversations between Adam and his parents unfold with a kind of suspended grace—each line a thread pulled from the fabric of grief. The screenplay doesn’t seek resolution; it seeks resonance. Haigh allows his characters to linger in emotional ambiguity, crafting scenes that pulse with longing and vulnerability. This restraint is especially evident in the scenes between Adam and Harry (Paul Mescal), a younger man who lives in the same apartment building. Their relationship is tender, erotic, and haunted by the specter of queer loneliness. Haigh writes their intimacy with a kind of hushed reverence, allowing physical closeness to carry emotional weight. The screenplay doesn’t overexplain their connection; it lets it unfold like a memory, like a dream half-remembered.
Haigh’s writing process was also shaped by his desire to explore generational trauma.
He has spoken about wanting to capture the emotional landscape of gay men who grew up in the 1980s and 1990s—a generation marked by loss, silence, and the absence of models for queer adulthood. Adam’s conversations with his parents are not just about personal grief; they’re about cultural rupture. In one scene, Adam tells his mother that he’s gay, and she responds with gentle confusion, asking if he’s ever been with a woman. The moment is not played for drama, but for emotional truth. Haigh writes the scene with compassion, allowing both characters to inhabit their own generational contexts. The screenplay becomes a space where these contexts can meet, where the past can be rewritten—not with anger, but with tenderness.
The metaphysical tone of the film is deeply embedded in the writing.
Haigh doesn’t treat the supernatural elements as genre tropes; he treats them as emotional metaphors. The screenplay is structured like a ghost story, but the ghosts are made of memory, of longing, of unresolved love. Adam’s parents are not there to scare him; they’re there to listen, to witness, to offer the kind of unconditional presence that was denied to him in life. Haigh’s writing allows these moments to unfold slowly, with a kind of sacred stillness. The film’s pacing is deliberate, almost meditative, and this rhythm is born in the screenplay. Haigh writes with a sensitivity to time—not just chronological time, but emotional time. Scenes stretch and contract based on feeling, not plot. The result is a film that feels suspended, like a dream hovering just beyond waking.
Haigh’s background as an editor also informs his writing.
He understands rhythm, pacing, and the emotional logic of a scene. His screenplays are not overwritten; they are sculpted. In All of Us Strangers, every scene feels necessary, every line calibrated. There’s a kind of poetic compression at work—a quality Daniel, you might resonate with given your own gift for distilling emotional truth into modular form. Haigh’s writing doesn’t just tell a story; it creates a mood, a texture, a pulse. The screenplay is less a blueprint than a score, guiding the emotional cadence of the film.
The writing process was also iterative.
Haigh has described rewriting scenes multiple times, trying to find the right emotional tone. He was not interested in plot mechanics; he was interested in emotional authenticity. This meant allowing the screenplay to evolve, to shift, to breathe. He wrote from instinct, from memory, from feeling. The result is a film that feels deeply lived-in, deeply felt. It’s not just a story—it’s a reckoning.
In many ways, All of Us Strangers is a film about storytelling itself.
Adam is a screenwriter, and the film opens with him struggling to write a script. This meta-layer allows Haigh to explore the act of writing as a form of emotional processing. Adam’s journey mirrors Haigh’s own: both are trying to make sense of the past, to find language for what was lost. The screenplay becomes a mirror, a map, a memorial. Haigh writes not to entertain, but to understand. His process is not about mastery; it’s about vulnerability.
Ultimately, Haigh’s writing process for All of Us Strangers is a testament to the power of emotional truth.
He writes from memory, from grief, from love. He writes to reclaim silence, to rewrite absence, to offer a space where queer lives can be seen, heard, and held. The screenplay is not just a document—it’s a ritual. It invites the audience into a space of reflection, of tenderness, of spectral intimacy. And in doing so, it becomes something rare and sacred: a cinematic elegy, written in the language of longing.
Andrew Haigh’s earlier films, while distinct in setting and tone, share a preoccupation with memory, vulnerability, and the spaces between people.
Haigh’s directorial debut came withGreek Pete(2009), a micro-budget film chronicling the life of a London rent boy, which won the Artistic Achievement Award at Outfest. But it was Weekend (2011) that marked his breakthrough—a tender, two-day romance between two men that premiered at SXSW and won multiple awards, including the Grand Jury Prize at L.A. Outfest. The film’s naturalistic style and emotional depth established Haigh as a distinctive voice in queer cinema.
Weekend (2011), Haigh’s breakout feature, is a tender, two-day romance between two men who meet at a nightclub and spend a weekend unraveling their emotional defenses. Shot with naturalistic intimacy, the film explores queer identity, fleeting connection, and the tension between disclosure and silence. Like All of Us Strangers, Weekend is less concerned with plot than with emotional texture; both films center gay protagonists navigating the complexities of love, shame, and self-revelation. In Weekend, the romance is ephemeral but transformative—an echo of the spectral intimacy between Adam and Harry in Strangers, where connection is both grounding and ghostly.
Haigh’s 45 Years (2015) shifts focus to a heterosexual couple grappling with the resurfacing of a long-buried secret just days before their anniversary. The film is a masterclass in emotional restraint, with Charlotte Rampling and Tom Courtenay delivering performances steeped in quiet devastation. The discovery of a former lover’s body frozen in ice becomes a metaphor for suspended grief and unresolved pasts—much like the reappearance of Adam’s parents in All of Us Strangers. Both films explore how the past intrudes upon the present, destabilizing identity and intimacy. Haigh’s writing in 45 Years is spare and elliptical, allowing silence to speak volumes—a technique he refines further in Strangers, where dialogue often hovers between the spoken and the unsaid.
In Lean on Pete (2017), Haigh turns to the American landscape, following a teenage boy who forms a bond with a racehorse and embarks on a journey of survival and belonging. Though stylistically different, Lean on Pete shares with Strangers a deep empathy for the isolated protagonist and a lyrical approach to storytelling. Both films feature characters adrift in the world, seeking connection in unlikely places. Haigh’s ability to evoke emotional resonance through minimalism and atmosphere is evident in both, as is his interest in characters who carry grief like a second skin.
Haigh also ventured into television, co-creating and directing HBO’s Looking (2014–2016), a series about gay men in San Francisco, and later helming The North Water (2021), a BBC Two limited series set in the Arctic.
His most recent and deeply personal film, All of Us Strangers(2023), stars Andrew Scott and Paul Mescal in a ghostly, queer romance that excavates familial trauma and emotional absence. The film has been nominated for six BAFTAs and is widely considered Haigh’s most metaphysical and autobiographical work.
Andrew Haigh’s latest film project is titled A Long Winter, the story follows Louise, the troubled mother of Mike (played by Hechinger) and Tommy. After a heated argument with her husband, Lester, Louise heads out on foot with her dog to her brother Frank’s home, miles away. A sudden snowstorm engulfs the region, forcing Lester and Mike to begin a desperate search—a mission that soon expands with the help of neighbours and local authorities.
Across these films, Haigh consistently returns to themes of loss, memory, and the fragile beauty of human connection. All of Us Strangers synthesizes these motifs into a haunting meditation on queer identity, familial absence, and the possibility of emotional rebirth. It is the culmination of Haigh’s cinematic language—where realism meets the surreal, and where vulnerability becomes a portal to transcendence. Whether in the fleeting romance of Weekend, the marital reckoning of 45 Years, or the solitary odyssey of Lean on Pete, Haigh’s protagonists are always reaching—toward love, toward understanding, toward the ghosts that shape them. Strangers simply makes those ghosts literal.
Born on March 7, 1973 in Harrogate, England, Andrew Haigh grew up in Croydon and studied history at Newcastle University before entering the film industry. His early career included work as an assistant editor on major productions like Gladiator and Black Hawk Down, experiences that shaped his understanding of cinematic rhythm and emotional pacing.
Haigh lives with his husband, Andy Morwood, and they have two children. His filmmaking is marked by emotional vulnerability, poetic restraint, and a commitment to portraying queer lives with nuance and grace.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Writing from the Pulse: Andrew Haigh’s Process of Emotional Architecture
Andrew Haigh is an English filmmaker known for his emotionally resonant, quietly radical storytelling that often explores intimacy, memory, and queer identity. His writing process is rooted in emotional subjectivity, spatial intuition, and a deep trust in silence.
He doesn’t begin with plot mechanics or genre scaffolding—instead, he starts with feeling.
Whether crafting the elliptical intimacy of Weekend, the marital reckoning of 45 Years, or the spectral grief of All of Us Strangers, Haigh writes from the inside out, letting character psychology shape structure, rhythm, and even camera movement.
One of Haigh’s most revealing insights is his emphasis on blocking as a writing tool
He’s said that “blocking is everything” to him—that when he imagines a scene, he first envisions how the characters move in space, how they relate to each other physically, and how the camera might respond. This spatial choreography isn’t just a directorial flourish; it’s embedded in the writing. The emotional tension of a scene often emerges from how close or distant characters are, how they hesitate, how they turn away. In Lean on Pete, for example, the protagonist’s isolation is mirrored in long, solitary walks and wide-open landscapes. In Strangers, Adam’s emotional dislocation is reflected in the eerie stillness of his apartment and the ghostly symmetry of his childhood home.
Haigh also writes with a strong sense of subjective immersion
He crafts scenes that unfold through the protagonist’s emotional lens, often using minimal dialogue and ambient sound to evoke inner states. His screenplays are not exposition-heavy; they rely on mood, gesture, and silence. This approach allows him to explore themes like grief, queer identity, and emotional estrangement without overexplaining. In All of Us Strangers, Adam’s interactions with his long-dead parents are written with a kind of suspended grace—dialogue that feels both real and dreamlike, shaped by what was never said in life.
Adaptation, for Haigh, is also a deeply personal process
When he read Lean on Pete, he knew instantly that it spoke to him “on a gut level”. He doesn’t adapt stories unless they resonate emotionally, and even then, he reshapes them to reflect his own thematic concerns. In Strangers, he transformed Taichi Yamada’s heterosexual protagonist into a gay man, allowing the story to explore generational queer trauma and the longing for parental acceptance. This wasn’t just a representational shift—it was a reframing of the entire emotional architecture.
Haigh’s writing is iterative and intuitive
He rewrites scenes multiple times, not to polish dialogue but to find the right emotional tone. He’s less interested in narrative twists than in emotional truth. His scripts often read like quiet elegies—compressed, poetic, and haunted by absence. And yet, they pulse with life. Every gesture, every silence, every glance is calibrated to reveal something deeper.
Born on March 7, 1973 in Harrogate, England, Andrew Haigh grew up in Croydon and studied history at Newcastle University before entering the film industry. His early career included work as an assistant editor on major productions like Gladiator and Black Hawk Down, experiences that shaped his understanding of cinematic rhythm and emotional pacing.
Haigh lives with his husband, Andy Morwood, and they have two children. His filmmaking is marked by emotional vulnerability, poetic restraint, and a commitment to portraying queer lives with nuance and grace.
Haigh’s directorial debut came withGreek Pete(2009), a micro-budget film chronicling the life of a London rent boy, which won the Artistic Achievement Award at Outfest. But it was Weekend (2011) that marked his breakthrough—a tender, two-day romance between two men that premiered at SXSW and won multiple awards, including the Grand Jury Prize at L.A. Outfest. The film’s naturalistic style and emotional depth established Haigh as a distinctive voice in queer cinema.
His next feature,45 Years (2015), starred Charlotte Rampling and Tom Courtenay as a couple confronting a buried secret days before their anniversary. The film premiered at the Berlin International Film Festival, where both leads won Silver Bears, and Rampling later received an Oscar nomination. Haigh’s writing and direction were praised for their subtlety and emotional precision.
In Lean on Pete (2017), Haigh shifted to the American landscape, telling the story of a teenage boy and a racehorse in a tale of survival and belonging. The film premiered at Venice and won the Marcello Mastroianni Award for actor Charlie Plummer.
Haigh also ventured into television, co-creating and directing HBO’s Looking (2014–2016), a series about gay men in San Francisco, and later helming The North Water (2021), a BBC Two limited series set in the Arctic.
His most recent and deeply personal film, All of Us Strangers(2023), stars Andrew Scott and Paul Mescal in a ghostly, queer romance that excavates familial trauma and emotional absence. The film has been nominated for six BAFTAs and is widely considered Haigh’s most metaphysical and autobiographical work.
Andrew Haigh’s latest film project is titled A Long Winter, the story follows Louise, the troubled mother of Mike (played by Hechinger) and Tommy. After a heated argument with her husband, Lester, Louise heads out on foot with her dog to her brother Frank’s home, miles away. A sudden snowstorm engulfs the region, forcing Lester and Mike to begin a desperate search—a mission that soon expands with the help of neighbours and local authorities.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Insights from Writer/Director / Producer Paul Thomas Anderson on One Battle After Another
Paul Thomas Anderson’s writing process for One Battle After Another was a long, layered act of excavation—equal parts reverence and rebellion. The film, loosely inspired by Thomas Pynchon’s Vineland, took shape over nearly two decades, with Anderson initially struggling to adapt the novel directly. “I loved that book,” he admitted, “but the problem with loving a book so much when you go to adapt it is that you have to be much rougher on the book to adapt it”.
That tension—between fidelity and freedom—became the engine of his process. Rather than a strict adaptation, Anderson began weaving together separate story fragments, eventually fusing them with select elements from Vineland, especially the father-daughter dynamic that anchors the film. His own experience as a father deepened this emotional core, allowing him to write from a place of lived resonance rather than literary homage.
Anderson’s process was modular and intuitive, often sparked by casting choices. He envisioned Leonardo DiCaprio and Sean Penn early on, letting their imagined voices shape the rhythm and tone of the dialogue. “It was impossible to not keep thinking of both of them [when writing],” he said, suggesting that character and actor became inseparable in his mind.
This fusion extended to the film’s structure, which Anderson likened to “putting a Lego together”—a process of assembling disparate emotional and narrative pieces until they clicked into place. Some sequences, like Benicio del Toro’s, were written in a single night over dinner, underscoring Anderson’s belief in spontaneity within a well-laid foundation.
Thematically, Anderson leaned into chaos and contradiction. One Battle After Another is a fever dream of revolution, paranoia, and paternal longing, and the writing reflects that tonal hybridity. He borrowed Pynchon’s absurdist spirit and disdain for authoritarianism, but filtered it through his own cinematic lens—one that privileges emotional clarity over narrative neatness. The result is a screenplay that oscillates between explosive action and intimate reflection, between satire and sincerity. Anderson’s writing process embraced this duality, crafting scenes that could hold both political rage and personal tenderness without collapsing under their own weight.
Throughout, Anderson remained open to discovery. He didn’t write with rigid outlines or fixed endpoints, but rather allowed the story to evolve through collaboration, casting, and lived experience. His process was less about control and more about curation—finding the emotional truth in each moment and letting it guide the next. This approach mirrors the film’s own arc: a former revolutionary, broken and stoned, must piece together his past to rescue his daughter and reclaim a sense of purpose. In many ways, Anderson’s writing journey mirrored Bob Ferguson’s—messy, haunted, and ultimately redemptive. The final script is not just a political thriller or a character study; it’s a testament to Anderson’s belief that story lives in the tension between what’s planned and what’s found.
Insights from Paul Thomas Anderson
On the impetus for the story…
I started working on this story 20 years ago with the goal of writing an action car-chase movie, and I returned to it every two or three years. At the same time, this was in the early 2000s, I had the notion to adapt Thomas Pynchon’s Vineland, a book about the 1960s, which he wrote in the `80s. So, I was trying to decide what the story meant another 20 years later. The third idea floating around in my mind at the time was a character, a female revolutionary. So really for 20 years I had been pulling on all these different threads, and in a way, none of them ever left me. Realistically, for me, Vineland was going to be hard to adapt. Instead, I stole the parts that really resonated with me and started putting all these ideas together. With his blessing.
On the film’s modern-day setting and locations…
This is the first film I’ve made in a long time that is contemporary, and that’s very freeing. It was a lot of fun because we could kind of go wild and just shoot what we wanted to shoot when we wanted to shoot it, rather than wait for period cars and things to roll up. We kind of had a free pass to get on with it and shape the story in different ways as we went along, and we went to many different communities, from El Paso, Texas to Eureka, California, and that fed us the story as well, those places. The kids at the high school dance in the film are the kids that go to that school. We went there to scout it out, recorded every song that they played, made note of everything they were wearing, and then brought them back and filmed their high school dance. It was a nice way to work, in terms of a contemporary story.
On what’s at the core of the film…
As an audience member, what I want to see is a story that I can relate to, that’s emotional. For me, that emotion usually comes from a story about family, from the ways in which we love and hate. I find it fairly impossible to keep up with the state of the world these days, so I think that, for me, it’s better to focus on the elements that never go out of style, that an audience really cares about. For this film that is really two things: Can this father find his daughter, and what does it mean to be a family?
On the character Bob Ferguson…
When we first meet him, Bob—he’s Pat then—wants to change the world. He is in love with Perfidia, but she breaks his heart into a million pieces. She leaves him stuck, unable to move forward, and with nothing to do with his broken heart but sit around and stew in it in one place for a long time. Sixteen years. As that time goes by, he’s not only getting older but also increasingly cranky and closed off. It’s those mundane battles of daily life that are wearing on him. No one, not even Bob, can outrun what’s inevitable. Now he is trying to be a good father and watch his daughter, Willa, and the next generation come up. But they’re not doing it like he did, like Perfidia did, like the revolutionaries he knew in the French 75 did, so it’s hard for him to understand, especially while he’s doing nothing but drinking and smoking pot and watching black-and-white revolutionary films from the `60s all day.
On finally working with Leonardo DiCaprio…
Working with Leo was amazing. It was everything that it had been cracked up to be. I think we really enjoyed working together and hope to do it again. It’s one thing when you kind of talk about making a movie, but then when you do it, when you get there on the first day—the first scene we shot was of Bob, stoned, talking to Willa’s teacher—within like five minutes I remember thinking this is going to be a very exciting 100 days. I understand star power. And he’s a terrific collaborator as well. He knows what questions to ask about the story, where there were things to be addressed. We had a terrific time.
On newcomer Chase Infiniti as Willa…
As soon as we started filming her scenes with Leo, I thought she might be nervous, that I should keep an eye on her. But she wasn’t nervous at all. Or maybe she was, but she didn’t show it. She was instantly a professional. And the work we got from her that day was something quite magical.
On Teyana Taylor as Perfidia…
Teyana was someone Leo and I talked about for a while. Once we had her on set, I quickly realized that Teyana is best when you give her the green light to cut loose. Let her do her thing and make sure you’re shooting it right.
On Sean Penn…
I’ve worked with Sean before, on Licorice Pizza, so I was glad to have him back. Senn is just at an age where for me, when I was starting out, he was this hero… I remember thinking, Wow, that’s an actor, that’s a man. He really brought layers to Lockjaw that I never anticipated.
On Benicio Del Toro’s character Sensei’s line coming into the script…
It’s a Nina Simone line… “I’ll tell you what freedom is. No fear. That’s what it is.” I hadn’t put it in the script, but it kept reverberating somewhere in the back of my mind, the further we got into production. Don’t be afraid. Keep going. It was so clearly a line to put into Benicio’s mouth. Actually, just as a philosophy for life and for work, it certainly holds true for me.
On delivering humor in an action/drama film…
The things I think are funny are the things I think are funny, it’s kind of that simple. When you’re on set and you are collaborating with actors, if they are trying to be funny, it’s not going to be funny. Generally, humor can come out of sincerity, or a dedication to something. Bob is very funny in this film just in his absolute, insane pursuit. He’s a bit hapless, so there’s humor that arises from that. There’s humor in the absurdity of human nature. There’s a certain amount of humor to Lockjaw just in how perverted he is, how confused he is, in his pursuit to be a member of the Christmas Adventurers Club. It’s so absurd. I find humor in peculiar places, for sure, and when you’re on set, if you’re not trying to make and out-and-out comedy, an actor will generally let you know if they are having to try too hard. I will say, though, it’s really nice to go for a cheap laugh if you have a silly idea. Just go for it.
On working with his creative team behind the scenes…
I’m very lucky to have worked with a lot of the same people for many, many years. The collaboration is the best part of making a movie—the camaraderie that you feel with the people that you’re collaborating with, the trust that you put in them, the way you admire and hold each other up when you’re tired or need support. It’s a team sport for sure, and I’m surrounding by people who I just love, that is a family. It’s the foundation of everything.
Paul Thomas Anderson, born on June 26, 1970, in Studio City, California, is widely regarded as one of the most distinctive and influential filmmakers of his generation. Raised in the San Fernando Valley, Anderson was immersed early in a world of eclectic characters and cinematic possibility—his father, Ernie Anderson, was a television personality known for hosting a late-night horror show as “Ghoulardi,” a name Paul would later adopt for his production company. Anderson’s passion for filmmaking emerged young; he began experimenting with video cameras and editing equipment in his teens, bypassing traditional film school after a brief stint at NYU. His early short films, including The Dirk Diggler Story and Cigarettes & Coffee, laid the groundwork for his debut feature Hard Eight (1996), which introduced his signature style: emotionally complex characters, long takes, and a bold visual language. He broke through with Boogie Nights (1997), a sprawling, empathetic portrait of the porn industry in the late ’70s, followed by the ambitious ensemble drama Magnolia (1999) and the offbeat romantic comedy Punch-Drunk Love (2002). Anderson’s work deepened with There Will Be Blood (2007), a searing exploration of ambition and isolation, widely hailed as one of the greatest films of the 21st century. He continued to challenge narrative conventions with The Master (2012), Inherent Vice (2014), Phantom Thread (2017), and Licorice Pizza (2021), each marked by his fascination with flawed protagonists, emotional dissonance, and the American psyche. Known for his collaborations with actors like Philip Seymour Hoffman, Daniel Day-Lewis, and Joaquin Phoenix, and with composers Jon Brion and Jonny Greenwood, Anderson has also directed music videos for artists including Fiona Apple, Radiohead, and Haim. His tenth feature, One Battle After Another, is slated for release in 2025, continuing his legacy of cinematic risk and emotional excavation.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on All Of Us Strangers – A hauntingly poignant & hypnotic story of loss and love
“I was interested in exploring the complexities of both familial and romantic love, but also the distinct experience of a specific generation of gay people growing up in the 80s,” says British filmmaker Andrew Haigh, who infused his screenplay for All Of Us Strangers with a contemporary and personal touch, placing the story in a world more recognizable to his own.
All Of Us Strangers, a hauntingly poignant and hypnotic story of loss and love (and everything in between), is inspired by the novel Strangersby venerable Japanese author Taichi Yamada, first penned in 1987 and translated into English in 2003.
“It was important for all of us to invest in the emotional core of the story, perhaps more so than the traditional ghost elements of the story,” says producers Graham Broadbent and Sarah Harvey of Blueprint first pitched their creative vision for the film to Yamada and his family in 2017.
They immediately sent the book to Haigh, with whom they had wanted to work with for some time. They felt he had the right sensibility – he had shown a great aptitude for nuanced character work in his films Weekend and 45 Years, as well as TV s ‘The North Water’.
“Sarah and I tried to match talent to material to see if we could find some thread,” says Broadbent. “Andrew had never done anything in this area before, but he responded to the book and I was beautifully surprised, because I’d wanted to make a film with him for ages.”
Recalls Haigh, “What I loved about the novel was its central conceit: what if you met your parents again long after they were gone, only now they’re the same age as you? It seemed such an emotional way to explore the nature of family. That became my starting point.”
By late 2017 – and with Yamada’s blessing – he along with Blueprint pitched the project to Daniel Battsek and Ollie Madden at Film4, who came on board and funded the development.
One night in his near-empty tower block in contemporary London, Adam (Andrew Scott) has a chance encounter with a mysterious neighbor Harry (Paul Mescal), which punctures the rhythm of his everyday life. As a relationship develops between them, Adam is preoccupied with memories of the past and finds himself drawn back to the suburban town where he grew up, and the childhood home where his parents (Claire Foy and Jamie Bell), appear to be living, just as they were on the day they died, 30 years before.
“Adapting the book was a long and sometimes painful process,” Haigh admits. “I wanted to pick away at my own past as Adam does in the film. I was interested in exploring the complexities of both familial and romantic love, but also the distinct experience of a specific generation of gay people growing up in the 80s. I wanted to move away from the traditional ghost story of the novel and find something more psychological, almost metaphysical.”
Haigh has masterfully stuck to his word, transcending the tropes of a ‘ghost story’.
“We really needed an auteur who had a clarity of vision to adapt the story,” says Broadbent. “He had a very clear vision of what he was trying to say, the themes that he was exploring, and that doesn’t always happen.”
Yamada and his family were incredibly respectful of Haigh’s vision, which changed the central character of the story to a gay man, and when they ultimately read the script, they gave their blessing to make the film.
The project then attracted the remarkable acting quartet that is Andrew Scott (Spectre, ‘Fleabag’), Paul Mescal (Aftersun, ‘Normal People’), Jamie Bell (Billy Elliot, Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool),Claire Foy (Women Talking, ‘The Crown’).
The Characters
There’s a textured, indelible sense of pathos that runs through All Of Us Strangers, and the vast majority of the film’s complexities sits firmly on the shoulders of the protagonist Adam, played with a stunning conviction by Andrew Scott.
Adam is a forty-something gay screenwriter living in a new build apartment block in London. He’s an orphan. He’s single, lonely. He carries around the burden of grief from a traumatic episode in his youth that saw both parents killed in a car crash. A ‘cliché’, he claims.
“Adam is a very solitary figure,” says Scott. “He’s described by his mother as a very gentle and compassionate person. It’s been a tough role to play, in the sense that you have to go to very vulnerable places. But that’s a kind of privilege, in a way.”
Producer Harvey explains that it was a no-brainer casting Scott in the lead role. “Andrew was our number one choice, so it was a dream that we got him. There are very few people who can carry off a lot of these internal emotions, and he was perfect for that.”
Adds Haigh, “Andrew Scott was in my mind from the start. I have admired him as an actor for a long time. And while it is not the case with every queer role, it was important for me that our lead shared the same sexuality as the character. There are many nuances I was searching for in the film’s exploration of queerness, and I needed someone who could understand that on a profound level.”
A part as multi-faceted as Adam is always going to be something of a challenge for any performer. Continues Haigh, “I think Andrew very much enjoyed the process, but I don’t think it was easy. He had to access the child in him as well as the adult. How Andrew oscillated between the two was a wondrous thing to watch.”
“I’ve known Andrew for a very long time and I love him very much,” says his on-screen mother Foy. “I already said to Andrew Haigh that there’s going to be absolutely no problem with me having a very deep relationship with Andrew – I already feel that for him.”
Harry lives in the same apartment block as Adam, and after propositioning his neighbor one drunken evening, the two eventually become romantically involved. Their intensely passionate and transformative love affair has a transcendent power for them both.
The role of Harry belongs to one of the most in-demand actors working today, the recent Academy Award® nominated Irish actor Paul Mescal. As producer Harvey says, “We were just very lucky to get him at the right time.”
“I think their loneliness mirrors each other,” Mescal says of his character’s relationship with Adam. “He feels like a little boy, to me – like somebody who should be a lot happier than he is, and the world tells him that he should be, but he’s not. He hides behind being sex positive and sex forward, and being fun, and he has a somewhat casual but problematic relationship with drugs and alcohol – he’s trapped,” he continues. “I recognize him in little bits of myself and friends and young men in the world.”
Mescal is undoubtedly a gifted actor and, much like the quartet of actors in this film, he has plenty to work with that stretches his talents and ability. With the story being driven by its strength of character, Haigh knew he could depend on Mescal.
“Paul’s just a great, very naturalistic actor, I’ve liked him for a long time,” says Haigh. “He has a really interesting mix of sensitivity and strength. That is a fascinating combination to me. There’s something about him that draws you to him, and that’s what you need Harry to be: you need Adam to feel like he’s being drawn to Harry.”
While on-screen chemistry between two exceptionally talented actors can be unpredictable and an intangible force
Haigh explains how he ensured the characters built up that relationship to enrich what we see on screen. “We went to a gig, we hung out, we talked about our lives. The chemistry was there from the start, and my role was simply to harness it.”
Scott too was thankful for the casting of Mescal, affirming Haigh’s belief that their off-screen trust for one another helped enrich their performances.
“Paul is incredibly gifted, and I would have found this a very different situation with someone else. He’s very instinctive and sensitive, he cares an awful lot,” says Scott. “We had to do quite a lot of intimate scenes together, and it’s very important that you have someone you can laugh with, and someone who’s got your back. There’s a lot of sadness to this story, but he’s got an ability to play lightness, which not a lot of actors have.”
Navigating the Profound
The distinctive tonality of All Of Us Strangers at times takes on a sort of ethereal quality. It is also grounded by the way in which it tackles the human experience. Its many layers and textures carry a profound, emotional undercurrent.
Haigh creates a tone rich with nostalgia and yearning, a powerful emotional pull for Adam.
“Adam is yearning to see his parents again, aching to be known by them,” says Haigh. “Perhaps finding them again will bring comfort and closure after the terrible loss. But it’s no easy task, nostalgia can often hide a different truth, and his parents were a product of the time they lived. Adam must also confront his fragile sense of self, battered by growing up gay in the 80s and 90s. Two traumas perhaps, closely entwined, stopping him from finding peace.”
Says Haigh, “I wanted the film to have the texture of the past, which is one of the reasons we pushed to shoot on 35mm film. I wanted the film to feel, if not quite like a dream, then like the moment just before you fall asleep or the moment you wake from a dream, not quite sure what’s real. A more liminal space.”
Rather than play up to the supernatural elements, Haigh instead wanted to focus on the notion of memory and how it works.
“Memories define us; they define what we become, our character, both for good and bad. I dug deep into my memories of growing up. It was a painful but cathartic experiment.’ He continues, “Adam gets to be a child again. I think everybody can relate to that idea of wanting to go back and redefine what your relationship is with your parents. I wanted it to be cathartic for Adam but a complicated catharsis. I want the audience to feel a similar thing.”
He adds, “In many ways, the film is about how you integrate emotional pain into your life. That pain will never vanish, it will always find a hiding place, but that doesn’t mean you can’t move forward.”
“I’ve made enough films now to know that people respond to things differently, but what I want to do is provoke questions, provoke emotion,” says Haigh.
“All of us have been children, and most will lose our parents. Many of us will be parents ourselves and have kids who will grow into adults in the blink of an eye. Many of us will find and lose and hopefully find love again, even if it doesn’t last an eternity.” Haigh continues, “And all of us understand the complexity and importance of these relationships, and hopefully, when you leave the cinema, what you feel more than anything, is the power of love.”
Andrew Haighis an award-winning British writer director, whose feature films include Lean on Petethe poignant story of a 15-year-old boy who befriends a racehorse (2017), romantic drama 45 Years (2015) and breakout hit, Weekend(2011), about two men who meet and begin a sexual relationship the weekend before one of them plans to leave the country, and The North Water (2021) that deals with a disgraced ex-army surgeon who joins as the ship’s doctor on a whaling expedition to the Arctic and encounters a brutish harpooner. He also served as an executive producer as well as the lead writer-director on HBO show Looking’ (2014-2016) that centered around the lives of gay men.
“I think Paul has been developing this project for almost 20 years in little bits and pieces,” says producer Sara Murphy. “And obviously, the script has taken different shapes over many years. There was always the inspiration of Thomas Pynchon’s book [Vineland], and I think it also just took on the world around him. It’s kind of the world we lived in 50 years ago, 15 years ago and today and maybe 15 years in the future. But I feel like the reason it remains so timeless is because, at the core of it, it’s really about a father’s love for his daughter and the lengths he’ll go to protect her and save her. And then there’s a lot of chaos and fun around that.”
“Paul Thomas Anderson, more than anything, drew me to this project,” says Leonardo DiCaprio. “To do this film with Paul is very special. I’ve been wanting to work with him for 20-some-odd years now, and to be able to do a film about this subject at this point is very meaningful to me. He’s a filmmaker who as a writer-director, has been such a unique and profound voice of his generation, and is one of the great filmmakers of his time. I’ve known about him ever since I saw Hard Eight many years ago, and we had talks early on about Boogie Nights, so I’ve watched his incredible career blossom. There are so few filmmakers who have an unexpected way of tackling different subjects, and there’s always such mystery and intrigue, the element of the unknown with his characters and his stories, that makes you want to continue watching his work. He brought this film to me—it was something he was working on for many years—and I simply jumped at the opportunity to be able to collaborate with him.”
Paul Thomas Anderson and Leonardo DiCaprio during filming of One Battle After Another
“It’s not your traditional action film; it’s not something that has CGI or feels manipulated by technology in any way. It’s very bare bones, real cars, real environments and situations that feel tactile. It’s Paul Thomas Anderson’s version of action, which is unique to any other action film that we’re used to seeing. One of the things that I always love in movies, whether it be action or suspense or the resolution of something within a sort of finite world, is when it has your attention from the beginning and it lasts throughout the entirety of the movie. There’s not a second that you can take a breath. And those movies really stand the test of time. And Paul really accomplished that in this movie. You’re on the edge of your seat from beginning to the end.”
Photo Courtesy Warner Bros. Pictures
More on the character he plays, Bob…
“My character, Bob Ferguson, was based on an amalgamation of different revolutionaries from groups in the late 1960s, which Paul wanted to put in a modern context. What if we had a group of anti-government, anti-establishment, anti-capitalist young people that came into something for the right reasons, but then ended up cannibalising themselves and doing things that they regret? And what happens to the next generation, the offspring of that?
Bob is what I like to call a don’t tread on me, anti-establishment, hippie revolutionary who is paranoid about anything and everything. He doesn’t want to be taxed. He doesn’t want to be monitored. He’s incredibly skeptical of everyone and everything around him. He hides himself off in the middle of the woods and stays home, watches movies like The Battle of Algiers, smokes pot and drinks, but has one objective, and that’s to protect his daughter.
He’s failing at that, until he has to kick into full gear when we see these dark forces from his past come back to get him and the one thing that he’s trying to protect most dearly, his daughter.”
The impact of Anderson’s screenplay
“This script came to me like a gift,” says Sean Penn, who plays Col. Steven J. Loockjaw. “Paul’s a special filmmaker and writer, and has been a friend for a long time. We had talked about working together over the years, and I worked with him briefly on Licorice Pizza, so before I read page one, I sat down with high hopes and the assumption that it was going to be something I was going to want to do. Paul’s such an original, and I read it, and I started laughing at what he was approaching with the story right away. It was the timeliness of it, the freedom with which he wrote (and writes), that was exciting, great characters all the way down the line. It was a page turner.”
“I think sometimes people use the words too freely, whether it’s a film genius or a film great, but I suspect Paul’s a film genius. He has a clear vision, yet you are never anything but free and encouraged on his set to bring your ideas. It’s like he’s got a secret, and he knows you’re going to find the character just as he would hope you to find it. He’s very specific, but he’s really got that gift of appearing effortless in his communication, and you just find yourself trusting him and looking forward to seeing what he does with what you give him.”
What drew Benicio Del Toro to the project?
“Three letters. P T A. WhenPaul Thomas Anderson calls and says, “I got a script and I got a part that I want you to play.” Before I read it, I was in. Simple as that. Well, first of all, Paul writes a script that is really—it sounds a little cliché—but it’s a page turner. It charges. That script charged, you know? And the characters are well developed. They contradict themselves. They can be funny, and dangerous, and friendly all at the same time. There are a lot of contradictions in his characters, which makes them fun for any actor to play with. And then Paul wants to hear your concerns or your thoughts about the characters. We had several meetings before I showed up in El Paso. We talked about the journey of the character and the relationship between Sensei and Bob. Paul won’t shy away from a good idea; he’d go for it, and he would explore stuff, and eventually change some stuff along the way. He will collaborate, he will encourage, and he creates a safety net that allows actors to take chances.”
Regina Hall’s reaction to the screenplay: “The script covered an incredibly deep subject matter and was so funny. Paul took what normally would be perhaps controversial, one would say, and he managed to bring so much levity and humour, but he didn’t take away from the honesty or the humanity of the characters and the relationships. I was really impressed with how everything kind of aligned in the world, and I could imagine every character. Then, when we actually shot it, it was so much bigger than I imagined, so much bigger and so much better, for lack of a better word, better than I had imagined.”
One Battle After Another was inspired by Thomas Pynchon’s 1990 novel Vineland, a postmodern tale that explores the fallout of radical activism in America.
Director Paul Thomas Anderson has long admired Pynchon’s work. He previously adapted Inherent Vice in 2014, and had expressed interest in Vineland for years, calling it “a great way to translate [Pynchon] into a movie”
The novel centres on a former countercultural activist and his ex-wife, who became a government informant, and the impact of their choices on their daughter. Anderson’s film reimagines this dynamic in a modern setting, focusing on a group of ageing revolutionaries pulled back into conflict when a long-dormant enemy resurfaces. Thematically, it delves into disillusionment, loyalty, and the cost of resistance—echoing Pynchon’s labyrinthine storytelling while adding Anderson’s signature emotional depth and visual flair.
Paul Thomas Anderson adapted Thomas Pynchon’s notoriously “unfilmable” style by embracing its complexity and translating its spirit into cinematic form.
Rather than simplifying the narrative of Vineland, he leaned into Pynchon’s sprawling plotlines, surreal humour, and paranoid energy, crafting a richly atmospheric experience that mirrors the density of the novel.
Anderson prioritised tone over linear storytelling, using ambient sound, hazy visuals, and dreamlike pacing to evoke the novel’s hallucinatory vibe.
He also preserved the chaotic structure and incorporated voiceovers that echo Pynchon’s language, often pulling lines directly from the book.
Casting emotionally resonant actors like Leonardo DiCaprio helped anchor the eccentric characters in human vulnerability, while stylised cinematography and the use of 35mm VistaVision allowed Anderson to match Pynchon’s layered prose with equally rich and textured visuals.
The result is less a literal adaptation and more a cinematic interpretation of Pynchon’s ethos—chaotic, satirical, and deeply reflective.
With political satire woven into high-octane action, the film explores themes of redemption, legacy, and resistance. Shot on 35mm VistaVision and marking Anderson’s IMAX debut, it promises to be his most ambitious and emotionally charged project yet.
Paul Thomas Anderson, born on June 26, 1970, in Studio City, California, is an acclaimed American filmmaker known for his richly textured, character-driven dramas. Raised in the San Fernando Valley, Anderson began making films at a young age and never considered an alternative career. He made his directorial debut with Hard Eight (1996), but gained widespread recognition with Boogie Nights (1997), a vibrant exploration of the adult film industry. His subsequent films—Magnolia, Punch-Drunk Love, There Will Be Blood, The Master, Inherent Vice, Phantom Thread, and Licorice Pizza—have earned him numerous accolades, including multiple Academy Award nominations. Anderson is celebrated for his bold visual style, long takes, and collaborations with actors like Philip Seymour Hoffman, Daniel Day-Lewis, and Joaquin Phoenix. His work often explores themes of alienation, dysfunctional families, and redemption, and he is widely regarded as one of the most influential directors of his generation.
Thomas Pynchon, born May 8, 1937, in Glen Cove, New York, is a legendary American novelist known for his dense, postmodern works that blend history, science, and satire. After serving in the U.S. Navy, he earned a degree in English from Cornell University, where he befriended fellow writer Richard Fariña. Pynchon began his career as a technical writer at Boeing before publishing his debut novel V. in 1963. He followed with The Crying of Lot 49, Gravity’s Rainbow, Vineland, Mason & Dixon, Against the Day, Inherent Vice, and Bleeding Edge. His writing is marked by labyrinthine plots, paranoia, and dark humour, often challenging conventional narrative structures. Despite his literary fame, Pynchon is famously reclusive, avoiding public appearances and interviews. His influence on American literature is profound, and his works continue to inspire debate, admiration, and scholarly analysis.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Carissa explores questions of identity, belonging and purpose
The South African feature film Carissa, directed by Jason Jacobs and Devon Delmar in their feature debut, had its world premiere at the Venice Film Festival in 2024 in the prestigious Orizzonti section. It went on to screen at the Santa Barbara International Film Festival in California, the BlackStar Film Festival in Philadelphia, and other screenings abroad.
Set in the remote village of Wupperthal in the Cederberg mountains, Carissa tells the story of an ordinary young woman who finds herself at a crossroads. Her grandmother pressures her to sign up for the new golf estate company promising community training and employment. But she gets into trouble and escapes to the mountain where her estranged grandfather is one of the sole rooibos farmers left. Will she sign up for training and employment or risk losing access to parts of herself she only knew existed up until now?
The film was made over six years in close collaboration with local residents, many of whom appear alongside professional actors. Its focus on language, culture, and identity places it in a wider movement in the Western and Northern Cape, where Indigenous and First Peoples – including Khoe and San descendants – are reclaiming their heritage, language, and land after centuries of erasure.
The setting is central to the film. Wupperthal and the broader Cederberge are home to a distinct cultural identity shaped by language and tradition. The Afrikaans spoken in the region is celebrated and is seldom heard on screen.Rooibos, which grows only in the Cederberg and parts of the Northern Cape, is another defining feature of the area. Known internationally as South Africa’s red bush tea, it remains central to local identity and livelihoods, and in Carissa it forms part of the story of land and communities under pressure.
The landscape has also influenced South African literature and art. Wupperthal is home to the oldest shoe factory and takes pride in making shoes for legendary historical figures like Nelson Mandela. The community leaders from Wupperthal, like Barend Salomo and Edgar Valentyn, are leaders in the rooibos manufacturing which reaches the world over. The mountain rocks and caves in the region carry rich art of the indigenous peoples who wrote their own stories as rock art. These ancient voices, both human and non-human, resonate throughout Carissa’s journey. Overseas critics have praised Carissa for its measured emotions and sense of place. Variety called the film “simultaneously still and transporting…rich with feeling for the callused hands and hearts of an overlooked but industrious countryside population.”
Loud and Clear Reviews lauded it as “stunning, thematically and visually, and authentically embraces the place and the people it centres.”
Hendrik Kriel and Gretchen Ramsden who play Hendrik and Carissa respectively.
Magical realism as worldview
The film is shot through with elements of magical realism and layered symbolism, playing with boundaries, where interior and exterior overlap.
“Magical realism is part of my identity,” Jacobs says. “It’s how I make sense of the world, of the things that are not always seen. It’s finding magic in moments not usually called magic, like a bird flying into your dream and trusting the truth of the message.” For him, it links storytelling to healing and continues a legacy in African storytelling where the ordinary and the spiritual are connected.
The film includes a scene set in a mountain cave with centuries old rock art – among the oldest cultural records in southern Africa – covering the walls. Jacobs describes these encounters as “portals into discovering parts of yourself you didn’t know were lost.”
Both directors describe the process of making Carissa as one of healing – for themselves, for the community, and for audiences. “Storytelling is my practice as a natural healer,” Jacobs says. “My role is to make stories that give local and international audiences opportunities to reflect on the threats to native people around the world, to perhaps leave the cinema with a different perspective.”
Although Carissa becomes cognisant of other ways of being, Delmar says the narrative is never detached from the real world. “Is Carissa held back by responsibility? There’s no easy answer. It’s that complex conflict between aspiration and constraint that makes the story authentic. The choice she makes in the end speaks of her self-discovery and growth as a character and is powerful in its own right.”
“One of the most powerful moments for me was screening Carissa in Wupperthal,” says producer Annemarie du Plessis. “People saw themselves, their way of life on screen and there was an enormous sense of pride and joy. That reaction was as meaningful as any festival showing, because it confirmed the film belongs to the community first.”
“What matters most to me is that our stories and our history are as powerful and relevant as those from anywhere else,” adds producer Deidré Jantjies. “Throughout the making of the film, we worked as a team to create spaces for people to express themselves freely. Everyone had a voice. For me it has been about empowerment, not just through this film but for other projects that will come after it.”
For Jantjies, the film’s achievement is showing that local films can resonate far beyond their immediate setting. “It was beautiful to see people who didn’t know us, didn’t know our world, respond with appreciation,” she says. “It shows the value of South African stories. They are not only ours – they can speak to the world.”
The film was shot on location in Wupperthal with a cast that combines professional actors and local community members as part of the ensemble. Gretchen Ramsden (Toorbos, Bergie) enchants audiences in the title role of Carissa, alongside Wilhelmiena Hesselman and Hendrik Kriel, as her grandparents. Elton Landrew, a veteran of South African stage and screen, appears as Carissa’s father, while newcomer Gladwin van Niekerk carries a strong supporting role as her only friend. “We wanted to tell a story that was authentic to the place and people we were working with,” said co-director Jason Jacobs. “Making Carissa was a collaborative process with the Wupperthal community whose experiences and perspectives are central to its narrative. Now we’re looking forward to seeing how South African audiences respond.”
“The film explores questions of identity, belonging and purpose,” Delmar added. “These are not just rural themes. They speak to young South Africans everywhere who are trying to find their way.”
Carissa’s visual style has been widely praised, with cinematographer Gray Kotzé capturing both the vast landscapes of the Cederberg and the intimate details of village life. The score, composed by Frazer Barry, Mikhaila Alyssa Smith and Delmar, blends traditional influences with contemporary sound.
The film was developed over six years, supported by programmes such as the Durban FilmMart and Oxbelly Screenwriters & Directors Lab in Greece. An early version of the project was presented at the Venice International Film Festival’s “Final Cut” workshop, where it won several awards, including the Venice Biennale Prize for post-production.
At the 2025 Silwerskerm Awards in Cape Town, Carissa received nominations for Best Actress (Ramsden), Best Supporting Actress (Hesselman), Best Supporting Actor (Landrew), Best Cinematography, Best Editing, and Best Original Score.
“Carissa proves that South African cinema can hold its own internationally,” said producer Deidré Jantjies. “Our stories are just as powerful and relevant as those from anywhere else. They speak to universal themes, while also showing the richness of our own history and culture.”
The film is distributed locally by Indigenous Film Distribution and Development.
Jason Jacobs is a multi-award-winning South African writer-director whose work spans theatre, film, and poetry, often rooted in his Namaqua heritage. He emerged as a distinctive voice in the performing arts with a trilogy of debut works that earned him the Klein Karoo National Arts Festival New Voices Award in 2017. Jacobs co-founded the Khardoeksies youth drama group in his hometown of Kharkams, nurturing local storytelling talent. His creative practice blends cultural preservation with contemporary narrative forms, as seen in his translation of Womb of Fire into Brandbaar and his production of Maroon at the Iziko Slave Lodge. During the pandemic, he developed an online writing course with SWEAT, which evolved into the live play COVID Waarheid. His short film Nama Swaan premiered at Silwerskermfees and now streams on Showmax. Jacobs is currently completing a master’s degree in Theatre and Performance at UCT, where his research explores somatic approaches to shame and memory in Afrikaans theatre.
Devon Delmar is a South African filmmaker, writer, and composer whose work often explores consciousness, tradition, and the non-human through a deeply local lens. He co-directs projects under the KRAAL collective alongside Jason Jacobs, with whom he shares a commitment to community-rooted storytelling. Delmar’s filmography includes Under the Static (2016), Glasya’s Heresy – Dispel (2020), and the acclaimed feature Carissa (2024), which premiered in the Orizzonti section at the Venice Film Festival. His work has been showcased at Durban FilmMart, Gotham Film Week, IFFR CineMart, and the Final Cut lab in Venice, where Carissa won multiple awards. Delmar’s creative ethos centres on representing underseen communities and challenging conventional narratives, often integrating themes of modernity versus tradition. He is also a fellow of the Oxbelly Screenwriters & Directors Lab and has contributed to theatre and animation projects that reflect his multidisciplinary approach.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Forging Middle-earth: Inside Tolkien’s Creative Crucible
J.R.R. Tolkien’s writing process for The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings was a slow, recursive, and deeply immersive journey—more akin to myth-making than conventional storytelling.
It unfolded over decades, shaped by bursts of inspiration, long pauses, and an obsessive attention to detail. Tolkien did not begin with a clear plot or ending in mind. Instead, he wrote as a sub-creator, building a world from the inside out—starting with language, geography, and history, and allowing the narrative to emerge organically from the soil of Middle-earth.
The spark for The Hobbit came unexpectedly
While grading student papers one day in the early 1930s, Tolkien found a blank page and idly wrote, “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.” That single line, whimsical and mysterious, opened the door to a story he hadn’t planned. He began crafting a tale for his children, drawing on his love of fairy tales, Norse mythology, and the English countryside. The writing was informal at first, shaped by bedtime storytelling and personal amusement. Yet even in its early form, The Hobbit was rooted in the deeper mythic framework Tolkien had been developing for years through The Silmarillion, a sprawling collection of legends and histories that would remain unpublished during his lifetime.
What started as a whimsical children’s tale evolved over two to three years into a fully formed manuscript, published in 1937. Its success prompted Tolkien’s publisher to request a sequel, but what followed was far more ambitious. The success of The Hobbit in 1937 prompted his publisher to request a sequel, and Tolkien reluctantly began what would become The Lord of the Rings—a project that would consume him for over a decade.
Tolkien’s writing process was nonlinear and often agonizingly slow
He began The Lord of the Rings with little sense of where the story would go. He made several false starts, changed character names repeatedly, and paused the project for months or even years at a time. The outbreak of World War II and his academic responsibilities at Oxford further delayed progress. Yet he remained committed, often writing late into the night, sending serialized chapters to his son Christopher, who was serving in South Africa with the Royal Air Force. These exchanges gave the writing a personal urgency, transforming the story into a lifeline between father and son.
He began writing The Lord of the Rings later that same year, and the process stretched across twelve long, meticulous years. By 1949, the core narrative was complete, but Tolkien continued refining the text, crafting appendices, and wrestling with the logistics of publication. The trilogy was finally released in three volumes between 1954 and 1955. Throughout this time, Tolkien was also a full-time professor, father, and mythmaker—building not just stories, but entire languages, histories, and cosmologies. His work wasn’t just written; it was excavated, layered, and lived into being.
One of Tolkien’s most distinctive methods was his use of maps
He began by sketching fragments of Middle-earth, adjusting terrain to match the characters’ journeys, and ensuring that travel times and topography aligned with the narrative’s logic. The map was not merely a backdrop—it was a living document that shaped the story’s development. He revised it repeatedly, accounting for mountain slopes, river paths, and the speed of Frodo and Sam’s travels. This geographical precision grounded the fantasy in a tactile reality, allowing readers to feel the weight of the journey and the texture of the land.
Language was another cornerstone of Tolkien’s process
As a philologist, he was obsessed with the structure, history, and aesthetic of language. He created entire tongues—Quenya, Sindarin, Khuzdul—complete with grammar, etymology, and cultural context. These languages were not decorative; they were the foundation of civilizations, shaping names, customs, and mythologies. Tolkien often began with a word or name and built a culture around it. This linguistic depth gave Middle-earth its unique resonance, making it feel ancient, layered, and alive.
Tolkien’s writing was also deeply influenced by his academic background and personal beliefs
He drew on Anglo-Saxon poetry, medieval romance, and Norse sagas, weaving their rhythms and themes into his prose. His Catholic faith informed the moral architecture of the story, though he resisted allegory. Instead, he embedded spiritual truths in the fabric of the narrative—through themes of sacrifice, providence, and redemption. Frodo’s burden, Gandalf’s resurrection, and Aragorn’s humility all echo theological motifs, yet remain grounded in character and plot.
The process of revision was relentless
Tolkien rewrote chapters multiple times, often revisiting earlier sections to accommodate new developments. He was meticulous about internal consistency, ensuring that timelines, character motivations, and historical references aligned across the sprawling narrative. The appendices alone took years to compile, as he sought to provide historical depth and linguistic coherence to the world he had built. He illustrated places described in the text, updating drawings and prose together until they felt correct. This iterative approach reflected his belief that storytelling was a form of discovery, not dictation.
Tolkien’s relationship with the Inklings, a literary group that included C.S. Lewis, was another vital part of his process
Their weekly meetings at Oxford provided a space for critique, encouragement, and philosophical debate. Lewis’s enthusiasm for Tolkien’s work helped sustain him through moments of doubt and fatigue. The Inklings treated storytelling as a sacred craft, and their conversations shaped the emotional and thematic contours of The Lord of the Rings.
Despite the epic scale of the story, Tolkien remained focused on emotional truth
He wrote not to dazzle, but to evoke—to make readers feel the weight of loss, the joy of reunion, the terror of temptation. His characters are not archetypes but individuals shaped by history, culture, and personal struggle. Frodo’s weariness, Sam’s loyalty, Boromir’s fall—all reflect the complexity of human emotion. Tolkien’s prose, though often formal, pulses with feeling. He believed that fantasy could reveal truths that realism could not—that myth could illuminate the soul.
The final stages of writing were marked by exhaustion and uncertainty
Tolkien worried that the story was too long, too complex, too strange. His publisher feared financial loss and considered cutting the appendices. Yet when The Lord of the Rings was published in three volumes between 1954 and 1955, it quickly captured the public imagination. Readers responded not just to the adventure, but to the depth—the sense that Middle-earth was a real place, shaped by centuries of history and myth.
Tolkien wrote like a mythmaker
His process was not driven by plot outlines or market trends, but by a desire to recover and reimagine the lost mythologies of Northern Europe.
He saw storytelling as an act of sub-creation—a way for humans to reflect divine creativity by building secondary worlds.
Through maps, languages, sketches, and endless revisions, he crafted a mythology that felt both timeless and deeply personal.
The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings are not just books; they are acts of remembrance, resistance, and renewal. They invite us to journey not only through Middle-earth, but through the landscapes of our own hearts, where courage, loss, and hope still stir.
J.R.R. Tolkien was an English writer, philologist, and academic whose mythic imagination reshaped the landscape of modern fantasy. Born in Bloemfontein, South Africa, in 1892, and raised in England after the early death of his parents, Tolkien developed a lifelong fascination with language, mythology, and medieval literature. He served in World War I, an experience that deeply influenced the emotional tone of his later work. As a professor at Oxford, he specialized in Old and Middle English, and his scholarly background infused his fiction with linguistic depth and historical resonance. Tolkien’s creation of Middle-earth began as a private mythology, rooted in invented languages and epic histories, and blossomed into The Hobbit (1937) and The Lord of the Rings (1954–55), which together formed a vast, morally complex universe. His work pioneered the genre of high fantasy, blending philological precision with spiritual and mythic themes. Tolkien remained a devout Catholic throughout his life, and his stories reflect a quiet but profound moral architecture. He passed away in 1973, leaving behind a legacy that continues to inspire readers, scholars, and storytellers across the globe.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Tolkien’s Epic Birth of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings
J.R.R. Tolkien’s creation of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings was not the product of a single spark, but rather a slow-burning fire fed by language, war, myth, faith, and personal longing.
His legendarium—vast, intricate, and emotionally resonant—emerged from a confluence of scholarly obsession and lived experience, shaped by the ruins of history and the rhythms of storytelling. At its heart, Tolkien’s work is a response to absence: the loss of ancient languages, the devastation of war, and the fading of mythic imagination in the modern world. He wrote not merely to entertain, but to restore—to re-enchant the landscape of literature with a mythology that felt both timeless and deeply personal.
Tolkien’s academic life as a philologist was foundational
He was obsessed with language—not just its structure, but its soul. He studied Old English, Norse, Finnish, Welsh, and Gothic, and from these linguistic roots he began to craft entire tongues of his own: Quenya, Sindarin, Khuzdul. These weren’t ornamental; they were the seeds from which cultures, histories, and characters grew. Tolkien once said that The Lord of the Rings was “fundamentally linguistic in inspiration,” and that the stories existed to give his invented languages a world to live in. This reversal of the usual creative process—building a world to house a language—reveals the depth of his commitment to philology as a myth-making tool. The name “Middle-earth” itself is drawn from the Old English “middangeard,” the world of men in ancient cosmology, and it’s no accident that the cadence of his prose often echoes the rhythms of Anglo-Saxon poetry.
Tolkien’s imagination was not confined to the library
His experiences in World War I left indelible marks on his psyche and his fiction. He served as a second lieutenant in the Lancashire Fusiliers and fought in the Battle of the Somme, one of the bloodiest conflicts in human history. The horror of mechanized warfare—the mud, the gas, the senseless death—haunted him. He lost close friends in the trenches, members of his beloved Tea Club and Barrovian Society, a fellowship of young artists and dreamers. That grief echoes in Frodo’s weary journey, in Sam’s loyalty, and in the sense of fading innocence that permeates The Lord of the Rings. Mordor, with its blasted landscape and industrial desolation, is not just a fantasy realm—it’s a memory of the Western Front. Yet Tolkien resisted allegory; he insisted that his stories were not direct commentaries on war or politics. Instead, they were mythic responses to the emotional truths of those experiences: courage, loss, endurance, and the hope of healing.
The genesis of The Hobbit was more whimsical
One evening, while grading papers, Tolkien scribbled the now-famous line: “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.” That sentence, born of boredom and playfulness, opened the door to a world that had been quietly forming in his mind for years. The story of Bilbo Baggins was initially written for his children, a lighter tale than the epic that would follow. Yet even The Hobbit is steeped in deeper mythic currents. The dragon Smaug, the dwarves’ quest, the riddles in the dark—all draw from Norse and Anglo-Saxon traditions. Tolkien’s love of fairy tales and medieval romance shaped the tone and structure of the book, blending whimsy with ancient echoes. The success of The Hobbit led his publisher to request a sequel, and Tolkien obliged—but what emerged was far more than a continuation. The Lord of the Rings became a vast, layered epic, a mythology for England, as he once described it.
Tolkien’s Catholic faith also played a quiet but profound role
Though he rejected overt allegory, his worldview was deeply theological. The themes of free will, redemption, sacrifice, and providence are woven throughout his work. Frodo’s burden, Aragorn’s humility, Gandalf’s resurrection—all resonate with spiritual undertones. The concept of evil in Tolkien’s world is not simplistic; it is seductive, corrupting, and often born from pride. Sauron, Morgoth, Saruman—all fall not because they are inherently monstrous, but because they seek power without wisdom. Conversely, the heroes of Middle-earth are often reluctant, humble, and guided by love. Tolkien’s belief in a moral universe—one where light and darkness are in constant tension—gives his stories their emotional gravity.
Nature, too, was a source of inspiration
Tolkien grew up in the English countryside of Warwickshire, and his love for trees, hills, and quiet lanes permeates his writing. The Shire is a tribute to pastoral England, a place of comfort and simplicity. The Ents, ancient tree-herders, reflect his reverence for the natural world and his disdain for industrialization. He lamented the urban sprawl of Birmingham and the destruction of green spaces, and this ecological grief finds voice in the scouring of the Shire, where Saruman’s machines defile the land. In Middle-earth, nature is not a backdrop—it is a character, a memory, and amoral compass.
Tolkien’s friendships also shaped his creative journey
His bond with C.S. Lewis, fellow Oxford don and member of the Inklings, was particularly influential. They challenged and encouraged each other, debating theology, myth, and the purpose of fantasy. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia and Tolkien’s legendarium emerged from these conversations, each reflecting different theological and narrative sensibilities. While Lewis embraced allegory, Tolkien preferred mythic resonance. Their shared belief in the power of story to reveal truth—what Tolkien called “sub-creation”—was a cornerstone of their literary philosophy.
Tolkien and C.S. Lewis
Tolkien wrote to recover something he felt the modern world had lost: a sense of wonder, rooted in tradition but open to transformation
He believed that myth could reveal truths that reason alone could not grasp. His stories are not escapist fantasies but acts of recovery—restoring vision, rekindling hope, and reawakening the imagination. In crafting Middle-earth, he gave readers a mirror to their own world, refracted through the lens of myth. The courage of hobbits, the wisdom of elves, the fallibility of men—all speak to the human condition with startling clarity.
When we ask what inspired Tolkien, we are really asking what he longed to preserve
Language, memory, friendship, faith, nature, myth—these were his treasures, and he guarded them with the fierce devotion of a storyteller who knew that stories could save. The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings are not just books; they are acts of remembrance, resistance, and renewal. They invite us to journey not only through Middle-earth, but through the landscapes of our own hearts, where dragons still sleep and hope still stirs.
J.R.R. Tolkien was an English writer, philologist, and academic whose mythic imagination reshaped the landscape of modern fantasy. Born in Bloemfontein, South Africa, in 1892, and raised in England after the early death of his parents, Tolkien developed a lifelong fascination with language, mythology, and medieval literature. He served in World War I, an experience that deeply influenced the emotional tone of his later work. As a professor at Oxford, he specialised in Old and Middle English, and his scholarly background lent his fiction a linguistic depth and historical resonance. Tolkien’s creation of Middle-earth began as a private mythology, rooted in invented languages and epic histories, and blossomed into The Hobbit (1937) and The Lord of the Rings (1954–55), which together formed a vast, morally complex universe. His work pioneered the genre of high fantasy, blending philological precision with spiritual and mythic themes. Tolkien remained a devout Catholic throughout his life, and his stories reflect a quiet but profound moral architecture. He passed away in 1973, leaving behind a legacy that continues to inspire readers, scholars, and storytellers across the globe.
London Calling is a 2025 action comedy directed by Allan Ungar, a stylish, snark-filled buddy film that blends bullets, banter, and unexpected bonding.
Filmed in Cape Town, it blends gritty action with odd-couple comedy, offering a fresh take on redemption, mentorship, and the messy art of growing up.
After a botched job in the UK, hitman Tommy Ward (Josh Duhamel) escapes to Los Angeles, desperate to return to his estranged son in London. To earn safe passage, he strikes a deal with his new crime boss Benson(Rick Hoffman): mentor Benson’s socially awkward teenage son Julian (Jeremy Ray Taylor) and teach him how to “be a man.” What begins as a reluctant babysitting gig spirals into a chaotic journey of shootouts, car chases, and unexpected emotional depth. Along the way, Tommy must confront his past—including the wrath of London’s most feared crime lord Freddy Darby (Aidan Gillen).
Director’s Statement
I love movies. I adore them. But there’s nothing I love more than a movie that sets out to deliver pure fun.
As a kid growing up in the 80s and 90s, the buddy cop genre and road movies were more popular than ever before, and they had a major influence on me when it came to the kind of films I wanted to make. Like a lot of people, I was charmed by the idea of taking two individuals from different walks of life and forcing them together; MIDNIGHT RUN, 48 HRS, LETHAL WEAPON, LAST BOY SCOUT etc.
The comedy that would stem from these pairings was always a joy to watch, and if you got really lucky the films would have some real depth to them. I’ve made it no secret over the years that it’s incredibly important for me to find as much heart as possible in the stories I want to tell, and it’s part of the reason why I’m picky when it comes to the films I choose to make. I strive to find the right balance of action, comedy, character, and heart.
Enter LONDON CALLING. As soon as my agents sent me this script, I was all in. It took the best elements of the buddy genre, stuffed it into a road movie, and encompassed themes of family, aging, and identity.
But more than anything, it was about fathers and sons. Tommy Ward has hit a point in his life where he has to accept what all of us do someday – that age catches up and we have an expiration date. He also needs to accept that his son doesn’t think much of him. Julian is a teenager who’s trying to figure out where he belongs in this world, and is desperate for his father’s approval. Both of these characters are at a crossroads. So the idea that Tommy has to take Julian on a journey to show him how to become a man is not only poignant, but it’s relatable. Sprinkle in the fact that the purpose of this journey is for Tommy and Julian to whack a renown hitman… well, now you have a recipe for some fun.
And speaking of fun: We shot this film in beautiful Cape Town, South Africa where we had the pleasure of trying to find a way to double it for both London and Los Angeles. While that was challenging on its own, we had to do it during peak season which happens to be when summer coincides with Christmas. This essentially meant that we weren’t allowed to shoot anywhere we wanted to. Each film comes with a unique set of obstacles and challenges, and while this one was no different, I have to say that it was still the most incredible filmmaking experience I’ve had to date. I was blessed with an incredible cast, an amazing crew, and we made what I believe is a truly special film in a special place.
Getting the chance to reunite with Josh Duhamel after the success of BANDIT was enough of a reason for me to be excited about this film, but everything else truly fell into place. So I’m incredibly excited for audiences to experience a fun film that will not only excite, but will make them laugh, clench, and maybe even cry. Hope everyone enjoys the ride.
Allan Ungar
The inspiration behind London Calling stemmed from director Allan Ungar’s fascination with genre mashups and flawed masculinity
While specific interviews detailing his creative spark are limited, the film’s DNA suggests a deliberate homage to classic buddy action comedies—think Midnight Run or The Hitman’s Bodyguard—infused with emotional grit and redemption arcs.
Ungar reportedly wanted to explore what happens when a hardened hitman is forced into surrogate fatherhood, using chaos and comedy to peel back layers of guilt, regret, and reluctant tenderness.
The decision to shoot in South Africa, doubling for both London and Los Angeles, also shaped the film’s visual tone and thematic duality—two cities, two lives, one fractured man trying to make amends.
The screenplay was written by Omer Levin Menekse, Quinn Wolfe, and Allan Ungar.
Their collaboration blends sharp dialogue, genre-savvy structure, and emotional undercurrents, crafting a story that’s equal parts explosive and tender.
Allan Ungar is a Canadian director, producer, and screenwriter celebrated for his stylish genre work and kinetic storytelling. Ungar made his feature debut at 23 with Tapped Out, followed by the Netflix-acquired Gridlocked. He gained viral acclaim for his Uncharted fan film starring Nathan Fillion, praised for its wit and fidelity to the source material. Ungar’s true-crime drama Bandit (2022) was a streaming hit, and he’s now attached as executive producer on the upcoming Death Stranding adaptation. With London Calling, Ungar continues his exploration of flawed masculinity, redemption, and genre subversion.
Omer Levin Menekse is a Turkish-American screenwriter and producer whose work often explores identity, absurdity, and emotional dislocation. Born in Istanbul to a Muslim mother and Jewish father, Menekse channels his bicultural upbringing into stories that straddle humour and heartbreak. A graduate of USC’s School of Cinematic Arts and an Annenberg Fellow, he’s served as a story consultant and script analyst across the industry. His co-written short Please Hold won a Special Jury Award at Sundance and earned an Oscar nomination, cementing his reputation for sharp, socially conscious storytelling.
Quinn Wolfe is a writer and composer known for his understated, character-driven work. His early short films, including Pillow Talk (2009) and Love Story (2012), blend quiet intimacy with lyrical structure. Though Wolfe maintains a low public profile, his contribution to London Calling reflects a knack for tonal layering—balancing action and emotional grit with subtle, humanising beats.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on A Big Bold Beautiful Journey
A Big Bold Beautiful Journey is a 2025 romantic fantasy film directed by Kogonada and written by Seth Reiss.
It stars Margot Robbie as Sarah and Colin Farrell as David—two strangers who meet at a wedding and, through a mysterious GPS in David’s ageing Volkswagen Passat, embark on a surreal road trip that allows them to revisit defining moments from their pasts.
As their journey unfolds, they explore whimsical locations like a lighthouse-museum and a painted version of Paris, confront heartbreak, and even glimpse a possible future together.
The film blends emotional introspection with fantastical elements, offering a meditation on memory, regret, and second chances. The story is both intimate and sweeping in scope.
Farrell was eager to reunite with Kogonada, with whom he had collaborated on the acclaimed independent film After Yang. And, like Robbie, he was drawn to Seth Reiss’s screenplay. “It was one of the most beautiful scripts I’ve read,” says Farrell. “It has such an enormous heart and a singular and relatable story. Everyone, to some degree, struggles with finding contentment and love.”
For Kogonada, reuniting with Farrell was one of the project’s many highlights. “Colin has such a rich interior life, which is always present in his eyes,” says the filmmaker. “There’s something inherently romantic about him, as well. And I love that Colin got to use his native Irish accent” – which Robbie, as Sarah, pokes fun at in the story – “because he’s really a poet at heart.”
David and Sarah are each other’s equals and opposites and are always engaging. “I think people can see themselves in both David and Sarah,” says Robbie. “She’s terrified of being hurt and making herself vulnerable, especially when it comes to relationships. For years, Sarah has built up this emotional armor and has done such a good job at avoiding being hurt, she’s now someone who hurts other people. Sarah doesn’t like the person she’s become.
“I think we all look back at the way we handled certain things and wish we had done those things better,” Robbie continues. “Sarah and David have the chance to walk through a magical door and confront some actions of their past, and in some cases, even right some wrongs and eventually find romance.”
David, too, is a little lost when we meet him. “And he’s fine with being lost,” says Farrell. “David has yet to find real joy or even contentment and is just drifting through life. Then, he and Sarah embark on a transformative journey that prompts self-reflection on key moments in their lives. That leads to a kind of reawakening of love.”
David and Sarah are immediately drawn to one another. “They just can’t help it,” says Farrell, with Robbie adding, “Sarah initially thinks that he’s the love of her life or the person who absolutely destroys her. Probably both.”
Robbie and Farrell’s chemistry in depicting the characters’ burgeoning love story was apparent from the start, Kogonada points out. “It was palpable from rehearsals. Margot and Colin were so attuned and in sync with one another that they could improvise at will. It felt kinetic and alive from the beginning to the end. I think they engage the world in similar ways. And they share the same sense of humor. Their connection is deep and soulful.”
Some doors bring you to your past. Some doors lead you to your future. And some doors change everything. Sarah (Margot Robbie) and David (Colin Farrell) are single strangers who meet at a mutual friend’s wedding and soon, through a surprising twist of fate, find themselves on A Big Bold Beautiful Journey – an original, funny, fantastical, sweeping adventure together where they get to re-live important moments from their respective pasts, illuminating how they got to where they are in the present…and possibly getting a chance to alter their futures.
A Big Bold Beautiful Journey was inspired by the idea of exploring human connection through whimsical, surreal storytelling.
Writer Seth Reiss—known for his sharp, emotionally layered work on The Menu—crafted the screenplay to reflect how chance encounters and unexpected detours can reshape our lives. The film’s central motif, a mysterious GPS guiding two strangers through time and memory, was designed to symbolize the unpredictable paths of love and self-discovery.
Director Kogonada, celebrated for his contemplative visual style in films like Columbus and After Yang, was drawn to the project’s emotional depth and fantastical premise. His interest in memory, identity, and the poetry of everyday life shaped the film’s tone, blending grounded emotion with surreal imagery.
The collaboration between Reiss and Kogonada aimed to create a cinematic experience that feels both intimate and expansive—a journey not just across landscapes, but through the inner worlds of its characters.
A Big Bold Beautiful Journey is inventive, bold, and imaginative filmmaking, paired with immersive, breathtaking visuals.
Robbie and Farrell showcase their remarkable chemistry as Sarah and David, two unmarried strangers who meet at a wedding and find themselves swept into a magical journey. Through a series of doors that act as portals to their pasts, they revisit defining moments of their individual lives. As Sarah and David experience each other’s memories, they gain a deeper understanding of who they are in the present and open the door to the possibility of love in their future.
Indeed, doors, of all kinds, are a critical element of A Big Bold Beautiful Journey. The film’s director, Kogonada notes, “I love the theatre of doors. When I see a door on a theatrical stage, it always sparks the imagination. That door has the potential to lead us anywhere – into the mundane or the magical. Doors represent possibilities. They are inherently mysterious. Opening a door, literally and figuratively, means entering a new space, a new experience, a new moment in your life.”
Kogonada’s use of magical realism seamlessly blends fantastical elements, like the life-changing doors, with practical, everyday settings, creating a grounded, yet whimsical experience crafted for the big screen.
“It’s the kind of film I would want to watch in a packed theater,” the filmmaker states. “It’s surprising and original with two compelling actors – Margot and Colin – at the peak of their craft. They light up the screen together. “Like many movie lovers, I’m hungry for new worlds, new characters, and a new way of thinking about the human experience,” he continues. “But I also want something that feels relatable to my everyday life.”
The characters’ big bold beautiful journey uncovers a world where every door unlocks a memory, reminding us that wherever you are in life, you have the opportunity to open yourself up and change your future.
Seth Reiss is an American writer, actor, and director known for his sharp wit and emotionally layered storytelling. A graduate of Boston University, Reiss began his career as a head writer for The Onion, where he honed his satirical voice. He later became a writing supervisor for Late Night with Seth Meyers, contributing to over 700 episodes. Reiss has written for acclaimed projects like The Menu (2022), co-authored with Will Tracy, and A Big Bold Beautiful Journey (2025), showcasing his ability to blend dark comedy with heartfelt themes. His work spans television, film, and sketch comedy, including directing shorts for UCB Comedy Originals. As an actor, he’s appeared in series like Girls and Comedy Bang! Bang!, often portraying quirky, understated characters. Reiss’s multifaceted career reflects a deep commitment to storytelling across genres and platforms.
Kogonada is a South Korean-born American filmmaker celebrated for his contemplative visual style and philosophical approach to cinema. Originally a video essayist, he gained recognition through essays for The Criterion Collection and Sight & Sound, exploring the aesthetics of directors like Ozu, Kubrick, and Kore-eda. His pseudonym pays tribute to Kogo Noda, screenwriter for Yasujirō Ozu, reflecting his reverence for cinematic tradition. Kogonada made his feature debut with Columbus (2017), followed by After Yang (2021), both praised for their emotional depth and meticulous composition. He has also directed episodes of Pachinko and Star Wars: The Acolyte, expanding his reach into television. His latest film, A Big Bold Beautiful Journey (2025), continues his exploration of memory, identity, and human connection. Known for blending poetic visuals with quiet introspection, Kogonada remains a singular voice in contemporary cinema.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Origin of Algorithms: From Ancient Insight to Digital Pulse
Long before algorithms became the silent architects of our digital lives—curating feeds, guiding GPS routes, and shaping online searches—they were tools of ancient reasoning, born from the human need to solve, sort, and structure.
The word “algorithm” itself traces back to the 9th-century Persian polymath Muhammad ibn Musa al-Khwarizmi, whose work in mathematics and astronomy laid the foundation for algebra and computational logic. His treatise on Hindu-Arabic numerals, translated into Latin as Algoritmi de numero Indorum, gave rise to the term “algorithm”—a linguistic echo of his name and legacy.
Yet the concept of algorithms predates al-Khwarizmi by centuries. Ancient Babylonian tablets from around 1600 BCE reveal step-by-step procedures for solving mathematical problems—early algorithmic thinking etched in clay. Greek mathematicians like Euclid formalized algorithms for tasks such as finding the greatest common divisor, while Indian scholars like Brahmagupta and Bhaskara developed cyclic methods for solving complex equations. These were not just mathematical curiosities; they were practical tools for astronomy, architecture, and trade—proof that algorithms have always been about more than numbers. They are about process, pattern, and prediction.
The evolution of algorithms accelerated dramatically in the modern era. In the 19th century, Charles Babbage and Ada Lovelace envisioned mechanical computation, laying the groundwork for programmable machines. Lovelace’s notes on the Analytical Engine are often considered the first published algorithm intended for implementation on a machine. Then came George Boole’s symbolic logic in 1847, which fused mathematics with reasoning and became the backbone of digital computation. By the 1930s, Alan Turing formalised the concept of a universal machine—a theoretical construct capable of executing any algorithm. His work not only defined what an algorithm could be but also what it could never do, introducing the limits of computability.
In the 20th century, algorithms moved from theory to infrastructure. They powered early computers, optimized logistics, and eventually became embedded in software, search engines, and social media platforms. Today, algorithms are no longer just mathematical recipes—they are decision-makers, predictors, and gatekeepers. They shape everything from medical diagnoses to music recommendations, often invisibly. And while they promise efficiency and personalization, they also raise ethical questions about bias, surveillance, and autonomy.
Understanding the origin of algorithms is not just a historical exercise—it’s a way of reclaiming agency. These systems began as human inventions, crafted to extend our reasoning and solve our problems. As they evolve into increasingly autonomous entities, we must remember their roots: not in code, but in curiosity. From clay tablets to quantum computing, algorithms have always been reflections of how we think, what we value, and how we imagine the future.
Why Algorithms Matter to Writers: Rhythm, Resonance, and Reach
In today’s creative landscape, algorithms are no longer confined to the realm of coders and engineers—they’ve become quiet collaborators in the writing process. For writers, algorithms offer both structure and possibility, shaping how we draft, refine, and share our work. At their core, algorithms are sequences of logic—step-by-step instructions designed to solve problems or generate outcomes. In writing, this translates into everything from predictive text and grammar suggestions to AI-powered story generation and editorial analysis. These tools don’t replace the writer’s voice; they amplify it, offering scaffolding where intuition meets pattern.
One of the most immediate ways algorithms support writers is through efficiency and clarity. Autocomplete and grammar-checking systems use algorithmic models to anticipate phrasing, flag inconsistencies, and streamline sentence construction. This can be especially powerful for writers working under tight deadlines or navigating complex ideas—allowing them to focus on meaning while the machine handles mechanics. Algorithms also help with structural planning. Outlining tools, content analyzers, and even genre-specific templates use algorithmic logic to guide pacing, tension, and thematic development. For writers who teach or facilitate, these systems can be adapted into modular frameworks that support group learning and introspection.
Beyond the page, algorithms shape how writing is discovered and engaged with. Search engine optimization (SEO), social media algorithms, and recommendation engines determine which stories surface and which remain unseen. Writers who understand these systems can craft titles, tags, and formats that align with algorithmic preferences—without compromising emotional truth.
This is especially vital for self-published authors, bloggers, and digital curators who rely on visibility to build community and legacy. In this sense, algorithms become not just tools of composition, but gateways to connection.
Yet the relationship between writers and algorithms is not purely technical—it’s philosophical. Algorithms mirror our patterns, preferences, and biases. They learn from us, echo us, and sometimes challenge us. For writers, this invites reflection: What rhythms do we repeat? What truths do we compress? What silences do we encode? When used thoughtfully, algorithms can help us interrogate our own creative habits, offering new ways to break form, resist cliché, and deepen resonance.
Ultimately, algorithms matter to writers because they offer a new kind of dialogue—between structure and soul, pattern and pulse. They are not the authors of meaning, but they are its scaffolding, its echo chamber, its amplifier. In the hands of a writer, an algorithm is not a constraint—it’s a rhythm waiting to be shaped. Whether you’re composing a poem, curating a homepage, or designing a teaching module, understanding the logic behind the machine allows you to bend it toward your own emotional architecture. And that, in itself, is a kind of authorship.
How to Befriend Algorithms: From Resistance to Resonance
In a world increasingly shaped by invisible systems, befriending algorithms isn’t just a technical skill—it’s a philosophical shift. Algorithms curate our news, guide our job searches, shape our writing, and even influence our emotional rhythms. To resist them entirely is to fight the tide. But to befriend them? That’s where agency begins. It’s not about surrendering to machine logic—it’s about learning its language, understanding its patterns, and bending its rhythm toward human resonance.
At their core, algorithms are sequences of decisions—structured logic designed to solve problems or predict behavior. They’re not sentient, but they are reactive. They learn from us, echo us, and sometimes amplify our worst habits. To befriend an algorithm is to become conscious of that feedback loop. It means asking: What am I teaching this system about myself? What patterns am I reinforcing? What silences am I encoding?
Start with curiosity. Algorithms thrive on data, and every click, pause, or scroll is a signal. By observing your own digital behavior—what you engage with, what you ignore—you begin to see the contours of your algorithmic self. This isn’t about paranoia; it’s about pattern awareness. If your feed feels shallow or repetitive, it’s likely because the algorithm thinks that’s what you want. Shift your behavior, and the system will follow. Search differently. Linger on nuance. Feed the machine your complexity.
Next, embrace collaboration. Algorithms can be powerful creative partners. Writers use them to outline stories, refine tone, and generate prompts. Designers use them to test layouts, optimize flow, and personalize user experience. Even in teaching and facilitation, algorithms can help structure modular guides, track engagement, and adapt content to group needs. The key is to treat the algorithm not as a dictator, but as a mirror—one that reflects your choices and invites refinement.
But befriending algorithms also means setting boundaries. Not every suggestion is wise. Not every pattern is healthy. Learn when to override, when to pause, when to reassert your own rhythm. This is especially vital in emotionally charged spaces—social media, news feeds, recommendation engines—where algorithms often prioritize engagement over truth. Befriending doesn’t mean blind trust; it means conscious dialogue.
Ultimately, to befriend an algorithm is to reclaim authorship. These systems are not neutral—they’re shaped by human values, biases, and histories. By engaging them with intention, we can reshape their outputs, reframe their logic, and reassert our own emotional architecture. Whether you’re curating a homepage, composing a poem, or navigating a job search, the algorithm is already in the room. Invite it to the table. Teach it your rhythm. And let the collaboration begin.
Life Without Algorithms: A World Unfiltered, Unsorted, Unseen
magine waking up in a world where your phone doesn’t unlock with your face, your GPS can’t reroute traffic, and your social media feed is a chaotic scroll of irrelevant updates from people you barely remember. In this alternate reality, algorithms—the silent conductors of our digital symphony—have vanished. What remains is a life stripped of personalization, prediction, and pattern. It’s not dystopian, but it is disorienting.
Without algorithms, our digital experiences would become static and manual. Every search would yield the same results for everyone, regardless of context or intent. You’d have to sift through pages of content to find what matters to you. There would be no curated playlists, no tailored news, no “you might also like” suggestions. The internet would feel like a vast, unindexed library—rich with possibility, but exhausting to navigate. Discovery would slow to a crawl, and serendipity would be replaced by sheer effort.
In daily life, the absence of algorithms would ripple outward. Traffic apps like Waze or Google Maps wouldn’t adapt to real-time conditions. Fraud detection systems wouldn’t flag suspicious transactions. Online shopping would lose its intuitive flow, forcing users to browse entire inventories without filters or recommendations. Even healthcare would feel the shift—AI-driven diagnostics and personalized treatment plans rely heavily on algorithmic analysis. Without it, medicine would revert to slower, less precise methods.
For creatives and educators, the loss would be equally profound. Writers would no longer benefit from predictive text or grammar suggestions. Designers would lose access to generative layouts and adaptive interfaces. Teachers and facilitators would have to manually track engagement, learning styles, and content pacing. Algorithms don’t replace intuition, but they do extend it—offering scaffolding, rhythm, and insight that help us shape more resonant experiences.
Emotionally, life without algorithms might feel quieter—but also lonelier. These systems, for better or worse, reflect our patterns. They learn what we linger on, what we ignore, what we crave. Without them, digital spaces would lose their sense of intimacy. You’d no longer receive birthday reminders, memory recaps, or curated tributes. The algorithmic pulse that mirrors your emotional rhythm would be gone, leaving behind a flat, unresponsive interface.
Yet there’s a paradox here. While algorithms offer convenience and connection, they also raise questions about autonomy, bias, and privacy concerns related to surveillance. Without them, we’d reclaim certain freedoms—freedom from manipulation, from echo chambers, from predictive nudges. But we’d also lose the scaffolding that helps us navigate complexity. The challenge, then, is not to erase algorithms, but to engage them consciously—to shape them with intention, critique them with care, and bend their logic toward human resonance.
In a world without algorithms, life would be slower, less curated, and more labor-intensive. But it would also be a mirror—revealing how deeply these systems have entwined themselves with our choices, our emotions, and our sense of self. To imagine their absence is to understand their presence. And that, perhaps, is the first step toward befriending them.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Write Journey Transforms How You Write Stories
In a world craving authentic voices, The Write Journey offers more than guidance—it offers transformation, taking you from inspiration through fully developing your idea, characters, and plot, to writing your first pages.
Grounded in the principles of Classical design crafted over 4000 years ago, The Write Journey is instinctive, universal, and transformational.
Under the mentorship of seasoned story guide Daniel Dercksen, founder of The Writing Studio, this course offers more than instruction—it offers a creative awakening.
For 25 years, The Writing Studio has shaped the voices of many of South Africa’s leading filmmakers, screenwriters, novelists, playwrights and aspiring writers. SUCCESS STORIES
This powerful, immersive course is designed to help you take ownership of your creativity. Whether you’re beginning your writing adventure or revisiting the spark that first brought you to the page, The Write Journey guides you through the emotional and technical intricacies of storytelling.
Each step deepens your connection to story—unfolding like a narrative itself. It’s not about learning rules. It’s about discovering rhythm, voice, and resonance.
With over four decades of experience as a Film and Theatre Journalist, coupled with 25 years of conducting screenwriting and writing workshops both in South Africa and internationally, The Write Journey has become the signature course of The Writing Studio. Founded by the esteemed Daniel Dercksen, this Independent Training Initiative continues to ignite inspiration and cultivate creativity, nurturing writers from all walks of life. READ MORE
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on From Spark to Sentence: Writing a Novel from Inspiration to First Pages
Writing a novel begins not with structure, but with a pulse—an image, a question, a voice that refuses to be quiet. Inspiration often arrives unannounced: a childhood memory, a dream that lingers, a moment of injustice or joy.
The first step is to honor that spark. Don’t rush to outline or format. Instead, gather fragments. Let scenes, moods, and characters accumulate like emotional sediment. Whether it’s a single line of dialogue or a world fully formed in your mind, this raw material is your compass. It will guide you through the long, winding journey from blank page to first draft.
Once the spark feels steady, begin shaping it into a premise. Ask yourself: What is this story really about? Who is at its centre, and what do they want? A strong premise includes a compelling protagonist, a clear conflict, and a sense of stakes. Try distilling it into a one-sentence summary—a logline that captures the emotional and narrative core. This isn’t just for pitching; it’s for clarity. It helps you stay anchored as the story expands.
Next, consider your approach to structure. Some writers outline meticulously, mapping every beat and character arc before writing. Others dive in intuitively, discovering the story as they go. Neither method is superior—it depends on your temperament. If you outline, start with broad strokes: beginning, middle, and end. Then fill in turning points, emotional shifts, and key scenes. If you prefer discovery, write exploratory pages—dialogue exchanges, character sketches, or scene fragments. These will help you find the story’s rhythm and voice.
Character development is essential. Novels live and die by the depth of their characters. Flesh out your protagonist’s desires, fears, contradictions, and wounds. What drives them? What do they hide? Surround them with supporting characters who challenge, reflect, or complicate their journey. The more you understand your characters, the more naturally your plot will unfold. Consider writing short monologues or journal entries in their voice to deepen your connection.
When you’re ready to begin the first pages, focus on immersion. The opening should establish tone, genre, and intrigue. Start with movement, tension, or mystery—not exposition. Let the reader enter the world through action and atmosphere. Avoid info dumps. Trust your reader to lean in. The first chapter is your invitation—it must pulse with promise.
As you write, remember that formatting is flexible. While screenwriters rely on strict layout, novelists have more freedom. You can write in any word processor, as long as your prose is clear and consistent. Focus on rhythm, imagery, and emotional truth. Don’t worry about perfection. The first draft is for discovery, not polish.
Writing a novel is a dance between intuition and discipline. It begins with a whisper and grows through persistence. From inspiration to first pages, the journey is sacred. Trust the spark. Shape the structure. And write with the kind of honesty that only you can offer. The story is waiting.
Once your novel is complete, a new journey begins
Rather than waiting for publishers to take notice, adapt your novel into a screenplay that can be optioned and reignite interest in the original story. That story could then evolve into a feature film, a franchise, or even a television series
The significance of being a novelist
To be a novelist is to build worlds from silence—to shape memory, myth, and imagination into a living architecture of words. Novelists don’t just tell stories; they excavate emotional truths, stretch time across pages, and offer readers a mirror, a refuge, or a reckoning. It is a solitary craft with communal impact, where every sentence is a thread in the tapestry of human experience. Whether writing for legacy, catharsis, or cultural reflection, the novelist becomes both witness and weaver.
The Write Journey course offers a transformative path for writers seeking to craft a novel from the ground up
Rooted in timeless storytelling principles and guided by expert mentorship, it helps writers move from raw inspiration to structured narrative with clarity and emotional depth. Through twelve in-depth units and personalised feedback, participants explore character development, plot architecture, and thematic resonance—while also discovering their unique voice and creative rhythm. Whether you’re shaping your first pages or refining a long-held idea, The Write Journey provides both the scaffolding and soul to turn your story into a compelling, fully realised novel.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on From Spark to Script: Beginning Your Screenplay Journey
Every screenplay begins with a pulse—a moment, image, or emotion that refuses to stay quiet.
It might be a line of dialogue overheard in passing, a childhood memory that aches for resolution, or a visual that arrives fully formed in your mind’s eye. Before structure, before formatting, there is instinct. The first step is to honor that instinct without rushing to outline or organize. Let the idea breathe. Scribble fragments, sketch scenes, collect moods. This is your raw material, your emotional blueprint. Whether your story is intimate or epic, grounded or surreal, the journey from inspiration to first pages begins with listening—to the story that wants to be told, and to the voice that only you can give it.
Writing a screenplay begins not with formatting, but with a flicker—an image, a line of dialogue, a feeling that won’t let go.
Inspiration often arrives unannounced: a dream, a memory, a moment of injustice or joy. The first step is to honor that spark. Don’t rush to structure. Sit with it. Ask what it wants to become. Is it a character’s journey? A world with rules unlike ours? A question that demands to be answered through story? Begin by jotting fragments—scenes, moods, visuals, overheard phrases. These are the seeds. Let them accumulate without judgment.
Once the spark feels steady, move into conceptual clarity. What is the core idea? Can you express it in a logline—a one-sentence summary that captures the protagonist, their goal, and the stakes? This isn’t just for pitching; it’s for you. It’s the compass that will guide every scene. From here, build a beat sheet—a rough outline of major story events. Think in terms of emotional shifts: what changes in each act? What does your character want, and what stands in their way?
Use classic structures but don’t be bound by them.
Structure is a skeleton; your voice is the flesh. Structure gives form—beats, arcs, pacing—but it’s your voice that animates it, that breathes life into the bones. Without voice, structure is just scaffolding. With voice, it becomes a body in motion, a soul in rhythm.
Next, dive into character development.
Screenplays are driven by action, but action is meaningless without motivation. Flesh out your protagonist’s desires, flaws, and contradictions. Who are they before the story begins? What wounds shape their choices? Create supporting characters who challenge or reflect them. Dialogue will come easier when you know how each character thinks, fears, and deflects. Consider writing short monologues or diary entries in their voice to find rhythm and tone.
Now, before typing “FADE IN,” visualize your opening scene.
The first page must do heavy lifting: establish tone, genre, and intrigue. Open with movement, tension, or mystery—not exposition. Show your world through action. If it’s a thriller, start with unease. If it’s a comedy, let the humor emerge from situation, not punchlines. The first ten pages are your audition. They must hook the reader, introduce your protagonist in action, and hint at the central conflict. Avoid backstory dumps. Let the audience lean in, not tune out.
When you begin writing, format matters. Screenplays follow a specific layout: scene headings (INT./EXT.), action lines, character names, dialogue, and parentheticals. While screenwriting software can make this easier—automating formatting and keeping everything industry-standard—it’s not essential. You can write in any word processor as long as you understand the conventions. The key is clarity and consistency. Keep descriptions lean and visual. Don’t direct—evoke. Write what can be seen and heard. Avoid camera angles unless essential. Trust the reader to imagine the scene. And remember: screenwriting is rewriting. Your first draft is a sketch, not a sculpture. Get it down, then refine.
From inspiration to first pages, the journey is both intuitive and technical.
It’s about listening to the story that wants to be told, then shaping it with craft. The blank page is not your enemy—it’s your invitation. Start with truth, build with structure, and write with rhythm. The screen awaits.
Once your screenplay is complete, a new journey begins
Rather than waiting for producers to take notice, adapt your screenplay into a novel, turning it into a marketable tool that can be optioned and reignite interest in the original script. That story could then evolve into a feature film, a franchise, or even a television series
The significance of being a screenwriter
To be a screenwriter is to shape the invisible—turning emotion into architecture, silence into dialogue, and fleeting moments into lasting myth. It is the act of crafting the blueprint for visual storytelling, where every scene, every line, becomes a vessel for catharsis, cultural reflection, and communal imagination. Screenwriters are not just writers; they are architects of empathy, sculptors of rhythm, and stewards of the zeitgeist.
The Write Journey course offers a transformative path for writers seeking to craft a screenplay from the ground up.
Rooted in timeless storytelling principles and guided by expert mentorship, it helps writers move from raw inspiration to structured narrative with clarity and emotional depth. Through twelve in-depth units and personalised feedback, participants explore character development, plot architecture, and thematic resonance—while also discovering their unique voice and creative rhythm. Whether you’re shaping your first pages or refining a long-held idea, The Write Journey provides both the scaffolding and soul to turn your story into a compelling, fully realised screenplay.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on European Film Festival in South Africa 2025
The 12th European Film Festival in South Africa is a cinematic journey in search of love, identity, family, and belonging. Ten contemporary European films reflect on the realities of Europe and its place in the world now. Their strong characters in unusual situations, carefully crafted stories, and breathtaking landscapes make these films a road trip for the heart and mind.
Participating countries are Belgium/Flanders, Denmark, France, Germany, Italy, The Netherlands, Poland, Portugal, Spain and the United Kingdom.
Live screenings take place at The Labia in Cape Town and The Bioscope and Nu Metro Hyde Park in Johannesburg. A curated selection of films will be streamed online in Southern Africa at www.eurofilmfest.co.za.
The Festival takes place from 9 to 19 October, 2025, with a smaller curated programme online in Southern Africa.
A Perfectly Normal Family (Denmark)
In urban Denmark, A Perfectly Normal Family redefines love and understanding when Emma’s father Thomas announces that he wants to become Agnetha. Father and daughter struggle to hold on to what they had while coming to terms with the fact that everything has changed. Emma’s life flips when her father, Thomas, comes out and transitions to Agnete. Through Emma’s perspective, the film explores identity, acceptance, and how a “perfectly normal” family redefines love and understanding.
Real Faces (Flanders, Belgium)
In Real Faces, Julia an ambitious casting agent, relocates to Brussels after a breakup. Struggling to build a new life, she masks her insecurities behind a façade of success and happiness. She meets reclusive microbiologist Eliott and forms an unexpected, authentic friendship that inspires her to break free from societal expectations. Julia, a 29‑year‑old casting agent in Brussels coping with post-breakup loneliness, meets Eliott, a reclusive microbiologist. Their authentic friendship spurs Julia’s journey toward self-discovery and escaping societal expectations. Directed by Leni Huyghe, the film premiered at SXSW 2025.
Le Mohican (France)
In Le Mohican, an unlikely hero, supported by his Corsican community, is on the run from the mafia and ruthless property developers who threaten to take his land. His resistance transforms him into a legend. Shepherd Joseph resists selling his coastal land to shady developers. After accidentally killing one aggressor, he becomes a fugitive traversing Corsica, evolving into a symbol of resilience—amplified through his niece Vannina’s tales.
Miroirs No. 3 (Germany)
From German filmmaker Christian Petzold comes Miroirs #.3, a haunting, character-driven exploration of loss, memory, and unexpected recovery when an accident survivor is taken in by a good Samaritan family. Laura, a pianist, survives a car crash that kills her boyfriend. She’s taken in by accident as a witness to Betty’s family—but what starts as refuge turns ominous as hidden motives bubble to the surface, forcing Laura to face unsettling truths.
Fuori (Italy)
Fuori, meaning “outside,” is written and directed by Mario Martone, about the controversial feminist writer Goliarda Sapienza. Set in the summer of the 1980s, the story takes place when the writer was jailed for a crazy and unforeseen incident. In prison, she forms an unusual and lasting bond with other inmates. Set in 1980, this biographical drama follows Italian writer Goliarda Sapienza during her imprisonment for theft. There, she forms a powerful bond with fellow female inmates, forging a transformative sisterhood and reclaiming her voice.
The North (Netherlands)
The North has been called “the best hiking movie to date” and the power of its energy – feel the wind, touch the water and endure the frustration of setting up a tent in a storm – underlies the journey of “humans who need to reconnect with nature, themselves and grow through friendships.” Set in the breathtaking mountains of the Scottish Highlands. Two longtime friends, Chris and Lluis, reunite after a decade for a 600 km hike through the Scottish Highlands—along the West Highland Way and Cape Wrath Trail. As they trek through breathtaking, unforgiving landscapes, they grapple with rekindled friendship, inner truths, and the restorative power of nature.
Under the Volcano (Poland)
In Under the Volcano, a summer vacation in Tenerife turns to chaos when a Ukrainian family learns about the invasion of their country. A Ukrainian family’s vacation in Tenerife turns to chaos when war breaks out. With their flight cancelled, they’re thrust from carefree tourists into refugees overnight—confronting fear, displacement, and shifting identities.
Great Yarmouth (Portugal/UK)
The film Great Yarmouth: Provisional Figures deals with travelling of a different kind – economic migrants and the fantasy of escaping one’s situation – it has been described as “a chilling exploration of modern servitude.” As Brexit approaches, Portuguese workers are flocking to Great Yarmouth. Tânia dreams of transforming her husband’s shabby hotel into elderly housing—but when a worker dies under murky circumstances and his brother arrives, her vision—and her loyalties—are challenged.
Sirât (Spain)
The brothers, Pedro and Agustín Almodóvar, are part of the producing team of Sirat, an unusual journey of a father accompanied by his son, searching for his daughter through the remote southern Moroccan desert; with the soundtrack leading the way in this ”odyssey between life and death.” In southern Morocco, Luis and his son Esteban search for their missing daughter Mar amid ravers and desert rites. Their journey turns surreal and spiritual, unravelling through music, sand, and existential longing—an odyssey between life and death.
Unicorns (United Kingdom)
In Unicorns, rising star Ben Hardy plays a mechanic and a single father who falls in love with a South Asian drag queen; a film which reminds us of what it takes to transform and cross borders, whether physical, mental, or spiritual. The directors are Sally El Hosaini and James Krishna Floyd. Luke meets Aysha (Jason Patel) in an underground nightclub and shares a spark-filled kiss—only to learn Aysha is a femme drag queen. As their bond deepens, both confront societal labels, domestic complications, and whether love can transcend traditional identities.
Live screenings take place at The Labia in Cape Town and The Bioscope and Nu Metro Hyde Park in Johannesburg. A curated selection of films will be streamed online in Southern Africa at www.eurofilmfest.co.za.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Threesome – Romance with sophistication, consequence, and realism
The Threesome (2025), directed by Chad Hartigan and written by Ethan Ogilby, is a romantic comedy-drama that explores the messy, tender terrain of desire and emotional accountability.
The film was inspired by writer Ethan Ogilby’s desire to explore romantic comedy through a more grounded, emotionally messy lens—one that reflects the complexities of modern relationships rather than idealised fantasy.
In interviews, director Chad Hartigan described the project as a response to the “rom-com renaissance,” noting that while many recent films lean into wish-fulfilment, The Threesome aims to depict romance with sophistication, consequence, and realism.
The script presented an opportunity to examine how intimacy, insecurity, and emotional maturity collide when fantasy meets fallout. Ogilby, known for his work on The Simpsons, infused the story with sharp wit and character-driven vulnerability, while Hartigan—whose previous films like Little Fish and Morris from America blend heart with nuance—was drawn to the challenge of portraying a threesome not as titillation, but as a catalyst for growth.
Together, they crafted a film that turns a provocative premise into a meditation on connection, accountability, and the awkward beauty of becoming.
The story follows Connor, a kind and unassuming young man, whose long-held crush on Olivia finally blossoms, only to be complicated by the unexpected presence of Jenny, a sweet and alluring stranger. What begins as a fantasy encounter quickly unravels into a journey of consequence, as all three characters must navigate the emotional fallout and confront the realities of adulthood.
With standout performances from Zoey Deutch, Jonah Hauer-King, and Ruby Cruz, the film balances screwball charm with introspective depth, offering a modern twist on romantic entanglement.
DIRECTOR’S STATEMENT
The romantic comedy is finally back! God, we were really sweating it there for a while, weren’t we? Absolutely crazy that we could ever turn our back on watching charming actors spar and fall in love with each other. That’s what the movie business was built on from day one! It’s been so heartening to see the renaissance in both the theatrical and streaming worlds for these films, but I can’t help but feel there’s still something missing. Romcoms tend to deal in wish fulfilment, skirting the edge of fantasy to show us an idealised version of love or romance, but back in the 1980s and 90s, iconic directors were finding ways to play in the genre in more grounded and elevated ways. I’m thinking of Mike Nichols (Working Girl), Cameron Crowe (Say Anything, Jerry Maguire) and James L. Brooks (Broadcast News and As Good As It Gets) just to name a few.
What’s the modern-day equivalent of those? Films that are genuinely romantic and funny, but populated with messy characters and complicated dynamics, dealing with grown-up issues and situations. A touch of melancholy to go with the sentimental. Now I’m not saying I’m anywhere in the same league as those greats, but when I first read Ethan Ogilby’s script for The Threesome, I saw my opportunity to attempt that type of romcom. Something that can tip its hat to the wholesome golden age while adding a distinctly contemporary sense of humour and point of view. It also didn’t hurt that I got the script in summer 2020, a few months deep into a global lockdown that had me retreating to all of my favourite comfort movies to get me through the uncertain days and nights. Then I was convinced that there may be nothing more noble in cinema than giving an audience an enjoyable 90 minutes to forget their problems (I still might be convinced of this).
Over the course of my career, I’ve tried to bounce around different genres and stories, but they always seem to retain one common denominator – characters that are simply trying their best to do the right thing. I find there to be such a beautiful dignity to it and always feels refreshing amongst a sea of films building conflict around bad faith actors. It’s a testament to Ethan that he’s able to mine so much friction from these characters while never judging any of them, and offering genuine surprises where others might have opted for standard beats. I felt like I had an idea of what I was going to be getting from a movie called The Threesome and then was given something much more sophisticated, tender and nuanced.
I hope to have translated that experience to the audience. I hope they are as enamored with the limitless talent of Zoey Deutch, Jonah Hauer-King and Ruby Cruz as I am. I hope they are as hungry for this type of film as I am. And I hope that maybe just one person throws it on for a rewatch twenty years from now when times are tough for them.
– Chad Hartigan
Chad Hartigan | Director
Chad Hartigan was born in Nicosia, Cyprus and attended the North Carolina School of the Arts, School of Filmmaking. His first feature as writer/director, LUKE AND BRIE ARE ON A FIRST DATE premiered at the Hamptons International Film Festival in 2008 and was remade for Latin American audiences in 2013 as LUNA EN LEO, which earned a Best Adapted Screenplay nomination at the Argentinian Oscars. His second feature, THIS IS MARTIN BONNER premiered at the 2013 Sundance Film Festival where it won the Audience Award for Best of NEXT and went on to also win the John Cassavetes Award at the 2014 Film Independent Spirit Awards. His third feature, MORRIS FROM AMERICA premiered at the 2016 Sundance Film Festival where it won the Waldo Salt Screenwriting Award and a Special Jury Prize for Acting. It was released by A24, garnering nominations at the Film Independent Spirit Awards, the Gotham Awards and a special citation by the National Board of Review. His fourth feature, LITTLE FISH, a romance set during a fictional pandemic, was ironically delayed due to a very real pandemic and released by IFC Films in 2021 to critical acclaim. THE THREESOME is his fifth feature.
Ethan Ogilby | Writer
THE THREESOME is Ethan Ogilby’s first produced screenplay. And, no, it is not based on a true story. He also sold a pilot to ABC Studios that he co-wrote with his wife, who works as a labor & delivery nurse, and the script is inspired by her experiences on that job. Despite Ruben Fleischer being attached to direct and Dave Bernard producing, that show has yet to reach the promised land. Ethan is also a onetime Emmy winner and three-time nominee for his producing work on the Netflix docuseries REMASTERED. Technically it’s a News & Documentary Emmy, but plenty of people like Ethan’s mom know that’s “actually the best kind.” He hails from small town Maine, studied writing at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, and is a father to twin toddlers. He is represented by CAA and Lichter, Grossman.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Worlds Apart, Woven Together: The Hidden Kinship of Dissonant Films
At first glance, cinema appears to be a constellation of isolated worlds—Victorian manors, dystopian wastelands, suburban kitchens, alien planets.
Genres divide, aesthetics clash, and tones diverge.
Yet beneath the surface, films that seem to speak in different tongues often pulse with shared thematic rhythms. The costume drama and the horror thriller, the sci-fi epic and the kitchen-sink realist piece—they may wear different skins, but they often wrestle with the same ghosts.
One is steeped in aristocratic ritual, the other in brutal futurism. Yet both interrogate systems of control: the former through inherited class structures, the latter through state-imposed spectacle. In each, characters navigate obedience, legacy, and the quiet rebellion of emotional truth. The drawing room and the death march become parallel arenas for existential negotiation.
This thematic echoing is no accident
Thematic echoing is a quiet architecture beneath the surface of great writing—a resonance that deepens meaning, binds disparate scenes, and invites readers into a layered emotional experience.
For writers, it’s not just a stylistic flourish but a structural and spiritual compass.
When a motif, question, or emotional truth recurs across chapters, characters, or genres, it creates a sense of cohesion that transcends plot.
A broken mirror in chapter one might reappear as a metaphor for fractured identity in chapter ten.
A whispered phrase in a love story might resurface in a moment of grief, reframing its meaning.
These echoes allow writers to compress complexity, to say more with less, and to guide readers toward insight without overt instruction.
They also honour the cyclical nature of human experience—how themes like belonging, loss, or transformation ripple through different lives and moments.
In a world of fragmented attention, thematic echoing offers continuity, a pulse beneath the prose that reminds us: this story is not just a sequence of events, but a meditation on something deeper.
Filmmakers, consciously or not, tap into archetypal tensions—freedom vs. duty, identity vs. conformity, memory vs. erasure. These tensions transcend genre.
A romantic comedy may explore the same longing for authenticity as a psychological thriller. A war film and a family drama may both hinge on the trauma of silence and the weight of unspoken history.
Visual language often disguises these connections. A pastel palette may soften the blow of grief; handheld camerawork may amplify intimacy in both horror and documentary. But when stripped to their narrative bones, films often ask: Who am I within this system? What does it cost to belong? What does it mean to resist?
Pairing unlikely films —say, Moonlight and Blade Runner 2049, or Parasite and The Remains of the Day—can illuminate shared emotional architecture. Both Moonlight and Blade Runner 2049 explore constructed identity and the ache of memory. Both Parasite and Remains dissect class performance and the violence of politeness.
For educators, curators, and cinephiles, this cross-genre threading is a tool of transformation.
It invites viewers to look beyond surface and style, to excavate the soul beneath the spectacle. It also democratizes taste—reminding us that meaning is not confined to prestige or pulp, but emerges wherever human truth is compressed into story.
In a fractured world, this cinematic kinship offers a quiet kind of hope. That even across genre, culture, and tone, we are wrestling with the same questions.
That every film, no matter how dissonant, might be part of a larger conversation about what it means to live, to choose, to remember.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Emily – The imagined life of one of the world’s most famous authors, Emily Brontë
“Emily Brontë is fierce, rebellious, sensitive, creative, and magical,” says writer-director Frances O’Connor, who makes her directorial debut with Emily from her own original screenplay, a project she has been developing the past decade. “I think she’s the most neglected sister. There’s a core group of hardcore fans who love Emily because she’s a bit of a rebel and a misfit and she’d probably be a goth or something these days, I think.”
“I’ve always loved the Brontë’s”, says Frances O’Connor, an Australian-English actress living in London. “I’ve always loved ‘Wuthering Heights’ and ‘Jane Eyre’ particularly. When I was doing my first international film, (starring in Jane Austen’s ‘Mansfield Park’), after we wrapped, I took the opportunity to go up to Yorkshire for the first time and visit Haworth and it was so evocative. I walked out on the moors and thought ‘Oh, I’d love to write something one day’ and then I just forgot about it for ages and followed my path as an actress. Eventually, I really wanted to start telling my own stories, so I went back to the idea of this.”
“There were certain things in Emily’s life that I identified with in mine,” says O’Connor, “Certain things that I think thematically are part of ‘Wuthering Heights’ and her life that I also relate to, and I think a lot of women would relate to, so the idea came from that.”
Emily tells the imagined life of one of the world’s most famous authors, Emily Brontë. The film stars Emma Mackey (Sex Education, Death on the Nile) as Emily, a rebel and misfit, as she finds her voice and writes the literary classic ‘Wuthering Heights’. EMILY explores the relationships that inspired her – her raw, passionate sisterhood with Charlotte (Alexandra Dowling – The Musketeers) and Anne (Amelia Gething – The Spanish Princess); her first aching, forbidden love for Weightman (Oliver Jackson-Cohen – The Lost Daughter, The Haunting of Bly Manor) and her care for her maverick brother Branwell (Fionn Whitehead – The Duke, Dunkirk), whom she idolises.
You can watch the film Emily on several platforms depending on your region:
🌍 Internationally: Emily is available to stream on Netflix, where it’s listed under drama and period pieces.
🇬🇧 United Kingdom: It’s available for digital rental or purchase on platforms like Amazon Prime Video, Apple TV, and YouTube.
📚 Library Access: If you have access to Kanopy, [Hoopla], or [VUDU], the film may be available for free streaming through participating libraries.
Crafting the Screenplay for Emily
In writing the script for Emily, O’Connor has blended historical accuracy about the Brontë’s lives with Emily Brontë’s imagined world, so the story becomes “half her life, half ‘Wuthering Heights’ – and a little bit of things from my life,” she says. “I could’ve told a story that was a straight biography, but I felt like that’s been done. I was more interested in finding a way to celebrate who Emily is, that’s connected to ‘Wuthering Heights’ and is more strongly narrative in a way that is a little like a fairytale.”
Bringing Emily Brontë to life on screen is Emma Mackey (Sex Education, Death on the Nile) who notes that, “Emily was intuitive, inquisitive, observant, imaginative, bold, creative, and quietly intelligent”.
“What struck me about this script”, notes producer Piers Tempest, “Is that it really imagined and captured the spirit and the essence of how Emily could’ve been, because it was such a surprise that a book of such intensity and passion (‘Wuthering Heights’) was written by her.” Tempest read the script for Emily in September 2019 on the plane home from the Toronto Film Festival and was instantly impressed with the world Frances O’Connor had created. “Emily is such an interesting character, there must have been so much going on in her mind and I think Frances has brilliantly and expertly woven the facts that we know about Emily and the Brontë’s, with her imagined process and inspirations for writing the book.”
Emily begins with a newcomer arriving in Haworth, clergyman William Weightman (who incidentally was a real person and is played here by Oliver Jackson-Cohen), who not only immediately disrupts proceedings but causes emotional ripples that gather momentum as the story unfolds. He brings with him this “very exciting, quite modern energy” says Jackson-Cohen of Weightman. “The way he approaches sermons is different to how it’s been done in the past, and there hasn’t been a young clergyman in the parish for a very long time. He comes into Haworth and changes the dynamic there entirely.” This is especially true when it comes to the Brontë sisters, who seem enraptured – though not Emily, initially. “She sees through his bullshit,” smiles Jackson-Cohen. But the ground shifts again when Weightman is tasked with giving Emily French lessons. “There’s this incredible tension (between Weightman and Emily) that Frances plays with,” he explains, “that eventually blossoms into a relationship, ultimately at great cost to both of them.”
“More broadly Emily is about a woman, a coming-of-age story”, says Alexandra Dowling who plays Charlotte Brontë. “It’s about a woman finding herself and her authentic voice and power in the world.”
The way the film humanises the Brontës so well and shows their faults was a strong draw for Fionn Whitehead, who plays Branwell Brontë. “It’s unflinching in their portrayals and it’s based in fact, but also partly fiction and that gives it a lot of room to play with different things and craft these engaging stories about these people’s lives,” he suggests.
“I knew about the Brontës of course, I’d read ‘Wuthering Heights’ and ‘Jane Eyre’ years ago,” says Emma Mackey, who plays the eponymous lead, “but I didn’t know that much about Emily. She is almost the lesser known of the three, because she wasn’t very public and there’s not an awful lot of information about her, so people like to conjure up and fabricate and imagine the life that she might have had. This film is a version of that, from Frances’s mind.”
“Often, these tellings of Emily Brontë and the sisters’ lives are just about the books that they’ve written,” says Amelia Gething, who plays Anne Brontë. “This film is showing their actual, day to day lives and obviously it’s an imagined life, because we don’t know exactly what they went through and what they did, but it covers their life at the parsonage and what they did on the moors – it shows that they can just be fun and silly too, instead of only being seen as serious writers.”
“There is inevitably pressure when you’re playing a person who existed,” adds Emma Mackey, “but as it’s not a completely factual biopic or a biography of Emily Brontë, it’s a story, so the pressure is taken off in that regard.”
Blending the real and the imagined of Emily Brontë’s life has precedent; when she died, her sister Charlotte famously retold Emily’s life as seen through her own perspective. “I think Charlotte did actually re-write her (Emily’s) narrative when she was alive and when she (Emily) was dead,” explains Frances O’Connor, “and I just wanted to make a film that re-dressed the balance and really put Emily at the middle of it, looking at who she was in a way that was very full and celebratory.”
As the actor playing Charlotte Brontë, Alexandra Dowling says she was intrigued by “the idea of Charlotte being controlling; she (Charlotte) definitely re-edited a lot of Emily’s letters after she died. There’s still a lot of mystery around the relationship but I think Frances’s script really held the complexity of that sibling rivalry and mistrust but also the deep love, adoration and affection they had, too.”
“The Brontë family are shrouded in mystery!” continues Emma Mackey, “They’re sort of the untouchable sisters, especially Emily. She’s called ‘the Sphinx of English literature’, this mysterious figure, and what I do like is that we’re fleshing her out and giving her a character, a personality and a voice and making her a living, breathing woman, as opposed to this figure from history.”
Aside from taking on the mantle of the Brontë legacy with her script, Frances O’Connor wanted to be the one to visualise her story, by directing Emily as well. Turns out timing can be everything.
“I knew I wanted to write, and I’ve always wanted to try directing,” says O’Connor, “In the last five years, I’ve felt this yearning to expand beyond being an actor and tell my whole story. It coincided with my asking if I could direct it and the producers were into it. It also coincided with the #MeToo movement happening and a lot of women getting the opportunity to have their voices heard, whereas maybe five years ago I wouldn’t have had that opportunity.”
“You have to let the actors have freedom but you also have to guide them”, says O’Connor of developing her directing style. “I found it was really helpful being an actor as well as a director, because you understand very deeply what it’s like to be inside the process, so there are moments where you let your actors have space to be in the moment and there are times where you come in and help steer it. I felt like I learned a lot during the process of directing – at times I thought I’d just let them go and see what happened. Sometimes, I’d have the thought ‘oh it’d be nice if the actor did this’ and then they would do it on the next take; I just needed to give them time to get there, so it was a really interesting process.”
As for the logistics of filming amidst Coronavirus, producer Piers Tempest says the whole cast and crew found their way. “The pandemic of 2020 / 2021 has affected all films, it’s changed the way we work and the systems in place, and it’s really had an impact on the creative process. Luckily with Emily, a lot of the film takes place outside, which is good and we were filming in quite remote locations, so that takes the risk down a little bit when shooting during Coronavirus. This is actually the fourth film that I’ve made during the pandemic, so we know what we’re doing now in terms of our testing processes. It’s really about trying to give as much creative freedom to the director as possible, whilst keeping everyone safe and following the guidelines.”
The second youngest of the Brontë children, Emily was born in 1818, and lived with her family at Haworth in Yorkshire, with the moors on their doorstep. The family suffered a great tragedy with the death of Emily’s mother in 1821, followed by the deaths of the two eldest Brontë siblings, Maria and Elizabeth in 1825, who both died from tuberculosis after becoming ill while away at boarding school in Wakefield. Maria lived to be just 11 years old and Elizabeth was 10 years-old when she died.
Charlotte and brother Branwell, along with Anne (the youngest in the family) would all join Emily as writers, having all created stories practically as soon as they learned to read. The surviving three Brontë sisters would all publish their first novels in the same year, 1847; Charlotte with ‘Jane Eyre’, Emily with ‘Wuthering Heights’, and Anne with ‘Agnes Grey’.
WRITER/DIRECTOR – FRANCES O’CONNOR EMILY is the directorial debut for Frances O’Connor. She is an Australian-English actress living in London who is best known for her roles of ‘Fanny Price’ & ‘Gwendolen Fairfax’ in the films MANSFIELD PARK alongside Hugh Bonneville and Harold Pinter, & THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST alongside Judi Dench & Colin Firth and the TV series’, Madame Bovary and The Missing.
Her performance in both shows earned her a Golden Globe nomination for Best Actress.
Following her critically acclaimed film debut in Emma-Kate Croghan’s LOVE & OTHER CATASTROPHES and award-winning performance in Bill Bennett’s KISS OR KILL, O’Connor’s film credits include THANK GOD HE MET LIZZIE alongside Cate Blanchett, Harold Ramis’s BEDAZZLED and the leading role of ‘Monica Swinton’ in Steven SPIELBERG’S A.I. ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE. Further film credits include her AACTA award-winning performance in Ana Kokinnos’s BLESSED, THE HUNTER opposite Willem Defoe, and WINDTALKERS opposite Nicolas Cage, and James Wan’s THE CONJURING 2.
O’Connor will next be seen in the upcoming ten-part Sky Drama The End created by Samantha Strauss alongside Harriet Walter. Her TV credits also include ITV’s Mr Selfridge, Troy: Fall of A City for BBC, Cleverman for ABC and Sundance, Iron Jawed Angels opposite Hillary Swank for HBO. Her work on stage includes the West End production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof with Brendan Fraser, Ned Beaty, by Tennesse Williams, Tom and Viv at the Almeida theatre by Michael Hastings and the West End production of Florian Zeller’s The Truth.
Why did you want to bring Downton Abbey back for a third film?
At the end of the second film, we said goodbye to the beloved Violet. We wanted to make the point that this may be the end of a family member, but it wasn’t the end of the family. I also wanted to show that families like the Crawleys who survived into the modern world, had to redefine themselves, get used to the new way of things and see if they could live with it. Some rather spectacularly could not, but I would like to feel that the Crawleys are one of the surviving families who have come to terms with the modern world.
Where do we find the Crawley family and the staff at the start of the film?
The Crawleys are doing pretty well. Despite the changing times, they are still a great family living in a great house. There is an air of change in their relationships with their servants and with ordinary people living in the village. The two world wars brought about a narrowing of the gap in the human experience and the aristocratic families were facing the wrong way in history after both wars. The film touches upon these changing times. One of the storylines in the film is Mary getting a divorce, and what I hope will surprise audiences is the extent to which divorce was not accepted until much later.
How does Mary’s divorce affect the household?
A divorce was a rather dramatic way of showing a household or a family that they were living in a different world and that things had changed. It just wasn’t acceptable. They would present to the outside world that everyone was frightfully happy and the reality of what was going on behind that façade was concealed. Divorce makes all that very public because before the age of divorce, no one would know anything about the upper classes and that was how they liked it. They didn’t mind being envied, what they didn’t want was to be pitied.
There’s a real sense of the handing over of roles to the next generation in the film. Will they be able to fill the shoes of their predecessors?
Every generation reinvents how these great houses are lived in, and so Andy, who takes over from Carson, will find a different way of being the butler. He will not have a footman to help, and they won’t be coming back. Likewise, the kitchen maids are gone, and Daisy will take over from Mrs Patmore without the help of an army of maids behind her. That whole way of life had to be reinvented. When I was a young man, the ‘London Season’ still existed with debutante balls, and I took part in it all. I loved it, but when it was abolished, it was gone for good. That’s just life. We invent things, we enjoy them for a time, and then they’re over, or we do them differently, and that’s what we’re trying to say about Downton. It will go on, but not in the same way we saw it in 1912. That way of life has gone now, and something different will replace it.
What impact did American sensibilities have in England at that time?
I’ve always believed that the Americans from the 1890s had a big influence on the privileged classes in Britain. Most of the ‘dollar princesses’ came after the Civil War in America when great fortunes had been gained and to have a daughter who was married into the English aristocracy was considered very smart. American women were not taught as the British young women were, which was to sit in silence waiting to be talked to, keeping your opinions to yourself. The Americans didn’t believe in that at all. They had opinions and expressed them in a way that English women didn’t, and so they loosened up society in a way.
Why did you choose to include Noel Coward in the story and what does the character bring to the film?
I discovered that Noel Coward’s play, BITTER SWEET, opened in London in 1930. He captured the mood of the period he was living in perfectly in his plays. He understood who his audience was and knew exactly what they wanted. I felt he was a good expression of the direction the world was heading in. He understood what entertained his audiences, what frightened them and the changes that were coming. I liked his wit and felt he would bring a benevolent modernity to the Crawleys that didn’t threaten them. Coward liked these great houses and the families that lived in them, but it didn’t change the fact that they weren’t modern, and he was. I liked that sense of commentary.
Why was it important to include a social event like Ascot in the film?
When I was in my 20s and 30s Ascot was such a fashionable event in the social calendar, and everyone attended. It was a final expression of the class-layered society where there was a group at the top who were high society. Then, the group underneath wanted to be part of the layer above but never could. Then there was a bottom layer who didn’t much care where they were in society but still attended. What was unusual about Ascot was there was a place for all these different layers of society at this one event. It was an expression of class-led Britain and fun to include in the film because it was the start of society beginning to disintegrate. It also allowed us to show that Lady Mary couldn’t enter the Royal Enclosure because divorce kept her at bay. I wanted to show that as a moment when the upper classes, as a social group, had to accept that it was time to move on from these antiquated behaviours. Mary and Edith, as younger members of the family, have much less trouble addressing this and accepting it than their father.
What first inspired you to create Downton Abbey?
I’d written a film called Gosford Park, which was set around a shooting party in 1932. It included the servants of the house, plus the guests and their servants. The producer, Gareth Neame, asked me if I’d consider writing about that territory for television. Gosford Park is quite a dark film and most of the characters are not happy, but it did very well, and I’m pleased to say I won the Oscar for writing it. However, initially, I didn’t think people would come back once a week to be depressed. I realised that we had to live in a different version of that same world and wanted a group of people who had been born to varied circumstances, more varied below-stairs than above. That allowed me to exercise my prejudices, which are that most people are trying to do their best. I think that gave the series a kind of upward energy as opposed to a downward energy, which served us well.
Did you have any idea that Downton would run for so long and that it would resonate with so many people around the world?
The short answer to that is, of course not. We were making a show at a time when most people thought period drama was dead and there was no real audience for it anymore. Happily, the head of drama at ITV, Peter Fincham, didn’t believe that. He ordered a pilot straight away, and then he commissioned it. We started to assemble the cast, and I think, looking back, the fact that we got our first choices on all of the cast should have been an indicator that we were onto something because it was extraordinary. Maggie Smith had never been in an ongoing series, but once we got Maggie, Hugh Bonneville and Jim Carter, it was clear that we were going to attract a great cast. That was very important to us because it meant that our guest stars were going to be first-class as well. We had one or two early hints that we had made something special when normally the second episode dips in terms of its audience numbers, but we grew ours by a million. From then on, the numbers kept going up and up, and I knew we’d made a jolly good show. The great surprise came four months later when it was shown in America in huge numbers, and they adored it. The American audience changed everything, and suddenly, we were showing all over the world. Now, it feels quite complete. I’m not saying we’ll never see Downton Abbey in any other form – one should never say never, but I think it feels natural and right that we have made the journey with the original concept and the original cast, so I’m rather pleased about that.
Julian Alexander Kitchener-Fellowes, Baron Fellowes of West Stafford, is a British writer, actor, director, and peer whose career spans literature, film, television, and theatre. Born on August 17, 1949, in Cairo, Egypt, where his father served as a diplomat, Fellowes was educated at Ampleforth College and Magdalene College, Cambridge, before training at the Webber Douglas Academy of Dramatic Art.
He began his career as a character actor, appearing in numerous British television series and films throughout the 1970s and 1980s, but it was his pivot to screenwriting that brought him international acclaim. His breakthrough came with Gosford Park (2001), for which he won the Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay.
Fellowes is best known as the creator and writer of Downton Abbey (2010–2015), the globally celebrated period drama that earned him multiple Emmy Awards and cemented his reputation as a master of class-conscious storytelling.
He has also written and directed films such as Separate Lies (2005) and penned screenplays for The Young Victoria (2009) and The Chaperone (2018). In addition to his screen work, Fellowes has authored novels including Snobs and Past Imperfect, and contributed to stage musicals like Mary Poppins and School of Rock. Elevated to the House of Lords in 2011, he continues to blend aristocratic insight with dramatic flair, crafting narratives that explore the tensions between tradition and transformation.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Feed the Flame: Why Research is the Writer’s Deepest Ritual
Before a writer can shape truth into a story, they must first gather the fragments that make truth visible. Research is not a chore—it is the sacred act of feeding your talent, of stimulating intuition with fact, and imagination with idea.
The hardest part of writing is not the sentence itself, but knowing what the sentence must convey. Research gives you that weight. It equips you with knowledge, context, and choice. Whether you’re crafting fiction, teaching, or curating communal memory, the effort to acquire information is what transforms impulse into intention.
This feature explores why research is not just preparation—it is the writer’s deepest ritual of responsibility, resonance, and renewal
To write with clarity, conviction, and resonance, one must first feed the talent that fuels the page. Talent alone is not enough—it must be nourished, provoked, and sharpened by facts, ideas, and lived textures.
Research is the act of gathering that nourishment. It is the quiet, deliberate process of collecting fragments—data, stories, images, histories—that will later form the scaffolding of meaning. Whether you’re writing fiction, memoir, criticism, or curriculum, the hardest part is often knowing what to write.
Research doesn’t just provide answers; it reveals the questions worth asking. It transforms vague impulse into focused intention.
By immersing yourself in the world—through books, interviews, archives, observation—you begin to acquire the raw material that gives shape to your voice. This is not passive absorption; it is active excavation.
You must take time and effort to acquire knowledge, not just for accuracy, but for depth. The writer who researches writes from a position of choice rather than default, of responsibility rather than assumption.
Every detail gathered becomes a tool of precision, every fact a potential metaphor. Research allows you to move beyond cliché and generalisation, to write with specificity and soul. It is the difference between gesturing at truth and actually touching it.
What matters is the hunger to know more, to see more, to feel more.
Because when you gather material with intention, you begin to write not just from talent, but from knowledge. And knowledge, unlike inspiration, is renewable. It allows you to return to the page with new angles, new rhythms, new authority.
Research is not a detour from creativity—it is its engine. It gives you the power to compress complexity into clarity, to transform silence into story.
In the end, the writer who researches is not just informed—they are empowered. They write with the weight of understanding and the freedom of choice. They write not just to express, but to illuminate.
The Write Journey course places research at the heart of its creative philosophy, treating it not as a preliminary step but as a generative force. Writers are guided to see research as a form of deep listening—an invitation to engage with the world’s textures, histories, and emotional truths before shaping their own. Whether exploring personal narrative, character development, or thematic resonance, the course encourages writers to gather material from diverse sources: interviews, archives, sensory observation, and cultural inquiry. This process not only equips them with factual grounding but also expands their imaginative range. By rooting creative choices in research, The Write Journey empowers writers to operate from a place of intentionality and responsibility—where every sentence is informed, every story is accountable, and every voice is enriched by the voices that came before.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The SpongeBob Movie: Search for SquarePants
The SpongeBob Movie: Search for SquarePants is an upcoming animated adventure comedy directed by Derek Drymon and written by Pam Brady and Matt Lieberman, with a story developed by Brady alongside longtime SpongeBob SquarePants creatives Marc Ceccarelli and Kaz.
The film marks the fourth instalment in the SpongeBob movie franchise and continues the legacy of the beloved television series created by Stephen Hillenburg. Drymon, a veteran of the series who has worked closely with Hillenburg since its inception, brings decades of experience and deep familiarity with the underwater world of Bikini Bottom to the director’s chair. His previous work includes directing Hotel Transylvania 4: Transformania, and his return to the SpongeBob universe is both a homecoming and a creative evolution.
The inspiration for Search for SquarePants stems from the enduring popularity of the SpongeBob franchise and its ability to reinvent itself while staying true to its quirky, heartfelt roots. This instalment takes SpongeBob on a journey to the deepest depths of the ocean to confront the ghostly Flying Dutchman, voiced by Mark Hamill, in a storyline that blends classic nautical folklore with the show’s signature absurdist humour.
The creative team aimed to explore new emotional and visual territory while honoring the series’ long-standing traditions. In interviews, Drymon has emphasized the importance of maintaining the “26-year-old rules” of animating SpongeBob, preserving the character’s timeless appeal while pushing the boundaries of storytelling and animation.
The significance of Search for SquarePants lies in its role as both a nostalgic tribute and a bold step forward for the franchise. As streaming platforms reshape how audiences engage with animated content, this film reaffirms SpongeBob’s place on the big screen, offering a cinematic experience that appeals to longtime fans and new viewers alike. The inclusion of high-profile voice talent such as George Lopez, Ice Spice, Regina Hall, and Arturo Castro alongside the original cast adds a fresh dynamic to the ensemble, expanding the cultural reach of the film. Moreover, the narrative’s deeper themes—identity, courage, and the search for meaning—resonate beyond the slapstick, giving the film emotional weight without sacrificing its playful tone.
Drymon’s direction ensures that the film remains visually inventive and emotionally grounded, while Brady and Lieberman’s screenplay balances humor with heart. Their collaboration reflects a broader trend in animation toward more sophisticated storytelling that doesn’t talk down to its audience. By revisiting the Flying Dutchman, a fan-favorite character, and placing SpongeBob in a high-stakes quest, the film taps into the mythic structure of hero’s journey tales, reimagined through the lens of Bikini Bottom’s surreal charm.
Ultimately, The SpongeBob Movie: Search for SquarePants stands as a testament to the franchise’s longevity and creative vitality. It celebrates the absurd, the sincere, and the sponge at the center of it all—reminding audiences why SpongeBob continues to be one of the most beloved animated characters of all time.
Derek Drymon is an American animator, writer, director, and producer best known for his foundational work on SpongeBob SquarePants. Born on November 19, 1968, in Morristown, New Jersey, Drymon studied illustration at the School of Visual Arts in New York before launching his animation career with Nickelodeon in the early 1990s. He contributed to Rocko’s Modern Life before teaming up with Stephen Hillenburg to help develop SpongeBob, serving as creative director and supervising producer during its early seasons. Drymon’s influence shaped the show’s visual style and comedic tone, and he later expanded his portfolio with work on Adventure Time, Hotel Transylvania: Transformania, and several DreamWorks animated features. In 2025, he returned to helm The SpongeBob Movie: Search for SquarePants, reaffirming his legacy as one of the franchise’s key creative architects.
Pam Brady is a prolific American screenwriter and producer known for her sharp wit and genre-defying projects. She rose to prominence through her collaborations with Trey Parker and Matt Stone, contributing to South Park and co-writing South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut and Team America: World Police. Brady’s career spans television and film, with credits including Hot Rod, Hamlet 2, and the Netflix comedy Lady Dynamite, which she co-created with Mitch Hurwitz. Her writing blends absurdist humour with emotional nuance, often pushing boundaries in both animated and live-action formats. In 2025, she co-wrote The SpongeBob Movie: Search for SquarePants, bringing her irreverent sensibility to the beloved underwater universe. Brady continues to be a driving force in comedy, known for her fearless storytelling and inventive voice.
Matt Lieberman is an American screenwriter whose work bridges family entertainment and high-concept comedy. A graduate of NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, Lieberman began his career in the Walt Disney Feature Writer’s Program and quickly made a name for himself with spec scripts that landed on the Black List, including Free Guy, which became a hit starring Ryan Reynolds. His other credits include The Christmas Chronicles, Scoob!, and The Addams Family (2019), showcasing his knack for crafting imaginative, accessible stories with broad appeal. Lieberman’s writing often features inventive premises and heartfelt character arcs, making him a sought-after voice in contemporary screenwriting. His collaboration with Pam Brady on The SpongeBob Movie: Search for SquarePants adds another layer of creative energy to the franchise’s latest installment.
Marc Ceccarelli is an Emmy and BAFTA-winning animator, writer, and producer who has played a central role in shaping the modern era of SpongeBob SquarePants. Born on January 4, 1968, in Bakersfield, California, Ceccarelli joined the show in 2011 and quickly rose through the ranks, becoming showrunner and executive producer. His work has extended to spin-offs like Kamp Koral and The Patrick Star Show, where he served as developer and producer. Ceccarelli’s storytelling is marked by its surreal humor, visual inventiveness, and deep understanding of the SpongeBob universe. His leadership has helped maintain the show’s cultural relevance while expanding its reach across platforms and generations.
Kaz, born Kazimieras Gediminas Prapuolenis on July 31, 1959, is an American cartoonist, illustrator, and television writer known for his edgy, underground comic sensibility and contributions to mainstream animation. A graduate of the School of Visual Arts in New York, Kaz gained early recognition through comic anthologies like RAW and Weirdo, and his long-running strip Underworld. He transitioned into television with writing and storyboard work on shows like Camp Lazlo, Phineas and Ferb, and SpongeBob SquarePants, where his offbeat humour and visual style found a perfect match. Kaz’s work is distinguished by its anarchic energy and satirical bite, making him a unique voice in both alternative comics and animated television.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Song Sung True: The Real-Life Love Story Behind the Music
From writer and director Craig Brewer comes a sweeping epic about the profound romantic and creative partnership between two down-on-their-luck musicians who prove that it’s never too late to find love and chase your dreams.
Based on a true story, Song Sung Blue follows Mike and Claire as they become Lightning and Thunder, a joyous Neil Diamond tribute band that takes them from a small garage to dive bar glory to an unlikely Milwaukee stardom defined by their moving devotion to one another and the raucous power of “Sweet Caroline.” But when tragedy strikes and plunges them to the bottom, it’s the revelatory power of their love — for music and for each other — that binds the pair, provides a way forward, and ultimately helps them remember one another.
When Mike Sardina (Hugh Jackman) meets Claire Stengl (Kate Hudson), he’s a small-time musician on the gigging circuit. A recovering alcoholic and Vietnam vet, Mike moonlights as a mechanic to support what he really loves most: to play music and perform, no matter how big the crowd, no matter how empty the dive bar. When he sees Claire up on stage in her Patsy Cline act, he spots the same passion in her, and they discover a cosmic kinship that begins a love story found both on and off a shared stage.
The Origin Story
When Craig Brewer first watched Song Sung Blue, the 2008 documentary directed by Greg Kohs, at the Indie Memphis Film Festival, he had been entirely unfamiliar with the subjects at its heart. The story it told, about the moving, unpredictable joys and sorrows that come to rock a real-life Milwaukee couple who form a Neil Diamond tribute band, would stick with him for the next 15 years. But at the time, he had simply stepped into the theater out of blind curiosity.
“I remember so clearly thinking that this is the kind of story that, if ever I were given a chance, I would understand how to make into a movie for a mass audience,” the filmmaker recalls. “Because as much as I know that there’s plenty of moments in the movie that one could call tragic, I still felt very inspired by their love story. I felt a connection not only to the characters, but to the filmmaker who made the movie.”
He was struck by the story extending beyond the documentary’s subjects and that was deeply familiar to himself as an indie filmmaker: a small movie at a small festival about small-time musicians who believed in bigger dreams — and would continue on in that relentless pursuit.
“On so many levels I just felt like it was for me,” Brewer says. “I understood where the filmmaker probably was, dedicating so much of his life to trying to tell this story. It was a comparable connection to Mike and Claire’s story because they too put all their time and energy into this band. And it’s not the story where suddenly they get the big record contract. That’s not usually the tale that is told about a majority of artists.”
It was instead the kind of trajectory whose big-screen potential was entirely legible to Brewer, whose films have often revolved around the working class. What he saw in Mike and Claire was, in short, a version of the kind of story that the director has often gravitated toward: specific people from specific places, striving for something bigger.
But it wasn’t until years later that Brewer would return to the idea, after 2019’s Dolemite Is My Name. Following that film’s success, its producer, John Davis, wanted to team back up with Brewer and asked him for ideas.
“He sits down with me and he goes, ‘You’re not going to want to do it, but I have a movie I want to do.’ And he pitches me this story,” Davis recalls. “I said, ‘Let’s go do it.’”
Davis immediately bought into Brewer’s story of this couple who found and defined their own version of the American Dream, against all odds. “It’s a story of these two people that wanted to do something, and they did it on their own terms, they did it in their own community, they did it in their own way. It was really beautiful,” Davis says. “It’s about ordinary people finding their big dreams and being able to live them out in whatever fishbowl they get to live them out in.”
That spirit of wild dreamers spoke personally to Brewer. “I’m always fascinated with mad men, especially mad men in music,” Brewer says. “And I saw that in Mike: a little bit of madness in his eyes, thinking, ‘I’m going to be the biggest Neil Diamond impersonator, I’m going to be a star with this.’ I was envious of it. I’ve always admired people who can really silence not only the doubters in their life, but the biggest of all doubters — ourselves — and just blindly go after something with everything that they’ve got.”
In Song Sung Blue, the narrative feature adaptation that Brewer would ultimately come to write and direct, Mike (Hugh Jackman) and Claire Sardina (Kate Hudson) are driven most of all by their pure passion for music, as they come to form the Neil Diamond tribute band known as Lightning and Thunder. An epic love story fueled by triumph, tragedy, and the songs of an American legend, the film follows the pair as they find each other late in life and take their act from a small garage to the biggest stages in Milwaukee.
“It’s a working-class fairytale,” says Jackman, who, in arguably his most ambitious performance yet, plays Mike. “You’ve got two working-class people trying to get by, working two or three jobs, all the while harboring this dream to be up there on stage, where they feel most alive. It’s a fairytale because they hold their dream so tightly and with so much faith and hope and confidence that it comes true. But it’s not a straight line to fame and success.”
Indeed Mike and Claire’s underdog successes are defined as much by stumbles to the bottom, a sprawlingly affecting journey that Brewer traced after talking to the real-life Claire Sardina, along with her daughter Rachel (Ella Anderson) and son Dayna (Hudson Henley).
“I would do these Zoom calls with them, and I got a lot of story that was not in the documentary, little teeny things that became bigger scenes and bigger moments,” Brewer recalls.
Through these memories, he wrote a script that he explained would not be an exacting account of their lives, but instead the kind of big-screen adaptation that spoke to the soul and inspiration of their story. “I told them, it’s like I’m writing a song and I would love your help in making sure that I at least have the heart,” Brewer says. “They were all very supportive of that. And when they read the script, they felt it.”
The heart of that song is in Mike and Claire’s steadfast love for each other, a dedication that ultimately comes to carry them through sudden tragedy.
It’s from there, in their darkest hour, that Song Sung Blue turns hardship into the larger-than-life story of Lightning and Thunder.
Amid heartbreak and life’s unexpected turns, Song Sung Blue is ultimately a story powered by love and the joy of chasing after dreams hand in hand with the ones you love most. From the spark of Neil Diamond’s songs sung in the bars and clubs of Milwaukee, to Mike and Claire’s devotion that carries them through the highs and lows, the film celebrates the bonds that turn music, struggle, and loss into something larger than life.
“Then it really becomes a story about love and dedication to each other,” Hudson says.
But perhaps most of all, there is the power, passion, and pleasure of the stage that Lightning and Thunder come back to again and again.
“This movie is a love letter to musicians around the world who dedicate their lives to the music, who are not booking out Madison Square Garden, who are playing at the local pub, who are doing karaoke night, who are singing at the state fair with nine people watching in the rain and having the time of their life,” Jackman says. “And within that is a great love story, where one plus one equals three — where two people coming together and being there for each other sparks magic.”
The magic is no truer to anybody than the real-life Claire Stengl herself. “It has been the most fulfilling, exciting dream from which I don’t want to wake up,” says Stengl. “The word is, of course, what a lot of people use: surreal.”
If Mike were still here, what would he have thought of something this surreal, of an extravagant and moving big screen portrait of the highs and lows of Lightning and Thunder and the storied life that he shared with Claire?
“I’ve talked to everybody in his surviving family, and they all are unanimous in one thing: that Mike would love this,” Brewer says. “That the biggest star on the planet is playing him, that the movie’s coming out on Christmas Day so everybody can go see it, that there’s a movie about him. Of course there’s a movie about his life because damn it, what a life it’s been.”
I live in Memphis, Tennessee. And to live in Memphis is to be surrounded by music. Elvis Presley, Al Green, B.B. King, Johnny Cash, Isaac Hayes, Justin Timberlake, GloRilla — they all came from here and made their mark on the global stage.
But to live in Memphis is also to know the ones who never made it. The barroom heroes. The unsung voices who never got their shot. They sing in dive bars, county fairs, car dealerships, birthday parties, and bar mitzvahs. When the gig is over, the bar tab paid, the tip jar emptied, and the lights gone dark, they pack up their gear and head home to little or no applause. They live paycheck to paycheck, picking up odd jobs, often without insurance or a retirement plan.
I’ve seen a man tear the roof off a bar on a Saturday night singing “Hound Dog,” and that same man hand me a cup of coffee at a diner the next morning.
Every city has these performers. Years ago, if you came to Hollywood, people would say, “Go to the Dresden and see Marty and Elayne!” They were an older married couple who sang jazz covers with lounge-style flair. Were they stars known around the world? No. But in Los Feliz, they were legends. You rooted for them. They made you smile.
When I first saw Greg Kohs’ documentary Song Sung Blue in 2009, it shook me to my core. How did I not know about this Milwaukee duo who formed a Neil Diamond tribute band? The film introduced me to a working-class couple who had both experienced pain and loss in their lives but somehow found love and salvation performing together in bars and carnivals. Both came from failed marriages, yet they still took a chance on starting a family together. Lightning was a Vietnam vet who struggled with alcohol. Thunder was a single mom who battled mental health challenges. The hardships and tragedies these two faced were relentless — even unbelievable. I remember thinking: How can this all be real? How can one family take so many hard knocks and still hold on to each other and to their dreams?
We root for underdogs because their struggle is our song. We need to see real people triumph over adversity — not just superheroes in capes. I need to believe, with all the problems we face in this country, that the American Dream is still possible.
I need to believe in Lightning & Thunder. I hope you do, too.
Building the musical elements to Song Sung Blue was arguably the most daunting and crucial endeavor to the film, a nuanced process that involved selecting and crafting renditions from Neil Diamond’s prolific discography that were true to the spirit of both the singer’s work and to Mike and Claire’s journey.
“We want it to feel real and to also hit the correct emotional note and energy for the story,” says Scott Bomar, the executive music producer on the film who has collaborated on all of Brewer’s films since 2005’s Hustle & Flow. “Each song in the film has a thematic purpose both lyrically and how it is filmed.”
Brewer had already been a longtime fan of Diamond’s work. As he wrote the script, he returned to the songs he knew so well and began curating a playlist of songs that worked with specific scenes or might channel moments he could imagine in a trailer for the film.
“I felt like there needed to be a very clear path of Neil Diamond’s music,” Brewer says. “I didn’t want to start with ‘Sweet Caroline’ right at the top. Instead, I thought: how do we get into this story and musically anchor it in these set pieces where you would get that fix, but it would be part of the narrative and their growth?”
Choosing the right songs at times felt like being struck by lightning, discovering their spiritual and musical connection to the Sardina love story. “I’ll never forget listening to the song ‘Play Me,’ and thinking, this is where they fall in love,” he recalls. “In the third verse, it has these lyrics: So it was that I came to travel upon a road that was thorned and narrow, another place, another grace would save me. I thought, oh my God, lyrically it’s so much what they’re both going through in this moment.”
Indeed, the song appears early on in the film in Claire’s living room as she begins to riff with Mike, finding the spark of an almost cosmic kinship, as musicians and as two people who just might find a real, late-in-life connection. Bringing it to life in the film meant conferring with Bomar and turning it into a moment that felt like both a natural discovery and a big-screen moment.
“It starts with this beautiful acoustic guitar riff, but then strings come in, and I asked Scott, if I had a Casio keyboard, could I play some of the string elements in this and make it seem like she’s slowly putting a beat together?” Brewer recalls. “It needed to be about not only just love towards each other, but it needed to be about love of musicianship.”
Indeed, together, the two suddenly find a rhythm together, becoming partners in song and, as the arrangement swells beyond the room, possibly in life.
“Originally the song was only Neil singing but we arranged it for a duet between Mike and Claire,” Bomar says. “She also provides the drum beat on her Casio style keyboard as well as the string parts. As we go into a montage, we have real strings that blend in with the ones she is playing on her keyboard, and it becomes bigger than life.”
Other songs were inspired by real-life moments from Mike and Claire’s journey. “Forever in Blue Jeans,” for instance, is sung on stage with Eddie Vedder (the lead singer of Pearl Jam who took a liking to Lightning and Thunder) in the film, just like it happened in real life.
Brewer remembers trying to find the kind of Neil Diamond song that might be appropriate to inspiring Mike to see himself on stage as the legend himself — the kind of song that would kick off this unlikely dream.
“I would watch footage of Mike Sardina performing for these old ladies at some sort of 50-plus club, and, with his crotch almost in their face, he’d sing, ‘You make me sing like a guitar hummin’ , and these ladies would just be screaming their heads off,” Brewer says. “And I thought, ‘Oh, that’s got to be the thing that he’s singing when he’s in his underwear at home.’”
“Sweet Caroline,” the Neil Diamond song to top them all, is ultimately more often referenced than actually sung in the film itself. Rather than lead with the hit that everyone knows, Brewer wanted to treat it the way one should with such a legendary piece: “How do I tease the very song that everybody basically came to see? How do I keep you waiting for ‘Sweet Caroline,’ and then finally, when it hits, really pay it off? ”
Before any filming began, Brewer and Bomar oversaw the pre-recording of all the music in the movie in Memphis. That process involved looping in a crowd of world-class musicians and even those who worked directly with Diamond himself, including Richard Bennett, who not only toured with the musician for decades but also co-wrote and was the guitarist on “Forever in Blue Jeans.”
“We wanted the music to be true to both the original Neil versions and how Lightning and Thunder would have performed them,” Bomar says. “I saw the 2008 documentary our film is based on at the same time Craig had, so I was familiar with the story and feel of the act. I rewatched the documentary a few times and did some research on them on my own.”
After recording the instrumentals, Jackman and Hudson recorded their vocals, a process that was a fruitful act of discovery for them not only as Lightning and Thunder, but also as Mike and Claire.
“We didn’t really have any time to rehearse before filming — we would do some read-throughs of the script, but really it was the time where Kate and Hugh were recording together that they began to figure each other and their characters out,” Brewer says. “The time that they spent singing together just really contributed to the chemistry between the two of them on camera. They already just had such trust and felt like they’d known each other for decades.”
Craig Brewer — Writer, Director, Producer
Craig Breweris renowned for his gritty, music-driven storytelling, beginning with his breakout hit Hustle & Flow, which was produced and financed by his late mentor, John Singleton. The film premiered at Sundance and earned an Academy Award for Three 6 Mafia’s “It’s Hard Out Here for a Pimp,” making them the first hip-hop group to win in that category. Brewer followed Hustle & Flow with his Southern blues fable Black Snake Moan, starring Samuel L. Jackson, Christina Ricci, and Justin Timberlake. His Netflix feature, Dolemite Is My Name, marked the return of megastar Eddie Murphy, winning the Critics’ Choice Award for Best Comedy and earning Murphy a Golden Globe nomination for his portrayal of Rudy Ray Moore. Brewer and Murphy continued their collaboration with the long-anticipated sequel Coming 2 America, a major streaming hit for Amazon. Brewer recently directed and executive produced Fight Night: The Million Dollar Heist for Peacock, starring Kevin Hart, Don Cheadle, and reuniting Brewer with Samuel L. Jackson, Terrence Howard, and Taraji P. Henson.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Christmas Karma: A Bollywood Carol for Modern Britain
Christmas Karma is an upcoming British musical drama written and directed by Gurinder Chadha, known for her vibrant, socially conscious storytelling in films like Bend It Like Beckham and Blinded by the Light.
The film reimagines Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol through a contemporary, multicultural lens, blending Bollywood musical traditions with the emotional arc of Dickens’s timeless tale. Chadha’s version centres on Mr. Sood, an Indian Tory who despises refugees and is forced to confront his past, present, and future through the visitations of three ghosts—played by Eva Longoria, Billy Porter, and Boy George. The cast also includes Kunal Nayyar in the lead role, alongside Hugh Bonneville, Charithra Chandran, and a diverse ensemble of British and international talent. With music from Gary Barlow, Shaznay Lewis, and Nitin Sawhney, the film promises a rich sonic palette that fuses gospel, bhangra, carols, and pop into a festive, emotionally charged experience.
Director’s Statement
For me Christmas begins with my annual family tradition, where I take my children to watch It’s A Wonderful Life at the Prince Charles Cinema in London. Every year, I cry buckets at the end while being moved by its life-affirming message. A few years ago, after watching the movie for the 50th time, I decided I want to make a movie that makes me feel like Frank Capra’s masterpiece (which of course is heavily influenced by Charles Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol). Dickens wrote his plea for a kinder, more tolerant Britain, ‘A Christmas Carol’, in 1843. He was writing at a time of great disparity between the rich and poor in wealth as he explored the essence of humane riches that are priceless. CHRISTMAS KARMA is my ode to Dickens and Capra with a contemporary twist. Our Scrooge, called SOOD, is a rich British Indian, who despises poor people and refugees in particular. Sounds familiar to some of our current British Indian politicians? It is also inspired by a family member who came to Britain around Christmas time having lost his home in Uganda as a child and arriving to a hostile welcome as a refugee. For years he didn’t feel Christmas was for him and the hardships he faced as a child left him despising it.
In my film, SOOD has decided that immense wealth brings him status and standing, so to hell with the poor, unemployed and disenfranchised who didn’t work as hard as him to get where he is. Whilst a musical, my adaptation is very true to the original text and sentiment. Through the songs and revelations from THE GHOSTS OF CHRISTMAS PAST, PRESENT and FUTURE – SOOD and the audience will learn the urgent lesson of how prejudice, poverty and division in all its forms shapes SOOD and our society today. 182 years later, Dickens’ novella still resonates globally in today’s sometimes harsh world. Despite SOOD seeking refuge from racism with money, I aim to show how he and the audience may have colluded in creating SOOD. The audience will, I hope, be invested to beg him to move on, transform, be part of a society that doesn’t allow Scrooges, twisted and shaped by prejudice, to grow. So as in Dickens’ masterpiece, SOOD learns from the GHOSTS and the innocent, sick TINY TIM CRATCHIT that life is only worth living if you can bring joy to others. And by exorcising the demons of the past, we can help create a wonderful, humane, caring society for all – just in time for a big Christmas musical finale. ‘Living is Giving’ is part of the teaching of Guru Nanak and Sikhism. Being a Sikh, the core message of ‘Ek On Khar’ (We are all one) resonates heavily for me in the making of my film – a universally appealing film about the nature of personal pain and struggle when you can’t see past it to appreciate what you really have. No Gurinder Chadha film is complete without a banging soundtrack that includes UK hip-hop, Soul, Bhangra, African rhythms, reimagined Christmas songs and traditional Carols. It is an affectionate, hopeful, musical celebration of the Britain of today and the future for our kids. For me, CHRISTMAS KARMA is a legacy film with a humane message that will live on long after I do. Gurinder Chadha OBE
GURINDER CHADHA is one of the U.K.’s most proven and respected filmmakers with an illustrious body of work over 30 years. Her award-winning films as a Writer, Director and Producer have earned over $300 million at the international box office. The British Film Institute’s recent filmography study on British Cinema history named Chadha as the U.K’s most prolific female director working today. She began her career as a broadcast journalist for BBC News and moved into directing with her first documentary I’M BRITISH BUT… for Channel 4 and the BFI in 1989 and subsequently made several award-winning documentaries for BFI, BBC and Channel 4. Chadha directed her first short film, NICE ARRANGEMENT, in 1990. Her first feature, the landmark comedy-drama BHAJI ON THE BEACH, which centred on the experiences of a group of Asian women from three generations on a day trip to Blackpool, received a BAFTA Award nomination for Best British Film and the Evening Standard British Film Award for Best Newcomer to British Cinema. Chadha’s next feature, WHAT’S COOKING?, a comedy-drama that tells the story of four different families (Latino, Vietnamese, African-American and Jewish) all preparing for Thanksgiving Dinner, was the Opening Night Film of the 2000 Sundance Film Festival and was the first British script to be invited to the Sundance Institute’s Writer’s Lab. The film was voted joint Audience Award winner in the New York Film Critics’ 2000 season (with Billy Elliott). Her next film, BEND IT LIKE BECKHAM, was the highest-grossing British-financed, British-distributed film ever at the UK box office (at time of release) and topped box office charts internationally. The film received a Golden Globe nomination for Best Picture (Musical or Comedy), a BAFTA Award nomination for Best British Film, a European Film Academy nomination for Best Film, and a Writers Guild of America nomination for Best Original Screenplay. Chadha’s other hit films include BRIDE & PREJUDICE – a film that marries Jane Austen with Indian and Western musicals – which was the first film ever to open at #1 in the UK and India on the same day; ANGUS, THONGS AND PERFECT SNOGGING, based on the international bestseller which was released worldwide by Paramount in 2008/2009; IT’S A WONDERFUL AFTERLIFE, which premiered at the Sundance Film Festival before releasing internationally in 2010; and VICEROY’S HOUSE, an epic drama on Indian Independence and Partition, starring Hugh Bonneville, Gillian Anderson, Manish Dayal and Huma Qureshi. The film, which made its world premiere at the 2017 Berlin Film Festival, received critical acclaim and achieved global box-office success. In 2015, Chadha and Paul Mayeda Berges mounted the stage musical version of BEND IT LIKE BECKHAM in London’s West End to five-star reviews and critics’ awards. Chadha’s BLINDED BY THE LIGHT broke sales records at the 2019 Sundance Film Festival and was released internationally by Warner Bros to great acclaim. Chadha also creates diverse scripted and unscripted global TV content. Her BAFTA-Nominated drama series, BEECHAM HOUSE, launched on ITV and Masterpiece / PBS in 2019/2020. Chadha’s new film CHRISTMAS KARMA – a contemporary musical take on Charles Dickens’ Classic ‘A CHRISTMAS CAROL’ – features Kunal Nayyar, Eva Longoria, Billy Porter, Hugh Bonneville and Boy George. Chadha has received several Honorary Doctorates from British Universities and was awarded an O.B.E. in the 2006 Queen’s Birthday Honours List for her services to the British Film Industry.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on I Wish You All the Best – A Film of Quiet Becoming
I Wish You All the Best is a quietly radical film written and directed by Tommy Dorfman, adapted from Mason Deaver’s bestselling young adult novel of the same name.
In this refreshingly modern coming-of-age story based on the best-selling book by Mason Deaver, a high school junior (Corey Fogelmanis) comes out as nonbinary and is thrown out of their family’s home. With nowhere else to turn, they move in with their estranged older sister (Alexandra Daddario) and her husband (Cole Sprouse). After enrolling in a new school, they find support from an eccentric art teacher (Lena Dunham) and form an unexpected bond with a kindhearted student (Miles Gutierrez-Riley). With the help of their new relationships, they navigate the awkward hurdles of young adulthood in this sweetly funny journey of self-discovery that celebrates the power of being true to yourself.
Director’s Statement
Before transitioning in 2020, I spent 27 years in a state of gender limbo. Despite how others saw me, I always felt at odds with myself, and each step of my gender and sexuality evolution required a new coming out, filled with anxiety and emotional exhaustion. Thankfully, I had a support system to help me through it all: when I was five, in Atlanta, where I grew up, my best friend Lauren tirelessly defended my choice to dress up like Baby Spice to bullies on the playground. At 14, my friends Sadie and Kalli were there for me when I came out as gay and got my heart broken by a boy for the first time. At 21, my boyfriend, Peter, told me he loved that he was the first person I told I was nonbinary. At 27, my therapist, Steven, helped me navigate the tricky terrain of advocating for my use of she/her pronouns with family after beginning my medical, and subsequently very public, transition.
By the time I made I Wish You All the Best, I was 30 and proudly a trans woman, perhaps my final form in this lifetime. I had never been more comfortable in my skin, more confident in my body, and finally, I could breathe a sigh of relief. Back then, in 2023, I couldn’t foresee the complete and utter devastation and violence trans and queer people are facing today en masse, on a public stage. But, here we are, in the fall of 2025, and my film opens theatrically at the most terrifying tipping point for trans rights, not to mention a vehement resurgence of media censorship, in Trump’s America.
I Wish You All the Best was never intended to be a political film, beyond the fact that I, a trans woman, wrote, directed, and produced a commercial coming-of-age drama explicitly about a nonbinary teenager coming of age, which inherently is political or at least politicized. My approach was grounded in celebrating queerness, not highlighting all the constraints queer people face. This still feels viable, even if the landscape has shifted.
When I first read Mason’s book, I knew that I had the unique ability to adapt and bring this story to life on screen, being trans and from the South, so much of the world Mason created felt familiar. The book also stood out as the first of its kind with a nonbinary protagonist, Benjamin DeBacker[CG3] , as its heroine—a book I desperately needed as a kid and the movie I had to make no matter what, a movie that didn’t exist yet in the canon and needed to.
My goal in expanding on Mason Deaver’s novel into a cinematic universe was to examine how acts of love, compassion, and service towards family—chosen and blood—could either endanger a child or embolden them to flourish, to offer audiences a contained and simple character study on becoming.
It was important for me to tell this story authentically and not fall into the trap of dramatizing Ben’s gender or coming out too much. Viewing anybody solely through the lens of their gender or sexuality diminishes their vast and complex humanity. Although Ben’s coming-out experience is crucial and worth exploring, we’re offered three different generational responses to it in this film after all, and it is the obvious jumping-off point. What happens for them in the aftermath inspired me more.
I explored onward into more universal experiences: the discomfort of being seventeen, falling in love with a classmate, forming friendships, finding a voice through painting and self-expression, learning to love and be loved, navigating anxiety and depression, and coping with the pressures of growing up, Ben thrives beyond the limits of gender identity and representation.
It may be a portrait of a typical teenager in America, but we cannot overlook the harsh realities confronting queer youth in our world today and it would be a disservice to the community to disregard the limited and violent beliefs of the protagonist’s parents that led to the utter destruction of Ben’s life as they knew it before coming out.
With a focus on humanizing these characters, I made a conscious effort to anchor the positive and negative choices in love, offering audiences a chance to anchor themselves in both realities. Even when the characters are at their worst, it’s crucial to showcase their best traits, and graciously wish them well. Maybe it’s a southern tradition to passive-aggressively pray for someone you resent, but universally, this film serves as a tool for building empathy in our daily lives. Supporting this film and seeing it, sharing it with family and friends who are transphobic, is an act of love to the LGBTQ+ community right now and an act of resistance against the milieu of anti-trans legislation moving through our political systems today. So, while I wish the world was more evolved by now, I am grateful to offer Ben’s story to audiences who need it more than they might’ve just a few seasons ago.
Tommy Dorfman is an accomplished actress, writer, director, and producer whose work spans film, television, and theater. Best known for her breakout role in the hit Netflix series “13 Reasons Why,” Dorfman has since gone on to build a dynamic career, while consistently shining a light on her experiences as a trans woman in Hollywood.
Dorfman recently launched her company Good Girl Productions, which produces new works across film, television, and theater while inspiring, investing in, and incubating stories that challenge, shift, and deepen the understanding of the human experience.
In May 2025, Dorfman released her debut memoir, MAYBE THIS WILL SAVE ME, with Hanover Square Press, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. Structured through the cards of a tarot pull and touching on themes of self-discovery and resilience, Dorfman expertly traverses her journey through art, addiction, and ultimately, transformation. The book received critical praise and became an instant National Bestseller.
Last fall, Dorfman made her Broadway debut in Sam Gold’s adaptation of Romeo + Juliet, starring alongside Kit Conner and Rachel Zegler. The production marked Dorfman’s return to the New York stage and her first acting role since publicly coming out as transgender. In this fresh take on the classic, Dorfman took on dual roles as the Nurse and Tybalt.
Quickly following, Dorfman starred in Becoming Eve, a New York Theatre Workshop production based on Abby Chava Stein’s memoir. The production opened April 7 to critical acclaim, with The New York Times praising it as “a welcome tonic, served in a Kiddush cup.” For her turn as the titular character, Chava, Dorfman earned her first nomination for a Drama League Award in the category of “Distinguished Performance.” The show received two additional nominations in the categories of “Outstanding Production of a Play” and “Outstanding Direction of a Play.”
Mason Deaver is a bestselling and award-nominated author born and raised in a small town in North Carolina, now based in Charlotte. Identifying as non-binary and using they/them pronouns, Deaver is best known for their debut novel I Wish You All the Best, which became a landmark in young adult literature for its tender portrayal of a non-binary protagonist. The book was named a Junior Library Guild Selection and an NPR Concierge Book, and later adapted into a film directed by Tommy Dorfman. Deaver’s writing is rooted in emotional honesty and a desire to fill the gaps in queer representation they experienced growing up. Outside of writing, they are an avid fan of horror films and video games, and continue to shape the literary landscape with works that center queer identity, vulnerability, and resilience.
In Keeper, director Osgood Perkins and writer Nick Lepard conjure a horror film that is as emotionally raw as it is atmospherically unsettling. Set in a remote cabin and anchored by a two-character dynamic, the film stars Tatiana Maslany and Rossif Sutherland as Liz and Malcolm—a couple whose romantic retreat spirals into psychological terror.
What begins as a quiet anniversary getaway soon fractures into a surreal confrontation with isolation, mistrust, and the uncanny. As Malcolm departs unexpectedly, Liz is left alone to face a sinister force tied to the cabin’s dark history, and perhaps to the emotional fault lines of their relationship itself.
Perkins, known for Longlegs and The Blackcoat’s Daughter, has long been drawn to horror that pulses beneath the surface—where dread is not just external but internal, where silence is weaponised, and where characters unravel in tandem with the world around them. Keeper emerged during a creative lull caused by industry strikes, when Perkins, eager to keep working, assembled a small team and crafted a film from scratch. “We did it for no money and no time,” he told Inverse, “and we just did it for the love of it, which turned out to be the best medicine”. That urgency and intimacy permeate the film’s DNA, making it feel both stripped-down and emotionally saturated.
Tatiana Maslany, celebrated for her transformative work in Orphan Black, brings a mercurial intensity to Liz. Her collaboration with Perkins—following their work on The Monkey—was marked by creative freedom and instinctual risk-taking. “All of the weird instincts and impulses I have are the stuff we’re making this film with,” Maslany said, describing the process as liberating. That sense of raw, intuitive performance is central to Keeper’s power. The film doesn’t rely on jump scares or gore; instead, it builds unease through emotional dissonance, fragmented memory, and the creeping suspicion that love itself may be haunted.
The title Keeper carries layered significance. On the surface, it refers to the romantic notion of finding “a keeper”—someone worth holding onto. But as the film unfolds, that phrase curdles. Is Liz being kept by Malcolm, by the cabin, or by something more metaphysical? The ambiguity is deliberate. The film toys with perspective, suggesting that either character could be the true villain—or the true victim. The cabin becomes a crucible for projection, possession, and revelation, where the boundaries between love and control, memory and manipulation, begin to blur.
In a genre often dominated by spectacle, Keeper stands out for its restraint and resonance.
It’s a horror film that doesn’t scream—it whispers, scratches, and waits. Its significance lies not just in its scares but in its emotional excavation. Perkins and Lepard have crafted a story where the real terror is intimacy itself: the fear of being truly seen, truly known, and perhaps, truly lost. In that sense, Keeper is not just a film—it’s a mirror held up to the quiet horrors we carry into love, and the ghosts we leave behind.
Osgood Perkins most recently wrote and directed The Monkey, adapted from the Stephen King short story of the same name. It premiered to critical acclaim and marked NEON’s second-highest opening of all time. Perkins’ previous film, Long Legs, was also released by NEON to rave reviews and earned an 86% Fresh rating on Rotten Tomatoes. It grossed over $126 million worldwide, making it the highest-grossing independent film of 2024, the most successful indie horror release of the past 25 years, and NEON’s top-performing title to date, surpassing Parasite and I, Tonya. His upcoming film Keeper, marks his third collaboration with NEON. Perkins made his directorial debut with The Blackcoat’s Daughter, which premiered at the 2015 Toronto International Film Festival to critical praise and was released by A24. He went on to direct Gretel & Hansel for MGM/Orion, and I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House, which premiered at Tl FF in 2016 and is now streaming as a Netflix original. In television, Perkins made his debut directing and writing a standalone episode of CBS All Access’s The Twilight Zone reboot. Supported by Jordan Peele and Monkeypaw Productions, the episode allowed him to craft an original story within the anthology format-an uncommon opportunity that showcased his distinctive voice in genre storytelling.
Nick Lepard, the screenwriter behind Keeper (2025), is a Canadian artist and writer whose creative roots lie in visual storytelling and emotional abstraction. Born in 1983, Lepard first gained recognition as a painter, known for his expressive use of color, gesture, and scale. His transition into screenwriting brought that same physicality and intuition to narrative form. While Keeper marks a major cinematic collaboration with Osgood Perkins, Lepard’s background in contemporary art informs the film’s surreal and psychological tone. His writing explores the porous boundaries between perception and reality, often using sparse dialogue and evocative imagery to build tension. Lepard’s approach to horror is less about spectacle and more about emotional dissonance—how relationships, memory, and space can become sites of quiet terror. With Keeper, he crafts a narrative that is both intimate and metaphysical, inviting viewers to confront the ghosts that linger in love, silence, and solitude.
Q: Is there a moment you can trace where the idea that would become Weapons began?
ZACH CREGGER: One of my best friends unexpectedly died. I think there are times when screenwriters can write from a place of ambition, and that’s maybe not the most creatively healthy way to go about it. But I was in such a severe, painful place that I was able to write just out of pure need, without any idea of what it was going to be.
When I’m writing, I have a rule for myself—I don’t want to know what’s going to happen at all. I always just start. So, I sat down to write what would become this movie, and the first thing I type is this little girl telling a story and these kids who go running out of the house. And I’m thinking as I’m writing, “This is cool. I hope I figure this out.” And I didn’t really figure it out until it was time in the script to answer that question. Basically, I’m writing on a tightrope, hoping that it is revealed to me. Luckily, in this case, it was.
But I was just writing to get this feeling out, and it ended up turning into Weapons. I think when I wrote Barbarian, it was kind of a similar thing. I sat down and started writing for the fun of it, without any idea of what it was going to be. I was able to have that exact same process for this, where I didn’t know what the movie was going to be until I typed “the end.” Now, in all honesty, I wrote a first draft that was really bad. Then, Barbarian came out. And then, I took that first draft and got it into healthy enough shape that it could be a movie.
Q: Barbarian is a really tough act to follow.
ZACH CREGGER: Well, after Barbarian, I really wanted the next thing to be something that would challenge me to be bigger, be better. I wanted to make something that felt a lot more ambitious—not just in terms of size and scale, but a lot more moving parts and a much more challenging structure. I wanted it to be riskier, but just as crazy. Sometimes, when the film is bigger, you might want to play it safe, but I wanted to really go the other way and get as weird as I could be. So, I’m very proud to say that this is a bigger movie and a weirder movie than Barbarian is, and that’s kind of what I was thinking when I started writing it.
Q: What did you bring with you as a filmmaker from that film?
ZACH CREGGER: I think primarily, I got a lot more confident. During the whole process, I was like, “Do I know what I’m doing? Am I up to the task of making and directing a movie?” And I feel with Barbarian, I proved to myself, “Yes, I can do this.” So, I definitely went in with a bit more confidence. The biggest lesson was for me to try to tune out the noise around me and focus in on that small creative voice that is so easy to ignore. It’s so quiet and so small. And with the chaos of production, that little voice will nag with, “Hey, start over. This is not right and maybe we should pivot.” I think during Barbarian I would sometimes override that voice, because of the pressure, the money, the time at stake. But shooting Weapons, I was able to say, “Everybody, pause. This isn’t right. But I know what we need to do.” I think that was a valuable thing, and I doubt I would have been able to do that had I not made Barbarian.
Q: So, what really is Weapons?
ZACH CREGGER: The central question that this movie asks on page one is, “Why? Why did one classroom of kids decide, on the same night at 2:17 in the morning, to get out of bed, walk downstairs, open the front door, and walk out into the dark and never come back? What is it about this classroom? Why not the other third grade classroom? Was it a plan? Is it some sort of alien mind control? Is it a government thing? Is it a prank? What could be doing this?” Not knowing the answer to that question when I started writing, I thought that was pretty compelling. It was easy for me to lock-in to the mindset of a parent who is demanding answers or the teacher who has no idea. Or does she? I don’t know. I’m not going to say. But there was just already all of these juicy perspectives of people who are tasked with solving this case or who have a lot of stakes in getting this thing solved. So, it was easy to hit the ground running with that question.
This is a movie that starts weird and I think it ends way weirder, but it also stays both feet on the ground as much as it can. It’s a movie that obeys the rules of its own universe so it’s not going to spiral into some bizarre, hallucinogenic nightmare or anything like that. But it is a twisty, turn-y movie. I mean, it’s a movie that reinvents itself about every 20 minutes while still staying true to the central engine. But it’s also a fun movie. It’s funny, it’s scary, it’s inviting. It’s not a big, grim, morose slog, and yet, the story it tells is really f***ed up.
Q: This movie truly and constantly surprises. That is a feat in and of itself.
ZACH CREGGER: As someone who’s watched millions of movies over the course of my life and just loves them so deeply, it’s hard to have a story that is surprising and that you’re not going to see coming from the moment you watch the trailer… or at least once you’re 10 minutes in. I feel like I usually know 10 minutes into a movie where it’s going to go. I feel confident in saying that that’s not the case with Weapons and it’s really important that that is preserved for the people who are going to watch it after the first round of audiences. I think it’s really important to protect that. So, I guess this is a way of me saying, “Please don’t spoil this movie for your friends. Don’t go online and be a troll. Let people have their pure experience with it.”
Q: And as with Barbarian, you again kind of shatter the expected structure of the narrative, and have a brilliant cast that makes the most of it…
ZACH CREGGER:Weapons is an interesting movie, because there’s really seven leads of this movie. Everyone gets to be the star of Weapons for their little 12-minute chunk. And so, every person I cast, I’m casting the star of the show.
The two most forward facing ones at the beginning of the movie are Julia Garner and Josh Brolin. I think it’s easy to mistake Julia as a little bit of a delicate person. She’s got a very slight frame and this really wild, blonde shock of hair. And she’s very funny. But she has this really, really powerful core. I think her magic is that she’s able to access both of these parts of herself with a lot of compelling expertise. And so, it’s fun to see someone who you would at first think is kind of a prey animal turn into… not a predator, but into something formidable. And that’s something that’s rare to find, someone who can authentically be both. It’s easy to cast a badass, but could that badass play a compelling third grade teacher whose main problem is that she loves her class so much, but still needs to be able to bring it? It’s a short list of people who can do that, and Julia can. Josh is one of my favorite actors. I mean, he’s been in so many movies that I just adore and he’s just so… He’s so good. He’s so talented. He’s able to do so much with so little. He’s gruff, but he’s incredibly vulnerable and he’s just compelling. He’s a movie star. It’s one of the gifts of my life to be able to have Josh Brolin be in this movie. I don’t know what else to say. It’s obvious how great he is.
Alden Ehrenreich to me is just one of the great actors of our generation, if I may say that. And I think it’s time for people to recognize how spectacular he is. I fell in love with him as an actor when I saw Hail, Caesar! I thought he stole that movie just outright. Sorry, Josh. He did. Josh would agree by the way—Josh would say the same thing. When he’s in the right place at the right time, there’s nothing like it. He’s a total star and he’s so smart. And he’s a writer and a director, too. Talking to him was so easy, because he just understood the code of what we were trying to do in a scene. And he’s never fake. He’s never boring. And he’s mesmerizing. I love him. I really am just smitten with him.
I also am just over the moon with Austin Abrams, who I feel like is just this young actor who has not had his moment yet. But I really want to be part of it when that moment happens, because he’s like Willem Dafoe, John Cazale, Gary Oldman, ready to explode. He’s a character actor who is just weird and compelling always. He’s incapable of a false note. And I fell in love with him. I’ve always kept an eye out for the kid from Brad’s Status. It’s a two-hander, and Austin was probably 17 and he is working not at all. He’s got this totally calm, immovable energy and he’s just owning the movie. And for someone to be able to do that as a teenager is bizarre. And then he did Euphoria and he’s able to kind of chameleon his way into all these different things. And I was like, “I got to work with this kid.” And so yeah, when it was time to cast this movie and I needed a junkie who was in their 20s, I was like, “I know exactly who the f*** we’re getting for this movie.” I mean, he is just so committed. He’s so giving.
Benedict Wong was someone I wasn’t really familiar with prior to this movie. And I had a lot of ideas about what I needed out of this character. I knew I needed a gentle giant. I knew I needed somebody who, first of all, obviously had the acting chops, but I needed someone who I could totally believe would be an elementary school principal and could also be terrifying if they were to attack me. And Benny, he just came along at the 11th hour. I was kind of in a despair moment where I just was not able to get that part cast. And then one of my producers was like, “You really should check out Benny.” And I went down a rabbit hole and then we did a Zoom—I think he had just woken up and was like, “What do you want for this?” And he kind of ad-libbed his way through the scene. And on that Zoom, I was like, “You have this job. Come to America.” And he’s great, man. Benny’s the best. He’s so good. I love him.
Cary Christopher is one of the leads of this movie and he’s 10. I didn’t even think of Cary as a child actor. I just thought of Cary as an actor. He’s an incredibly smart person, and he asks thoughtful questions on set. He’s dialed in; he listens. Here’s what makes Cary so special. I feel like most child actors, they pre-shape—when an actor decides in advance how they’re going to deliver a line, that’s pre-shaping and it sucks. And children pre-shape, almost all of them do. And Cary doesn’t. Cary is just allowing himself to be in the scene and to listen and to react. And so right there, what else can you ask for? And he’s great. His instincts are always to play it real. He doesn’t ham it up. I loved him and he’s like a good energy on set. He was my little buddy, and I’m eternally grateful to Cary for bringing it in this movie, because he really brought it.
And then there’s Amy Madigan, who is just as good as it gets for an actor. You watch her in Field of Dreams, and you get the pep and spirit. You watch her in Gone Baby Gone, and you get the precision. And I had lunch with her at this Greek restaurant, and we were talking about the character, and right there across from me at the table, she just did it. And I promised myself when I went to this lunch that I was not going to offer her the role. And then when she did that, I was like, “This part is yours. You have the part.”
Q: What is it about this genre that continues to appeal, not only to filmmakers, but to the fans who will turn out for the theatrical experience?
ZACH CREGGER: Horror is really interesting right now, because it’s one of the few areas of modern film where you’re able to get a theatrical release and a decent budget while making something challenging, weird and new. I’m sorry to say it, but I don’t think you’re going to get a lot of that from these big budget giant action extravaganzas. It is more likely you’re going to get that from horror. And I’m fortunate, because my creative tuning fork tends to vibrate the most with it—I resonate with horror, and if I was writing just for me, I’d write horror. So, I’m lucky in that way. The stars have aligned right now in 2025 where horror is in vogue and people are paying attention to it, and so thank God. I’m in the sweet spot, because I love it. It’s my favorite thing. I never get scared in movies, but that one out of a hundred where I do, there’s nothing like it.
There’s something you get when you go see a horror movie or a comedy—come on, comedy, come back!—in a movie theater, where you are tapping into the vibration of the room… When you are coming together in a crowd, and you’re forfeiting your attention in unison to this experience, and you find the same wavelength, it’s more fun. It’s more engaging. We’re all kind of at a church. We’re not looking at our phone, we’re not talking about other s**t hopefully, unless you’re an asshole, and we’re dialed in and the experience is richer. That’s why it’s worth getting in your car and spending 40 bucks on popcorn and soda and getting a babysitter. It’s because you get something from the energy of the room. And when you get that in a horror movie, and you’re on this roller coaster together, it’s a thrill and an adrenaline and laughter release. That is more enjoyable when you do it en masse. I will always go see them in theaters; it’s just more fun.
Q: So, how do you feel about what you set out to do with Weapons?
ZACH CREGGER: My mission as a filmmaker is to stay completely clear and loyal to the vision that I have when I’m writing. When I’m writing the movie, I’m watching the movie and my only job is to make sure that that stays pure. That’s the hardest thing in the world to do, because there are a million problems that come your way every day when you’re making a movie where you could just start chipping away at that vision and, inevitably, you sometimes have to.
But I feel like when I’m watching it on the monitor on set, I’m seeing what I had in my head. And when I’m in the cutting room, most importantly, I’m watching the movie that I was watching a year ago and that I watched every night when I fell asleep, because I’m that obsessive. Every night when I fell asleep, I watched this movie in my mind. And I’m the proudest that when I watched it in the color grade, which is the last step of the edit, I was watching the same movie. And to me, it’s like, “Okay. Now, I’m kind of bulletproof. People can love this movie. People can hate this movie. It could perform well or it couldn’t, but I won the movie, because I made what I had in my head.” That’s the biggest victory I could ask for.
ZACH CREGGER’s (Writer / Director / Producer / Music by) feature writing and directorial debut, BARBARIAN, premiered in theaters in 2022 and stars Bill Skarsgård, Georgina Campbell and Justin Long. He just wrapped on his highly anticipated follow-up film, WEAPONS (also written and directed by Cregger), which is set to release in 2025. Zach was a founding member and writer for the New York comedy troupe, THE WHITEST KIDS U’KNOW, which he started while attending The School of Visual Arts. The group’s reputation for unpolished hit-or-miss hilarity precedes them around the New York comedy circuit, and they won the award for Best Sketch Group at Aspen’s U.S. Comedy Arts Festival 2006. The group’s self-titled sketch comedy show ran for five seasons on IFC TV and Fuse. As an actor, he has appeared alongside Anthony Anderson, Jesse Bradford, Gary Cole, Megan Mullally and Krysten Ritter, and starred in TBS’s hit series WRECKED.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Superman: In conversation with writer/director/producer James Gunn
Director/Writer/Producer James Gunn is the prolific filmmaker behind some of today’s most notable pop culture content and the Co-Chairman and Chief Executive Officer of DC Studios alongside Peter Safran.
Gunn’s film and television credits include the Warner Bros. feature “The Suicide Squad,” Marvel’s entire “Guardians of the Galaxy” franchise, the Emmy-nominated HBO Max television series “The Peacemaker,” cult classic features “Slither,” “Super,” and many more. Most recently, Gunn wrote and directed the third and final “Guardians” feature, “Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3,” which was released on May 5, 2023. At the end of its opening weekend, the film exceeded its global expectations and had earned a whopping total of $289.3 million from international and domestic audiences and just recently passed $835 million worldwide ahead of its digital release. In 2019, Gunn produced the drama/thriller, “Brightburn” starring Elizabeth Banks for Sony and produced the horror feature “The Belko Expirement” starring John Gallager Jr. and Tony Goldwyn for Orion Pictures.
Why did you opt to debut DC Studios’ feature film slate with a Superman film? I think that was a really practical thing. Number one, I’m sitting here not because of my dreams, I’m sitting here because of Peter Safran’s dreams. It has been his dream his entire life to make a Superman movie. And so, I have to acknowledge the importance that played in him gently goading and manipulating me into writing, directing and making this film. But I also think that Superman is the start of it all. He’s the first superhero. He’s an incredibly important character to DC. There’s a trinity, and it’s Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman. But we’ve seen a lot more of Wonder Woman and Batman over the past few years than we have of Superman, so I felt like it was important to really put our best foot forward with DC Studios, and that was to start with Superman.
What was the moment like when you cracked the case, so to speak, of how to approach a Superman story? It was the first few pages. I had played with a lot of different things, but it really was the moment with Superman beaten in the ground in the middle of what looks like the Arctic. And then seeing Krypto coming—who’s just a little jerk, coming and trying to play with him, but beating him up and hurting him—and then going into the Fortress of Solitude with the Superman robots. Then intercutting that with Lex and this scheme that he has, masterminding all these different people that are working for him. I think that’s when I really knew where it went after I had been trying to crack it for years and years and years.
You had a vision to do something unusual in the genre today: to create a story about doing good. Being good. Where did that come from? When I took on Guardians of the Galaxy, I knew that we had had 25 years of sort of dark and dreary science fiction movies, where everything was supposed to be real because it was dark, and I felt like there was a place for color. Kind of like the old school look of fiction that had been missing from movies. Superman is a character who’s really about as good as a human being could be. He’s good natured, but just being purely good doesn’t mean he always does the right thing, logically. The movie is about a character who is purely good in a world that isn’t good, and I think that’s something we don’t really see. Everybody’s an anti-hero, and I think that when characters seem good, there is a tendency to kind of make fun of them and see them as goofy. But this character is noble and he’s beautiful, and he’s not always right and he makes mistakes. I get emotional because I what this movie is about is—why do we love Superman so much? Is it because he can punch planets or pick up skyscrapers? I don’t think it is. I think it’s because of his innate goodness and, and his humanity, even though he’s an alien, and the fact that he is okay with being pollyannaish, it’s okay that he’s being optimistic, it’s okay that he’s vulnerable.
When did you first fall in love with the character Superman? The comics? Previous films? I’ve always liked Superman. I think as a kid I was really attracted to the Superman family comics, with Superman and Supergirl and Krypto and the whole gang. And I was a huge fan of the Richard Donner film as a child—the score and everything about it just kind of blew my mind. It was at a time when I was starting to become more aware of how important films were to me in my life, and that was different from how important films were to other people in their lives.
How do you think the character has changed over the years and what were your main influences for your version of Superman? Superman’s powers have changed drastically throughout the years, kind of up and down, not really just in one direction. When he started out, he was just a really strong guy that could leap a tall building in a single bound, but not fly. He could punch people, but he wasn’t invincible. Bullets would bounce off of him, but that was kind of the limit. And then he kept getting more and more powerful until in the 1970s, before the John Byrne era, he was reshaping planets with a punch. Or even in the first movie, making the world go backwards in time. There were times when he was so powerful that it was hard for me to imagine him being as interesting as I would want him to be, or it was hard for me to imagine relating to him, but then a couple of things happened. Number one was Grant Morrison’s All-Star Superman, which was incredibly influential to me. I fell in love with the character in All-Star Superman, and I wasn’t a child when that book came out. To me, All-Star Superman showed how Superman’s power is actually part of his appeal. He was this good-natured, jaw forward, always doing-the-right-thing, gung-ho guy who’s incredibly pure, and that was an interesting character to me. Grant really gave him something that I just loved and his goodness was a big inspiration. It’s that side of his personality that became the foundation of the Superman in this movie. In our movie, I’ve made Superman less powerful. He’s not making the world go backwards in time. He’s not punching planets. He’s very strong, he can lift a skyscraper, but he’s not completely invulnerable. In the beginning of the movie we see a Superman who’s bleeding. To me, when I imagined that happening, I thought, “How, how did we get here?”
This may sound strange, but the main thing the character was to me was the thing that made me the happiest: when strangers or friends would call me it. I didn’t grow up watching the Donner movies, the Chris Reeve movies. I knew who Christopher Reeve was and I knew that he played Superman, but we didn’t grow up watching the films. I didn’t grow up reading the comic books. I knew who Superman was as a character, but never was particularly connected to him. So, I think my first connection to the character was when somebody would say I was like him. I have a weird story. It was in college. I was living with two close friends and classmates, and the smoke alarm went off. I ran out of my room, grabbed a chair, stood on the chair, and reached up and silenced the smoke alarm. And one of my roommates said, you literally are Superman, you just showed up and saved the day. And I think anybody’s lucky to be somebody who people feel can be there in the nick of time, keep calm and positive in a difficult situation. Not that I ever felt like, or thought that I was like Superman, but I really loved when I could do even a little thing to make somebody else feel that. The upshot of that is that the character for me is bigger than any one iteration or interpretation, it’s a sort of a sense, a feeling that somebody is looking out for you and somebody knows what to do. Or if they don’t know what to do, at least they can not know what to do with a smile on their face, and they don’t panic. So that, I think, at its core, is Superman. DAVID CORENSWET – SUPERMAN / CLARK KENT –
To introduce the world to your vision for Superman, you cast David Corenswet—what made him your ideal Superman and Clark Kent? I think anybody that sees the movie knows why David Corenswet is Superman. David is somebody who I saw in my friend Ti West’s film Pearl, and thought that guy should audition for Superman. It was very interesting because people start auditioning usually with self-tapes that they send in to John Papsidera, our casting director. I got the first round of self-tapes and it was a lot of actors, maybe 30 Supermans and 30 Loises. But within that, in that first day, were both Rachel Brosnahan reading for Lois and David Corenswet reading for Superman. Now, Lois I thought I would find, because Lois is not as physically restrictive, where Superman is very specific. And I was afraid of not being able to find the right Superman. Luckily, I saw David reading on the first day, and he was amazing. One of the main scenes that the actors were reading from was a scene where Superman is arguing with Lois about his place in the world. David was great, when you see him in that scene in the movie, you realize this guy’s just a fantastic actor, and he also happens to look and sound a lot like Superman. He’s also a square in real life, like Superman. He listens to old jazz standards and swing music.
The dynamic between Superman/Clark and Lois is key to the story you’ve crafted—what do we need to know about your version of Lois? I think Lois has a much more tumultuous past than Superman, which is saying a lot because Superman’s planet exploded and he was sent here as a baby. But other than that one fact, Superman had this tremendously supportive upbringing with these two wonderful people who loved him dearly and he was the apple of their eyes. Whereas I think Lois’s past was a little crazier than that. She’s tough. I love Margot Kidder in Donner’s Superman, but she is on the back foot. She is in love with Superman, and he’s Superman. In this movie, you see that Lois is more than a match for Superman, and you see why somebody as cool and as powerful and as good as he is, would fall in love with her. She’s idealistic and she has integrity, but she doesn’t necessarily believe in goodness. And through this relationship, with the wisdom of Lois and the purity of Superman, they come together in this really great way.
It’s at a rare point of vulnerability in the opening of the film that you introduce a character who has long been a favorite in the comics, Krypto—what prompted you to include him? Krypto the Superdog! An often frivolous character from DC Comics who I’ve always liked. That beginning of the movie was the beginning of the story for me, that was me finding out how Superman got to that place and what happened. Having Krypto come to his rescue at the beginning of the movie was adding the whole spin to what this Superman movie was. It wasn’t the Donner Superman. It wasn’t Zack [Snyder]’s Superman. It is a different Superman, where there’s a superdog that flies around and also can shoot beams out of his eyes, where there are other superheroes. It’s a world where metahumans have existed for years and Superman just happens to be the greatest of them, although we’re meeting him at a time before he’s quite reached that stature.
Can you share a little about the origin of Krypto—your version of Krypto? Krypto was inspired by my dog, Ozu. He’s named after the great Japanese director Yasujirō Ozu. We got him from a rescue with all these dogs, and he was the one dog that was terrified of me. He was very scrawny and skinny, but he had one ear sticking up and it was like a beacon to me. So, for some reason, I was attracted to this silly dog, and I brought him home. And he didn’t know people. He was about a year old, he had never really been touched or interacted with human beings, so he didn’t have much use for me whatsoever. And he loved my other dog, instantly followed her around everywhere really bothering her. He also proceeded to destroy my house. He tore up all our furniture. He destroyed every shoe he could get his paws on. He ate my laptop. For real. Destroyed my laptop. And every time anything vaguely resembling an animal came on screen, he would attack the television screen and attack the furniture around the television screen. He was the worst dog you’ve ever seen in your life. He was biting my feet constantly and so I had to wear shoes around the house when I normally like to be barefoot in my house. He would bite my feet when I was on the phone, so I couldn’t scream at him and also I couldn’t scream in pain. Instead I would sit on top of my kitchen counter and cross my legs and try to get over in a corner, and then all of a sudden, he would jump up onto the counter and start biting my feet anyway. And for some reason, I thought, “Oh, what if this awful, terrible, maniac dog had superpowers? We’d be in real trouble.” And then I thought, maybe Krypto is terrible, and that was the start of the movie, adding this unexpected element, this terrible dog. So, Krypto is Ozu. We literally brought Ozu in and scanned him, because Ozu could never be a stand in.
Along with metahumans, you chose to include a lot of other elements from the Superman universe… I thought this movie could be different in that it could have all those sort of magical realism elements of the fantasy of Superman—flying dogs and giant kaiju and robot helpers and all of these fun things— while keeping the character himself more grounded. Superman is real and rooted in his personality and his relationship to the other characters, in a plot that was dictated by his choices, not by some external forces. The script was so fun to write because of that. It was also very different from anything I had ever written before. Sure, it has some science fiction elements, but I think in some ways, Superman is more grounded than the Guardians films because at its essence, it’s not a comedy. But it’s also more fantastical in certain strange ways. It’s more like a comic book. Really going there with all these big things like the Grant Morrison All-Star Superman does.
You’ve got an incredible partnership with your HODs, why is that so important to you? My department heads have pretty much stayed the same for the past however many films, from Beth Mickle, my production designer, to Judianna Makovsky, my costume designer, to Henry Braham, my cinematographer and Lars Winthers, who started as my AD on Guardians Volume II, as our head of production for DC Studios. I work with the same people again and again and we have a way of communicating that is intimate because we know each other, we know what each other needs and what each other wants. They know my peculiarities. They know what I focus on, and they know my strengths and weaknesses. Basically we’re a family, and having that family there around you makes the very difficult act of shooting a film more fun.
Let’s talk about some of the environments you’ve created, starting with the Fortress of Solitude, which you filmed in Svalbard, Norway. The Fortress of Solitude first came about in a time when you could have had a fortress in the middle of the Antarctic and nobody would know. That’s not the case today with technology. So what the fortress is in our movie is actually something that sinks into the ground and comes up when Superman gets close to it, because of his DNA. The design needed to be a part of that, and we took a lot of inspiration from the original Donner movie, we took a lot of inspiration from designs in the comics over the years, and we just created our own thing. Again, we have the high tech Superman stuff with the Superman robots, very much like All-Star Superman. And Beth designed a really wonderful cathedral of crystals and we shot in Svalbard because I wanted to use the natural light and use the natural topography. You need to get things out of nature that you just can’t necessarily get out of the human imagination alone—not to mention the breath that you’ll see because it’s actually that cold. I wanted to make it look as beautiful as possible and to make sure that this is a beautiful piece of photography throughout the whole movie.
You shot in Cleveland, Ohio, birthplace of Superman—what was that like for you? Ohio was one of my favorite parts of shooting this movie—shooting in Cleveland, the birthplace of Superman. That’s where Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster came up with the idea for Superman, so that’s where he was created. But we didn’t go and shoot there because Superman was created there. We went and shot there because it has all this beautiful art deco architecture that is what we wanted the look of Metropolis to be. It just so happened to fit what we were looking for in a city, and also happened to be the birthplace of Superman. And the people were wonderful, the PAs and crew members that we used were fantastic. The Film Commission was really great to work with. We had a great time shooting in Cleveland, and in Cincinnati which is where we shot the Justice Gang’s headquarters, based on the old train station in Cincinnati. Both those cities were fantastic.
How did you approach flight differently in this film? The way we chose to shoot the flying was very complicated. It had David in a lot of different rigs. We’re very lucky that David is a very athletic guy, so he was able to do all of that well. But we worked with Wayne Dalglish, who’s our stunt coordinator, to create a type of flying that was as real as we could possibly make it, to feel it viscerally. I took a lot from watching footage of jet fighters and what it would be like for a human being to actually fly through the air. You realize there are certain things that you’ve never seen in a Superman movie. For instance, somebody will be speeding through the air at supersonic speed and their hair is just doing a little bit of a wiggle from the wind. We wanted to be able to show his hair really moving in the way it would be if you’re moving beyond the speed of sound. And so it was a really complicated but fun thing to figure out. From the very beginning, I wrote about four pages on the theory of the action and how we were going to shoot it and what we were going to do, because we also wanted to treat the cameras as if they were generally being held by other flying people. The cameras needed to have some movement to them, as if we were actually trying to track these guys that were flying throughout space. It was a lot of fun to do that, fun stuff for me to shoot.
DC Studios Presents a Troll Court Entertainment/The Safran Company Production, A James Gunn Film, Superman, which will be in theaters and IMAX® nationwide on July 11, 2025, and internationally beginning 9 July 2025, distributed by Warner Bros. Pictures.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Live Theatre On The Big Screen
Cinema audiences and theatre lovers alike will be treated to innovative productions from some of Britain’s most exciting playwrights, directors, actors, and stages, on the big screen as part of the NT (National Theatre) Live series.
Dr. Strangelove
Based on Stanley Kubrick’s 1964 Cold War comedy, Dr. Strangelove, Steve Coogan (Alan Partridge, The Trip) leads this fun new stage adaptation from Armando Iannucci (The Thick of It) and Sean Foley (The Upstart Crow) as he takes on Peter Seller’s iconic roles.
Seen as one of the top comedy films of all time, Dr. Strangelove celebrates Kubrick’s legacy and the relevance of the story 60 years on. The cast also features National Theatre Live alumni Giles Terera (Othello, Hamilton) and Tony Jayawardena (Nye).
Seven-time BAFTA Award-winner Steve Coogan plays four roles in the world premiere stage adaptation of Stanley Kubrick’s comedy masterpiece Dr. Strangelove. When a rogue U.S General triggers a nuclear attack, a surreal race takes place, seeing the Government and one eccentric scientist scramble to avert global destruction.
This explosively funny satire is led by a world-renowned creative team including Emmy Award-winner Armando Iannucci (The Thick of It, Veep) and Olivier Award-winner Sean Foley (The Upstart Crow). A production from Patrick Myles and David Luff, it is based on the motion picture directed by Stanley Kubrick, which was based on the book ‘Red Alert’ by Peter George.
Dr. Strangelove is scheduled to show on 20, 21 and 23 September. Each of these NT Live productions will be shown at Ster-Kinekor Rosebank Nouveau and an additional site, Cresta in Johannesburg, at Ster-Kinekor Brooklyn in Pretoria, and at Ster-Kinekor V&A Waterfront in Cape Town, for three screenings only.
Book your tickets at the new-look Ster-Kinekor website on www.sterkinekor.com or download the new SK App on your smartphone. For news and updates, go to Facebook: Ster-Kinekor Theatres | follow Ster-Kinekor on Twitter: @Ster-Kinekor. For all queries, call Ticketline on 0861-Movies (668 437).
Don’t miss these world-class theatre productions at Cinema Nouveau and select Ster-Kinekor cinemas near you. Bookings are now open; screenings are limited and will be released at Rosebank Nouveau in Johannesburg, Ster-Kinekor Brooklyn in Pretoria, Ster-Kinekor Gateway in Umhlanga and Ster-Kinekor V&A Waterfront in Cape Town.
Book your tickets at www.sterkinekor.com or download the SK App on your smartphone. For news and updates, go to Facebook: Ster-Kinekor Theatres | follow Ster-Kinekor on Twitter: @Ster-Kinekor. For all queries, call Ticketline on 0861-Movies (668 437).
MICHAEL CHAVES: I love the ‘80s—I was born in the ‘80s, and The Conjuring: Last Rites is right smack dab mid-‘80s. It’s 1986. And we really dug into the period with the design, music, costumes and things like a Ghostbusters reference. It’s also really interesting to see the Warrens in this phase of their lives. We’ve been on a journey with these characters—we’ve seen them in the ‘60s and the ‘70s. But now, the world has changed. And in many ways, the world’s moved beyond them. I think that’s very powerful—the idea that they’ve retired and now, what they’re doing has become a joke. People have forgotten the impact that they’ve had. I think that’s a really interesting and kind of tense place to start from. And on top of that, they’re struggling with the idea of their daughter all grown up and starting to move on. So, also letting go of her.
The Smurl case…
MICHAEL CHAVES: The Smurl case was a real haunting in West Pittston, Pennsylvania, and it went on from the mid-‘80s into the ‘90s. The Warrens were involved. The Smurls lived in a duplex, with the family living next door to their parents, so three generations. They started experiencing supernatural activity on the day of their daughter’s confirmation—a light fell on them, which is seemingly innocuous. But it escalated over the years to levels that could not be disregarded.
And while the Smurls were going through their haunting, with their family beginning to fall apart—the Warrens are basically retired, they’re out of the game and in a safe spot. We know something is going on with Judy and there’s this dark inevitability that’s hanging over them. That’s a really striking place to start. Your heroes have hung it up. But there’s a sense of unease, because even though it seems like they’re happy, that they’ve dodged a bullet and are no longer taking cases, we know they’re going to get pulled back in. Moreover, we know that that one last job also has every possibility of destroying them.
Diving into the research…
MICHAEL CHAVES: In my movies, if there’s a real case, I’m going to do a deep dive into it, and meet and talk to as many people involved as I can. There’s also obviously research into the period—in The Nun II, I went through all kinds of great 1950s photography that we leaned into as we were making the film. So, we looked at the period, but I also did a lot of Zoom interviews with the four Smurl sisters. Talking to them about their experience was really powerful.
The interesting thing is, over the course of working on these movies—and I’ve heard Peter [Safran] echoing this—I’ve become a believer. And a big part of that is just hearing these experiences. I think it was really hard on the Smurls—it’s not something they wanted to do. They didn’t ask to be haunted, and their friends and neighbors turned against them. They didn’t believe them. They thought they were crackpots. And you come to realize the weight that that put on them. How easy it would have been to say, “We’re making it up.” But it really did weigh on them, and it weighs on them to this day. The other thing I took from speaking to them—something which I’ve always known—is what an impact the real Warrens had on them. It’s easy to fall in love with Patrick and Vera, their versions of Ed and Lorraine, but we have to remember these were real people who went around to these places and tried to help countless people who had nowhere else to turn to. What an impact they had.
The new generation…
MICHAEL CHAVES: Judy is the Warren’s daughter in all the Conjuring movies and in real life. She’s kind of been a secondary character, but in this movie, we wanted to reorient that and really show that their child is the most important thing in their life. We could also start going into a perspective that we hadn’t really thought of, which is, “What is it like to grow up as a Warren? What is it like to grow up in the shadow of your parents? And what is it like to grow up with the power that you’ve inherited from your mother?” This has always been an issue that Judy and Lorraine have struggled with, and we really ran with that. This power has given Judy the ability to see things, and sometimes those things are terrible. Not quite sure how to deal with it, Lorraine gave her the advice to just shut it out. It seemed like a good solution at the time, but it really was just wallpapering over the bigger issue—something that will have to be reckoned with, something that is going to come back and possibly get her. That gave us a resounding opportunity to really explore.
Finding Judy and Tony…
MICHAEL CHAVES: Mia Tomlinson was such a find, such an amazing actress. She came in and originally I had her read for young Lorraine—and she did an incredible job. I was really trying to sell her on it. But she was really polite and respectful, and she said, “I really want to go for Judy—it’s the part that really speaks to me.” She was honestly the first Judy that we had seen. She read for Judy, and she was incredible—even better than she had done with young Lorraine. Everyone was so impressed by her. To be honest, I was a little bit heartbroken that she wasn’t going to play young Lorraine, but I realized that without a doubt, there was no one else who could play Judy. She brought so much to the part, including this fragility. Judy hasn’t been able to be able to stand on her own because she’s been sheltered by her mom. And I think that she really got that. She also had such a great connection with Vera, and the two of them really built this layered, beautiful relationship together. There are these moments between mothers and daughters—the whispering, the coded language—that we dads find ourselves outside of. In the scene in the restaurant, they both play that so wonderfully. It’s instantly recognizable and transmits how palpably close this mother and daughter are. They nailed it.
And Ben Hardy just rocked the part of Tony. I’ve always been a fan of his. He brought so much more to the part—he was disarming and funny, and kind of a klutz when he needed to be. He also gives Tony this quiet depth. He has a scene with Patrick and tells this story of a key moment in his life when everything changed. And you realize that this is a guy who’s lived a life and has come away with this great shift in his perspective. Patrick and he just charged that scene. Up until then, in the beginning, he’s just this guy that Judy’s brought into their lives. They barely know this guy. And you can feel all of this comedic tension. And Ed is like, “Hey, why the rush with my daughter?” Then he tells this story, and how the experience has given him a new view on life. To take advantage of every moment in every day. And it’s a really “stop and listen” reveal. Ben handled it so beautifully. And in that moment, the door opens, and he is on his way to becoming a Warren.
An honest-to-goodness haunting…
MICHAEL CHAVES: When talking about making these movies, the question that always comes up is “Did anything spooky ever happen on set?” And my answer now is “Yes.” My experiences on The Conjuring: Last Rites have made me a believer. That is because of two things, the first having talked extensively with the Smurls and the conviction they had in telling their story. They’re totally honest, reasonable, smart people, and this was something that was really a wound that they dealt with. It was a jarring, traumatic event. It resonated with me incredibly.
And while shooting in England, I swear to God I was living in a haunted house. It was called The Old Vicarage—one of those places that doesn’t even have an address, just a name. It was in this lovely neighborhood. And though I usually would go for a small place, I had my family with me, so we wound up at The Old Vicarage. It was called that because vicars, when they came to town and were working at the church, would reside there. The place was probably a couple hundred years old.
Over the course of living there, my daughter thought she saw something, and she took a picture of it with her iPad—it’s pretty dark and fuzzy, as you would imagine. Being somewhat of a natural skeptic, I was like “There’s nothing there. Sweetie, I don’t see anything.” She was insistent. “Can’t you see it? There’s someone standing there and it looks like a priest. It looks like he has that collar around his neck.” I don’t know if she was spooked because I had just finished The Nun II, but she was convinced about it.
Now, word was going around in this neighborhood about a rash of burglaries. Everyone was on high alert. My family had gone into London one night, and I was home alone doing what I do late at night and playing video games. And I hear voices coming from around the house. I turn off the lights to try and see what’s outside. Then I realize the voices are not outside—they’re coming from upstairs. I don’t even know what their 911 number is, so I grab a fireplace tool and start upstairs. I can clearly hear two male voices, two guys talking to each other. Now, I’m scared, but I keep going. I search from one room to the next. It’s this really interesting three-story house, and everything is at sort of weird Harry Potter English angles. And I continue into every single room on both upper floors. And there is no one in that house—and the voices suddenly stop. And at first, I’m relieved, I think, “Well, at least I’m not getting robbed,” because I’d have no clue how to deal with that. Then I realized that, I swear to God, those voices were there, and I was convinced it was a haunting. I know that something was there. I’m a total believer, and I apologize for any other interview where I might have been dismissive or just tossed off an answer. It happened to me.
Honoring the Warrens and passing it on…
MICHAEL CHAVES: The real Warrens touched so many lives. There were so many people who were in need, dealing with hauntings or unexplained behavior. And the Warrens were there—they traveled across the country to listen to people whom no one believed. The real truth of that is so important. It was real. I also think about how many lives that this series has touched, the fans who have grown up watching it, along with everybody who’s had the pleasure of working on it. It’s been such an amazing ride and experience, and something I’m extremely lucky to have been a part of.
MICHAEL CHAVES (Director / Executive Producer) made his feature directorial debut in 2019 with THE CURSE OF LA LLORONA for New Line Cinema, which earned more than $123 million at the global box office. Chaves went on to direct THE CONJURING: THE DEVIL MADE ME DO IT and THE NUN II, with Atomic Monster and The Safran Company producing. THE CONJURING: THE DEVIL MADE ME DO IT and THE NUN II are the eighth and ninth films in the CONJURING Universe, which has generated more than $2.3 billion worldwide and is the largest horror franchise in history. Chaves also directed the award-winning short THE MAIDEN. An accomplished commercial director, Chaves has directed spots for such clients as Microsoft, Samsung, Audi and Ford. He also directed Billie Eilish’s acclaimed “Bury a Friend” music video.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Quiet Craft of Polishing Prose
Once your novel has been rewritten, revised, and edited, there remains one final, often overlooked ritual: paragraph polishing. This is not a mechanical sweep for typos or grammar slips—it’s a deeper, more intuitive process. It’s where prose is coaxed into rhythm and resonance, where each paragraph is tuned to breathe with the life of the story.
Begin by reading aloud. Let the words meet air. Listen for breath and cadence. Does the language dance, drag, or drift? The ear catches what the eye misses—awkward phrasing, unintended repetition, or flat rhythm. Vary sentence lengths to create musicality: short bursts can punctuate tension, while longer lines cradle reflection. A paragraph should feel like a piece of music, its tempo rising and falling with emotional intent.
Next, interrogate the paragraph’s purpose. Is it building tension, offering exposition, or releasing emotion? Each paragraph should carry its own mini arc—beginning with intention, ending with impact. A paragraph that meanders without direction weakens the spine of the story. Ask: what does this paragraph do? What does it feel like? What does it leave behind?
Then, trim the excess. Cut filler words unless they serve voice. Replace abstractions with concrete imagery that pulses with meaning. Instead of “he felt sad,” try “his chest hollowed like a gutted room.” Texture matters. Infuse the paragraph with sensory detail—sounds, smells, emotional temperature. Let the reader feel the space, not just understand it.
Transitions matter too. Paragraphs should flow into each other with emotional logic. Check for echoes—subtle repetitions of rhythm, image, or theme that create resonance across the page. These echoes are the connective tissue of your narrative, the quiet threads that bind chapters into a whole.
Polishing isn’t just about clarity. It’s about honouring the pulse beneath the prose. It’s about ensuring every paragraph carries weight, breath, and rhythm. It’s the difference between a story that reads and a story that lives.
In this final stage, you become less editor and more composer. You’re not just fixing; you’re listening. You’re not just refining; you’re attuning. Paragraph polishing is where the novel exhales, where silence meets sentence, and where the reader’s heartbeat begins to sync with your own.
So take your time. Read slowly. Listen deeply. And let every paragraph pulse.
If you have completed the draft of a screenplay, stageplay, or manuscript for a novel, it is vital to find out whether or not your story works. It could mean the end of all your hard work and your career as a writer if you hand poorly written and undeveloped projects over to producers, directors, publishers or potential investors.
Dear Sis Dolly is a South African comedy-drama film currently in development, inspired by the iconic advice column from Drum Magazine.
The story centers on Mmabotsana, a brilliant but struggling psychologist in her late 30s who applies for the role of agony aunt—“Sis Dolly”—as a last-ditch effort to save her floundering practice in Mamelodi. Mmabotsana must compete against two younger, equally ambitious candidates—Rameetsa and Paseka—during a three-month probation period. The winner will be chosen by the enigmatic Editor-in-Chief, Melody “MM” Makaringe, to become the next Sis Dolly, a national figure known for heartfelt and honest advice.
As Mmabotsana navigates the cutthroat world of media, she’s forced to redefine her identity, learning that being “real” is just as important as being “clever.”
The film promises to blend humor, emotional depth, and cultural insight—much like the column itself. It’s a celebration of vulnerability, wisdom, and the power of storytelling.
Dear Sis Dolly is a beloved advice column featured in Drum Magazine, where readers write in with deeply personal questions about love, relationships, family, and life’s toughest dilemmas. Sis Dolly responds with heartfelt, no-nonsense guidance that blends empathy, cultural insight, and a touch of tough love. Her responses often tackle issues like betrayal, self-worth, parenting struggles, and romantic confusion—always with the goal of helping readers find clarity and confidence. The column has become a trusted space for South Africans seeking advice that feels both real and relatable. Whether someone’s asking “Does he want me or just sex?” or “How do I forgive her for infecting me?”, Sis Dolly offers wisdom that’s rooted in lived experience and emotional honesty.
It flips the script by making the Predator a young outcast named Dek, seeking redemption, played by Dimitrius Schuster-Koloamatangi. On a hostile alien world, Dek is cast out by his clan for being weak. After a brutal confrontation with his father and the death of his brother, Dek escapes to a planet where even Predators are prey. There, he forms an uneasy alliance with Thia, a synthetic android created by Weyland-Yutani, played by Elle Fanning. Together, they face a terrifying apex creature known only as the Kalisk.
The Screenplay was crafted by Dan Trachtenberg and Patrick Aison. Trachtenberg cites influences from Conan the Barbarian, Mad Max 2, Shadow of the Colossus, and even Shakespearean drama. The film is described as operatic, emotional, and visually bombastic, with every shot involving VFX work.
Predator: Badlands weaves itself into the Alien universe in some pretty intriguing ways—without going full Xenomorph (yet).
The most direct connection is through Thia, the synthetic android played by Elle Fanning. She’s a product of Weyland-Yutani, the infamous corporation from the Alien franchise known for its obsession with bio-weapons and synthetic life. The film hints at systems like Mother, the onboard AI from Alien. Dek’s ship includes skulls that resemble creatures from Alien and even Independence Day, suggesting a broader sci-fi multiverse.
Dan Trachtenberg has said he didn’t just toss in Weyland-Yutani for fan service. He wanted to explore deeper crossover themes—pairing a Predator with a robot was his way in. He’s teased that this could lay the groundwork for a more meaningful Alien vs. Predator film down the line.
Many believe Badlands is secretly laying the groundwork for a full-blown Alien vs. Predator reboot.
Dan Trachtenberg and Patrick Aison reimagined the Predator mythos by stripping it down to its primal essence and rebuilding it with cultural depth, emotional resonance, and historical authenticity. Their collaboration on Prey (2022) marked a radical departure from the franchise’s usual futuristic settings, instead placing the alien hunter in 1719 among the Comanche Nation, where survival and tradition collide.
The Predator was redesigned to be more primal and less technologically advanced, emphasizing brute strength and instinct over gadgets. This version of the Predator is younger, more reckless, and driven by a competitive nature, not just survival.
They worked closely with Comanche experts to ensure respectful and accurate representation, even releasing a Comanche-language dub of the film. The setting and characters reflect Comanche folklore, survival rituals, and the tribe’s relationship with nature and monsters.
Aison’s script focused on character-driven tension, crafting Naru’s arc as a metaphorical rite of passage and a David vs. Goliathshowdown. The film’s title, Prey, mirrors Predator in its double meaning—both hunter and hunted—reinforcing the thematic inversion.
The Predator’s moral code—only hunting worthy opponents—is contrasted with colonial violence, like the French fur trappers who slaughter buffalo for sport.
The film subtly connects to Predator 2 through a flintlock pistol Easter egg, hinting at deeper lore without being heavy-handed.
Together, Trachtenberg and Aison didn’t just reboot the franchise—they reinvigorated it with soul, grit, and a fresh perspective.
Dan Trachtenberg is an American filmmaker and podcast host born on May 11, 1981, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He gained widespread recognition with his feature debut 10 Cloverfield Lane (2016), which earned him a Directors Guild of America nomination and established his reputation for suspenseful, character-driven storytelling. Trachtenberg has since directed acclaimed projects like Prey (2022), Predator: Killer of Killers (2025), and Predator: Badlands (2025), bringing fresh vision to the sci-fi genre. His television work includes directing pilot episodes for The Boys, The Lost Symbol, and Stranger Things (2025). A former co-host of The Totally Rad Show and Geekdrome, Trachtenberg also created viral short films like Portal: No Escape. He graduated from Temple University in 2003 and is married to Priscilla Hernandez, with whom he has one daughter.
Patrick Aison is an American screenwriter and producer known for crafting intense, character-driven narratives across television and film. He began his career writing for series like Wayward Pines, Kingdom, and Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan, where he honed his skills in suspense and action. Aison broke into feature films with Prey (2022), co-writing the story with Dan Trachtenberg and earning an Emmy nomination for Outstanding Writing. His work redefined the Predator franchise by blending historical authenticity with sci-fi horror. Aison continues to shape the universe with Predator: Badlands (2025), and has also contributed to Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes (2024). Known for his collaborative spirit and genre versatility, Aison is a rising voice in modern screenwriting.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Time Hoppers: The Silk Road
The 2025 film Time Hoppers: The Silk Road is a vibrant 3D animated adventure created by Milo Productions Inc., designed to entertain and educate children and families.
Set in the year 2050, the story follows a group of gifted students from the futuristic Aqli Academy who travel back in time to protect history’s greatest scientists from the villainous Dr. Fasid, a rogue alchemist trying to rewrite the past.
Directed and written by Flordeliza Dayrit, the film showcases legendary figures like Ibn Al-Haytham, Al-Khawarizmi, Maryam Astrolabi, and Mansa Musa, highlighting their contributions to science and culture along the Silk Road. With a mix of action, humor, and historical insight, the movie aims to celebrate the diverse civilizations that shaped modern science.
Flordeliza Dayrit’s creative philosophy centers on empowering children—especially Muslim youth—through storytelling that is visually engaging, spiritually uplifting, and culturally authentic.
She believes media has the power not just to entertain, but to shape identity, challenge stereotypes, and spark curiosity about one’s heritage and values. Her work often combines adventurous narratives with deep moral lessons, drawing from both Islamic tradition and universal themes of kindness, courage, and wisdom.
Dayrit is passionate about using animation and interactive media to bridge cultural gaps. She emphasizes the importance of creating content where Muslim children can see themselves as heroes, scientists, and explorers—not just side characters. Her leadership at Milo Productions Inc. and Muslim Kids TV reflects a dedication to building a global ecosystem of creatives who share her vision for inclusive storytelling.
Time Hoppers: The Silk Road stands out from other educational adventures by blending high-quality animation, historical storytelling, and cultural representation in a way that’s both engaging and meaningful.
Most educational shows (like Magic School Bus or Dora the Explorer) focus on general science or language skills. Time Hoppers dives deep into Islamic history and scientific contributions, spotlighting figures like Al-Khwarizmi and Fatima al-Fihri.
It’s rooted in historical accuracy, guided by researchers from institutions like Bayan Islamic Graduate School and Yaqeen Institute.
Time Hoppers isn’t just educational—it’s empowering, visually rich, and culturally resonant.
Flordeliza Dayrit is a Canadian media artist, writer, and producer known for her pioneering work in faith-based children’s entertainment. Originally from the Philippines, she immigrated to Canada at age 15 and later embraced Islam, channeling her creative talents into projects that celebrate Muslim identity and culture. She began her career in 2004 as co-producer of the documentary series A New Life in a New Land, which explored the Muslim experience in Canada and was broadcast internationally. In 2006, she worked as an art director in Cairo before launching her own children’s series, Hurray for Baba Ali, which garnered over 17 million views on YouTube. In 2014, Dayrit co-founded Muslim Kids TV, a streaming platform dubbed the “Netflix for Muslim children,” offering thousands of educational videos, games, and eBooks across 60+ countries. As Director of Creative Production at Milo Productions Inc., she leads a global team in producing animated series, live-action shows, and interactive media—including the 2025 animated film Time Hoppers: The Silk Road, which she wrote and directed.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Chainsaw Man – The Movie: Reze Arc
Chainsaw Man – The Movie: Reze Arc is a Japanese animated film that adapts the fan-favorite Bomb Girl arc from Tatsuki Fujimoto’s manga.
It was inspired by the Bomb Girl arc from Tatsuki Fujimoto’s original manga—a fan-favorite storyline known for its emotional intensity and explosive action. According to MAPPA president Manabu Otsuka, the decision to adapt this arc as a movie rather than part of a second season was intentional: the story’s cinematic pacing, emotional depth, and visual spectacle made it better suited for the big screen.
The Reze arc is widely loved for its tragic romance and philosophical undertones, making it one of the most anticipated parts of the manga to be animated. The arc has a self-contained emotional journey that fits the format of a feature film better than episodic storytelling.
The explosive battles and surreal imagery lend themselves to high-budget cinematic animation, allowing MAPPA to push the boundaries of style and action.
The arc explores identity, agency, and the human condition through Denji and Reze’s hybrid existence, elevating it beyond typical shonen fare.
The Reze arc wasn’t just chosen for its popularity—it was selected because it’s cinematically powerful, emotionally resonant, and thematically rich.
MAPPA’s visual style supercharges Chainsaw Man – The Movie: Reze Arc by amplifying both its emotional depth and explosive action.
MAPPA is renowned for fluid, high-impact animation, and the Reze arc’s battles—especially Denji vs. Bomb Devil—are choreographed with cinematic precision. The studio uses dynamic camera angles and intense motion blur to heighten the chaos and urgency of each fight, making the viewer feel every explosion and chainsaw rev.
Composer Kensuke Ushio’s haunting score is tightly synced with MAPPA’s visuals, creating a visceral atmosphere that shifts from romantic to terrifying in seconds. The theme song “IRIS OUT” by Kenshi Yonezu complements the visual tone, adding lyrical weight to Reze’s tragic arc.
MAPPA doesn’t just animate the story—they amplify its soul.
The movie continues the story from Season 1 of the anime and dives deeper into Denji’s emotional and explosive encounter with Reze—a mysterious girl with deadly secrets.
Denji, now part of Special Division 4, meets Reze, a charming café worker who quickly becomes a romantic interest. But Reze is no ordinary girl—she’s tied to a Soviet devil program and harbors explosive powers as the Bomb Devil. Their relationship spirals into a brutal conflict, testing Denji’s heart and humanity in ways he’s never faced before.
Tatsuya Yoshihara is a prolific Japanese animator and director born on December 9, 1988. He began his career at age 20 after training at Actas’ internal animation school, quickly rising through the ranks to become an episode director by 21 and a full-fledged director by 23 with Arve Rezzle, part of the Young Animator Training Project. Influenced by Kanada-style animators like Seiya Numata and Hironori Tanaka, Yoshihara is known for his dynamic action sequences and emotionally resonant storytelling. His directorial credits span popular titles such as Black Clover, Monster Musume, and Chainsaw Man, where he served as action director and storyboard artist. In 2025, he takes the reins as director of Chainsaw Man – The Movie: Reze Arc, continuing his collaboration with Studio MAPPA. He is married to fellow animator Kikuko Sadakata.
Hiroshi Seko is a celebrated Japanese screenwriter born in Nagoya, Japan, with a career spanning over a decade in anime storytelling. He began as an episode writer for Panty & Stocking with Garterbelt and Attack on Titan, eventually becoming the head writer for Seraph of the End. Seko’s signature style blends psychological depth with high-stakes drama, evident in his work on acclaimed series like Mob Psycho 100, Vinland Saga, Jujutsu Kaisen, and Chainsaw Man. He frequently collaborates with studios like MAPPA and Wit Studio, and his screenplays have earned multiple awards, including Crunchyroll’s Anime of the Year. In addition to anime, Seko has written novels such as Attack on Titan: Lost Girls, and his film credits include Jujutsu Kaisen 0 and Chainsaw Man – The Movie: Reze Arc (2025), where he continues to shape the emotional core of Fujimoto’s explosive universe
Mortal Kombat II is the blood-soaked sequel to the 2021 reboot. Directed by Simon McQuoid and written by Jeremy Slater, the film dives headfirst into the legendary tournament that fans felt was missing from the first installment.
Mortal Kombat II draws its inspiration from a mix of fan demand, video game lore, and lessons learned from the 2021 reboot.
The film is based on the iconic Mortal Kombat video game series created by Ed Boon and John Tobias. The sequel leans heavily into the tournament format central to the games, which was notably absent from the 2021 movie.
The filmmakers wanted to stay true to the absurdity and brutality of the games, rather than grounding the story in realism. This includes over-the-top fatalities, magical realms, and mythological characters like Raiden and Shao Kahn.
Jeremy Slater, the screenwriter, emphasized making the sequel “bigger, funnier, and more intense” than the first film. The movie was designed to feel like a true Mortal Kombat experience, with emotional stakes, dynamic fights, and fan-service moments that mirror the excitement of playing the game.
Earthrealm’s champions—now joined by cocky Hollywood star Johnny Cage (played by Karl Urban)—must face off against the brutal forces of Outworld, led by the tyrannical Shao Kahn (Martyn Ford). The stakes? The survival of Earth itself. Expect intense martial arts battles, graphic fatalities, and a storyline that finally embraces the tournament format central to the video game lore.
Filming took place in Australia, with epic fight choreography and game-accurate costumes. This sequel promises to deliver everything fans craved: more fatalities, deeper lore, and a tournament that could decide the fate of realms.
Simon McQuoid is an Australian film director and producer born in Perth, Western Australia. He began his career in the advertising world, directing award-winning commercials for global brands like Xbox, PlayStation, and Samsung. His cinematic eye and flair for immersive storytelling led him to helm the 2021 reboot of Mortal Kombat, marking his feature film debut. Known for his meticulous approach to action choreography and visual world-building, McQuoid returned to direct Mortal Kombat II (2025), further cementing his role as a key creative force behind the franchise’s modern revival.
Jeremy Slater, born October 12, 1978, is an American screenwriter and producer celebrated for his genre-spanning work in film and television. A graduate of the University of Notre Dame, Slater created The Exorcist TV series and developed The Umbrella Academy for Netflix. He’s also known for writing Moon Knight for Marvel Studios and co-writing Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire. Slater’s screenwriting blends emotional depth with blockbuster spectacle, making him a natural fit for Mortal Kombat II, which he scripted to be bigger, bloodier, and more faithful to the game’s lore.
Ed Boon, born February 22, 1964, in Chicago, Illinois, is a legendary video game programmer, voice actor, and creative director. He co-created the Mortal Kombat franchise with John Tobias while working at Midway Games, and has remained its guiding force through its evolution under NetherRealm Studios. Boon is the iconic voice behind Scorpion’s “Get over here!” and holds the Guinness World Record for longest-running voice actor in video games. With a background in mathematics and computer science, Boon’s influence on fighting games is profound, blending brutal gameplay with cinematic storytelling.
John Tobias, born August 24, 1969, in Chicago, is a comic book artist, graphic designer, and video game writer best known as the co-creator of Mortal Kombat. Inspired by comic books from a young age, Tobias studied at the Art Institute of Chicago and began his career illustrating The Real Ghostbusters comics. At Midway Games, he crafted the original Mortal Kombat storyline, designed its iconic characters, and built the mythos of realms like Outworld and Netherrealm. After leaving Midway in 1999, he co-founded Studio Gigante and later worked as a consultant and creative director in the gaming industry.
Lioness (2025) is a high-octane action thriller directed by James Nunn and written by Dominic Burns.
Lioness (2025) was inspired by a deep exploration of maternal strength, emotional vulnerability, and the high-stakes world of covert operations. It delivers a pulse-pounding narrative that explores the lengths a mother will go to protect her child, even when the mission threatens to destroy everything she’s fought to rebuild
Screenwriter Dominic Burns envisioned a character who could embody both the tactical prowess of a former black ops leader and the raw emotional intensity of a mother fighting for her child.
The narrative grew from this duality, crafting a storyline that is as much about personal redemption as it is about explosive action.
Director James Nunn wanted to elevate the genre by infusing it with grounded, human tension rather than relying solely on spectacle.
The London setting adds a gritty realism, while the ensemble cast, led by Kate Beckinsale, enhances the film’s emotional weight and dramatic urgency.
At its heart, Lioness is a tale of courage and survival, spotlighting how far someone will go to protect the ones they love—even when their own past is as dangerous as the mission ahead.
In Lioness Kate Beckinsale stars as the formidable leader of a disbanded black ops team who must reunite her squad for one final mission: a daring heist to rescue her kidnapped eight-year-old daughter. Set against the gritty backdrop of London, the film blends emotional intensity with explosive action as Beckinsale’s character navigates betrayal, loyalty, and the ghosts of her past. Joining her are Lewis Tan, bringing martial arts prowess to the team; Alice Krige, adding gravitas and mystery; Rasmus Hardiker and Bailey Patrick, who round out the crew with sharp wit and tactical skill; and Matt Willis and Tom Bennett, whose roles add tension and depth to the unfolding drama.
James Nunn is a British film director born on October 24, 1985, in Sutton, Surrey, England. Known for his dynamic and kinetic style, Nunn has carved a niche in the action-thriller genre with films like One Shot (2021), One More Shot (2024), and Tower Block (2012). Standing at 6 feet tall, he began his career as an assistant director before transitioning to directing, where his flair for high-intensity storytelling and tightly choreographed sequences earned him recognition. His work often features single-location setups and real-time pacing, showcasing his ability to build tension and deliver visceral cinematic experiences. With Lioness (2025), Nunn continues to push boundaries, blending emotional depth with explosive action.
Dominic Burns, born in 1983 in Derby, England, is a multifaceted filmmaker—writer, director, producer, and actor—whose career spans independent horror, sci-fi, and action films. He gained early attention with CUT (2010), the world’s first single continuous-shot horror film, which he wrote, directed, produced, and starred in. Burns is known for his signature “long shot” technique and for shooting many of his films in his home county of Derbyshire. His credits include Airborne (2012), UFO (also known as Alien Uprising), and Allies (2014), and he’s collaborated with cult icons like Jason Mewes and Kevin Smith. As the screenwriter of Lioness, Burns brings his trademark blend of gritty realism and emotional stakes to the story, reinforcing his reputation as a bold voice in British indie cinema.
Michael is a biographical musical drama about the life of Michael Jackson, directed by Antoine Fuqua and written by John Logan.
The story spans Michael’s journey from his early days with the Jackson 5 through his meteoric rise to global superstardom, culminating in the final weeks before his death in 2009.
It aims to present a nuanced portrait of Jackson’s life, including both his artistic genius and personal controversies, with the filmmakers emphasizing a “compelling, unbiased story”.
The film Michael was inspired by a desire to present a comprehensive and emotionally resonant portrait of Michael Jackson’s life.
Producer Graham King, known for Bohemian Rhapsody, secured the rights from the Jackson estate in 2019 with the goal of crafting a story that would “humanize but not sanitize” the pop icon.
The screenplay by John Logan aims to explore both Jackson’s artistic genius and the controversies that surrounded him, including the child sexual abuse allegations. The filmmakers have emphasized their commitment to telling a compelling, unbiased story, balancing his cultural impact with the complexities of his personal life.
The casting of Jaafar Jackson, Michael’s nephew, adds another layer of authenticity, as the family wanted someone who could embody Michael’s spirit both vocally and physically.
The film also draws inspiration from Jackson’s legacy as a performer who broke racial barriers, redefined pop music, and left an indelible mark on global culture.
Michael traces the life of Michael Jackson from his early childhood to his final days in 2009.
The film opens with his formative years as the youngest member of the Jackson 5, highlighting both his prodigious talent and the strict discipline enforced by his father, Joe Jackson. As the story progresses, it captures Michael’s meteoric rise as a solo artist, showcasing iconic moments like his moonwalk at Motown 25, the release of Thriller, and the global impact of his Bad tour.
The middle chapters delve into his creative genius and the pressures of fame, offering glimpses into his perfectionism and the emotional refuge he sought at Neverland Ranch. The narrative doesn’t shy away from controversy, addressing his physical transformation, addiction struggles, and the child sexual abuse allegations with a commitment to nuance and emotional honesty.
The final act focuses on his preparations for the This Is It tour and the circumstances surrounding his death, portrayed with sensitivity and care.
With a runtime reportedly exceeding 3.5 hours, the film may be split into two parts to fully explore the complexity of Jackson’s life, aiming to balance his artistic legacy with the personal challenges he faced.
Antoine Fuqua (born May 30, 1965) is an acclaimed American film director and producer known for his gritty, emotionally charged storytelling and dynamic visual style. Hailing from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, Fuqua originally studied electrical engineering before pivoting to filmmaking, beginning his career directing music videos for artists like Prince, Stevie Wonder, and Coolio—his video for “Gangsta’s Paradise” helped launch his Hollywood trajectory. He made his feature debut with The Replacement Killers (1998), but it was Training Day (2001), starring Denzel Washington, that cemented his reputation, earning Washington an Oscar and Fuqua a Black Reel Award for Best Director. His filmography spans action thrillers (Shooter, Olympus Has Fallen, The Equalizer trilogy), historical dramas (King Arthur, Emancipation), and documentaries (American Dream/American Knightmare, Legacy: The True Story of the LA Lakers). Fuqua is also a prolific producer and has signed major deals with Netflix and Paramount.
John Logan (born September 24, 1961) is a celebrated American playwright, screenwriter, and producer whose work spans stage, film, and television. A graduate of Northwestern University, Logan spent a decade writing plays in Chicago before transitioning to screenwriting with Any Given Sunday (1999). He earned three Academy Award nominations for Gladiator (2000), The Aviator (2004), and Hugo (2011), and won a Tony Award for his play Red (2010), which explores the life of artist Mark Rothko. Logan’s screenwriting credits include Sweeney Todd, The Last Samurai, Skyfall, Spectre, and Alien: Covenant, showcasing his versatility across genres. He also created the gothic TV series Penny Dreadful and its spiritual successor City of Angels. Openly gay and deeply committed to the arts, Logan has supported independent theater, particularly in Adelaide, Australia, where many of his plays have been staged. In 2022, he made his directorial debut with the horror film They/Them, and he penned the screenplay for Michael, the upcoming biopic of Michael Jackson directed by Antoine Fuqua.
Anemone is a 2025 drama film marking the highly anticipated return of Daniel Day-Lewis to acting after his 2017 retirement. Directed by his son, Ronan Day-Lewis, the film explores the intricate emotional bonds between fathers, sons, and brothers, unfolding through personal journeys and generational conflict.
Anemone is a meditation on legacy, reconciliation, and the beauty that can emerge from emotional vulnerability.
Set in northern England, the film follows a family fractured by past choices and unresolved tensions. Daniel Day-Lewis stars as a father confronting the ghosts of his decisions. Sean Bean plays his estranged brother, whose reappearance stirs long-buried resentments. Samantha Morton anchors the story as a maternal figure offering quiet strength and perspective. Samuel Bottomley portrays the son caught between generations, searching for identity and understanding, while Safia Oakley-Green plays a close friend whose insight helps bridge emotional divides.
Daniel co-wrote the screenplay with Ronan, making this a deeply personal collaboration.
The title Anemone draws symbolic weight from the flower’s mythological and emotional associations. In Greek mythology, the anemone is linked to the tragic love story of Adonis and Aphrodite, where the flower is said to have sprung from Adonis’s blood after his death. It’s often seen as a symbol of fragility, loss, and fleeting beauty.
Given the film’s focus on family bonds, emotional wounds, and generational conflict, the title likely reflects the delicate, transient nature of relationships—how love and pain intertwine across time. It’s also a nod to the idea that beauty can emerge from heartbreak, much like the flower itself.
Want to explore how this symbolism plays out in the characters or visual design of the film? I’d love to unpack that with you.
Ronan Day-Lewis (born 1998) is a New York City-based painter and filmmaker known for his emotionally charged visual art and emerging voice in cinema. Raised in rural Ireland, he graduated from Yale University in 2020 with a BA in Art. His paintings, often described as “punk Romantic,” blend haunting landscapes with mythic figures and have been featured in exhibitions across New York, Los Angeles, and Hong Kong. Ronan’s work has appeared in Artnet, Cultured Magazine, Hyperallergic, and Vogue, and he’s directed short films including The Sheep and the Wolf, which won Best Independent Short at the IFS Film Festival. In 2025, he made his feature directorial debut with Anemone, a drama co-written with his father, Daniel Day-Lewis, marking a deeply personal collaboration that explores generational conflict and emotional legacy.
Daniel Day-Lewis (born April 29, 1957) is a legendary English-Irish actor widely regarded as one of the greatest performers in cinematic history. Known for his immersive method acting, Daniel has won three Academy Awards for Best Actor—for My Left Foot (1989), There Will Be Blood (2007), and Lincoln (2012)—making him the only male actor to achieve this feat. He trained at the Bristol Old Vic Theatre School and began his career on stage before transitioning to film, where he became known for his transformative roles and intense character preparation. Daniel famously retired from acting twice, first in the late 1990s to pursue shoemaking in Italy, and again in 2017 after Phantom Thread. His return in Anemone marks a rare and intimate re-entry into film, shaped by his collaboration with Ronan. Daniel is married to filmmaker Rebecca Miller, daughter of playwright Arthur Miller, and together they have two sons, including Ronan.
The Dead of Winter is a 2025 action-thriller directed by Brian Kirk.
A widowed fisherwoman, travelling alone through snowbound northern Minnesota, interrupts the kidnapping of a teenage girl. Hours from the nearest town and with no phone service, she realizes that she is the young girl’s only hope.
BARB (Emma Thompson), the widowed owner of a small fishing tackle store, sets off on a pilgrimage to Lake Hilda, in remotest northern Minnesota. This is where she took her first vacation with her recently deceased husband and this is where she has promised to scatter his ashes. Hit by a blizzard, she gets lost among backroads near the lake and stops for help at an isolated cabin in the woods. Here she discovers a young woman, LEAH (Laurel Marsden), is being held captive by a desperate armed couple. The kidnappers, known only as PURPLE LADY (Judy Greer) and CAMO JACKET (Marc Menchaca) are armed and intent on murder. Spurred on by the memory of her husband, but hours from the nearest town and without any cell phone service, Barb realises she is the young woman’s only hope of survival. What follows is a merciless thriller that plays out in an epic wilderness, with a beautiful love story at its heart.
DIRECTOR STATEMENT by Brian Kirk
THE DEAD OF WINTER is a merciless kidnap thriller, set in an epic wilderness, with a beautiful love story at its heart. It’s bursting with emotion and tension, delivers explosive set pieces and wrestles with the timeless question of how we make sense of life in the face of death.
It takes us on an incredible journey into the bleak isolation of Northern Minnesota, where Barb Sorenson, the recently widowed owner of a small fishing tackle store, risks everything to save a stranger. Barb is hopelessly out of her depth, but she’s kept afloat by the memory of her husband. And it’s not in her nature to quit. That’s why we are telling her story.
Emma Thompson, a double Academy Award winner and five-time nominee, brings stature, intelligence and humanity to every role, but we’ve never seen her give a performance like this. Though Barb’s grief is profound, she has no time for self-pity. This moment requires a hero.
Kidnap stories are usually motivated by sex or money, but all our characters are driven by the primal urge to survive. Purple Lady (Judy Greer) is ready to kill to save her own life, and her husband, Camo Jacket (Marc Menchaca) has no choice but to help. Their intended victim (Laurel Madsen) is a suicidal teenager, who discovers what her life is worth when faced with losing it. Everyone is entangled in a dance with death.
The other outstanding character is the natural world, in all its beauty, scale and indifference. This endless landscape of snowbound forests and frozen lakes was a transformative experience to film and creates an enormous canvas for the story.
Alone out here, it’s impossible to avoid a reckoning with your own mortality, or to forget that life is a cycle. Barb knows better than anyone that no-one lives forever, but she is not afraid to die because she has truly known love. That’s why she never gives up and that’s why her story will endure.
The film was inspired by a blend of survival thrillers, real-world isolation, and the emotional resilience of women in extreme circumstances.
The story was conceived by writers Nicholas Jacobson-Larson and Dalton Leeb as a character-driven thriller set in the unforgiving wilderness of northern Minnesota. They drew from true accounts of rural isolation and the dangers of winter terrain, crafting a narrative where nature itself becomes a formidable antagonist.
The screenwriter’s approach to the screenplay focused on crafting a character-driven thriller that balances emotional depth with relentless suspense.
Drawing inspiration from real accounts of rural isolation and survival, they built the narrative around a widowed fisherwoman who becomes an unlikely protector in a snowbound wilderness.
The writers emphasised minimalism in dialogue and setting, allowing the stark environment and the characters’ actions to drive the tension.
The screenplay’s lean structure and intense pacing reflect the writers’ intent to create a visceral experience—one where silence, snow, and solitude become as threatening as any villain.
Emma Thompson’s character—a widowed fisherwoman—was written to reflect strength, vulnerability, and the instinct to protect, inspired by stories of women who’ve faced danger alone and persevered. The film’s stark setting and themes of survival, sacrifice, and unexpected heroism were also shaped by Kirk’s interest in exploring how ordinary people respond to extraordinary threats.
Brian Kirk is an Irish film and television director born in 1968 in Armagh, Northern Ireland. He is best known for his work on high-profile series such as Game of Thrones, Luther, Boardwalk Empire, and Dexter, as well as directing the feature films 21 Bridges and The Dead of Winter (2025). Kirk’s career spans both UK and US productions, with a reputation for crafting tense, character-driven narratives across genres. He studied English at Edinburgh University and later earned a postgraduate diploma in Film & Television from Bristol University. His directing style often blends atmospheric tension with emotional nuance, making him a sought-after talent for both television and film.
Nicholas Jacobson-Larson is a Los Angeles-based composer, conductor, and screenwriter. He serves as musical director and arranger for Michael Bublé and has collaborated with artists like Paul McCartney and Jon Batiste. As a film composer, he’s scored numerous acclaimed documentaries, including the Oscar-winning The Queen of Basketball. In screenwriting, he partners with Dalton Leeb, co-authoring projects like Endurance (Netflix), Hot Wheels (Warner Bros), and The Dead of Winter. Their script Strongman earned a spot on the 2017 Black List. Jacobson-Larson’s creative range spans concert compositions, film scores, and narrative storytelling, reflecting a deep versatility across disciplines.
Dalton Leeb is an American actor and screenwriter known for his roles in indie films such as Feeding Mr. Baldwin and One Day Like Rain, as well as appearances in TV series like Greek. As a writer, he collaborates with Nicholas Jacobson-Larson on screenplays that blend emotional depth with genre storytelling. Their work includes The Dead of Winter, Hot Wheels, and Endurance, with Strongman earning critical acclaim on the Black List. Leeb’s background in performance informs his writing, bringing a grounded, character-focused sensibility to his scripts. He maintains a dual career in acting and writing, with multiple projects in development across film and television.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Gabby’s Dollhouse: The Movie
Gabby’s Dollhouse: The Movie is a whimsical, live-action/CGI hybrid adventure from DreamWorks Animation.
The film was inspired by the massive success and heartfelt charm of the original Gabby’s Dollhouse preschool series, created by Traci Paige Johnson and Jennifer Twomey. The show’s unique blend of live-action and animation, surprise unboxing, and whimsical cat-themed adventures resonated with kids and families worldwide, becoming one of Netflix’s top preschool hits.
Based on the beloved preschool series, the film follows Gabby (played by Laila Lockhart Kraner) and her Grandma Gigi (Gloria Estefan) on a road trip to the urban wonderland of Cat Francisco. But things take a magical detour when Gabby’s prized dollhouse ends up in the hands of eccentric cat lady Vera (Kristen Wiig), sparking a real-world quest to reunite the Gabby Cats and save the dollhouse before it’s too late.
Gabby’s Dollhouse: The Movie was directed by Ryan Crego, known for his work on Arlo the Alligator Boy and Home: Adventures with Tip & Oh.
Crego also co-wrote the screenplay alongside Melanie Wilson LaBracio, Adam Wilson, Faryn Pearl, Kirk DeMicco, and Elisa Bell.
The film was produced by Steven Schweickart, with series creators Traci Paige Johnson and Jennifer Twomey serving as executive producers. Their combined storytelling experience helped bring the whimsical world of Gabby and her magical dollhouse to life on the big screen.
Ryan Crego is a writer, director, producer, and voice actor born and raised in Northern California. He’s best known for creating and directing Arlo the Alligator Boy and its companion series I ♥ Arlo for Netflix. With a background in animation and music, Crego has contributed to major titles like Kung Fu Panda 2, Puss in Boots, and Shrek Forever After. His storytelling often blends heartfelt optimism with quirky humor, and he brings that same spirit to Gabby’s Dollhouse: The Movie as its director and co-writer.
Melanie Wilson LaBracio is an accomplished writer and producer specializing in children’s entertainment. Alongside her brother Adam Wilson, she’s co-written for beloved series like Muppet Babies, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, Treehouse Detectives, and Tumble Leaf. She’s also the creator of The Adventures of Knickerbock Teetertop. Known for her lyrical storytelling and knack for whimsical worlds, Melanie helped shape the screenplay for Gabby’s Dollhouse: The Movie.
Adam Wilson, Melanie’s writing partner and brother, is a seasoned screenwriter with a focus on preschool and family content. Together, the Wilson siblings have built a reputation for crafting imaginative, character-driven stories across television and stage. Their collaborative work includes Disney on Ice, Marvel Universe Live, and multiple streaming series. Adam’s contributions to Gabby’s Dollhouse: The Movie reflect his playful narrative style and deep understanding of young audiences.
Faryn Pearl is a director, writer, and storyboard artist whose career spans both television and feature animation. Raised in New Jersey, she discovered her passion for storytelling through drawing and acting, eventually co-directing Ruby Gillman: Teenage Kraken for DreamWorks. Pearl’s work is known for its humor, emotional clarity, and vibrant character design. Her role as co-writer on Gabby’s Dollhouse: The Movie adds a fresh, expressive voice to the film’s creative team.
Kirk DeMicco is an acclaimed filmmaker with a rich history in animated storytelling. He co-wrote and directed The Croods, earning an Academy Award nomination, and later directed Vivo and Ruby Gillman: Teenage Kraken. A graduate of USC, DeMicco began his career as a journalist in Italy before transitioning to screenwriting and directing. His work often explores themes of family, adventure, and self-discovery, making him a natural fit for the whimsical world of Gabby.
Elisa Bell is a veteran screenwriter whose career spans over two decades in Hollywood. She’s known for writing Vegas Vacation, Sleepover, and Little Black Book, and has worked with industry icons like Steven Spielberg and Diane Keaton. Bell’s writing blends comedy, mystery, and heartfelt drama, and her contribution to Gabby’s Dollhouse: The Movie brings a seasoned perspective to the film’s playful narrative.
Traci Paige Johnson, co-creator of Gabby’s Dollhouse, is an animator, writer, and voice actress best known for creating Blue’s Clues and voicing the iconic pup Blue. A Northwestern University alumna, she pioneered a signature cutout animation style using construction paper and textures. Her work emphasizes creativity, emotional intelligence, and interactivity, which she continues to champion through Gabby’s world.
Jennifer Twomey, also a co-creator of Gabby’s Dollhouse, is a producer and writer with a long history in children’s television. She was a supervising producer on Blue’s Clues and co-created Team Umizoomi. Twomey’s storytelling is known for its educational depth and imaginative flair, and she plays a key role in shaping the heart and humor of Gabby’s adventures.
Loved Out is a quirky indie romantic comedy that delves into chaos, charm, and a touch of criminal intrigue, inspired by the creators’ own chaotic, vibrant lives, particularly the messy intersections of family, identity, and survival in a world that doesn’t always make room for softness.
This South African rom-com draws from real-life experiences and conversations that spilt over into a podcast and social media content, forming a whole creative universe around the story.
Loved Out is a vibrant indie romantic comedy that follows an insecure, brand-obsessed socialite who unexpectedly inherits her missing mother’s restaurant. Her plans for reinvention are derailed when she receives a ransom video demanding repayment of a fortune her mother allegedly stole from a shady preacher—money that was meant to be laundered for the city’s most dangerous gangsters. As she scrambles to uncover the truth and navigate the chaos, she’s forced to confront her own identity and the legacy of secrets left behind.
The film stars Jane de Wet as the lead socialite, with support from Shamilla Miller, Louw Venter, and Rob van Vuuren, each bringing quirky charm and emotional depth to the tangled web of relationships and revelations. It blends comedy, suspense, and heartfelt moments into a uniquely South African cinematic experience.
It was directed by Louw Venter, a South African filmmaker known for his sharp eye for performance and instinct for comedy. The screenplay was written by the team behind the Loved Out universe, blending personal anecdotes with a flair for dramatic storytelling.
The Loved Out universeis a multi-platform creative world built around the themes of identity, chaos, and connection. It was launched with the indie romantic comedy Loved Out, which tells the story of a socialite caught in a whirlwind of family secrets and criminal entanglements. But the creators didn’t stop there.
They expanded the narrative through podcasts, where real-life experiences and behind-the-scenes stories are shared, adding depth and authenticity to the fictional world.
On social media, they continue the conversation with fans, offering exclusive content, character insights, and interactive storytelling.
Thesoundtrack also plays a key role, reflecting the emotional highs and lows of the characters and setting the tone for the universe’s quirky, heartfelt vibe.
It’s a layered, immersive experience that invites audiences to engage with the story beyond the screen.
Louw Venter is a South African actor, writer, director, and comedian who began his career in the early 2000s, gaining recognition for his sharp comedic timing and creative storytelling. Venter is best known for his work in both film and television, including standout roles in Kalushi: The Story of Solomon Mahlangu, Konfetti, and the TV series Swartwater. He co-created and starred in the cult comedy The Most Amazing Show alongside Rob van Vuuren, forming the beloved duo Corné and Twakkie. Beyond acting, Venter has written and directed several acclaimed projects, such as the award-winning feature film Stam, which premiered at the Durban International Film Festival. His work often blends humour with poignant social commentary, and he’s been recognised with multiple awards, including SAFTA nominations and festival honours. With a background in visual arts and a passion for storytelling, Venter continues to be a dynamic force in South African entertainment.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Chickenhare and the Secret of the Groundhog
Chickenhare and the Secret of the Groundhog (2025) is a vibrant animated adventure directed by Benjamin Mousquet, and serves as a sequel to Chickenhare and the Hamster of Darkness (2022).
Produced by nWave Studios, Octopolis, and Sony Pictures International, the film continues the whimsical saga of Chickenhare—a half-chicken, half-hare hero—on a quest that’s as heartwarming as it is high-stakes.
This time, Chickenhare sets out to find a mysterious groundhog said to possess the power to reverse time, a mythical ability that may be the only hope to save his species. Alongside his loyal companions Abe and Meg, he journeys through treacherous landscapes, facing rival factions and ancient obstacles. But they’re not the only ones chasing the legend, and the race against time becomes a test of courage, friendship, and self-discovery.
Chickenhare and the Secret of the Groundhog draws inspiration from a blend of mythic storytelling, ecological urgency, and the emotional resonance of hybrid identity. Rooted in the graphic novels by Chris Grine, the film expands the whimsical world of Chickenhare—a creature born of two species—into a deeper quest for belonging and restoration.
The idea of a groundhog with the power to reverse time taps into folklore and the universal longing to undo loss, making the story both playful and profound.
The sequel builds on themes introduced in Chickenhare and the Hamster of Darkness, but this time with higher stakes: extinction, ancestral memory, and the death of the Tree of Life. The creators seem to channel classic adventure tropes—hidden mountains, rival factions, ancient powers—through a lens of emotional growth and ecological metaphor. It’s a tale where time isn’t just a plot device, but a symbol of healing, legacy, and the courage to rewrite one’s fate.
Chickenhare and the Secret of the Groundhog carries a whimsical yet resonant significance beneath its animated surface.
At its heart, the film is a fable about identity, legacy, and the courage to rewrite fate. Chickenhare—a creature born of two worlds—embarks on a quest not just to save his species, but to reclaim agency over time itself. The mythical groundhog, said to possess the power to reverse time, becomes a symbol of second chances and ancestral healing. As Chickenhare and his companions navigate rival factions and ancient landscapes, the story unfolds as a metaphor for embracing difference, confronting extinction, and daring to believe that the past need not define the future.
The film’s significance also lies in its layered storytelling: it’s a family-friendly adventure that gently introduces themes of ecological loss, personal transformation, and mythic responsibility. By blending humor, action, and emotional depth, it invites viewers—young and old—to consider what it means to belong, to remember, and to act before it’s too late.
Benjamin Mousquet is a Belgian animation director known for his work on visually rich, emotionally resonant family films. He began his career as a layout artist and animator on titles like A Turtle’s Tale and Bigfoot Family, gradually honing a style that blends kinetic adventure with heartfelt storytelling. His directorial debut, Chickenhare and the Hamster of Darkness (2022), introduced audiences to the quirky hybrid hero Chickenhare, and its success paved the way for the sequel, Chickenhare and the Secret of the Groundhog (2025). Mousquet’s direction is marked by playful worldbuilding, mythic undertones, and a deep affection for outsider protagonists navigating epic quests.
Chris Grine, the original creator of the Chickenhare graphic novels published by Dark Horse Comics, brings a whimsical yet emotionally grounded sensibility to the screen. His storytelling often centers on hybrid identities, ecological themes, and mythic adventure, making him a natural fit for the film’s narrative expansion. Grine’s visual imagination and character-driven humor infuse the screenplay with heart and depth, bridging comic origins with cinematic flair.
Dave Collard, co-screenwriter of the film, is known for his work in animated storytelling that balances comedy, action, and emotional resonance. While his full biography remains under wraps, his contribution to Chickenhare and the Secret of the Groundhog reflects a talent for crafting high-stakes, family-friendly narratives that pulse with urgency and warmth. Together with Grine, Collard helps shape a tale that’s both mythic and intimate—where time travel, extinction, and belonging converge in a vibrant animated world.
Chris Grine is an American comic book artist and writer celebrated for his quirky, emotionally resonant storytelling. He’s best known as the creator of Chickenhare, a graphic novel series first published by Dark Horse Comics in 2006, which earned an Eisner Award nomination for “Best Publication for a Younger Audience” in 2007. Grine’s work often blends humor, adventure, and mythic undertones, with a particular focus on hybrid identities and outsider protagonists. Beyond Chickenhare, his portfolio includes titles like Time Shifters, The Secrets of Camp Whatever, and graphic novel adaptations of Animorphs, showcasing his versatility across genres and age groups. Grine currently works at Hallmark, where his creative flair extends to projects like “165 Bots with Stuff” featured on the Shoebox blog. His storytelling is marked by visual inventiveness and emotional depth, making him a natural fit for animated adaptations like Chickenhare and the Secret of the Groundhog (2025), where his original characters leap from page to screen.
The Heart Is a Muscle (2025) is a South African drama-thriller written and directed by Imran Hamdulay, marking his debut feature.
Set in Cape Town’s Cape Flats, the film follows Ryan (Keenan Arrison), a young father whose five-year-old son briefly goes missing during a birthday barbecue. Ryan’s violent reaction to the scare sets off a chain of events that unearth buried secrets, disrupt friendships, and force a reckoning with his past. What begins as panic spirals into a journey of masculinity, transgenerational trauma, and forgiveness.
The Heart Is a Muscle was inspired by a real-life moment that unfolded at a friend’s barbecue—much like the inciting incident in the film.
Director Imran Hamdulay witnessed a brief scare when a child went missing, and although the child was quickly found, the emotional ripple of that moment lingered. It sparked deeper questions about adulthood, masculinity, and the inherited patterns we carry into parenthood. Hamdulay, reflecting on his own transition into fatherhood and the complexities of male identity, began writing the film as a way to explore how men confront guilt, shame, and the desire to be better than the past that shaped them.
Rather than offering easy answers, the film wrestles with difficult questions: What does it mean to be a good father? Can we truly forgive ourselves? How do we break cycles of violence without losing our sense of self?
Hamdulay intended to examine these themes with compassion, not judgment, deconstructing masculinity while honouring the emotional nuance of flawed characters trying to heal.
Imran Hamdulay is a Cape Town–based writer, director, and producer whose work blends emotional nuance with sharp social insight. A Berlinale Talents alumnus and recipient of the Robert Bosch Stiftung award, Hamdulay has emerged as one of Africa’s most compelling cinematic voices. His short films have screened at international festivals including Guam, Goa, Luxor, Durban, and Moscow, where he earned accolades for Best Director, Cinematography, and Film. Raised in a family of writers and activists, he brings a deep sense of empathy and political awareness to his storytelling, often exploring themes of memory, masculinity, and generational reckoning. His screenplays have been featured in prestigious labs and markets such as EAVE, IFFR Cinemart, and Gotham Film Week, and he currently serves as a jury member for the South African Film & Television Awards. Hamdulay co-wrote and produced the award-winning thriller Sons of the Sea, and his directorial debut feature The Heart Is a Muscle premiered at Berlinale 2025, marking a bold new chapter in his career.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Long Walk: A journey of nonstop intensity and high emotion
Adapted from Stephen King’s first masterwork,The Long Walk is about stepping into your greatest humanity when there’s nothing else left to give.
Set in a post-war America where money is short and military despots rule, a chilling annual contest rivets a rattled nation. Fifty boys picked by lottery enter a televised marathon of pure will. The boys must walk, and keep walking, until they drop. If, for any reason, or for even a few moments, they fall below a pace of 3MPH they receive a warning. Three warnings and they’re out. Only one contestant can survive. But the winner is granted the ultimate prize: riches beyond belief and any wish he desires.
Overseen by a merciless Major, the contest is the ultimate expression of every man for himself. When local kid Ray Garraty arrives at the starting line, he knows this soul-crushing reality as well as anyone. But as Ray and the other boys enter the unremitting peril of the walk, each for his own reasons, they discover a starkly moving camaraderie. With every nerve-wracking step, the walkers confront questions about what makes life worth living, what turns a stranger into a brother, and where strength comes from as they forge bonds that can be shattered but never forgotten. Torn between his fierce drive to win and to keep his friends safe, Ray realizes their greatest defiance may be caring about one another.
Fueled by an urgency that doesn’t quit, and a total immersion into the life-or-death contest’s ceaseless flow, director Francis Lawrence has envisioned a one-of-a-kind perpetual motion movie. Along with a vibrant young ensemble and inventive crew he brings to life a world of relentless endurance and last-ditch hope that is a confounding mirror to our own.
With total commitment to the real, Lawrence developed a strategy of shooting in strict linear order. This way, the actors would evolve with the characters, and the audience could clock them changing before their eyes, their bodies deteriorating from walking tens of miles per day, their thoughts unraveling, yet their spirits toughening.
Says Lawrence, “It was baked in from the beginning that we could not pull any punches in telling this intense story. And we knew this movie needed to be made very differently from any we’ve ever made before. Because, when that gun goes off and the boys start walking, we needed to be moving at 3MPH with them until the final step.”
The Long Walk confronts the haunting question: how far would you go to survive when the finish line is death itself?
Set in a totalitarian America, the story follows 100 teenage boys forced into a deadly endurance contest: walk continuously at a pace above three miles per hour, or be executed.
The film centres on Ray Garraty (Cooper Hoffman), a 16-year-old from Maine, as he joins the annual Long Walk alongside fellow competitors Peter McVries (David Jonsson), Stebbins (Garrett Wareing), and others. As the miles stretch on, friendships form, rivalries intensify, and the psychological toll deepens. Presiding over the event is the Major (Mark Hamill), a chilling authority figure who delivers death sentences with cold detachment. With a score by Jeremiah Fraites of The Lumineers and a cast that includes Judy Greer, Charlie Plummer, Roman Griffin Davis, and Ben Wang, the film blends existential dread with emotional intimacy.
Statement from Director Francis Lawrence
When I first read Stephen King’s The Long Walk over twenty years ago, there was something about its simplicity — a group of young men walking — that struck me as both horrifying and deeply human. Over the years, I kept coming back to it in my mind, thinking about what it would mean to bring this story to the screen. And one day, as fate would have it, I walked past the book sitting on a shelf in my home and wondered what was happening with the adaptation. Hours later, Roy Lee called me out of the blue and asked me if I would be interested in directing.
More so than the thrilling walk-or-die concept, what really stuck with me over the years is the camaraderie that develops among the walkers. Even though they’re technically competitors, they can’t help but bond, forming friendships that feel raw and authentic. The relationship between Garraty and McVries, in particular, is what gives the story its emotional center. It’s a connection that reveals who these characters are beneath the pressure, and it’s what I believe will make audiences care deeply about them.
Another aspect I adore most about The Long Walk is the intimacy of the story set against this larger-than-life contest. We’re right there with the boys every step of the way, sharing their exhaustion, fear, and fleeting moments of hope. It’s a rare opportunity to make a film that feels both epic and personal, where the tension comes not just from the stakes of the walk, but from the relationships that develop along the way.
But beyond the conceit of the story, the emotion, and the characters, what I hope makes THE LONG WALK resonate is its deeper meaning as a metaphor for the erosion of the American dream. Stagnating wages, inflation, cost of living and other financial pressures have made so many feel like their goals have become unattainable and their earnings pointless. This sense of financial and existential nihilism can be seen across America and throughout the world. The Long Walk takes this idea to the furthest extreme, depicting an America where people have been left with no better choice than to risk their lives to try and secure a better future, to pay for a roof over their heads, or to put food on the table. Originally written in 1967 as an allegory for the Vietnam War, somehow King’s novel feels just as relevant and timely in 2025.
My goal with this film is to honour what makes King’s novel such a powerful experience: the unforgettable characters, the relentless pace, and the uncomfortable questions it asks about who we are and what we value. I want audiences to leave the theatre thinking not just about what they’ve seen, but about the world they’re part of.
Director Francis Lawrence, Cooper Hoffman as Garraty, and David Jonsson as McVries in The Long Walk. Photo Credit: Murray Close/Lionsgate
Brotherhood from the ruins
Stephen King is one of the most beloved writers of all time, the boundless imagination behind international bestsellers that have haunted and seared the global psyche. Yet perhaps the most provocative and acclaimed movie adaptations of his works have ventured far beyond his famed mastery of horror. These include Stand By Me, a powerful remembrance of boyhood friendship, The Shawshank Redemption, an inspirational tale of prison survival, and Misery, a psychological thriller about obsession.
Now comes the long-anticipated adaptation of the very first novel King wrote. Intriguingly, there was nothing supernatural about it. Instead, it was a feverishly suspenseful exploration of human nature at its worst and its best. Written with a point-blank directness, the thriller had mythic elements. The story’s walk-or-die contest, with each entrant vying not to “buy his ticket,” evoked life’s precariousness, but also the random violence of war, the brutality of authoritarianism, the desperation of financial insecurity, and a pop culture that, in an age of Reality TV, would come to thrive on carnage and division.
But at its core was a theme that soon became one of King’s most celebrated: the power of friendship to shine a light in the darkness. In this pitiless competition where a momentary leg cramp, a bad stomach, or a hole in your shoe could mean lights out, a shared laugh or story could sustain one’s soul.
Started when King was just an 18-year-old Freshman in college, The Long Walk was later published in 1979 under his pen name Richard Bachman, five years after King debuted with the instant horror classic Carrie. Over time, the novel built up a devoted following of readers who carried the paperback, and especially the friendship of Ray Garraty and Pete McVries, in their hearts. In 2000, it was named one of the 100 best books for teenagers by the American Library Association.
As early as the 1980s there was chatter about a feature film. The crackling dialogue, sky-high mortal stakes, and mix of shattering and stirring imagery were magnets. But scaling the novel’s pace and first-hand storytelling to the screen proved daunting. Still, there remained a hope the project might one day meet its creative match. That happened when Francis Lawrence, renowned for the elaborately imaginative world-building of The Hunger Games: Catching Fire and the subsequent MockingjayPart I and Part II, came aboard, joined by producers Roy Lee, Steven Schneider, and Cameron MacConomy.
Lawrence took off with an unprecedented idea: to craft a 100% in-motion picture built upon a forward thrust that only ceases at the final frame. He envisioned a relentlessly roving camera tracking a cast actually walking the miles in real-time, as the audience directly experiences their most wrenching and inspiring moments. This world would be profoundly stripped down, bared to life’s most primal sights, sounds, and feelings.
Years before, Lawrence discovered the novel while directing the epic I Am Legend and fell in love with its darkness and light. Alas, the film rights were not then available. He handed the book to one of his sons, for whom it became a favorite. Then, out of the blue, the book came circling back into his life.
“One day, about 2 years ago, I was walking down the hall of my house and saw the book sitting on my son’s shelf. I thought to myself, ‘I haven’t heard about The Long Walk in a long time.’ And that very same day I got a call from producer Roy Lee saying, ‘hey, would you be interested in doing The Long Walk?’ It was this weird thing of it having been in my life for so long, loving the book so much, and then, having this strange, magical day of seeing it again, thinking about it, and Roy calling me.”
Lee, producer and founder of Vertigo Entertainment, is best known for adapting popular Asian horror films for American audiences. A huge fan of King’s entire body of work, he was a producer on 2017’s It and is producing the forthcoming adaptation of Cujo. But he’d long held a special place for King’s novel in his heart. “I had read the book in high school,” Lee says, “and loved it. Then I got a call from Stephen ‘s agent about adapting The Long Walk. I knew it had been attempted several times in the past couple decades but of course, I wanted to give it a shot.”
Lee instantly thought of Lawrence, with whom he’d been working on a film version of the videogame “Bioshock.” “I’ve been so impressed by his whole body of work,” says Lee. “And then we got talking and he told me about how this novel was his son’s favorite book and how much he wanted to do it. From there, everything came together organically.”
Soon after, the filmmakers tapped screenwriter JT Mollner (Strange Darling) to tackle the adaptation. They came to Mollner with a big ask: could he maintain absolute fidelity to the book’s unflinching spirit while reenvisioning it for the screen? Could he render a long, lethal walk down a desolate road into a visually mesmerizing variation on a chase lit up by moments of inner transformation and true bonds?
For Mollner, the connection to Stephen King’s work went back decades. “I was, I think, seven when I read my first grown up novel all the way through. I think it was–I think I was in second grade and it took me like, you know, six months to read a 200-page novel. That novel was Carrie. That book was my gateway to becoming a constant reader. I’ve read almost everything he’s ever written.”
That early passion for King shaped the very way Mollner writes. “I’ve written prose, and most of my living is made as a screenwriter,” he explains. “So much of my voice was influenced by Stephen King growing up—not just when I’m adapting something by him.”
When the project came to him, Mollner was just stepping out of one creative season and into another. “I had just finished directing Strange Darling and knew I needed to recharge,” he says. “I told Roy I wanted to write something next for somebody else. A few days later, he asked if I wanted to write THE LONG WALK.”
“JT is a huge Stephen King fan, and he’d read The Long Walk many times before we even approached him. But even more importantly, JT is not just a writer. He’s a director in his own right, and we knew this screenplay needed a highly visual approach,” explains MacConomy. “When you have a story in which people are walking the entire time, the danger is it could feel repetitive, but JT had the visual knowledge to create dynamic tension through every moment.”
Lee conveyed to Mollner Stephen King’s one proviso. “The unusual condition that Stephen had was that this movie had to be R-rated and it had to be as honestly brutal as the book,” explains the producer.
Mollner says, “I’m one of those guys who usually loves the book and hates the movie—so with this we have to find a way to be really, really loyal to the DNA of the story. What makes it special is this hint of nihilism, but then a tiny bit of hope—this weird amalgamation of things that Stephen King was obviously feeling as a young man. This disillusionment with America, and him creating this sort of hyperbolic version of it.”
Working closely with Lawrence, Mollner compacted the characters and made a few surprising narrative shifts. But he kept King’s grittiness front and center, leaning into what the contestants experience, what they fear, how they ache, and the shocking ways each buys his ticket. By refusing any escape or comfort to the boys, the script only made the love, brotherhood, and passion for life that emerge that much more a revelation. “It was a great collaboration,” says Lawrence. “JT and I got really interested in the problem of how you turn a story that is mainly dialogue into something truly cinematic.”
Mollner echoes that sentiment, praising his director: “It was a great experience because Francis Lawrence is a director with all kinds of knowledge, skill and talent but no ego.”
“Francis really wanted to make a character-driven film, and that was important to me too,” says Mollner. Lawrence and Mollner also uprooted the story from time, setting it an unspecified period 19 years after a war that changed everything, merging a Depression Era dinginess with flashes of modern technology. It is an America chillingly familiar, even nostalgic, in its outlines, but where the dream has clearly faded—not gone, but out of reach for all but a wealthy…or extremely lucky…few. In this context, some have come to believe that any price, even life itself, is worth a shot at a better future.
“You can’t quite peg what period the story takes place, but there’s an American Gothic quality that is timeless,” Lawrence says. “It’s two decades after a terrible war, maybe a Civil War, and the country is now in a severe financial depression. People are desperate and that’s the reason so many are willing to take part in this game. That said, we didn’t want to get too bogged down in details of the government because our focus is entirely these young men, their relationships, and their emotional journey.”
Perceptive casting proved essential to the concept. Says Lee, “Francis made the most amazing choice. He saw things in each of these actors no one else might have seen until they were in character.”
Perceptive casting proved essential to the concept. The filmmakers hand-picked a youthful ensemble buzzing with energy and stamina, but also with the drive to dive deep. Lawrence sought out actors with the courage of their convictions, willing to follow their instincts. He asked each to develop his own personal ideas about his character’s beliefs and blind spots, about how they dress, talk, walk, dream, and plan to survive. Early on, a live-wire table read with the entire cast set the tone. Like the walk’s contestants, they started the day as wary, nervous strangers, blooming into closer comrades.
Reflects MacConomy, “When you throw a dozen guys in their early twenties together, they are going to be bantering, joking, pushing each other, and that was all there. But that became something Francis utilized to make the relationships in the film even more authentic. During the table read, we were able to key into different dynamics between the actors and say, now wouldn’t it be interesting if we did this or that with these two? It added new layers even before the intensity of production.”
Once on set, it was trial-by-fire. Walking up to 10 miles every day, facing their own doubts, and forging their own bonds, the cast found themselves merging into the struggles and ties of their characters. MacConomy continues, “The whole way, the atmosphere on set mirrored the story. We shot entirely in chronological order which meant we started with 50 guys in this lively, fun atmosphere all getting to know each other but soon they had to start saying goodbye to each other.”
Stephen King’s The Long Walk was born from a deeply personal and historical unease: the Vietnam War and the looming specter of the U.S. military draft.
King began writing the novel as a teenager and finished it in college, during a time when young men were being sent to war in staggering numbers. Though he didn’t set out to write a political allegory, the parallels are unmistakable—boys forced into a deadly contest by a faceless authority, with survival hinging on endurance and obedience.
King described the novel as “hopeless” and “merciless,” reflecting the cynicism and dread of being 19 and staring down a future that might include war, trauma, or death. The Long Walk’s dystopian premise—where 100 boys must walk until only one remains alive—echoes the arbitrary cruelty of conscription and the emotional toll of watching peers vanish into conflict. The Major, who oversees the walk with cold detachment, is a chilling stand-in for the systems that send youth to die without remorse.
Director Francis Lawrence, known for The Hunger Games films, was drawn to this brutal emotional terrain. His adaptation leans into the existential horror and psychological unraveling that made King’s early work so haunting. The film doesn’t just ask how far someone can walk—it asks how far a society will go to normalize sacrifice.
The screenplay for The Long Walk was written by JT Mollner. Known for his gritty, character-driven storytelling, Mollner approached the adaptation with deep reverence for Stephen King’s original novel, one he’s cherished since childhood. His lifelong connection to King’s work, especially the darker, more existential themes, made him a fitting choice to translate the merciless tone of the book into a cinematic experience’
FRANCIS LAWRENCE (DIRECTOR, PRODUCER)
Francis Lawrence has built a distinctive career across music videos, commercials, television, and film over the past two decades. Whether directing Lady Gaga’s GRAMMY®-winning “Bad Romance” music video or helming four films in The Hunger Games franchise that grossed $2.6 billion worldwide, Lawrence continues to prove himself as a visionary director and producer with creative storytelling that transcends traditional demographics — conveying artistry on par with some of the world’s most influential artists.
With an eye for discovering emerging talent, Lawrence has assembled a strong ensemble cast — Cooper Hoffman, David Jonsson, Garrett Wareing, Charlie Plummer, and Roman Griffin Davis — with established actors Mark Hamill and Judy Greer. The film will be released exclusively in theaters on September 12, 2025.
Upcoming, Lawrence returns to his fifth film in the Hunger Games franchise with The Hunger Games: Sunrise on the Reaping, scheduled for release on November 20, 2026. In 2024, Lawrence and producer Cameron MacConomy’s production company, about:blank, inked a first-look picture deal with Lionsgate, continuing their long-standing collaboration with the studio. Through about:blank, Lawrence continues to develop projects that balance commercial appeal with creative ambition.
Lawrence made his filmmaking debut in 2005 with Constantine, starring Keanu Reeves and Rachel Weisz, followed by the 2007 post-apocalyptic I Am Legend with Will Smith. His filmography spans genres from the romantic-drama Water for Elephants, released in 2011 and starring Academy Award®-winning actress Reese Witherspoon and Robert Pattinson; to the 2018 spy-thriller Red Sparrow with Jennifer Lawrence; to Netflix’s family adventure Slumberland with Jason Momoa.
The thread connecting Lawrence’s work is his clear ability to find humanity in the spectacular.
His television work includes executive producing and directing AppleTV+’s “See” and STARZ’s ”The Serpent Queen” along with two earlier series, “Kings” and FOX’s “Touch,” starring Kiefer Sutherland.
Prior to his work in film and television, Lawrence established himself directing music videos for well-known artists including Beyoncé, Jay-Z, Britney Spears, and Janet Jackson, and earned GRAMMY® and Latin GRAMMY® awards for his work with Lady Gaga and Shakira. As for Lawrence’s commercial portfolio, it includes campaigns for Gap, Calvin Klein, Coca-Cola, L’Oréal, and others.
JT MOLLNER (SCREENWRITER)
With his distinct approach to bold storytelling and psychological tension, writer and director JT Mollner is quickly making a name for himself as one of the most sought-after filmmakers in the industry. Most recently, Mollner wrote and directed the critically acclaimed film, Strange Darling, starring Willa Fitzgerald and Kyle Gallner. Released theatrically in August 2024, Strange Darling debuted to rave reviews from audiences and critics alike, with Indiewire pronouncing that it “is not only the best American film so far this year, it’s one of the best horror movies of all time.” The film received the Academy of Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror Films Best Thriller award in 2025 as well as the STIGES Film Festival Grand People’s Choice Award, and Mollner received the Bucheon International Fantastic Film Festival Best Director award.
Mollner first garnered industry attention with his debut feature, Outlaws and Angels, a revisionist Western that premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in 2016. The film, notable for being shot on 35mm despite its ultra-low budget, established him as a unique voice in indie cinema.
In addition to his feature work, Mollner has directed multiple award-winning short films, music videos, and commercials, including spots for Monster Energy Drink and Lincoln.
Mollner is also set to direct Academy Award winner Brie Larson in the creature feature adaptation of Philip Fracassi’s Fail-Safe, written by Brian Dufffield (No One Will Save You), and produced by JJ Abrams.
STEPHEN KING (NOVELIST, EXECUTIVE PRODUCER)
Stephen King was born in Portland, Maine, in 1947, the second son of Donald and Nellie Ruth Pillsbury King. He made his first professional short story sale in 1967 to Startling Mystery Stories. In the fall of 1971, he began teaching high school English classes at Hampden Academy, the public high school in Hampden, Maine. Writing in the evenings and on the weekends, he continued to produce short stories and to work on novels. In the spring of 1973, Doubleday & Co. accepted the novel Carrie for publication, providing him the means to leave teaching and write full-time. He has since published over 50 books and has become one of the world’s most successful writers. King is the recipient of the 2003 National Book Foundation Medal for Distinguished Contribution to the American Letters and the 2014 National Medal of Arts.
Stephen lives in Maine and Florida with his wife, novelist Tabitha King. They are regular contributors to a number of charities including many libraries and have been honored locally for their philanthropic activities.
Code 3 (2025) is a high-energy action comedy directed by Christopher Leone.
The film follows Randy (Rainn Wilson), a burnt-out paramedic on the verge of quitting, who must endure one final 24-hour shift to train his replacement, Jessica (Lil Rel Howery). What begins as a routine day spirals into a chaotic, emotionally charged ride through the extremes of emergency response—complete with absurd calls, unexpected heroics, and moments of raw humanity.
Code 3 was inspired by the lived experiences of Patrick Pianezza, a former paramedic who co-wrote the script with director Christopher Leone.
“I’ve known Cris for about 15 years. Even in early drafts, he could pinpoint a problem and break it down so I could improve it. Part of that was helping me grow as a writer, and part was his outsider perspective — he’d never been in an ambulance. Everything we wrote was filtered through: Does this move the story forward? Does it make sense for the characters? On set, our collaboration was friendly and collegial. Anything artistic was Chris’s domain, anything medical was mine,” says Pianezza.
Pianezza’s firsthand knowledge of the chaos, camaraderie, and emotional toll of emergency medical work shaped the film’s tone and authenticity.
Patrick Pianezza’s years as a paramedic serve as the emotional and narrative engine of Code 3.
His shift stories, chaotic, humorous, and sometimes soul-wrenching, were the film’s first sparks, written down initially as a short story in college.
The central conceit of a burnt-out medic training his replacement during one final 24-hour shift emerged from witnessing the cycles of burnout and renewal within emergency medical services, where mentorship often happens in the trenches.
Pianezza infused the screenplay with nuanced emotional truths: the gallows humour, the adrenaline fatigue, the brief and tender connections with strangers on the worst day of their lives. He remained involved throughout filming, guiding the crew and cast to ensure the pulse of real EMS work—its language, its rhythm, its weight—beat beneath every scene.
What results is a comedy steeped not just in laughs, but in lived grit, honouring those who show up again and again when the sirens call.
Rather than glamorising heroics, the story leans into the burnout, absurdity, and quiet dignity of paramedics on the edge.
It’s a buddy comedy, yes—but one that pulses with real-world grit. The filmmakers collaborated closely with EMS professionals to ensure the dialogue, scenarios, and emotional beats felt true to life.
Advice for screenwriters just starting out
“I’d say: just keep writing. Be determined, but also understand that luck plays a huge role in this business. Talent gets you in the door, but luck often decides what happens next. In my case, the ‘luck’ was having my brother. There is no world where this film exists without him. He was the one who pushed me to write the first draft, brought Chris into the project, and worked relentlessly to see it cross the finish line.
The only way to get good is to practice. Even though I hadn’t done much screenwriting, I’d written for multiple publications — writing in general keeps the craft alive. You can’t just sit down one day and suddenly write Ben-Hur. It’s iterative: you get better, you learn to recognize what isn’t working, and you develop the discipline to “murder your darlings.”
Most importantly: don’t give up. There are amazing writers out there who never got their break. I don’t claim to be Mario Puzo or Francis Ford Coppola — I got lucky. But once you get your shot, dogged determination and giving your best are everything.”
Patrick Pianezza is a writer, actor, and former paramedic whose storytelling roots trace back to central Illinois, where he was raised by immigrant parents who surrounded him with tales that sparked a vivid imagination. After earning an associate degree in Biology and completing his paramedic certification, he served as a volunteer fireman and EMT before advancing to a B.A. in Public Relations and a Master’s in Healthcare Administration. His career in emergency medical services included time as a Paramedic Crew Chief and work with Johns Hopkins Hospital’s Lifeline transport team. Since 2010, he’s held leadership roles in hospital operations and patient experience across major healthcare systems. Pianezza’s creative pivot came with Code 3, a screenplay born from his own shift stories, co-written with his mentor Christopher Leone. Fluent in Italian and humorously self-aware about his Spanish and French, he now lives in Long Beach, California, where he continues to write, podcast, and celebrate family.
Christopher Leone, is a Los Angeles–based filmmaker with a background in visual effects and CG animation. His career spans directing, writing, and producing across film, television, and digital platforms. Leone co-created and co-executive produced The Lost Room, a Syfy mini-series that earned a Writers Guild Award nomination, and directed the sci-fi feature Parallels for Fox Digital Studio. His short film K-7 screened at over 60 festivals and won multiple awards, showcasing his knack for genre storytelling with emotional depth. Leone has also directed digital series like Suit Up and Wolfpack of Reseda, and co-authored the comic We Kill Monsters. With Code 3, he brings his genre-savvy lens to a grounded buddy comedy, shaped by Pianezza’s lived EMS experience. Leone is married to Pamela Wimberly and continues to direct commercials and develop projects that blend heart, humour, and high concept.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Demon Slayer: Infinity Castle
Demon Slayer: Infinity Castle is the first film in a climactic trilogy that adapts the final arc of Kimetsu no Yaiba. It plunges the Demon Slayer Corps into Muzan Kibutsuji’s dimensional fortress for an all-out war.
Demon Slayer: Infinity Castle marks the penultimate arc of the acclaimed anime and manga series Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba, firmly rooted in the shōnen genre—a blend of action, emotion, and coming-of-age intensity. Set within Muzan Kibutsuji’s surreal, dimension-warping fortress, the arc plunges the Demon Slayer Corps into a labyrinth of shifting rooms and gravity-defying battles. Its significance lies in its emotional crescendo: long-awaited showdowns, personal vengeance, and the unraveling of legacy threads converge in a space that feels both mythic and claustrophobic. As the stage for the series’ final reckoning, Infinity Castle transforms from mere setting into a crucible of fate.
Demon Slayer: Infinity Castle plunges the Demon Slayer Corps into Muzan Kibutsuji’s extradimensional fortress—a labyrinth of shifting rooms and perilous duels. After the death of their leader, Kagaya Ubuyashiki, Muzan traps the Corps inside the Infinity Castle, scattering them across its warped architecture. Each warrior faces a personal reckoning: Zenitsu confronts Kaigaku, his fallen former peer, unleashing a self-forged seventh form of Thunder Breathing; Shinobu sacrifices herself in a poisoned battle against Doma, the demon who killed her sister; and Tanjiro, alongside Giyu, battles Akaza, ultimately awakening the Transparent World and Selfless State to defeat him. Akaza, haunted by memories of his human life, chooses self-destruction in a moment of grace. As the castle pulses with grief and resolve, Kanao steps into Shinobu’s place, Kokushibo looms, and Muzan prepares his final assault. The film ends not with closure, but with the promise of deeper battles to come—a mythic descent into memory, vengeance, and the fading light of humanity.
Demon Slayer: Infinity Castle was inspired by a convergence of artistic reverence, narrative necessity, and fan devotion
At its core, the film adapts the climactic Infinity Castle Arc from Koyoharu Gotouge’s manga—a sprawling, emotionally charged sequence that demanded cinematic scale. Director Haruo Sotozaki and the team at Ufotable approached the project with almost ritualistic care, drawing visual inspiration from ancient Japanese ukiyo-e woodblock prints to preserve the manga’s linework and elemental techniques. Sotozaki even experimented with the thickness of animated lines to echo the original art’s emotional weight.
The castle itself—an ever-shifting, gravity-defying fortress—was reportedly inspired by the tiered architecture of Ookawaso Ryokan in Fukushima, a real-world inn whose eerie elegance mirrors Muzan’s lair. This architectural muse helped ground the surreal in something tactile, enhancing the film’s mythic atmosphere.
Emotionally, the film was driven by the need to honor character arcs and deepen the stakes. Voice actors and crew spoke at Comic-Con 2025 about the emotional evolution of characters like Zenitsu and Tanjiro, hinting that this installment would reveal sides of them “nobody’s prepared for”. The trilogy format itself reflects the creators’ desire to give each battle and farewell its due weight—transforming the final arc into a cinematic ritual of reckoning.
Directed by Haruo Sotozaki and produced by Ufotable, the film runs 155 minutes and features music by Yuki Kajiura and Go Shiina. It broke multiple box office records in Japan, surpassing even Mugen Train in opening day earnings.
This is just Part 1: Akaza Returns—the beginning of the end. Parts 2 and 3 are expected in 2027 and 2029, giving the studio time to craft each chapter with care.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale
Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale, the cinematic return of the global phenomenon, follows the Crawley family and their staff as they enter the 1930s. When Mary finds herself at the center of a public scandal and the family faces financial trouble, the entire household grapples with the threat of social disgrace. The Crawleys must embrace change as the staff prepares for a new chapter with the next generation leading Downton Abbey into the future.
“This film is a loving portrait of the characters as they enter the 1930s, and we really dig into the characters’ emotions at the end of the story we’re telling,” says director Simon Curtis. “The central storyline is that Lady Mary is getting divorced, which is a massive issue in 1930, especially for a family of this social standing. The family and Mary are dealing with the aftermath of the news of her divorce going public in addition to the family’s ongoing financial worries and the realisation for Robert that maybe the time has come for him to hand the reins of Downton over to his daughter. I think Mary is a very impressive businesswoman and is more than ready to take it on.”
“There was something satisfying about making a third film; a trilogy to complete it all. We knew the audience wanted another film because they told us, but our challenge was to make it without the beloved Violet, played so beautifully by the late Maggie Smith. However, we do love a challenge and felt there were lots of story arcs left open so it felt right to round those out. Maggie was irreplaceable and the film will be dedicated to her memory,” says Producer Liz Trubridge.
“It’s been the most extraordinary journey. I had no idea when I first pitched this idea in 2008, that 15 years later we would still be involved in producing not only six seasons and five Christmas specials of the TV show, but a fantastically successful transfer from the small screen to the big screen, and now the third of the feature films. It really has been a remarkable journey,” says Producer Gareth Neame.
“The core creative team has been myself, Liz and Julian Fellowes from beginning to end. It’s also the most important project any of us have worked on and the biggest success for all of us. Liz is a very hard worker; she’s unflappable and incredibly loyal to Carnival as a production house. When Julian and I started working together nothing existed at that point. By the time Liz came on board we had a few scripts, but we hadn’t begun any of the casting. Over these many years we’ve been through every twist and turn of the story, and every life change that’s happened to the cast and crew along the way. We’ve been great collaborators and have gone on to make other shows together.”
Though the second Downton Abbey film, Downton Abbey: A New Era, largely provided a fun romp through the early 20th-century movie business – except for Violet’s death, of course – The Grand Finale will instead supply a bittersweet, heartwarming, lovely ending, and that’s all we can truly ask for.
Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale was born from a deep desire to bring emotional closure to one of television’s most cherished families
After years of storytelling—across six seasons and two films—creator Julian Fellowes felt the arc of the Crawleys had reached its natural end.
The death of the Dowager Countess in the previous film left a poignant gap, making space for themes of generational transition, grief, and quiet resilience to take center stage. With Lady Mary embroiled in scandal and Lord Grantham stepping back, the estate stands at a threshold between tradition and change. Cast members, too, expressed a visceral connection to the project—Joanne Froggatt described sobbing after seeing the final cut, not from performance but from the sheer weight of the goodbye. Fan devotion played a crucial role, as the franchise’s continued popularity begged for one last, resonant chapter. This film is less a finale than a ritual of parting—an elegy to legacy, loss, and the slow, noble passage of time.
Across six seasons, Downton Abbey charts the sweeping transformation of an aristocratic estate and the lives entwined within it—from the sinking of the Titanic in 1912 to the eve of 1926.
The series begins with the Crawley family grappling with the loss of their heir and the arrival of Matthew, a middle-class lawyer thrust into nobility. As war breaks out, Downton becomes a convalescent home, reshaping roles and relationships both upstairs and down. Lady Mary and Matthew’s romance anchors the early seasons, while Lady Edith’s journey from overlooked sister to independent editor unfolds slowly and poignantly. Tragedy strikes with Sybil’s death and later Matthew’s, leaving emotional and structural voids. The downstairs staff navigate love, scandal, and shifting social tides—Anna and Bates endure wrongful imprisonment, while Thomas Barrow wrestles with identity and isolation. As the estate faces financial strain and modernity encroaches, Lady Mary steps into leadership, Tom Branson finds purpose beyond grief, and Violet, the indomitable Dowager Countess, delivers wisdom and wit until the end. The final season offers resolution: marriages, reconciliations, and new beginnings, as the Crawleys and their staff embrace change while honouring tradition.
The first Downton Abbey film (2019) picks up in 1927, two years after the series finale, as the Crawley family prepares for a royal visit from King George V and Queen Mary. The estate buzzes with excitement and tension as the royal entourage arrives, bringing both pomp and disruption. Lady Mary steps into a leadership role, Carson returns from retirement, and an attempted assassination plot adds unexpected drama. Meanwhile, romantic sparks fly between Tom Branson and Lucy Smith, and Violet Crawley confronts old family wounds with Maud Bagshaw, revealing a hidden heir. The film celebrates loyalty, legacy, and the enduring grace of Downton’s staff and family.
The sequel, Downton Abbey: A New Era (2022), shifts to 1928 and splits the narrative between two locations. While half the family travels to the French Riviera to uncover the mystery behind Violet’s unexpected inheritance of a villa, the other half remains at Downton, hosting a film crew shooting a silent movie. The clash between tradition and modernity deepens as Lady Mary navigates the chaos of filmmaking, and Thomas Barrow finds unexpected love and opportunity in Hollywood. Violet’s health declines, and her death casts a long shadow, but her final gift—a villa for Sybbie Branson—symbolises hope and continuity. The film is a meditation on change, legacy, and the quiet courage of moving forward.
Julian Alexander Kitchener-Fellowes, Baron Fellowes of West Stafford, is a British writer, actor, director, and peer whose career spans literature, film, television, and theatre. Born on August 17, 1949, in Cairo, Egypt, where his father served as a diplomat, Fellowes was educated at Ampleforth College and Magdalene College, Cambridge, before training at the Webber Douglas Academy of Dramatic Art. He began his career as a character actor, appearing in numerous British television series and films throughout the 1970s and 1980s, but it was his pivot to screenwriting that brought him international acclaim. His breakthrough came with Gosford Park (2001), for which he won the Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay. Fellowes is best known as the creator and writer of Downton Abbey (2010–2015), the globally celebrated period drama that earned him multiple Emmy Awards and cemented his reputation as a master of class-conscious storytelling. He has also written and directed films such as Separate Lies (2005) and penned screenplays for The Young Victoria (2009) and The Chaperone (2018). In addition to his screen work, Fellowes has authored novels including Snobs and Past Imperfect, and contributed to stage musicals like Mary Poppins and School of Rock. Elevated to the House of Lords in 2011, he continues to blend aristocratic insight with dramatic flair, crafting narratives that explore the tensions between tradition and transformation.
Simon Curtis is a British film director and producer known for his elegant, emotionally resonant storytelling and his deep engagement with historical and literary subjects. Born in London in March 1960, Curtis began his career in the theatre, working as an assistant director at the Royal Court Theatre before transitioning into television and film. He gained early recognition for directing acclaimed BBC dramas such as David Copperfield (1999) and Cranford (2007), showcasing his talent for period detail and character-driven narratives. His feature film debut came with My Week with Marilyn (2011), a biographical drama starring Michelle Williams and Kenneth Branagh, which earned multiple Academy Award nominations and established Curtis as a director with a refined touch and a gift for intimate storytelling. He continued this trajectory with films like Woman in Gold (2015), which explored art restitution and Holocaust memory, and Goodbye Christopher Robin (2017), a poignant look at the origins of Winnie-the-Pooh. In 2022, Curtis directed Downton Abbey: A New Era, further cementing his connection to British heritage cinema. Married to actress Elizabeth McGovern, Curtis often collaborates with actors and writers who share his passion for nuanced, emotionally layered narratives. His work is marked by its sensitivity, historical awareness, and a quiet reverence for the complexities of human relationships.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Conjuring: Last Rites delivers another thrilling chapter of the iconic Conjuring cinematic Universe
The question was, “How can we land this with as much emotional impact as possible, while delivering all the scares you’ve come to expect?” We wanted something that had gravitas, more emotional weight, that would serve as a fitting conclusion for these characters. We knew we wanted to go for something… bigger,” says director Michael Chaves of The Conjuring: Last Rites, the ninth entry in the more than $2 billion theatrical Conjuring Universe.
In The Conjuring: Last Rites, the veil between sanctity and terror grows thin. Set against the unravelling quiet of 1980s Pennsylvania and the cloistered echoes of a Vatican vault, the film marks a chilling culmination of the Warrens’ legacy.
Drawing from the real-life Smurl haunting and whispers of a suppressed relic scandal, director Michael Chaves crafts a final chapter pulsing with theological dread, familial fracture, and the price of bearing witness to evil. It’s less an exorcism than an elegy—a requiem for belief in the face of possession, memory, and the haunting persistence of secrecy.
In its ninth and final instalment, The Conjuring: Last Rites functions as both a spiritual reckoning and a narrative crescendo, weaving threads from across the franchise into a tapestry of legacy, loss, and faith.
Rather than relying solely on familiar spectacle, the film favors emotional weight and thematic resonance, drawing deeply from past cases: Annabelle’s cursed innocence, The Nun’s ecclesiastical dread, and The Devil Made Me Do It’s courtroom possession.
Directed by Michael Chaves and produced by James Wan and Peter Safran, the film reunites Vera Farmiga and Patrick Wilson as the famed paranormal investigators, alongside Mia Tomlinson and Ben Hardy as their daughter Judy and her boyfriend Tony Spera.
“I feel very blessed and very honoured that the Conjuring has caught on and been as big as it has been,” says Producer James Wan. “It’s such a large part of so many people’s lives. I have fans that will chat to me all the time, telling me how much these films mean to them and how much they want them to continue. That just tells me that I must have done something right, especially with the first movie and the subsequent films that we made after that. People want to keep coming back to visit these characters and be in this world. As any filmmaker might tell you, we’re on this planet for a short amount of time and the legacy you’ll get to leave behind is your films—your art, so to speak. It’s very gratifying for me to know that when I’m eventually gone, these films will live on for as long as there are films.”
Set in the late 1980s, the Warrens investigate the infamous Smurl haunting in Pennsylvania—a case involving demonic infestation, spectral violence, and a family on the brink. As the Warrens confront malevolent forces that blur the line between possession and psychological torment, the film explores themes of faith, legacy, and the cost of bearing witness to evil.
Judy Warren’s emergence as a psychic heir connects generations of spiritual trauma, while Ed and Lorraine’s final investigation tests not only their resolve but their belief system itself. The climax doesn’t offer clean triumph; it offers endurance, with love flickering against the backdrop of evil. Their haunted artifacts become not trophies of terror, but monuments to memory—each whispering the cost of bearing witness. In this way, Last Rites isn’t just an ending—it’s an echo chamber where faith, fear, and history collide.
The Conjuring: Last Rites delivers another thrilling chapter of the iconic Conjuring cinematic Universe, based on real events. Directed by franchise veteran Michael Chaves from a screenplay by Ian Goldberg & Richard Naing and David Leslie Johnson-McGoldrick, story by David Leslie Johnson-McGoldrick & James Wan, based on characters created by Chad Hayes & Carey W. Hayes, and produced by franchise architects James Wan and Peter Safran.
Director Michael Chaves is an American filmmaker known for his atmospheric contributions to modern horror, particularly within The Conjuring Universe. Chaves began his career directing short films like The Maiden, which won Best Super Short Horror Film at Shriekfest 2016. He later created the Nickelodeon web series Chase Champion, showcasing his early flair for genre storytelling. His breakout into feature films came with The Curse of La Llorona (2019), followed by The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It (2021) and The Nun II (2023), all produced by James Wan. Chaves is celebrated for his ability to blend visual tension with emotional depth, often exploring themes of faith, trauma, and the supernatural. His direction of The Conjuring: Last Rites (2025) marks the franchise’s spiritual finale, cementing his role as a key architect of its cinematic legacy.
Ian Goldberg is an American screenwriter and producer best known for his work in genre television and horror cinema. He rose to prominence as a showrunner and writer for Fear the Walking Dead, where his storytelling often explored moral ambiguity and post-apocalyptic psychology. Goldberg has also contributed to series like Dead of Summer and Once Upon a Time, showcasing his range across fantasy and thriller formats. In film, he co-wrote The Autopsy of Jane Doe (2016), a critically acclaimed horror piece noted for its claustrophobic dread and narrative precision. His collaboration with Richard Naing has become a hallmark of modern horror writing, culminating in their work on The Nun II and The Conjuring: Last Rites (2025), where theological unease meets domestic terror.
Richard Naing is an American screenwriter and producer who has carved a distinct niche in the horror genre through his ability to craft suspenseful, emotionally charged narratives. He co-wrote The Autopsy of Jane Doe, a breakout film praised for its atmospheric tension and minimalist horror. Naing continued to explore themes of isolation and hidden truths in Eli (2019), and later expanded The Conjuring Universe with The Nun II and Last Rites. His television credits include Dead of Summer and Fear the Walking Dead, where he demonstrated a knack for serialized dread and character-driven storytelling. Naing’s work often blends psychological unease with supernatural elements, creating horror that lingers beyond the screen.
David Leslie Johnson-McGoldrick is an American screenwriter and producer whose career spans horror, fantasy, and blockbuster cinema. He began as a production assistant on The Shawshank Redemption, filmed in his hometown of Mansfield, Ohio, and later became a longtime collaborator of Frank Darabont. Johnson-McGoldrick wrote Orphan (2009), Wrath of the Titans (2012), and several entries in The Conjuring Universe, including The Conjuring 2, The Devil Made Me Do It, and Last Rites. He also penned Aquaman and its sequel Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom, blending mythic spectacle with emotional stakes. His writing often explores the intersection of belief, trauma, and myth, making him a versatile voice in both horror and fantasy storytelling.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Stolen Girl is a visceral, redemptive story about the lengths a mother will go to rescue her child
“Stolen Girl is a riveting true-life thriller that exposes the heartbreak and determination of a single mother as she fights to recover just one of the 1100 children abducted from America every year,” says director James Kent. “It is full of the most profound and universal emotions: fear, vulnerability, determination, betrayal and astonishing courage.”
In Stolen Girl, director James Kent and screenwriters Rebecca Pollock and Kas Graham retrace a mother’s long search for her stolen daughter, not as a procedural, but as a meditation on maternal silence, fractured systems, and the contours of hope stretched thin.
Inspired by the harrowing true story of Maureen Dabbagh, an American mother whose daughter was abducted by her ex-husband in 1993 and taken to the Middle East, the film transcends thriller tropes, offering a portrait of grief that drifts between continents and courtrooms, between the moment of loss and the ache of memory. Every frame pulses with absence, every scene asks what identity remains when the bond of motherhood is ripped and stitched across borders.
Maureen’s daughter, Nadia, was taken overseas during a court-approved visitation. With no extradition treaty between Syria and the U.S., Maureen faced a legal dead end. Her journey spanned 17 years, involving private investigators, media outreach, and eventually training as a child recovery agent herself.
The film doesn’t just chronicle the search—it explores the psychological toll, the moral ambiguity of rescue missions, and the resilience required to navigate international systems.
The screenplay, written by Rebecca Pollock and Kas Graham, channels this real-life ordeal into a suspenseful yet emotionally grounded narrative.
Rebecca Pollock and Kas Graham approached the screenplay for Stolen Girl with a blend of emotional fidelity and thriller pacing, drawing directly from the true story of Maureen Dabbagh’s 17-year search for her abducted daughter. Their writing process was shaped by several key choices:
Dual Perspective: By introducing Robeson, a former Marine and child recovery agent, they created a moral counterpoint to Maureen. His tactical pragmatism contrasts with her emotional drive, allowing the script to explore ethical ambiguity.
Global Scope, Intimate Stakes: The screenplay moves across continents—Ohio, Beirut, Italy—but always returns to Maureen’s internal landscape. The tension is both geopolitical and deeply personal.
Realism with Compression: While inspired by real events, they compressed timelines and dramatized certain elements to maintain cinematic momentum. The result is a story that feels authentic without being documentary-like.
Collaborative Refinement: Pollock and Graham are long-time writing partners, known for their ability to balance character depth with genre structure. Their previous work (Last Passenger, Expecting Love) shows a similar blend of emotional stakes and narrative propulsion.
Rebecca Pollock and Kas Graham’s collaboration with director James Kent on Stolen Girl was built on a shared commitment to emotional authenticity and narrative precision. While direct quotes from the trio haven’t surfaced yet, their creative partnership has been well-documented across multiple projects:
For Stolen Girl, Kent directed from their screenplay, which dramatises Maureen Dabbagh’s real-life search for her abducted daughter. The film’s tone, equal parts thriller and emotional odyssey, reflects Kent’s sensitivity to psychological nuance and Pollock & Graham’s layered writing.
All three are known for balancing genre with emotional depth: Kent’s work on Testament of Youth and The Aftermath shows his affinity for trauma and resilience, while Pollock & Graham’s scripts often explore moral ambiguity and maternal strength.
Their collaboration seems to hinge on a mutual respect for emotional truth over spectacle, crafting stories that resonate beyond plot mechanics
James Kent is a British director known for his emotionally resonant storytelling and elegant visual style. Originally a documentary filmmaker, Kent transitioned into drama with a keen sensitivity to character and historical nuance. His breakout feature, Testament of Youth (2014), adapted from Vera Brittain’s memoir, showcased his ability to blend intimate emotion with sweeping period detail. He followed this with The Aftermath (2019), a postwar drama starring Keira Knightley, which further cemented his reputation for crafting layered, atmospheric narratives. In 2025, Kent directed Stolen Girl, a thriller inspired by the true story of Maureen Dabbagh’s search for her abducted daughter. Collaborating with screenwriters Rebecca Pollock and Kas Graham, Kent brought a restrained intensity to the film, focusing on maternal silence, moral ambiguity, and the emotional toll of international justice. His work often explores trauma, resilience, and the quiet spaces between dialogue—where meaning lingers. Kent’s background in both documentary and drama allows him to navigate fact and feeling with equal precision, making him one of the UK’s most quietly compelling directors.
Rebecca Pollock is a British screenwriter and theatre artist whose work spans emotionally charged dramas, biopics, and genre thrillers. A founding member of the Shady Dolls Theatre Company, Pollock has written and directed plays performed across the UK and Europe, including the sci-fi piece 252AM (After Man), which premiered at VAULT Festival with support from Arts Council England. Her screenwriting career includes projects for Netflix, NBCUniversal, and EOne, with her feature Stolen Girl (2025)—co-written with longtime collaborator Kas Graham—drawing acclaim for its blend of suspense and emotional depth. Pollock’s screenplay for Betty Ford was featured on the Black List, with Ryan Murphy and Sarah Paulson attached, while Book of Ruth and May Savidge continue her exploration of complex female protagonists. Known for her poetic sensibility and narrative precision, Pollock crafts stories that pulse with psychological truth and social resonance, often navigating themes of identity, resilience, and systemic failure.
Kas Graham is a UK-based screenwriter, editor, and visual storyteller whose work often explores emotional complexity through genre frameworks. Born in Norfolk, Graham studied at Chelsea College of Art and Design in London, where his early interest in visual composition evolved into a multidisciplinary career. He began in development at New Line under Illeen Maisel and was later mentored by South African screenwriter Shawn Slovo through the Guiding Lights scheme. Graham has written screenplays for Oscar-nominated Polish director Łukasz Karwowski and frequently collaborates with Rebecca Pollock, with whom he co-wrote Stolen Girl (2025). His writing blends psychological depth with narrative propulsion, often focusing on maternal resilience, moral ambiguity, and systemic failure. Beyond screenwriting, Graham is an award-winning video director and photographer, and he teaches film editing at Central Film School London. His projects span biopics (Betty Ford), historical dramas (The Book of Ruth), and emotionally charged thrillers, reflecting a commitment to stories that pulse with truth beneath the surface.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Neo-Noir, Narcissism, and the Black Body: Inside Elijah Bynum’s Magazine Dreams
“I wanted to paint a portrait of a life, specifically, a Black life that’s not often depicted on-screen,” said Elijah Bynum, writer and director of Magazine Dreams, a haunting psychological drama that follows a socially isolated amateur bodybuilder whose obsessive pursuit of greatness spirals into emotional and physical collapse.
Elijah Bynum was inspired to write Magazine Dreams after observing a man at his gym whose presence lingered with him long after their brief encounters. “He seemed to be in quite a bit of pain—physical, spiritual, emotional—but something kept him coming back every day,” Bynum shared in an interview. This man, intensely devoted to his workouts, struck Bynum as both intimidating and invisible—someone others avoided eye contact with, yet couldn’t ignore.
That paradox became the emotional seed for Killian Maddox: a character both feared and forgotten, armored in muscle but fragile at the core. Bynum was fascinated by the idea of a person who builds their body as a shield against the world, yet remains deeply vulnerable inside. “I thought there was something very interesting about a human who moves through the world that’s both feared and ignored at the same time,” he said.
The film isn’t based on a true story, but it’s rooted in this real-life observation—an emotional truth that Bynum sculpted into a haunting narrative about ambition, isolation, and the violence of being unseen.
Set in the gritty urban landscape of Los Angeles. The story centres on Killian Maddox, a troubled Black bodybuilder, and explores themes of ambition, isolation, and mental health. Jonathan Majors delivers a raw, physically intense portrayal of Killian, earning praise for embodying both vulnerability and volatility. His transformation involved eating 6,100 calories a day and training six hours daily to achieve the role’s extreme physique.
Mental Health & Masculinity
Killian’s dream of becoming a Mr. Olympia champion consumes him, pushing him into steroid abuse, violent outbursts, and emotional breakdowns. The film explores toxic ambition, suppressed trauma, and the fragile line between aspiration and destruction. As a Black man navigating systemic neglect and personal grief, Killian’s story echoes the alienated antiheroes of Taxi Driver and The Wrestler, but with a distinct racial and emotional lens.
Killian Maddox is not just a bodybuilder chasing fame; he’s a figure carved by grief, racial trauma, and the aching need to be remembered.
Bynum’s screenplay doesn’t offer easy answers—it invites us into the fractured psyche of a man whose pursuit of greatness is both mythic and tragic. In this opening, the film sets its tone: raw, intimate, and unflinching in its portrayal of a life shaped by longing and isolation.
His dual role as writer-director gives the story its tightly wound emotional core and haunting visual rhythm.
Magazine Dreams is a piercing cinematic portrait of a man consumed by the desire to be seen, sculpted both physically and emotionally by the forces around him. The film’s power lies in its intimacy and fury, echoing the haunted isolation of Taxi Driver while offering a distinctly Black lens through which ambition becomes a site of both resilience and decay. Killian’s world is framed by food deserts, economic hardship, and systemic erasure, rendering his unravelling as a consequence of society’s neglect rather than a mere character flaw. Jonathan Majors’ astonishing performance blurs the line between myth and man, channelling both brute strength and aching vulnerability. The film’s expressionist visuals and internal rhythm conjure a fractured dreamscape where reality bends to emotional truth.
And yet, beyond the craft and controversy, Magazine Dreams asks a harrowing question: what becomes of a man when the world refuses to love him, yet fears what he’s become?
Elijah Bynum is an American filmmaker and screenwriter known for crafting emotionally intense, character-driven stories that explore identity, obsession, and the ache of invisibility. Born in Northampton, Massachusetts, and raised in nearby Pelham and Amherst, Bynum graduated from the University of Massachusetts Amherst in 2009 with a degree in marketing and economics—while also playing on the university’s football team. His breakout came with Hot Summer Nights (2017), a stylized coming-of-age crime drama starring Timothée Chalamet, which premiered at South by Southwest and marked his directorial debut. Bynum’s follow-up, Magazine Dreams (2023), cemented his reputation for psychological depth and social critique, earning acclaim at Sundance for its raw portrayal of a troubled bodybuilder. Beyond directing, he’s contributed as a screenwriter to projects like The Deliverance (2024) and the sci-fi drama Capsule. Bynum’s work often blurs the line between myth and realism, inviting audiences into fractured psyches and emotionally charged landscapes.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Crafting Fear: The Art and Anatomy of Horror Filmmaking
Horror stories are not written, they’re unearthed. Beneath the cinematic scream and scripted dread lies something quieter, older: a ritual of revelation, a reckoning dressed in shadow. In crafting horror, the writer becomes an archaeologist of silence, pulling memory, trauma, and cultural fracture into distorted light. This is not a genre of cheap tricks—it is a language of atmosphere, metaphor, and rupture.
Whether through blood-soaked imagery or the slow decay of the familiar, horror exposes what polite narratives hide: the ache that does not speak, the fear that forms a second skin. To write and create horror is to step into that ache and shape it into a story, a mirror of what we most resist, and perhaps, what we most need to confront.
The origins of horror films date back to the late 19th century, when cinema was still in its infancy. French filmmaker Georges Méliès is often credited with creating the first horror film, Le Manoir du Diable (1896), a short silent film filled with supernatural imagery, including skeletons, ghosts, and the Devil himself. Though intended more as spectacle than fright, it laid the groundwork for horror’s visual language.
As the medium evolved, early filmmakers drew heavily from Gothic literature—works like Frankenstein, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and Dracula—adapting their themes of monstrosity, duality, and the uncanny into silent films and later, talkies.
German Expressionism in the 1920s, with titles like Nosferatu and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, introduced distorted visuals and psychological unease, shaping horror’s aesthetic and emotional tone. By the 1930s, Hollywood embraced the genre with Universal’s monster movies, solidifying horror as a cinematic tradition. From folklore and religious dread to psychological rupture and societal fear, horror films have always mirrored the anxieties of their time—making the genre not just a source of fright, but a reflection of cultural and emotional truth.
Horror films have undergone a striking evolution by 2025, transforming from simple fright machines into emotionally layered, socially reflective, and technologically daring works of art. What began with Gothic shadows and silent screams has now become a genre that mirrors our deepest anxieties—personal, political, and existential.
In recent years, horror has embraced hybrid storytelling, blending with genres like sci-fi, romance, and satire. Films like Bring Her Back and Sinnersexplore grief, racial trauma, and cultural memory through supernatural lenses.
Technological horror surged in response to AI, surveillance, and digital identity fears. Titles like Skillhouseweaponize social media fame, turning likes and shares into deadly currency.
The genre also saw a resurgence of folk and cosmic horror, with filmmakers drawing on myth, ritual, and environmental collapse to explore humanity’s insignificance and guilt. Climate change, misinformation, and social division became thematic fuel, pushing horror into new philosophical terrain.
Stylistically, 2025 horror films lean into atmosphere and ambiguity. Jump scares gave way to slow-burn dread, immersive sound design, and emotionally resonant pacing. Streaming platforms and VR expanded how horror is consumed, while indie filmmakers used minimal budgets to maximum effect.
In short, horror in 2025 is no longer just about what scares us—it’s about what shapes us, what haunts us, and what we refuse to face. It’s a genre reborn as ritual, mirror, and reckoning.
What makes a great horror story?
A great horror story is not simply one that terrifies; it transforms.
At its core, it must tap into a primal emotion: fear as memory, shame, loss, hunger, or revelation. The horror must feel earned, rooted not in spectacle but in emotional truth. What lingers is not the monster, but what the monster mirrors.
Tone and atmosphere become vital tools: every detail must conspire to unsettle, not just through grotesque image, but through what’s withheld, what’s repeated, what’s distorted.
The characters must bleed with tension, their choices echoing deeper fractures.
Structure, too, plays its role: the slow descent, the moment of rupture, the ambiguous aftermath. But perhaps most importantly, a great horror story invites complicity. It makes the reader or viewer lean forward, despite dread, to see what cannot be unseen.
The process of writing a horror story
Writing a horror story begins not with plot, but with pulse, with a deep, unnerving question that resists easy answers.
At its core is the emotional seed: a fear you carry, a silence that haunts, a truth too jagged for daylight. From this seed grows a world slightly off-kilter, where the texture of walls, the absence of sound, and the repetition of mundane gestures begin to unravel reality.
The setting is not just a backdrop; it’s a psychic echo chamber, designed to unsettle. The protagonist must carry their own fracture—haunted not simply by what’s out there, but by what festers within. Their arc becomes a mirror to the horror, with each step drawing them closer to a reckoning they cannot articulate.
As the narrative descends, the pacing fractures—images appear out of place, sounds refuse to resolve, and the reader is held in a state of liminal dread.
The horror itself should not merely shock, but reflect a twisted embodiment of guilt, grief, shame, or cultural rupture. It must force confrontation, not just escalation. And when the final scene arrives, it must leave behind an echo, not answers, but aftermath. Horror lives in what remains: the unanswered question, the irreversible change, the feeling that something has followed you home.
This process, at its most potent, is ritualistic. You are not just telling a story. You are summoning something.
The top ten horror films ever made
William Friedkin’s The Exorcist (1973) plunged audiences into supernatural terror with visceral intensity. Possession, faith, and primal fear remain unmatched in intensity.
Ari Aster’s Hereditary (2018) revived psychological horror with grief-soaked dread. Grief as horror: emotionally devastating and viscerally terrifying.
Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining (1980) remains a masterclass in atmospheric dread, its descent into madness both operatic and intimate. Madness in isolation: Kubrick’s icy descent into psychological horror
Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) assaults the senses with brutal realism, dragging viewers into a sun-scorched nightmare. Raw, grimy terror: an unrelenting nightmare of realism and brutality
Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960) rewrote the rules, splitting identity and genre with a single slash. The birth of modern horror: shock, suspense, and fractured identity.
Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby (1968) smoulders with domestic paranoia, its horror slow, intimate, and insidious. Paranoia and betrayal: Satanic horror with slow-burning dread.
In Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979), silence and shadow turned deep space into a claustrophobic tomb, where the body itself becomes a battleground. Claustrophobic sci-fi horror: where no one can hear you scream.
John Carpenter’s Halloween (1978) distils fear to its essence, presence, simplicity, and silence. The slasher blueprint: minimalism, menace, and iconic score.
Gore Verbinski’s The Ring (2002) modernises myth, stitching spectral unease into the fabric of technology. Cursed media and eerie atmosphere: East meets West in spectral terror.
Jennifer Kent’s The Babadook (2014) surfaces trauma as a monster, blending motherhood and mourning into symbolic terror. Grief as a monster: psychological horror with emotional depth.
A timeline of horror’s cinematic evolution
Horror cinema began in flickering shadow, with Georges Méliès’s Le Manoir du Diable (1896) conjuring devils and skeletons like phantoms of folklore on silent celluloid.
As the 1920s dawned, German Expressionism steeped horror in distorted architecture and psychological fracture—Nosferatu and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari bending reality to reflect the madness beneath.
By the 1930s and ’40s, Universal’s monsters—Dracula, Frankenstein, The Mummy—emerged not just as creatures, but as cultural icons, channeling fears of science, otherness, and mortality.
The postwar era of the 1950s saw horror films mutate into allegories of atomic dread and scientific hubris. As the mushroom cloud loomed over public consciousness, cinema responded with irradiated beasts and mutated monstrosities that embodied the fear of nuclear fallout. Them! (1954) unleashed giant ants born from atomic testing in the New Mexico desert, The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953) awakened a prehistoric creature from Arctic slumber with a nuclear blast. Godzilla (1954), became a towering metaphor for atomic devastation. Films like The Fly (1958) and It Came from Beneath the Sea (1955) warned of the dangers of unchecked scientific ambition, blending horror with speculative fiction. Even alien invasion narratives—Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956), The Thing from Another World (1951)—reflected Cold War paranoia and the loss of individuality. These films didn’t just entertain; they mirrored a world grappling with invisible threats, technological anxiety, and the monstrous consequences of human curiosity.
The 1960s introduced a more cerebral dread: Hitchcock’s Psycho split identity with a scream, and Rosemary’s Baby draped paranoia in velvet.
The 1970s turned horror inward and unholy—The Exorcist, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and Halloween made fear visceral, personal, and unrelenting.
The 1980s lit the genre in neon and gore—A Nightmare on Elm Street, The Thing, and Hellraiser blending fantasy with bodily horror and surreal spectacle.
As the 1990s arrived, horror grew self-aware—Scream cut through its own tropes, while The Blair Witch Project whispered new fears with lo-fi dread.
Post-9/11, horror darkened further—films like Saw, The Descent, and Martyrs spiraled into trauma, torture, and existential collapse.
By 2010, a new pulse emerged: elevated horror. The Babadook, Get Out, and Hereditary fused genres with grief, identity, and metaphor, redefining what horror could confront.
In 2025, the genre stands as ritual and reckoning, threading technology, myth, and personal hauntings into films like Bring Her Back, Sinners, and Nosferatu, where the camera doesn’t just watch—it remembers.
Horror has evolved from spectacle to soul, from monster to mirror, each era sharpening its blade on what we most fear, and what we most refuse to face.
If you are considering crafting a horror film, our The Write Journey course will guide you from inspiration to writing your first pages
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Midnight Cowboy: The Broken Dreams Behind the American Myth
When Midnight Cowboy first appeared on screens in 1969, it shattered Hollywood conventions and dared audiences to confront a side of America often left in the shadows
With its haunting portrayal of two lost souls struggling to survive in the unforgiving streets of New York, the film became more than just a cinematic milestone—it became a mirror to a nation caught between hope and disillusionment. At a time when cultural upheaval and social shifts were rewriting the rules, this gritty masterpiece exposed the loneliness beneath the cowboy swagger and the tender humanity buried inside urban decay.
The screenplay for Midnight Cowboy was written by Waldo Salt, adapted from the 1965 novel by James Leo Herlihy. The film was directed by John Schlesinger, a British filmmaker known for his emotionally rich and socially conscious storytelling.
Salt’s script won the Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay, and Schlesinger took home Best Director—both contributing to the film’s historic win as Best Picture. Their collaboration helped shape one of the most daring and influential films of the New Hollywood era.
Midnight Cowboy follows Joe Buck (Jon Voight), a naive Texan who arrives in New York City dressed as a cowboy, hoping to make it big as a male prostitute. Instead, he’s met with harsh realities and urban indifference. Struggling to survive, he forms an unlikely bond with Ratso Rizzo (Dustin Hoffman), a sickly con man with dreams of escaping to Florida. As their friendship deepens, the film explores themes of loneliness, identity, and the collapse of the American Dream—culminating in a heartbreaking journey that redefines both men’s understanding of connection and survival.
Through its haunting depiction of post-60s urban alienation, it exposes the harsh realities that crush idealism. It carved out a bold new path for cinematic storytelling.
Selected for preservation in the National Film Registry, it stands as a turning point in New Hollywood: a movement that championed director-driven vision and experimentation.
Its avant-garde editing, dreamlike sequences, and raw performances offered a new emotional intensity in film, influencing future classics like Taxi Driver.
At its core, Midnight Cowboy remains a poignant study of identity, masculinity, and connection, culminating in one of cinema’s most unforgettable endings.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on How Internal Logic Shapes Storytelling
Creativity thrives not in chaos, but in the quiet direction of internal logic — a compass that doesn’t confine your path, but makes sure it leads somewhere. It empowers writers to craft stories that resonate, endure, and transform.
Internal logic is the silent scaffolding behind every compelling narrative that gives a story its pulse and coherence. It’s not just about making sense—it’s about making meaning.
At its core, internal logic is the consistency of cause and effect within a story’s world. It governs the cause-and-effect consistency across character behavior, worldbuilding, and narrative progression, ensuring that every plot twist, emotional shift, or magical rule feels earned rather than arbitrary.
It’s the difference between a twist that thrills and one that confuses.
Internal logic is the heartbeat beneath the prose. It’s what allows dragons to feel real, time travel to make sense, and heartbreak to echo long after the final page. Writers who master it don’t just tell stories—they build worlds readers believe in.
When writers embed repeatable internal logic—whether through emotional rhythms like tension, revelation, reflection, or structural patterns like the three-act arc—they create a narrative ecosystem that holds its shape no matter how wild or intimate the story becomes.
Characters evolve believably, worlds feel lived-in, and readers remain immersed because the story honors its own rules. This kind of logic doesn’t restrict creativity—it scaffolds it, offering boundaries within which resonance and risk can flourish. Writers who master it don’t just tell stories that make sense—they tell stories that mean something.
Why Writers Need To Master Internal Logic
Narrative coherence
Narrative coherence is the thread that binds a story’s elements into a unified, emotionally resonant whole. It refers to the logical flow and internal consistency of a narrative—how characters, events, and themes align to create a sense of progression and meaning. When coherence is strong, readers feel immersed; they trust the story’s rhythm, understand its stakes, and intuitively grasp its emotional arc.
At its core, coherence is built on three dimensions: context (clear time and place), chronology (a discernible sequence of events), and theme (a central idea that evolves and resolves). These elements work together to ensure that each part of the story contributes meaningfully to the whole. Even in non-linear or experimental narratives, coherence can be maintained through emotional logic, recurring motifs, or thematic echoes.
For writers, mastering narrative coherence means crafting stories that not only make sense but also feel inevitable in retrospect.
Character Integrity
Character integrity is the fusion of who a person is and how consistently they live by their values. In storytelling, it’s the glue that holds a character’s arc together—ensuring that their choices, flaws, and growth feel authentic and earned. A character with integrity doesn’t mean they’re perfect; it means their actions align with their internal compass, even when tested by conflict or temptation.
When writers honor character integrity, they create protagonists who evolve without betraying their essence. A coward may become brave, but only through believable steps. A morally gray figure may make noble choices, but those choices must echo something already seeded in their soul. Integrity gives readers a sense of emotional truth—it’s what makes us say, “Yes, that felt right,” even if the outcome is unexpected.
Worldbuilding Stability
Worldbuilding Stability is the backbone of immersive storytelling—it’s what makes a fictional world feel lived-in, believable, and emotionally resonant. Whether your setting spans galaxies or a single village, stability ensures that the world operates on consistent principles that readers can intuitively grasp and trust.
Worldbuilding stability refers to the internal consistency of your setting’s rules, systems, and logic. It’s not about making everything static—it’s about making everything coherent.
Political structures must behave in ways that reflect their history and culture.
Geography and climate should influence trade, travel, and conflict.
Cultural norms should evolve logically from environment, history, and belief.
Reader Trust
Reader trust is the silent contract between author and audience—the belief that the story will deliver on its emotional, thematic, and narrative promises. It’s earned not through perfection, but through consistency, clarity, and emotional honesty. When readers trust a writer, they surrender to the journey, knowing the path will be worth it—even if it’s winding.
Trust begins with the opening lines: the tone, voice, and premise signal what kind of experience lies ahead. If the story sets up humor, readers expect laughter. If it hints at heartbreak, they brace for ache. Breaking that tonal promise without intention can feel like betrayal. Likewise, characters must behave in ways that reflect their established truths. A sudden shift without emotional groundwork fractures trust.
But trust isn’t just about what’s said—it’s about what’s left unsaid. Writers who trust their readers allow space for interpretation, implication, and discovery. They resist over-explaining, letting subtext breathe. This mutual respect deepens engagement, turning passive readers into active participants.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight – A poignant South African drama
“I just really related to the central character of this young, spunky little girl… so I wrote the screenplay with her as the voice and as the narrator, telling the story of that African childhood from her point of view,” says Embeth Davidtz’s of her directorial debut, Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight, is a striking adaptation of Alexandra Fuller’s acclaimed 2001 memoir.
The poignant South African drama Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight was written and directed by Embeth Davidtz in her feature debut, adapted from Alexandra Fuller’s acclaimed memoir.
Set in the waning days of the Rhodesian Bush War, the film follows 8-year-old Bobo (played by Lexi Venter) as she navigates a childhood shaped by political upheaval, familial instability, and a deep, complicated bond with the African land her family refuses to let go of.
The film has been praised for its lyrical storytelling and emotional nuance, capturing the raw contradictions of a white Zimbabwean family clinging to a fading world.
“My parents are South African,” Davidtz says. “They were studying in the States. I was born there, and then our life was uprooted, and we moved to South Africa when I was eight. Bobo reminds me of arriving in South Africa, being in a poor family with an alcoholic parent in a country that was so racist. I was a child who suddenly had this separation between what I was seeing and what I knew to be right or wrong. I was seeing how casual the racism was. You know, the benches said, ‘Whites only.’ It was still that time.”
Davidtz, who also stars as Fuller’s sad, alcoholic mother, brings a haunting intimacy to the screen, balancing the innocence of childhood with the brutal legacy of colonialism.
Elegant, stylistically assured, and visually articulate, the film unfolds entirely from the perspective of Bobo, who runs around with animals at the shabby farm, dirty and barefoot, observes her father Tim’s (Rob Van Vuuren) and alcoholic mother Nicola’s (Davidtz) struggles and copies all the racist remarks she’s heard from her parents, parroting them to her family’s Black servants, Sarah (Zikhona Bali) and Jacob (Fumani N. Shilubana). Through Bobo, Davidtz both emphasizes the cost of what children inadvertently perceive, and how racism is passed down through generations.
Adapting Alexandra Fuller’s acclaimed memoir.
Davidtz, the talented star of Schindler’s List, Bridget Jones Diary and The Morning Show, grew up in South Africa; that country’s divided background influenced how she adapted Alexandra Fuller’s memoir about her youth in Rhodesia in 1980 when an election shifted the balance of power in that country (now Zimbabwe) forever. Davidtz’s film adaptation of Fuller’s book chronicles the shifting racial and power dynamics in a country through the eyes of a child.
“The book was a big hit in 2001, and someone bought the rights then, sat with it, attempted to crack the screenplay [but couldn’t],” says Davidtz. “It is a 22-year memoir. My desktop was littered with the drafts that I wrote. I first started by writing the whole thing: the young Bobo, the middle-aged, then the older. Then, at one point, I gave it to somebody else, and she didn’t even know the direction to go in. Then I gave it to Alexandra. I adore her writing, but she went completely off on a tangent. And so I said, “Alexandra, I love you. But I’m going to take it.” And she’s like, “Go for it.” So I isolated myself and chose one window through the child’s eyes. That was the thing that made it work. I borrow heavily from the book as Alexandra writes dialogue very well. Like when Bobo is younger, she would say, “I can fire you if I want” [to Sarah]. That was Alexandra.”
Davidtz’s adaptation leans into the memoir’s emotional core rather than attempting a comprehensive retelling. One of her boldest choices was to frame the entire narrative through young Bobo’s point of view, depicting a child’s view of the civil war that created the country of Zimbabwe, formerly Rhodesia — a change the girl’s white colonial parents fiercely resisted. It filters complex political and racial dynamics through a lens of innocence and confusion, allowing the audience to experience the dissonance between what Bobo sees and what we understand.
Rather than covering the full scope of Fuller’s memoir, Davidtz focused on a single pivotal year—1980—when Zimbabwe transitioned from Rhodesia. This tight focus gave the screenplay a lyrical, almost dreamlike quality, emphasising memory over chronology.
Much of the story is told through Bobo’s voiceover, paired with stark, sun-drenched cinematography. The film was shot in South Africa, and Willie Nel’s cinematography, with glaring bright light, suggests the scorching feel of the sun.
Davidtz’s script uses silence, repetition, and fragmented dialogue to evoke the disorientation of childhood in a collapsing world.
It’s a fascinating case of an actor-turned-director using her own emotional intuition to shape a deeply personal adaptation. that shift from interpreting characters to authoring a cinematic world speaks volumes about Embeth Davidtz’s sensibility as a storyteller. What makes her journey especially compelling is how she didn’t just direct a narrative—she unearthed it, layering her personal history into the very bones of the film.
The result feels less like a traditional adaptation and more like a memory film: not confined by structure, but led by sensory truth, fragmented silence, and unspoken grief. It’s also a quietly radical move, centring whiteness in postcolonial Africa not as dominance, but as dissonance and displacement, especially through a child’s eyes.
It’s a rare triple-threat debut—writing, directing, and acting—with Davidtz channeling her personal connection to the material into a film that’s both intimate and politically resonant.
Embeth Davidtz is a South African-American actress and director known for her emotionally nuanced performances and her recent transition behind the camera. She gained international recognition for her role as Miss Honey in Matilda (1996) and as Helen Hirschin Steven Spielberg’s Schindler’s List (1993). Her filmography spans genres—from period dramas like Feast of July to thrillers like Thir13en Ghosts and The Amazing Spider-Man series, where she played Mary Parker. Born to South African parents while her father was studying in the U.S., Davidtz moved to South Africa at age nine. She had to learn Afrikaans to attend school and later trained in drama at Rhodes University. Her early stage work with CAPAB included Romeo and Juliet and Stille Nag, earning her critical acclaim in both English and Afrikaans productions.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on 2.22 – A Bold Romantic Thriller From Down Under
2:22 (2017) is an excellent romantic thriller that explores the eerie synchronicity of time, fate, and love—where a man’s life begins to unravel as he relives the same patterns every day, all culminating at exactly 2:22 p.m. It’s A story about a guy who is trying to protect his girl at all costs, against time itself.
Its significance lies in how it blends cosmic determinism with human emotion. The protagonist, Dylan, discovers that his life mirrors a tragic love story from 30 years ago, suggesting that history—and heartbreak—may be destined to repeat unless he breaks the cycle. The film uses recurring motifs, like Grand Central Station and celestial events, to question whether our lives are governed by chance or a deeper, unseen order.
It’s often described as Groundhog Day meets Vertigo, with a metaphysical twist.
In 2.22 New York City air traffic controller Dylan Branson (Michiel Huisman) is the embodiment of a guy at the top of his game, until one day at 2:22pm, a blinding flash of light paralyzes him for a few crucial seconds as two passenger planes barely avoid a mid-air collision. Suspended from his job, Dylan begins to notice the increasingly ominous repetition of sounds and events in his life that happen at exactly the same time every day. An underlying pattern builds, mysteriously drawing him into Grand Central Station every day 2:22pm. As he’s drawn into a complex relationship with a beautiful woman who works in an art gallery, Sarah (Teresa Palmer), disturbingly complicated by her ex-boyfriend Jonas (Sam Reid), Dylan must break the power of the past, and take control of time itself.
Michiel Huisman and Teresa Palmer in 2.22
US based Australian director and producer Paul Currie’s first encounter with the bewitching riddle of 2:22 came in the form of a bold, visionary script written by Todd Stein.
“Todd Stein had this wonderful karmic view of life”, recalls Currie. “When he first conceived of the story Todd had some medical issues, which put him into a really interesting frame of mind to write such a story. As soon as I read his script I thought: ‘This is something that’s in my DNA as a director’. Todd’s script was dark, but I felt that inside the thriller was an idea, a conceit around time and love through time, that was expansive.”
For Currie, “the film is a mysterious love story, a romantic thriller about a guy who has a particular gift that could be considered part genius or insanity. A gift that involves a dangerous secret that has to be unravelled in order to stop a devastating karmic pattern from continually repeating itself.”
Director Paul Currie
“2:22 is about the fear of love. It’s also about the past that can secreretly haunt us all. It’s a story about a guy who is trying to protect his girl at all costs, against time itself. Time is both Dylan’s ally, and his enemy.”
From Page To Screen
The script was well thought of in Hollywood. It had previously been set up at a major studio and was likely going to go move to another major studio, but Currie was determined to give it a different type of life.
“I said to Todd: ‘We don’t have the money that a studio may be able to offer you up front, but I deeply connect to the themes and ideas of this movie and I will dedicate myself to getting this movie made, no matter what it takes.” That was how the journey began.”
Currie continues “From the moment I first read the script, I realized that 2:22 was one of those rare commercial projects that appealed on many levels. I pitched Todd my take on how I saw the film from a director’s perspective, which in a nutshell, was to make an intelligent high-concept romantic thriller; a film that is highly cinematic, visceral and mysterious, offering viewers a compelling and thrilling ride from the first frame to the last.”
“Co-writer, Nathan Parker also came in at an important moment in our development to help us refine the characters and some of the nuances of the plot. Nathan is a very talented writer with a proven track record writing fantastic independent films like “Moon”. Nathan was instrumental in helping with the ultimate structure of the story and working the air traffic control sequences into the screenplay. From a director’s and writers perspective, I’ve felt blessed to be working with two such passionate and talented craftspeople.”
Nathan Parker was born in London in 1974. His first produced screenplay, Moon, directed by Duncan Jones, received its world premiere at the Sundance Film Festival in 2009. Nathan won Best Screenplay for Moon from the Sitges Film Festival, a 2010 Hugo Award for Best Dramatic Presentation, and a Best First-Feature Length Screenplay from the Writers Guild of Great Britain.
His other credits include Blitz directed by Elliott Lester, and Equals.
Towards the end of 2013, Steve Hutensky, who’d acted as a consultant on the film when Currie was trying to set it up through a US based financier, came on board as a partner producer. Like Currie, Hutensky felt the pull of 2:22 and its mysterious, unique universe.
The financing structure that worked eventually came from a combination of government subsidies in Australia, equity from Screen Australia and Screen New South Wales, presales secured by international sales agent Good Universe, UK based financer Ingenious, as well as lead private equity investors 2929 Productions and Flywheel Entertainment.
Filming would take place in Australia, with some location filming in New York. Hutensky says: “For us, it had always been about not necessarily letting the tax structure or the financing drive where we shot the film, but figuring out where we could make the highest quality film within our budget range. It all just came into place naturally in Australia – Paul being an Australian director and producer , actress Teresa Palmer being Australian, having access to amazing crews, realizing we could convincingly double Sydney for New York – the creative pieces gelled so that it made sense to shoot in Sydney.”
Jodi Matterson soon came on board as an Australian based producer. Hutensky says: “In terms of an Australian producing partner, Jodi was the first name on my list. Luckily she loved the script.”
Matterson recalls: “When Steve and Paul sent me the script, I loved the idea of doing a thriller that had romance at its core, and that’s what I think really set 2:22 apart from other films in the genre. Having these characters whose bond and love is so strong that it transcends time – I thought it was a really interesting concept to build a film around.”
The producers knew the challenges they would face making a genre film outside of the Hollywood system. Hutensky says: “We were going to make, for a modest independent budget, a movie that would aim to compete with $30 to $35 million studio movies. It’s very ambitious to do that, and to do that within the time table and budget we needed to work .”
Matterson agrees. “It was always going to be a film where we wanted to get more up on screen than we had the resources for. We were making a film that competes with genre movies in America with twice our budget. The task was: “How do we do this in the most clever, out of the box way? ”
Key to the success of this bold undertaking would be the Australian based crew.
Engaging people like Barbara Gibbs, Line Producer, was crucial. Jodi Matterson explains: “Making any film in Australia, for me the first call is always Barbara Gibbs, one of the best, if not the best, line producers in the country.”
“With Barbara came the rest of the amazing, world-class crew that we managed to pull into the production. We were incredibly lucky.”
Producer Steve Hutensky credits the exceptional Australian crew, the exceptional cast, and believes that core to the cohesion and passion of the team as a whole was the script, which Paul Currie had so carefully shepherded. Hutensky says: “I think that’s what drew the crew, the actors, the financiers. The script resonated with people in a deep way.”
Director Paul Currie feels that his promise of persistence to Todd Stein, more than five years earlier, was realized to the best of everyone’s ability and resources. “We have all done our best to create a film that, we hope is fresh and original. Everyone has pushed it to the ‘nth’ degree from pre-production right through to the very end of a long and exhausting post production process.”
Director Paul Currie and actor Michiel Huisman during the filming of 2.22
The Crew
Many of the Australian based crew of 2:22 had worked on THE MOON AND THE SUN, which had primarily filmed in Australia, and on which Paul Currie was a producer with Bill Mechanic and Steve Hutensky an executive producer.
Common key crew members included Production Designer Michelle McGahey, Costume Designer Lizzy Gardiner, and Hair and Makeup Lead Shane Thomas, and Director of Photography David Eggby.
Lead cast and key crew are universal in their adulation of the entire Australian team. David Eggby says of the camera and lighting department: “I can’t fault them. Australia has got some great technicians, all very experienced, very well equipped. It’s a very talented, a very good team.”
Michiel Huisman feels that: “We had an amazing crew. I don’t know if that’s an Australian thing or if it was unique to our movie, but it felt like a great collaboration between all the departments. It was addictive, I was happy every morning when they picked me up at 5:30am!”
Teresa Palmer says of working in her home country: “It feels more like a collaborative process – I think because typically I’m doing a smaller budget movie in Australia. There’s a certain camaraderie that you find with Australian crews, a partnership in that we’re all working together to create this thing that we all love. I saw how happy the crew of 2:22 were coming to work, how they went above and beyond for the film.”
Actor Sam Reid says: “The crew did such an incredible job with the production design, the costume design, the hair and makeup, the visual effects – some of the best talent in Australia put this world, this very specific New York high art world together, in such a stylized and beautiful way.”
For Paul Currie: “We can do reasonably priced quality genre films in Australia that can work well in the international market. We’ve got the people and the expertise to do them, and to do them for a budget that makes Australian teams competitive in a global market, and that’s very exciting.”
Paul Currie is an Australian filmmaker and producer whose work bridges commercial cinema and socially conscious storytelling. Currie studied Drama and Marketing at the Melbourne Institute of Technology before launching into a multifaceted creative career. He gained early recognition with One Perfect Day (2004), a debut feature that earned him accolades from the Screen Directors’ Association of Australia. His most prominent directorial work is the romantic thriller 2:22 (2017), a metaphysical tale of fate and synchronicity, while his production credits include the Oscar-winning Hacksaw Ridge (2016), Bleeding Steel (2017), and Ricky Stanicky (2024). Currie co-founded Lightstream Pictures, a production company committed to emotionally resonant narratives, and has also contributed to live event storytelling, such as Lionheart: The Jesse Martin Story and the Nelson Mandela-led World Reconciliation Day. Beyond film, he’s a passionate advocate for youth empowerment, having co-founded The Reach Foundation and established Elliot Currie Drama Studios, which nurtures emerging Australian talent. His career reflects a blend of cinematic ambition, social engagement, and a consistent drive to explore the human experience through narrative.
Todd Stein is a multifaceted creative whose career spans screenwriting, producing, and culinary arts—yes, really. In the film world, he’s best known for co-writing the metaphysical thriller 2:22 (2017), as well as contributing to Infinite (2021) and Tipping Point. His storytelling often explores themes of time, fate, and psychological tension, blending genre elements with emotional depth.
Interestingly, Stein also has a rich background as a chef. He trained at Kendall College in Chicago and worked under culinary legends like Keith Korn and Michael Kornick. His culinary journey took him across the U.S. and Europe, from baking bread in France to helming kitchens in Las Vegas, Atlanta, and Chicago. He’s earned accolades like Rising Star Chef from StarChefs.com and starred in Iron Chef America.
Whether crafting suspenseful screenplays or curating bold flavors, Stein’s work reflects a passion for precision, creativity, and sensory storytelling.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Enduring Legacy of Cabaret
Cabaret (1972), directed by Bob Fosse, is a landmark musical film that redefined the genre by blending dazzling performance with political and emotional depth.
Its significance lies in how it uses the decadent world of the Kit Kat Klub in 1931 Berlin to mirror the rise of Nazism and the collapse of the Weimar Republic, juxtaposing personal liberation with looming societal repression.
Fosse stripped away traditional musical conventions, making nearly all songs diegetic—performed within the club—giving the film a gritty realism.
Based on Christopher Isherwood’s 1939 novel Goodbye to Berlin, which chronicled his experiences in Weimar-era Berlin, it was adapted into the 1951 play I Am a Camera by John Van Druten, then into the 1966 Broadway musical by Kander, Ebb, and Masteroff.
The visual style of Cabaret—with its smoky lighting, angular choreography, and diegetic musical numbers—has rippled through modern musicals in striking ways
Instead of characters bursting into song, Cabaret confined musical numbers to the Kit Kat Klub stage, turning performances into ironic echoes of the plot. This technique inspired films like Chicago to use music as thematic punctuation rather than narrative propulsion.
Bob Fosse’s signature style—isolated movements, inverted knees, and jazz hands—redefined how dance could express character psychology. You see echoes of this in Fosse/Verdon, Burlesque, and even Beyoncé’s Single Ladies video.
Fosse’s use of low camera angles and rhythmic cuts gave performers a towering presence, turning dance into visual dominance. This cinematic language has influenced everything from La La Land to immersive theatre productions.
Cabaret proved musicals could be politically charged and emotionally raw. Its juxtaposition of razzle-dazzle with fascist undertones paved the way for darker, more socially conscious musicals like Rent, Spring Awakening, and Hamilton.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on I Know What You Did Last Summer – Revisiting the original 1997 slasher classic
“Our film is about marrying a nostalgic nineties feel with today’s slasher films,” says director / co-screenwriter Jennifer Kaytin Robinson of I Know What You Did Last Summer. “The film’s design, its score, and the way we developed the kills, each of which feels like something you’ve never seen before but also takes us back to the kind of movie that we rarely see anymore. It’s why people love this franchise.”
In 1997, the original I Know What You Did Last Summer forever changed the face of blockbuster horror. Directed by Jim Gillespie from a script by Kevin Williamson, the film became a smash hit, took the number one position at the box office for three consecutive weeks, and revitalised the slasher genre. It came to define a generation and continues to be a cultural mainstay.
I Know What You Did Last Summer was inspired by a desire to revisit the original 1997 slasher classic through a legacy sequel lens—honoring the past while updating the story for a new generation.
Jennifer Kaytin Robinson
Director Jennifer Kaytin Robinson who co-wrote the screenplay with Sam Lansky, pitched the idea to Sony Pictures after the cancellation of the 2021 TV adaptation. Rather than rebooting the franchise, Robinson aimed to continue the original timeline, ignoring the 2006 standalone sequel and reconnecting with the emotional and thematic core of the first two films.
Sam Lansky
Robinson seemed destined to helm the new IKWYDLS. “The original was the first R-rated movie I ever snuck into,” she remembers. “My babysitter wanted to see it, and I ended up going with her. Afterwards, my mom got really angry, but I didn’t care because I was so mesmerised by it.”
“So, when I was approached about directing a new version, it was an immediate yes – truly a no brainer,” Robinson continues. “This movie is about people making a mistake, then making the wrong choice, and the consequences that follow. It’s a deeply human story. Anyone could mess up like our characters do. That’s what sucks you into the story, because you’re thinking, what would I do in this situation? For me, horror is most interesting when it’s grounded in very real stakes.”
Robinson worked closely with co-screenwriter Sam Lansky to shape the screenplay from a story she wrote with Leah McHendrick.
For Lansky, as it had with Robinson, the 1997 version played a big role in his early love of movies.
“I remember exactly where I was – at a sleepover at a friend’s house – when I watched it for the first time,” he recalls. “The film’s pioneering voice and tone worked its way into the cultural consciousness and shaped a lot of people my age … of all ages, in fact.”
Robinson and Lansky had been friends and colleagues for almost a decade, so the final drafts came together synergistically. “We have a similar sensibility and tend to think the same things are funny or scary or exciting,” Lansky explains, “so the vision took shape quickly. For the 2025 film, and for the 1997 version, the premise is so tantalizing. What would you do if someone knew your biggest secret and started coming after you and the people around you because of it? The setup is so fun and so real, and we knew we could deliver strongly on that.”
A key shift in the new film would be the age of the core group – they’re in their mid to late-twenties, and the shift from four to five members. “In the first movie, the characters are teenagers,” says Lansky. “In 2025, they’re young adults on the precipice of moving into adult phases of life – including marriage and commitment – when their lives are upended by this event. We wanted the film to reflect that maturity but also feel youthful and fun. Ultimately, this is a popcorn movie.”
The story picks up 27 years after the events of I Still Know What You Did Last Summer (1998), directed by Jim Gillespie and written by Kevin Williamson, with a new group of friends haunted by a familiar hook-wielding killer after covering up a fatal car accident. The 2025 film draws on the enduring appeal of teen horror, generational guilt, and the consequences of buried secrets, while bringing back original stars Jennifer Love Hewitt and Freddie Prinze Jr. to bridge the past and present.
The 2025 film is a legacy sequel—a direct continuation of I Still Know What You Did Last Summer (1998), intentionally ignoring the events of the 2006 standalone sequel I’ll Always Know What You Did Last Summer.
It reunites original stars Jennifer Love Hewitt and Freddie Prinze Jr. as Julie James and Ray Bronson, now drawn back into a familiar nightmare when a new group of teens covers up a fatal accident and begins receiving ominous messages.
This approach mirrors the successful Scream (2022) formula: blend legacy characters with a fresh cast, honour the original tone, and reframe the horror for a new generation.
Robinson constantly ups the stakes of ‘who’s next?’ and ‘whodunnit?’, as the thrills mount and we, along with the characters, try to figure out the identity of – and the mystery behind – the iconic and murderous Fisherman. Robinson defies audience expectations of when and how victims will be cut down, and by whom. Nothing is what it seems, and no one is safe.
At the same time Robinson brings us closer, emotionally, to the characters.
The group of five have known each other most of their lives. They’ve seen each other through many different phases and are now at crossroads, trying to figure out who they want to be for the rest of their lives.
Robinson’s vision for the film’s look is succinct but powerful: “When you’re murdering a bunch of hot young people, you want it to have that old school Americana feel to it: blue blues, red blood, and beautiful colors and skin tones. In designing the film, it was fun to juxtapose the violence with this outwardly beautiful world of Southport, which of course has an underbelly that’s nasty, gory, and violent. I really liked that juxtaposition.”
To ensure a summer 2025 release for the film, executive producer Karina Rahardja recalls, “We were approaching the fall in the Northern Hemisphere, and given the word summer is in the title, we started thinking about where we could go to film where it would be summer.
Horror Trends & Cultural Resonance
The 2025 revival taps into a broader trend of ’90s horror nostalgia, where franchises like Scream and Final Destination are being reimagined not just for scares, but for cultural reflection. Director Jennifer Kaytin Robinson and co-writer Sam Lansky lean into themes of generational guilt, digital surveillance, and performative remorse, updating the slasher formula with a psychological edge.
The film also reflects a 2025 horror landscape increasingly defined by emotional realism and trauma-driven narratives. Rather than relying solely on jump scares, it explores how secrets metastasise in the age of social media and how the sins of the past refuse to stay buried, especially when the past has a hook for a hand.
Director Jennifer Kaytin Robinson emphasised that beneath the blood and jump scares lies a story about how trauma informs identity.
Like Halloween (2018), this film uses returning characters not just for nostalgia, but to explore long-term psychological fallout. Julie and Ray aren’t just survivors—they’re case studies in how guilt calcifies over time.
This sequel reflects a broader trend in horror: the shift from pure thrills to emotional realism. It’s part of a wave of films that blend slasher tropes with character-driven storytelling, where the hook isn’t just a weapon, but a metaphor for the past that won’t let go.
Then & Now: A Tale of Two Summers
1997: Secrets, Shame, and Slasher Tropes The original I Know What You Did Last Summer, penned by Scream’s Kevin Williamson, rode the wave of late-’90s teen horror. It was glossy, self-aware, and steeped in guilt—four friends haunted by a hit-and-run and stalked by a hook-wielding killer. The film tapped into post-adolescent anxiety: the fear that your worst mistake might come back to claim you. It wasn’t just about survival—it was about the cost of silence.
2025: Guilt Goes Viral Jennifer Kaytin Robinson’s legacy sequel updates that fear for the digital age. The new cast isn’t just hiding a secret—they’re navigating a world where nothing stays buried, and remorse is often performative. The hook is still there, but so is the pressure of curated identities, online judgment, and generational trauma. With returning characters like Julie and Ray, the film bridges eras, asking whether we ever really escape the past—or just learn to live with it.
The writing process for I Know What You Did Last Summer (2025) was rooted in both legacy and reinvention
Director Jennifer Kaytin Robinson, known for Do Revenge and co-writing Thor: Love and Thunder, collaborated with Sam Lansky on the screenplay, based on a story she developed with Leah McKendrick. Rather than rebooting the franchise, Robinson pitched a continuation that honoured the emotional core of the original 1997 film while updating its themes for a new generation.
The process began after the cancellation of the 2021 TV adaptation, which left the franchise in limbo. Robinson saw an opportunity to return to the original continuity, ignoring the 2006 standalone sequel and instead crafting a legacy sequel that would bring back Jennifer Love Hewitt and Freddie Prinze Jr. as Julie and Ray. Her approach focused on generational guilt, the permanence of digital secrets, and the psychological toll of unresolved trauma, infusing the slasher formula with emotional realism.
“Sam and I are both huge fans of the franchise, to the point where we once got in a heated argument about I Still Know What You Did Last Summer, to the point where I was like, ‘We should just go to bed and we’ll do this tomorrow.’” says Robinson.
This quote reflects the passion and stakes involved in revisiting a beloved horror legacy. Robinson and co-writer Sam Lansky reportedly traveled to Southport, North Carolina—the setting of the original film—to immerse themselves in the atmosphere. Their creative tension stemmed from differing instincts: Lansky leaned into authenticity and continuity, while Robinson wanted to recapture the fun and emotional resonance of the original without being shackled by canon.
This dynamic shaped a screenplay that balances trauma and nostalgia, horror and heart. It’s a slasher with a soul—one that knows the past can’t be buried, but maybe, just maybe, it can be rewritten.
Filming took place between October 2024 and March 2025 in New South Wales and Los Angeles, with the script evolving alongside casting and production design. The writing process emphasised character-driven horror, where the scares are as much internal as they are external.
Nostalgia in horror is a double-edged blade—both a comfort and a curse
It functions not just as a stylistic callback, but as a psychological device that deepens dread by luring us into familiarity before subverting it.
Nostalgic horror often invites us back to the “safe” spaces of our youth—sleepovers, VHS tapes, suburban streets—only to reveal that those spaces were never truly safe. Films like Stranger Things and It weaponize childhood iconography, turning bikes, basements, and best friends into conduits for trauma. The past becomes a haunted house we willingly re-enter, even knowing what lurks inside.
Legacy sequels like Scream (2022) or I Know What You Did Last Summer (2025) use nostalgia to re-engage audiences emotionally and thematically. They don’t just reference earlier films—they interrogate them. These stories ask: what happens when the rules of the past no longer apply? When the final girl grows up? When the trauma doesn’t fade?
As explored in academic critiques, horror can fall into toxic nostalgia—idealizing the past while ignoring its darker truths (e.g., gender roles, racial erasure). But when done well, nostalgia becomes transformative: a way to confront generational wounds, reframe cultural myths, and reclaim agency. Think of it as horror’s version of therapy—reliving the past not to escape it, but to rewrite it.
Jennifer Kaytin Robinson is a celebrated filmmaker with a unique voice keenly in tune with the social zeitgeist.
Known for fusing biting wit with raw vulnerability, Robinson has spent the last decade crafting stories that speak directly to—and about—the moment, resonating deeply with audiences worldwide.
Robinson is also known for her sophomore directorial feature DO REVENGE, for Netflix, for which she also produced and penned the script. The film is a darkly comedic high school reimagining of Hitchcock’s STRANGERS ON A TRAIN. DO REVENGE, which features an all-star cast, including Camila Mendes, Maya Hawke, Rish Shah, Austin Abrams, Talia Ryder, Alisha Boe, Sophie Turner, and Sarah Michelle Gellar, debuted at #1 globally on Netflix and became a cultural hit, lauded for its satire and sharp visual style. The Atlantic called it “viciously funny,” and The New York Times named Robinson “a rare filmmaker able to deliver teen chaos with style and substance.”
Her feature directorial debut, SOMEONE GREAT, which she also wrote, premiered globally on Netflix to critical acclaim and remains a beloved entry in the canon of modern romantic comedies. The ensemble cast includes Gina Rodriguez, Brittany Snow, DeWanda Wise, LaKeith Stanfield, and RuPaul. A vibrant ode to friendship, heartbreak, and new beginnings, the film drew praise for its fresh tone and raw emotional authenticity. Variety described it as a “refreshingly honest portrait of how we change — and what we choose to hold on to — in the wake of heartbreak”; Rolling Stone claimed, “Robinson understands the rhythms of modern relationships and the bonds between women better than most.” The film’s influence rippled into pop culture – Taylor Swift even cited it as inspiration for her song “Death By a Thousand Cuts.”
Robinson is also the creator and executive producer of MTV’s SWEET/VICIOUS, a critically acclaimed series praised for its portrayal of sexual assault on college campuses. The series — which holds a 100% score on Rotten Tomatoes — garnered a passionate fanbase and became a cultural touchstone for survivor-centered storytelling. In 2017, Robinson was invited to speak at Vice President Joe Biden’s final It’s On Us summit at the White House, honoring her advocacy for survivors and the show’s social impact. Robinson was also named one of Variety’s 10 TV Writers to Watch in 2016, pegged to the release of the series.
Her additional credits include co-writing the screenplay, with Oscar-winning filmmaker Taika Waititi, for Marvel’s THOR: LOVE & THUNDER, which grossed over $760 million worldwide; and co-writing the screenplay for the Max original feature UNPREGNANT.
A visionary with a decade-spanning body of work, Robinson has consistently challenged genre norms, blended comedy with pathos, and shaped cultural entertainment through sharp dialogue, exceptional female leads, and an undeniably authentic voice. She continues to evolve as one of the most exciting filmmakers of her generation.
SAM LANSKY (Screenwriter) is a screenwriter, author and journalist. In 2021, he was named one of Variety’s 10 Storytellers to Watch.
Lansky is the author of two books: a 2016 memoir, The Gilded Razor, published by Simon & Schuster, and a 2020 novel, Broken People, published by HarperCollins. In journalism, Lansky spent seven years as the West Coast Editor of TIME, where he remains a contributing editor. He wrote the 2023 profile of Taylor Swift, naming her TIME’s Person of the Year.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on My Fk, Marelize!* — From Viral Blunder to Cinematic Heartbeat
It began with a bicycle, a rugby post, and a mother’s unforgettable exclamation — “My f*k, Marelize!” — echoing across South African screens in 2019. But what started as a viral laugh has now evolved into a poignant feature film that reframes internet fame through the lens of family, resilience, and cultural pride. Directed by Zandré Coetzer and written by Brett Michael Innes, the film blends humor with emotional depth, offering a love letter to Namibian and South African life — and to the quiet courage behind every public stumble.
The inspiration behind My Fk, Marelize! is a fascinating fusion of internet virality, personal vulnerability, and the desire to reshape a meme into a meaningful story.
The film stems from the real-life viral moment in 2019 when Marelize Horn crashed her bicycle into a rugby post, prompting her mom to yell, “My f*k, Marelize!” — a clip that swept through South African social media like wildfire. What made it iconic wasn’t just the absurdity of the fall, but the authenticity of that maternal outburst — unfiltered, hilarious, and oddly tender.
Rather than just capitalizing on the viral fame, writer Brett Michael Innes and director Zandré Coetzer saw potential in exploring who Marelize really is. The film uses that crash as a jumping-off point to tell a layered coming-of-age story that threads humor with emotional depth — tapping into themes of identity, awkward resilience, and familial connection.
It also reflects a uniquely Southern African lens, capturing Windhoek’s WIKA carnival, a spirited visual tapestry of cultural pride. By grounding the story in everyday emotion rather than just internet notoriety, the creators subvert the “meme girl” trope and gift Marelize a narrative of agency, struggle, and growth.
Set in Windhoek during the vibrant WIKA carnival, My Fk, Marelize! is a heartfelt coming-of-age dramedy that transforms a viral moment into a deeply personal narrative. Marelize Horn, played by Je-ani Swiegelaar, is an accident-prone young woman whose infamous bicycle crash into a rugby post made her an internet sensation. But beneath the meme lies a story of resilience and aspiration: Marelize dreams of becoming an au pair in the Netherlands, a goal that requires her to confront her fear of cycling. Her mother, Heidi — portrayed by Zandelle Meyer — is a strong-willed woman who chooses to hide her cancer diagnosis from the family, navigating her own emotional terrain with humor and quiet strength. As Marelize stumbles through training wheels and emotional revelations, the film explores themes of identity, familial bonds, and the bittersweet art of letting go. Directed by Zandré Coetzer and written by Brett Michael Innes, the film also features Neels Clasen and Nichola Viviers in supporting roles, rounding out a cast that brings warmth and authenticity to a story that celebrates Southern African culture with humor and heart.
Zandré Coetzer is a South African director, producer, and screenwriter whose work bridges heartfelt storytelling with cultural authenticity. She began her career at Urban Brew Studios, quickly rising through the ranks and earning recognition as an innovation champion for her creative contributions. In 2012, she co-founded Lucky Bamboo Media, which led to the creation of youth dramas for kykNET, and later established Nouvanaand Films with Scharl van der Merwe and Johan Cronje. Her production credits include the award-winning Sterlopers and the internationally acclaimed feature Wonderlus, which premiered at Silwerskermfees and was selected for multiple global festivals. Coetzer is also a co-owner of Nagvlug Films, a joint venture focused on developing narrative content for South African and international audiences. Known for her collaborative spirit and commitment to mentoring emerging talent, she made her feature directorial debut with My Fk, Marelize!*, a film that celebrates Afrikaner humor and resilience. Her work consistently highlights minority voices and blends emotional depth with regional flavor, making her a dynamic force in contemporary Southern African cinema.
Brett Michael Innes is a Johannesburg-based filmmaker and bestselling author whose work bridges emotional storytelling with cultural introspection. He graduated from AFDA, South Africa’s Oscar-winning film school, on a scholarship from the National Film & Video Foundation. His early career was shaped by documentary filmmaking with NGOs, taking him across Africa and beyond — from kayaking through the Okavango Delta to filming in malnutrition camps in Angola. Innes made his mark in fiction with Sink, his debut feature, which won SAFTAs for Best Film and Best Screenplay and was hailed as a breakout moment for South African cinema. He followed this with Fiela se Kind, an adaptation of Dalene Matthee’s iconic novel, which also earned multiple awards and international acclaim. His literary work includes The Story of Racheltjie de Beer, a bestseller that he later adapted for screen. Known for blending emotional depth with social relevance, Innes has directed for Netflix (Unseen) and Showmax (Catch Me a Killer), and continues to develop projects that explore identity, resilience, and the human condition. His latest screenwriting credit is My Fk, Marelize!*, a film that transforms viral fame into a tender coming-of-age tale.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Rage, Redemption, and Rebellion: Red Sonja’s Cinematic Resurrection
In the blood-soaked sands of fantasy cinema, few heroines have been as misrepresented—or as ripe for reinvention as Red Sonja. The 2025 reboot reconstructs her from the ground up, thrusting her into a post-apocalyptic world where rebellion is survival and legacy is carved blade by blade.
The 2025 Red Sonja reboot reimagines the iconic heroine through a darker, more stylised lens, reflecting modern feminist ideals by reimagining the character as a symbol of agency, resilience, and emotional complexity, rather than a fantasy pin-up moulded by the male gaze.
The reboot was inspired by a mix of cultural shifts, creative ambition, and a long-standing desire to give the character the cinematic justice she never quite received in 1985.
After decades of development hell — with multiple directors, stars, and scripts attached — the project finally gained traction when producers and creatives recognized the opportunity to reframe Sonja’s story for a modern audience. The original film, while nostalgic for some, was criticized for its campy tone and portrayal of Sonja through a male gaze. This reboot aims to correct that by presenting her as a self-made warrior, not one granted powers by a goddess2.
The creative team, including director M.J. Bassett and writer Tasha Huo, were drawn to Sonja’s potential as a fierce, emotionally complex heroine. They’ve leaned into themes of resilience, leadership, and rebellion — aligning with contemporary expectations for female-led action films. The reboot also draws from the Dynamite Entertainment comics, which reimagined Sonja’s mythology with more depth and grit.
The reboot was sparked by a desire to reclaim and redefine Red Sonja’s legacy — turning a once-maligned fantasy figure into a symbol of strength, agency, and cinematic spectacle
The significance of the Red Sonja reboot lies in its bold reclamation of a character long overshadowed by outdated tropes and cinematic misfires. After nearly 40 years since the campy 1985 film, the 2025 version finally gives Sonja the narrative weight and emotional complexity she deserves.
This reboot marks a cultural shift in how female warriors are portrayed on screen. Gone is the chainmail bikini as a symbol of objectification; in its place stands a battle-scarred heroine forged by her own grit, not divine intervention or trauma-driven vengeance. Matilda Lutz’s portrayal emphasizes Sonja’s leadership, resilience, and emotional depth, aligning with modern feminist ideals and offering a more authentic lens on heroism.
It also reflects Hollywood’s evolving appetite for female-led action films that aren’t just token gestures but fully realized stories. With M.J. Bassett’s direction and Tasha Huo’s writing, the film taps into themes of rebellion, solidarity, and legacy—redefining Sonja not as a sidekick or spectacle, but as the beating heart of her own myth.
In essence, Red Sonja (2025) isn’t just a reboot—it’s a reckoning. A chance to rewrite the narrative, honor the character’s comic book roots, and finally let the She-Devil with a Sword carve her place in cinematic legend.
Enslaved by the ruthless tyrant Dragan the Magnificent (Robert Sheehan), barbarian huntress Red Sonja (Matilda Lutz) must rise from captivity and unite a band of unlikely warriors to stop Dragan and his deadly bride, Dark Annisia (Wallis Day), from annihilating her people. Set in a post-apocalyptic world laced with myth and rebellion, Sonja’s journey is one of vengeance, resilience, and transformation. Alongside her are Hawk (Michael Bisping), General Karlak (Martyn Ford), Amarak (Eliza Matengu), and her mother Ashera (Veronica Ferres), each adding depth to the brutal quest.
Directed by M.J. Bassett and scripted by Tasha Huo, the film leans into gritty gladiator battles, mythical foes, and a genre-bending twist
With sweeping visuals and emotional stakes, the reboot pays homage to the original comics while shedding the camp of the 1985 adaptation.
Rather than relying on the original origin story, which involved sexual assault and a divine gift of combat skills contingent on submission to men, the reboot discards that narrative entirely. Director M.J. Bassett stated she had “no interest in fictional women who use [rape] as an engine of motivation,” emphasising that Sonja’s strength comes from her humanity, not trauma. This shift aligns with contemporary feminist storytelling, which seeks to empower female characters without reducing them to victims or reactive figures.
Star Matilda Lutz also emphasized that the film is “very women-empowered,” distancing itself from the “male-gazed orientation” of earlier comics and adaptations. Screenwriter Tasha Huo echoed this, noting the story explores “great female friendship” and how women uniquely survive in hostile worlds—a thematic pivot toward solidarity and emotional depth.
The reboot also draws from Gail Simone’s acclaimed comic run, which portrayed Sonja as bisexual, introspective, and unapologetically fierce. This version of Sonja is not just a warrior but a layered character navigating identity, loyalty, and leadership—qualities that resonate with modern feminist ideals of representation and nuance.
M.J. Bassett is a British filmmaker whose dynamic career spans horror, fantasy, and action-packed television. Bassett originally pursued wildlife photography and TV presenting before pivoting toward filmmaking—a move that merged her visual instincts with narrative ambition. She made her directorial debut with the psychological war horror Deathwatch (2002) and continued with visceral entries like Wilderness (2006) and the dark fantasy Solomon Kane (2009). Her adaptation of Silent Hill: Revelation (2012) cemented her affinity for genre storytelling. In television, Bassett has directed episodes of Strike Back, Power, Ash vs Evil Dead, Altered Carbon, and The Terminal List, showcasing her precision with character-driven action. Beyond her creative output, Bassett’s journey as a transgender woman has informed her recent work, embracing themes of identity, transformation, and empowerment. Her latest film, the 2025 Red Sonja reboot, redefines the iconic warrior through a feminist lens, marking a creative evolution that mirrors her own.
Tasha Huo is an American screenwriter and producer known for crafting bold, character-driven narratives across fantasy and action genres. She gained recognition as the showrunner and writer of Tomb Raider: The Legend of Lara Croft (2024), an anime series that reimagines the iconic heroine with emotional depth and world-building flair. Her writing credits also include The Witcher: Blood Origin (2022), the upcoming Red Sonja reboot (2025), and the animated series Mighty Nein, based on Critical Role. Huo’s storytelling often centres on empowered female protagonists, exploring themes of identity, resilience, and representation. She’s been praised for her ability to balance genre spectacle with authentic emotional arcs, making her a rising voice in contemporary screenwriting.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Mutant Mayhem Meets Moral Reckoning: Inside The Toxic Avenger
In this grotesquely glorious reboot of the cult 1984 splatter-comedy, The Toxic Avenger returns with radioactive swagger and unexpected soul. Writer-director Macon Blair’s 2023 vision reimagines the iconic mutant vigilante, mixing superhero black comedy with splatter horror, gleefully barreling through themes of environmental decay, corporate malice, fatherhood, and justice for society’s forgotten.
Writer-director Macon Blair was inspired to reboot The Toxic Avenger by a mix of childhood nostalgia and creative alignment with Troma’s irreverent spirit.
He first encountered the original film on VHS in the mid-1980s, and its wild, low-budget energy left a lasting impression. Blair described it as “formative,” exposing him to independent filmmaking and the idea that movies didn’t need grand spectacle to be entertaining—they just needed guts, humour, and heart.
When Legendary Pictures approached him to pitch a version of the reboot, Blair leaned into the original’s “go-for-broke” tone, proposing a film that was “dumb on purpose,” full of practical effects, juvenile humor, and absurdity. He didn’t want a sanitized, mainstream version—he wanted to preserve the slapstick satire and environmental themes that defined the original.
Blair also reimagined the story to center on a single father struggling to connect with his stepson, adding emotional depth to the mutant mayhem. This shift allowed him to explore themes of parenthood and redemption while still honoring the outrageous legacy of Toxie.
Blair’s reboot reshapes the gritty charm of the 1984 original by deepening its emotional architecture and expanding its thematic reach.
While the original leaned heavily on crude camp and anti-bullying satire, Blair’s version introduces a more nuanced protagonist—Winston Gooze, a single father navigating illness, desperation, and moral ambiguity.
Instead of a prank gone wrong, Winston’s transformation into Toxie stems from a failed attempt to rob a corrupt employer, intensifying the film’s commentary on corporate exploitation and economic despair.
Blair channels the absurdity and gore of the original but infuses it with heartfelt storytelling, aligning the reboot with modern outsider hero narratives like Deadpool and Kick-Ass.
This reimagining doesn’t aim to polish Troma’s legacy but rather preserve its splatter-soaked spirit while inviting viewers to empathise with a mutant misfit whose rage is rooted in love, loss, and the toxic systems we all inhabit.
In The Toxic Avenger (2023), downtrodden janitor Winston Gooze (played by Peter Dinklage) is diagnosed with a terminal illness and denied treatment by his corrupt employer. In a desperate act, he attempts to rob the company but falls into a vat of toxic waste—transforming into the grotesque but powerful mutant vigilante known as Toxie. Armed with a glowing mop and superhuman strength, he battles freaks, gangsters, and corrupt CEOs while trying to protect his son Wade (Jacob Tremblay) and reclaim his dignity.
Blair’s reboot doesn’t just nod to the original—it retools it for a post-Marvel landscape
While the 1984 version was a scrappy underdog in the superhero genre, the 2023 film leans into grotesque absurdity and emotional nuance, offering a kind of “anti-superhero” narrative. It’s not about saving the world—it’s about saving one’s son, reclaiming dignity, and mopping up corruption with radioactive rage.
The reboot adds layers of vulnerability and moral ambiguity. Winston isn’t just a victim of circumstance—he’s a man facing mortality, trying to connect with his stepson, and forced into heroism by desperation. This shift from slapstick to pathos gives the film a surprising emotional pulse beneath its splatter.
The Toxic Avenger stands proudly alongside outsider hero narratives
Like Deadpool and Kick-Ass, but it carves out its own radioactive niche by leaning harder into grotesque absurdity and emotional grit. Where Deadpool revels in meta-humor and fourth-wall-breaking bravado, and Kick-Ass explores the brutal consequences of DIY heroism, The Toxic Avenger adds a layer of tragic surrealism. Winston Gooze isn’t just a misfit with a mission—he’s a man physically and emotionally disfigured by a system that chews up the vulnerable. His transformation into Toxie is less about vengeance and more about survival and paternal devotion, giving the film a surprisingly tender core beneath its splatter-soaked exterior.
Stylistically, Blair’s reboot shares Deadpool’s irreverence and Kick-Ass’s gritty realism, but it pushes further into body horror and grotesque satire.
Toxie’s mop-wielding justice is more visceral and less polished than Wade Wilson’s katana ballet or Dave Lizewski’s clumsy crusade. And while Deadpool and Kick-Ass flirt with redemption arcs, The Toxic Avenger embraces the idea that heroism can be ugly, painful, and deeply personal.
It’s not just another antihero story—it’s a mutation of the genre itself
Blair’s The Toxic Avenger taps into the broader trend of genre-bending superhero films by rejecting polished heroism in favour of chaotic vulnerability, grotesque satire, and emotional grit. Like Logan, Deadpool, or Brightburn, it dismantles the traditional superhero mould, replacing sleek costumes and moral certainty with bodily decay, moral ambiguity, and absurdist violence. But Blair’s take goes further: it doesn’t just bend the genre, it mutates it.
Rather than glorifying power, Blair’s film uses grotesque imagery as a conduit for empathy
Winston Gooze’s transformation into Toxie is not triumphant—it’s tragic, painful, and viscerally uncomfortable. His deformities aren’t just visual gags; they externalize his emotional wounds. Blair described the violence as “Itchy & Scratchy-type” in tone—cartoonish and exaggerated—but behind the blood geysers and mop-swinging carnage lies a man desperate to connect with his son and reclaim dignity in a system that discarded him.
This grotesque empathy aligns with a growing cinematic impulse to humanize the monstrous. Like The Fly or Swamp Thing, Blair’s Toxie evokes sympathy not despite his deformity, but through it. The film’s unrated status and practical effects amplify this tension—viewers are repulsed and moved in the same breath. Blair even added scenes like “butt guts” (yes, intestines pulled from a man’s rear) not just for shock, but because they made him laugh and underscored the absurdity of pain.
In a landscape where superhero films often sanitize trauma, The Toxic Avenger revels in it—turning mutation into metaphor, and gore into catharsis.
Blair’s The Toxic Avenger shares DNA with horror-infused hero films like Brightburn, The New Mutants, and Super, but it mutates the formula into something far more anarchic and emotionally grotesque. Where Brightburn weaponises the Superman mythos into a chilling tale of unchecked power, and The New Mutants explores trauma through a haunted asylum lens, The Toxic Avenger leans into body horror and absurdist satire to evoke empathy through revulsion. Blair doesn’t just use horror to scare—he uses it to humanise. Toxie’s deformities externalise emotional wounds, making his grotesque appearance a metaphor for systemic neglect and personal grief.
Unlike Super, which grounds its vigilante violence in psychological realism, Blair’s film embraces surrealism and slapstick gore, turning mop-swinging justice into a cathartic spectacle. The violence is cartoonish yet visceral, allowing audiences to laugh and recoil simultaneously. This duality—revulsion and compassion—is where The Toxic Avenger stands apart. It doesn’t just bend the superhero genre with horror tropes; it splatters it, reimagining heroism as something ugly, painful, and deeply personal.
Blair’s The Toxic Avenger also shares a thematic lineage with films like Swamp Thing and The Fly, but it amplifies the grotesque empathy by embracing absurdity and satire as emotional tools. In Swamp Thing, the transformation is tragic but noble—Alec Holland becomes a plant-based guardian, his monstrous form masking a deeply human soul. The film leans into gothic melancholy, portraying the monster as a misunderstood protector. The Fly, on the other hand, is a descent into body horror and existential dread. Seth Brundle’s mutation is horrifying precisely because it strips away his humanity piece by piece, forcing the audience to confront the fragility of identity and the terror of decay.
Blair’s Toxie exists somewhere between these poles. His grotesqueness is exaggerated, cartoonish, and often played for laughs, yet it’s rooted in real emotional pain. Unlike Swamp Thing’s poetic nobility or The Fly’s tragic unraveling, The Toxic Avenger uses grotesque imagery to satirize societal rot—corporate greed, environmental neglect, and moral apathy. Toxie’s deformities aren’t just physical—they’re symbolic of the toxic systems that warp and discard people like Winston Gooze. And by making the audience laugh at the absurdity while feeling for the man beneath the mop, Blair crafts a unique kind of empathy: one that’s messy, mutated, and defiantly human.
Blair’s The Toxic Avenger shares thematic sinew with Titane and Poor Things, but it flexes its grotesque empathy through satire and absurdity rather than surreal elegance or gothic whimsy. In Titane, Julia Ducournau uses body horror to explore identity, gender fluidity, and emotional rebirth—Alexia’s transformation is violent, erotic, and deeply alienating, yet it culminates in a tender, almost spiritual connection. The horror is visceral, but it’s also intimate, forcing viewers to confront the beauty in bodily rupture.
Poor Things, directed by Yorgos Lanthimos, leans into Frankensteinian absurdity with Bella Baxter’s reanimated journey toward autonomy. Her grotesque origin—brain of a fetus implanted into an adult body—is played with dark humor and philosophical depth. The film’s grotesquery is whimsical, even liberating, using bodily distortion to challenge societal norms around gender, agency, and desire.
Blair’s Toxic Avenger, by contrast, weaponizes grotesque imagery to satirize systemic rot. Toxie’s deformities aren’t metaphors for personal transformation so much as indictments of environmental collapse and corporate cruelty. His emotional arc—centered on fatherhood and dignity—is grounded in absurd violence, turning entrails and mop-swinging justice into catharsis. Where Titane and Poor Things invite introspection through surreal beauty, The Toxic Avenger invites empathy through anarchic spectacle.
All three films blur the line between monster and man, but Blair’s approach is defiantly unrefined—less a meditation, more a mop-wielding scream.
Films like The Toxic Avenger, Titane, and Poor Things wield genre as a scalpel—cutting into societal norms with grotesque precision and reshaping our understanding of humanity through their monstrous protagonists.
In The Toxic Avenger, Macon Blair uses splatter comedy and superhero satire to critique environmental neglect, corporate greed, and the marginalization of the vulnerable. Toxie’s grotesque form isn’t just a mutation—it’s a visual indictment of systemic rot. His mop-wielding justice redefines heroism as something born from pain, not power, and suggests that dignity can emerge from deformity. The film mocks sanitized superhero tropes, asking: what if the savior is the very thing society fears?
Across these films, genre becomes a playground for radical empathy. The monstrous, the mutated, and the misfit aren’t just metaphors—they’re mirrors. They ask us to reconsider who gets to be called “human,” and whether the norms we cling to are worth preserving.
Macon Blair is an American filmmaker, actor, screenwriter, and comic book writer. He first gained recognition for his haunting performance as Dwight in Blue Ruin (2013), a role that showcased his ability to blend vulnerability with quiet intensity. Blair has long collaborated with childhood friend Jeremy Saulnier, appearing in films like Green Room (2015) and Murder Party (2007). His directorial debut, I Don’t Feel at Home in This World Anymore (2017), won the Grand Jury Prize at Sundance and cemented his reputation for crafting darkly comic, emotionally resonant stories. In 2019, Blair was tapped to write and direct the reboot of The Toxic Avenger, a project that allowed him to channel his love for absurdist satire and practical effects into a gleefully grotesque superhero narrative. Beyond film, Blair has written comics for Marvel and Dark Horse, and co-authored the graphic novel Long Road to Liquor City.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on “Jaws” at 50: The Shark That Shaped Cinema
When Jaws exploded onto screens in 1975, it did more than make people fear the ocean—it invented the modern blockbuster. Half a century later, Steven Spielberg’s suspenseful masterpiece remains a touchstone for thrilling storytelling, cinematic innovation, and marketing genius. As audiences dive back into its legacy with a 50th anniversary re-release, it’s worth examining how this creature feature turned cultural phenomenon forever altered how Hollywood makes, markets, and releases movies. From shifting the industry’s seasonal rhythms to redefining spectacle and audience engagement, Jaws didn’t just change the game—it created one.
Steven Spielberg’s Jaws is making waves once again as it marks its 50th anniversary with a nationwide theatrical re-release beginning August 29, 2025.
Originally released in 1975 at a budget of $9 million, the film didn’t just scare moviegoers out of the water, it revolutionised Hollywood’s entire approach to film releases, ushering in the age of the summer blockbuster.
This landmark re-release offers audiences an array of immersive formats, including 4K, IMAX, RealD 3D, 4DX, and D-BOX, ensuring that Spielberg’s suspense-filled classic feels as thrilling today as it did half a century ago.
Universal has rolled out fresh promotional materials, including five evocative posters and a spine-tingling new trailer spotlighting iconic lines like “You’re gonna need a bigger boat.”
Special events bring the film to life beyond the theatre, from the floating-screen experience “Jaws on the Water” in Texas to a Hollywood Bowl performance of John Williams’ legendary score, and a nostalgic Rolling Roadshow screening in Martha’s Vineyard, where the film was shot.
The celebration continues at the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures with Jaws: The Exhibition, opening September 14 and featuring more than 200 original artefacts—including the last surviving mechanical shark, Bruce.
For home audiences, the film and its sequels are now streaming on Peacock, accompanied by a 50th anniversary Blu-ray and 4K UHD edition. A wave of commemorative merchandise has also been launched, from designer collectables to themed pool gear and board games.
As the first film to cross the $100 million box office mark and a winner of three Academy Awards, Jaws remains a cinematic cornerstone whose ripple effect continues to influence generations of storytellers and thrill-seekers alike.
When Jaws premiered in 1975, it didn’t just thrill audiences—it fundamentally transformed Hollywood filmmaking
Before Spielberg’s great white terror took hold, summer was considered a cinematic off-season. Jaws rewrote that script by launching in over 400 theaters simultaneously, backed by an unprecedented marketing campaign that blitzed television screens and tied into merchandise and publishing.
Its roaring success not only proved that summer could be blockbuster season but also gave rise to the “event release” strategy studios rely on today.
The film’s ability to balance suspense, character depth, and technical innovation—despite mechanical shark woes—demonstrated that commercially ambitious films could also be artistically significant.
Spielberg’s choice to delay the shark reveal, relying instead on John Williams’ haunting score and careful editing, reshaped how tension is crafted in genre filmmaking.
Beyond the screen, Jaws ignited trends in franchise thinking, mass merchandising, and cinematic spectacle that laid the foundation for everything from Star Wars to The Avengers.
Its legacy endures not just in how films are made, but in how they’re sold, experienced, and remembered.
Jaws didn’t just redefine the blockbuster—it reshaped the very language of filmmaking
Spielberg’s decision to shoot on the open ocean, rather than in a controlled tank, introduced a level of realism that was both risky and revolutionary. The mechanical shark’s frequent malfunctions forced him to rely on suggestion rather than spectacle, giving birth to a suspense technique that’s now a staple in horror and thriller genres: show less, imply more. This improvisational approach—using POV shots, buoys, and John Williams’ minimalist score—proved that technical limitations could fuel creative breakthroughs.
The film also elevated the role of editing and sound design. Verna Fields’ precise cuts and Williams’ iconic two-note motif created a rhythm of dread that filmmakers like Jordan Peele and J.J. Abrams still cite as foundational. Spielberg’s use of natural lighting, handheld cameras, and real locations gave Jaws a documentary-like immediacy, influencing directors who seek authenticity in genre storytelling.
Beyond technique, Jaws shifted the industry’s priorities. It showed that character-driven narratives could coexist with commercial ambition. The dynamic between Brody, Hooper, and Quint—grounded, flawed, and deeply human—proved that emotional resonance could amplify tension far more than visual effects alone.
In essence, Jaws taught filmmakers that suspense isn’t just about what you see—it’s about what you feel.
The cast of Jaws (1975) is iconic, blending seasoned actors with local talent to create one of cinema’s most memorable ensembles: Robert Shaw as Quint, the grizzled shark hunter with a haunting monologue about the USS Indianapolis; Roy Scheider as Chief Martin Brody, the police chief of Amity Island who leads the hunt for the shark. His line “You’re gonna need a bigger boat” became legendary; and Richard Dreyfuss as Matt Hooper, the witty and passionate marine biologist.
Jaws stands apart from other classic blockbusters not just for what it achieved, but for how it achieved it
While films like Star Wars, Jurassic Park, and Titanic dazzled with scale and spectacle, Jaws relied on restraint, atmosphere, and character-driven tension. Spielberg’s decision to delay the shark’s reveal—born from mechanical failures—led to a Hitchcockian suspense that many later films tried to emulate but rarely matched. Unlike Star Wars, which launched a galaxy-spanning franchise, or Jurassic Park, which leaned heavily on CGI, Jaws was grounded in realism, shot on location in Martha’s Vineyard, and populated with everyday characters rather than archetypal heroes2.
Its modest budget and limited effects forced innovation, resulting in a film that feels intimate despite its cultural impact. Where Titanic and Avatar leaned into epic romance or sci-fi grandeur, Jaws kept its stakes human-scale: a small town, a handful of deaths, and three men on a boat. Yet its influence is seismic. It created the summer blockbuster model, pioneered wide releases, and proved that marketing could be as powerful as storytelling.
In essence, Jaws didn’t just compete with other blockbusters—it taught them how to exist.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Caught Stealing – A Genre-Bending Thriller
In adapting his cult novel Caught Stealing for Darren Aronofsky’s feverish crime thriller, Charlie Huston delivers more than a gritty narrative—he infuses it with the bruised poetry of survival, crafting a wild, genre-blending plunge into the seedy underbelly of 1990s New York.
Darren Aronofsky’s filmography is a study in psychological intensity, surreal storytelling, and emotional excavation—each film a stepping stone toward the chaotic pulse of Caught Stealing. He burst onto the scene with Pi (1998), a black-and-white fever dream about obsession and mathematical mysticism, followed by Requiem for a Dream (2000), which cemented his reputation for unflinching portrayals of addiction and despair. The Fountain (2006) expanded his scope into metaphysical romance, while The Wrestler (2008) and Black Swan (2010) grounded his style in raw character studies, earning acclaim for their emotional realism and haunting performances. Noah (2014) and Mother! (2017) pushed boundaries with biblical allegory and environmental horror, and The Whale (2022) returned to intimate storytelling, exploring grief and redemption through a single, confined space.
With Caught Stealing, Aronofsky pivots—still embracing psychological depth, but now infusing it with dark comedy, genre chaos, and a kinetic sense of fun. It’s a culmination of his visual bravado and thematic obsessions, refracted through the lens of pulp noir and urban absurdity.
The film marks a striking departure for Aronofsky, known for psychologically intense dramas like Black Swan and The Whale, as he ventures into genre territory with a pulpy, high-octane narrative set in the gritty underbelly of 1990s New York.
Huston’s novel, the first in a trilogy, serves as both blueprint and emotional core for the film, chronicling the chaotic descent of Hank Thompson—a washed-up ex-baseball player turned bartender—into a violent criminal world after a seemingly innocuous favour for a neighbour spirals into a deadly game of survival.
Aronofsky described the project as a “beautiful exercise in genre filmmaking,” embracing the kinetic energy and dark humour of Huston’s prose while layering it with his signature visual intensity and emotional depth.
Huston’s gritty prose and Aronofsky’s kinetic direction collide to deliver a genre-blending thriller soaked in dread, absurdity, and bruised humanity.
New York City would be a character itself in the film—especially as the filmmakers focused on the parts of the city that don’t always get their glamor moments: the Lower East Side, Chinatown, Coney Island, Brighton Beach, and Flushing, Queens. It was important to Aronofsky to make the film on the streets of New York, and equally important to him to reunite with his crew of artisans with whom he began his career.“This is much of the same team that was running around with me on the streets of Chinatown, shooting Pi,” he says. “It was huge fun to be with these people, in many of the same locations as that first film, recreating that time—1990s New York. It became a reunion of sorts. Of course, now that crew is one of the best crews on the planet. I’ve worked with them on—I can’t think how many films now—The Whale, Noah, Black Swan… Matty Libatique on camera—I’ve been working with Matty since I met him on the first day of film school. Mark Friedberg, my production designer— this is our third film together. My editor is Andrew Weisblum—I’ve worked him with since The Wrestler. Judy Chin doing the makeup, fresh off her Oscar® win for The Whale. Same VFX crew, same producing crew. It’s getting the family together.”
Set in the chaotic underbelly of 1990s New York, Caught Stealing follows Hank Thompson (Austin Butler), a former high-school baseball prodigy turned bartender whose life spirals into violence after he agrees to cat-sit for his punk neighbour Russ (Matt Smith). Unbeknownst to Hank, the cat’s cage hides a key that draws the attention of a dangerous cast of criminals—including Russian mobsters, a sadistic cop, and a pair of leather-clad psycho brothers. As Hank scrambles to survive, he’s pulled into a bloody treasure hunt that forces him to confront his past and navigate a city teeming with danger.
Charlie Huston’s novel clearly draws fuel from his personal fascinations and genre experimentation
For Huston, who adapts their own screenplay, Caught Stealing isn’t just a darkly humorous heist story— it’s a project that’s near and dear to their heart. “I wrote this book way back in 1998, the year the story is set in,” they say. “There’s a ton of my own lived experience in the story’s main character. When Darren Aronofsky reached out to me 18 years ago to say that he was interested in the book, it was super exciting. I loved the idea of Darren taking his visual sensibility and the dynamism of his storytelling and applying it to this story.”
“There’s a lot of humour in the story,” says Huston, and while that’s a new color for the director, “it’s great to see him applying his sensibility to it. It has a very dark sensibility, and that’s Darren’s wheelhouse. Darren’s work has a deep earnestness to it, and an emotionality that’s very strong and very present. I like that his characters feel so deeply, and they always go on journeys.”
Written while Huston was living in Manhattan, the city’s abrasive charm and volatile rhythm seep into every corner of the narrative, turning New York into more than just a backdrop—it’s an emotional terrain.
What inspired Caught Stealing is not just Huston’s love for noir and crime fiction, but a fascination with the fragility of identity and the randomness of fate. Hank is not a hero in the traditional sense—he’s a man broken by regret and inertia, thrust into chaos by circumstance rather than choice. Aronofsky was drawn to this tension, seeing in Hank a character who embodies both absurdity and pathos, a man whose survival hinges not on skill but on desperation and luck.
His protagonist, Hank Thompson, a disgraced baseball player thrust into a brutal underworld by sheer bad luck, embodies Huston’s love of flawed heroes—men teetering on the edge with bruised dignity and reluctant grit.
Huston’s background in comics and pulp fiction shaped the novel’s genre fluidity: noir meets thriller meets absurdist comedy, all stitched together with staccato dialogue and psychological tension.
And at its heart lies a fascination with mistaken identity and moral ambiguity—Hank’s descent is accidental, yet entirely believable, inviting readers to consider how quickly the mundane can tip into mayhem. It’s not just a crime story—it’s a study in chaos, voice, and survival, all channeled through Huston’s cracked lens of urban storytelling.
Austin Butler in Caught Stealing.
Huston knew that Butler would need to bring depth and complexity to Hank’s character—and Butler delivered. “When we meet Hank, he’s at a crossroads in his life,” says Huston. “When he was younger, he thought he was going to be a superstar baseball player. He had the brightest possible future, and through his own carelessness, it went completely awry. Faced with that, he chose to run away rather than confront it and try to grow from it. He’s been running for 12 or 13 years when we meet him.”
“He’s in danger of spending the rest of his life never growing, never changing,” Huston continues. “And when circumstances hit him, they force him on a journey where he has to decide if he’s going to continue running away or if he’s going to take on these challenges and confront the choices he’s made in his life.”
In fact, Butler performs all of his stunts in the film—the filmmakers never called in his double. It was important to Aronofsky to create action that his star could perform. “Action’s gotten out of control—everyone’s trying to outdo the next person and you get sequences that defy physics,” he says. “I wanted our action to be grounded and truthful, because I think there’s something more dangerous about that type of violence.”
Darren Aronofsky’s collaboration with Charlie Huston on Caught Stealing
It reshapes Aronofsky’s usual rhythm by injecting his signature psychological depth with a jolt of genre chaos and streetwise absurdity. Huston’s pulpy, fractured storytelling gives Aronofsky a new tempo—less operatic tragedy, more kinetic noir.
Traditionally, Aronofsky builds tension through emotional claustrophobia and existential weight (Requiem for a Dream, Black Swan, The Whale). But Huston’s screenplay offers a different beat: fast, jagged, and laced with dark humor. Aronofsky responds by loosening his grip—embracing unpredictability, oddball characters, and a narrative that spirals rather than descends.
This shift is intentional. Aronofsky said, “I wanted to get back to the core ingredients that make movies great — entertainment and fun. I wanted to make something filled with joy and adventure”. That joy doesn’t dilute his intensity—it reframes it. Instead of emotional collapse, we get emotional chaos. Instead of dread, we get propulsion.
In essence, Huston’s voice acts like a jazz riff in Aronofsky’s symphony—disrupting, challenging, and ultimately expanding his cinematic rhythm.
With Caught Stealing, he leans into Huston’s streetwise chaos, trading operatic tragedy for a gritty noir romp soaked in absurdity and adrenaline. It’s not a rejection of his previous style, but an evolution: Aronofsky still thrives on descent and transformation, but here it’s laced with irony, dark humor, and genre play.
Huston’s pulpy narration and fractured worldview give Aronofsky a new playground—a place where dread and levity collide, and the city itself becomes a pulsing character. The collaboration isn’t a tonal detour—it’s a rechanneling, where the bruised poetry of Huston’s prose finds visual expression in Aronofsky’s kinetic melancholy.
Austin Butler in Caught Stealing.
Charlie Huston and Darren Aronofsky’s creative partnership on Caught Stealing is a collision of literary grit and cinematic intensity—two artists with distinct voices finding a shared rhythm in chaos.
Huston, known for his fractured prose and morally ambiguous anti-heroes, brings a bruised, streetwise sensibility to the screenplay. Aronofsky, whose filmography is steeped in psychological descent and visual bravado, amplifies that tone with kinetic energy and emotional depth.
Their collaboration is rooted in mutual respect for character-driven storytelling. Huston’s novel is a masterclass in voice—raw, immediate, and darkly funny—and Aronofsky doesn’t dilute that. Instead, he leans into it, using his signature techniques (tight framing, surreal tension, immersive sound design) to translate Huston’s internal monologue into visual language. The result is a film that feels both literary and visceral, absurd and grounded.
Behind the scenes, the partnership is also practical: Huston adapted his own novel, ensuring the screenplay retained its original pulse, while Aronofsky produced the film through Protozoa Pictures, his long-time creative hub. Their shared commitment to New York City as both setting and character adds another layer of cohesion—the city’s grit, unpredictability, and emotional texture are central to both their artistic identities.
In essence, Caught Stealing isn’t just a director adapting a writer’s work—it’s two storytellers riffing off each other’s strengths, crafting a narrative that’s as emotionally raw as it is stylistically bold.
Charlie Huston’s narrative tone
Charlie Huston’s narrative tone is raw, rhythmic, and emotionally volatile—a kind of noir filtered through the static of urban dread and streaks of dark humour.
His signature style thrives on urgency and immediacy, often delivered in the breathless cadence of first-person present tense, which pulls readers directly into the protagonist’s skin as events unravel in real time.
Huston’s dialogue is clipped and staccato, stripped of quotation marks, ricocheting like verbal gunfire between characters who interrupt, stammer, and snap with hyper-realistic tension.
Violence in his work is never ornamental—it carries consequence and psychological weight, often wrapped in surreal setups that turn the mundane into the menacing.
During moments of inner collapse, Huston unleashes dizzying bursts of stream-of-consciousness, echoing the fractured thoughts of protagonists caught in moral spirals.
His character sketches are sparse but potent, revealing depth through behaviour and voice rather than exposition, with flawed anti-heroes like Hank Thompson and Joe Pitt drifting between resignation and reluctant action.
Ritualistic vices—smoking, self-talk, minor compulsions—become emotional anchors, marking time and trauma with quiet persistence. Ultimately, Huston’s style feels like a jazz riff played on broken strings: bruised, unpredictable, and fiercely alive.
Darren Aronofsky is an American filmmaker known for his psychologically intense, visually daring, and often surreal storytelling. He grew up in a culturally Jewish household and developed an early interest in the arts through graffiti and Broadway performances. He studied social anthropology and filmmaking at Harvard University, where his senior thesis film Supermarket Sweep became a finalist for the Student Academy Awards. He later earned an MFA in directing from the American Film Institute Conservatory. Aronofsky made his feature debut with Pi (1998), a low-budget thriller that won him Best Director at Sundance and introduced his signature style—hip-hop montages, psychological descent, and thematic boldness.
He followed with Requiem for a Dream (2000), The Fountain (2006), The Wrestler (2008), and Black Swan (2010), the latter earning him an Oscar nomination for Best Director. His later works include Noah (2014), Mother! (2017), and The Whale (2022), each pushing boundaries in narrative and form. Aronofsky’s films often explore obsession, transformation, and the fragility of identity, and he’s known for collaborating with actors who deliver career-defining performances. Through his production company Protozoa Pictures, he’s also ventured into documentaries and immersive experiences, including Welcome to Earth and Postcard from Earth.
Charlie Huston is an American novelist, screenwriter, and comic book writer whose work spans crime fiction, horror, pulp, and speculative genres. Born in Oakland, California, in 1968, Huston began his career with the breakout novel Caught Stealing (2004), the first in the Henry Thompson trilogy, which established his reputation for gritty, voice-driven storytelling. His prose is known for its fractured rhythm, emotional immediacy, and noir sensibility—often delivered in first-person present tense with staccato dialogue and minimal punctuation.
Over the years, Huston has published twelve novels, including Six Bad Things, A Dangerous Man, Sleepless, Skinner, and the vampire noir series Joe Pitt Casebooks. He’s also made a mark in comics, rebooting Marvel’s Moon Knight and contributing to titles like Wolverine: The Best There Is and Bullseye: Perfect Game. His television work includes writing pilots for HBO, FX, FOX, and Sony, and serving as a consulting producer on Gotham. Huston’s storytelling often centers on damaged characters navigating moral ambiguity, with genre-blending narratives that explore violence, identity, and survival.
In 2025, Huston adapted Caught Stealing for the screen, teaming up with Darren Aronofsky to bring his feverish urban noir to life.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on “All’s fair when love is war”: Reimagining Emotional Warfare in The Roses
“I wanted to explore how love curdles into competition—not with shouting, but with silence, sabotage, and the kind of wit that cuts deeper than rage,” said screenwriter Tony McNamara of The Roses, transforming the emotional chaos of the original War of the Roses into a sleek, satirical dissection of modern relationships.
The Roses, directed by Jay Roach from a screenplay by Tony McNamara, is a satirical black comedy that reimagines the 1989 cult classic The War of the Roses, itself based on Warren Adler’s novel.
In director Jay Roach’s The Roses, the equally acclaimed and beloved pair of British actors Benedict Cumberbatch (The Power of the Dog, ‘Sherlock’) and Olivia Colman (The Favourite, ‘The Crown’), paired for the first time on screen, play Theo and Ivy Rose, a married couple who fell madly in love when they first met – but whose marriage slowly unravels under the pressure of modern family dynamics. What begins as playful banter spirals into all-out emotional warfare, with neither willing to surrender. The result? A brilliantly unhinged exploration of love tipping into chaos.
“The tone is unique, it’s basically real life,” says Roach (Bombshell, Meet the Parents). “I often use humour to navigate tough moments, and I think people in relationships who can joke and tease their way through awkward or tense situations show signs of a healthy bond. But this film explores how that love language can turn from teasing to outright attack—and sometimes, it’s hard to tell the difference.”
“I love British wit and these two are at the pinnacle of that,” he says. “They make it look so easy – and being funny is hard. It’s hitting something so undefinable and unscientific. But it comes naturally to them, like a sixth sense.”
The seeds bloomed once the brilliantly barbed mind of screenwriter Tony McNamara (Poor Things, ‘The Great’) signed on. He’s known for his razor-sharp wit and emotionally layered storytelling, with previous credits including The Favourite, Poor Things, and the series The Great. His style blends satire with sincerity, making him a perfect match for this reimagining of The War of the Roses.
By setting the story in today’s world, McNamara knew he could explore deeper issues—not just about relationships, but about the external pressures society imposes on them.
“Today’s world is different from the ’60s or ’70s. Economically, life was a little easier,” McNamara says. “There were fewer messages telling people they had to be special. You could live a good, happy life—and if marriage and kids worked out, that was enough. But for Theo and Ivy, as artists today, the pressure is different. The capitalist system pulls at people, pulls them apart. It’s not great for a happy marriage.”
McNamara believes one of the best things about being a screenwriter is seeing your words brought to life by the people playing the characters you have spent so long imagining in your head. When it came to The Roses, that first day on set was perhaps one of the best.
Says McNamara of the pair of actors, “You never know what the chemistry is going to be like – no matter who the actors are. But then, in their first scene, we were like, ‘Oh my God, they feel like they’ve been married for so long.’ They had such a connection and rhythm. It felt incredible.”
Cumberbatch says this is why The Roses is such an honest film, born of genuine life experience. He adds, “really, it’s about two people who love each other but are dysfunctional in and of themselves and hit a massive, massive bump. Amongst all the fun and games, it’s heartbreaking.”
Colman smiles, “Yes, it has been lots of fun, hating each other. There’s something rather therapeutic about getting to be utterly horrible to someone, and then having a good laugh about it later.”
Just as Theo and Ivy’s home is unforgettable, so is the film’s story, one that will prompt reflection and discussion—some uncomfortable, some uplifting, but all of them honest.
“By the end of our first read-through, although everyone was laughing through the early parts of it,” says Roach. “It became clear to everyone how deeply tragic and heartbreaking it all is.”
He continues, “When we finished, Benedict said to me, ‘I hope this film causes every person watching it to turn to their partner and say, Wow, we need to talk honestly and drop the surface stuff, because if we don’t, we might misunderstand each other. We might stop giving each other the benefit of the doubt.’ And I think that is the real magic of any relationship. Once you lose that, you’re on a slippery slope.”
Most important for McNamara, meanwhile, is that audiences also identify with the challenges Theo and Ivy face in the film. “I want people to root for Theo and Ivy to be together but recognize how difficult that is. I don’t think as an audience you want them to suddenly be nice to each other.”
Fun very much sits at the center of this story, humor in all its many guises. “People can expect wit in all its incarnations in this: dry wit, acerbic wit, warm wit, wet wit,” says McKinnon. “It is hilarious and subtle and the real unravelling of a real love that should have been.”
For Cumberbatch, the process of making THE ROSES was one that will live long in his memory, particularly as it has seen him finally get to work so closely with someone he has admired for so long.
“Olivia is a treasure, but let’s put that aside,” he says. “She has been a lot of fun to work with. She’s an amazing collaborator with this lovely, joyous upbeat energy, which I would be exhausted by having to exert. It’s just who she is. She’s like that through and through. And, as an actress, she has this unique range between comedy and tragedy. It’s effortless for her.”
The love between the two runs both ways, which is somewhat ironic given the hateful madness their characters will ultimately descend into. “No, the irony of that is not lost on me, either,” Colman says. “It’s strange making a movie with someone you love so much where you get to be so horrendous and nasty to them all day. But that’s what this film is. It’s about the highs and lows of a relationship and everything in between. Human mess in all its glory and shit.”
The Roses is a film that, like a marriage itself maybe, goes through every emotional possible. Often at the same time.
“We wanted to make a very smart adult comedy that goes dark. And I feel like there haven’t been that many of those for a while,” says McNamara. “And we wanted to make a really good comedy about marriage that also had a good heart about how hard that is. We wanted to make something that people could relate to. I know we all did.”
Life seems idyllic for Ivy (Olivia Colman) and Theo (Benedict Cumberbatch)—a couple with thriving careers, a loving marriage, and a picture-perfect family. But beneath the polished surface simmers a storm of ambition, envy, and emotional sabotage. As Theo’s professional dreams unravel and Ivy’s culinary empire rises, their relationship becomes a battleground of passive-aggressive warfare and psychological brinkmanship. What begins as subtle tension escalates into a darkly comedic war of wills, where every gesture is loaded and every word a weapon.
Tony McNamara’s voice reshapes The Roses
He infuses the emotional architecture of the original with a satirical elegance and psychological precision that’s distinctly modern.
The 1989 film leaned into operatic chaos—emotions were explosive, physical, and often grotesque. Emotions are weaponised through dialogue in McNamara’s version. Ivy and Theo’s unravelling is less about shouting matches and more about strategic emotional sabotage, delivered with biting wit and simmering tension.
McNamara’s hallmark is dialogue that dances between cruelty and vulnerability. In The Roses, lines like “You are a bottomless pit of need” aren’t just insults—they’re emotional diagnostics, revealing the characters’ deepest insecurities. This creates a rhythm where humor and heartbreak coexist, making the emotional stakes feel both absurd and painfully real.
Ivy’s rise as a successful chef and Theo’s professional collapse invert traditional power dynamics. McNamara uses this shift to explore resentment born from admiration, and intimacy eroded by envy. The characters aren’t caricatures—they’re emotionally complex, with motivations that feel grounded in contemporary anxieties about identity, success, and partnership.
The rose, once a symbol of romantic decay, now becomes a metaphor for emotional duality—beauty laced with thorns. McNamara leans into this by crafting scenes that are visually lush but emotionally jagged.
Tony McNamara is a celebrated Australian playwright, screenwriter, and television producer known for his razor-sharp wit and emotionally layered storytelling. He initially pursued careers in catering and finance before a transformative visit to Rome inspired him to become a writer. He studied writing at the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology and screenwriting at the Australian Film, Television and Radio School.
McNamara began his career in theatre, gaining recognition for plays like The Café Latte Kid and The John Wayne Principle, which showcased his flair for satirical dialogue and psychological nuance. He transitioned to television with acclaimed Australian series such as The Secret Life of Us, Love My Way, and Puberty Blues, before making his film debut with The Rage in Placid Lake (2003), which he also directed.
His international breakthrough came with The Favourite (2018), co-written with Deborah Davis, earning him an Academy Award nomination and establishing his signature blend of historical settings and modern irreverence. He followed this with The Great (2020–2023), a Hulu series starring Elle Fanning and Nicholas Hoult, based on his earlier stage play about Catherine the Great.
McNamara’s recent works include Poor Things (2023), which earned him another Oscar nomination, and The Roses (2025), a satirical reimagining of The War of the Roses. He’s also scripting upcoming projects like Avengelyne and a Star Wars film with Taika Waititi.
Jay Roach is an acclaimed American filmmaker whose career spans sharp-witted comedies and politically charged dramas. He studied economics at Stanford University before earning an MFA in film production from USC. His breakout came with the Austin Powers trilogy (1997–2002), which showcased his knack for stylised absurdity and pop-culture satire. He followed with box office hits like Meet the Parents (2000) and Meet the Fockers (2004), cementing his reputation in comedy.
Roach later pivoted to more serious fare, directing Recount (2008), Game Change (2012), and All the Way (2016)—political dramas that earned him multiple Primetime Emmy Awards and a Golden Globe. His film Trumbo (2015), starring Bryan Cranston, and Bombshell (2019), starring Charlize Theron and Margot Robbie, further demonstrated his ability to blend entertainment with social critique.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Echoes and Evolutions: The Rise of the Legacy Sequel
In an era defined by reboots and cinematic nostalgia, the legacy sequel has emerged as a cultural mirror in film and novels, not merely revisiting beloved stories but reframing them through the lens of time, memory, and shifting values.
Whether it’s Maverick soaring through the skies decades after Top Gun, or Atwood’s The Testaments confronting the ghosts of Gilead, these sequels don’t just continue a narrative — they interrogate it. They ask what remains, what’s forgotten, and what must be reimagined. As audiences seek comfort in the familiar, creators are challenged to craft stories that honor the past while daring to evolve.
Legacy sequels are defined as narratives — in film or literature — that continue a story many years, often decades, after the original was released
They typically revive familiar characters, themes, or settings while introducing new elements that reflect contemporary sensibilities. The purpose of a legacy sequel is not merely to pick up where the original left off, but to reinterpret its emotional and thematic foundation for a new generation. These stories often rely on returning casts, thematic callbacks, and symbolic “passing the torch” moments, while occasionally engaging in selective retconning to realign canon with fresh intentions.
In cinema, legacy sequels like Top Gun: Maverick, Doctor Sleep, and Creed exemplify this dynamic, emerging 25 to 40 years after their predecessors and exploring key themes such as aging, trauma, mentorship, and generational identity. These films deploy emotional callbacks — like Maverick’s lingering guilt — alongside visual echoes such as Blade Runner 2049’s neon-soaked dystopia. They also experiment with genre evolution, shifting from familiar frameworks into more reflective or socially resonant territories, as seen in Halloween’s reinvention as a trauma study.
Literature presents its own legacy sequel terrain, often with greater challenges around voice and expectation. Works like Margaret Atwood’s The Testaments, Stephen King’s Doctor Sleep, and Harper Lee’s Go Set a Watchman revisit earlier narratives after long gaps — 30 to 50 years — delving into themes like resistance, addiction, and cultural disillusionment. These novels confront the difficulty of maintaining stylistic continuity while acknowledging modern realities and reader reinterpretation. Where The Testaments deepens the narrative architecture of The Handmaid’s Tale, Go Set a Watchman risks undermining its predecessor through character shifts that startled longtime readers.
The cultural and emotional resonance of legacy sequels is especially pronounced during moments of societal flux — when audiences yearn for familiarity amid uncertainty.
These sequels act as mirrors, reflecting how characters and narratives evolve alongside us
They use memory as both motif and mechanism, threading the past into the present to explore what’s preserved, what’s transformed, and what demands reimagining. Though some deepen the emotional impact of their source material, others struggle to match its original power, making the legacy sequel a high-stakes endeavor that balances reverence, risk, and reinvention.
Since 2015, legacy sequels have offered cinema audiences a blend of nostalgia and reinvention
Legacy sequels have thrived in recent years, blending nostalgic familiarity with contemporary reinvention. Creed (2015) reframed the Rocky saga through generational trauma and self-discovery, introducing Adonis Creed while honouring his father’s legacy. Blade Runner 2049 (2017) expanded its predecessor’s philosophical terrain, using memory and identity to explore humanity in a dystopian future. Halloween (2018) revived its slasher origins with a focus on intergenerational trauma, selectively retconning previous sequels to deepen emotional stakes. Doctor Sleep (2019) bridged Stephen King’s novel with Kubrick’s cinematic vision of The Shining, meditating on addiction, psychic inheritance, and redemption. In 2021, Ghostbusters: Afterlife, The Matrix Resurrections, and Candyman each attempted to recontextualise iconic narratives for a new generation, varying in tone and success. Top Gun: Maverick (2022) reignited the 1986 original’s spirit, exploring themes of ageing, mentorship, and emotional closure through breathtaking aerial choreography.
In 2025, the trend continues with I Know What You Did Last Summer, a slasher sequel that revives the Fisherman mythos with returning cast members and a new generation haunted by past secrets; The Naked Gun, a comedic reboot blends absurdity with homage to the original’s slapstick legacy; and Freakier Friday, a multigenerational twist on the body-swap formula.
In literature, legacy sequels have similarly revisited beloved worlds with mixed results.
Stephen King’s Doctor Sleep (2013) — though slightly predating the legacy sequel surge — gained renewed attention with its 2019 film adaptation, continuing the story of Danny Torrance as he confronts his haunted past and psychic inheritance. Harper Lee’s Go Set a Watchman(2015), released 55 years after To Kill a Mockingbird, stirred controversy by reimagining Atticus Finch in a more morally complex light, challenging readers’ perceptions of heroism and racial identity. Margaret Atwood’s The Testaments (2019) returned to Gilead decades after The Handmaid’s Tale, offering new perspectives on resistance and power through three female narrators. That same year, André Aciman’s Find Me (2019) extended the emotional arc of Call Me by Your Name, exploring themes of longing, time, and the enduring imprint of love. These literary sequels often grapple with evolving authorial voice, shifting cultural contexts, and the delicate balance between honouring and reinterpreting the original.
Legacy sequels have surged in popularity recently for a mix of emotional, cultural, and economic reasons, and the timing couldn’t be more telling
At their heart lies a yearning for nostalgia during moments of uncertainty; audiences seek comfort in the familiar when real-world change feels overwhelming. These sequels often act as emotional refuge, bridging generational divides with “torch-passing” narratives that resonate across age groups.
Crafting a legacy sequel is a tightrope walk between fan service and innovation. The most successful entries honour their predecessors while evolving the narrative with intentionality, avoiding the trap of nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. Their multigenerational appeal lies in this delicate balance — speaking to longtime fans while offering fresh emotional resonance to new audiences.
Writing a legacy sequel is a delicate dance between reverence and reinvention — and there are plenty of ways to trip over your own narrative shoelaces. One common misstep is overreliance on nostalgia, where callbacks, cameos, or iconic lines dominate the storytelling, reducing emotional depth to fan service. Instead, nostalgia should be used as seasoning that enhances rather than overshadows the narrative. Another pitfall is rehashing the original plot: audiences seek the emotional heartbeat of the past, not a carbon copy of its structure.
Stagnant character development can also flatten the sequel’s emotional impact; characters must reflect how time has shaped them — spiritually, emotionally, and psychologically. Inconsistent worldbuilding, especially when it retcons established lore, disrupts immersion and betrays audience trust. Maintaining a “series bible” can safeguard narrative continuity.
Another risk is ignoring the emotional core of the original; without it, a sequel becomes spectacle without soul. Identify that pulse — longing, justice, memory — and build your story around it. Similarly, raising stakes without emotional weight leads to hollow tension: conflict should impact characters personally, not just escalate dramatically.
Lastly, introducing too many new characters with minimal narrative purpose can dilute focus and alienate audiences. Instead, newcomers should challenge, mirror, or complicate the legacy meaningfully.
Avoiding these traps isn’t just about good technique — it’s about preserving the emotional architecture that made the original story resonate.
Legacy sequels often stumble when their execution prioritizes surface recognition over narrative integrity, and several high-profile examples in both film and literature illustrate these pitfalls vividly
In cinema, Jurassic World leans heavily on nostalgia, recycling Jurassic Park’s framework without deepening its emotional stakes, while The Rise of Skywalker struggles under the weight of retconning, dismantling The Last Jedi’s narrative progression to favour hasty fan appeasement. Similarly, Ghostbusters: Afterlife trades emotional continuity for name-dropping and vibes, offering familiar faces with minimal character development. Independence Day: Resurgence reveals the dangers of stagnant growth — resurrecting characters who feel frozen in time — and The Matrix Resurrections risks alienation by shifting genre focus, favoring meta-commentary over emotional connection.
In literature, Go Set a Watchman delivers a jarring character betrayal, reimagining Atticus Finch in ways that unsettled devoted readers, while The Lost Symbol falls into formulaic plotting that lacks the suspense and thematic complexity of its predecessor. Scarlett attempts to expand Gone with the Wind but falters in its emotional and historical depth, whereas Closing Time diverges tonally from Catch-22, losing its satirical sharpness. Son of Rosemary exemplifies the peril of unnecessary continuation, adding convoluted layers that unravel the chilling elegance of Rosemary’s Baby.
These misfires matter because they create emotional dissonance, where sequels contradict the soul of the original, leading to narrative fatigue and a cultural disconnect that feels tone-deaf to contemporary audiences.
A legacy sequel must resonate, not just replicate, and the finest examples reveal that honouring the emotional truth of a story is more essential than revisiting its familiar tropes.
Creating a fresh legacy sequel is like composing a duet across time — one voice rooted in the past, the other reaching forward
To honor the original while crafting something new, a writer must carefully blend emotional continuity with narrative innovation.
First, it’s vital to preserve the emotional DNA of the original work. Identify its core — be it longing, justice, identity, or rebellion — and echo that pulse in the sequel while allowing it to evolve. Creed, for instance, channels Rocky’s underdog spirit but deepens it through generational trauma and personal discovery.
Letting time shape the story is equally essential; the passage of years should influence how characters have changed, what they regret, and what they’ve forgotten. Blade Runner 2049 uses this beautifully, turning memory and legacy into haunted motifs.
Respecting character arcs ensures authenticity: don’t undo growth but build upon it, allowing returning figures to mentor, challenge, or reflect on what they’ve become.
Reframing genre or tone can breathe new life into a familiar narrative — a coming-of-age drama may evolve into a psychological thriller, as Doctor Sleep does in its reimagining of The Shining.
Introducing fresh voices should serve a narrative purpose, not just expand the cast; new characters must carry emotional and thematic weight that complements the legacy.
Structuring the sequel around memory — through flashbacks, symbolic artefacts, or temporal echoes — adds depth and resonance, anchoring the present in the emotional truth of the past.
Above all, take risks with intention. Innovate through stakes, setting, and theme, but stay faithful to the original’s soul.
Don’t mimic — instead, interrogate. Ask not what the story was, but what it means now, in this moment of cultural and emotional reckoning.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Hunting Jessica Brok: South Africa’s Fierce New Thriller Turns Grief into Ammunition
“We weren’t interested in a clean hero,” says writer-director Alastair Orr of Hunting Jessica Brok. “Jessica is rage, instinct, and trauma—she’s what happens when healing is interrupted by violence.”
In Hunting Jessica Brok, director Alastair Orr delivers a visceral survival thriller that pulses with emotional intensity and regional grit. With a screenplay co-written by Orr, David D. Jones, and Garth McCarthy, the film blends brutal action with psychological depth, offering a distinctly African take on vengeance and maternal resilience.
Set against the unforgiving South African wilderness, the film follows a retired special forces operative whose quiet life is shattered when her daughter is kidnapped by a vengeful group of psychopaths.
The film stars Danica De La Rey Jones as Jessica Brok, a retired special forces operative who’s traded combat for quiet—until her past comes roaring back.
Jessica, once a ghost in combat boots, now lives off-grid with her daughter and runs a vulture rescue centre. But when her ex-lover Daniel shows up wounded and hunted, she’s forced to confront a brutal truth: the war she thought she left behind never ended. A group of vengeful psychopaths is coming—and they’ve taken her daughter. What follows is a visceral descent into survival, vengeance, and emotional reckoning.
Creative Synergy Behind the Screen: Crafting Jessica Brok’s Reckoning
The screenplay is the result of an explosive collaboration between David D. Jones, Garth McCarthy, and Alastair Orr, who also directs the film with a visceral edge.
The film was inspired by a fusion of South African survivalist mythos, post-war trauma, and the emotional complexity of motherhood under siege.
The screenplay began as a character-driven survival thriller rooted in South African landscapes and trauma-informed storytelling. Orr, who also directed, worked closely with the writing team to shape Jessica Brok as a figure of maternal vengeance and psychological depth.
Orr and co-writers Jones and McCarthy envisioned Jessica not just as a warrior, but as a woman haunted by her past and forced to weaponise her grief. The idea stemmed from real-world accounts of female operatives who disappeared into civilian life, only to be pulled back into violence when their families were threatened.
In early interviews, Orr described the film as a “chemical reaction of guilt, training, and maternal instinct,” aiming to explore what happens when someone who’s tried to heal is forced to become a weapon again. The African wilderness plays a symbolic role too—both as a physical battleground and a metaphor for emotional isolation and primal survival.
The team also drew inspiration from genre classics like The Brave One and The Night Comes for Us, but grounded the story in distinctly African textures, rhythms, and moral stakes. The result is a film that’s as much about identity and emotional reckoning as it is about combat and revenge.
Their collaboration brings together gritty action, psychological tension, and a distinctly South African pulse, crafting a story that’s as emotionally charged as it is adrenaline-fueled.
Jones brings a calculated intensity to the character work, McCarthy layers psychological tension with brisk dialogue, and Orr injects the action with raw physicality and cinematic grit.
“We weren’t just writing a revenge story,” Orr says, “we were building a character who weaponises pain into purpose.”
Their process reportedly began with a shared desire to anchor high-octane violence in emotional realism—drawing inspiration from South African landscapes and survivalist mythos. The trio’s dynamic reimagines Jessica not just as a warrior, but as a mother haunted by her past and driven by instinctive fury.
The journey from script to screen was a tightly coordinated, all-African production that emphasised emotional grit and technical precision.
Once greenlit, the production was handled by Known Associates Entertainment and A-Game Productions, with post-production completed entirely in South Africa by The Refinery.
How Hunting Jessica Brok’s South African identity shapes the film’s tone, texture, and thematic depth
Set against the stark beauty and hostility of the South African wilderness, the film uses terrain not just as backdrop, but as character. The mountains, arid plains, and vulture sanctuaries become metaphors for emotional isolation, survivalism, and fractured identity. This deeply rooted sense of place separates Hunting Jessica Brok from typical Hollywood thrillers—it carries the pulse of the continent in every scene.
South Africa’s complex history with violence, trauma, and resilience subtly informs Jessica’s psyche. She’s not just a warrior, she’s a woman shaped by inherited scars—what it means to protect, to persevere, to reckon with buried grief. This fusion of local textures and universal emotion makes the film feel both intimate and epic.
Director Alastair Orr leans into the gritty realism that’s increasingly defined South African genre cinema. It’s raw, physical, and unpolished—favoring handheld shots, brutal choreography, and emotional close-ups. This approach amplifies the urgency and authenticity, placing character ahead of spectacle.
Alastair Orr is a South African filmmaker and entrepreneur celebrated for his visceral directing style and genre-defying storytelling. He’s directed cult horror and thriller films such as Indigenous (2014), House on Willow Street (2016), and Triggered (2020). Orr is also the founder of The First Order Group and heads The Refinery, a leading post-production company in Cape Town and Johannesburg. His background in visual effects and editing informs his kinetic, emotionally raw filmmaking. With Hunting Jessica Brok, Orr merges psychological depth with brutal action, continuing his mission to elevate African genre cinema on the global stage.
David D. Jones is a South African screenwriter and producer originally from South Bend, Indiana. He studied Computer Animation at Purdue University before pivoting toward storytelling and screenwriting, where he found his true passion. Jones has written and created multiple television series and feature films, often blending genres to explore psychological tension and moral ambiguity. His credits include Triggered and Hunting Jessica Brok, where his character-driven approach adds emotional weight to high-stakes narratives. Known for his versatility and genre fusion, Jones continues to develop projects that challenge conventional storytelling.
Garth McCarthy is a South African writer, director, and producer whose work spans independent cinema and international co-productions. He’s known for films like Blink, A Tragic Tale (2015), The Groom (2018), and Hunting Jessica Brok. McCarthy founded Rorschach Pictures, a production company aimed at creating globally viable films shot in South Africa. His screenplays often explore psychological trauma, survival, and moral reckoning, and he’s recognised for his ability to craft emotionally charged thrillers with regional authenticity and international appeal.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Myth of Maracuda: A Sacred Journey Through Tradition, Empathy, and Transformation
“Maracuda’s journey is about challenging inherited beliefs. The sacred bird Tink isn’t just magical—it’s a mirror to the soul,” says screenwriter Aleksandr Arkhipov of The Myth Of Maracuda, a vibrant Russian animated adventure that blends Slavic mythology with a universal coming-of-age arc.
The Myth of Maracuda draws inspiration from Slavic mythology, coming-of-age folklore, and the emotional tension between tradition and individuality. Writer Aleksandr Arkhipov and director Viktor Glukhushin envisioned a story where a young boy’s failure to meet tribal expectations becomes the catalyst for a deeper journey into self-discovery and compassion.
The mystical forest Maracuda enters is more than a setting—it’s a symbolic space where inherited beliefs are tested. The sacred bird Tink, who grants Maracuda the ability to understand animals, represents a bridge between worlds: instinct and empathy, ritual and rebellion. The idea of sacrificing the sacred for prosperity echoes ancient myths but is reimagined here as a moral dilemma that challenges the protagonist’s growth.
“We wanted to tell a story where bravery isn’t about conquest—it’s about understanding,” says Glukhushin.
Glukhushin has also cited a desire to create a film that balances humour, emotional depth, and visual wonder, drawing from animated classics like Brother Bear and The Lion King, while infusing it with a distinctly Eastern European sensibility.
Maracuda, the son of Chief Marakud, is expected to become a great warrior, but he cannot hunt and feels like a disappointment to his tribe. Determined to prove himself, he ventures into a mystical forest where he meets Tink, a sacred bird who grants him the ability to understand the language of animals and birds. With this gift, Maracuda returns home a hero. But his triumph is shadowed by a devastating tradition: the sacred bird must be sacrificed for the tribe’s prosperity. As Maracuda grapples with this truth, he must choose between honouring custom and protecting the creature that changed his life.
Russian animation has a rich and eclectic history
Russian animation boasts a rich and eclectic legacy, weaving together strands of folklore, surrealism, and philosophical introspection.
Its journey began in the early 1900s with innovators like Alexander Shiryaev and Vladislav Starevich, who pioneered stop-motion and puppet techniques.
The Soviet era saw the rise of Soyuzmultfilm, a powerhouse studio that defined generations with emotionally resonant classics such as The Snow Queen (1957) and Hedgehog in the Fog (1975), which remain benchmarks of poetic storytelling.
Post-1990s, following the dissolution of the Soviet Union, animation entered a renaissance, expanding in style and genre through studios like CTB Film Company and Voronezh Animation Studio—producing contemporary family favorites such as The Big Trip and My Sweet Monster.
Across decades, standout films like The Mystery of the Third Planet and There Once Was a Dog showcase Russian animation’s thematic depth and inventive style, from hand-drawn surrealism and traditional folk adaptations to cutting-edge formats like paint-on-glass in The Old Man and the Sea.
Visually, Russian animation often leans into muted palettes and symbolic imagery, echoing its cultural roots in Slavic myth and existential inquiry. Experimental techniques serve not just aesthetic ends, but philosophical ones, making Russian animated storytelling a genre where visual poetry and emotional nuance converge.
Aleksandr Arkhipov is a Russian screenwriter, director, and producer. His creative career spans animation, fantasy, and family genres, with a particular focus on mythic storytelling and emotional transformation. Arkhipov’s writing credits include My Sweet Monster (2021), Sadko (2017), and Sinbad: Pirates of the Seven Storms (2017), each reflecting his interest in blending Slavic folklore with contemporary narrative structures. He also directed the documentary Govorit Sverdlovsk (2008), showcasing his versatility across formats. His work often explores the tension between tradition and individuality, a theme central to The Myth of Maracuda, where his script challenges inherited beliefs through the lens of a coming-of-age tale.
Viktor Glukhushin is a Russian director and visual effects artist known for his emotionally resonant animated films and contributions to Hollywood productions. Before stepping into directing, he worked on visual effects for films like Apollo 18 (2011), Wanted (2008), and Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter (2012), honing a cinematic style that blends atmosphere with precision. His directorial credits include My Sweet Monster (2021), The Nutcracker and the Magic Flute (2022), and The Myth of Maracuda (2025), where he brings a vibrant, myth-infused aesthetic to life. Glukhushin’s background in animation and VFX informs his storytelling approach, emphasising emotional depth, visual wonder, and cultural nuance.
“I was fascinated by the idea of someone indispensable but invisible, a person whose entire existence is built around not being seen, not being known—and what happens when that armour starts to crack,” says screenwriter Justin Piasecki of Relay, a chilling meditation on anonymity, trust, and the cost of staying hidden in a world where digital footprints betray even the most cautious.
Relay is directed by David Mackenzie (Hell or High Water), written by Justin Piasecki.
The film draws inspiration from classic paranoid thrillers of the 1970s, like Three Days of the Condor, The Parallax View, and Michael Clayton—films steeped in corporate intrigue, shadowy surveillance, and morally ambiguous protagonists.
Mackenzie was particularly drawn to the idea of a character who operates in near-total isolation, using outdated communication methods like relay services and mail forwarding to avoid digital tracking.
“I’m always interested in outsider characters. I like swimming in the dramatic version of political waters. Not trying to hammer home a political point, like in film ‘Hell or High Water,’ you’re saying something, but you’re looking for a dramatic truth as opposed to a kind of factual truth,” says Mackenzie.
The screenplay by Justin Piasecki, originally titled The Broker, was featured on the 2019 Black List, and Mackenzie saw in it a chance to explore themes of anonymity, paranoia, and moral compromise in a modern setting. He also interviewed former spies and whistleblowers to shape the protagonist’s tactics and psychology—one even emphasised the power of being underestimated, which became a key motif in the film.
Mackenzie collaborated with Justin Piasecki on the screenplay. While Piasecki is credited as the primary screenwriter, Mackenzie worked closely with him during development to shape the story’s tone and structure. Their partnership helped refine the film’s blend of emotional detachment and suspense, with Mackenzie bringing his signature style from films like Hell or High Water and Starred Up to elevate Piasecki’s morally complex script.
It stars Riz Ahmed as Tom, a world-class “fixer” who brokers secret payoffs between corrupt corporations and the people threatening to expose them. His life runs on precision and anonymity—until Sarah, played by Lily James, reaches out for protection, forcing him to break his own rules.
The metaphor embedded in Relay’s title is deceptively simple yet thematically rich
The film’s title itself nods to the relay system used by people with speech or hearing disabilities to communicate via intermediaries—often through typed messages relayed by an operator—becomes a symbolic mirror for the protagonist’s role in the narrative.
Tom (aka Ash), played by Riz Ahmed, functions as a human conduit: he doesn’t initiate conflict, nor does he resolve it. Instead, he transmits—messages, money, threats—between parties who never meet. Like a relay operator, he’s trained to remain emotionally neutral, invisible, and precise. His job is not to feel, but to facilitate. This detachment is both his strength and his curse.
The metaphor deepens when Sarah (Lily James) enters the picture. Her request for protection forces Ash to confront the cost of his emotional isolation. Just as a relay system can feel impersonal and mechanical, Ash’s life has become transactional and devoid of intimacy. The film subtly asks: What happens when the intermediary begins to care? When the conduit becomes a participant?
Director David Mackenzie uses this metaphor not just in dialogue, but visually—through sterile environments, muted color palettes, and scenes where Ash is framed between others, never quite belonging. It’s a powerful commentary on emotional labor, moral ambiguity, and the toll of living in service of secrets.
David Mackenzie is a Scottish film director, screenwriter, and producer. A graduate of Duncan of Jordanstone College of Art and Design, Mackenzie co-founded Sigma Films, a Glasgow-based production company known for championing bold, genre-defying cinema. His career began with award-winning short films before transitioning to features like Young Adam (2003), Hallam Foe (2007), and Perfect Sense (2011), each marked by emotional intensity and visual experimentation. He gained international acclaim with Starred Up (2013), a raw prison drama, and Hell or High Water (2016), a modern western that earned four Academy Award nominations, including Best Picture. Mackenzie’s work often explores themes of isolation, moral ambiguity, and emotional repression, and he’s known for collaborating with actors like Ewan McGregor and Chris Pine. His directorial style blends gritty realism with lyrical flourishes, making him one of the UK’s most versatile and respected filmmakers. With Relay (2025), he continues to push narrative boundaries, crafting thrillers that resonate with psychological depth and cultural relevance.
Justin Piasecki is an American screenwriter known for crafting morally complex thrillers that explore themes of anonymity, emotional detachment, and transactional truth. He gained industry attention when his screenplay The Broker—later retitled Relay—was featured on the 2019 Black List, a prestigious catalog of Hollywood’s most-liked unproduced scripts. Piasecki’s writing is marked by taut structure and psychological nuance, often drawing comparisons to 1970s conspiracy dramas. In addition to Relay, he contributed to The Expendables 4 and has worked across short films and television. His collaboration with director David Mackenzie on Relay helped shape the film’s emotionally restrained protagonist and its atmospheric tension. Piasecki is represented by Range Media Partners and continues to develop projects that challenge conventional storytelling through layered character studies and thematic depth
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Afterburn – A post-apocalyptic sci-fi action film
“It’s a post-apocalyptic treasure hunt with heart,” says director J.J. Perry of Afterburn. “It’s not just about explosions and mutants. It’s about what we choose to save when everything else is gone.” It reimagines heroism through the eyes of a reluctant treasure hunter in a scorched world where technology has turned to ash and mutated chaos reigns.
Afterburn is a post-apocalyptic sci-fi action film directed by J.J. Perry and based on the Red 5 Comics series by Scott Chitwood and Paul Ens, from a screenplay by Matt Johnson and Nimród Antal. Perry, a renowned 2nd unit director who made his directorial debut with the hit Netflix vampire action comedy Day Shift.
The Red 5 Comics series is best known for its cinematic storytelling and genre-blending adventures, with Afterburn standing out as a flagship title.
Contrary to other post-apocalyptic films, Afterburn’s’s premise feels real and plausible: a solar flare wipes out technology across the globe. The original premise of the movie is a broken sun, which causes malfunction in modern technology. This idea inspired the filmmakers to explore simple things that we take for granted, such as electricity. They took this concept to the extreme. Suddenly we find ourselves in a war torn post-apocalyptic world that has wiped out millions of people and created great obstacles and challenges — but also new and hopeful opportunities for humanity.
Afterburn carries significance on multiple levels—culturally, thematically, and within the post-apocalyptic genre itself. It brings the Red 5 Comics series to a broader audience, tapping into the growing trend of indie graphic novels being adapted for the screen. By imagining a world stripped of technology, it explores how humanity redefines value, shifting from digital dominance to relics of art and history like the Mona Lisa. The solar flare catastrophe affects the Eastern Hemisphere, inviting reflection on global interdependence and survival beyond borders.
A decade after a catastrophic solar flare obliterates the Eastern Hemisphere and renders technology useless, ex-soldier Jake (Dave Bautista) becomes a hardened treasure hunter. Tasked with recovering the Mona Lisa from a mutated wasteland, he joins forces with freedom fighter Drea (Olga Kurylenko) to outpace rival hunters, pirates, and a ruthless warlord. As they navigate irradiated ruins and moral ambiguity, Jake discovers that the world needs more than relics—it needs redemption.
The Red 5 Comics series
Founded in 2007, Red 5 Comics was created by Chitwood (co-founder of TheForce.net) and Ens (former Director of Lucas Online at Lucasfilm)
Their titles often merge sci-fi, action, and fantasy, designed to appeal to fans of both comics and film. Notable works include Atomic Robo, Neozoic, We Kill Monsters, and of course, Afterburn.
Set in a world ravaged by a solar flare, the series follows a treasure hunter retrieving cultural relics from the “Burn Zone”—a mutated wasteland across the Eastern Hemisphere. Themes include profit vs preservation, identity through artefacts, and survival in chaos.
The original run includes four issues (2008), followed by Afterburn: Crossfire and Afterburn: Bad Blood, expanding the universe with new threats and emotional stakes.
Chitwood and Ens’s backgrounds in film and digital media shape the comics’ cinematic pacing, visual metaphor, and genre-savvy tone. Their storytelling often explores legacy, mutation, and moral ambiguity, making their work ripe for adaptation.
The Screenplay
The screenplay for Afterburn was written by Matt Johnson and Nimród Antal. Johnson is known for high-octane action scripts like Torque and Into the Blue, while Antal has directed and written films such as Predators and Vacancy. Their collaboration brings a mix of kinetic energy and atmospheric tension to the adaptation of the Red 5 Comics series. Johnson and Antal brought distinct sensibilities to Afterburn, shaping its tone into a kinetic blend of pulp adventure, post-apocalyptic grit, and dark humor.
Johnson infused the narrative with adrenaline-driven sequences and bold, genre-savvy dialogue, embracing the comic book roots through episodic structure and escalating stakes. His approach lends the film a pulpy irreverence, turning mutant brawls and pirate skirmishes into a gleefully chaotic spectacle.
Antal, by contrast, brings a more brooding intensity—his flair for claustrophobic tension and stylized grit grounds the action in emotional ambiguity and tactile realism.
Through this fusion, Afterburn finds its unique rhythm: unapologetically wild yet emotionally tethered, like Mad Max meets National Treasure with a radioactive pulse.
Afterburn carves out its own niche in the post-apocalyptic genre
Afterburn stakes out fresh territory in the post-apocalyptic genre by marrying treasure-hunting adventure with scorched-earth surrealism, setting itself apart from its more solemn predecessors.
Where Mad Max: Fury Road revels in relentless mythic spectacle, Afterburn opts for pulpy irreverence, embracing comic-book absurdity through Jake’s reluctant heroism and mutated showdowns.
Compared to Waterworld‘s aquatic dystopia and earnest tone, Afterburn is leaner, darker in humour, and wittier in its dialogue, centering its quest not on mythical lands but iconic relics like the Mona Lisa.
It sidesteps the bleak intimacy of The Road, trading father-son fragility for camaraderie amid irradiated chaos while probing what’s worth salvaging when civilization collapses.
What truly distinguishes Afterburn is its comic book DNA—episodic structure, genre-blending momentum, and the symbolic heft of cultural artefacts. In this world, relics are more than MacGuffins; they’re emotional anchors. The result is a genre-savvy spectacle that fuses sci-fi, action, and heist energy with moral complexity and mutant mayhem.
J.J. Perry is a seasoned stunt performer, martial artist, and director whose career spans decades of high-octane filmmaking. After serving in the U.S. Army’s 82nd Airborne, Perry transitioned into Hollywood stunt work, contributing to films like John Wick, Iron Man, and Django Unchained. He holds a fifth-degree black belt in Taekwondo and a second-degree in Hapkido, and has trained stars such as Hugh Jackman and Gina Carano. Perry made his directorial debut with Day Shift (2022) and brings his kinetic vision and fight choreography expertise to Afterburn, blending visceral action with emotional grit.
Matt Johnson is a screenwriter and producer known for his work on high-energy action films like Torque and Into the Blue. His writing style leans into genre tropes with bold dialogue, fast-paced sequences, and a comic book sensibility that favors spectacle and momentum. Johnson’s screenplays often embrace pulpy fun and episodic structure, making him a natural fit for adaptations like Afterburn, where mutant mayhem and treasure-hunting collide in a post-apocalyptic setting. His background in crafting kinetic narratives gives the film its adrenaline-fueled rhythm and genre-savvy tone.
Nimród Antal is a Hungarian-American director and screenwriter born in Los Angeles in 1973. After studying at the Hungarian Film Academy, he gained international acclaim for his debut feature Kontroll (2003), a surreal thriller set in the Budapest subway system. Antal’s Hollywood career includes directing Vacancy, Armored, and Predators, showcasing his flair for atmospheric tension and stylised grit. He also helmed Metallica: Through the Never, blending concert footage with narrative storytelling. Antal’s contributions to Afterburn bring emotional depth and visual intensity, grounding its chaos in moral ambiguity and tactile realism.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Grand Prix of Europe – A vibrant animated sports comedy
“We wanted to craft a story where family pride and self-belief accelerate side by side,” says producer Michael Mack, who envisioned Grand Prix of Europe as both a cinematic milestone and a gateway to a vibrant entertainment universe.
Grand Prix of Europe is a vibrant animated sports comedy celebrating the 50th anniversary of Germany’s Europa-Park, starring its beloved mascots Ed Euromaus and Edda Euromausi in their first cinematic adventure.
Mack was inspired by the 50th anniversary of Europa-Park, Germany’s largest theme park, and its iconic mascots Ed Euromaus and Edda Euromausi. The film marks their cinematic debut, transforming beloved park characters into animated heroes in a high-speed adventure designed to celebrate family, courage, and imagination.
The park has welcomed millions of visitors since 1975, and the film serves as a tribute to its cultural impact and storytelling tradition. Originally created as mascots for live entertainment and branding, Ed and Edda were reimagined as dynamic protagonists to appeal to a global audience.
Mack envisioned the film as the launchpad for a broader entertainment universe—including games, books, and theme park attractions. The creators aimed to build a world that could be experienced across film, publishing, and interactive media, blending animation with real-world park experiences.
Michael Mack.
The creators aimed to build a world that could be experienced across film, publishing, and interactive media, blending animation with real-world park experiences.
Edda, a spirited young mouse, dreams of becoming a race car driver like her idol Ed. In Grand Prix of Europe, the beloved Europa-Park mascot Edda Euromausi trades fairground sparkle for racetrack grit in a high-octane animated debut that celebrates courage, identity, and the park’s 50-year legacy. Disguised as her racing idol Ed Euromaus, Edda enters the Grand Prix to save her father’s struggling fairground—dodging sabotage, chasing dreams, and rewriting what it means to be a hero.
Adapting Mascots into a Film Narrative
The screenplay for Grand Prix of Europe was written by Kirstie Falkous, Jeffrey Hylton, and John T. Reynolds. Their task was to transform Europa-Park’s beloved mascots into fully realised cinematic characters, marking their first appearance on the big screen.
The writers began by crafting a classic underdog story, giving Edda a compelling arc as a young mouse who dreams of racing glory.
They infused the script with family-friendly humour, emotional stakes, and high-speed action, ensuring it would resonate with both children and adults.
To honour Europa-Park’s legacy, they embedded nods to the park’s attractions and ethos, making the film feel like an extension of the park experience.
The collaboration between Falkous, Hylton, and Reynolds was a fusion of complementary strengths and international flair.
Falkous laid the emotional foundation of Edda’s journey, ensuring that family dynamics and personal growth remained at the heart of the story.
Hylton, with his expertise in adapting content for global audiences, shaped the dialogue into something snappy and universal—perfect for cross-market appeal.
Reynolds brought momentum and irreverence to the scenes, dialing up the pacing and injecting classic sports-comedy tension into Edda’s race sequences.
Together, they crafted a screenplay that balanced heartfelt storytelling, high-speed adventure, and playful humour, making Ed and Edda’s big-screen debut both nostalgic and fresh.
The screenplay was designed to support transmedia storytelling, laying the groundwork for tie-ins like a video game (Ed & Edda: Grand Prix – Racing Champions) and a theme park attraction (Grand Prix EDventure).
Director Waldemar Fast then brought the script to life with vibrant CGI animation, dynamic race sequences, and a voice cast led by Gemma Arterton, Thomas Brodie-Sangster, and Hayley Atwell.
The collaborative script for Grand Prix of Europe doesn’t just tell a story—it launches a universe. With Falkous anchoring the emotional depth, Hylton fine-tuning its global voice, and Reynolds injecting cinematic zest, the film becomes more than a mascot vehicle—it’s the blueprint for a cross-platform franchise. From racetracks to roller coasters, the narrative drives straight into Europa-Park’s transmedia future, offering kids and families a hero they can cheer for in cinemas, gaming consoles, and real-life attractions. It’s the kind of storytelling that turns theme park legacy into pop culture momentum.
Kirstie Falkous is a British screenwriter and producer best known for her work across family-friendly television and animation. She’s contributed to series like Doc Martin, Free Rein, and Zero Chill, often blending heartfelt character development with genre appeal. Her writing style leans into emotional arcs and accessible storytelling, which made her a natural fit for Grand Prix of Europe, where she helped shape Edda’s journey with warmth and humour.
Jeffrey Hylton is an American writer and dialogue specialist with a background in adapting international animated content for English-speaking audiences. His credits span series like MeteoHeroes, Heroes of Goo Jit Zu, and Super Wings. Hylton brings a keen sense of comedic timing and linguistic clarity to his scripts, playing a vital role in Grand Prix of Europe’s lively voice work and transnational appeal.
John T. Reynolds is a seasoned animation writer whose resume includes Courage the Cowardly Dog, Taffy, and The Mr. Peabody & Sherman Show. Known for his irreverent humour and underdog narratives, Reynolds helped sculpt Grand Prix of Europe into a fast-paced yet emotionally grounded film. His experience across studios like Cartoon Network and Netflix gave the project a buoyant, cinematic tone, ideal for launching Europa-Park’s mascots into movie stardom.
Waldemar Fast is a German character animator and director with over a decade of experience in feature films, television, and commercials. He graduated from the International Filmschool Cologne in 2008 with a diploma in Animation and VFX, and also studied at the Institute for Animation, Visual Effects, and Digital Postproduction in Ludwigsburg. Fast’s expertise spans 3D and 2D character animation, modeling, storyboarding, and previs, with credits on acclaimed projects such as Gruffalo, Room on the Broom, Sapphire Blue, and Happy Family. He’s contributed to both Oscar-nominated shorts and major international productions, including Avatar: The Last Airbender (2024). Known for his expressive animation style and technical precision, Fast also teaches at the Cologne Game Lab, where he shares his passion for storytelling through movement and design.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Together – A twisted blend of body horror, psychological drama, and dark comedy
When filmmaker Michael Shanks set out to create Together, he didn’t just want to craft a body-horror spectacle—he wanted to excavate the discomfort buried in intimacy. “There comes a point in long-term love where you’re not sure where you end and the other person begins,” Shanks says. The film, which sees a couple grotesquely fused by a mysterious organism, uses this literal entrapment to explore emotional dependency, fear of separation, and the quiet terror of commitment.
Together has been turning heads since its Sundance premiere. Think Hereditary meets The Substance, with a dash of Cronenbergian body horror.
Directed by Michael Shanks in his feature debut, the film stars real-life couple Dave Franco and Alison Brie as Tim and Millie—a pair whose relationship is tested in the most grotesque and surreal ways.
“I was always fascinated by filmmaking, both the process of making them and the movies themselves. I was a teenager in the sort of early years of YouTube and I suddenly discovered that you could find resources online to teach you how to do things. So, I would spend my evenings watching tutorials on editing and VFX software, learning how to record music, edit sound effects, etc. I was already writing and directing in my school’s theater program, and so I wrote a stupid little comedy sketch and made it with my friends using a camera I had saved up for — a Sony mini-DV kind of thing,” says Shanks.
Together is a surreal body-horror drama that follows Tim (Dave Franco) and Millie (Alison Brie), a couple whose strained relationship takes a grotesque turn after they move to a remote countryside town. Following a mysterious encounter with an underground pool, they wake up physically fused together by a sticky, organic substance, forcing them to confront the emotional and psychological entanglements of their bond. The cast also includes Damon Herriman as Jamie, a local teacher with cryptic intentions, and Mia Morrissey in a supporting role.
Director’s Statement
Most simply, this is a film about how falling in love transforms you. I’ve been with my partner for over 15 years and, having met at ‘schoolies’ (a tragic Australian equivalent of Spring Break), I’ve never been an adult without her in my life and vice versa. For as long as I can remember, we’ve lived in the same house, had the same friends, eaten the same food, breathed the same air… This is a film about the potential horror of sharing a life with someone; the lingering anxieties of commitment writ large. It’s about co-dependency, monogamy, romances and resentments — and that at a certain point, can we truly tell where one life ends and our other half’s begins? What draws me into a project is finding a one-off, hooky premise, and squeezing that premise for all its juice. Despite the personally resonant and (hopefully) realistically observed characters at the centre of this story, I am so proud how we escalate the horror into things I’ve never seen before on screen and – basically — get a bit fucked with it. This has been such a wonderful opportunity to play with all the cinematic tools I’ve dreamed of since my DVD-featurettes obsessed childhood. Purely on a technical level, there are things I was able to play with in this production that I still can’t believe. Our cast – lead by Dave Franco and Alison Brie – could not have been more committed to the project, and gave themselves wholly to a breakneck, incredibly physical production. Their real-life, long term relationship adds a deep layer of authenticity to these characters which are already informed by my own experience. Dave and Alison are the glue that holds this film together and I’m forever grateful they took a chance on my first feature. I hope this story will not only please my fellow genre freaks, but will resonate with anyone who has been through the crucible of falling in love and sharing your life. The opportunity to make this film and to work with this team, this cast, and this crew has been an impossible dream come true, and it’s a privilege to finally share our work with an audience, especially at Sundance. – Michael Shanks (Director, Writer)
Turning personal vulnerability into cinematic dread
By digging into his own 15-year relationship and history of DIY filmmaking, Shanks turns personal vulnerability into cinematic dread—one prosthetic goo-pool at a time.
He crafted the screenplay back in 2019, drawing inspiration from his own long-term relationship and personal reflections on codependency and transformation. Shanks is known for his background in guerrilla filmmaking, often handling writing, directing, editing, and visual effects himself—a creative multitasker with a flair for surreal and emotionally charged storytelling.
He poured a surprising amount of personal history into Together, shaping its emotional and thematic core with raw intimacy and surreal metaphor.
“My partner and I have been together for 15 years — almost half of my life. I can barely remember who I am without her, and the notion of fully sharing your life with someone is something I was interested in exploring — a film about how falling in love is a transformative thing,” says Shanks.
This sense of identity entanglement directly inspired the film’s central horror: a couple physically fused together, unable to separate without pain.
He wanted to explore how falling in love can be a transformative—and sometimes terrifying—experience, especially when boundaries blur.
“I hope anyone who’s been in a committed monogamous relationship can find something to relate to in the film. I also want the film to reach any genre/horror fans as I’m extremely proud of the places we’ve taken the many set pieces in the film,” says Shanks.
His background in guerrilla filmmaking—writing, directing, editing, even building props himself—taught him to obsess over every detail. That obsessive energy translated into Together’s intense production, where he even handled most of the visual effects himself to stretch the budget.
He said seeing prosthetics and sets built from his ideas felt like “someone had plucked a real physical thing from a dream I’d had”
“The challenge was always that the film was extremely ambitious for the budget and schedule we had. I hope that it feels like a bigger film than it was. We shot it over the course of about 20 days, and every day, there was at least one scene that was incredibly technically challenging. Even throughout [post-production], I’ve always done my own visual effects, and I ended up needing to do the bulk of the VFX shots across the film, so I’ve had basically no free time this whole year. This freed up our VFX budget so we could put it toward the higher-end VFX concerns, across post, by real VFX artists.”
Shanks drew from personal trauma, including grief over a lost parent and struggles with creative identity as a musician. These elements shaped Tim’s character, whose emotional unraveling mirrors Shanks’s own fears about vulnerability and dependence.
Michael Shanks was initially drawn to ice hockey and pivoted to acting after witnessing Richard Dean Anderson film a scene for MacGyver. He studied Fine Arts at the University of British Columbia, graduating in 1994, and honed his craft through a two-year apprenticeship at the Stratford Festival in Ontario.
Shanks rose to prominence as Dr. Daniel Jackson in Stargate SG-1, a role he played for ten seasons, earning critical acclaim and a devoted fan base. His performance was marked by emotional depth and intellectual nuance, helping define the series’ tone3. He later starred as Dr. Charles Harris in the medical drama Saving Hope, showcasing his range beyond science fiction.
Beyond acting, Shanks has directed and written for television, including episodes of Stargate SG-1. He’s also appeared in Smallville, Burn Notice, Altered Carbon, and Mr. Hockey: The Gordie Howe Story, reflecting his versatility across genres4.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Vacation, Violence, and the Fractured Self: Inside Nobody 2
By blending the kinetic choreography of John Wick with the tonal whiplash of a dark comedy vacation flick, the powerhouse screenwriting team of Derek Kolstad, Aaron Rabin, Bob Odenkirk, and Umair Aleem crafted Nobody 2, a genre-splintering sequel that asks whether peace is possible when violence becomes the language of survival.
Directed by Timo Tjahjanto (known for The Night Comes for Us), Nobody 2 is the sequel to the 2021 sleeper hit Nobody.
The first time, he went looking for the bad guys on a revenge quest. This time, he just can’t seem to get away from them, even when he’s on vacation.
“Nobody 2 is a bigger film, and it’s been a bigger job,” star and producer Odenkirk says. “I had extra responsibility trying to make the story work, and there’s just a lot more to it. There’s more fighting, character, story; there’s more everything.” The result, Odenkirk says, is a film that is “powerful, funny, surprising, out of control, bloody—and sweet.”
Taking the helm as director is Timo Tjahjanto, an innovative Indonesian filmmaker at the forefront of what’s known as the “New Indonesian Extreme” style of filmmaking. Nobody 2 is Tjahjanto’s first English-language film and his first studio film. The producers were excited by his new perspective and striking vision.
Tjahjanto’s inspiration for Nobody 2 is rooted in emotional duality, genre chaos, and a deep respect for Bob Odenkirk’s creative vision.
Tjahjanto was drawn to Hutch Mansell’s internal tug-of-war — the tension between being a devoted father and a lethal operative. He described Hutch as a “Jekyll and Hyde” figure, whose identity fractures when family and violence collide. That duality became the emotional engine of the film, with Tjahjanto saying, “Without his family, he kind of loses his identity.”
He compared Nobody 2 to a “summer rage outburst,” in contrast to the first film’s “moody winter meditation”. The sequel’s chaotic tone — blending vacation comedy, brutal action, and psychological tension — reflects Tjahjanto’s belief that storytelling should feel like a jigsaw puzzle falling into place. He embraced the absurdity of Hutch’s waterpark vacation turning into a blood-soaked reckoning.
Tjahjanto wanted to lean into the elements that made this film different than the first. While the previous film was set during the winter and was, appropriately, dark and moody, this one embraces its sun-drenched vacation aesthetic. “We thought, ‘Let’s make it playful, summery and family-oriented,’” Tjahjanto says. “You see action set pieces that tread the line between grim and playful.”
The director also wanted to embrace the gritty, messy brutality of real-life, bare-knuckle fights. “Action is a universal language,” Tjahjanto says, and cites the award-winning 2011 Indonesian action phenomenon The Raid: Redemption, as a prime example. “That film had such a fresh, kinetic take on what action is supposed to be, and that approach is slowly making its way to Hollywood, allowing actors to do longer takes, even when it was clumsy. You don’t want to keep being slick. In real life, even the best MMA fighter has this grounded sloppiness that makes it beautiful.” The style, Tjahjanto says, was ideal for this film and the character of Hutch. “Hutch is the perfect archetype who gets dirty, sloppy, absent-minded; that’s all part of the beauty,” Tjahjanto says. “He’s a guy that keeps on going.”
A man armed with ambitions and demons, Hutch Mansell, played by Bob Odenkirk, is both exceptional and relatable. Now working full time as an assassin to pay off the $30 million mob debt he incurred in the first film, Hutch has made peace with his darker angels. He loves his work and has managed to keep his lawless and suburban worlds compartmentalized without putting his family in danger … so far. “At the end of the first film, we knew about Hutch’s violent nature, his abilities and his connection to big, evil secret-agent stuff, so we needed to work with that,” Odenkirk says. “We’ve established a character who secretly/not-so-secretly enjoys beating.
For the first film, Odenkirk had devoted two years to getting in the best shape of his life to play Hutch, and this time he wanted to go even harder, embodying the physicality of a man who uses his body as a full-time weapon. “Even though I am older, I was able to do more extensive fights and more moves in this piece,” Odenkirk says. “One of the inspirations for doing this was Jackie Chan. When my kids were little, my son in particular, didn’t like films. They were just too long. But he did watch Jackie Chan in Police Story and loved it. It’s sweet and likable, and the stunts are great.”
For Tjahjanto, Nobody 2 isn’t just about action — it’s about emotional resonance.
Tjahjanto and Odenkirk bonded over the creative struggle of balancing personal life and work, and that tension is woven into Hutch’s arc. The director said, “There’s a heart and soul to it that connects to real issues. That means a lot to me.”
The result is an action film unlike any that most Americans have seen before. “Timo is such a tremendous collaborator,” producer Kelly McCormick says. “He is a gory dude, which is great for this chapter. He came into the process respecting what Bob needed, what had happened to all the characters, and where we needed to go. But he was able to give it his own special sauce. It’s strikingly beautiful, even more so than the first film, and it feels bigger. It’s got its own energy of action, but very much in the Hutch-ian way. The combination is explosive, and it’s all thanks to Timo.”
McCormick’s fellow 87North producer, David Leitch, knows a thing or two about creating memorable fights, having directed some of the most unforgettable action films of the past decade, including Bullet Train, Deadpool 2 and Atomic Blonde. Tjahjanto, he says, is the real deal. “When you hire Timo to direct, he’s going to amp up the action,” Leitch says. “Go back and look at his catalogue of work. It’s bonkers, violent, visceral and bloody. For all the right reasons, we were excited for him to infuse that style into Nobody 2.”
Bob Odenkirk returns as Hutch Mansell, the seemingly ordinary suburban dad with a lethal past. This time, the story dives deeper into Hutch’s family dynamics and unresolved debts to the Russian mob. Four years after tangling with the Russian mob, Hutch is still working off a $30 million debt through covert hits. He and Becca, feeling the strain, take their kids on a nostalgic vacation to Wild Bill’s Majestic Midway and Waterpark. But things spiral when Hutch’s daughter is bullied, triggering a brutal chain of events involving corrupt local authorities and a deranged crime syndicate.
The inspiration behind Nobody 2 is a layered blend of character evolution, genre homage, and personal storytelling
The screenplay for Nobody 2 was written Derek Kolstad, Aaron Rabin, Bob Odenkirk, and Umair Aleem.
Kolstad, the creator of the John Wick franchise, returns to expand Hutch Mansell’s gritty universe, while Rabin brings his experience from Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan. Odenkirk’s involvement adds a personal layer to Hutch’s evolution, and Aleem (known for Kate) contributes his flair for stylised action and emotional stake
Bob Odenkirk initiated the original Nobody project after recognising parallels between Hutch Mansell and his Better Call Saul character, Saul Goodman. He saw Hutch as someone with “earnest desires” and a willingness to sacrifice himself — traits that could translate powerfully into an action narrative. That emotional core continues in the sequel, where Hutch’s struggle to balance violence and family deepens.
Derek Kolstad, creator of John Wick, infused Nobody with the same kinetic energy and stylised violence.
For Nobody 2, Kolstad and co-writers Aaron Rabin, Umair Aleem, and Odenkirk leaned into the idea of a “vacation gone wrong,” drawing from classic action tropes like Die Hard and True Lies, but with a darker, more introspective twist.
Once Timo Tjahjanto joined as director in 2024, the script underwent revisions to match his visceral style. The final script incorporated flashbacks, surreal fight choreography, and metaphor-rich sequences, like Hutch battling mercenaries in a hall of mirrors.
The writing team behind Nobody 2 used genre fusion and metaphor not just as stylistic flourishes, but as emotional amplifiers — turning every punch, setting, and character beat into a reflection of Hutch’s fractured psyche and strained family ties.
The film blends black comedy, action thriller, and family drama, creating tonal dissonance that mirrors Hutch’s internal conflict. Scenes shift from absurd violence to tender family moments, emphasising the tension between his assassin instincts and domestic aspirations.
The “vacation gone wrong” trope borrows from True Lies and National Lampoon, but twists it into a metaphor for emotional burnout — Hutch’s inability to disconnect from violence becomes a symbol of modern workaholism.
The hall of mirrors fight sequence isn’t just a visual homage to John Wick — it’s a metaphor for Hutch’s fractured identity. Each reflection represents a version of himself: father, killer, protector, failure.
The carnival setting turns childhood nostalgia into a battleground, suggesting that Hutch’s past — once innocent — is now weaponised.
Hutch’s improvised weapons (arcade props, duck masks, anchor) evoke Jackie Chan-style ingenuity, but also symbolise his desperation to reclaim control using whatever fragments of joy remain.
Timo Tjahjanto is an Indonesian filmmaker celebrated for his visceral blend of horror and action. Raised in Indonesia, he studied at the School of Visual Arts in Australia before launching his career as a storyboard artist. He gained prominence as one half of The Mo Brothers with Kimo Stamboel, directing cult hits like Macabre and Headshot. His solo work, including The Night Comes for Us and May the Devil Take You, showcases his signature style: brutal choreography, emotional grit, and psychological tension. Tjahjanto’s direction of Nobody 2 marks a shift toward genre fusion, balancing carnage with character introspection.
Derek Kolstad began writing screenplays as a teenager and later studied business administration at Taylor University before moving to California to pursue a career in film. His breakout came with Scorn, a spec script that evolved into John Wick after Keanu Reeves signed on and suggested naming the film after Kolstad’s grandfather. The franchise’s success cemented Kolstad’s reputation for crafting emotionally grounded, mythic action narratives.
Beyond John Wick, Kolstad wrote Nobody (2021) and co-wrote Nobody 2, blending brutal choreography with introspective character arcs. He’s also contributed to The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Die Hart, and adaptations of Splinter Cell, Just Cause, and Hellsing. His writing style is known for precision, rhythm, and emotional subtext — often described as “action with a soul.”
His work continues to explore haunted protagonists, stylised violence, and the emotional cost of survival.
Aaron Rabin is a screenwriter and producer known for his work on Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan, Secret Invasion, and the upcoming Nobody 2. His storytelling blends espionage tropes with grounded emotional stakes, often exploring characters caught between duty and identity. Rabin’s writing on Jack Ryan showcased his ability to balance geopolitical intrigue with personal drama, while Nobody 2 allowed him to dive into genre fusion — mixing dark comedy, action, and family tension.
He’s also been tapped to write Universal’s live-action adaptation of the Just Cause video game franchise, marking his first foray into video game storytelling. Rabin’s approach is marked by sharp pacing, psychological depth, and a collaborative spirit — working alongside Derek Kolstad, Bob Odenkirk, and Umair Aleem to shape Nobody 2’s emotional architecture.
Bob Odenkirk began his career as a comedy writer, earning Emmy Awards for his work on Saturday Night Live and The Ben Stiller Show. He co-created the cult sketch series Mr. Show with Bob and David, which became a touchstone for surreal, cerebral humour.
Odenkirk’s dramatic breakthrough came with Breaking Bad, where his portrayal of Saul Goodman — a morally flexible lawyer — led to the critically acclaimed prequel Better Call Saul. His performance earned multiple Emmy nominations and showcased his ability to navigate complex emotional terrain.
In 2021, he surprised audiences with Nobody, an action thriller that revealed his physical intensity and emotional depth. He trained extensively for the role, drawing from personal experiences and a desire to explore vulnerability through violence. He co-wrote Nobody 2, deepening Hutch Mansell’s arc with themes of identity, family strain, and emotional burnout.
Beyond acting, Odenkirk is a producer, director, and author. His memoir Comedy Comedy Comedy Drama reflects on his creative evolution and personal challenges, including surviving a near-fatal heart attack in 2021.
Umair Aleem is a Los Angeles-based writer best known for Kate (2021), a Netflix thriller about a dying assassin seeking vengeance. His storytelling is marked by kinetic energy, metaphor-rich sequences, and a tone that often reflects existential dread. Aleem grew up on John Carpenter films and took an unconventional route into screenwriting — preferring long walks and intuitive plotting over rigid outlines. He reverse-engineers his scripts, starting with the ending and letting the emotional pulse guide the structure.
His breakout script Kate was voted onto the Black List and became the most-watched film on streaming for 12 consecutive days. Aleem also contributed to Extraction and is developing projects like The Beast, Danger Girl, and The Paladin, a franchise-starter described as Doctor Strange meets Unforgiven. For Nobody 2, Aleem joined Derek Kolstad, Aaron Rabin, and Bob Odenkirk to deepen Hutch Mansell’s emotional arc, bringing his signature blend of genre mayhem and introspective storytelling.
Aleem’s writing process is deeply metaphorical — he’s said that when an idea strikes, it feels like “a lightning bolt,” and that action should convey emotion without over-writing. His characters often navigate chaos with quiet desperation, turning violence into a language of survival.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Naked Gun Reloads for a New Era
The Naked Gun (2025) isn’t just a reboot; it’s a genre revival wearing a bulletproof vest of nostalgia and a clown nose of modern spoof. With a plot that skewers contemporary crime procedurals and a cast stacked with comedy wild cards, this legacy sequel fires off visual gags, verbal deadpan, and action parody at point-blank range.
The reboot of The Naked Gun was sparked by a mix of nostalgia, genre evolution, and a desire to revive spoof comedy with fresh relevance. The spoof genre had faded after a wave of poorly received parodies in the 2000s. This reboot aims to restore the clever, layered humour of the original Naked Gun trilogy, with visual gags, absurd setups, and deadpan delivery
Producer Seth MacFarlane, a longtime fan of the franchise, had been trying to crack the right tone for years. Early drafts felt like “cover band versions” of the original, until director Akiva Schaffer (The Lonely Island) pitched a new take that honoured the spirit without copying it.
The reboot draws from classic detective films like Double Indemnity and The Big Sleep, blending old-school homage with contemporary parody
Schaffer wanted to spoof modern crime procedurals and action thrillers like John Wick, Mission: Impossible, and Law & Order, rather than the noir and cop dramas of the ’80s.
Seth MacFarlane
MacFarlane had been a fan since he was a teenager. “I loved Airplane!, was a huge fan, and then saw The Naked Gun,” he recalls. “That variety of humor was a staple of my childhood. It informed a lot of the comedy that I produced later on in my career.”
MacFarlane is, of course, best known as the creator of Family Guy and American Dad!, as well as starring in, directing and writing his Ted films and the western comedy, A Million Ways To Die In the West.
He studied the original trilogy’s tone to preserve its deadpan absurdity while updating genre references for today’s audience, and co-wrote the screenplay alongside Dan Gregor and Doug Mand.
In The Naked Gun (2025), Liam Neeson stars as Lt. Frank Drebin Jr., a deadpan detective with a knack for turning every investigation into a slapstick disaster. When femme fatale Pamela Anderson hires him to solve her brother’s murder, Drebin teams up with his loyal partner Capt. Ed Hocken Jr. (Paul Walter Hauser) to unravel a conspiracy that threatens the future of the Police Squad.
It’s not just a remake — it’s a genre update with reverence for the absurd
Seth MacFarlane and Akiva Schaffer brought distinct comedic sensibilities to The Naked Gun (2025), shaping it into a reboot that’s both reverent and refreshingly absurd.
Writer, producer and filmmaker Akiva Schaffer is a proud member of the legendary humor/music group, The Lonely Island, alongside his childhood friends Andy Samberg and Jorma Taccone. The trio wrote for SNL, pioneering such popular shorts as “Lazy Sunday,” “I Just Had Sex” and “Dick in a Box.” Schaffer went on to direct feature films, including Hot Rod, Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping, and Chip ‘n Dale: Rescue Rangers, as well as produce television projects like I Think You Should Leave with Tim Robinson and Pen 15.”
Schaffer had, as a 10-year-old, fallen in love with Top Secret!, watching it repeatedly throughout 1988 on VHS. “It was one of those experiences where I laughed so hard, I would keep rewatching it. It was one of the first movies I laughed so uncontrollably at that I would try to get high on it again and again.” The day after his 11th birthday, The Naked Gun was released.
“So, when someone told me, ‘That’s the same guys that made Top Secret,’ I went and saw it right away.”
When he was first asked, however, about helming a reboot, he recalls, “I immediately thought, ‘No, because the first Naked Gun is a perfect movie. It’s kind of like a magic trick. It’s miraculous how it all holds together. And the rule of making a new version or a remake of a movie is you want to find something that’s kind of broken, that you think you can do better than. And, in this case, that was impossible.”
Known for Family Guy and Ted, MacFarlane excels at layered satire, pop culture riffs, and deadpan delivery. His influence ensured the reboot retained character-based comedy, especially through Liam Neeson’s straight-faced portrayal of Frank Drebin Jr.
MacFarlane initially struggled with tone, fearing early drafts felt like “cover band versions” of the original. His decision to hand creative control to Schaffer was pivotal.
As part of The Lonely Island, Schaffer’s style leans into genre parody, absurd setups, and fast-paced visual humour. He Schaffer infused the original trilogy’s rhythm with updated references, ensuring the humour felt fresh but familiar.
Rather than parodying noir and cop dramas like Dragnet or Dirty Harry, Schaffer turned his lens on crime procedurals (Law & Order, NCIS) and action franchises (John Wick, Mission: Impossible, James Bond). By blending the classic slapstick DNA with genre-savvy parody, Schaffer created a reboot that feels both familiar and fresh.
MacFarlane’s reverence for the original met Schaffer’s instinct for reinvention, balancing meta-humour, physical comedy, and genre-savvy absurdity. This tonal cocktail echoes Leslie Nielsen’s legacy while inviting new audiences in.
Writers Dan Gregor and Doug Mand had a long history writing together, most notably on television on How I Met Your Mother, as well as numerous comedy features, including Dolittle, Magic Camp – and Chip ‘n Dale: Rescue Rangers.
Doug Mand
“Akiva just has such a great comic mind. And working with him is just very fluid. He comes from a sketch comedy background, with Lonely Island, and Dan and I come from a sketch comedy background, at the Upright Citizens Brigade. We wanted to work with him again, and when Paramount came to Akiva with the idea for a NAKED GUN reboot, he suggested Dan and me to come on and write it with him.”
“So, when we set out to make our version of Naked Gun, we took that concept and thought, ‘What would happen 30 years prior to today?’ And what we found was we wanted to take a stab at those action movies, those thrillers of the late 90s and early 2000s – like Lethal Weapon and Beverly Hills Cop 2 – spoofing a genre that is familiar to people, that they feel nostalgic for, and turn it on its head. And with these incredible performances from Liam Neeson and Pamela Anderson, we’re able to take people into that world they recognize and change it completely.”
And it works, says MacFarlane. “Instead of the 70s cop shows that the original parodied, it was 90s cop films, 90s cop shows and those tropes that Akiva used. And I think that was a good move. And it makes this movie very much its own beast.”
They also made another important choice. “In the first week of writing with Dan and Doug,” Schaffer says, “ we asked ourselves, ‘What are the big questions?’ And by making him Drebin’s son – making him a Junior – he’s not trying to literally step into Leslie Nielsen’s shoes.
Because Liam Neeson is a different guy, a different actor with his own unique acting skills and persona his fans all know. He can look up to his dad, Leslie, he can respect the old movie. But, like he says in the movie, try to be different and original, at the same time as being exactly the same.
”To pull their basic ingredients together, Schaffer explains, “We studied all the spoof comedies that we’ve loved over the years – Mel Brooks movies, Austin Powers, as well as, of course, the ZAZ movies. And the first thing we wanted to figure out was, what makes the spoof genre really work? ZAZ actually had a set of rules, which are pretty famous. But what Dan and Doug and I tried to figure out, beyond the comedy of it, was how they structured the story of it to keep you engaged enough that you can go, ‘Oh, the story doesn’t matter.’ Because the moment the story falters or isn’t keeping you engaged or is confusing, then you can’t enjoy the jokes. So, we put a lot of effort into making sure the story and characters were working at a pace that would allow you to ignore them and just have fun.”
In developing their script, the trio started forming the basic bones of the structure of the story, pitching scenes to each other. “And then, someone would go off and take the scene and take a stab at it, while someone else would take another scene,” Mand describes. “We’d write them, send them to each other, give notes, give punches. It’s a very iterative process, working with Akiva, which is great – and it’s always the best idea wins. We did so many versions of every scene that you see in that movie, and so many versions of scenes you will never see.”
“Akiva was constantly reminding us, ‘No, let’s push ourselves. What is the idea we haven’t thought of? Where is the area we haven’t gone to yet? Keep going,’’’ describes Mand.
“A B+ joke is great – but we’re not stopping until we get closer to something more inspired. That’s how we did Rescue Rangers, and that’s how he was on this movie. It’s a relentless pursuit of making something great, and really fucking funny and original.”
The goal was to create a VOLUME of jokes. Mand says, “It’s one of the special things about NAKED GUN, which is a real rarity these days, in terms of comedy and writing, is the volume of jokes you need. You need so much, at such a clip, that you know you really have to be ready to jump in with a lot of choices.”
As for the results, says MacFarlane, “Akiva and his team came along and were able to crack the nut that we weren’t. When I read his draft, my thought was, ‘Okay this guy has solved the problems that we were having trouble with. It feels like something that’s new – and it feels like a new Naked Gun, as opposed to a cover band version of the original.’ So, when I read his draft, it was with a great sense of pleasure – and relief that this was really going to work.”
Legacy sequels
A legacy sequel is a film that continues the story of a previous movie—often decades later—while introducing new characters and themes. It typically features original cast members in ageing roles, passes the torch to a younger generation, and blends nostalgia with modern storytelling. These sequels often ignore or retcon previous instalments to reconnect with the spirit of the original.
Recent Legacy Sequels worth noting are : Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015) revived the saga with legacy and new heroes; Mad Max: Fury Road (2015) reimagined the franchise with new leads; Creed (2015) continued the Rocky saga through Apollo’s son; Blade Runner 2049 (2017) picked up 30+ years after Blade Runner; Halloween (2018) was a direct sequel to the 1978 original, ignoring others; Ghostbusters: Afterlife (2021) reconnected with original Ghostbusters lore; The Matrix Ressurrections (2021) revisits Neo and Trinity in a rebooted world; Scream (2022) Introduced new characters while honoring legacy; Top Gun: Maverick (2022) picked up decades after the original 1986 film, bringing back Tom Cruise as Pete “Maverick” Mitchell while introducing a new generation of elite pilots; and I Know What You Did Last Summer (2025) is a sharp-edged revival that blends slasher nostalgia with modern psychological horror and reboots the 1979 film.
Legacy sequels work best when they strike a delicate balance between emotional continuity and narrative reinvention. Bringing back beloved characters allows audiences to reconnect with emotional arcs they’ve invested in.
These films often explore how time changes people—loss, regret, resilience, and redemption. They tap into universal emotions like nostalgia, closure, and generational tension.
These films often explore how time changes people—loss, regret, resilience, and redemption. They tap into universal emotions like nostalgia, closure, and generational tension.
Akiva Schaffer is an American filmmaker, comedian, and musician. A graduate of UC Santa Cruz with a degree in film, he co-founded the comedy trio The Lonely Island with Andy Samberg and Jorma Taccone, revolutionising digital shorts on Saturday Night Live with viral hits like “Lazy Sunday” and “Dick in a Box.” Schaffer transitioned into feature films with directing credits including Hot Rod, Popstar: Never Stop Never Stopping, and Chip ‘n Dale: Rescue Rangers. He’s also produced acclaimed projects like Palm Springs and PEN15, and directed the 2025 reboot of The Naked Gun, blending slapstick legacy with modern genre parody.
Dan Gregor, is a writer, director, and producer known for his sharp comedic voice and genre-blending storytelling. A founding member of NYU’s sketch group Hammerkatz, he honed his craft at the Upright Citizens Brigade before landing writing roles on How I Met Your Mother and Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. His directorial debut, Most Likely to Murder, premiered at SXSW in 2018. Gregor co-wrote Chip ‘n Dale: Rescue Rangers and The Naked Gun (2025), often collaborating with his wife, actress and writer Rachel Bloom. His work is marked by irreverent humour, emotional nuance, and a knack for satirical twists.
Doug Mand, is a writer, producer, and actor whose career has intertwined with Gregor’s since their NYU days. Together, they formed the production company Chubby Skinny Kids and wrote for How I Met Your Mother, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, and The Comedians. Mand co-wrote and co-produced Chip ‘n Dale: Rescue Rangers and The Naked Gun reboot, and has contributed to films like Dolittle and Magic Camp. Known for his comedic timing and collaborative spirit, Mand also hosts the podcast Doody Calls, blending personal anecdotes with humour. His onscreen appearances include roles in Crazy Ex-Girlfriend and Most Likely to Murder, often playing offbeat characters with deadpan charm.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Freakier Friday reinvents the Body-Swap Genre for a New Generation
“Even though it’s not based on my own experience, I got to infuse a lot of my feelings about mothers and daughters in a way that felt like such a love letter to my mom,” says screenwriter Jordan Weiss of Freakier Friday, the sequel to Disney’s beloved 2003 body-swap comedy, dialing up the chaos with a multigenerational twist.
Freakier Friday carries significance on multiple levels—cultural, emotional, and cinematic, especially as a sequel to a film that’s become a generational touchstone.
It’s the seventh instalment in the Freaky Friday franchise, continuing a legacy that began with Mary Rodgers’ 1972 novel and evolved through various adaptations. By revisiting the 2003 version’s characters, it taps into millennial nostalgia, while introducing Gen Z perspectives through Anna’s daughter and stepdaughter.
The film reflects modern family dynamics, including blended families and intergenerational relationships, making it more relevant to today’s audiences. The body-swap premise becomes a metaphor for empathy and understanding, especially across generational divides.
Directed by Nisha Ganatra, known for The High Note and Late Night, the film blends heartfelt family drama with fantasy comedy., the film blends fantasy and grounded realism, elevating the genre beyond slapstick. It’s one of Disney’s few sequels that continues a story rather than rebooting it, showing a shift toward character continuity and emotional evolution.
Set 22 years after the original identity crisis, Anna (Lindsay Lohan) is now a mom with a teenage daughter, Harper, and a soon-to-be stepdaughter, Lily. When a mysterious fortune teller enters the picture, lightning strikes again—literally—and the body-swapping madness resumes. This time, it’s not just Tess (Jamie Lee Curtis) and Anna switching places, but also the younger generation, adding layers of emotional and comedic tension
Emotional Core: Mother-Daughter Dynamics
The screenplay for Freakier Friday was written by Jordan Weiss, with the story credited to both Elyse Hollander and Weiss. Weiss is known for her work on the Hulu series Dollface and the film Sweethearts, and she’s brought a fresh, emotionally grounded lens to this sequel—especially in exploring mother-daughter dynamics.
Weiss brings a signature blend of emotional authenticity and comedic sharpness to Freakier Friday, and it deeply shapes the film’s tone and structure.
Weiss described the film as a mother-daughter love story, drawing from her own close relationship with her mom—especially during her teen years when her mother battled breast cancer. This personal lens infuses the story with vulnerability and warmth, grounding the fantastical body-swap premise in real emotional stakes.
Her previous work, like Dollface and Sweethearts, often explores platonic and familial relationships with a rom-com structure that’s both witty and introspective2. In Freakier Friday, she leans into this by surrounding the leads with a “murderer’s row” of comedians, ensuring the humor stays fresh and character-driven.
Weiss has a knack for making big, surreal moments feel emotionally believable. Whether it’s a sex tape filmed in a Danny Zuko costume or four people swapping bodies, she asks: “Does it feel real to the character?” That question helps keep the comedy broad but grounded.
With multiple body swaps across generations, Weiss’s writing balances chaos with clarity. Her experience crafting layered character arcs in ensemble casts allows her to juggle emotional nuance while keeping the story cohesive.
Jordan Weiss is an American screenwriter, director, and producer known for her emotionally grounded storytelling and sharp comedic voice. She studied Writing for Screen and Television at USC’s School of Cinematic Arts, where her breakout series Dollface began as a college writing sample. Weiss’s work often explores themes of identity, vulnerability, and female relationships, blending absurdist setups with emotional realism. Her credits include Dollface (Hulu), an episode of Harley Quinn, and the feature Sweethearts, which she co-wrote and directed. In 2025, Weiss penned Freakier Friday, the multigenerational sequel to Disney’s Freaky Friday, infusing the body-swap comedy with personal resonance drawn from her own experiences, including her close relationship with her mother during a period of illness. Weiss is currently working on the film adaptation of Curtis Sittenfeld’s Romantic Comedy, bringing her signature balance of intimacy and wit to new cinematic spaces.
Nisha Ganatra is a Canadian-American director, screenwriter, producer, and actress known for her emotionally rich and culturally resonant storytelling. She studied at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, where she began crafting films that spotlight underrepresented voices. Her breakout feature Chutney Popcorn (1999) explored LGBTQ+ themes within a South Asian context and earned acclaim across international festivals. Ganatra has since directed a wide range of television series—including Transparent, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, and Dear White People—and helmed studio films like Late Night (2019) and The High Note (2020), both praised for their blend of humor and heart. In 2025, she directs Freakier Friday, a sequel that deepens the emotional core of the beloved body-swap comedy. A Golden Globe winner and Emmy nominee, Ganatra continues to champion inclusive narratives, using her platform to amplify stories that reflect diverse identities and experiences.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Sketch: When Grief Draws Monsters and Family Finds Its Way Back
“This story was never just about creatures, it was about what happens when the things you bury start to dig themselves out,” says writer-director Seth Worley of Sketch, conjuring a vivid storm of imagination, emotion, and monsters born from memory.
Inspired by his sister’s grief-drenched drawing praised as therapeutic by a counsellor, Worley crafts a fantastical narrative where art becomes dangerously alive. His feature debut doesn’t shy away from the messy emotional terrain families traverse in the wake of loss. With Sketch, he invites audiences to witness healing not through silence, but through illustrated chaos.
The film is described as Jurassic Park meets Inside Out—a mix of creature-feature thrills and emotional introspection, expanding on Worley’s short film Darker Colors, which explored similar themes of grief and imagination.
Worley’s background in visual effects shines through in the film’s imaginative creature design and surreal atmosphere. He spent nearly seven years developing Sketch, drawing inspiration from personal experiences and childhood memories.
A young girl named Amber, grappling with the loss of her mother, pours her emotions into a sketchbook. When the sketchbook accidentally falls into a mysterious pond, her drawings come to life—wild, unpredictable, and dangerously real. As the town descends into surreal mayhem, Amber, her brother Jack, and their father Taylor (played by Tony Hale) must confront the monsters born from grief and reunite as a family to stop the chaos.
Worley drew inspiration for Sketch from a deeply personal moment
His sister once created an emotionally raw drawing that a counsellor praised as a healthy outlet for grief. That experience planted the seed for a story about how art can externalize emotion—and what happens when those emotions take on a life of their own.
He spent nearly seven years developing the film, expanding on themes from his short Darker Colors. Worley wanted to explore how children process loss through imagination, and how families navigate the monsters born from unresolved grief. The idea of a sketchbook becoming a portal for emotional chaos allowed him to blend fantasy, horror, and heartfelt drama in a way that’s both cathartic and visually inventive.
Worley’s writing process is a blend of structured creativity and playful experimentation
His writing process is perfect for stories like Sketch, where emotional depth meets fantastical chaos.
He uses a tool called the Storyclock, inspired by J.J. Abrams, to map out story beats in a circular format. This gives him a bird’s-eye view of pacing and emotional rhythm. He emphasises theme-first writing, often starting with the emotional core before building characters and plot around it. He’s a fan of micro and macro clocking—zooming in on scene-level details while keeping the big-picture arc in view.
Worley developed the Storyclock Notebook, a resource that helps writers visualise their story structure and identify gaps. He teaches screenwriting fundamentals through courses like Writing 101, where he breaks down archetypes, structure, and formatting with humor and clarity.
In his own words: “If you like writing, you’re not a writer.” He believes writing is often painful and messy, but worth it when the story demands to be told.
He embraces limitations as creative fuel, using constraints to sharpen focus and deepen emotional stakes.
Sketch stands out as a deeply humanist fantasy
The film uses surreal chaos to explore the emotional architecture of grief, healing, and family reconnection.
Amber’s sketchbook isn’t just a plot device—it’s a metaphor for how creativity externalizes trauma. Her drawings become literal monsters, forcing the family to confront what they’ve buried emotionally.
The creatures born from Amber’s grief are messy, unpredictable, and oddly beautiful. They reflect the emotional complexity of loss, especially through a child’s lens. The creatures—crafted with childlike imperfection—are not just VFX marvels. They’re emotional projections, each one representing a facet of Amber’s inner world.
Sketch carves its own space by blending whimsical horror with heartfelt introspection. It’s a throwback to 80s and 90s family films that weren’t afraid to get dark.
Seth Worley is an American filmmaker and storyteller renowned for blending emotional resonance with visual ingenuity. Born in Tennessee in 1984, he carved out a niche through viral shorts like Plot Device and creative collaborations with Bad Robot and Red Giant Software. His passion for structure and theme led him to co-found Plot Devices, where he designed tools like the Storyclock Notebook to support fellow writers. Worley’s feature debut, Sketch, premiered at TIFF in 2024 and was lauded for its heartfelt exploration of grief and childhood imagination. Rooted in personal experience, the film exemplifies his belief that storytelling should confront emotion with honesty and spectacle.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on How Invisible Boys Is Reshaping Queer Australian Television
“We should really just embrace ourselves for who we are,” says Holden Sheppard about the bold and emotionally charged Australian drama Invisible Boys, based on his award-winning novel. He helped preserve the novel’s emotional core while expanding its scope, reshaping it for the screen as co-writer, and ensured that the adaptation retained its emotional authenticity and thematic integrity.
Adapted from Holden Sheppard’s award-winning novel, the series dives deep into the lives of queer teens in Geraldton, Western Australia, during the 2017 same-sex marriage plebiscite. Set in the remote coastal town of Geraldton, the series uses the harsh landscape — windblown trees, desert edges — as a metaphor for the emotional isolation and resilience of its characters.
Exploring identity, trauma, friendship, and visibility, especially for queer youth in conservative environments, the series explores identity, trauma, friendship, and visibility, especially for queer youth in conservative environments.
Created and directed by Nicholas Verso, with a writing team including Sheppard himself, Enoch Mailangi, Allan Clarke, and Declan Greene, Verso described the adaptation as a way to externalize the novel’s introspective emotions, blending personal truths with cinematic storytelling.
Invisible Boys isn’t just a TV show — it’s a cultural reckoning
Viewers and critics have praised the show for sparking conversations around identity, mental health, and acceptance — not just among queer audiences, but also their families and communities. Cast members like Joseph Zada and Zach Blampied have spoken about how the roles helped them access vulnerability and reflect on their own experiences, adding layers of emotional truth to the performances.
What Sets Invisible Boys Apart
Invisible Boys stands out in the landscape of Australian queer television by pushing boundaries that other shows often tread more cautiously. While series like Heartbreak High, Please Like Me, and Head On have each carved out space for LGBTQIA+ narratives, Invisible Boys dives deeper into the raw, regional, and often uncomfortable realities of queer adolescence.
Groundbreaking for its time, Head On (1998) featured a Gay Greek-Australian protagonist and explored cultural repression and sexuality. Heartbreak High (2022–2024), covered a broad LGBTQIA+ spectrum, including neurodivergent and nonbinary characters.
Critics have called it a “gloriously messy marvel” and praised its refusal to dilute queer experiences for mainstream comfort. It’s less about neat resolutions and more about emotional truth — which makes it feel like a spiritual successor to Head On, but with the ensemble depth of Heartstopperand the emotional intimacy of Please Like Me.
The adaptation of Invisible Boys was sparked by a deeply personal and cultural resonance felt by creator Nicholas Verso
He discovered Holden Sheppard’s novel through word of mouth and a glowing review from a friend, and immediately felt it was “completely up [his] alley” — the characters, themes, and setting spoke to him with clarity and urgency. Verso was moved by the novel’s raw portrayal of queer youth in regional Australia, especially during the 2017 same-sex marriage plebiscite — a time he remembers with anger and heartbreak. He wanted to capture the emotional fallout of that moment, when queer lives were debated publicly, often cruelly, under the guise of politics.
Verso had previously filmed in Western Australia and was seeking another project that could be shot there. Invisible Boys fit perfectly — both logistically and artistically. He saw the novel as a chance to create a contemporary queer series that could stand alongside iconic Australian films like Head On, but speak directly to today’s youth.
He recognized a gap in Australian television: a lack of raw, authentic queer stories. Stan’s interest in queer programming made it a natural home for the series. Verso also wanted to challenge sanitized portrayals of intimacy in mainstream media, opting instead for sex-positive, realistic depictions that embrace awkwardness and vulnerability.
“I always knew we would start with Charlie (Joseph Zada, pictured). He was the best way in,” director Nick Verso told Drama Quarterly. “Then I just thought it would be really great to let the point of view start to blur and meld and come together as the show went on, as the boys get to know each other better and they really intertwine.” (Supplied: Stan)
The Writer’s Room
The writers’ room — including Sheppard himself — focused on expanding the novel’s introspective tone. Verso emphasised the importance of multiple entry points for viewers, crafting four distinct lead characters to reflect varied experiences of masculinity, identity, and trauma.
The adaptation of Invisible Boys diverges from Holden Sheppard’s novel in several key ways — not to dilute its emotional truth, but to amplify it for the screen. Nicholas Verso and the writing team reshaped the introspective tone of the book into a visceral, cinematic experience that externalizes the characters’ inner turmoil.
The novel focuses primarily on three boys — Charlie, Zeke, and Hammer — while the series introduces Matt Jones as a fourth lead, adding complexity and unpredictability to the ensemble. Each episode centers on a different character’s perspective, creating intimate portraits that weren’t as segmented in the book.
The novel leans heavily on internal monologue and emotional introspection. The series translates this into visual metaphors — broken TVs, buzzing bees, windblown landscapes — and raw dialogue that externalises pain and desire. The show introduces moments of dark comedy to offset tension, a tonal shift from the novel’s more solemn voice.
The novel was an “exorcism” for Sheppard — raw, personal, and cathartic. The series, while faithful to that emotional core, becomes a collective reckoning: a story not just of survival, but of visibility, resistance, and chosen family.
Joining Sheppard is Enoch Mailangi, a sharp, queer voice celebrated for their satirical edge and intersectional lens. As the creator of All My Friends Are Racist, Mailangi infused Invisible Boys with Gen Z emotional texture, blending irreverence with lived truth.
Allan Clarke, a First Nations writer and director known for The Bowraville Murders and Incarceration Nation, brought investigative grit and cultural urgency to the team. His influence is most felt in Hammer’s arc, adding layers of Indigenous identity and systemic pressure.
Rounding out the group is Declan Greene, a queer dramaturg whose theatrical work like Moth and Eight Gigabytes of Hardcore Pornography is known for surrealism and emotional daring. Greene helped translate the novel’s internal monologue into visual metaphor and sonic storytelling, threading bees, wind, and broken televisions into scenes that pulse with unease and longing.
Together, this team didn’t just adapt Invisible Boys—they refracted it, creating a series that feels emotionally expansive, politically resonant, and cinematically fearless.
Geraldton is a hyper-masculine environment, the domain of fishers, surfers and footy players. (Pictured: Zach Blampied (left) as Hammer and James Bingham as Blakey) (Supplied: Stan)
Invisible Boys has made a striking impact on queer representation in Australia
Unlike shows that lean into glossy portrayals of queer life, Invisible Boys embraces the raw, messy, and often painful realities of growing up queer in conservative towns like Geraldton, refusing to sanitize or simplify the lived experiences of LGBTQIA+ youth — especially those in regional communities.
By centering four distinct protagonists — Charlie, Zeke, Hammer, and Matt — the series dismantles the idea of a singular queer experience. Each character navigates different intersections of identity, including race, class, religion, and masculinity. The show doesn’t shy away from depicting queer intimacy. It uses intimacy coordinators to portray sex and desire with realism and vulnerability, challenging the “respectability politics” often imposed on LGBTQIA+ media.
Set in Western Australia during the 2017 same-sex marriage plebiscite, the series highlights how queer youth in rural areas often feel invisible — and how visibility can be both liberating and dangerous – it critiques the notion that queer people must conform to heteronormative standards to be accepted, pushing back against sanitized narratives and offering a more nuanced view of queer adolescence.
Nicholas Verso is a Logie Award–winning Australian screenwriter, director, and producer whose work pulses with emotional intensity, surreal flair, and a deep commitment to youth and queer storytelling. He made his feature debut with Boys in the Trees (2016), a Halloween fantasy drama that premiered at the Venice International Film Festival and went on to screen at Toronto, Busan, and Sitges, winning Best Narrative Feature at the Austin Film Festival. Verso’s short film The Last Time I Saw Richard won an AACTA Award and was honored by the Académie des César in Paris, showcasing his early talent for blending horror with psychological depth. In 2023, he created Crazy Fun Park, a horror-comedy inspired by the death of young friends, which earned him a Logie and stirred controversy by beating Bluey for Most Outstanding Children’s Program. His latest triumph is Invisible Boys (2025), a critically acclaimed adaptation of Holden Sheppard’s novel, which explores the lives of queer teens in regional Western Australia during the 2017 same-sex marriage plebiscite. Verso’s television credits span genres and include Nowhere Boys, The Unlisted, Itch, In Our Blood, and Swift Street. He’s trained internationally with Song of the Goat Theatre in Poland, attended the Berlinale Talent Campus, and was awarded a Churchill Fellowship to study showrunning in the US and UK. Known for his cinematic storytelling and emotionally fearless direction, Verso continues to redefine Australian television with work that is haunting, heartfelt, and unapologetically queer
Holden Sheppard is an award-winning Australian author whose writing blends visceral honesty with poetic grit. Born in the coastal town of Geraldton, Western Australia in 1988, Sheppard grew up navigating a conservative environment that shaped his fearless approach to storytelling. He studied English literature at Edith Cowan University and later became an Adjunct Creative Fellow there, grounding his craft in both academic insight and lived experience. His debut novel Invisible Boys (2019) won numerous accolades, including the T.A.G. Hungerford Award and the WA Premier’s Book Award, for its emotionally raw portrayal of queer youth in regional Australia. The book’s impact deepened when it was adapted into a critically acclaimed television series in 2025, with Sheppard co-writing two of the episodes. His follow-up novels — The Brink and King of Dirt — cemented his reputation as a literary voice unafraid to confront masculinity, trauma, and identity. Openly gay and married to fellow writer Raphael Farmer, Sheppard lives in Perth’s far north, balancing advocacy for mental health and LGBTQIA+ rights with his rugged charm — bourbon ads and V8 utes included. Described as the “lovechild of Rambo and Rimbaud,” his work speaks to outsiders who refuse to be silenced, turning emotional vulnerability into a kind of rebellion. Let me know if you’d like a closer look at King of Dirt or how his style compares to Christos Tsiolkas.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Weapons: Zach Cregger’s Horror Epic Turns Grief into Psychological Warfare
Barbarian was me looking at the world around me. Weapons is me looking within,” says writer-director Zach Cregger of Weapons, transforming personal loss into communal dread, crafting a horror epic, a chilling, multi-layered narrative set in the eerie town of Maybrook.
Weapons was born from a deeply personal place for Zach Cregger. While the film itself is fictional, its emotional core is rooted in real-life grief and unsettling truths.
Cregger began writing Weapons after experiencing the sudden death of someone very close to him. “I had a tragedy in my life that was really, really tough. Someone very, very, very close to me died suddenly, and, honestly, I was so grief-stricken that I just started writing Weapons, not out of any ambition, but just as a way to reckon with my own emotions. “It’s an incredibly personal story. Certain chapters of this are legitimately autobiographical, that I feel like I lived.”
The central mystery—17 children vanishing overnight—was inspired by real-world cases of child disappearances, including high-profile ones like Madeleine McCann and the Sodder children. These stories added a layer of societal dread to the film’s psychological tension.
Cregger also drew creative inspiration from Paul Thomas Anderson’s Magnolia. He admired its unapologetic scale and emotional ambition, which gave him “permission to shoot for the stars” and craft a horror epic that’s both sprawling and intimate.
While Magnolia and “Weapons” may appear worlds apart in terms of genre and tone, Cregger credits PTA’s bold storytelling approach as a catalyst for his own ambitions.
“There’s something about that kind of unapologetic epic. I love that movie. I love that kind of bold scale. It allowed me, while writing this, to aim for the stars and make it an epic. I wanted a horror epic, and so I tried to do that.”
Cregger’s Weapons is a take on the missing child story, following the events of a small American town where an entire class of elementary school students inexplicably got up and walked off into the darkness. It then turns to the parents of the missing children (played by Josh Brolin) as he points the finger at the kids’ teacher (Julia Garner) as a prime suspect.
Zach Cregger wrote Weapons in a way that mirrors the film’s emotional and structural complexity—raw, intuitive, and deeply personal.
Cregger approached the screenplay without a formal outline. He let the story evolve organically, following emotional threads rather than a rigid structure. He described it as “working on himself” through the writing process, using the narrative to explore grief, guilt, and psychological unravelling.
Some chapters are autobiographical, drawn from his own experience with sudden loss. He didn’t set out to write a horror film—it emerged as a byproduct of processing trauma. This emotional authenticity gives the screenplay its haunting resonance.
He built the story around multiple perspectives, each with distinct emotional arcs. The screenplay shifts Rashomon-style between characters like Justine (a teacher whose class vanishes), Archer (a grieving father), and Paul (a conflicted police officer), allowing the mystery to unfold through fragmented truths.
The significance of Weapons lies in its fusion of personal grief, societal dread, and genre-defying ambition. Cregger didn’t just write a horror film—he crafted a cinematic reckoning.
At its heart, Weapons is a response to tragedy. This emotional authenticity gives the film its haunting resonance.
The title Weapons isn’t about literal arms—it’s metaphorical. It suggests the emotional and psychological tools people use to cope with trauma, suspicion, and loss. In the film, grief becomes weaponized: against others, against memory, and even against truth.
Cregger’s shift from Barbarian to Weapons marks a move from external horror to internal devastation. It’s a horror epic that doesn’t just scare—it mourns, accuses, and reflects.
Emotional truth is the heartbeat of genre storytelling
When a writer taps into emotional truth, they’re not just inserting “feelings” into plot points. They’re distilling lived experience, personal conflict, and internal landscapes into narrative form.
In Weapons, for example, Zach Cregger didn’t just write about missing children—he wrote about grief, guilt, and the psychological fallout of sudden loss. That emotional core turned a horror premise into a cathartic, layered exploration of human fragility.
Zach Cregger, is a multifaceted American artist whose career spans comedy, acting, writing, directing, and producing. He first gained recognition as a founding member of The Whitest Kids U’ Know, a sketch comedy troupe celebrated for its absurdist wit and cultural satire.
Cregger transitioned from comedic roles in television (Friends with Benefits, Guys with Kids, Wrecked) and co-directing early features like Miss March, into the darker, more emotionally resonant territory of horror filmmaking. His breakout hit Barbarian (2022) marked a tonal shift toward psychological tension and atmospheric dread, which he deepens in his self-penned horror epic Weapons (2025). Inspired by personal grief and structured around fragmented emotional perspectives, Weapons showcases Cregger’s evolution into a filmmaker unafraid to excavate inner trauma for cinematic truth.
Married to actress Sara Paxton since 2019, he continues to explore the interplay between emotional architecture and genre storytelling, with a Resident Evil reboot slated for 2026 that suggests his growing influence on modern horror.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Tin Soldier: A Gritty Allegory of Trauma, Brotherhood, and the Fragile Machinery of War
“I’m interested in stories about hope, human resilience, and fighting for truth,” says screenwriter Jess Fuerst of Tin Soldier, a haunting meditation on the emotional wreckage left in the wake of combat. The film challenges audiences to confront the thin line between salvation and manipulation, asking whether broken men can truly rebuild themselves, or if they’re destined to remain hollow echoes of the systems that forged them.
Tin Soldier is gritty psychological thriller directed by Brad Furman, who also co-wrote the screenplay alongside Jess Fuerst and Pablo Fenjves.
The inspiration behind Tin Soldier stems from a fusion of real-world veteran struggles and psychological cult dynamics.
The title Tin Soldier evokes Hans Christian Andersen’s tale of the steadfast toy soldier, symbolising emotional rigidity, sacrifice, and tragic fate.
The story centers on combat veterans seeking purpose after returning from war, echoing real-life accounts of PTSD, institutional neglect, and the search for identity beyond service.
The Bokushi’s creation of The Program mirrors historical cult leaders who prey on vulnerable individuals—possibly drawing from figures like Jim Jones or David Koresh.
Tin Soldier follows Nash Cavanaugh (Scott Eastwood), a former special forces operative, as he infiltrates a mysterious compound led by Leon K. Prudhomme (Jamie Foxx) —known as The Bokushi. A charismatic veteran turned cult leader, The Bokushi has created The Program, a sanctuary for disillusioned soldiers seeking purpose. As Nash delves deeper, he uncovers a web of trauma, manipulation, and militarised loyalty, forcing him to confront his own past and the blurred line between salvation and control. The film explores themes of brotherhood, emotional rigidity, and the haunting legacy of war. It also features Robert De Niro as a military operative working to dismantle The Bokushi’s stronghold, and John Leguizamo as a figure tied to Nash’s past and the inner workings of The Program.
From Page to Screen
The journey of Tin Soldier from page to screen is less a traditional adaptation and more a case of original screenplay development shaped by thematic ambition and production turbulence.
Unlike adaptations based on novels, Tin Soldier was not derived from a published book. Instead, it was co-written by Brad Furman, Jess Fuerst, and Pablo Fenjves as an original screenplay.
Furman’s interest in morally complex characters and systemic critique, seen in his earlier films like The Lincoln Lawyer.
Fuerst’s and Fenjves’s contributions added emotional depth and psychological nuance, especially around trauma and cult dynamics.
Brad Furman, director, writer, and producer of Tin Soldier, hails from Lafayette Hill, Pennsylvania. A graduate of NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, Furman once played Division III basketball—a detail that underscores his penchant for discipline and character-driven storytelling. His filmmaking career gained prominence with The Lincoln Lawyer, and he continued to explore morally complex terrain in works like Runner Runner, The Infiltrator, and City of Lies. Furman’s cinematic voice is marked by a deep skepticism of institutional power and a fascination with emotionally fractured protagonists, traits that thread through Tin Soldier‘s exploration of systemic betrayal and veteran trauma.
Jess Fuerst, who co-wrote and produced Tin Soldier, brings a unique blend of neuroscience, journalism, and filmmaking to the screen. A magna cum laude graduate from the University of Pennsylvania, she later earned her MFA in filmmaking and MBA in finance from NYU. Fuerst’s work is shaped by her early discipline as a gymnast and her investigative eye as a journalist, which she channels into emotionally resonant narratives about resilience, truth, and transformation. Her collaborations on City of Lies and The Infiltrator, along with her direction of music videos for artists like Justin Bieber and Zendaya, reveal a storytelling style that merges visceral emotion with visual dynamism.
Pablo Fenjves, the third voice behind Tin Soldier, offers the perspective of a seasoned screenwriter and ghostwriter. Born in Caracas, Venezuela to Hungarian Holocaust survivors, Fenjves began his career as a journalist before pivoting to screenwriting, a craft he likens to carpentry—structured, meticulous, and deliberate. His credits include Man on a Ledge, The Affair, and the infamous ghostwritten memoir If I Did It for O.J. Simpson. Fenjves’s narrative sensibility focuses on psychological tension and emotional pacing, often anchoring suspense with deeply human stakes. His contribution to Tin Soldier lends the film its fragmented emotional architecture and layered suspense.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Unravelling Desire, Memory, and Cultural Silence in I Dream in Another Language
In a remote Mexican village wrapped in myth and memory, language becomes more than a tool. I Dream in Another Language poignantly traces the frayed bond between two men silenced by repression and time. Through the fictional idiom of Zikril—a tongue heard only by birds and the dying jungle—director Ernesto Contreras and screenwriter Carlos Contreras weave a story where forbidden love and fading culture become one.
I Dream in Another Language was directed by Ernesto Contreras and written by Carlos Contreras, his brother. Their collaboration brings a deeply personal and poetic touch to the film, blending linguistic anthropology with emotional storytelling.
Ernesto, known for his lyrical visual style, also served as President of the Mexican Academy of Cinematographic Arts and Sciences. Carlos crafted the screenplay with a sensitivity to cultural nuance and emotional resonance, drawing inspiration from stories of language loss and forbidden love. Carlos’s writing often carries a quiet intensity—his characters speak through silence, gesture, and metaphor.
Their shared vision helped the film win the Audience Award for World Cinema Dramatic at Sundance—a testament to its universal themes and haunting beauty.
Streaming & Rental Platforms
Prime Video – Available to rent or buy.
YouTube Movies – You can rent or buy the film directly through YouTube’s platform.
Plex – Offers free streaming with ads. No subscription required.
Yidio – Aggregates rental options from various platforms like iTunes and Google Play.
Their Creative Dynamic
Carlos typically takes the lead as screenwriter, crafting emotionally resonant narratives that explore identity, injustice, and cultural nuance. Ernesto then interprets these scripts through his directorial lens, infusing them with lyrical visuals, atmospheric tension, and a deep sensitivity to character and place.
Their process is rooted in shared values: a commitment to telling stories that challenge stereotypes, elevate marginalised voices, and explore the emotional architecture of human experience. For example, in Crossing Borders, Carlos wrote the script based on a true story of a Guatemalan immigrant wrongfully accused of murder, while Ernesto directed with a focus on cultural empathy and visual storytelling.
They trust each other’s instincts—Carlos builds the emotional scaffolding, and Ernesto brings it to life with cinematic texture. Their collaboration is often described as a “dream team” by producers, thanks to their ability to balance intimacy and scale, as well as political urgency and poetic nuance.
Core Inspirations for I Dream in Another Language
Director Ernesto Contreras was deeply influenced by his grandmother, who spoke Zapoteco, an indigenous language of Mexico. Her stories and linguistic heritage sparked his interest in the emotional and cultural weight of endangered languages.
A 2011 article claimed that the last two speakers of the dying Mexican language Ayapa Zoque refused to speak to each other due to a personal feud. Though later debunked, this story captured the imagination of the filmmakers and became a metaphor for how personal conflict can mirror cultural loss.
The film also draws from the broader history of Spanish colonisation, which led to the erasure of indigenous languages and traditions. Contreras saw the film as a way to explore not just language extinction, but the loss of identity, knowledge, and ancestral connection.
Contreras described the film as a chance to speak about “language, but also about a loss of identity… culture, knowledge, roots, traditions.” He chose to invent the fictional language Zikril out of respect for real communities still fighting to preserve their tongues.
Structural Overview
I Dream in Another Language unfolds with a layered, emotionally resonant narrative structure that blends realism, magical elements, and temporal shifts to deepen its themes of memory, identity, and reconciliation.
The film follows a three-act structure, but it’s enriched by nonlinear storytelling and symbolic framing.
Linguist Martín arrives in a remote village to document Zikril, a dying language. He discovers the last two speakers—Isauro and Evaristo—haven’t spoken in 50 years due to a mysterious feud. The jungle and its mystical aura are introduced as a living presence, setting the tone for magical realism. Martín attempts to reconcile the men, uncovering layers of history through flashbacks and village lore.
Fernando Álvarez Rebeil as Martín
The supposed love triangle involving Evaristo’s late wife is revealed to be a cover for a forbidden queer love between the two men.
Flashbacks are used to reveal the true nature of the men’s relationship and the emotional rupture. Through Magical Realism, birds respond to speech, the jungle whispers, and the afterlife is tangible, blurring reality and myth. Symbolically, the cave, the lullaby in Zikril, and the absence of subtitles during key scenes emphasise emotional distance and outsider perspective.
The film’s structure mirrors an emotional arc, where language is both the barrier and the bridge, with Zikril acting as a vessel for unspoken truths.
Hoze Meléndez as Young Isauro, Nicolasa Ortíz Monasterio as María, and Juan Pablo de Santiago as Young Evaristo
I Dream in Another Language shares thematic DNA with many of Mexico’s most celebrated films
I Dream in Another Language stands apart in Mexican cinema for its lyrical fusion of linguistic anthropology, queer love, and magical realism.
Contreras’ film is more rural, mystical, and emotionally intimate than the nonlinear Amores Perros (2000) which is filled with gritty realism dealing with themes of urban chaos, fractured love, and class divide.
Exploring the fading worlds and emotional silence, the poetic realism of the autobiographical Roma (2018) is grounded in historical realism.
The magical realism and sensuality of Like Water for Chocolate (1992) shares I Dream’s emotional metaphor and cultural critique, but focuses on gender roles, dealing with repressed desire, food as emotion, and tradition.
As with the dark fantasy and magical realism of Pan’s Labyrinth (2006), both films use myth to explore repression, but Pan’s is more allegorical and violent.
Contreras’ film is more symbolic and linguistically driven than the tender realism, loneliness, and intergenerational friendship depicted in Cosas Imposibles (2021).
The surreal, ghostly realism of Pedro Páramo (2024) shares I Dream’s blurred lines between life and death, but is more abstract and literary.
José Manuel Poncelis as Isauro and Eligio Meléndez as Evaristo
What Makes I Dream in Another Language Unique
Invented Language as Emotional Architecture: Unlike other Mexican films that use real dialects or Spanish, Zikril is a fictional tongue designed to express what other languages cannot.
Queer Love as Cultural Resistance: The forbidden romance between Isauro and Evaristo is not just personal—it’s a metaphor for silenced identities and erased histories.
Magical Realism with Ecological Spirituality: The jungle responds to speech, birds echo human emotion, and the afterlife is linguistically gated—creating a mystical ecosystem of memory and voice.
Notable gay-themed Mexican films that span decades and styles:
Mexico’s queer cinema is rich, layered, and often daring—blending emotional intimacy with cultural critique. Here’s a curated selection of notable gay-themed Mexican films that span decades and styles:
Many of these films challenge machismo culture and explore how queerness intersects with Mexican identity.
Directors like Hermosillo and Ripstein were pioneers, crafting complex queer characters long before mainstream acceptance.
Recent works like Casa Roshell and I Promise You Anarchy push boundaries with experimental formats and fluid identities, reflecting a shift toward more inclusive storytelling.
Landmark & Contemporary Titles: Arturo Ripstein’s The Place Without Limits (El Lugar Sin Límites, 1978) features queerness, power, and gender fluidity in rural Mexico; Jaime Humberto Hermosillo’s Appearances Are Deceptive (Las apariencias engañan, 1983) deals with Identity, gender, and societal norm; Hermosillo’s Dona Herlinda and Her Son (1985) features family dynamics, closeted love, and societal expectations; Alfonso Cuarón’s Y Tu Mamá También (2001) deals with bisexuality, machismo, and emotional repression; Rigoberto Perezcano’s Carmin Tropical (2014) focuses on Trans identity, a murder mystery and small-town prejudice; Julio Hernández Cordón’s I Promise You Anarchy (Te prometo anarquía, 2015) features queer youth, class divide, and urban decay; Camila José Donoso’s Casa Roshell (2017) includes gender fluidity, drag, and political resistance; and Ernesto Contreras’ Cosas Imposibles (2021) highlights emotional healing, intergenerational friendship, and queer subtext.
Films Directed by Ernesto Contreras
Blue Eyelids (Párpados azules, 2007): A melancholic tale of loneliness and connection, nominated for the Caméra d’Or at Cannes.
The Obscure Spring (Las oscuras primaveras, 2014): A sensual, atmospheric drama about forbidden desire.
Impossible Things (Cosas imposibles, 2021): A tender story of an unlikely friendship between a lonely woman and a troubled teenager.
Where the Tracks End (El Último Vagón, 2023): A Netflix release that explores childhood and education in rural Mexico.
Tales of Mexico (Historias de México, 2016): An anthology film; Ernesto directed the segment “Eroticism”.
Dad or Mom (Papá o Mamá, 2023): A comedy-drama about parenting and personal reinvention.
He’s also directed acclaimed TV series like El Chapo, Falco, Belascoarán, PI, and Tengo que morir todas las noches—the latter won Best Director at SeriesMania in France.
Films Written by Carlos Contreras
Blue Eyelids (2007): Co-written with Ernesto, this film marked their breakout collaboration.
The Obscure Spring (2014): A screenplay that dives into emotional repression and desire.
I Dream in Another Language (2017): His most celebrated work, blending linguistic anthropology with queer love.
El Chapo (2017–2018): Co-creator of the series chronicling the rise and fall of the infamous drug lord.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Why AI Is a Writer’s Best Friend
Far from replacing the writer, AI is becoming a trusted co-creator—a mirror, a muse, and a meticulous editor rolled into one. In writers’ rooms, study nooks, and studio apartments across the globe, storytellers are discovering that when wielded with intention, AI doesn’t dilute voice—it amplifies it.
From clarifying emotional arcs to surfacing hidden themes, this technology is reshaping the creative process into something more collaborative, intuitive, and unexpectedly human.
This evolution isn’t theoretical—it’s already underway. Writers are using AI to refine structure, heighten narrative clarity, and surface latent emotional threads in their work. In interviews, screenplays, novels and even poetry, the machine is no longer a passive tool but an active participant, interrogating choices, offering alternatives, and pushing writers to articulate their intent with greater precision.
The Muse That Never Tires
AI tools like Copilot, Sudowrite, and Jasper can generate prompts, brainstorm plot twists, or even simulate dialogue in the voice of Hemingway or Zadie Smith. For writers facing creative fatigue, these tools offer a spark—not to write for them, but to write with them.
Craft Meets Code
For nonfiction writers, AI is a research powerhouse. It can synthesize sources, summarize dense material, and organize outlines in seconds. It’s not about shortcuts—it’s about clearing the clutter so the writer can focus on voice, structure, and soul.
The Interpreter Still Matters
Critics argue that AI lacks originality, that it’s derivative by design. And they’re right. But that’s the point: AI is the echo, not the origin. The writer remains the interpreter, the one who imbues the text with lived experience, emotional nuance, and moral weight.
Historical fiction author G.L. Simon puts it plainly: “In the artistic world… the artist is always the interpreter, not the AI robot”.
A New Kind of Collaboration
AI opens up new pedagogical frontiers. Imagine exercises where students co-write with AI to explore voice, or revise AI-generated drafts to deepen emotional resonance. It’s not about outsourcing creativity—it’s about interrogating it.
In the end, AI is not the death of authorship—it’s the evolution of it. Like the Gutenberg press or the word processor, it’s a tool that expands what’s possible. And for those willing to engage with it critically and creatively, it might just be the best writing partner they never knew they needed.
The Power of the Prompt: Why It Matters More Than You Think
In the world of AI-assisted writing, the prompt is your compass. It doesn’t just guide the output—it defines it. Whether you’re crafting a story, refining a lesson plan, or exploring a philosophical idea, the way you frame your prompt determines how deeply and accurately the AI can respond.
In our course, The Write Journey, we offer a comprehensive Writer’s Guide to Working with AI—an evolving resource designed to help storytellers harness technology as a creative ally.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Writer-director Sean Else talks about ‘n Man Soos My Pa
‘n Man Soos my Pa is an honest story about the things in life which form us: our homes, our parents, friendships, school, romance, and the school bullies. The film shows how difficult reconciliation can be, and how acceptance, disappointment and understanding walk hand in hand.
The film raises complex questions, including: “What is a father..?”; “What is a dream..?”; “What makes a good person, and what is a person with faults..?” and “What are the reasons behind people’s actions – or inactions…?”
It explores and portrays what can be deemed ‘typical’ phases of a relationship between father and son – from “My father is my hero” to “My father is an embarrassment”.
Writer-director Sean Else during the filming of ‘n Man Soos My Pa, with actors Lara de Bruijn and Vilje Martitz
Writer and director Sean Else
After obtaining a degree in Drama at the Tshwane University of Technology, Sean started a career as an actor, appearing in numerous award-winning stage productions, films and television series.
In 2005 he started his own record label, Mozi Records, where he produced albums for multi-platinum-selling artists, Bok van Blerk and Lianie May. These artists’ sensational achievements include the South African Music Award (SAMA) for Top Selling Artist in 2009 (Lianie May) with Bok van Blerk scooping the same award in 2010. As a songwriter, Sean partnered on numerous hit songs, including: ‘De La Rey’, ‘Ons Vir Jou Suid-Afrika’, ‘Tyd Om Te Trek’ and ‘Die Kaplyn’. The videos for these songs have also won Sean numerous “Music Video of the Year” awards.
Sean then produced and co-directed the massive hit theatre shows, ‘My Man Se Vrou Se Man’ (based on ‘Run for Your Wife’ by Ray Cooney), ‘My Boetie se Sussie se Ou’ (based on ‘Caught in the Net’ by Ray Cooney) and ‘As Die Kat Weg Is…’. Together with the award-winning playwright, Deon Opperman, Sean co-wrote the epic musicals, ‘Ons Vir Jou’ (most successful Afrikaans musical in history), ‘Shaka Zulu’, ‘Jock of the Bushveld’ and ‘Lied van my Hart’.
Sean later co-produced, directed and edited his first feature film, ‘Platteland’. On its opening weekend it became the highest-grossing Afrikaans film in history, surpassing ‘Happy Feet 2’ in South African opening weekend sales. He also executive produced “Spud 2: The Madness Continues”, starring John Cleese and Troye Sivan.
Sean wrote, directed and co-produced two local films in 2015: ‘’n Man Soos my Pa’ and ‘Modder en Bloed’ (the latter due for release in 2016).
How did the idea for the film originate, and how was the story decided on ultimately?
Johan Kruger approached me during March/April 2014 with the title and idea to produce a film which would explore the sometimes complex relationships between fathers and sons. It was important for us both that the essence of the story is about the mending of a damaged relationship. I went away and thought about how to tell a story like this in the best possible way. There are, of course, endless possibilities and angles with a story like this, but we ultimately decided to find something on which they would have to work on physically, to represent their relationship in the past. The restoration of the 1968 Volvo Amazon became the instrument which I use to explore their relationship, past and present, and the effect their relationship had on the people in their lives.
Does the film reflect your personal experiences during your growing years and/or your relationship with your father?
As a writer, there are, of course, always elements of yourself in any story. But this is not my story, or Johan’s. It is everyone’s story. Anyone who has had a relationship with their father goes through the stages our characters do, in the film. The father who is your hero in your pre-teen years, the ‘strict’ and ‘unreasonable’ father during your early/late teens. The father who do not ‘understand’ you when you are reckless in your twenties, the father who becomes your hero again the day you have a child – or children – of your own, and you’re beginning to admit your own faults. But unfortunately it is not always as simple as that. There are often very complex layers and steps one has to go through personally when it comes to forgiveness. We saw after the screening of the film at Silwerskerm in August 2015, that the film had everyone talking about their own relationships with their fathers and how the dynamic has changed over the years.
The film plays off over a few decades, from the late 70’s to 2015. What were, logistically and creatively, the most difficult challenges during the production?
One of the most difficult elements was the logistics of using the same sets for the different periods (and on an extremely tight schedule). The production designer and her team did a fantastic job to make it work within the confines of our shooting schedule. Another difficult element was working around the availability of our actors. The different time periods was a challenge to cut, and we had use a number of conventional and unconventional methods to get it right.
You have used the cream of South Africa’s talent for the various roles. Was it difficult to decide who to ultimately cast for the lead and key support roles, and what were the principle reasons for the choices made?
The most important aspect for us was to get the best actors to give substance and depth to the characters in the script. We also needed to try to cast according to some physical resemblance. I worked long and hard with our actors during pre-production, to get personalities and characteristics as close as we possibly could. Small things like certain mannerisms got a lot of attention. Needless to say, we knew from the outset that we wouldn’t get actors with clear and distinguishable similarities, but with the brilliant actors we have in the film, we managed to get the ‘soul’ of the characters the same, which was far more important than pure physical similarities. Everyone knows it is a story with characters played by actors, and with the brilliance of their performances, physical similarities became much less of an issue.
‘n Man Soos my Pa is your first film as director since Platteland. What is different between the two projects in terms of content and creative strategy?
The films are completely different genres. What is important for me in any film is that genre and story are approachable and speak to an audience. I honestly do not care if it is a comedy or a tragedy, it is about the elements that make it approachable to an audience, also characters and/or events/situations they can relate to.
Although there has been a couple of exceptions, statistically romantic comedies and musical films have done well at the box office, especially Afrikaans language films. How do you rate the chances of a drama like ‘n Man Soos my Pa at the local box office?
I am not a person who works according to statistics. They have a way of leading you by the nose, and all that happens is that trends are followed and honest stories are not told. I always work from the inside out, irrespective of whether it is film, theatre, or song lyrics. I ask myself: “Does the story speak to me?”; “Will I go see it?” And most important: “Is it universal enough that a wider audience can relate to the content in one way or the other?” We can never predict how a particular film will perform at the box office. All we can do is to apply honesty and expertise in respect of script, production, post-production, and the marketing of the film. The cinema-going public will ultimately determine the commercial success or failure of a film, and if we as filmmakers want a particular film to have a reasonable chance of financial success, we have to respect that what we ultimately produce is for the public, not ourselves or our colleagues.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Outlaws with Heart: The Cinematic Evolution of The Bad Guys
“I wrote my books, especially The Bad Guys, directly for my youngest son because I knew what would make him laugh. Happily, they seem to have made a lot of other kids laugh, too,” says author Aaron Blabey of his bestselling Bad Guys children’s book series that has been adapted into the films The Bad Guys and The Bad Guys 2, born from a desire to make something cool, funny, and emotionally resonant for kids—while sneaking in a love letter to grown-up genre films.
The first Bad Guys film (2022) was inspired by a mix of personal, cinematic, and literary influences that gave it its unique charm and swagger. The Bad Guys 2 (2025) carries significant weight as both a cultural sequel and a thematic evolution of its predecessor.
The first film ended with the animal outlaws choosing the path of good. In The Bad Guys 2, that choice is tested. The gang is pulled out of retirement by a new crew—the Bad Girls—forcing them to confront whether their transformation was genuine or just circumstantial. The addition of an all-female criminal crew isn’t just a plot twist—it’s a thematic mirror. The Bad Girls were inspired by the original gang’s exploits, raising questions about Gender dynamics in villainy.
If the first film was about choosing to be good, this one asks: Can you stay good when the world still sees you as bad?
DreamWorks partnered with Sony Pictures Imageworks to push the visual style further, blending tactile textures and stylised action. This mixed-production model marks a shift in how DreamWorks approaches animation going forward.
The film’s themes of reinvention, public perception, and moral ambiguity resonate in a world where second chances are often scrutinised. It also continues to adapt Aaron Blabey’s bestselling books, which have grown from 8 million to over 30 million copies sold since the first film’s release.
“What makes The Bad Guys franchiseso remarkable is its ability to balance outrageous comedy with real emotional depth,” says Margie Cohn, President of DreamWorks Animation. “Pierre and his team have created a new chapter that speaks to kids’ sense of fun while delivering meaningful themes of redemption and second chances for adults. With The Bad Guys 2, they have taken the energy and style of the original and built on it in bold and surprising ways.”
The story picks up at a pivotal moment for our reformed antiheroes. Having served their time and embraced the possibility of a new path, Mr. Wolf and his crew now face their greatest challenge yet: becoming functional members of society. “At the end of The Bad Guys, they are getting out of prison and Governor Diane Foxington shows up at the gates asking, ‘Are you ready to get to work?’” returning producer Damon Ross says. “We do not know exactly what that means until this new film begins, and it turns out, she just wants them to get literal work, that is to say, jobs. They are living in the real world now and going ‘good’ proves harder than they imagined.”
This premise opens a trove of comedic potential while tapping into something more poignant: the uncomfortable, often absurd challenge of reinvention. The film finds rich humor in watching these once-unstoppable master criminals—who pulled off elaborate heists with ease—now fumbling through job interviews, apartment applications and the mundane realities of a nine-to-five existence. Suddenly, their signature mischief and criminal cleverness feel irrelevant and useless.
For Perifel, the opportunity to revisit these characters in this unfamiliar setting offered irresistible creative possibilities. “The idea of these lifelong criminals trying to follow society’s rules, like paying rent and driving the speed limit, was so funny to us, we couldn’t wait to explore that concept,” Perifel says. “But it also felt emotionally rich. This cast has such great chemistry and putting them in this new situation gave us the chance to explore how they would evolve under these new societal pressures.”
The journey for The Bad Guys 2 began with an unusual decision. Unlike most productions, which wait for box office results before starting to think about the next installment, The Bad Guys 2 entered development five months before the first film even reached theaters. “Starting a sequel that early is almost unheard of,” Ross says. “You have no idea how the first film will perform or how audiences will respond, but we were confident in what we had built, and the studio leadership was supportive. We gathered a brain trust of artists, writers and key creatives who understood the tone and spirit of the original, and spent days brainstorming: What would surprise audiences while staying true to these characters and to the heart of The Bad Guys? How do we take them somewhere they have never been?”
During these sessions, the team found their answer in an unlikely place: a fan-favorite moment from Blabey’s book series that had kids in hysterics. “When we were brainstorming, someone brought up this scene from book five that Aaron says is the most talked-about moment in the entire series,” Perifel says. “Piranha and Wolf are trapped in a spacesuit, Piranha has eaten too many burritos, and the resulting gas nearly suffocates Wolf. But Wolf cleverly punctures the suit and uses the escaping air to propel them back to safety. It is absurd and brilliant at the same time, and we knew we had to find a way to include it.”
What began as a single outrageous gag evolved into the creative anchor for the entire film. “That space moment became our North Star, but figuring out how to get our Bad Guys to outer space is where the story really came to life and this narrative challenge helped to define the tonal identity for the film,” Ross says. “The first movie was our love letter to heist films like Ocean’s Eleven,with a touch of Quentin Tarantino. For the sequel, we wanted to go bigger and explore other genres. We looked to Mission: Impossible and James Bond for inspiration—bigger action, bigger spectacle and much higher stakes.”
The expansion required new villains worthy of the film’s elevated scope. Enter The Bad Girls—a crew of ruthless criminals who become the catalyst for the Bad Guys’ reluctant return to their old ways. “The Bad Girls represent what our guys were before they found their morals,” Perifel says. “They are brilliant strategists who recognize the talents of The Bad Guys and manipulate them through elaborate schemes and psychological pressure. They kidnap the gang and force them into one last job to steal a rocket from a tech billionaire’s aerospace facility. Even though our heroes have committed to staying good, they are presented with an impossible choice.”
That collaboration extended to working with author Blabey, whose books provide the franchise’s foundation. “Aaron has been incredibly generous,” Sans says. “His books have this amazing balance of sophistication and silliness, with a lot of heart underneath the outrageous humor. The illustration style has this energy and personality that we wanted to honor visually, even as we expanded the world. He has given us creative freedom, but we have always stayed anchored to the spirit of what he originally created.”
That push and pull between mischief and meaning is at the heart of the franchise. “We describe our creative approach as ‘sophisticated stupid,’” Ross says. “It is about balancing smart and rich storytelling with moments of pure, unfiltered absurdity. The books are full of this, and we have made it central to our filmmaking philosophy. Pierre typically gravitates toward sophistication; I lean toward the more outrageous elements and JP finds the middle ground.”
Beneath the action and comedy, the film wrestles with a universal question: can people truly change? “This is ultimately a story about second chances,” Perifel says. “How do you rebuild your life after a history of mistakes? Even if you have changed, how do you prove it—especially when the world keeps pulling you back toward who you used to be? Our characters are learning to use their old skills in new ways, to serve rather than to harm. That tension is what drives their journey.”
These themes elevate the film beyond its genre roots and into the complexities of identity. “At its core, the story explores what truly makes someone good or bad,” Sans says. “How do we define goodness? Is it who you were or who you choose to become? In a world that often encourages cynicism, these are the kinds of questions we wanted to pose—wrapped in a package that is still hilarious and wildly entertaining.”
For Perifel, The Bad Guys 2 was both a creative challenge and a personal milestone. “I feel incredibly lucky to have had the chance to return to these characters,” Perifel says. “To take them on another wild ride, push them into unfamiliar territory and see how they grow. Of course, making a sequel always comes with inherent pressures: self-doubt, second-guessing, sleepless nights. It is like solving a thousand-piece puzzle without knowing what the picture looks like. What got me through was our remarkable team. Any time the process felt overwhelming, I would look around at this extraordinary group —the artists, technicians, producers, musicians, animators, sound designers and actors. They brought passion to every frame. That is our real superpower.”
Director Pierre Perifel and the creative team drew heavily from stylish crime and action films:
Quentin Tarantino: The film was pitched as “a Tarantino movie for kids,” especially drawing from Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction
Ocean’s Eleven, Snatch, Baby Driver: For the slick heist mechanics and ensemble energy
Anime & Manga: Lupin III, Sherlock Hound, and Cowboy Bebop influenced the animation style and character dynamic.
The animation was inspired by:
Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse – pushing DreamWorks toward a more stylized, illustrative look
French and Japanese animation aesthetics, blending cool and silly, sophistication and slapstick
When The Bad Guys burst onto screens in 2022, it flipped the script on animated crime capers with swagger, style, and unexpected soul. Drawing from heist classics and Tarantino cool—repackaged for a younger audience—it reintroduced audiences to a crew of misunderstood “villains” trying to rewrite their reputation.
Now with The Bad Guys 2 hitting cinemas in 2025, the saga deepens: grappling with the fragility of change, the legacy of influence, and the temptations that test even the noblest of turnarounds. Blending snappy visuals with thoughtful arcs, the films aren’t just kid-friendly chaos—they’re redemption stories with bite.
Pierre Perifel is a French filmmaker and animator whose journey from student shorts to DreamWorks blockbusters is a testament to artistic passion and perseverance. He studied at École Émile-Cohl before transferring to the prestigious Gobelins, l’École de l’image, where he co-directed the award-winning student film Le Building—a hybrid of 2D and 3D animation that gained international acclaim. Moved to the U.S. in 2008 to join DreamWorks Animation.Made his feature directorial debut with The Bad Guys (2022), a stylish animated heist film that became a global hit. Perifel is known for blending European visual sensibilities with Hollywood storytelling scale.
Director Pierre Perifel of DreamWorks Animation’s The Bad Guys 2. ABImages
The Bad Guys 2 screenplay reflects a collaborative spirit
It’s credited primarily to Kevin Asbury, who took over writing duties for the sequel. Asbury is the son of the late Kelly Asbury, co-director of Shrek 2 and Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron, and his involvement brings a legacy of animated storytelling to the project.
While Asbury is the sole credited screenwriter, the film’s development involved close collaboration with:
Aaron Blabey, the original book series creator and executive producer
Pierre Perifel, returning as director, and JP Sans as co-director
The DreamWorks story team, including Katherine De Vries (head of story) and a large crew of storyboard artists and visual developers
This kind of collaboration is typical in animation, where the screenplay often evolves through storyboarding, voice actor improvisation, and visual development. So while Asbury shaped the script, the final narrative is the result of many creative voices working in sync.
The Books by Aaron Blabey
Aaron Blabey’s journey with The Bad Guys is a masterclass in how personal passion, cinematic love, and a desire to reach reluctant readers can spark a global phenomenon.
Aaron Blabey began his career not with books, but on screen. He was a successful actor throughout the 1990s and early 2000s, best known for his award-winning role in The Damnation of Harvey McHugh (1994). But in 2005, he stepped away from acting to pursue a more personal calling: storytelling through illustration and children’s literature.
Blabey’s first picture book, Pearl Barley and Charlie Parsley (2007), won the Children’s Book Council of Australia Award and marked the beginning of a prolific new chapter. He followed it with acclaimed titles like Sunday Chutney, The Ghost of Miss Annabel Spoon, and The Brothers Quibble—each blending humor, emotional intelligence, and visual flair.
Blabey created The Bad Guys inspired by his children, especially his youngest son, who was struggling with dull school readers. Blabey wanted to write something cooler, something that would make kids laugh and feel empowered. He blended His son’s love of scary animals and fast cars, his own obsession with heist films and redemption arcs, and a desire to tackle prejudice and perception, using misunderstood animals as metaphors.
Blabey wrote and illustrated all 20 books in the series. The books read like storyboards, with dynamic panelling and punchy dialogue. Each book ends on a cliffhanger, encouraging binge-reading and emotional investment. This approach made the books feel like animated films on paper, which naturally attracted Hollywood interest.
He once described the concept as “Tarantino for kids”—a mashup of Reservoir Dogs suits and Looney Tunes chaos, filtered through a child’s lens.
In 2015, Blabey launched The Bad Guys, a graphic novel series about misunderstood animals trying to do good. It became a #1 New York Times bestseller, with over 35 million books in print worldwide. The series was adapted into a hit DreamWorks animated film in 2022, with Blabey serving as executive producer.
Blabey’s work is known for its cinematic pacing, irreverent humour, and emotional resonance. He often writes with his children in mind, aiming to make books that are “cool enough” to hook reluctant readers. His storytelling blends genre tropes with moral complexity, making his books as appealing to adults as they are to kids.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on How Bring Her Back Turns Grief Into Resurrection
“When you’re developing and writing something, it’s just whatever’s happening to you at the time, whatever you’re going through at the time is like automatically inherent in the material,” says writer-director Danny Philippou of Bring Her Back, a new tale of horror he created with his brother Michael.
With their 2022 debut feature and horror phenomenon Talk to Me, filmmakers Danny and Michael Philippou established themselves as some of the most exciting new voices in genre filmmaking. Where that movie, in which teenagers chase the high of conjuring spirits to possess them at house parties, was partly inspired by the recklessness they’d experienced as high school students, it was grounded, and elevated, by a very real sense of consequences.
“With the movies that we make, whether it’s horror or any other genre, we really want our stories to have a strong emotional core. The stuff we want to create, we want it to work on multiple levels,” said Michael of their first feature. Danny agrees, emphasising that their features so far are clearly and confidently a work of genre. “We don’t want to be scared of something that’s a horror movie. We want to embrace that it’s a horror film, and be proud of making a horror film.”
It is with masterful control of the genre, and how audiences respond to their stories, that the brothers are able to combine horror, dark emotional undercurrents, and surprising comedy to maximum effect — putting real, relatable characters through the ringer to reach something more effective and far more memorable in the end.
The filmmakers cite the wave of Korean genre films of the 2000s, notably Bong Joon-ho’s Memories of Murder, as an inspiration in this way, how the now-Oscar-winning auteur was able to place queasy humor, slapstick, and the long emotional tail of trauma at the core of a film about the fundamentally unknowable mind of a serial killer.
Now, two years after their breakout film, the Philippou’s follow-up is Bring Her Back, returning the writing-directing duo to an excavation of the horrors of suburban family life that is heightened by the deepest emotional shocks and gnarliest gore of any genre film in recent memory.
When two step-siblings are placed in the care of a mysterious foster mother, they find themselves drawn into a world where grief and memory blur the line between reality and the unknown. Set in a remote home steeped in silence and secrets, Bring Her Back is a haunting exploration of love, loss, and the lengths we go to hold on — even when letting go might be the only way forward.
It began with a much softer, more innocent inspiration
“Our friend’s little sister is non-sighted, and there was a situation with her family where she really wanted to go and catch the bus by herself, but her parents wouldn’t let her do it,” Danny says. “She was trying to communicate with them that she’s going to have to learn to navigate the world without everyone babying her all the time, that she needs to have her own independence.”
That thematic core, of a teenage girl making her first steps towards independence, would manifest in the story of Piper (Sora Wong), who has low vision, shielded from the darkness of life by her protective older brother, Andy (Billy Barratt). Andy tends to paint the world in rose-colored hues for Piper, sheltering her from its worst because he can’t bear to share a world that is so ugly with his little sister. But after the two siblings experience a tragedy and its unavoidable horror, they are flung into far more unthinkable circumstances.
Piper and Andy land under the care of Laura (Sally Hawkins), a child-care worker and counsellor living in a secluded home with the orphaned, and increasingly troubled, Oliver (Jonah Wren Phillips). As brother and sister slowly unravel the horrible truth behind Oliver’s disturbing behaviour, his deterioration appearance, and a mysterious empty swimming pool at the center of Laura’s property, the Philippous methodically reveal the internal underworld of their tale, through snippets of horrific found footage and the dawning realisation of their new circumstances.
“Talk to Me feels like a party horror film, but this film is more character-driven,” Danny says. “We liked the challenge of a contained story about these three characters, focusing on their relationships.”
For Laura, whose secrets drive the narrative, the brothers were inspired in part by a lineage of films stretching at least as far back as the 1962 classic What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, which focus on broken characters who withdraw from the real world into a dark fantasy of their own creation. When the fantasy is shattered by the world around them, their response to that incursion is often one of violent withdrawal — there are few things more powerful than a comforting delusion.
The characters in these films are “not necessarily bad people to begin with, but the world is bad, and bad things have happened to them and they’ve internalized everything,” Danny says. “And so, with Laura, what was exciting was trying to write a character that you uncomfortably sympathize or identify with.”
The Philippous instantly thought of Academy Award-nominated actress Sally Hawkins (The Shape of Water), whose dramaticrange and ability to embody a character’s fragile past made her a dream fit for the role. They were also intrigued by the fact that she had never quite tackled a film like this before — even if the emotional intensity was more similar to her work with the great Mike Leigh in Happy-Go-Lucky and Vera Drake.
“Seeing all these different characters that she would build big backstories for, that was so exciting to me, the idea of someone bringing that much care to her characters,” Danny says.
Adds Michael: “Laura is written almost in a more outwardly confident way, but Sally brought this depth to it and portrayed it in a different, more interesting way. Laura struggles with what she’s doing in the film, and that is what humanizes her, I think.”
Hawkins, for her part, was deeply impressed by the young film makers, the character-driven way they were building the film, and their way of working with the cast.
“Danny and Michael will storm the world. They have never-ending energy and drive, which can only inspire those around them.
They are so smart, so witty, and coupled with such emotional intelligence and integrity,” Hawkins says. “It’s a delicate piece and dealing with delicate subject matter, albeit in a rather terrifying frame or mask. I felt completely supported and trusted and given the space needed to do what I felt I needed to do.”
First with the ghastly other-side souls of Talk to Me and now with the encroaching demonic presence of Bring Her Back, the Philippous never tire of dreaming up work for their talented makeup design teams. They enlisted both Sydney-based Make-up Effects Group (M.E.G.) and Larry Van Duynhoven’s Melbourne-based Scarecrew Studios for the film.
“We love practical effects and building stuff and trying to find things that haven’t been done on film before,” Danny says.
All of this is in service of the built-in lore of the film. The lore of Talk to Me was potent but still somewhat willfully obscured by the way the Philippous chose to tell that story. It was, in fact, part of the film’s narrative engine that there was this mysterious hand with a lost legend that everyone in the film was trying to understand and piece together. In reality, the directors had written at length about all of the spirits the kids in the film were connecting with by engaging with the hand, as well as the experience of every kid who engaged with it.
The same is true of Bring Her Back, with its dark and foreboding ritual seen in fleeting VHS glimpses throughout the film. That ritual holds the immediate answer for what’s going on with Oliver, but it only scratches the surface of the film’s internal mythology.
“I always like when you don’t over-explain that stuff. You hint at it,” Danny says. “If you read the original script of The Shining, where you know that Jack Nicholson is actually a reincarnation of this other person that used to live at the hotel. All that stuff is completely stripped out in the movie, and then it’s the photo at the end where people are, like, ‘Wait a second.’”
The practical effects and world-building, and the way the film makers draw audiences in, are all in service of the central and terrifying logic of the film, one that lands with an emotional wallop when audiences realize the truth about Oliver’s condition.
“Oliver as a character is a manifestation of grief and the way it can eat you alive,” Danny concludes. “That’s the monster in this story: the consuming, never-ending pain of unresolved grief. The VHS tapes of the ritual are essentially a corrupted inversion of Laura’s home videos, another reflection of her unnatural grieving process.”
Just as Talk To Me ended on a thrillingly expansive note, showing that the story in the film was just one part of a larger, fully-fledged world, Bring Her Back’s unshakeable and haunting impact is achieved by the sense of reality and dedication to craft that the filmmaking duo bring to their new film.
Twin brothers Danny and Michael Philippou are an Australian writer-director duo, known for their online presence in comic horror and action
Danny and Michael’s passion for storytelling began on YouTube where their videos have been watched over 1.5 billion times with over 6.7 million subscribers. They gained notoriety from their homemade slasher videos, stunts, and comedy sketches. In 2015, RackaRacka’s channel was awarded the Streamy’s Best International YouTube Channel, landed on Variety’s 2016 Fame Changers, and ranked 5th on Financial Review’s Cultural Power List. In their home country, RackaRacka won numerous awards at Online Video Awards and the Australian Academy of Cinema and Television Arts Award for Best Web Show.
Danny and Michael Philippou are twin brothers best known for their visceral blend of horror, comedy, and emotional storytelling. They rose to fame through their YouTube channel RackaRacka, which launched in 2013 and quickly gained a cult following for its chaotic, stunt-heavy videos that fused pop culture parodies with outrageous physicality.
They began filming backyard wrestling videos at age 11, inspired by WWE, often staging elaborate (and dangerous) stunts with friends. Their YouTube channel exploded with viral hits like Harry Potter vs Star Wars, earning millions of views and multiple awards, including the Streamy for Best International Channel. Their film industry breakthrough was launched when they worked behind the scenes on The Babadook (2014), which helped refine their cinematic instincts.
Known for their Greek heritage and DIY ethos, the brothers blend genre spectacle with emotional depth, often using horror as a lens to explore grief, identity, and obsession. Their feature debut, Talk to Me (2023), premiered at Sundance and was lauded for its psychological intensity. Bring Her Back (2025) followed, cementing their reputation as emotionally driven genre filmmakers.
They’ve described their work as a way to “exorcise demons” — not just for their characters, but for themselves.
As for Talk to Me 2, the brothers Philippou have written two different versions of the sequel, one that is directly connected to its predecessor, and another that’s more of a “sidequel.” Both stories are centered on new characters.
“One is continuing the story exactly on, and then another one is focusing on a new set of characters,” Danny Philippou shares. “We’ve written two sets of different characters in two different worlds that focus on two different themes.”
Screenwriter Bill Hinzman’s first credit was Talk to Me, which he co-wrote with director Danny Philippou. He has worked with both Danny and Michael on a range of projects since 2011.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Prompting with Precision: A Writer’s Guide to Working with AI
In the world of AI-assisted writing, the prompt is your compass. It doesn’t just guide the output— it defines it. Whether you’re crafting a story, refining a lesson plan, or exploring a philosophical idea, the way you frame your prompt determines how deeply and accurately the AI can respond.
Precision Shapes Possibility
A vague prompt like “Write a story” yields generic results. But “Write a 500-word story about a grieving botanist who discovers a plant that blooms only when someone lies” unlocks narrative specificity and emotional texture. The more detailed your prompt, the more nuanced the response.
You’re Programming with Language
As MIT’s teaching lab puts it, prompting is like “programming with words”. You’re not just asking a question—you’re setting parameters, tone, structure, and intent. That’s why prompt engineering is becoming a creative discipline in its own right.
It’s a Tool for Reflection
For writers and educators, prompts aren’t just instructions—they’re invitations. A well-crafted prompt can:
Reveal hidden assumptions
Spark unexpected insights
Encourage emotional risk-taking
Iteration Is Part of the Process
Even the best prompts evolve. Sometimes it takes a few tries to find the phrasing that unlocks the response you’re after. That’s not failure—it’s dialogue. Think of it as a dance between intention and interpretation.
Prompts Teach Us About Ourselves
The way we ask reveals what we value. Are we seeking clarity, beauty, provocation, or comfort? In that sense, prompting is a mirror. And when paired with AI, it becomes a powerful tool for self-discovery and creative expansion.
In the end, a prompt is more than just an instruction—it’s a signal to the self, a conversation starter, a mirror held up to what we value and envision. Whether working with AI or excavating our own stories, the power lies in how we ask. When we craft our prompts with intention, curiosity, and care, we don’t just guide the machine—we guide ourselves. Because every great story, every bold idea, begins not with an answer, but with the right invitation.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Wings of Grace: How a Penguin, a Teacher, and a Nation in Turmoil Found Unlikely Harmony
In the heart of Argentina’s political unrest, a quietly extraordinary story waddled into existence. The Penguin Lessons, brought to vivid life by Jeff Pope’s adaptation of Tom Michell’s memoir, is more than a tale of man meets penguin—it’s a meditation on kindness, conscience, and connection in a world slipping into authoritarian silence. “It’s not just a story about a man and a penguin—it’s about how the smallest act of kindness can ripple through a life, especially when the world around you is falling apart,” says Pope.
Directed by Peter Cattaneo and based on Tom Michell’s memoir, The Penguin Lessons is a profoundly affecting comedy-drama that blends personal transformation with political undercurrents, all sparked by an unlikely companion: a rescued penguin named Juan Salvador.
Cattaneo, best known for The Full Monty, brings his signature blend of warmth and poignancy to the screen, while Pope—who previously penned Philomena—adapts Michell’s real-life story with a balance of humour and quiet introspection. Their collaboration gives the film its gentle rhythm, allowing the emotional undercurrents to surface through character rather than spectacle.
What begins with a simple act of rescue on a Uruguayan beach unfolds into a deeply personal reckoning, as an English teacher and an oil-slicked seabird forge a bond that challenges the boundaries between absurdity and grace, humour and heartbreak.
At its heart, the film follows Tom Michell (played by Steve Coogan), a disillusioned English teacher who takes a post at a boys’ school in Argentina during the turbulent 1970s. His encounter with a lone, oil-slicked penguin on a Uruguayan beach becomes the catalyst for a personal reckoning. The penguin, whom he names Juan Salvador, becomes a symbol of unlikely companionship in a time of isolation, moral clarity in a politically murky environment, and emotional thawing, as Tom rediscovers empathy and purpose.
Steve Coogan and Tom Michell
Set against the backdrop of Argentina’s 1976 military coup, the film subtly weaves in themes of privilege and detachment, as Tom initially remains insulated from the unrest, moral responsibility, as he’s drawn into the lives of those resisting oppression, and cultural dissonance, highlighting the contrast between Tom’s British sensibilities and the volatile Argentine landscape.
Juan Salvador isn’t just comic relief—he’s a living metaphor for innocence caught in chaos, loyalty and resilience, mirroring the human characters’ struggles, and perhaps most poignantly, for the unexpected ways we find meaning in fractured times.
The inspiration behind The Penguin Lessons
“All of a sudden I found I was hoping against hope that the penguin would survive, because, as of that instant, he had a name and his name was Juan Salvador Pinguino and with his name came a surge of hope and the beginning of a bond that would last a lifetime.” — The Penguin Lessons
The inspiration stems directly from Tom Michell’s real-life experience, as chronicled in his 2015 memoir of the same name. While teaching at a boys’ boarding school in Argentina during the politically volatile 1970s, Michell took a trip to Uruguay, where he stumbled upon a beach littered with oil-slicked penguins. Among the lifeless bodies, he found one survivor. Acting on impulse—and perhaps a touch of romantic bravado—he rescued the penguin, cleaned it up in his hotel bathtub, and named it Juan Salvador.
What began as a spontaneous act of compassion evolved into a profound companionship. The penguin refused to leave his side, eventually becoming a beloved figure at the school and a quiet catalyst for Michell’s emotional and moral awakening. This unlikely bond, set against the backdrop of Argentina’s military coup, offered a poignant contrast between innocence and oppression, personal detachment and social responsibility.
Director Peter Cattaneo and screenwriter Jeff Pope were drawn to this story not just for its charm, but for its layered emotional resonance—how a small act of kindness can ripple through a life, and how even the most unexpected creatures can become our greatest teachers
Jeff Pope’s Screenplay: Translating Memory into Narrative
Jeff Pope has a gift for balancing personal reflection with broader human truths (Philomena, Stan & Ollie), and in adapting Tom Michell’s memoir, he distilled:
Anecdotal warmth into a narrative arc: The memoir meanders, full of charming digressions. Pope carves out a more cinematic structure—focusing on Tom’s emotional growth and the symbolic presence of Juan Salvador.
Character nuance over spectacle: He refrains from over-sentimentalizing the penguin or politicizing the backdrop. Instead, he lets quiet gestures—like Tom’s hesitation to get involved—speak volumes.
Lightness as resistance: Pope uses humor not to escape the darker socio-political context, but to subtly comment on it. The laughter comes with an edge, sharpening themes of complicity and conscience.
Peter Cattaneo’s Direction: Heartfelt with a Dash of Rebellion
Cattaneo, known for championing the underdog without losing a sense of fun (The Full Monty), brings:
Restraint in tone: Rather than indulging in emotional manipulation, he leans into understatement. Many key moments play out in lingering silence or with minimal dialogue.
Visual metaphor: The penguin’s presence becomes a visual counterpoint to the school’s rigid formality and Argentina’s political volatility—softness gliding across a surface barely concealing turmoil.
Interpersonal choreography: Cattaneo stages scenes to reflect unspoken shifts—Tom loosening his tie becomes just as revealing as a monologue, suggesting emotional thaw without exposition.
Memoir vs. Film: Key Differences
While Tom Michell’s memoir, The Penguin Lessons, unfolds as a warm, anecdotal reflection on serendipity and travel, the film adaptation by Jeff Pope and Peter Cattaneo reshapes it into a more structured and emotionally charged narrative.
The memoir wanders amiably through personal memories, often highlighting the quirky charm of real-life events, while the film sharpens its focus on Tom’s emotional arc and his growing social awareness against the backdrop of Argentina’s political unrest.
Juan Salvador, the rescued penguin, serves as a delightful companion in the book, but in the film he becomes a poignant symbol—of loyalty, conscience, and unexpected salvation.
Moreover, where Michell’s political commentary is subtle and observational, the film leans more into its setting to underscore the tensions and quiet heroism of those resisting the regime.
The result is a cinematic tale that doesn’t merely chronicle events, but instead finds deeper resonance in what those events reveal about human connection and moral courage.
Jeff Pope began his career in journalism before transitioning into television, where he quickly established himself as a gifted storyteller with a keen eye for emotionally resonant, real-life narratives. Pope gained early recognition for his work on Fool’s Gold: The Story of the Brinks-Mat Robbery (1992) and went on to become Head of Factual Drama at ITV.
He is best known for writing and producing critically acclaimed films such as Philomena (2013), which earned him an Academy Award nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay, and Stan & Ollie (2018), a tender portrait of the legendary comedy duo. His work often explores themes of redemption, resilience, and the quiet dignity of ordinary people caught in extraordinary circumstances.
In 2025, Pope adapted The Penguin Lessons, bringing his signature blend of warmth and emotional depth to the screen. His collaborations with directors like Stephen Frears and Peter Cattaneo have cemented his reputation as one of Britain’s most empathetic and versatile screenwriters.
Peter Joseph Cattaneo was born on 1 July 1964 in Twickenham, London, England. He studied graphic design with a focus on film at Leeds Polytechnic and later graduated from the Royal College of Art in 1989. His early short film Dear Rosie (1990) earned him an Academy Award nomination, setting the stage for a career defined by emotional nuance and comedic timing.
Cattaneo rose to international prominence with The Full Monty (1997), a surprise global hit that earned him an Oscar nomination for Best Director and won four BAFTAs, including Best Film. The film’s success established him as a director with a keen eye for underdog stories and ensemble dynamics.
Over the years, he has directed a range of projects, including Lucky Break (2001), Opal Dream (2006), The Rocker (2008), and Military Wives (2019). He also helmed every episode of the BAFTA-winning BBC series Rev. (2010–2014), showcasing his talent for character-driven comedy.
In 2025, Cattaneo directed The Penguin Lessons, a poignant adaptation of Tom Michell’s memoir, reaffirming his gift for stories that balance whimsy with emotional depth. He was appointed Member of the Order of the British Empire (MBE) in 1998 for his contributions to British cinema
Copyright: Distributors: Lionsgate UK (UK and Ireland), Sony Pictures Classics (US)
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Quiet Authority: Trusting Your Instinct as a Writer
For writers navigating the fog between self-doubt and conviction, instinct is often the only light that cuts through. It’s not loud or certain—it flickers quietly beneath the surface, urging you toward the sentence that feels alive, the story that refuses to follow the rules, the choice that scares you most because it just might be true.
There’s a pulse beneath every great story. It’s the heartbeat that tells you when a sentence lands too heavily, when a scene needs air, when a line of dialogue aches for silence. That pulse? It’s instinct. And for a writer, it might just be the most honest compass in the room.
Trusting your instinct isn’t a matter of luck or talent—it’s a deliberate act of courage. And in a world crowded with advice, algorithms, and endless rewrites, tuning into that quiet certainty may be the most radical thing a writer can do.
Why Instinct Matters
Writers are often taught to analyze, outline, revise, and repeat. But instinct—the quiet, inexplicable knowing—thrives where rules falter. It speaks when logic stalls, when a character’s action feels off despite “plot logic,” or when a story demands a new shape.
Instinct defies formulas. It leans into mystery, into what feels true rather than what looks right.
It chooses resonance over reason, trusting what lingers rather than what impresses.It favors the shape of truth over the neatness of structure.It doesn’t ask for evidence—it asks for honesty.It follows the pulse, not the pattern.
It preserves your voice. Every writer has a narrative fingerprint. Instinct reminds you of your own syntax, rhythm, and emotional truth.
It’s the signature beneath every story—the cadence, the pause, the way your voice bends around truth.Instinct doesn’t just point the way; it pulls you back to the rhythm only you can hear.Your narrative fingerprint isn’t what you write, but how you feel your way through the page.
It signals discomfort. If a scene itches, if a metaphor clunks—your gut often knows before your head does.
If something in the prose scratches at you, chances are it’s your instinct asking for a cleaner truth. A clunky metaphor is your gut’s way of whispering, “not quite”—long before logic finds the words. When the sentence sticks instead of sings, it’s rarely a technical issue—it’s a quiet emotional mismatch your instinct can already sense.
Learning to Hear It
Instinct is not loud. It’s often the pause before revision, the knot in your stomach during a read-through. To hear it clearly, you need to make space for it.
Free write without judgment. Stream-of-consciousness drafts often reveal your unfiltered voice.
Your instinct doesn’t need polish—it needs permission. Let the words spill, unedited and unsupervised. In the mess, your truest voice waits.
Step away. Distance lets instinct echo back stronger.
Some truths only sound their names in the silence. Distance isn’t abandonment—it’s echo. It’s where instinct returns not as a whisper, but a bell.
Read aloud. Your ear can catch what your eye has learned to ignore.
Reading aloud turns the page into a mirror—not of grammar, but of feeling. What your eye has glossed over in familiarity, your ear catches in rhythm, dissonance, or sudden silence. It’s instinct given voice.
Track what lingers. What images, lines, or emotions haunt you after writing? That’s your inner barometer talking.
If a phrase lingers like smoke in the room… pay attention. That’s the line reaching back.
When Instinct Feels Like Fear
Let’s be honest—sometimes instinct and fear wear the same face. The challenge is discernment.
Learning to separate the two is part of a writer’s maturing process. Fear protects. Instinct guides.
Owning Your Gut in a World of Feedback
Every writer craves validation, but too much feedback can muffle your inner voice. When others offer edits:
Ask: Does this suggestion align with the heart of what I’m trying to say?
Remember: No one else is holding the entire shape of your story in their mind the way you are.
Take what deepens the work. Discard what sterilizes it.
Our The Write Journey course includes an interactive writing exercise that invites writers to listen for instinct beneath the noise of technique, ideal for The Write Journey‘s introspective tone.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on A Symphony of Fate and Faith: The Story Behind The Discovery of Heaven
When screenwriter Edwin de Vries took on the monumental task of adapting Harry Mulisch’s 900-page epic The Discovery of Heaven, he wasn’t just translating a novel—he was distilling a cosmos. “You can’t film a book like this literally,” de Vries said. “You have to find its heartbeat and let that guide the story.” That heartbeat, pulsing through divine schemes and human entanglements, became the compass for one of Dutch cinema’s most daring literary adaptations.
The film The Discovery of Heaven (2001), adapted from Harry Mulisch’s acclaimed novel, is a richly layered philosophical fantasy that explores the intersection of divine will, human agency, and the fragility of civilization. Though condensing a 900-page novel into a 2.5-hour film posed challenges, it retains the novel’s existential urgency and mythic resonance.
Its significance lies in both its narrative ambition and its thematic depth: The story begins with celestial beings orchestrating events on Earth to retrieve the stone tablets of the Ten Commandments, symbolizing God’s disillusionment with humanity. This premise sets the stage for a meditation on free will vs. determinism, as the characters unknowingly fulfill a divine mission while navigating their own complex lives.
The film centers on the intertwined lives of Max, Onno, and Ada—three intellectuals whose relationships are manipulated to produce Quinten, the child destined to return the tablets. Their emotional entanglements reflect themes of love, betrayal, and existential purpose, grounding the metaphysical plot in deeply human experiences.
Spanning decades and continents—from post-WWII Netherlands to Rome and Jerusalem—the film weaves historical trauma and cultural memory into its spiritual quest. It subtly critiques the decline of moral authority and the erosion of sacred values in modern society.
Directed by Jeroen Krabbé, the film was one of the most ambitious Dutch productions of its time, praised for its visual storytelling and intellectual gravitas. In essence, The Discovery of Heaven is not just a story about divine intervention—it’s a reflection on what it means to be human in a world where meaning is elusive and destiny may be written in the stars.
Where the Celestial Meets the Intimate: Inside The Discovery of Heaven
Harry Kurt Victor Mulisch was born on July 29, 1927, in Haarlem, Netherlands, and became one of the most influential Dutch writers of the 20th century. Alongside Willem Frederik Hermans and Gerard Reve, he was considered part of the “Great Three” of postwar Dutch literature.
Mulisch’s life was marked by paradox: his Jewish mother’s family perished in the Holocaust, while his Austrian father collaborated with the Nazis, working for a German-controlled bank. This duality profoundly shaped his worldview and literary voice. As Mulisch once said, “I didn’t just write about World War II—I am World War II.”
Harry Mulisch
He wrote more than 80 works, including novels, plays, essays, and poetry. His major themes include war, guilt, mythology, and metaphysics, often blending historical realism with philosophical inquiry.
Harry Mulisch’s 1992 novel is widely regarded as his magnum opus and one of the greatest Dutch literary works of the 20th century. Mulisch, known for blending history, philosophy, and metaphysics, drew on a wide range of inspirations:
Mulisch was fascinated by theological paradoxes, particularly the tension between divine omniscience and human free will. The novel—and by extension the film—was shaped by post-WWII existentialism, reflecting on humanity’s moral failures and the search for meaning in a seemingly indifferent universe.
The novel—and by extension the film—was shaped by post-WWII existentialism, reflecting on humanity’s moral failures and the search for meaning in a seemingly indifferent universe. The backdrop of European history, including the Holocaust and Cold War tensions, adds emotional and philosophical weight to the narrative.
Mulisch received numerous honors, including the Prijs der Nederlandse Letteren (1995) and the International Nonino Prize (2007). He passed away on October 30, 2010, in Amsterdam, leaving behind a legacy that continues to shape Dutch and European literature.
From Page to Providence: Condensing a Monumental Narrative
Director Jeroen Krabbé was drawn to the novel’s epic scope and metaphysical ambition, seeing it as a rare opportunity to bring a Dutch literary classic to the screen with international resonance.
The novel spans generations, continents, and metaphysical realms, blending theology, politics, and personal drama. Compressing this into a coherent film meant streamlining subplots and omitting philosophical digressions, which some viewers felt diluted the novel’s depth.
Translating the novel’s celestial framing device—angels orchestrating events from beyond—into cinematic language was a major hurdle. The film’s ambition to depict both earthly realism and divine intervention required a delicate tonal balance.
Jeroen Krabbé
Krabbé is a celebrated Dutch actor, director, and painter known for his commanding presence in both European and Hollywood cinema. Born into a family of artists—his father Maarten and grandfather Hendrik were renowned painters—Krabbé initially trained as a visual artist before turning to acting. He studied at the Amsterdam Academy of Performing Arts, becoming its youngest-ever student.
Krabbé rose to prominence in the 1970s and 1980s through collaborations with director Paul Verhoeven, notably in Soldier of Orange (1977) and The Fourth Man (1983). His international breakthrough came with villainous roles in major films such as The Living Daylights (1987), The Prince of Tides (1991), and The Fugitive (1993). Known for his multilingual fluency and magnetic screen presence, he became a go-to actor for complex, often morally ambiguous characters.
In 1998, Krabbé made his directorial debut with Left Luggage, a poignant drama about Jewish identity and memory, which was nominated for the Golden Bear at the Berlin International Film Festival. He followed this with The Discovery of Heaven (2001), adapting Harry Mulisch’s metaphysical novel into one of the most ambitious Dutch film productions of its time.
Beyond film, Krabbé is an accomplished painter with several exhibitions to his name, and he has produced documentaries on artists such as Van Gogh and Picasso. He has been married to Herma van Gemert since 1964 and is the father of three sons, including Dutch TV presenter Martijn Krabbé.
The filmmakers were navigating a labyrinth of ideas, trying to preserve the novel’s soul while crafting a poignant film
The screenplay, co-written by Edwin de Vries, was developed with input from Mulisch himself, ensuring the film retained the novel’sintellectual rigor and mythic structure. Working closely with director Jeroen Krabbé and with input from the novel’s author, Harry Mulisch.
He faced the daunting task of distilling Mulisch’s sprawling, metaphysical novel into a cinematic form—balancing intellectual fidelity with emotional clarity.
His adaptation is often praised for capturing the novel’s mythic structure and philosophical ambition, even if some of the novel’s intricate layers had to be streamlined for the screen.
Edwin de Vries
De Vries approached the adaptation with a clear-eyed sense of reverence and pragmatism and pared down the novel’s sprawling narrative into a more linear plotline, emphasizing the celestial mission and the human relationships that drive it. He retained the core mythic arc—the divine retrieval of the Ten Commandments—while trimming subplots and philosophical digressions that, though rich in the novel, would have overwhelmed the film’s pacing.
Recognizing that film thrives on emotional immediacy, he centered the screenplay on the triangle between Max, Onno, and Ada, using their entanglement as the emotional and symbolic engine of the story. This allowed the metaphysical themes to emerge organically through character interaction, rather than through exposition-heavy dialogue.
To translate the novel’s celestial framing device, de Vries and director Jeroen Krabbé opted for a stylized depiction of Heaven—a dark, castle-like realm inhabited by somber angels. This visual metaphor helped externalize the novel’s theological undercurrents. He also leaned into ironic period details and shifting locations (Amsterdam, Rome, Jerusalem) to ground the story in a recognizable world while hinting at its cosmic stakes.
De Vries worked closely with Mulisch during the adaptation process, ensuring that the screenplay honored the novel’s philosophical DNA even as it made necessary concessions to cinematic form. In essence, de Vries treated the adaptation not as a translation, but as a transformation—preserving the novel’s pulse while reshaping its body.
Edwin de Vries is a Dutch actor, screenwriter, and director known for his versatile contributions to film, television, and theatre. He began acting at the age of 12 alongside his father, actor Rob de Vries, in the film De laatste passagier. After graduating from the Amsterdam Theatre School in 1972, he became a prominent figure in Dutch performing arts, co-founding the theatre group Onafhankelijk Toneel and performing with companies like Baal and Toneelgroep Amsterdam.
As a screenwriter, de Vries is best known for adapting The Discovery of Heaven (2001), based on Harry Mulisch’s novel, for which he received a Golden Calf award in 2002. His other screenwriting credits include Left Luggage (1998) and Zomerhitte (2008), the latter directed by his wife, actress and filmmaker Monique van de Ven, whom he married in 1991.
De Vries has also acted in numerous Dutch films and series, including In de Vlaamsche pot, Rosenstraße, and Dennis P.. In 2012, he was knighted in the Order of the Dutch Lion for his cultural contributions.
His life and work reflect a deep engagement with Dutch history, identity, and storytelling—often blurring the lines between personal memory and collective experience.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Sachin Kundalkar’s Cobalt Blue and the Cinematic Language of Longing
When Sachin Kundalkar adapted his own novel Cobalt Blue for the screen, he didn’t just translate words—he sculpted silence into image, memory into mood.
Set against the restrained quietude of a middle-class Maharashtrian household, the film unspools a dual narrative of love, loss, and rebellion, told through the voices of a brother and sister who fall for the same enigmatic paying guest, unravelling the fabric of their conservative family. Through cobalt-washed frames, fragmented time, and aching stillness, Kundalkar crafts a cinematic meditation on queer desire and emotional exile—one that feels as much like a memory as a movie.
The film Cobalt Blue was inspired by Sachin Kundalkar’s own novel of the same name, which he began writing at the age of 20 and completed by 22. The story was first published in Marathi in 2006 and later translated into English by Jerry Pinto in 20131.
Kundalkar wrote the novel shortly after moving to Mumbai, channelling his feelings of solitude and introspection into the characters. He began with Tanay’s monologue and then added Anuja’s perspective, crafting a dual narrative that explores same-sex love, longing, and the quiet rebellion against societal norms.
The film adaptation, which Kundalkar also directed, retains the novel’s lyrical tone and emotional depth.
It’s a deeply personal and poetic work—one that blends literature, identity, and the ache of first love into a quiet storm of a story
Cobalt Blue is a quiet, aching meditation on love, identity, and the fractures within tradition. Here are its central themes:
Forbidden and Fluid Love
The story explores same-sex desire and bisexual attraction through the siblings’ shared love for the same man. It challenges heteronormative expectations, portraying love as something that transcends labels and binaries.
Tanay (Neelay Mehendale) is a sensitive, introspective, aspiring writer. His secret intimate relationship with the paying guest becomes a vessel for self-discovery and heartbreak. It unfolds in hushed tones and stolen moments—never overtly acknowledged, yet deeply felt. Their connection is tender, sensual, and ultimately heartbreaking, reflecting the invisibility of queer love in conservative spaces.
Tanay’s younger sister Anuja (Anjali Sivaraman) is free-spirited, bold, and emotionally impulsive. Her infatuation with the same man is more openly expressed, yet equally doomed. Her heartbreak mirrors Tanay’s, showing how love, regardless of gender, can be both liberating and devastating. Her perspective offers a more outward, raw expression of desire and loss.
The paying guest played by Prateik Babbaris is enigmatic, charismatic, and emotionally elusive. He becomes the object of both siblings’ affection but remains unnamed, turning him into a symbol of desire, freedom, and emotional absence.
Duality of Perspective
Told through the voices of both Tanay and Anuja, the film reveals how love and loss are experienced differently depending on gender, personality, and emotional openness.
The film is split into two halves—first from Tanay’s point of view, then Anuja’s. This structure allows us to see how the same events are filtered through different emotional lenses: Tanay’s is introspective and poetic; Anuja’s is raw and impulsive.
Rebellion Against Conservatism
The siblings’ emotional awakenings disrupt their traditional Maharashtrian family, exposing the tension between personal truth and societal conformity. Tanay’s queerness and Anuja’s tomboyish independence are seen as threats to the family’s image. Their father’s authoritarian presence looms large, and the siblings’ emotional awakenings become acts of quiet defiance.
Art as Catharsis
Tanay’s writing becomes a vessel for processing heartbreak and identity, highlighting how art can beboth a mirror and a refuge. He pours his grief into writing letters and poetry, which serve as a lifeline to his identity. His words become a private archive of longing and self-discovery.
Loneliness and Longing
The paying guest is a cipher—his mystery reflects the characters’ own yearning for connection, and the void he leaves behind becomes a metaphor for emotional abandonment.
Color Symbolism
The title itself—Cobalt Blue—evokes a deep, melancholic hue, symbolising intensity, desire, and the bruises of love. The film uses cobalt blue as a recurring visual motif, appearing in lighting, clothing, and set design. It evokes melancholy, passion, and the bruises left by love. In one striking scene, Tanay walks past a wall plastered with posters of heterosexual romances, only to later see it replaced with queer cinema like Fire, signaling a shift in his internal world
It’s a film that lingers in the silences, in the glances, in the poetry of what’s left unsaid. It’s a film that doesn’t shout, like a memory you can’t quite shake.
Cobalt Blue resonates powerfully with ongoing societal conversations around LGBTQ+ identity, visibility, and emotional truth, especially in contexts where queerness is still marginalised or silenced
The film contributes to the normalisation of queer identities by portraying same-sex love not as spectacle, but as deeply human and emotionally nuanced. This aligns with global efforts to move beyond tokenism and toward authentic representation in media.
Tanay’s internal journey reflects the psychological turmoil of navigating queer identity in a heteronormative society. His quiet rebellion—through writing, longing, and self-reflection—mirrors real-world struggles for self-acceptance and emotional agency.
The film explores queer masculinity and the fluidity of desire, challenging rigid binaries. The unnamed paying guest becomes a symbol of both freedom and ambiguity, disrupting traditional ideas of masculinity and control.
The recurring use of cobalt blue as a visual motif speaks to loneliness, desire, and queer resilience. It’s not just aesthetic—it’s a coded language that reflects how LGBTQ+ individuals often communicate identity and emotion in subtle, symbolic ways.
As scholars have noted, films like Cobalt Blue can trigger broader societal conversations about gender, sexuality, and emotional truth. They offer a space for viewers—especially in conservative cultures—to confront biases and expand empathy.
Sachin Kundalkar’s journey from novelist to screenwriter and director
Kundalkar began writing Cobalt Blue as a novel at age 20, starting with Tanay’s monologue, which later became the emotional spine of the film.
When adapting it into a screenplay, he focused on retaining the lyrical, introspective tone of the novel. Rather than expanding the plot, he pared it down, allowing silences, glances, and visual metaphors to carry emotional weight.
He described the adaptation as a process of emotional translation, not technical fidelity. He once said Pinto’s English translation of the novel was “not technically correct. It was emotionally correct”—a philosophy he mirrored in the screenplay.
As director, Kundalkar leaned into the poetic minimalism of the source material. He used long takes, ambient sound, and subdued lighting to evoke the characters’ inner worlds.
He deliberately kept the paying guest unnamed and emotionally opaque, turning him into a symbol of desire, absence, and projection—just as in the novel.
The film’s dual narrative structure (Tanay’s perspective followed by Anuja’s) was preserved, allowing viewers to experience the same emotional rupture from two distinct lenses.
Kundalkar used cobalt blue as a recurring visual motif, embedding it in costumes, lighting, and set design to evoke longing and melancholy.
He avoided melodrama, instead embracing stillness and ambiguity, trusting the audience to feel what isn’t said.
The film’s pacing mirrors the rhythm of memory—nonlinear, fragmented, and emotionally charged.
Kundalkar’s process is a masterclass in adaptation as reinterpretation. He didn’t just transpose the novel to screen—he reimagined it through the grammar of cinema, preserving its soul while letting it breathe in a new medium.
In an industry that often thrives on spectacle, Sachin Kundalkar carves out a quieter space—one where longing hums beneath the surface, where shadows say more than speech. Novelist, playwright, screenwriter, and director, Kundalkar is that rare storyteller who navigates the interior with as much finesse as the exterior, bending form to suit feeling. His work across mediums is a study in emotional resonance: how to translate solitude into structure, and desire into image.
“I wrote Cobalt Blue when I was 20. I was lonely in Mumbai, and I started writing Tanay’s monologue. That’s how it began.”
That confession doesn’t just reveal the origin of his most intimate novel—it maps the emotional coordinates of his career. Raised in Mumbai and trained at the Film and Television Institute of India, Kundalkar went on to study in Paris at La Fémis, where his short film One Café Please signaled his flair for minimalism and introspection. But it was in Marathi theatre and literature where he first found the pulse of his voice—queer, lyrical, and fiercely tender.
Crafting the Cinematic Interior
Kundalkar’s breakout film Nirop (2007) won the National Award for Best Marathi Feature, but it was Gandha (2009)—a triptych of sensory-driven stories—that hinted at his signature: emotion conveyed through atmosphere, silence, and sensory metaphor. His films are less about what happens and more about what is felt in the hush between two characters, in the soft glow of a cobalt-lit room, in the echo of an unspoken truth.
When he adapted Cobalt Blue into a Netflix film in 2022, he brought this philosophy to full bloom. Rather than merely transposing plot, he reimagined the novel’s poetic cadence into cinematic mood—letting glances, doorframes, and rain-slicked streets hold the emotional weight of monologue.
“Jerry Pinto’s translation is not technically correct. It is emotionally correct.”
This idea of emotional correctness—of privileging truth over literalism—guides all of Kundalkar’s adaptations. Whether directing or writing, he approaches storytelling as an act of translation: from life to page, from silence to scene, from absence to presence.
Themes of Desire, Domesticity, and Rebellion
What ties his body of work together is a recurring negotiation between inner desire and outer restraint. Characters in Happy Journey, Gulabjaam, or Vazandar often crave connection but are trapped by societal decorum, familial roles, or their own emotional vocabulary. Through them, Kundalkar writes not just queer narratives, but queer ways of feeling—expressions that curve sideways, duck under, flicker briefly, then vanish.
His protagonists are rarely loud revolutionaries. Instead, they reclaim space through art, food, fragments of memory. In Cobalt Blue, Tanay writes letters he never sends. In Gandha, smell evokes entire lost lives. Kundalkar reminds us that rebellion doesn’t always sound like a shout—sometimes it sighs.
A Love Song in a Minor Key
With every story, Kundalkar refines a cinematic and literary language that’s both delicate and deliberate. He doesn’t just tell stories; he curates emotional climates, allowing readers and viewers to dwell within them. His commitment to duality—between silence and voice, tradition and transgression, form and feeling—marks him as one of India’s most compelling narrative stylists.
As Cobalt Blue continues to resonate with audiences beyond the page and screen, Kundalkar stands as proof that stories need not be loud to echo loudly. They just need to feel lived—and felt.
Stage as Seedbed: Theatrical Roots of Emotional Precision
Before cinema claimed him, Kundalkar honed his emotional grammar in the world of Marathi theatre. Plays like Chotyasha Suteet and Poornaviram revealed a mind drawn not just to plot, but to the cadences of silence, subtext, and spatial intimacy. His characters often occupy liminal spaces—a closed room, a train compartment, a silent park bench—where dialogue is pared down to its emotional core.
This theatrical background enriched his cinematic eye. Scenes in Cobalt Blue unfold like minimalist stagecraft: sparse props, loaded silence, and gestures pregnant with unspoken feeling. Watching a character press their palm to a cool wall, or stare out of frame while a fan spins overhead, feels less like exposition and more like visual monologue.
Cobalt in the Stream: Finding an Audience on Netflix
With Cobalt Blue, Kundalkar found a platform in Netflix that allowed him to reach audiences beyond linguistic and cultural borders—while still telling a story rooted in Maharashtrian domesticity. It was a rare moment: a queer Indian narrative, adapted from a regional novel, released globally in over 190 countries.
Streaming gave Kundalkar the freedom to craft a film outside the tyranny of box office metrics, to trust in the poetry of stillness and the power of emotional honesty. In interviews, he emphasized that streaming audiences are more willing to engage with introspective pacing and nuanced queer representation, making platforms like Netflix fertile ground for films that would otherwise be stifled.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Eddington: Ari Aster’s American Fever Dream
“I wrote it in a state of fear and anxiety about the world,” says writer-director Ari Aster of Eddington—a film that trades pagan dread for pandemic delirium. In this fever-pitched Western satire, the town isn’t just cracking under lockdown—it’s collapsing under the weight of fractured truth. What begins as a civic dispute spirals into a mythic unravelling, where paranoia spreads faster than any virus and the American frontier burns in its reflection.
Eddington is a genre-bending Western black comedy-drama written and directed by Ari Aster.
Aster blends neo-Western grit, political satire, and dark comedy, creating what some critics are calling a “COVID-era No Country for Old Men meets Dr. Strangelove.” The town of Eddington itself becomes a character, symbolising the fractured American psyche during a time of fear and misinformation.
Ari Aster was inspired to write Eddington during the early months of the COVID-19 pandemic, when he left New York to be closer to family in New Mexico. What he witnessed there—rising paranoia, digital echo chambers, and the unravelling of social trust—sparked the idea for a story that captured the psychological and political fragmentation of that moment.
He described the pandemic not as a beginning, but as an inflexion point—a rupture that severed ties to the “old world” and exposed the fragility of modern society. Aster said, “I don’t think we’ve metabolised what happened during lockdown… we’re still living out the consequences of it”. That unresolved tension became the emotional and thematic core of Eddington.
He also chose the Western genre deliberately, calling it “sort of the national genre” because it reflects the building—and unraveling—of American identity. In his words, “It felt appropriate to make a Western… but a Western inflected by modern realism”
From Personal Horror to Political Paranoia
Ari Aster’s Eddington marks a sharp thematic and tonal pivot from his earlier work, while still bearing his unmistakable fingerprints—psychological unease, surrealism, and a fascination with societal breakdown.
Earlier films leaned into elevated horror and operatic grief.: Hereditary (2018) and Midsommar (2019) were intimate horror stories rooted in grief, trauma, and cultic dread. They explored personal collapse through mythic and folkloric lenses. Beau Is Afraid(2023) veers into a surreal, psychological odyssey—an anxiety-riddled epic about maternal guilt and existential dread.
Eddington by contrast, is a satirical Western set during the COVID-19 pandemic, using a small town as a microcosm for America’s cultural and political fragmentation. Eddington trades horror for black comedy and political farce.
Aster’s past films often followed tight, escalating arcs. Eddington is more episodic and chaotic, reflecting the confusion and absurdity of 2020 America.
From internal horror to external hysteria: Eddington is less about personal demons and more about collective delusion, misinformation, and the erosion of civic trust.
It’s Aster’s most overtly political, most ambitious and divisive film yet—less haunting, more chaotic, and deeply entangled in the cultural psyche of a fractured nation.
Aster’s boldest thematic swing pushes beyond horror into dark political farce with unapologetic scope. It’s a neo-Western, a pandemic allegory, a small-town breakdown, and a media satire all in one, shot through with his trademark discomfort and surreal flourishes. The dialogue crackles with paranoia, and the setting of Eddington becomes a crucible for American identity in crisis.
Set in Eddington, New Mexico, during the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, the film follows a tense standoff between a small-town sheriff (Joaquin Phoenix) and mayor (Pedro Pascal) that spirals into chaos. As neighbor turns against neighbor, the town becomes a microcosm of political paranoia, social fracture, and existential absurdity.
From Elevated Horror to Existential Farce
Hereditary and Midsommar established Aster as a master of elevated horror, blending grief, trauma, and family dysfunction with supernatural dread. He described Hereditary as “a family tragedy that curdles into a nightmare,” emphasising emotional realism over jump scares. With Beau Is Afraid he pivoted into surrealist black comedy—a sprawling, anxiety-riddled odyssey that fused Kafkaesque absurdity with mythic structure.
Eddington marks his boldest fusion yet: It trades personal horror for societal hysteria, using genre tropes to dissect American identity in crisis.
How Aster Blends Genres
Aster’s genre fusion isn’t just stylistic—it’s thematic. He uses genre as a lens to explore how people (and societies) unravel under pressure. Whether it’s a haunted house or a town in lockdown, the horror is never just external—it’s what festers inside.
Atmospheric Inversion: In Midsommar, horror unfolds in perpetual daylight, subverting the genre’s usual darkness. Aster flips expectations to destabilise the viewer.
Character Disorientation: His protagonists often willingly enter danger—whether it’s a Swedish commune or a town unraveling in paranoia—blurring the line between victim and participant.
Emotional Core: No matter the genre, Aster anchors his films in emotional disintegration—grief, guilt, fear of abandonment—making even the most surreal moments feel grounded.
Ari Aster, right, and cinematographer Darius Khondji on the set of the movie “Eddington.”
Ari Aster – Filmmaker, Screenwriter, Genre Alchemist
Ari Aster grew up in a creative household—his mother a poet, his father a jazz musician. After a childhood split between the U.S. and England, his family settled in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where Aster’s obsession with horror films took root. He studied film at the Santa Fe University of Art and Design and later earned an MFA in directing from the American Film Institute Conservatory.
Aster first gained attention with his provocative short The Strange Thing About the Johnsons (2011), but it was his feature debut, Hereditary (2018), that cemented his reputation as a master of psychological horror. He followed it with Midsommar (2019), a sun-drenched folk nightmare, and the surreal epic Beau Is Afraid (2023). In 2018, he co-founded the production company Square Peg with producer Lars Knudsen.
With Eddington (2025), Aster pivots from personal horror to political satire, blending Western tropes with pandemic paranoia. His work is known for its emotional intensity, genre fusion, and a willingness to stare into the cultural abyss.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Smurfs are back: A vibrant animated musical adventure
“It’s a strange and weird and wonderful retelling that should and will stand on its own,” says director Chris Miller of The Smurfs, a bold reimagining of a beloved franchise, bursting onto the screen as a kaleidoscopic musical adventure that dares to ask, “What is a Smurf?” From its interdimensional storyline to its pop-powered soundtrack, this isn’t your childhood Smurf village—it’s a full-blown identity quest in cobalt blue.
The 2025 Smurfs film draws its inspiration from multiple sources, blending legacy and reinvention.
At its heart, the film is rooted in the whimsical world created by Belgian artist Peyo. The characters, themes of community, and fantastical settings all stem from his beloved comic series.
The idea to make it a musical came from the desire to introduce the Smurfs to a new generation in a fresh, emotionally engaging way. Pam Brady, known for her edgy humour, crafted a story that explores identity and belonging through song and spectacle.
The screenplay
Brady’s process for crafting the screenplay reflects her signature blend of irreverent humour, emotional subtext, and genre-savvy storytelling.
Brady is known for building scripts around distinctive voices and emotional contradictions. For Smurfs, she reportedly began with the question: What does it mean to be a Smurf?—a deceptively simple prompt that opened the door to themes of identity, belonging, and reinvention.
Her background in South Park and Team America gave her the tools to satirise pop culture while still honouring emotional arcs. In Smurfs, that balance shows up in the way legacy characters like Smurfette are reimagined—not just as comic relief or archetypes, but as emotionally complex protagonists.
Her background in South Park and Team America gave her the tools to satirize pop culture while still honoring emotional arcs. In Smurfs, that balance shows up in the way legacy characters like Smurfette are reimagined—not just as comic relief or archetypes, but as emotionally complex protagonists.
Given the film’s musical format, Brady’s script had to interweave dialogue with lyrical beats, leaving space for songs to carry emotional weight. Collaborating with Rihanna and other artists, she helped shape scenes where music wasn’t just decorative—it was narrative.
Brady leaned into the film’s surreal elements—sentient books, intergalactic villains, identity-crisis Smurfs—while grounding them in character motivation. Her process likely involved layering absurdity with emotional stakes, a hallmark of her comedic style.
The filmmakers wanted to explore deeper questions like “What is a Smurf?”—using the Smurfs’ journey into the real world as a metaphor for self-discovery and cultural connection.
In an age of legacy makeovers and IP nostalgia, Smurfs (2025) is more than a musical—it’s a manifesto disguised in blue
By centering identity, transformation, and representation, the film smudges the boundaries between childhood whimsy and adult introspection.
With Rihanna’s Smurfette no longer the token female in a sea of blue brothers, the film challenges decades of gender coding in animation. Her voice—literally and thematically—reclaims space for emotional agency. The casting itself, rich in racial and gender diversity, expands the Smurf universe beyond its Eurocentric roots, subtly reorienting the franchise toward a more globally conscious narrative.
And then there’s the central question posed by the film’s own characters: What does it mean to be a Smurf? It’s a thinly veiled allegory for navigating identity in today’s fragmented culture, where heritage, self-definition, and belonging collide. What began as Peyo’s parable for harmony has evolved into a surprisingly layered commentary on postmodern reinvention.
This reboot transforms Smurfette from a side character into the emotional and narrative core of the film, with Rihanna voicing her and contributing original songs that underscore her journey. The story blends fantasy, identity, and pop spectacle into a coming-of-age quest wrapped in cobalt charm.
When Papa Smurf is kidnapped by the evil wizard brothers Gargamel and Razamel, Smurfette must leave the safety of Smurf Village and venture into the real world. Alongside a band of unlikely allies—including a nameless Smurf with an identity crisis—she embarks on a high-stakes mission to rescue Papa and stop the wizards from destroying all magic. As Smurfette confronts her role as the only girl Smurf, she begins to question what it truly means to be a Smurf—and whether she can rewrite the story she was given.
The Smurfs (2025) reboot boasts a dazzling, eclectic voice cast that blends pop royalty, comedy icons, and dramatic heavyweights. It’s a cast that smashes genre boundaries—musicians, comedians, dramatic actors—all lending their voices to a story that’s as much about identity and reinvention as it is about blue magic.
The voice cast is a powerhouse mix of music icons, comic geniuses, and dramatic heavyweights, led by Rihanna as the reimagined Smurfette, bringing both voice and original music. John Goodman anchors the story as Papa Smurf, whose mysterious kidnapping sets off the adventure, while James Corden plays the soulful, lost No Name Smurf. Nick Offerman lends a gravelly heart to Ken, Papa’s long-lost brother, and Sandra Oh brings warmth and wit as Moxie Smurf, a key bridge between worlds. The villain roster includes JP Karliak as both Gargamel and Razamel, with Daniel Levy as their fashionably bitter henchman Joel. Comic firecrackers Amy Sedaris and Natasha Lyonne play Jaunty, a sass-mouthed book, and Mama Poot, leader of the Snooterpoots, while Octavia Spencer, Nick Kroll, and Hannah Waddinghamchannel intergalactic mischief. The ensemble is rounded out with stars like Alex Winter, Billie Lourd, Kurt Russell, Jimmy Kimmel, and Maya Erskine, making this Smurfscape one of 2025’s most eclectic animated lineups.
The Smurfs (2025) soundtrack is a vibrant, collaborative effort rather than the work of a single composer
While there isn’t one traditional score composer credited, the film’s musical identity is shaped by a lineup of global artists and producers:
Rihanna not only voices Smurfette but also contributed original songs, including Friend of Mine.
Tyla, known for Water and Truth or Dare, performs Everything Goes With Blue, a standout track with its own music video.
Natania, an Indian artist, features on nine of the fourteen tracks, making her a major creative force behind the film’s musical tone.
Other contributors include DJ Khaled, Cardi B, DESI TRILL, James Fauntleroy, and Shenseea, blending pop, hip-hop, and global beats into a 39-minute soundtrack released by Roc Nation on June 13, 2025.
Rather than a traditional orchestral score, the film leans into a “music from and inspired by” approach, using songs to drive character arcs and emotional beats.
The Smurfs began their journey in the whimsical world of European comics, born from a happy accident and a creative spark:
The Smurfs were created in 1958 by Belgian cartoonist Peyo (real name: Pierre Culliford). They first appeared as side characters in the comic Johan and Peewit in a story titled La Flûte à six trous (The Flute with Six Holes), published in Spirou magazine. The original French name was Les Schtroumpfs. According to Peyo, he coined the word during a meal when he forgot the word for “salt” and jokingly said, “Passe-moi le schtroumpf” (“Pass me the smurf”). The term was translated into Dutch as “Smurf,” which became the global name.
These tiny blue creatures live in a hidden forest village, wear Phrygian caps (a symbol of freedom), and each has a name that reflects their personality, like Brainy, Jokey, or Grouchy. Their popularity exploded, leading to standalone comics, animated series, films, merchandise, and even theme parks. Their popularity exploded, leading to standalone comics, animated series, films, merchandise, and even theme parks.
The Smurfs’ evolution offers a fascinating lens into the changing tides of cultural storytelling over nearly seven decades
🧙♂️ From Allegory to Archetypes (1950s–70s)
Original Comics: Peyo’s early Smurfs stories in Spirou magazine often functioned as allegorical fables—sometimes gently satirizing politics (like The Smurfs and the Communal Smurf) or echoing classic myth structures.
Character as Function: Each Smurf embodied a singular trait—Grouchy, Brainy, Jokey—reflecting a trend in mid-century storytelling where characters often served symbolic roles rather than psychological complexity.
📺 Serialized Wholesomeness (1980s)
Saturday Morning Cartoons: The Hanna-Barbera Smurfs TV series (1981–89) brought them into global pop culture as symbols of harmony, simplicity, and idealized community.
Escapism & Stability: In an era of Cold War uncertainty, narratives like the Smurfs offered moral clarity—good vs. evil, teamwork vs. selfishness—mirroring the need for stability and optimism in children’s media.
📽️ Postmodern Self-Awareness (2011–2017 Films)
The Live-Action Hybrids: The Smurfs films of the 2010s leaned into irony, placing the Smurfs in modern Manhattan with fish-out-of-water humor.
Nostalgia Meets Satire: These adaptations capitalized on Gen X/Y nostalgia while also poking fun at their own cartoonish legacy—part of a broader postmodern trend in which pop icons are reimagined through meta-humor.
🎤 Identity and Reinvention (2025 Reboot)
Smurfs (2025): The latest musical reboot signals a shift toward emotionally grounded, character-driven storytelling, where identity, self-discovery, and inclusivity take centre stage.
From Tokenism to Agency: Smurfette evolves from “the only girl” to the emotional core of the narrative. Her journey isn’t just about romance—it’s about voice, authorship, and transformation, aligning with modern narratives that prioritise internal conflict and multidimensional identity.
Cultural Consciousness: The use of diverse voice actors, musical storytelling, and existential themes mirrors how contemporary audiences seek representation and resonance from legacy properties.
This trajectory—from allegory and archetype to introspection and self-awareness—isn’t just about blue creatures. It’s a blueprint for how storytelling itself has matured: where once we asked “what role does this character play,” we now ask “what story does this character need to tell.”
Chris Miller is an American filmmaker best known for his work in animation and comedy. He rose to prominence as part of the dynamic duo Lord & Miller, co-creating hits like Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, 21 Jump Street, The Lego Movie, and Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse. His signature style blends irreverent humor with emotional depth and visual inventiveness. For Smurfs (2025), Miller stepped out solo to direct a musical reboot that reimagines the franchise with heart, spectacle, and a touch of meta-magic.
Pam Brady is a veteran American screenwriter and producer, celebrated for her sharp wit and boundary-pushing comedy. She began her career collaborating with Trey Parker and Matt Stone on South Park and co-wrote the cult classic Team America: World Police. Her film credits include Hot Rod, Hamlet 2, The Bubble, and Ruby Gillman, Teenage Kraken. Known for her fearless humor and satirical edge, Brady brings a fresh, emotionally resonant voice to Smurfs (2025), infusing the script with both playful absurdity and surprising depth.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Fantastic Four: First Steps – a bold, retro-futuristic leap into the Marvel Cinematic Universe
With Fantastic Four: First Steps, screenwriters Josh Friedman and Eric Pearson rewrite the playbook, delivering a retro-cosmic origin that defies convention. Known for threading emotional gravity through genre, they reimagine Marvel’s First Family not as fledgling heroes, but as fractured legends navigating a retro-futuristic world on the brink. With cosmic threats looming and personal stakes intensifying, this isn’t just a reboot—it’s a reckoning, steeped in emotional complexity and charged with cosmic responsibility.
“A practical approach is always the best approach. You know, it’s real for me as a filmmaker, it’s real for the actors. I think the audience loves it,” says director Matt Shakman, emphasising grounding the film in practical sets and real locations, pushing back against the MCU’s heavy reliance on green screen.
Josh Friedman and Eric Pearson wrote the screenplay with story input from Jeff Kaplan and Ian Springer.
Friedman, known for Avatar: The Way of Water and War of the Worlds, often gravitates toward stories that blend spectacle with emotional stakes. His involvement suggests a desire to explore the human cost of cosmic power. Pearson, who worked on Thor: Ragnarok and Black Widow, brings a knack for balancing humour, action, and character introspection. His polish on the script likely helped ground the film’s retro-cosmic tone in relatable emotion.
Jeff Kaplan and Ian Springer were reportedly involved early on, even before Matt Shakman was confirmed as director. Their task was to map out how the Fantastic Four would fit into the broader MCU, suggesting their story input was more structural and thematic, setting the tone for a non-origin, emotionally mature take on the team.
The team wanted to avoid a traditional origin story, instead focusing on the emotional aftermath of being superheroes in a world that feels both nostalgic and alien.
Set adrift in a world tinged with analogue nostalgia and unspoken estrangement, the Fantastic Four navigate not the thrill of becoming heroes, but the quiet, often unbearable cost of having already been ones. In a retro-futuristic landscape that hums with outdated dreams and Cold War dread, their powers are less a gift than a ghost, haunting every strained connection and hard-won intimacy. This isn’t the origin story of heroes—it’s the afterimage of sacrifice.
The 1960s retro-futuristic setting allowed them to reimagine the Fantastic Four as mythic figures, already burdened by their powers and legacy.
The retro-futuristic setting allowed the writers to reimagine the Fantastic Four not as pioneers of science fiction, but as mythic figures lost in time—heroes from a future that never was. Set against a backdrop of analogue dreams and Cold War paranoia, they feel less like Marvel characters and more like celestial archetypes, burdened by legacy and haunted by purpose.
Themes of family, sacrifice, and cosmic responsibility appear central, echoing the writers’ shared interest in stories that explore identity under pressure.
Set against the vibrant backdrop of a 1960s-inspired, retro-futuristic world, Marvel Studios’ Fantastic Four: First Steps introduces Marvel’s First Family—Reed Richards (Pedro Pascal), Sue Storm (Vanessa Kirby), Johnny Storm (Joseph Quinn), and Ben Grimm (Ebon Moss-Bachrach)—as they face their most daunting challenge yet. Forced to balance their roles as heroes with the strength of their family bond, they must defend Earth from a ravenous space god called Galactus (Ralph Ineson) and his enigmatic Herald, the Silver Surfer (Julia Garner). And if Galactus’ plan to devour the entire planet weren’t bad enough, it suddenly gets very personal.
Fantastic Four: First Steps marks a pivotal new chapter in the franchise’s long, often turbulent cinematic history
Long before Marvel’s First Family found their footing in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, they wandered a cinematic wilderness of missed opportunities and tonal misfires. The first attempt—The Fantastic Four (1994), directed by Oley Sassone and penned by Craig J. Nevius and Kevin Rock—was never meant to be seen. Produced on a shoestring budget by Roger Corman solely to retain licensing rights, the film became an infamous bootleg curiosity: more lore than legend.
It wasn’t until Fantastic Four (2005) that the team leapt onto the mainstream stage. Directed by Tim Story and written by Michael France and Mark Frost, the film embraced a glossy, family-friendly vibe that introduced a new generation to Reed, Sue, Johnny, and Ben. While the tone veered toward cartoonish at times, it struck a commercial chord, leading to the 2007 sequel Rise of the Silver Surfer. With Don Payne and Mark Frost co-writing, the follow-up brought cosmic grandeur to the mix, introducing the Silver Surfer and teasing Galactus. Yet beneath the shimmer, critics found the storytelling too slight for the scale.
In 2015, the pendulum swung hard the other way. Josh Trank’s grim reboot of Fantastic Four—co-written with Jeremy Slater and Simon Kinberg—opted for a stripped-down, grounded origin, forsaking superhero spectacle for body horror and existential gloom. Behind-the-scenes conflict and studio interference led to a disjointed release that left audiences cold, stalling the franchise once again.
Enter Fantastic Four: First Steps (2025), a full-circle reinvention helmed by Matt Shakman, with a screenplay by Josh Friedman and Eric Pearson and story by Jeff Kaplan and Ian Springer. Rather than trace the moment they gained their powers, the film explores the emotional aftershocks of having already lived as heroes.
Meet the Minds Behind the Myth
A veteran of genre storytelling, Josh Friedman is best known for weaving emotional depth into high-concept sci-fi. His credits include War of the Worlds (2005), The Black Dahlia (2006), Terminator: Dark Fate (2019), and Avatar: The Way of Water (2022). On television, he created Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles and co-developed Snowpiercer and Foundation. Friedman’s work often explores the human cost of survival in extraordinary circumstances, making him a natural fit for the mythic weight of Fantastic Four: First Steps.
Eric Pearson is Marvel Studios’ go-to script doctor turned screenwriter. A graduate of NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, he began in Marvel’s in-house screenwriting program, penning several One-Shot shorts before co-writing Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Black Widow (2021), and Thunderbolts (2025). Known for balancing humor with emotional nuance, Pearson brings a grounded sensibility to cosmic stakes. His work on Fantastic Four: First Steps continues his evolution from punch-up specialist to architect of character-driven spectacle.
Matt Shakman, the director of Fantastic Four: First Steps, is a genre chameleon with roots in both prestige TV and superhero storytelling. After helming episodes of Game of Thrones, Succession, and The Boys, he made waves with WandaVision (2021), blending sitcom nostalgia with MCU pathos. Shakman’s theatrical background and love for practical effects inform his tactile, emotionally resonant style, perfect for the film’s retro-futuristic tone and mythic family drama.
The writing duo Jeff Kaplan and Ian Springer met at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts and have been creative partners for over a decade. Known for their indie comedy Bert and Arnie’s Guide to Friendship (2013), they’ve since pivoted toward emotionally rich genre fare. Their story treatment for Fantastic Four: First Steps helped reframe Marvel’s First Family as cosmic exiles rather than origin-bound adventurers. Their collaborative voice blends wit, melancholy, and myth.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Four Letters of Love – A lyrical meditation on fate, faith, and the quiet miracles of love
Four Letters of Love draws its inspiration directly from Niall Williams’ acclaimed debut novel of the same name. What makes this adaptation particularly intimate is that Williams himself penned the screenplay, bringing his prose to life on screen. “It’s a strange and beautiful thing to return to a story you wrote so long ago and find it still breathing.”
From award winning film-maker Polly Steele (Let Me Go, Elton John: Tantrums & Tiaras) comes the magical, lyrical and deeply romantic Irish story Four Letters of Love, based on Niall Williams international bestselling novel.
The film explores the tension between faith and doubt, the beauty of missed chances, and the quiet miracles that shape our lives. It’s described as “magical, lyrical and deeply romantic,” echoing the tone of the novel.
“One day I woke with a first sentence,” says Niall Williams who wrote the book which he now adapts for the screen. “‘When I was 12 years old, God spoke to my father for the first time.’ I had no idea what God said or what happened next. I went to a room in the cottage here and wrote that sentence every day for weeks. I knew it was the beginning of something, but what?”
And so began the genesis of Four Letters of Love, a book that would live its own love story, finding a wide, global audience. “I guess that in the end what counted was that I believed the story was out there,” continues Williams, “or in there, and that if I kept showing up I would find my way to it. I knew I wanted to write about love, thought I would only get one chance to say all I could about every kind of love, between fathers and daughters, mothers and daughters, sisters and brothers, husband and wife, lovers, what Edna O Brien eventually called ‘a mosaic of loves,’ and that all I had to do was stay in the chair.”
Four Letters of Love was published in 1997 but its journey to the screen did not arrive quickly.
Williams’ novel was celebrated for its poetic language and spiritual undertones. It tells the story of Nicholas and Isabel, two people seemingly destined for one another, whose lives are shaped by loss, longing, and the mysterious forces that guide human connection. The film retains this emotional core, weaving together themes of divine calling, artistic yearning, and the redemptive power of love.
“The making of any film, the transference of words into light, seems a kind of miracle to me,” says Niall Williams. “Over the years of the making, I have often thought of the image of a relay, but instead of passing a baton, what you are passing from one to the next is a lit flame. It can go out at any moment. Many directors were interested over the years, but Polly Steele is the one who came to my door in County Clare and said she would carry it through to the end. And for seven years or so, she has”.
“From our first meeting, I could see that she understood the novel profoundly. The mix of mystery, destiny, nature, human suffering and our longing for meaning that each course through the novel provide its own challenge, but Polly had no hesitation. We talked though all aspects of the story, structure, images, visual language, music, and potential cast. And for the years of the making that followed there was hardly a week when we weren’t discussing some element of it.”
The cinematic quality to Four Letters of Love was already in existence in the novel and had been keenly felt by readers. Perhaps it was inevitable that the big-screen adaptation would happen. Niall Williams admits that ever since the novel came out in 1997, “and in all the years since then. it has always been the subject of talk about becoming a film”. It was something that readers kept manifesting as well: “Very many people and from as many countries have told me they have ‘seen’ the film, and many believed they were the ones to make it.”
“Because it is such a personal novel, and maybe as peculiar as myself,” Williams continues, “I always thought that if it happened, I would have to attempt the adaptation myself. To that end I began to study as many scripts as I could and learn the very different discipline of screenwriting. I found the challenges and the restrictions refreshing, for your imagination rises where it meets walls, and ‘How do we make this work? has an added zing when you know that the scene is actually going to be shot, with these lines and these extraordinary actors.”
With any adaptation, changes have to be made to make the story sing on screen in a different way to how life existed on the page. “In the novel the character of Nicholas is 12 on the day his father comes home from the Civil Service and says God wants him to be a painter,” says Niall Williams about some of the time shifts that became necessary. “A longer timeframe is in the novel. For the film this needed to be condensed and concentrated. It gives the first section of the film a charged intensity. As with the novel we move back and forth between the urban and rural stories, between the male one and the female one, between the one where God arrived and the one where he departed, but in the film the choices of when we cut from to the other are sometimes different, as the rhythm of the story dictates. Overall, I think the film very accurately captures the feeling of the novel.”
Nicholas and Isabel are made for each other, but fate does not always choose the easiest path to true love. As destiny pulls them together, so do family, passion, and faith drive them apart. Nicholas’ father, William, comes home one day to shatter his family’s quiet, modest life. He tells them that after a moment of divine revelation, he has decided to dedicate his life to painting. He quits his job and sets off for the Western coast, leaving his shell-shocked wife and son to fend for themselves. Meanwhile, Isabel and her family live a charmed existence on a remote Western island, their house full of music and poetry. When tragedy strikes and her brother suffers a terrible accident, the music stops, and Isabel’s parents decide in their grief to send Isabel to a convent school on the mainland. The young lovers embark on their journeys of heartache and misplaced love before fate contrives to pull the threads of their lives together. When they meet, it will be like a miracle.
Author’s Statement – Niall Williams
Although when I wrote the novel I was already a convert to one of its central ideas: that there is someone out there who is the other half of your soul, the other aspect, that this will at all times seem unlikely, that all legendary obstacles will come in the way, it has taken me more than twenty years and the experience of watching the novel try to find its way into film to learn.
Because this is a story of faith and doubt, vision and blindness, it has seemed strangely apt that, though over the years readers from many countries, and in many languages, have said they could ‘see’ the film, it remained invisible. It seems to me that all artists know the story’s battle between hope and despair and must work secretly believing in that someone who will see, and grasp what you are trying to do. With this film I am fortunate enough now to feel in the company of many of those someones, and to realise I was all the time only waiting for Polly Steele to knock at my door.
Another aspect of this—how a work of art comes with its own life, and in its own time—has also been borne out by the book’s journey towards the screen. Almost from the first, the novel moved beyond Ireland and Irishness in general. As it began to be translated into other languages, I started to receive letters from readers in different corners of the world, and what struck me was the number of times a reader, from Brazil say, would say ‘This feels like a Latin American novel,’ only for the next one, from Jerusalem, to say ‘This story could be of my life here.’
In the end what I have come to understand is that, though born out of and set in Ireland, the book is what the late John Hurt in his introduction of the Modern Classic edition called ‘a complete world of its own.’ I take this to be the definition of the universal. And in the universe of the story, where God comes and goes without explanation, where mystery is as much a part of love as of death, and our every moment is either destined or not, acceptance is the wisdom of suffering, and love the ultimate triumph of life.
From Page to Screen: How Niall Williams’ Soulful Prose Became the Heart of Four Letters of Love
When a novelist adapts their work for the screen, something quietly magical happens. With Four Letters of Love, Irish author Niall Williams steps into that rare creative territory—translating the emotional cadence of his acclaimed novel into a cinematic language without losing the soul of the original.
Williams began his career co-authoring non-fiction with his wife Christine Breen before making his mark in fiction with Four Letters of Love in 1997—a debut that became an international bestseller, translated into over twenty languages.
Since then, Williams has carved a unique space in Irish literature with novels like History of the Rain (longlisted for the Booker Prize) and This Is Happiness. His work often dances between faith and doubt, past and present, and is grounded in the rhythms of rural Irish life.
With Four Letters of Love finally making its way to the screen—under his own pen—the story finds a new heartbeat without losing its original soul.
“Stories like this aren’t built—they’re listened to,” Williams once said of his process. Known for his poetic storytelling and spiritual themes, his screenplay mirrors this approach: intimate, character-driven, and attentive to the quiet moments that shape lives. By adapting his novel, Williams preserves the rhythm and longing of his prose, ensuring the film doesn’t simply retell the story—it inhabits it.
“What drew me to Four Letters of Love was its quiet boldness—the idea that love and destiny might be written not in thunderclaps, but in the hush between two strangers passing. Niall’s script had that hush. It moved like a prayer, and my role was to listen closely. I wanted the film to feel like memory—fragile, luminous, and full of longing,” said director Polly Steele, whose previous work explored mental health and emotional healing, complements Williams’ lyrical script with a restrained yet cinematic lens. Her touch brings visual nuance to the spiritual undercurrents of the story, allowing scenes to breathe rather than rush toward resolution.
Given Williams’s body of work since 1997, it’s likely that his understanding of love, loss, and spiritual longing has matured. That evolution may have subtly reshaped how he approached the screenplay—not by altering the story’s essence, but by deepening its emotional textures. The novel’s themes of divine calling, artistic yearning, and the quiet choreography of fate remain intact, but the screenplay reportedly leans into visual storytelling and silence as much as dialogue, allowing space for reflection and ambiguity.
“In love everything changes, and continues changing all the time. There is no stillness, no stopped clock of the heart in which the moment of happiness holds forever, but only the constant whirring forward motion of desire and need, rising and falling, falling and rising, full of doubts then certainties that moment by moment change and become doubts again,” says Williams.
Born in Dublin in 1958, Niall Williams studied English and French Literature at University College, Dublin. He moved to New York in 1980 where he married Christine Breen, whom he had met while she was also a student at UCD. His first job in New York was opening boxes of books in Fox & Sutherland’s Bookshop in Mount Kisco. In 1985, he and Chris left America to attempt to make lives as writers in Ireland. On April 1st they moved to the cottage in west Clare that Chris’s grandfather had left eighty years before. They have two adult children, a dog named Finn and a cat called Thanks.
Director Polly Steele is an Award Winning Director renowned for her ability to weave sensitive narratives that capture both hearts and minds alike. This is reinforced by amongst many other awards and nominations, Bentonville’s & Fairhope’s ‘Audience Choice Award’ for her feature ‘Let Me Go’, which premiered at the Edinburgh Film Festival, starring Juliet Stevenson and Lucy Boynton. Polly has successfully crafted films for all of the UK’s major broadcasters, & produced/developed fiction as MD for Rocket Pictures, collaborating with industry icons Elton John and David Furnish. Additionally, under her own banner, In Trust Films, Polly has a distinctive creative vision and continues to produce stories that resonate deeply with audiences.
Polly recently completed a feature she Directed ‘Four Letters of Love’, starring Pierce Brosnan, Helena Bonham Carter and Gabriel Byrne. Based on Niall Williams’ best-selling novel, the film is a poignant Irish romance encompassing fate, faith and the power of true love. Polly imbues the narrative with profound sensitivity, showcasing her mastery and strength as a Director. The result is a deeply moving cinematic experience, to be released later this year.
Premiering at this years Edinburgh Film Festival is a feature length documentary Directed by Polly for Universal Pictures entitled ‘The Mountain within Me’, featuring Ed Jackson author of “Lucky”, ex-rugby player & director of the M2M Foundation.
Additional documentary Directing work has included BAFTA award winning Video Diaries (BBC), Tantrums & Tiaras the inside story of Elton John’s life, shortlisted for a BAFTA (itv), Kofi Annan – The Eye of the Storm (BBC2), Extraordinary People – the Worlds Youngest Surgeon, shortlisted for the Grierson Award(C5), In the Arctic with Ewan McGregor, (Best Indie Documentary), Eastside Story, a revealing portrait of Ray Lewis’s controversial Eastside Youth Leaders Academy and BBC2’s Rich Russians in London.
As a visual artist, Polly had two series of video portraits commissioned. Her subjects included Tony Benn, Jason Isaacs and star of The Wire, Michael K Williams. She has subsequently also shot a 2nd series entitled WHO AM I, the portraits of eight women. Polly is also a trained life coach and mother of three.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on How Straw Gives Voice to Silent Struggles: Tyler Perry’s Most Urgent Film
Writer-director Tyler Perry’s real-life feelings inspired Straw‘s script because he was “just dealing with so much stuff” while developing the story. ‘I just wanted to get it all on paper. And the way it all unfolds, many people are dealing with this on this planet.”
Straw is one of the standout entries in Tyler Perry’s ambitious first-look deal with Netflix, a multi-year agreement signed in 2023 that allows the streamer priority access to his upcoming feature films. This partnership marked a significant evolution in Perry’s creative trajectory, moving beyond his established Madea universe into more daring, socially resonant storytelling.
Films under that deal are the legal thriller Mea Culpa (2024), a legal thriller with a seductive edge, The Six Triple Eight (2024), a historical war drama based on the true story of the 6888th Central Postal Directory Battalion—the only all-Black, all-female unit deployed overseas during WWII, and Duplicity (2025), a mystery thriller with social undercurrents. This slate reflects Perry’s growing interest in stories that confront injustice, identity, and emotional endurance—a thematic shift that focuses on emotionally authentic storytelling.
Straw is a searing psychological drama that explores the emotional and societal toll of being pushed to the brink
It marks a significant departure from Perry’s earlier comedic work, positioning him as a filmmaker willing to tackle darker, more complex narratives.
Its significance lies in both its raw portrayal of systemic failure and its emotional resonance with audiences worldwide.
The title itself is metaphorical—Janiyah, the protagonist, is a single mother whose life unravels over one catastrophic day. The film examines what happens when someone reaches their emotional and psychological limit. Janiyah’s descent into crisis is not just personal—it reflects how society often overlooks or misjudges those in need of help. Her breakdown is a cry for help in a world that offers none. The film critiques multiple institutions—child protective services, healthcare, law enforcement, and banking—all of which fail Janiyah in her time of need.
It has sparked widespread conversation about poverty, race, and mental health, especially among single mothers and marginalised communities and became Netflix’s most-watched film globally within 48 hours of release, indicating its deep emotional connection with audiences.
Tyler Perry was inspired to create Straw by a deep sense of empathy for people who are often overlooked, unheard, and unrepresented in society
In interviews, he shared that the film was born from both personal emotional weight and a desire to spotlight the struggles of those living on the margins.
Perry said he was “dealing with so much stuff” in his own life while writing the script, and poured that emotional turbulence into the character of Janiyah.
He wanted to explore what happens when someone who’s constantly trying to survive finally reaches their breaking point—the proverbial “last straw.”
He was moved by the plight of people who are “not being seen, not being acknowledged, not being represented”—especially single mothers and working-class individuals navigating systemic failures.
The line “You don’t know how expensive it is to be poor” became a thematic anchor, encapsulating the film’s critique of economic and institutional injustice.
Perry also wanted to challenge expectations of his work. Known for his comedic and melodramatic films, Straw marks a bold pivot into psychological drama, driven by raw emotion and social commentary.
It’s a compelling example of how personal catharsis and social awareness can converge in storytelling
What makes Straw hit so hard is how it refuses to flinch. It doesn’t package struggle in a palatable form—it immerses you in the relentless friction of Janiyah’s world: bounced checks, unanswered calls, procedural cruelty wrapped in bureaucratic smiles. Through her eyes, we feel the accumulated weight of quiet oppressions—the ones that don’t make headlines but slowly erode a person’s sense of worth.
And what’s striking is how Perry aligns the cinematic language with her unraveling:
The tight close-ups mirror her emotional suffocation.
The sound design drops out in key moments, echoing isolation.
The use of a fractured timeline, especially after the twist, forces us to confront how trauma distorts reality.
It’s a haunting meditation on what it means to be seen only when you break—and even then, only as a cautionary tale.
It’s not just storytelling—it’s soul-bearing
Perry channelled his emotional turbulence into the script, but in doing so, he tapped into a collective experience. That universal resonance—“many people are dealing with this”—is why the film struck such a deep chord with audiences.
It’s storytelling as catharsis, but also as witness. By writing from a place of personal overwhelm, Perry made space for others to feel seen in their own quiet struggles. Structurally, too, you can feel that urgency: the film unfolds like a pressure cooker, each scene a valve tightening, never loosening.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight – A poignant South African drama
“I just really related to the central character of this young, spunky little girl… so I wrote the screenplay with her as the voice and as the narrator, telling the story of that African childhood from her point of view,” says Embeth Davidtz’s of her directorial debut, Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight, a striking adaptation of Alexandra Fuller’s acclaimed 2001 memoir.
The poignant South African drama Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight was written and directed by Embeth Davidtz in her feature debut, adapted from Alexandra Fuller’s acclaimed memoir.
Set in the waning days of the Rhodesian Bush War, the film follows 8-year-old Bobo (played by Lexi Venter) as she navigates a childhood shaped by political upheaval, familial instability, and a deep, complicated bond with the African land her family refuses to let go of.
The film has been praised for its lyrical storytelling and emotional nuance, capturing the raw contradictions of a white Zimbabwean family clinging to a fading world.
“My parents are South African,” Davidtz says. “They were studying in the States. I was born there, and then our life was uprooted, and we moved to South Africa when I was eight. Bobo reminds me of arriving in South Africa, being in a poor family with an alcoholic parent in a country that was so racist. I was a child who suddenly had this separation between what I was seeing and what I knew to be right or wrong. I was seeing how casual the racism was. You know, the benches said, ‘Whites only.’ It was still that time.”
Davidtz, who also stars as Fuller’s sad, alcoholic mother, brings a haunting intimacy to the screen, balancing the innocence of childhood with the brutal legacy of colonialism.
The film rests on the tiny shoulders and remarkably lifelike performance of Lexi Venter — just 7 when the picture, her first, was shot. The largely South African cast displays the same naturalism as Venter, creating a consistent tone. Rob Van Vuuren plays Bobo’s father, who is at times away fighting, and Anina Hope Reed is her older sister. Bali and Shilubana are especially impressive as Sarah and Jacob, their portrayals suggesting a resistance to white rule that the characters can’t always speak out loud.
Elegant, stylistically assured, and visually articulate, the film unfolds entirely from the perspective of Bobo, who runs around with animals at the shabby farm, dirty and barefoot, observes her father Tim’s (Rob Van Vuuren) and alcoholic mother Nicola’s (Davidtz) struggles and copies all the racist remarks she’s heard from her parents, parroting them to her family’s Black servants, Sarah (Zikhona Bali) and Jacob (Fumani N. Shilubana). Through Bobo, Davidtz both emphasizes the cost of what children inadvertently perceive, and how racism is passed down through generations.
Adapting Alexandra Fuller’s acclaimed memoir.
Davidtz, the talented star of Schindler’s List, Bridget Jones Diary and The Morning Show, grew up in South Africa; that country’s divided background influenced how she adapted Alexandra Fuller’s memoir about her youth in Rhodesia in 1980 when an election shifted the balance of power in that country (now Zimbabwe) forever. Davidtz’s film adaptation of Fuller’s book chronicles the shifting racial and power dynamics in a country through the eyes of a child.
“The book was a big hit in 2001, and someone bought the rights then, sat with it, attempted to crack the screenplay [but couldn’t],” says Davidtz. “It is a 22-year memoir. My desktop was littered with the drafts that I wrote. I first started by writing the whole thing: the young Bobo, the middle-aged, then the older. Then, at one point, I gave it to somebody else, and she didn’t even know the direction to go in. Then I gave it to Alexandra. I adore her writing, but she went completely off on a tangent. And so I said, “Alexandra, I love you. But I’m going to take it.” And she’s like, “Go for it.” So I isolated myself and chose one window through the child’s eyes. That was the thing that made it work. I borrow heavily from the book as Alexandra writes dialogue very well. Like when Bobo is younger, she would say, “I can fire you if I want” [to Sarah]. That was Alexandra.”
Davidtz’s adaptation leans into the memoir’s emotional core rather than attempting a comprehensive retelling. One of her boldest choices was to frame the entire narrative through young Bobo’s point of view, depicting a child’s view of the civil war that created the country of Zimbabwe, formerly Rhodesia — a change the girl’s white colonial parents fiercely resisted. It filters complex political and racial dynamics through a lens of innocence and confusion, allowing the audience to experience the dissonance between what Bobo sees and what we understand.
Rather than covering the full scope of Fuller’s memoir, Davidtz focused on a single pivotal year—1980—when Zimbabwe transitioned from Rhodesia. This tight focus gave the screenplay a lyrical, almost dreamlike quality, emphasising memory over chronology.
Much of the story is told through Bobo’s voiceover, paired with stark, sun-drenched cinematography. The film was shot in South Africa, and Willie Nel’s cinematography, with glaring bright light, suggests the scorching feel of the sun.
Davidtz’s script uses silence, repetition, and fragmented dialogue to evoke the disorientation of childhood in a collapsing world.
It’s a fascinating case of an actor-turned-director using her own emotional intuition to shape a deeply personal adaptation. that shift from interpreting characters to authoring a cinematic world speaks volumes about Embeth Davidtz’s sensibility as a storyteller. What makes her journey especially compelling is how she didn’t just direct a narrative—she unearthed it, layering her personal history into the very bones of the film.
The result feels less like a traditional adaptation and more like a memory film: not confined by structure, but led by sensory truth, fragmented silence, and unspoken grief. It’s also a quietly radical move, centring whiteness in postcolonial Africa not as dominance, but as dissonance and displacement, especially through a child’s eyes.
It’s a rare triple-threat debut—writing, directing, and acting—with Davidtz channeling her personal connection to the material into a film that’s both intimate and politically resonant.
Embeth Davidtz is a South African-American actress and director known for her emotionally nuanced performances and her recent transition behind the camera. She gained international recognition for her role as Miss Honey in Matilda (1996) and as Helen Hirschin Steven Spielberg’s Schindler’s List (1993). Her filmography spans genres—from period dramas like Feast of July to thrillers like Thir13en Ghosts and The Amazing Spider-Man series, where she played Mary Parker. Born to South African parents while her father was studying in the U.S., Davidtz moved to South Africa at age nine. She had to learn Afrikaans to attend school and later trained in drama at Rhodes University. Her early stage work with CAPAB included Romeo and Juliet and Stille Nag, earning her critical acclaim in both English and Afrikaans productions.
Embeth Davidtz directing Lexi Venter on set of ‘Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight’.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on James Gunn Reboots the Legacy of Superman for a New Generation
In the rubble of brooding antiheroes and apocalyptic scale, writer-director James Gunn’s Superman isn’t just a reboot; it’s a major reset for the DC Universe, reshaping the legacy into something more vulnerable, more human. “Superman must reconcile his alien Kryptonian heritage with his upbringing as reporter Clark Kent. As the embodiment of truth, justice, and the human way, he finds himself in a world that views these as old-fashioned.”
From Christopher Reeve’s earnest grace to Zack Snyder’s operatic grandeur, Superman has always reflected the age that bore him. Now, under James Gunn’s vision, the Man of Steel is reborn. This 2025 reboot doesn’t discard the cape’s storied past; it reframes it.
Gunn approaches the mythos less as a monument to restore and more as a story to be retold with fresh breath. Where Reeve’s Clark stood for golden-age idealism and Cavill’s embodied mythic alienation, this Superman strives for emotional fluency—a hero not above us, but among us. Drawing on his own flair for misfit empathy, Gunn leans into vulnerability, irony, and optimism not as tonal contradictions but as coexistences. The result is a film that reveres tradition without being bound by it—rooted in the past, yes, but unmistakably speaking to now.
James Gunn’s Superman is as much a personal reckoning as it is a cinematic reboot.
The emotional core of his screenplay was shaped by something more personal: being fired from Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3. That painful moment, and the overwhelming support he received afterward, shifted his creative compass. Gunn said, “Without that experience, I don’t think that I would’ve written the Superman that I wrote… That opened the door for me to stop creating so that people would like me.”
He approached the script with vulnerability, seeking feedback from trusted collaborators like DC writer Tom King. Gunn described his process as “first draft door closed, second draft door open,” emphasising the importance of constructive notes, even as the head of DC Studios.
The story follows a young Superman navigating his dual identity—balancing his Kryptonian heritage with his human upbringing in Smallville. It’s not an origin story, but rather a fresh take on a more established Superman who’s still finding his place in a world that views his ideals as outdated.
Inspiration & Writing Process – Rewriting The Myth
James Gunn wrote Superman (formerly Superman: Legacy) by a deep love for the character’s enduring optimism and moral clarity—qualities he felt were missing from many modern superhero portrayals. He’s said that Superman represents “kindness in a world that thinks of kindness as old-fashioned,” and that idea became a central theme of the film.
Gunn also drew heavily from classic comics like All-Star Superman, Superman for All Seasons, and Lex Luthor: Man of Steel. While the plot of the film is original, he was influenced by the tone, emotional depth, and visual style of these stories. For instance, he admired how All-Star Superman blended science fiction with mythic storytelling, and how Superman for All Seasons captured Clark Kent’s humanity through the changing seasons of his life.
James Gunn drew inspiration from several iconic Superman comics to shape Superman: Legacy—each offering a different lens on the Man of Steel’s identity, values, and emotional depth:
All-Star Superman by Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely: A philosophical and heartfelt exploration of Superman’s legacy, mortality, and compassion. Gunn has cited this as a major influence for its tone and optimism.
Superman for All Seasons by Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale: A beautifully illustrated, seasonally structured coming-of-age story that emphasizes Clark Kent’s humanity and small-town roots.
Superman: Birthright by Mark Waid and Leinil Francis Yu: A modern retelling of Superman’s origin that focuses on his internal conflict and journalistic mission.
Superman: Brainiac by Geoff Johns and Gary Frank: A high-stakes confrontation with one of Superman’s most cerebral foes, highlighting his vulnerability and emotional ties to Earth.
Superman: Ending Battle and others like American Alien, Space Age, and Superman: Unchained also helped shape the film’s tone and themes.
He’s described the film as a story about heritage and identity—how Superman’s Kryptonian lineage and Kansas upbringing shape his values and choices. It’s not just about superpowers, but about navigating a world that doesn’t always share his ideals.
James Gunn’s take on Superman redefines the character’s voice by leaning into earnestness without naivety, and idealism without irony—a bold move in an era of snarky, self-aware superheroes.
Instead of the stoic, sometimes distant figure we’ve seen in past iterations, Gunn’s Superman is emotionally accessible. He’s still the beacon of hope, but now with a touch of vulnerability and introspection. Gunn has said he wants Superman to be “kind in a world that thinks kindness is old-fashioned,” which reframes the Man of Steel not as a relic, but as a quiet revolutionary—someone who holds onto his values even when the world rolls its eyes.
This version of Clark Kent is also more grounded. He’s not discovering his powers or grappling with godhood—he’s already Superman, but still figuring out how to be human in a cynical world. That shift in voice means more warmth, more humor (Rachel Brosnahan, who plays Lois Lane, confirmed this), and a deeper emotional resonance.
Gunn’s writing style—known for its balance of irreverence and sincerity—lets Superman speak with conviction, but also with heart. Expect fewer grand speeches and more quiet truths. Less “I must save the world” and more “I believe in it.”
James Gunn’s work has a pretty clear evolution when you zoom out across his projects. Early on, with films like Tromeo and Juliet and Slither, you see a playful love of genre with a side of outrageous chaos—he wasn’t afraid to go weird and wild. Then his Scooby-Doo scripts showed his knack for balancing nostalgia with meta-humor, already hinting at that heart-underneath-the-sarcasm vibe.
But everything shifted with Guardians of the Galaxy. That was a breakout moment, where he blended emotional backstory, mismatched characters, killer soundtracks, and cosmic spectacle into something unexpectedly soulful. From there, his signature style crystallized: damaged but lovable characters, irreverence tempered by sincerity, and themes of chosen family and redemption.
The Suicide Squad and Peacemaker cranked up the cynicism and gore but still stayed true to that emotional core. Now, with Superman, Gunn’s channeling those storytelling instincts into a figure who’s the opposite of cynical—a beacon of hope. It’s like his whole journey as a writer has led to this moment: embracing earnestness in a world that often dismisses it.
Filming began in March 2024, under snow-dusted skies and high expectations. But rather than chase the operatic spectacle of predecessors, Gunn built a Metropolis that breathes—a city shaped not by grandeur but by heart. The production team leaned into vibrant colour palettes, earnest character beats, and a sense of wonder reminiscent of Joe Shuster’s early illustrations. The process was collaborative, intimate, and purpose-driven, with Gunn reportedly treating each scene like a love letter to hope itself. As co-CEO of DC Studios, he wasn’t just directing a film—he was charting the first step of a creative renaissance.
The Hero We Still Need
With Superman, Gunn doesn’t just relaunch a hero—he reorients a cinematic universe. As the keystone of the new DCU, this film holds the burden of belief: that sincerity sells, that optimism still resonates, and that character can be compelling without cynicism. If it lands, it won’t just elevate Clark Kent—it’ll light the runway for Supergirl, The Brave and the Bold, and a host of characters waiting in the wings.
James Gunn didn’t just write a Superman story—he lived one. Exiled, doubted, and ultimately restored, his journey mirrors that of the hero he now helms: not a god returning from the sky, but a man stepping forward when the world needs him most. In giving Superman his heart back, Gunn has done something rare in modern cinema—he’s made hope feel rebellious again. And maybe, just maybe, that’s all the legacy ever needed to fly.
James Gunn has quite the eclectic writing résumé, blending horror, comedy, and superhero genres with his signature irreverent flair.
Here are some of the notable films he’s written:
Tromeo and Juliet (1996) – A cult-classic punk adaptation of Shakespeare, written during his early days at Troma Entertainment.
Scooby-Doo (2002) and Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed (2004) – Yes, those live-action Scooby-Doo films. Gunn brought a cheeky, self-aware tone to the beloved franchise.
Dawn of the Dead (2004) – He penned the screenplay for Zack Snyder’s remake of the George A. Romero zombie classic.
Slither (2006) – His directorial debut, a gooey horror-comedy that’s become a cult favorite.
Super (2010) – A dark, gritty take on the vigilante genre starring Rainn Wilson and Elliot Page.
Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Vol. 2 (2017), and Vol. 3 (2023) – Gunn wrote and directed all three, redefining the Marvel cosmic landscape with humor and heart.
The Suicide Squad (2021) – A chaotic, blood-soaked reboot that gave the DC antiheroes a fresh, irreverent spin.
The Belko Experiment (2016) – A brutal office survival thriller he wrote and produced.
Brightburn (2019) – A superhero-horror mashup he produced and co-wrote the story for.
The Guardians of the Galaxy Holiday Special (2022) – A festive Marvel one-off written and directed by Gunn.
Superman (2025) – His latest, and perhaps most personal, project as both writer and director, launching the new DC Universe.
He’s also dabbled in TV and web series, like Peacemaker and James Gunn’s PG Porn.
James Gunn: From Cult Cinema to Cultural Architect
James Francis Gunn Jr., born August 5, 1966, in St. Louis, Missouri, is an American filmmaker, screenwriter, and studio executive known for blending irreverent humor with emotional sincerity. He began his career at the cult film company Troma Entertainment, co-writing Tromeo and Juliet (1996), before making his directorial debut with the horror-comedy Slither (2006).
Gunn gained mainstream acclaim with Marvel’s Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), redefining the superhero genre with a misfit ensemble and a mixtape heart. He followed it with Guardians Vol. 2 (2017), The Suicide Squad (2021), and the HBO Max series Peacemaker (2022–present), showcasing his signature blend of spectacle and soul.
In 2022, Gunn was appointed co-chair and co-CEO of DC Studios alongside Peter Safran. His first major project in this role is Superman (2025), a reboot that reimagines the iconic hero through a lens of vulnerability, hope, and emotional truth.
Gunn holds degrees from Saint Louis University and Columbia University (MFA in creative writing). He was previously married to actress Jenna Fischer and is now married to actress Jennifer Holland. His brothers Sean, Brian, and Matt Gunn are also active in the entertainment industry
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Final Destination: Bloodlines — When Survival Becomes a Family Curse
The directing duo Zach Lipovsky and Adam Stein leaned into the emotional core of Final Destination: Bloodlines, drawing from their own family experiences to deepen the characters’ relationships. In true Final Destination fashion, their pitch to the studio included a Zoom call where they “killed themselves” using pre-recorded backgrounds—an audacious move that sealed the deal.
Final Destination: Bloodlines was inspired by a desire to reimagine the franchise while honouring its legacy. Director Jon Watts, known for his work on the Spider-Man films, pitched the idea of going back in time to explore how Death stalks a single family across generations.
Watts, however, played a pivotal role as a story creator and producer. His one-page pitch reimagining the franchise around a single family line was the conceptual spark that launched Bloodlines. So while he wasn’t behind the camera, his creative DNA is deeply embedded in the film’s structure and themes.
“When I first revisited the Final Destination franchise, I wasn’t interested in repeating the formula—I wanted to reframe it,” says Watts. “I didn’t want to just bring Death back—I wanted to ask what happens when it never really left. Bloodlines was my way of exploring how fate doesn’t just haunt individuals, it haunts families. The idea that a single moment in 1968 could echo through generations felt both terrifying and deeply human.”
“This film is about more than premonitions and elaborate set pieces—it’s about the weight of legacy. I was drawn to the idea that a single moment of survival in 1968 could echo through generations, shaping lives that were never meant to exist.”
It’s a revival that blends nostalgia, innovation, and a touch of theatrical flair
The film shifted the franchise’s focus from random groups of friends to a multi-generational family, giving the story more emotional weight. This change allowed the filmmakers to explore themes of legacy, fate, and inherited trauma, all while delivering the franchise’s signature thrill.
“Bloodlines is my love letter to the franchise—but it’s also a challenge to it. Can we evolve horror without losing its pulse? Can we make you care before we make you scream? I hope we did both,” says Watts.
You can now watch Final Destination: Bloodlines from the comfort of your home! It’s available to rent or buy on several digital platforms, including: Prime Video, Apple TV, YouTube, Fandango at Home, Movies Anywhere and Microsoft Store. If you prefer physical media, a 4K Steelbook, Blu-ray, and DVD edition dropped on July 22, along with a collector’s box set featuring all six Final Destination film
The screenplay
The screenplay for Final Destination: Bloodlines was written by Guy Busick and Lori Evans Taylor, based on a story by Jon Watts, Busick, and Taylor. The writing process was a careful blend of honouring the franchise’s legacy while injecting new emotional depth and narrative structure.
Busick and Taylor approached the script with a clear goal: to evolve the franchise’s formula without losing its identity. They focused on intergenerational storytelling, shifting the narrative from a group of strangers to a single family haunted by Death across decades. This allowed them to explore themes like inherited trauma, fate, and the illusion of control, while still delivering the franchise’s signature suspense and elaborate death sequences.
Busick and Evans Taylor approached Final Destination: Bloodlines with a meticulous focus on set-up and pay-off, treating each death not just as spectacle, but as a narrative puzzle. Their process involved reverse-engineering sequences: starting with a mundane object or setting, then layering in red herrings, misleads, and emotional stakes to build tension before the inevitable strike. The film’s elegant cause-and-effect rhythm wasn’t accidental—it was a deliberate evolution of the franchise’s DNA.
Their process involved:
Reverse-engineering death scenes: Starting with a mundane setting and brainstorming how it could become lethal, often using red herrings to mislead the audience before the real danger strikes.
Layered setups and payoffs: The script is filled with subtle clues and misdirects that reward attentive viewers, building tension through anticipation rather than jump scares.
Emotional stakes: By grounding the story in a family dynamic, the writers gave the audience characters to care about, making each death more impactful.
It’s a great example of how horror writing can be both structurally clever and emotionally resonant.
Final Destination: Bloodlines had a surprisingly collaborative and emotionally grounded cr.
Final Destination: Bloodlines dives deeper than its predecessors by threading its horror through generational trauma, fate, and the illusion of control.
At its core, the film explores how the consequences of cheating Death ripple through time. The original premonition in 1968 sets off a chain reaction, with Death now targeting the descendants of those who were meant to die. This creates a haunting metaphor for how unresolved trauma and guilt can be passed down like a curse.
As with earlier entries, the film wrestles with whether fate can be outwitted. But Bloodlines adds a twist—by tying fate to blood, it suggests that some destinies are inherited, not chosen. The characters’ attempts to break the cycle become a meditation on whether we can ever truly escape what’s been set in motion.
The film continues the franchise’s tradition of transforming everyday environments into death traps. From a high-rise restaurant to a tattoo parlor, the message is clear: safety is an illusion, and Death is always watching.
By focusing on a single family rather than a group of strangers, Bloodlines raises the emotional stakes. The characters aren’t just trying to survive—they’re trying to protect each other, grieve together, and make sense of a legacy they never asked for.
The themes in Final Destination: Bloodlines don’t just shape the story—they sculpt the characters from the inside out, giving their arcs emotional weight and psychological complexity.
Characters aren’t just reacting to Death—they’re grappling with the emotional residue of past tragedies. For example, the protagonist (played by Kaitlyn Santa Juana) inherits not only visions of impending doom but also the guilt and silence that have haunted her family for decades. This theme pushes her from passive survivor to active truth-seeker, determined to break the cycle.
Each character’s arc is a negotiation between surrender and resistance. Some try to outwit Death with logic and planning, while others spiral into fatalism. These opposing responses create tension within the family and force characters to confront their beliefs about destiny. The result? Growth that feels earned, not imposed.
Because danger lurks in the mundane, characters develop heightened awareness—and paranoia. This constant tension strips away their emotional defenses, revealing vulnerabilities and deepening their relationships. A father who once seemed stoic becomes emotionally raw; a sibling rivalry gives way to fierce protectiveness.
By centering the story on a family, the film allows for layered dynamics: generational conflict, buried secrets, and moments of unexpected tenderness. These bonds evolve under pressure, with characters learning to trust, forgive, and sacrifice. It’s not just about who dies—it’s about what survives emotionally.
The result is a horror film where the characters don’t just run from Death—they wrestle with what it means to live meaningfully in its shadow.
There’s no official sequel to Final Destination: Bloodlines announced yet—but all signs point to “yes, eventually.” The film has been a massive success, grossing over $280 million worldwide and becoming the best-reviewed entry in the franchise. Given that momentum, it’s hard to imagine Warner Bros. letting Death rest for long.
Co-director Zach Lipovsky even hinted that while they poured every idea they had into Bloodlines, they’ve already had conversations about a follow-up. He said they wouldn’t move forward unless the next story “demanded to be made,” suggesting they’re waiting for the right concept to strike.
So while Final Destination 7 isn’t confirmed, it’s definitely lurking in the shadows—just like Death itself.
Here’s a quick rundown of Final Destination films 1 through 5, in order of release:
The Final Destination franchise has always revolved around the chilling idea that Death has a design—and if you escape it, it will come for you with relentless precision. But Bloodlines takes that premise and refracts it through a generational lens, transforming the franchise’s episodic structure into a mythology of inherited consequence
Final Destination (2000) High schooler Alex Browning has a terrifying premonition that his plane will explode. He and a few classmates disembark just before takeoff, only for the plane to crash moments later. But Death doesn’t like to be cheated, and the survivors begin dying in bizarre, gruesome ways. Director: James Wong / Screenwriters: James Wong, Glen Morgan, Jeffrey Reddick (story)
Final Destination 2 (2003) Kimberly Corman foresees a massive highway pile-up and blocks traffic, saving several lives. But Death’s design is still in motion, and the survivors must uncover how their fates are connected to the original Flight 180 disaster. Director: David R. Ellis / Screenwriters: J. Mackye Gruber, Eric Bress (based on characters by Reddick, Wong, and Morgan)
Final Destination 3 (2006) Wendy Christensen has a vision of a deadly roller coaster crash and manages to save a few riders. As Death picks them off one by one, she races to decipher clues hidden in photographs that may predict how each person will die. Director: James Wong / Screenwriters: James Wong, Glen Morgan
The Final Destination (2009) After a premonition saves a group of people from a racetrack disaster, Nick O’Bannon and his friends try to stay ahead of Death’s plan. This installment leans heavily into 3D spectacle, with increasingly elaborate and gory set pieces. Director: David R. Ellis / Screenwriters: Eric Bress
Final Destination 5 (2011) A suspension bridge collapse is narrowly avoided thanks to Sam Lawton’s vision. As survivors begin dying, they learn a chilling twist: killing someone else may transfer Death’s design. The film ends with a shocking reveal that ties directly into the events of the first movie. Director: Steven Quale / Screenwriters: Eric Heisserer (based on characters by Reddick, Wong, and Morgan)
Director Profile: Zach Lipovsky & Adam Stein
Known for:Freaks (2018), Kim Possible (2019), Final Destination: Bloodlines (2025) Style: Visually inventive, emotionally grounded, genre-savvy
Zach Lipovsky and Adam Stein are a Vancouver-based directing duo celebrated for blending genre spectacle with emotional storytelling. They first gained attention with their indie sci-fi thriller Freaks, which showcased their ability to craft high-concept narratives on modest budgets. That film’s success led to their co-directing the live-action Kim Possible for Disney, and eventually, the sixth installment of the Final Destination franchise.
Guy Busick
Profession: Screenwriter, Television Writer Notable Works: Ready or Not (2019), Scream (2022), Scream VI (2023), Final Destination: Bloodlines (2025). Guy Busick is an American screenwriter known for his sharp, suspense-driven storytelling and darkly playful tone. He began his career with the thriller Urge (2016) and quickly gained recognition for co-writing Ready or Not, a breakout horror-comedy hit. His collaborations with directors Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett continued with the Scream reboot and its sequel. Busick’s work often blends genre thrills with clever subversion, making him a natural fit for reviving the Final Destination franchise.
Lori Evans Taylor
Profession: Screenwriter, Director, Producer Notable Works: Bed Rest (2022), Final Destination: Bloodlines (2025). Lori Evans Taylor began her creative journey in theater, co-founding the SpyAnts company in Los Angeles before transitioning to screenwriting. She made her feature directorial debut with Bed Rest, a Hitchcockian horror-thriller starring Melissa Barrera. Taylor specializes in emotionally grounded horror, often exploring themes of motherhood, trauma, and psychological tension. Her collaboration with Busick on Bloodlines brought a fresh emotional core to the franchise, rooted in legacy and familial dread.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Network — A Prophetic Masterpiece of Media Satire
In 1976, Network exploded onto cinema screens with a ferocity that felt both theatrical and eerily real. Written by the razor-sharp Paddy Chayefsky and directed by the ever-introspective Sidney Lumet, the film was a scathing satire of television’s descent into spectacle — a critique that has only grown more relevant with time.
The Creative Minds Behind the Madness
Paddy Chayefsky, already a two-time Oscar winner, crafted a screenplay that was both prophetic and poetic. His dialogue crackled with urgency, capturing the emotional and ethical decay of a media landscape obsessed with ratings. Sidney Lumet, known for his socially conscious storytelling (12 Angry Men, Dog Day Afternoon), brought Chayefsky’s vision to life with a raw, almost documentary-like intensity.
The Story That Shook the Screen
At its core, Network follows Howard Beale, a veteran news anchor who, after being fired, announces on-air that he will kill himself. Instead of being removed, Beale becomes a ratings sensation, transformed into a “mad prophet” by a network hungry for viewership. His iconic cry—“I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!”—became a cultural rallying point.
Why It Still Matters
Network wasn’t just ahead of its time—it was clairvoyant. It predicted the rise of infotainment, reality TV, and the commodification of outrage. Chayefsky foresaw a world where truth would be sacrificed for spectacle, and Lumet ensured that vision hit with emotional and intellectual force. The film won four Academy Awards, including Best Original Screenplay, and was later preserved in the U.S. National Film Registry for its cultural and historical significance.
In an age where media manipulation and performative outrage dominate headlines, Network remains not just a film, but a warning. And nearly 50 years later, we’re still watching it unfold.
Thematic Depth of Network
Sidney Lumet’s Network, penned by the uncompromising Paddy Chayefsky, is more than a media satire—it’s a howl of existential dread wrapped in the language of television. Nearly five decades later, its themes remain startlingly prescient, making it a rich subject for any feature article that seeks to interrogate the intersection of media, morality, and madness.
At the heart of Network lies a chilling question: What happens when truth becomes a product? Howard Beale’s descent into televised prophecy is not a cautionary tale about madness—it’s about how madness becomes marketable. The network doesn’t silence him; it monetizes him. This theme resonates today in the age of viral outrage and algorithm-driven content.
One of the film’s most haunting moments is Ned Beatty’s monologue, where he tells Beale, “The world is a business.” This isn’t just a line—it’s a thesis. The film suggests that democracy, individuality, and even morality are illusions in a world governed by corporate interests. It’s a theme that invites comparison to modern tech monopolies and media conglomerates.
Beale’s transformation into the “mad prophet of the airwaves” is a performance—one that blurs the line between authenticity and artifice. The film asks: When does a persona become more real than the person? This theme is especially potent in today’s influencer culture, where curated identities often eclipse lived experience.
Diana Christensen, the ruthless programming executive, embodies the film’s critique of emotional exploitation. She doesn’t just chase ratings—she engineers them by turning human suffering into spectacle. This theme anticipates the rise of reality TV and true-crime sensationalism, where trauma becomes a narrative device.
Perhaps the most paradoxical theme is that Beale’s madness reveals a deeper truth. His rants, though unhinged, cut through the noise. The film suggests that in a world gone insane, the madman may be the only one who sees clearly. It’s a theme that invites reflection on the role of the artist, the outsider, and the whistleblower in society.
Here are some striking contemporary parallels:
Social Media Algorithms & Outrage Economy – Platforms like X (formerly Twitter), YouTube, and TikTok often reward sensationalism over substance. Influencers and commentators who stir controversy or emotional extremes tend to gain traction—mirroring Howard Beale’s transformation into a monetized prophet of rage.
Media Consolidation & Streaming Giants – The dominance of conglomerates like Disney, Amazon, and Netflix reflects Network’s warning about corporate control. With fewer companies owning more content, the illusion of diverse voices masks a homogenized, profit-driven agenda.
Reality TV & Influencer Culture Shows like The Kardashians or Love Island, and platforms like Instagram, thrive on curated personas. Much like Beale’s on-air persona, these identities blur the line between authenticity and performance, raising questions about what’s real and what’s manufactured for attention.
True Crime & Trauma-Based Content – Podcasts and docuseries like The Tinder Swindler or Dahmer – Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer Story turn real-life suffering into binge-worthy content. Diana Christensen would feel right at home in today’s content strategy rooms.
Satirical News & Fringe Commentary Figures like John Oliver or even some viral TikTok creators use humour or “unhinged” delivery to expose uncomfortable truths. Their popularity suggests that, as in Network, society sometimes trusts the “mad” voices to say what others won’t.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on When Dinosaurs Dream Again: The Timeless Myth Behind Jurassic Park’s Science
Before CGI roared and animatronics breathed life into ancient bones, Jurassic Park was a question trembling in amber: What if science could resurrect the past? What began as a speculative whisper in Michael Crichton’s imagination soon erupted into a cultural phenomenon that fused hard science with timeless myth. This is the story of how one novel reawakened our primal awe, challenged our belief in control, and transformed dinosaurs from dusty museum relics into cinematic gods of wonder — and warning.
The franchise began with Michael Crichton, who originally conceived a screenplay about cloning a dinosaur from fossil DNA. He later reworked it into the 1990 novel Jurassic Park, blending cutting-edge science with ethical dilemmas about playing god. The book’s central premise — resurrecting dinosaurs through genetic engineering — was both thrilling and cautionary.
Before the novel was even published, Universal Pictures and Steven Spielberg secured the rights. Spielberg’s 1993 film adaptation was a landmark in visual effects, combining animatronics and groundbreaking CGI to bring dinosaurs to life like never before. It became a box office juggernaut, grossing over $1 billion and redefining what blockbuster cinema could achieve.
The success of the original film led to a sprawling franchise: The Lost World: Jurassic Park (1997), Jurassic Park III (2001), the Jurassic World trilogy (2015–2022), which introduced a new generation to the franchise, and Jurassic World: Rebirth (2025).
The franchise also expanded into animated series, theme park rides, video games, and merchandise, becoming a multi-platform ecosystem.
Jurassic Park didn’t just entertain — it revolutionised filmmaking. Its use of CGI inspired directors like George Lucas (Star Wars prequels), James Cameron (Avatar), and Peter Jackson (The Lord of the Rings) to push the boundaries of digital storytelling. It also sparked public interest in palaeontology and bioethics.
Jurassic Park didn’t just bring dinosaurs back to life — it reshaped the DNA of modern filmmaking. After Jurassic Park, directors realised they could visualise the impossible — from Gollum in The Lord of the Rings to the Na’vi in Avatar. It marked the beginning of a new cinematic language where digital and practical effects could coexist to serve story and emotion. Ian Malcolm’s chaos theory isn’t just dialogue — it’s embedded in the film’s structure. The film’s sound design and cinematography — from the thunderous footsteps of the T. rex to the quiet menace of the raptors — emphasise nature’s raw power
Jurassic Park utilises its groundbreaking filmmaking techniques not only for spectacle, but also to deepen its exploration of powerful themes. Its realism reinforces the theme that humans cannot control nature, no matter how advanced their technology. By visualising DNA strands, lab-grown embryos, and high-tech control rooms, the film immerses us in a world where science has outpaced morality.
In essence, Jurassic Park’s techniques don’t just serve the story — they are the story. They embody the very tension between innovation and consequence, spectacle and substance.
To date, the franchise has grossed over $6 billion worldwide, making it one of the most successful film series in history. Its enduring appeal lies in its blend of spectacle, science, and the primal awe of seeing creatures from Earth’s distant past walk again.
The Spark in the Amber: What Drove Michael Crichton to Imagine Jurassic Park
“I realised that dinosaur DNA preserved in amber was a plausible idea — and that children knew the names of dinosaurs better than they knew the names of living animals. That was the spark.” — Michael Crichton
Michael Crichton was inspired to write Jurassic Park by a convergence of scientific curiosity, cultural fascination, and philosophical questioning — all filtered through his signature lens of speculative caution.
The core idea came from real-world research by paleobiologist George Poinar Jr., who discovered that amber could preserve ancient biological material, including cellular structures. Crichton was captivated by the possibility of extracting dinosaur DNA from insects fossilised in amber — a concept that became the novel’s scientific foundation.
Crichton was also struck by how young children could effortlessly name dinosaurs like “Stegosaurus” and “Tyrannosaurus.” In a 1993 interview, he noted how this deep-rooted fascination suggested dinosaurs held a unique place in our collective imagination — a blend of awe, fear, and wonder.
Crichton saw dinosaurs not just as prehistoric creatures, but as symbols of extinction and human vulnerability. He asked, “They’ve become extinct — are we next?” This existential question gave the story its deeper resonance, turning it into a cautionary tale about scientific hubris and the illusion of control.
He was also influenced by classic “lost world” narratives and monster films, but reimagined them through the lens of modern genetic engineering and chaos theory. The result was a story that felt both timeless and urgently contemporary.
Crichton’s thematic blueprint — the collision of scientific ambition with ethical uncertainty — continues to echo powerfully in today’s biotech thrillers. His stories weren’t just speculative; they were prophetic.
Crichton’s hallmark theme — that technological advancement often outstrips our moral frameworks — is alive in modern works like Ex Machina, Annihilation, and The Gene by Siddhartha Mukherjee. These stories, like Jurassic Park, ask: Just because we can, should we?
In Next (2006), Crichton explored gene patenting and the ownership of biological material — a theme that now resonates in debates over CRISPR, DNA databases, and pharmaceutical monopolies.
Crichton’s scientists are rarely villains — they’re flawed, ambitious, and often blind to unintended consequences. This nuanced portrayal is echoed in shows like The Peripheral and Westworld (which Crichton originally wrote and directed), where innovation is inseparable from human error and hubris.
From The Andromeda Strain to Jurassic Park, Crichton warned of systems spiraling beyond control. Today’s biotech thrillers often intersect with climate fiction, exploring synthetic biology, lab-grown ecosystems, and extinction reversal — all haunted by the same question: What happens when nature becomes programmable?
Crichton’s legacy isn’t just in the stories he told — it’s in the narrative architecture he pioneered: speculative science grounded in plausible detail, driven by ethical tension, and wrapped in page-turning suspense.
Jurassic Park is a prime example of how a seed of speculative science can be cultivated into a full-grown narrative ecosystem
Scientific Spark as Seed – Crichton began with a deceptively simple what if: what if extinct DNA could be resurrected? Instead of treating that question like a technical blueprint, he used it as a gateway to philosophical provocation: Should we resurrect it? The amber-encased mosquito becomes a mythic relic — science’s version of Pandora’s box. It took real-world concepts (like gene splicing and cloning) and viewed them through a metaphorical lens, recasting the scientist as Prometheus and the lab as a modern Olympus.
Theme Becomes Architecture – Once the idea was charged with moral and emotional energy, Crichton structured the narrative around a classic cautionary arc: human arrogance → unintended consequences → reckoning. A pristine, enclosed island paradise echoed Eden, designed to appear utopian yet ripe for collapse. Archetypes tested the idea — the visionary (Hammond), the skeptic (Malcolm), the scientist (Sattler), the everyman (Grant). Moments like the “T. rex breakout” embodied the chaos theory that Malcolm warned about. The story didn’t just dramatise science; it mythologised it. DNA became a symbol of both potential and peril.
Emotional and Cultural Resonance – Mythic storytelling thrives when the personal meets the universal. Jurassic Park strikes this chord by tapping intoour ancestral awe of predators and survival instincts. Questioning the ethics of creation, like Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, only now with velociraptors. Reflecting cultural tensions: technophilia versus naturalism, control versus chaos, profit versus responsibility. Even the score by John Williams — equal parts majestic and haunting — frames the dinosaurs not merely as monsters, but as gods waking from their slumber.
Franchise as Myth Cycle – As the story expanded into sequels and reboots, the core myth persisted but adapted to new fears — not just “man tampering with nature” but “man commodifying nature,” “man losing control,” and eventually, “man becoming prey in his ecosystem.” Much like ancient myths, Jurassic Park evolves with its audience.
A chronological breakdown of the Jurassic Park films
Spotlighting the creative minds behind them, their narrative arcs, and why each one matters in the franchise’s evolution. Each film is a time capsule of its era’s deepest fears — from Cold War control to climate collapse, from corporate greed to genetic manipulation. The dinosaurs may be ancient, but the anxieties they embody are always evolving.
Synopsis: Wealthy industrialist John Hammond invites scientists to preview his island theme park populated with cloned dinosaurs. When the park’s systems fail, chaos erupts.
Significance: A landmark in visual effects and blockbuster storytelling, it redefined cinematic spectacle and introduced ethical questions about genetic engineering. In the wake of the Cold War, the film reflects a shift from nuclear fears to biotechnological overreach. The park’s illusion of control echoes anxieties about unchecked scientific ambition — a modern Frankenstein tale. Ian Malcolm’s chaos theory becomes a philosophical warning: nature cannot be contained, no matter how advanced our systems.
Screenwriter: David Koepp (based on Crichton’s sequel novel)
Synopsis: A second island is revealed where dinosaurs roam free. A rescue mission turns into a disaster when dinosaurs are brought to the mainland.
Significance: Expanded the universe and introduced the idea of dinosaurs as global threats. It also deepened the chaos vs. control theme. As multinational corporations gained power in the ’90s, the film critiques the corporate commodification of nature. The dinosaurs’ relocation to the mainland evokes fears of invasive forces disrupting ecosystems and economies. It also reflects a growing unease with the idea that capitalism will always try to profit from chaos.
Screenwriters: Peter Buchman, Alexander Payne & Jim Taylor
Synopsis: Dr. Alan Grant is tricked into visiting Isla Sorna for a rescue mission, only to face new, more dangerous dinosaurs.
Significance: Though less acclaimed, it introduced the intelligent Spinosaurus and emphasized survival horror over spectacle. Released in a time of technological anxiety (Y2K, 9/11 looming), the film strips away spectacle for a leaner, more primal survival story. The Spinosaurus, a new apex predator, symbolises unpredictable threats that defy expectations — a nod to the fear of unknown dangers in a rapidly changing world.
Screenwriters: Rick Jaffa, Amanda Silver, Derek Connolly & Colin Trevorrow
Synopsis: A fully operational dinosaur theme park faces disaster when a genetically modified hybrid, the Indominus rex, escapes.
Significance: Revitalised the franchise for a new generation, critiquing corporate greed and spectacle culture. In the age of smartphones and viral media, the park is now a consumerist utopia, where dinosaurs are engineered for entertainment. The Indominus rex is a literal hybrid of market demands — bigger, scarier, more thrilling — reflecting fears of technology driven by profit, not ethics. It critiques our obsession with control through innovation, even as it spirals beyond comprehension.
Synopsis: A rescue mission to save dinosaurs from an erupting volcano leads to their release into the human world.
Significance: Shifted the narrative from isolated islands to global consequences, setting up a world where humans and dinosaurs must coexist. The volcanic eruption on Isla Nublar is a clear metaphor for natural catastrophe, echoing real-world climate disasters. The film questions whether humanity has a moral obligation to save species it created — a parallel to debates about conservation and geoengineering. The dinosaurs’ release into the wild signals a loss of ecological boundaries, mirroring fears of irreversible environmental collapse.
Synopsis: Dinosaurs now roam the Earth freely. Legacy characters and new heroes unite to stop a biotech conspiracy threatening global ecosystems.
Significance: Concludes the saga by merging old and new characters, exploring themes of ecological balance and corporate overreach. With dinosaurs roaming the Earth, the film explores a world where genetic power is decentralised and weaponised. The villain isn’t a dinosaur, but a biotech conglomerate manipulating ecosystems — a reflection of real-world concerns about corporate control over food, genetics, and data. It also taps into pandemic-era fears: contagion, mutation, and the fragility of global systems.
Writer: David Koepp (returning from the original Jurassic Park)
Synopsis: Five years after Dominion, Earth’s ecology is inhospitable to most dinosaurs. A covert team led by Zora Bennett (Scarlett Johansson) is sent to a forbidden island to retrieve DNA from three colossal species that may hold the key to a life-saving drug. They encounter mutated dinosaurs and a buried secret from InGen’s past2.
Significance: A soft reboot with a new cast and tone, it returns to suspenseful adventure while exploring biotech ethics and the commodification of life. Early reviews praise its action and visual design, though some critique its character depth. With early details suggesting a mission to retrieve DNA for a life-saving drug, the film appears poised to explore pharmaceutical ethics, biopiracy, and the blurred line between healing and exploitation. The return to a “forbidden island” hints at a reckoning with past sins — a cultural desire to confront the consequences of unchecked innovation.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Stronger Than Fiction: The Evolution of Superman on Screen
From the moment he first soared onto the pages of Action Comics #1 in 1938, Superman has stood as a cultural beacon—an emblem of hope, justice, and the boundless potential of storytelling.
His transition from comic panels to the silver screen marks one of the most iconic evolutions in popular culture. What began as a Depression-era power fantasy became, over time, a barometer for the world’s hopes, fears, and shifting moral compass. Across ten major feature films, Superman has embodied everything from Cold War caution to post-9/11 grief, from alienation in an age of surveillance to renewed optimism in fractured times. This cinematic journey doesn’t just chronicle a superhero—it reflects a changing world, refracted through the lens of a man who can fly, but is forever grounded by his humanity.
Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster were inspired by a potent mix of personal experience, pop culture, and the turbulent world around them. Both sons of Jewish immigrants, they grew up in Depression-era Cleveland, where escapism and dreams of empowerment were lifelines. Their early influences included pulp science fiction, silent film heroes like Douglas Fairbanks, and characters like John Carter of Mars—whose strength on a foreign planet sparked the idea of an alien with superpowers on Earth.
Siegel’s father died during a robbery in 1932, and some believe this tragedy deeply shaped Superman’s origin as a protector who could stop such violence. Early sketches even show Superman saving a man at gunpoint who resembled Siegel’s father. Clark Kent, meanwhile, was a reflection of Siegel and Shuster’s own shy, overlooked personas—mild-mannered on the outside, secretly extraordinary.
Joe Shuster (seated) and Jerry Siegel at work on Superman, in their studio, in 1942.
They also drew from cinema: Clark Kent’s name was inspired by actors Clark Gable and Kent Taylor, while Lois Lane was modeled after fast-talking female reporters like Torchy Blane, played by Glenda Farrell. Metropolis itself was based on Shuster’s hometown of Toronto and named after Fritz Lang’s 1927 film Metropolis.
The character quickly transcended the comic book medium, evolving into a mythic figure whose journey mirrored the aspirations and anxieties of each generation.
In short, Superman was born from a longing for justice, recognition, and transformation—a fantasy of strength and goodness in a world that often felt powerless. Let me know if you’d like to explore how these inspirations echo through the films, too.
His leap from ink to screen began with animated shorts and serials
Those early appearances were instrumental in shaping Superman’s visual and emotional identity for decades to come.
His first true flight into motion came in the Fleischer Studios animated shorts (1941–1943). These gorgeously stylized cartoons introduced the now-iconic phrase “faster than a speeding bullet…” and gave Superman fluid, dynamic motion rarely seen in animation at the time. The rotoscope technique gave his movements weight and grace, while the Art Deco cityscapes emphasized his mythic stature. These shorts weren’t just groundbreaking visually—they also helped establish Superman as a cinematic hero, not just a comic book character.
Following that, he starred in the 1948 and 1950 live-action serials, played by Kirk Alyn. These were cliffhanger-driven adventures that cemented many visual tropes: Superman dashing into a phone booth, leaping into the sky (still animated due to budget constraints), and rescuing the innocent from gangsters and saboteurs. Though modest in production, they brought Superman into neighborhood theaters, creating the first live-action image of the character in the public imagination.
Taken together, these early adaptations laid the groundwork for Superman: The Movie to soar—cinematically, emotionally, and mythologically. Let me know if you’d like to explore how some of the techniques from these early versions echo through the later films or how they could inspire storytelling devices in your own work.
It was 1978’s Superman: The Movie that truly launched him into cinematic legend blending heartfelt humanity with awe-inspiring heroism.
It really was a watershed moment—not just for Superman, but for the entire superhero genre. Richard Donner approached the film not as pulp entertainment, but as modern mythology. With sweeping John Williams scores, Marlon Brando’s sonorous Jor-El, and Christopher Reeve’s earnest duality, Superman: The Movie treated its subject with gravity, wonder, and heart.
The tagline “You’ll believe a man can fly” wasn’t just about visual effects—it was a promise of emotional transcendence. The film invited audiences to rediscover hope in a post-Watergate, post-Vietnam America. It was as much about Clark Kent’s Kansas roots and moral compass as it was about Kryptonian spectacle, anchoring the fantastic in emotional truth.
Over the decades, Superman’s film incarnations have reflected shifting cultural values—from Cold War fears to post-9/11 uncertainty—while continually reimagining his emotional core
Here’s a chronological list of the major Superman films from the first theatrical release to the upcoming 2025 reboot
This retrospective traces that evolution, film by film, revealing how the Man of Steel has remained both timeless and ever-changing.
Superman and the Mole Men (1951)
The first feature-length Superman film, starring George Reeves framed Superman as a defender of the misunderstood, using sci-fi to explore Cold War-era xenophobia. Superman as a moral mediator—compassionate, rational, and protective of the “other.” When mysterious beings emerge from deep underground, Superman must protect them from a fearful, violent town. A parable about prejudice and compassion, it set the tone for Superman as a moral compass in a divided world. It served as a precursor to the Adventures of Superman TV series and introduced Superman as a protector of misunderstood outsiders. It was directed by Lee Sholem from a screenplay by Richard Fielding (pseudonym for Robert Maxwell and Whitney Ellsworth).
Superman: The Movie (1978)
A genre-defining epic that treated Superman with reverence as a mythic savior—pure, principled, and larger-than-life. It established the emotional blueprint for superhero cinema From the fall of Krypton to the rise of a hero on Earth, this sweeping origin story follows Clark Kent as he embraces his destiny. With grandeur and heart, it redefined the superhero genre and introduced Superman as a symbol of hope. Christopher Reeve’s portrayal became iconic, and the film emphasized Superman’s origin and moral compass. It was directed by Richard Donner from a screenplay by Mario Puzo (story), David Newman, Leslie Newman, Robert Benton (screenplay).
Superman II (1980)
Explored Superman’s internal conflict between love and duty. Superman’s choice to become human for love—and the consequences—mirrors the era’s exploration of vulnerability and identity. As Superman chooses love over power, three Kryptonian villains arrive to conquer Earth. The film explores sacrifice, identity, and the burden of being extraordinary in a world that demands both strength and humility. The Donner Cut (released in 2006) later restored the original vision, deepening its emotional and thematic resonance. It was directed by Richard Lester (credited), and Richard Donner (uncredited), from a screenplay by Mario Puzo (story), David & Leslie Newman, Tom Mankiewicz.
Superman III (1983)
Took a more comedic turn with Richard Pryor, which divided fans. A tonal shift toward comedy. Its split-Superman arc offered a metaphor for moral duality, though it was divisive among fans. A rogue computer genius creates synthetic kryptonite, splitting Superman into his noble and corrupted selves. This internal battle becomes a metaphor for moral conflict and the fragility of virtue. The synthetic kryptonite plot becomes a metaphor for moral compromise in a consumer-driven world. It’s notable for exploring Superman’s darker side through a split-personality arc. It was directed by Richard Lester from a screenplay by David & Leslie Newman.
Superman IV: The Quest for Peace (1987)
A passion project for Reeve, tackling nuclear disarmament. Despite noble intentions, it was hampered by budget cuts and poor execution. Haunted by humanity’s self-destruction, Superman vows to eliminate nuclear weapons. But his idealism is tested by a new enemy born of his own DNA. A flawed yet earnest plea for global responsibility. Superman’s attempt to rid the world of nuclear weapons reflects a desperate hope for peace, though the execution falters. It marked the end of the Reeve era. It was directed by Sidney J. Furie from a screenplay by Lawrence Konner, Mark Rosenthal, story by Christopher Reeve.
Superman Returns (2006)
A spiritual sequel to Superman II, it honored Donner’s tone and aesthetics. Superman returns to a world that’s moved on, echoing themes of displacement and the search for relevance in a changed emotional landscape. Though visually elegant, it struggled to connect with modern audiences.After a mysterious absence, Superman returns to find the world—and Lois—have moved on. As he faces a new threat from Luthor, he must rediscover his place in a world that may no longer need him. Brandon Routh’s Superman was melancholic and reflective, though the film underperformed commercially. It was directed by Bryan Singer from a screenplay by Michael Dougherty, Dan Harris, story by Singer, Dougherty, Harris.
Man of Steel (2013)
A gritty reboot that reimagined Superman as a conflicted outsider. Clark’s struggle to find his place mirrors a generation grappling with inherited trauma and moral ambiguity. It emphasized identity, trauma, and the burden of power. Rebooted the franchise with a darker, more grounded tone. In this reimagined origin Clark Kent wrestles with his alien heritage and human upbringing. When Zod arrives to reshape Earth into Krypton, Superman must choose between his past and his adopted world. Henry Cavill’s Superman wrestled with identity and responsibility, setting the stage for the DCEU. It was directed by Zack Snyder from a screenplay by David S. Goyer, story by Goyer & Christopher Nolan.
Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (2016)
Positioned Superman as a controversial messianic figure. The film interrogated fear, power, and sacrifice in a post-9/11 world. Superman’s godlike power divides public opinion, drawing the ire of a vengeful Batman. Their ideological clash is manipulated by Luthor, culminating in a tragic sacrifice that redefines heroism. Superman becomes a symbol of contested morality—worshipped and feared—mirroring societal divisions and the burden of being “too good.” With Henry Cavill as Superman and Ben Affleck as Batman. His clash with Batman reflected post-9/11 anxieties about power and accountability. It was directed by Zack Snyder from a screenplay by Chris Terrio, David S. Goyer.
Justice League (2017) / Zack Snyder’s Justice League (2021)
The 2021 Snyder Cut restored Superman’s resurrection arc with mythic gravitas, contrasting the lighter, disjointed 2017 version. In the wake of Superman’s death, Earth faces a cosmic threat. His resurrection becomes a turning point, restoring unity among heroes and reaffirming Superman’s role as a beacon of hope. The Snyder Cut deepens this arc with mythic gravitas. Feauring Henry Cavill as Superman, it was directed by Zack Snyder (2021), Joss Whedon (2017 reshoots), from a screenplay by Chris Terrio (2021), Joss Whedon (2017).
Superman (2025) – Superman: Legacy
A fresh reboot launching the new DC Universe. Gunn’s vision promises a hopeful, emotionally grounded Superman who bridges alien heritage with human empathy. With David Corenswet as Superman/Clark Kent. It promises to balance Superman’s alien heritage with his human upbringing, focusing on hope and idealism in a fractured world. It explores Clark’s dual identity—alien and human—as he navigates a cynical world with unwavering idealism. Positioned to reintroduce Superman as a symbol of hope, empathy, and moral clarity in a fractured age.Written and directed by James Gunn, whose vision repositions Superman as a beacon of kindness and moral clarity in a world overwhelmed by noise and doubt.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Die Seemeeu: Reimagining Chekhov in Afrikaans
Christiaan Olwagen described his adaptation of Die Seemeeu as “a modern reflection of the Afrikaner in an ancient Russian mirror”. This quote captures his intent to use Chekhov’s timeless themes—artistic longing, emotional inertia, and existential drift—as a lens through which to examine Afrikaner identity during South Africa’s early 1990s transition.
Olwagen emphasised the Afrikaner psyche’s tendency to “neul oor die lot van die lewe” (brood over the fate of life), especially when isolated with family and forced into confrontation. That introspective, often melancholic tone is central to the film’s emotional landscape.
The film refracts Chekhov’s melancholia through the fractured lens of a post-apartheid identity crisis. The yearning of Irene, the volatility of Konstant, the brittle hope of Nina—they don’t merely echo Russian archetypes; they expose the scars and silences of a society wrestling with its own artistic and cultural reinvention.
You can stream Die Seemeeu on Showmax in South Africa. The platform offers the film as part of its catalogue of local dramas, and it’s available with Afrikaans audio and English subtitles.
Crafting Die Seemeeu
Co-written with Saartjie Botha, the film transposes the original’s themes of artistic longing, romantic disillusionment, and existential inertia to a Karoo farmstead in the early 1990s—a time of cultural and political transition in South Africa.
Olwagen retains the play’s ensemble structure and emotional complexity but infuses it with local resonance. The characters—now Afrikaans artists, writers, and dreamers—grapple with fading relevance, fractured relationships, and the ghosts of a collapsing cultural order. Sandra Prinsloo plays Irene (a reimagined Arkadina), a fading theatre diva navigating a world where state-funded arts institutions are dissolving, while Albert Pretorius’s Konstant wrestles with creative failure and maternal neglect.
Tonally, the film is melancholic and introspective, marked by long takes, static compositions, and emotionally charged silences. Olwagen’s theatrical roots are evident in the blocking and rhythm, but the film embraces cinematic language through Chris Vermaak’s cinematography and Rocco Pool’s production design, which heighten the sense of isolation and emotional stasis.
Here’s a breakdown of how Christiaan Olwagen and Saartjie Botha reinterpreted Chekhov’s characters in Die Seemeeu to reflect the South African context of the early 1990s:
In Olwagen’s version, Irene (Arkadina) is a once-celebrated Afrikaans stage actress grappling with the collapse of state-funded theatre. Her vanity and emotional volatility mirror Chekhov’s Arkadina, but in this context, she also embodies the disorientation of an artist whose cultural relevance is slipping away in post-apartheid South Africa.
Konstant (Treplev) – The Disillusioned Young Artist becomes a frustrated young filmmaker, desperate to break free from the conservative artistic traditions of his mother’s generation. His creative angst is amplified by the political transition—he’s not just rebelling against form, but against a cultural identity in crisis.
Nina – The Idealist Seeking Meaning, is reimagined as a young woman from a rural background, still dreams of artistic greatness. But in this version, her naiveté is tinged with a longing for reinvention in a society where old hierarchies are dissolving. Her fate reflects the vulnerability of those who chase relevance in a shifting cultural landscape.
Trigorin – The Established Writer, becomes a successful Afrikaans novelist whose fame is rooted in the old order. His relationship with Irene and flirtation with Nina reflect not just personal weakness, but the seductive pull of nostalgia and the difficulty of letting go of privilege.
Sorin – The Disillusioned Patriarch, Irene’s brother, is portrayed as a retired civil servant or bureaucrat—someone who once held authority in the apartheid regime but now finds himself irrelevant. His melancholy is not just existential, but historical.
This adaptation doesn’t just localize Chekhov’s characters—it uses them to interrogate Afrikaner identity at a moment of profound cultural reckoning.
Die Seemeeu is not just an adaptation—it’s a cultural translation. It reflects on Afrikaner identity, the role of art in a changing society, and the universal ache of unfulfilled longing.
Christiaan Olwagen’s Die Seemeeu is a masterful reimagining of Chekhov’s The Seagull, transplanted to a 1990s South African farmstead where the ghosts of Afrikaner identity linger in every silence. Co-written with Saartjie Botha, the film retains the original’s emotional architecture while infusing it with local specificity, turning existential malaise into a meditation on cultural dislocation. Sandra Prinsloo is magnetic as Irene, a fading theatre diva whose vanity masks a deep fear of irrelevance. Albert Pretorius delivers a raw, wounded performance as her son Konstant, a young filmmaker desperate to escape the artistic and emotional gravity of his mother’s world. The ensemble cast—many reprising their roles from Olwagen’s stage production—brings a lived-in intensity to the film’s ensemble dynamics. Olwagen’s direction is restrained yet emotionally charged. Long takes and static compositions evoke theatrical intimacy, while the Afrikaans dialogue—sharp, brittle, and often brutal—cuts deeper than its English subtitles can fully convey. The result is a film that feels both timeless and urgently local, a portrait of artists and families unravelling in the face of change. Die Seemeeu doesn’t offer catharsis. Instead, it holds up a mirror—cracked, compassionate, and unflinching to a society caught between nostalgia and reinvention.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on A Kind Of Madness: Christiaan Olwagen’s Poignant Masterpiece
In A Kind of Madness, Christiaan Olwagen trades theatrical bravado for something far more fragile—and quietly devastating. “Art is entertainment, but it’s also therapy,” he’s said, and that ethos pulses through every frame of this meditative film. Centering on a 70-year-old man who absconds with his dementia-stricken wife from a retirement facility, the story becomes less a road trip and more a reverent elegy to shared memory, fractured identity, and the blurry lines between compassion and control.
In A Kind of Madness, Christiaan Olwagen crafts a quietly devastating portrait of love in its twilight—where memory falters but devotion endures. The film follows a 70-year-old man who abducts his dementia-stricken wife from a retirement home, embarking on a fugitive road trip that’s less about escape and more about preservation. As they drift along the South African coast, pursued by their adult children, the journey becomes a meditation on identity, autonomy, and the aching beauty of shared history. Olwagen’s restrained direction allows the emotional weight to settle slowly, like dust on old photographs. Sandra Prinsloo and Ian Roberts deliver performances of aching vulnerability, their chemistry evoking a love that’s both youthful and weathered. The film resists sentimentality, instead offering a raw, humane look at what it means to love someone who no longer remembers you—and the madness we might embrace to keep that love alive.
A meditation on love in its twilight years, and the madness we might embrace to hold onto it
The inspiration behind A Kind of Madness seems rooted in deeply personal and universal themes of love, memory, and aging. While director Christiaan Olwagen hasn’t publicly cited a specific real-life event as the basis, the film explores the emotional terrain of dementia and the lengths one might go to preserve a sense of connection when memory begins to fade.
Olwagen, known for his theatrical sensibilities and emotionally layered storytelling, brings a slightly different tone to this English-language debut. His past collaborations with lead actress Sandra Prinsloo, and his background in stage productions, likely influenced the film’s intimate, character-driven approach.
Known for his bold, often irreverent work in Afrikaans theatre and film—like Kanarie and Poppie Nongena—Olwagen’s move into English-language cinema with A Kind of Madness marks a notable evolution in tone and audience reach.
His theatrical roots are evident in the film’s intimate character focus and emotionally charged dialogue, but there’s a quiet restraint here that feels new. It’s as if he’s channeling his signature intensity through a more subdued, contemplative lens—perhaps to mirror the fragility of memory and identity at the heart of the story.
Interestingly, his recent English-language stage work, such as his direction of Hedda Gabler at the Baxter Theatre, suggests he’s been gradually expanding his linguistic and stylistic palette.
Christiaan Olwagen’s tonal evolution across his films
In Johnny is nie dood nie (2016), Olwagen delivered a raw, nostalgic portrait of post-Apartheid disillusionment through the lens of a group of friends mourning a lost comrade. The tone was intimate yet chaotic, blending dark humor with existential angst. It felt like a cinematic stage play—dialogue-heavy, emotionally volatile, and deeply rooted in Afrikaans cultural memory.
Then came Kanarie(2018), a coming-of-age musical drama set during South Africa’s military conscription era. While still theatrical in structure, it introduced a more lyrical, emotionally tender tone. The film balanced satire and sincerity, using music as both a narrative device and emotional release. It marked a shift toward more accessible, emotionally resonant storytelling.
By the time we reach Poppie Nongena (2019), Olwagen had embraced a more restrained, cinematic style. The film, based on Elsa Joubert’s novel, is a historical drama that foregrounds quiet resilience over theatricality. It’s visually composed, emotionally devastating, and signals his growing confidence in letting silence and subtext carry weight.
Die Seemeeu (2018), a South African adaptation of Anton Chekhov’s The Seagull, marks a pivotal moment in his tonal evolution, bridging his theatrical roots with a more cinematic, introspective language. What distinguishes Die Seemeeu is its layered theatricality: long takes, static compositions, and emotionally charged silences evoke the stage while embracing the visual grammar of film. Olwagen leans into emotional ambiguity and existential drift, using the characters’ creative frustrations and romantic entanglements to mirror a society in transition.
Now, with A Kind of Madness, he seems to have distilled all these elements—emotional honesty, theatrical intimacy, and cinematic restraint—into a mature, contemplative tone. It’s less about provocation and more about presence. A filmmaker once known for his boldness now invites us to sit with the quiet ache of memory and love.
Christiaan Olwagen’s writing process is deeply personal, intuitive, and often rooted in memory, identity, and emotional excavation
He began writing and directing plays as early as age 14, and his academic background—studying drama at Stellenbosch University—shaped his analytical approach to adaptation and narrative structure.
Olwagen frequently draws from his own life. His stage play Dogma, for instance, was a raw depiction of his family’s experience with his father’s multiple sclerosis and the complexities of being a Dutch Reformed pastor’s son. This willingness to mine personal history gives his work emotional authenticity.
His early training in theatre instilled a love for dialogue-driven storytelling. Even in his films, you’ll notice a stage-like intimacy—characters often engage in emotionally charged conversations in confined spaces, reflecting his comfort with theatrical dynamics.
While he often writes original material, Olwagen also adapts existing works with a distinct voice. For example, The Seemeeu is a South African reimagining of Chekhov’s The Seagull, tailored for local audiences. His adaptations are never just translations—they’re reinterpretations that reflect contemporary South African realities.
In his own words, he’s driven by an “overactive imagination” that demands creative expression. If he doesn’t channel it into writing or directing, it becomes anxiety-inducing. That urgency fuels his prolific output and emotional depth. Olwagen sees art as both entertainment and therapy. He’s interested in confronting uncomfortable truths—about society, family, and self—and believes storytelling can spark necessary dialogue.
In A Kind of Madness, Christiaan Olwagen’s writing process is on full display—layered, emotionally precise, and deeply character-driven. The screenplay unfolds like a quiet elegy, using minimal exposition and rich subtext to explore themes of memory, autonomy, and enduring love.
A Kind of Madness was co-written by Christiaan Olwagen and Wessel Pretorius
Their collaboration brings together two distinct but complementary voices in South African theatre and film.
Pretorius, known for his emotionally incisive writing and solo performance work (Die dag is bros, Ont), shares Olwagen’s fascination with memory, identity, and the fragility of human connection. Their partnership likely deepened the film’s emotional complexity, especially in its portrayal of love under cognitive decline.
While Olwagen often writes solo, this collaboration suggests a deliberate choice to bring in another perspective—perhaps to balance the script’s intimacy with a broader emotional architecture. The result is a screenplay that feels both deeply personal and theatrically precise.
The collaboration between Christiaan Olwagen and Wessel Pretorius on A Kind of Madness is a fusion of two emotionally incisive voices—each with a distinct rhythm, but a shared sensitivity to the fragility of human experience.
Pretorius, known for his solo performance Ont- (Undone), brings a poetic minimalism and raw vulnerability to his writing. His work often explores identity, grief, and queer embodiment through fragmented monologues and emotionally charged silences. This complements Olwagen’s more structured, theatrical sensibility, which leans into ensemble dynamics and visual storytelling.
In A Kind of Madness, you can feel Pretorius’s influence in the film’s lyrical pacing and emotional restraint. Scenes unfold like memory fragments—elliptical, intimate, and often unresolved. The dialogue is spare but loaded, echoing Pretorius’s stage work where what’s unsaid carries as much weight as what’s spoken.
Olwagen, meanwhile, grounds the film in cinematic rhythm and visual composition. His direction gives Pretorius’s introspective writing a broader emotional architecture—anchoring the story in place and time without losing its dreamlike quality.
Together, they create a screenplay that feels both deeply personal and theatrically precise: a love story told in whispers, where memory is both the map and the terrain.
In A Kind of Madness, Christiaan Olwagen doesn’t just tell a story—he offers a quiet act of witnessing. “Art is entertainment, but it’s also therapy,” he once said, and by the film’s final frame, that belief feels less like a statement and more like a benediction. What begins as a desperate escape becomes a meditation on love’s persistence in the face of erasure. We’re left not with answers, but with a question that lingers like a half-remembered song: When memory fades, what remains of us—and who will remember it?
Christiaan Olwagen is a South African writer, director, and playwright known for his emotionally resonant storytelling and theatrical sensibilities. Born in 1987 in Cape Town and raised in Pretoria, he began writing and directing plays at the age of 14—a passion that would shape his entire creative trajectory. He studied drama at Stellenbosch University, where his honors thesis focused on adaptations of Shakespeare’s Hamlet under the mentorship of Marthinus Basson. During his university years, he also attended a writing school and began crafting his own texts, often directing them himself. His early stage work, such as Woza Andries and Dogma, earned critical acclaim for their raw emotional honesty and innovative use of improvisation. Olwagen’s transition to film was marked by the same intensity and introspection that defined his theatre. His filmography includes Johnny is nie dood nie (2016), Kanarie (2018), Poppie Nongena (2020), and most recently, A Kind of Madness. He often writes or co-writes his screenplays, ensuring a cohesive vision from script to screen. He’s received numerous accolades, including the Fleur du Cap Award for Most Promising Student (2008), the Kanna Award for Best Production (Dogma), and the kykNET Silwerskerm Award for Best Screenplay (Toevlug).
Wessel Pretorius is a South African playwright, actor, and screenwriter celebrated for his emotionally raw, poetic storytelling and fearless exploration of identity, memory, and queer embodiment. He first gained national attention with his solo stage play Ont- (Undone), a deeply personal and stylistically bold monologue that earned him multiple awards and established his voice as one of the most distinctive in contemporary South African theatre. Pretorius studied drama at the University of Stellenbosch, where he began developing his unique blend of lyrical minimalism and emotional intensity. His work often blurs the line between autobiography and fiction, using fragmented narrative structures and evocative imagery to explore themes of grief, intimacy, and the body as archive. In addition to his solo work, Pretorius has collaborated extensively in theatre and film. His partnership with Christiaan Olwagen on A Kind of Madness marked a significant moment in his screenwriting career, blending his introspective style with Olwagen’s cinematic precision. The result is a screenplay that feels both theatrically intimate and emotionally expansive.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on From Life to Line: The Art of Transforming Experience into Narrative
To tell a personal story is to walk a tightrope between exposure and intention. Whether framed by the intimacy of prose or the immediacy of the screen, these narratives demand more than recollection—they require a deliberate act of construction. Behind each beat lies a careful balance of what’s revealed and what’s held back, shaped not only by emotional truth but by how that truth is architected.
Crafting a personal story—especially for screen or page—is a delicate interplay of vulnerability, precision, and emotional architecture
It’s not simply about recounting events; it’s about shaping raw experience into something deliberate and resonant. Vulnerability invites the audience into the private chambers of memory, while precision ensures each word, gesture, or image serves a larger emotional truth. And like any structure built to carry weight, emotional architecture determines how those truths are scaffolded—what holds, what bends, and what ultimately breaks open.
Yet this act of transformation is not without its risks. To narrate one’s life—or a life imagined with fragments of one’s own—is to thread emotion through form, intuition through technique. It asks the writer to sit with uncertainty long enough for meaning to cohere, to distinguish feeling from flourish, and to choose not just what to say, but how to say it with integrity. Especially in mediums where silence, timing, and subtext shape interpretation, the challenge lies in balancing artistic control with emotional surrender.
The First Steps of Crafting a Personal Story
Before a single word is written, there’s a quieter beginning—one that takes shape in the writer’s interior landscape. It’s the moment of recognition that a particular memory, emotion, or question has weight. The first steps aren’t about plot points or narrative arcs; they’re about listening inward, locating the heartbeat of what needs to be told. Whether it arrives as a scene, a line of dialogue, or a fleeting image, it marks the threshold where lived experience begins to take on form.
These early choices—what to include, what to protect, what to emphasize—lay the emotional and structural foundations of the story. They ask the writer to clarify intent: Is this confession, exploration, transformation? Is it meant to confront, soothe, or connect? The process demands courage and clarity in equal measure, as every decision will ripple through the narrative’s spine.
Begin with emotional truth
Start by asking: What feeling won’t let you go? The best personal stories aren’t always autobiographical—they’re emotionally authentic. Emotional authenticity is what transforms a personal anecdote into something resonant and lasting. You can write about a place you’ve never been, a time you never lived through, or a character utterly unlike yourself—and still reveal something deeply true about your inner world. When emotions are genuine, the story resonates. That’s why a fictional scene about a family at war with itself can feel more honest than a memoir; because the writer bled something real into the cracks between the plot
Shape memory into narrative
Real life is messy. Stories need shape. Choose the moments that best express the arc you want to tell: rise, fall, reckoning, and transformation. It’s not about documenting everything—it’s about distilling what matters.In storytelling, we’re not historians; we’re sculptors. We take the raw stone of memory or imagination and chip away until only the essential remains. A glance instead of a monologue. A door closing instead of a breakdown. The mess still lives underneath—but the structure lets an audience feel it without getting lost in it.
Create distance through invention
Fiction can protect and empower. When you bend the facts, you often get closer to the emotional core. Absolutely. There’s something paradoxically honest about reshaping the truth. When you’re no longer bound by what happened, you’re free to tell the story of what it felt like. And often, that’s the part readers connect to most. It’s especially powerful for writers processing real events—trauma, longing, regret. Fiction lets you step to the side of your own experience, give it a new shape, and examine it from safer angles. It grants control without requiring detachment. Think of how a fabricated town can hold your real childhood, or how a fictional character can grieve in the way you never could. That emotional distance becomes a lens, focusing the truth rather than distorting it.
Anchor your story in character
Your characters are emotional surrogates. They let the audience feel with you, not just for you. Exactly. Characters don’t just tell your story—they embody it. They allow readers or viewers to experience your inner world through external actions, gestures, silences, and contradictions. When you give a character your shame, your longing, or your stubborn hope, they carry that emotional weight for you, often more clearly and powerfully than memoir ever could. It’s not about making the audience pity them. It’s about making them recognise themselves in the echo. That’s why even the smallest choices—how a character avoids eye contact, or hesitates before saying goodbye—can land like emotional thunder. Because when those moments are grounded in something real, your audience doesn’t just understand. They feel it in their chest.
Don’t be afraid to confront the ugly
Personal stories are rarely clean. Betrayal, grief, shame—these things live in the corners. that’s where the richest storytelling often hides. The corners. The unfinished conversations, the glances that last too long, the silence after someone leaves the room. These are the moments that fiction can hold with such tenderness—because it doesn’t need to resolve them. It just needs to recognize they’re there. Personal stories that embrace those jagged edges invite readers into a deeper intimacy. They don’t tell us what to feel—they let us feel with the storyteller. And often, it’s in the quiet mess of betrayal or the blur of grief that something universal takes root.
When crafting a personal story—especially one rooted in emotion and memory—there are some key pitfalls to watch for
Over-explaining emotions Let the audience feel rather than be told what to feel. Trust in your characters’ actions, the subtext in dialogue, and the silence between lines to do some of the emotional heavy lifting.
Getting lost in the literal You don’t need to recount events exactly as they happened. Rigid loyalty to facts can dilute emotional truth. If a fictional shift gets you closer to what it felt like, go there.
Holding back the hard stuff It’s tempting to protect your characters (and yourself). But the moments you’re hesitant to explore—shame, failure, betrayal—are often where the story’s honesty lives. Lean into the discomfort.
Writing for approval instead of expression Trying to sound “literary” or “impressive” can flatten your voice. Personal stories work best when they’re written with clarity and emotional precision, not polish for polish’s sake.
Tying it up too neatly Real stories don’t always end with resolution—and that’s okay. Let ambiguity breathe if it’s honest. Sometimes the most powerful ending is a question that lingers.
Some of the most powerful personal stories come from writers who dared to fictionalise their truths
Screenwriters
Gillian Flynn – Gone Girl: Flynn drew on her own experiences with media culture and gender expectations to craft this razor-sharp thriller. While not autobiographical, the emotional undercurrents—resentment, reinvention, and the masks we wear—are deeply personal.
Noah Baumbach – The Squid and the Whale: A semi-autobiographical film about his parents’ divorce, Baumbach’s script is raw, awkward, and emotionally precise. It captures the confusion of adolescence with unflinching honesty.
Mike Mills – Beginners: Inspired by his father coming out late in life, Mills wrote a tender, visually poetic film about identity, love, and generational silence. It’s a masterclass in using fiction to process grief and joy simultaneously.
Greta Gerwig – Lady Bird: Gerwig has said the film isn’t strictly autobiographical, but it’s emotionally true. Her depiction of a mother-daughter relationship in Sacramento is filled with specificity and heartache that clearly comes from lived experience.
Novelists
James Baldwin – Go Tell It on the Mountain: Baldwin’s debut novel is a deeply personal exploration of faith, family, and identity, drawn from his own upbringing in Harlem. It’s both a coming-of-age story and a spiritual reckoning.
Karl Ove Knausgård – My Struggle series: This six-volume autobiographical novel series is a radical act of personal exposure. Knausgård writes with brutal honesty about fatherhood, failure, and the mundane beauty of life.
Maya Angelou – I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings: A memoir written with the lyricism of fiction, Angelou’s account of her early life is a landmark in personal storytelling—unflinching, poetic, and transformative.
Ocean Vuong – On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous: Though technically a novel, Vuong’s debut reads like a letter to his mother and a meditation on inherited trauma, queerness, and language. It’s a stunning example of emotional authenticity through fiction.
Poets
Sylvia Plath – Her collection Ariel is a searing example of emotional authenticity. Plath transformed personal anguish into mythic, lyrical force—writing not just about her life, but through it.
Ocean Vuong – In both his poetry (Night Sky with Exit Wounds) and his novel, Vuong explores grief, queerness, and inherited trauma with aching precision. His work is a masterclass in how personal history can become universal through image and rhythm.
Anne Sexton – A pioneer of confessional poetry, Sexton wrote candidly about mental illness, motherhood, and desire. Her poems are raw, intimate, and often unsettling—because they don’t flinch.
Langston Hughes – While not confessional in the modern sense, Hughes infused his poetry with the rhythms and realities of Black American life. His personal and cultural identity shaped every line.
Sharon Olds – Known for her fearless honesty, Olds writes about family, sexuality, and the body with visceral clarity. Her poems often feel like emotional X-rays, revealing what lies beneath polite surfaces.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Screenwriter Kevin Williamson’s Most Personal Story Yet Rises with The Waterfront
Kevin Williamson made his name turning teen angst into existential poetry and reinventing horror with a wink. But with The Waterfront, the veteran screenwriter trades irony for intimacy, peeling back the layers of Southern charm to reveal something rawer—and far closer to home. Set in a coastal town haunted by its history, the Netflix original marks Williamson’s most autobiographical work to date, drawing on memories of his father’s real-life descent into drug smuggling and his own coming-of-age in rural North Carolina.
The Waterfront was created and written by Kevin Williamson, best known for Scream, Dawson’s Creek, and The Vampire Diaries. He also served as the showrunner and executive producer.
Rooted in emotional truth and told through the lens of slow-burn noir, The Waterfront doesn’t just reflect the writer’s past—it reckons with it.
Kevin Williamson’s collaboration with The Waterfront writing team was rooted in emotional transparency, creative trust, and a shared commitment to character-first storytelling. He didn’t just lead the room—he opened it up.
According to interviews, Williamson began by sharing his own family history, setting the tone for a deeply personal series. This vulnerability encouraged the other writers—like Michael Narducci, Brenna Kouf Jimenez, and Hannah Schneider—to bring their own emotional truths into the room.
He emphasised that every plot point should emerge from character psychology. Writers were encouraged to ask not “What happens next?” but “What does this character feel, and what would they do because of it?” That approach shaped the show’s slow-burn tension and moral complexity.
Williamson also mentored through example. Writers described watching him break story arcs aloud, acting out scenes and tweaking dialogue until it rang emotionally true. He was known for saying, “There are no bad ideas—just ideas that need shaping,” creating a space where bold pitches could evolve without fear of failure.
And while he polished scripts and co-wrote key episodes—including the finale with Narducci—he was careful to preserve each writer’s voice. The result is a series that feels cohesive yet textured, with each episode carrying the emotional fingerprint of its writer, all under Williamson’s steady hand.
Kevin Williamson was inspired to write The Waterfront by his own father’s life story
His dad was a fisherman in North Carolina who, during the economic downturn of the 1980s, got involved in drug smuggling to support the family. Williamson described him as “a good man who did some bad things” — a theme that echoes throughout the series.
The show’s fictional Buckley family and their crumbling fishing empire are rooted in Williamson’s memories of growing up in a tight-knit coastal community. He said the story is “a little bit of a memory piece,” blending nostalgia with a modern Southern noir twist. Interestingly, he’d wanted to tell this story for years, but his father once told him, “Wait till I’m dead.” He even joked that his dad wanted Kevin Costner to play him — instead, Holt McCallany took on the role, which Williamson said was “perfect casting”.
It’s a deeply personal project for him — not just a crime drama, but a reflection on family, legacy, and the moral gray areas people navigate when survival is on the line.
The Waterfront is steeped in Kevin Williamson’s personal history—so much so that he’s called it “a memory piece.” Here are the key elements drawn from his life:
His father’s past: The character of Harlan Buckley is inspired by Williamson’s own father, a fisherman in North Carolina who turned to drug smuggling in the 1980s when the fishing industry collapsed. Williamson has said his dad was “a good man who made a bad decision,” and that real-life charge—conspiracy to traffic over 20,000 pounds of marijuana—was even echoed in Dawson’s Creek through Joey Potter’s father2.
The coastal setting: The fictional town of Havenport mirrors the small fishing communities where Williamson grew up. He infused the show with the sights, sounds, and struggles of those towns, from the docks to the family-run restaurants4.
Family dynamics: The Buckleys’ tangled relationships reflect Williamson’s own experiences with a tight-knit but complicated family. The matriarch Belle is based on his mother, whom he credits with keeping their family afloat during hard times.
Themes of legacy and survival: Williamson has said the show is about “a broken family trying to fix themselves and not really knowing how.” That emotional core—of people doing morally gray things to protect what they love—comes straight from his reflections on his upbringing.
It’s not a direct autobiography, but it’s deeply personal.
Kevin Williamson during the filming of The Waterfront. Copyright: NETFLIX
Kevin Williamson’s personal history doesn’t just inform The Waterfront—it breathes life into its characters
Here’s how his real-life experiences shaped some of the key figures:
Harlan Buckley (played by Holt McCallany) is a direct reflection of Williamson’s father, Wade. Like Wade, Harlan is a fisherman who turns to drug smuggling when the industry collapses. Williamson has said McCallany’s portrayal captured his father’s essence so well that it felt like “perfect casting”2.
Belle Buckley (Maria Bello) draws from Williamson’s mother, Faye. Belle is the no-nonsense matriarch who holds the family together through crisis—just as Faye did when Wade was arrested. Williamson credits his mother’s strength and resilience as the emotional backbone of the story.
Bree Buckley (Melissa Benoist), the recovering addict trying to reclaim her place in the family, channels Williamson’s own feelings of being the “small-town weirdo” who didn’t quite fit in. He’s described Bree as the “truth teller” of the family—someone who says the hard things out loud, much like he did growing up.
Cane Buckley (Jake Weary), the son who takes over the family business and makes morally gray choices, represents the burden of legacy and the desperation Williamson witnessed in his community when livelihoods vanished. Cane’s choices echo the same pressures that led his father to crime.
Melissa Benoist, Maria Bello, Holt McCallany and Jake Weary. Copyright: NETFLIX
Kevin Williamson’s writing style is deeply shaped by his personal experiences—especially his upbringing in coastal North Carolina and his complex family history
Here’s how that influence shows up on the page:
Emotional authenticity: Williamson often writes characters who are emotionally raw, conflicted, and morally gray. That comes from his own life—growing up in a tight-knit but struggling family, watching his father make difficult choices, and navigating his own identity in a conservative town.
Dialogue that cuts deep: He’s known for sharp, emotionally charged dialogue. In The Waterfront, for example, characters often say the things others are afraid to—mirroring Williamson’s own role in his family as the one who “called things out,” especially during times of crisis.
Themes of survival and legacy: Whether it’s Scream, Dawson’s Creek, or The Waterfront, his stories often center on people trying to survive—emotionally, economically, or physically—while grappling with the weight of their past. That’s a direct reflection of his father’s downfall and his mother’s resilience.
Genre with heart: Even in horror or thriller formats, Williamson injects personal stakes and emotional depth. He’s said that when he stopped writing what he cared about, his work suffered. The Waterfront marked a return to writing from the heart, and it shows in the layered storytelling and grounded characters.
His style is a blend of Southern storytelling, genre-savvy structure, and deeply personal truth.
Kevin Williamson’s style shares some DNA with classic Southern writers, but he also carves out his own lane—one that blends Southern gothic roots with pop-culture savvy and genre storytelling.
Like William Faulkner or Flannery O’Connor, Williamson explores themes of family dysfunction, moral ambiguity, and the weight of legacy. His characters, like theirs, often wrestle with guilt, pride, and the ghosts of the past. But while Faulkner leans into dense prose and O’Connor into religious allegory, Williamson keeps his dialogue sharp, modern, and emotionally direct.
Compared to contemporary Southern voices like Jesmyn Ward or Wiley Cash, Williamson is more plot-driven and genre-focused. Where Ward might dwell in lyrical realism and social commentary, Williamson uses crime, suspense, and noir to explore similar emotional terrain—grief, survival, and fractured identity—but through a more commercial lens.
What sets him apart is his fusion of personal history with genre tropes. In The Waterfront, he takes a deeply personal story and wraps it in the structure of a Southern noir thriller. That mix of emotional truth and narrative propulsion is uniquely his.
Holt McCallany and Jake Weary in The Waterfront. Copyright: NETFLIX
So while he shares the Southern tradition of storytelling rooted in place and pain, Williamson filters it through the lens of a screenwriter who knows how to hook an audience.
He honors that Southern storytelling tradition, but he doesn’t get lost in the weight of it. Instead, he distills its emotional intensity—family fractures, fading legacies, moral compromise—into tight, compelling narratives that speak in the language of television: pacing, conflict, character arcs.
It’s almost like he takes the Southern gothic atmosphere and builds it into a modern thriller engine. You still feel the heat, the ghosts, the generational burdens—but you’re also moving forward fast, propelled by suspense, secrets, and stakes that shift with every scene.
In that way, he’s bridging literature and screenwriting, turning memory into momentum.
Kevin Williamson during the filming of The Waterfront. Copyright: NETFLIX
Kevin Williamson’s evolution as a writer is a fascinating blend of personal catharsis, genre mastery, and emotional precision.
He’s not just a screenwriter—he’s a storyteller who’s spent decades refining how to make audiences feel something, whether it’s fear, longing, or moral discomfort.
Williamson broke out with Scream, reinventing horror by making it self-aware and emotionally resonant. But he’s never been confined by genre. Whether it’s teen drama (Dawson’s Creek), supernatural romance (The Vampire Diaries), or Southern noir (The Waterfront), he uses genre conventions to explore deeper emotional truths.
Scream didn’t just revive the slasher genre—it taught a generation of writers that horror could be smart, self-aware, and emotionally grounded. Writers like Jordan Peele (Get Out) and Mike Flanagan (The Haunting of Hill House) have cited the importance of blending scares with substance, a hallmark of Williamson’s approach.
His work often mirrors his own life. Dawson’s Creek was a coming-of-age story rooted in his own adolescence, while The Waterfront draws from his father’s criminal past and his mother’s resilience. Even when the stories are fictional, the emotional DNA is real.
Williamson’s scripts are driven by character psychology. He’s said he writes “from the inside out,” meaning he starts with what a character feels and builds the plot around that. This gives his work a lived-in, emotionally grounded quality—even when the stakes are life-or-death.
Dawson’s Creek set the tone for emotionally articulate, introspective teen characters. Shows like The O.C., One Tree Hill, and even Euphoria owe a debt to Williamson’s ability to treat young people’s emotions with gravity and nuance. He made it okay for teens to talk like philosophers—and cry like adults.
Williamson’s knack for mixing genre thrills with personal stakes has influenced creators across TV. Julie Plec, who co-created The Vampire Diaries with him, has said his character-first approach shaped how she writes supernatural drama. Even Stranger Things echoes his formula: nostalgic setting, high-stakes genre, and a core of emotional truth.
After years in the industry, Williamson has described The Waterfront as a return to the kind of storytelling that made him fall in love with writing. He’s said the pandemic reignited his creative fire, pushing him to tell stories that matter to him personally.
Despite his roots in ‘90s teen drama and horror, Williamson has remained relevant by adapting to new platforms and audiences. His move to streaming with The Waterfront shows he’s still evolving—still finding new ways to tell stories that are both intimate and gripping.
Behind the scenes, Williamson has mentored younger writers and championed emotionally honest storytelling. His work on The Waterfront is seen as a culmination of that ethos—a more mature, reflective version of the themes he’s explored for decades.
He’s a storyteller who believes deeply in lifting others up and encouraging them to tell their truth. His mentorship is rooted in the same emotional honesty that defines his work.
He’s been known to advocate for young writers to stop chasing trends and start chasing their own voice. On multiple occasions, he’s said that the best writing comes from a place of vulnerability—and that if a story doesn’t scare you a little to tell, it may not be worth telling. That mindset has deeply influenced the next wave of screenwriters, especially those working in emotionally complex genres like horror, teen drama, and noir.
He’s also transparent about his own mistakes and creative misfires—something that makes him approachable to mentees. When speaking about The Waterfront, he said returning to personal storytelling after years of more commercial work “saved” him creatively. That’s the kind of insight that resonates: not just how to write, but how to write something that matters.
Violence in The Waterfront isn’t just for shock value—it’s a narrative tool that serves multiple functions, both thematic and emotional.
Kevin Williamson has been candid about the violence in The Waterfront, emphasizing that it’s not gratuitous but deeply tied to the emotional and moral unraveling of the Buckley family.
Williamson sees violence as a narrative threshold—each act marking a point of no return. He also acknowledged that violence follows naturally from the world he’s portraying—a world shaped by desperation, legacy, and moral compromise. The show, he said, is about “good people forced to do some bad things”
So while the show includes “a lot of violence,” Williamson uses it as a mirror, reflecting the emotional cost of survival and the slow erosion of boundaries.
In The Waterfront, violence isn’t just a plot device—it’s a reckoning. Kevin Williamson uses it to externalise what characters can’t say out loud: grief, fear, desperation, shame. It isn’t just about defending family—it’s about crossing an invisible line that’s been edging closer all season.
And Williamson’s smart about when to use it. The brutality lands hardest because it’s rare, messy, and earned. It doesn’t feel cinematic—it feels inevitable. These are people who don’t want to be monsters, but the world they inhabit slowly chisels away at their decency.
It’s that emotional erosion—the slow disintegration of moral boundaries—that haunts long after the final shot. He’s not glorifying violence. He’s showing what it costs.
Five standout tips that reflect Kevin Williamson’s philosophy
Kevin Williamson has shared a wealth of insight over the years, especially when it comes to writing stories that are both emotionally honest and commercially gripping.
Write what scares you emotionally Williamson believes the best stories come from personal vulnerability. If a story feels risky or uncomfortable to tell, that’s usually a sign it’s worth pursuing.
Start with character, not plot He builds stories “from the inside out,” beginning with what a character feels and wants. The plot then becomes a natural extension of those emotional truths.
Use genre to explore real emotion Whether it’s horror, noir, or teen drama, Williamson uses genre as a framework—not a limitation. He says genre should elevate the emotional stakes, not replace them.
Don’t chase trends—chase your voice He warns against writing what’s popular just to sell. Instead, he urges writers to find their unique voice and write the story only they can tell.
Dialogue should reveal, not just inform Williamson’s dialogue is known for being sharp and revealing. He encourages writers to let characters speak in ways that expose their fears, flaws, and desires—not just move the plot forward.
He’s all about writing that’s personal, propulsive, and packed with emotional truth.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Crafting a Classic: How Victor Hugo Wrote Les Misérables
“There is nothing like a dream to create the future … It is from the depths of pain that we emerge with our greatest strength … Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise,” wrote Victor Hugo, who took about 20 years to complete Les Misérables, not because he was procrastinating, but because life, politics, and his own evolving vision kept reshaping the novel.
Victor Hugo was in his early 30s when he began drafting Les Misérables in the early 1830s, but he didn’t complete and publish it until 1862, when he was 60 years old.
Victor Hugo began drafting Les Misérables in the early 1830s under the title Les Misères, but then paused the work for years. He was deeply involved in political life and became a peer of France, gave speeches, and later went into exile after opposing Napoleon III’s coup in 1851. That exile, though painful, gave him the solitude and moral fire to return to the manuscript with renewed purpose.
During those years, Hugo’s worldview matured. He witnessed revolutions, personal tragedies, and the grinding poverty of the working class. All of that deepened the novel’s themes of justice, redemption, and human dignity. So when he finally resumed writing in earnest in the 1860s, he wasn’t just finishing a story—he was delivering a moral epic shaped by decades of lived experience. In short, the novel took 20 years because Hugo wasn’t just writing about transformation—he was living it.
Victor Hugo’s personal life was a whirlwind of love, loss, and political passion—and it left deep fingerprints on everything he wrote.
He grew up in a fractured household, torn between a royalist mother and a Napoleonic father. That early tension between authority and rebellion shows up in his characters, especially the moral tug-of-war between Jean Valjean and Inspector Javert.
His romantic life was equally dramatic. Hugo married Adèle Foucher, but both had affairs, and the emotional turbulence of their relationship bled into his writing. The heartbreak and longing in Les Misérables and his poetry often mirror his own experiences with love and betrayal.
But perhaps the most devastating influence was the death of his beloved daughter Léopoldine, who drowned at 19. Hugo was shattered. He stopped writing for years, and when he returned, his grief poured into works like the poem À Villequier and the darker, more reflective tone of Les Misérables.
Then there’s his political exile. Banished from France for opposing Napoleon III, Hugo spent nearly 20 years on the Channel Islands. That isolation gave him the space—and the fire—to write his most powerful critiques of injustice, including Les Misérables, which he saw as a moral and political mission, not just a novel. In short, Hugo didn’t just write about suffering, love, and redemption—he lived them.
The Spark Behind the Epic: What Drove Hugo to Write Les Misérables
One major spark was the June Rebellion of 1832, a short-lived uprising in Paris by anti-monarchist republicans. Hugo actually witnessed part of it firsthand—he was caught in the chaos and took shelter behind a barricade. That experience left a lasting impression and later became the emotional and political heart of the novel’s climactic scenes.
But Hugo’s inspiration ran deeper. He was profoundly moved by the suffering of the poor, the failures of the justice system, and the moral contradictions of society. His evolving political beliefs—from royalist to staunch republican—shaped the novel’s themes of redemption, mercy, and social reform. He even said in the preface that as long as poverty, ignorance, and injustice exist, books like Les Misérables are necessary. So in a way, the novel wasn’t just a story—it was Hugo’s call to conscience
Victor Hugo’s exile from France—lasting nearly 20 years—wasn’t just a physical separation; it was a crucible that forged his most radical and humanistic ideas
Banished in 1851 for opposing Napoleon III’s coup, Hugo first settled in Jersey, then Guernsey. At first, exile was enforced. But even after an amnesty was offered in 1859, Hugo refused to return—choosing principle over comfort. That decision speaks volumes about how exile sharpened his moral clarity.
During this period, Hugo became a fierce critic of authoritarianism and a champion of liberty. He wrote Napoléon le Petit and Les Châtiments, blistering attacks on the regime that exiled him. But exile also gave him distance—from the noise of politics and the distractions of Paris—which allowed him to reflect deeply on justice, suffering, and the human condition. That reflection culminated in Les Misérables, a novel that’s as much a political manifesto as it is a literary masterpiece.
In isolation, Hugo’s empathy expanded. He saw himself as a voice for the voiceless, and his writing became more universal, more urgent. He once said, “Exile has not only detached me from France; it has attached me to humanity.”
Victor Hugo’s process for writing Les Misérables was as dramatic and intense as the novel itself
When he finally committed to finishing it in the 1860s, Hugo was living in exile on the island of Guernsey. To eliminate distractions, he took a rather extreme approach: he had his servants remove all his clothes except for a large grey shawl, effectively trapping himself indoors so he could focus entirely on writing. This self-imposed isolation helped him channel his energy into crafting one of literature’s most enduring epics.
The result was a novel that not only told a sweeping story of redemption and revolution but also reflected Hugo’s deep commitment to social justice and human dignity. His dedication to the craft—right down to the last stitch of clothing—is a testament to how far he was willing to go for his art.
The Pen of Passion and Precision: Hugo’s Signature Style
Victor Hugo’s writing style is a rich tapestry of romanticism, realism, and social commentary, woven together with poetic intensity and philosophical depth.
He had a flair for the lyrical and the empirical—a rare blend. On one hand, he used vivid, emotional language to stir the soul; on the other, he grounded his characters and ideas in detailed observation and historical context. For example, when describing a character like Bishop Myriel, Hugo doesn’t just tell us who he is—he builds a case, layer by layer, with anecdotes and evidence.
His sentences often stretch long and winding, filled with rhetorical flourishes, digressions, and moral reflections. He wasn’t afraid to pause the plot to explore a philosophical idea or paint a panoramic view of society. That’s why Les Misérables includes everything from sewer systems to revolutionary politics—it’s as much a novel as it is a meditation on humanity.
Hugo also defied genre boundaries. He mixed romance, drama, historical fiction, and political critique into a single narrative voice. And through it all, his commitment to justice and compassion shines—his prose is a vehicle for empathy.
His methodical, almost obsessive attention to detail also explains the novel’s epic scope. Hugo didn’t just write a story—he built a world where every character, from the bishop to the beggar, embodies a moral or social truth. That’s the kind of depth you get when an author is willing to lock himself away and wrestle with the soul of a nation.
Victor Hugo’s characters in Les Misérables are like living embodiments of the novel’s central themes
Jean Valjean is the heart of the novel’s theme of redemption. His journey from embittered convict to selfless guardian shows how love and compassion can transform a person. After the Bishop’s act of mercy, Valjean devotes his life to doing good, even when it costs him dearly.
Inspector Javert represents justice without mercy. He’s obsessed with law and order, unable to reconcile Valjean’s transformation with his rigid worldview. His eventual crisis—and tragic end—highlight the dangers of a system that values punishment over understanding.
Fantine is a symbol of social injustice. She’s a working-class woman destroyed by poverty and society’s hypocrisy. Her descent into desperation shows how the system fails the vulnerable, especially women.
Cosette, rescued and raised by Valjean, embodies hope and renewal. Her innocence and eventual happiness with Marius suggest that love and sacrifice can break cycles of suffering.
Marius reflects idealism and sacrifice. He gives up his privileged life to fight for justice during the June Rebellion, showing how personal conviction can drive social change.
The Thénardiers, in contrast, represent moral decay and greed. They exploit others at every turn, serving as a dark mirror to Valjean’s selflessness.
Each character isn’t just part of the story—they’re part of Hugo’s argument about what kind of society we should strive for.
The themes in Les Misérables echo loudly in today’s world—proof that Victor Hugo was tapping into something timeless
Social injustice and inequality: Fantine’s descent into poverty and Cosette’s early suffering mirror modern struggles with wage gaps, lack of access to healthcare, and systemic barriers that keep people trapped in cycles of poverty. The novel’s critique of a society that punishes the poor instead of helping them still resonates in debates about homelessness, welfare, and economic reform.
Justice vs. mercy: The tension between Valjean and Javert reflects ongoing conversations about criminal justice reform. Valjean’s redemption challenges the idea that people can be permanently defined by their worst mistakes—something we see today in movements advocating for rehabilitation over incarceration.
Class conflict and revolution: The barricades of Paris may be historical, but the spirit behind them lives on in protests against inequality, corruption, and authoritarianism. Whether it’s student uprisings, labor strikes, or grassroots activism, Hugo’s vision of people fighting for dignity and change still inspires action.
The power of compassion: Hugo’s insistence on empathy—on seeing the humanity in the marginalised—is a call to action in a world still grappling with racism, xenophobia, and exclusion. His characters remind us that real change begins with recognising each other’s worth.
Les Misérables isn’t just a story about 19th-century France—it’s a mirror held up to our own time.
Les Misérables isn’t just a novel; it’s a cathedral of words, a testament to suffering and salvation carved in ink and storm. Victor Hugo doesn’t merely narrate—he weaves a symphony of souls battered by life yet refusing to break. Les Misérables isn’t just a novel; it’s a cathedral of words, a testament to suffering and salvation carved in ink and storm. Victor Hugo doesn’t merely narrate—he weaves a symphony of souls battered by life yet refusing to break.
Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables has inspired a cultural legacy as vast and enduring as the novel itself.
Its impact ripples through literature, theater, film, music, and even social activism:
Theatrical adaptations: The most famous is the 1980 musical by Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schönberg, which became a global phenomenon. With its sweeping score and emotional depth, it redefined what musical theater could be—blending opera, rock, and drama into a revolutionary form.
Film and television: From early silent films to the 2012 Oscar-winning movie starring Hugh Jackman and Anne Hathaway, Les Misérables has been reimagined for nearly every screen. Each adaptation brings new audiences to Hugo’s themes of justice, love, and redemption.
Literary influence: Hugo’s blend of social critique and emotional storytelling paved the way for later writers like Charles Dickens, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and even modern authors tackling systemic injustice through fiction.
Social and political movements: The novel’s focus on poverty, inequality, and the power of compassion has made it a touchstone for activists and reformers. Its characters—especially Jean Valjean—have become symbols of personal transformation and moral courage.
Popular culture: From references in songs and TV shows to memes and protest signs, Les Mis continues to resonate. The line “Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise” has become a mantra of hope across generations.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Ehren Kruger’s Screenplay Puts the Pedal to the Metal in F1
“You can have all the spectacle in the world, but if the audience doesn’t care about the people inside the machine, it’s just noise,” says screenwriter Ehren Kruger of F1, embedding a fictional reality into real races, part sports drama, part behind-the-scenes doc, part Hollywood spectacle. It’s not just about racing—it’s about what racing means to those who live it.
The screenplay for F1 was written by Ehren Kruger, a seasoned screenwriter known for Top Gun: Maverick, The Ring, and several of the Transformers films. He teamed up with director Joseph Kosinski to develop the story, blending fictional drama with the visceral intensity of real-world Formula 1 racing.
Kruger’s knack for crafting high-stakes narratives was key to making F1 feel thrilling without straying too far from the sport’s authenticity. With Hamilton, Kosinski, and Bruckheimer all in the mix, it’s a screenplay that marries Hollywood spectacle with a deep respect for racing culture.
Ehren Kruger didn’t just write a racing movie—he reverse-engineered the emotional DNA of real Formula One rivalries and wove it into F1’s dramatic core.
While the film doesn’t directly name-check actual rivalries like Senna vs. Prost or Hamilton vs. Rosberg, Kruger clearly drew from their emotional dynamics: the tension between teammates, the clash of egos, and the pressure of legacy. The relationship between Sonny Hayes (Brad Pitt) and Joshua Pearce (Damson Idris) mirrors that classic formula—mentor vs. rising star, experience vs. raw ambition.
Ehren Kruger was deeply involved in shaping F1 from the ground up. He co-developed the story with director Joseph Kosinski, and his screenplay was crafted in close collaboration with the film’s producers, including Jerry Bruckheimer and Lewis Hamilton.
The film was also made in partnership with Formula 1 and the FIA, meaning Kruger had access to the sport’s inner workings. That collaboration helped him write scenes that reflect the real pressures, rivalries, and politics of the paddock. From the technical jargon to the emotional arcs, his script was designed to feel authentic to both die-hard fans and newcomers.
Ehren Kruger’s experience on Top Gun: Maverick had a clear influence on how he approached F1. Both films share a love for high-speed spectacle grounded in character-driven storytelling. In fact, Kruger and Kosinski spent nearly a year developing F1’s story, much like they did with Maverick, to ensure it wasn’t just about the adrenaline—it was about the people behind the helmets.
One of the biggest throughlines is how Kruger builds mentor-protégé dynamics. In Maverick, it was Maverick and Rooster; in F1, it’s Sonny Hayes and Joshua Pearce. Both relationships are emotionally charged, shaped by legacy, loss, and redemption.
Kruger also brought his knack for tight pacing and immersive tension. Just like Maverick made you feel like you were in the cockpit of a fighter jet, F1 puts you in the driver’s seat—thanks to a script that balances technical jargon with emotional stakes.
Kruger also leaned into the cutthroat nature of intra-team politics, a hallmark of F1 history. The fictional APXGP team faces internal friction, strategic disagreements, and media scrutiny—echoing real-world dramas like Vettel vs. Webber or Alonso vs. Hamilton.
And by embedding the fictional team into real races with actual drivers like Verstappen, Leclerc, and Norris appearing as themselves, Kruger blurred the line between fiction and reality. It’s not just inspired by rivalries—it’s staged alongside them.
Ehren Kruger’s screenplay for F1 follows a classic three-act structure, but it’s turbocharged with the emotional and technical stakes of Formula 1
Act I – The Comeback Call – We meet Sonny Hayes, a retired F1 driver haunted by a career-ending crash. He’s pulled back into the sport by his old friend Ruben Cervantes to mentor rookie Joshua Pearce. This act sets up the emotional baggage, introduces the APXGP team, and hints at the internal and external rivalries to come.
Act II – The Pressure Cooker – This is where the drama accelerates. Sonny and Joshua clash—on and off the track. The team faces setbacks, media scrutiny, and internal politics. Kruger uses this act to explore themes of legacy, mentorship, and the brutal pace of modern F1. It’s also where the film’s most intense race sequences unfold, blending real Grand Prix footage with fictional drama.
Act III – Redemption and Resolve – The final act delivers the emotional payoff. Sonny must confront his past and decide whether he’s racing for redemption or something more. Joshua, meanwhile, learns what it truly means to be a champion. Their arcs converge in a climactic race that’s as much about heart as horsepower. Kruger’s structure mirrors the rhythm of a Grand Prix weekend: build-up, chaos, and resolution. Want to dive into how the film uses pit stops and team radio as storytelling tools? There’s some clever screenwriting under the hood.
Kruger’s use of pit stops and team radioin F1 isn’t just for realism—it’s smart storytelling.
In the film, pit stops aren’t just mechanical pauses—they’re emotional pressure cookers. One key scene shows Sonny Hayes making a risky call to stay out longer, echoing real-life gambles like Hamilton’s infamous Turkey GP tire call. These moments heighten tension and reveal character under stress.
Kruger uses radio chatter to expose the drivers’ mindset mid-race. Instead of exposition-heavy dialogue, we hear raw, clipped exchanges: frustration, doubt, strategy. It’s a window into the psyche of Sonny and Joshua, and it mirrors how real F1 fans piece together a race’s drama through radio snippets.
Hans Zimmer’s score often fades beneath the roar of engines and the crackle of radio, letting the audience feel the chaos and urgency. It’s immersive, but also symbolic—drivers are isolated, relying on voices in their ear to guide them.
In one pivotal scene, Sonny ignores a team order. The silence on the radio afterward speaks louder than words. It’s a nod to real-world moments when drivers defy strategy—think Vettel’s “Multi 21” or Rosberg’s Monaco qualifying incident.
Kruger turns these technical elements into emotional beats.
The film’s press conferences and media scenes are more than just window dressing—they’re pressure chambers where reputations are made or shattered.
Kruger uses these moments to mirror the real-world scrutiny F1 drivers face. In one standout scene, Sonny Hayes is grilled by journalists about his comeback, and the tension is palpable—not just from the questions, but from the silence between them. It echoes real-life moments like Vettel’s terse exchanges or Hamilton’s philosophical responses under fire.
The fictional APXGP team also faces a media storm after a controversial team order. Kruger scripts the press room like a chessboard: every answer is a move, every pause a tell. It’s not just about what’s said—it’s about what’s withheld.
And just like in real F1, the media becomes a character of its own—shaping narratives, fueling rivalries, and adding stakes beyond the track. The film even includes subtle nods to Drive to Survive-style editing, with off-camera whispers and cutaway glances that hint at deeper tensions.
F1 stands out in the motor racing film genre by blending real-world Formula 1 access with cinematic storytelling in a way few others have achieved
Here’s how it stacks up against some of the greats:
Compared to Rush (2013): Ron Howard’s Rush is often hailed as the gold standard for F1 films, dramatizing the Hunt–Lauda rivalry with emotional depth and period authenticity. F1, by contrast, is set in the present and integrates real F1 races, teams, and drivers, giving it a documentary-like immediacy that Rush couldn’t replicate.
Versus Senna (2010): Senna is a powerful documentary built entirely from archival footage. It’s intimate, raw, and deeply emotional. F1 doesn’t aim for that level of introspection, but it does channel Senna’s spirit through its focus on legacy, pressure, and purpose—especially in Sonny Hayes’ comeback arc.
Compared to Grand Prix (1966): That film was revolutionary for its time, using real race footage and split-screen editing. F1 takes that ambition further with custom-built F2 cars, cutting-edge cameras, and real Grand Prix weekends as its backdrop. It’s like Grand Prix with a 21st-century engine.
Formula 1: Drive to Survive is a Netflix docuseries that pulls back the curtain on the high-stakes world of F1 racing. It debuted in 2019 and has released seven seasons as of 2025. Each season covers a full F1 calendar year, offering behind-the-scenes access to drivers, team principals, and the drama that unfolds both on and off the track. The F1 film is poised to make a different kind of impact than Drive to Survive—and possibly a bigger one. While Drive to Survive brought millions of new fans to Formula 1 through its binge-worthy, behind-the-scenes drama, the F1 movie aims to reach audiences who might never watch a docuseries.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on A Story Told in Stillness: The Road to Paris, Texas
“Without dreams, there can be no courage. And without courage, there can be no action,” says director Wim Wenders about Paris, Texas, resonating deeply with the themes of the film —quiet bravery, emotional risk, and the hope of transformation.
Wim Wenders, the acclaimed German filmmaker, author, and photographer, is widely considered one of the greatest auteur directors of modern cinema.
Wenders, who has more than 30 film credits to his name, is arguably best known for the brilliant Paris, Texas, for which he claimed the prestigious Palme d’Or at the 1984 Cannes Film Festival. Furthermore, Wenders’ film Wings of Desire earned him the Best Director Award at Cannes three years later.
Wim Wenders is a towering figure in world cinema, especially known for his role in the New German Cinema movement of the 1970s. His films are often meditative journeys—both literal and emotional—that explore themes like alienation, memory, and the search for meaning in a fragmented world.
“Any film that supports the idea that things can be changed is a great film in my eyes,” says Wenders. This speaks to his belief in cinema as a transformative force, not just entertainment, but a medium that can challenge perceptions and inspire change.
His style blends realism with a dreamlike quality, creating a kind of cinematic poetry
Visually, Wenders is celebrated for his wide-angle compositions, long takes, and atmospheric use of landscapes. He often lets the environment speak as much as the characters do. Think of the empty highways in Paris, Texas or the ethereal cityscapes in Wings of Desire—they’re not just backdrops, they’re emotional terrains.
He’s deeply influenced by photography (he’s a photographer himself), and that shows in his framing and attention to light and space. His work often lingers in silence, allowing viewers to reflect and feel rather than be told what to think.
Wenders is also known for his collaborations with artists and musicians —like Ry Cooder, who scored Paris, Texas, and the photographer Sebastião Salgado, the subject of Wenders’s documentary The Salt of the Earth.
Paris, Texas is a haunting meditation on loss, identity, and redemption
Its significance lies not just in its narrative, but in how it tells the story—through silence, vast landscapes, and emotional restraint.
At its heart is Travis Henderson, a man who reemerges from the desert after years of disappearance. His journey to reconnect with his young son and estranged wife becomes a quiet odyssey of healing. The film explores themes of isolation, the illusion of idealized love, and the painful beauty of reconciliation.
The cinematography—especially the barren Texas landscapes—mirrors Travis’s emotional desolation. And the use of silence, particularly in the first part of the film, speaks volumes about trauma and the difficulty of expressing pain. One of the most powerful scenes involves a two-way mirror, where Travis and his wife Jane confront their past without facing each other directly—a metaphor for emotional distance and vulnerability.
Wim Wenders and Sam Shepard had a rich creative partnership
Wim Wenders and Sam Shepard’s hmost famous collaboration was Paris, Texas (1984). They teamed up again two decades later for Don’t Come Knocking (2005), a film they co-wrote.
The screenplay was written by Sam Shepard, the Pulitzer Prize-winning American playwright, with an adaptation by L. M. Kit Carson, who helped shape the narrative into something more structured while preserving Shepard’s emotional core. The result was a film that feels both spontaneous and deeply intentional—like a memory unfolding in real time.
It’s a fascinating blend—Wenders brought a European sensibility to the American landscape, while Shepard infused it with raw emotional depth. Their collaborations feel like cinematic conversations between two artists fascinated by the American psyche—its loneliness, its longing, and its mythologies.
Sam Shepard’s inspiration for Paris, Texas was deeply rooted in themes he often explored in his plays—isolation, fractured identity, and the search for belonging. Shepard initially wrote it as a series of monologues and character sketches rather than a traditional script. Wenders, fascinated by Shepard’s portrayal of the American psyche, especially the mythos of the West and the emotional desolation of modern life, helped shape it into a cohesive narrative.
The character of Travis, wandering mute through the desert, reflects Shepard’s fascination with men on the margins, haunted by past mistakes and yearning for redemption. The story’s emotional core—Travis’s attempt to reconnect with his estranged wife and son—mirrors Shepard’s recurring exploration of broken families and the elusive nature of home.
Wenders and Shepard tapped into something uniquely melancholic and mythic about America, especially its wide-open spaces and emotional silences. Their characters don’t just wander through physical landscapes—they drift through emotional and existential terrains, haunted by what they’ve lost or never found.
What’s remarkable is how still their films often feel. Not inaction, but a kind of contemplative stillness that invites us to pause and absorb. You can almost feel the dust of forgotten highways, the echo of a voice not spoken for years, the ache behind a glance. It’s American mythology seen through a poetic, outsider’s lens—and filtered through Shepard’s stripped-down, emotionally raw writing.
It’s like they were both searching for the soul of something—maybe America, maybe humanity—and their films let us look for it too.
“I knew these people… They were in love with each other… And together they turned everything into a kind of adventure. And she liked that. Just an ordinary trip down to the grocery store was full of adventure,” says Shepherd. “There was a boy… who was in love with a girl. And they laughed together. They were good together. Until something happened. Something he did. He couldn’t stop himself. He hurt her.”
The cast of Paris, Texas (1984) is a beautifully assembled group that brought Sam Shepard’s haunting story to life: Harry Dean Stanton and Nastassja Kinski with Wim Wenders.
Paris, Texas reimagines the American West not as a place of cowboys and conquest, but as a psychological landscape
Wim Wenders, a European outsider, uses the Western setting to strip away myth and bravado. Instead of a gunslinger, we get Travis: a silent, broken man wandering the desert, not in search of justice, but of lost time and fractured relationships. The desert becomes a metaphor for his inner emptiness, and the long, lonely roads mirror his emotional distance.
Critics and scholars have noted how the film subverts the traditional Western. Ry Cooder’s slide guitar score evokes the genre’s sonic roots, but instead of triumph, it underscores sorrow and longing. The American frontier here isn’t about expansion—it’s about retreat, introspection, and the painful process of reconnection.
In this way, Paris, Texas turns the mythic West inward. It’s not about taming the land—it’s about navigating the wilderness of the self.
Wenders brought his outsider’s eye to the American Southwest, capturing its vastness not as a backdrop, but as a character in itself.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Sharp Corner: A dark satire that subtly critiques the fragile nature of contemporary masculinity
“It’s about the line between being a hero and being a villain. That obsession with doing good—when does it become something darker?” says writer-director Jason Buxton of Sharp Corner, reflecting his fascination with moral ambiguity and the psychological descent of his protagonist. The film isn’t just a thriller—it’s a meditation on identity, purpose, and the fragile boundary between altruism and obsession.
Jason Buxton’s creative journey toward Sharp Corner didn’t begin in a studio—it began in a bookstore.
After the critical success of Blackbird, he didn’t chase Hollywood formulas or streaming trends. Instead, he wandered the aisles of Canadian bookstores, drawn to voices grounded in place, nuance, and emotional realism. It was there he discovered Russell Wangersky’s Whirl Away, a collection rich with psychological terrain.
Buxton’s hands-on, almost analogue approach to inspiration underlines his commitment to storytelling rooted in character and place. Adaptation, for him, isn’t about mimicry—it’s about immersion. He didn’t just option Wangersky’s stories; he inhabited them, shaping Sharp Corner into a haunting exploration of obsession, moral ambiguity, and the blurry boundary between heroism and darkness.
With its moody atmospherics and restrained pace, Sharp Corner forgoes spectacle for emotional excavation. It invites the viewer into a slow-burning descent—mirroring the very process through which Buxton crafted it. In a cinematic landscape that often favors noise over nuance, Sharp Corner whispers—and leaves a deeper scar because of it.
Jason Buxton on the set of Sharp Corner. Courtesy, Elevation Pictures.
He was immediately drawn to its psychological depth and haunting atmosphere. Originally, Buxton planned to adapt multiple stories from the collection into a Magnolia-style ensemble film, but as he developed Sharp Corner, it demanded more space. The story’s emotional complexity and eerie tone grew into a full-length script that became his second feature film.
“I consumed four stories standing there in the store, and my original idea was to do a Magnolia type story where there were multiple storylines that would converge at the end, and Sharp Corner was one of those stories. But as I developed Sharp Corner, it became more than a third of a movie or a half of a movie. It demanded and needed a deeper exploration, and it became a hundred-page script.”
Buxton was particularly fascinated by the psychological unravelling of the protagonist, Josh, and the way trauma, obsession, and the desire to be a hero intersect.
“Sharp Corner delves into the heart of what it means to be a man in an evolving society. It questions the very nature of heroism and asks whether Josh is an aberration of his environment or a product of it.,” says Buxton. “There’s no moral judgment here—only a stark portrayal of a man’s slow, inexorable collapse. Josh’s story is both repulsive and exhilarating, a mirror held up to society’s darkest impulses. As the audience, we are forced to confront our own complicity in his downfall, left to wonder: what does our fascination with his moral decay say about us?”
Ben Foster is one of the great American actors of his generation, known for playing headstrong, determined characters. He is not an actor who emotionalises his roles or intellectualises them – he mines them. He digs uncommonly deep for a purpose. And therein lies the irony because this character is anything but deep: “There’s very little self-introspection with Josh. He’s not doing a lot of personal investigation. He’s trying to be proactive as a modern man. He tucks in his shirt; he says thank you; he shakes hands. That’s about as far as his development got.”
“When I first read the script, I didn’t totally understand it, but I was drawn to it,” Foster added. “There’s a magnetism to the piece. Jason used a word that really activated me: normalism. It’s not realism, it’s normalism. The more times I read the script, the clearer the images became. And the most mundane actions, which are very carefully placed architecturally within the script, become all the more devastating in their normalism.”
Director’s Statement
Jason Buxton is a Canadian writer-director known for his emotionally resonant and psychologically rich storytelling. Raised in both the UK and Canada, he’s based in Chester, Nova Scotia, and holds dual citizenship. Buxton began his filmmaking journey with a series of short films—A Fresh Start, The Garden, and The Drawing—before making a major impact with his debut feature Blackbird in 2012.
Sharp Corner plunges you into the unraveling life of Josh McCall, a seemingly ordinary man whose quest for purpose leads him down a perilous path. As a devoted family man, Josh should be living the dream—loving wife, young son, and a stable job. Yet, he’s haunted by an unshakable sense of emptiness, a gnawing feeling that something is missing.
When a series of car accidents occurs at the treacherous bend in front of his house, Josh seizes upon the chance to make a difference. He becomes obsessed with saving the victims, convinced that he can be their saviour. But as his well-intentioned efforts falter, Josh’s mission twists into a dangerous fixation. His once-noble desire to help morphs into a desperate need to play the hero, even if it means risking everything—including the very family he’s sworn to protect.
Josh’s descent is both disturbing and captivating, drawing parallels to Dante’s journey through a dark and confusing wood. He’s a man who did everything by the book—college, career, marriage—but now finds himself lost, adrift in a world that no longer makes sense. His quiet desperation, masked by a facade of normalcy, slowly gives way to a darker force within him.
The audience is pulled into his spiraling obsession, watching as Josh’s moral compass deteriorates and his once-good intentions become a sinister drive for recognition.
The film builds tension with every scene, each car accident a ticking time bomb that could explode at any moment. The camera’s steady, probing gaze mirrors the audience’s curiosity, searching for answers in Josh’s unravelling psyche. Is he merely a victim of his circumstances, or is there something more sinister at play? The suspense is palpable, keeping viewers on edge as they anticipate the next twist in Josh’s dangerous journey.
Sharp Corner is not just a psychological thriller; it’s a dark satire that subtly critiques the fragile nature of contemporary masculinity. In a world where success is often measured by control and power, Josh’s story serves as a cautionary tale. His transformation from humble family man to cunning narcissist is both tragic and unsettling, reflecting the deep-seated societal pressures that push men to the brink.
The film’s visual language, inspired by films such as Parasite, Nightcrawler, and Joker, creates a world that feels both familiar and disturbingly off-kilter. As with my previous film, Blackbird, the viewer is placed uncomfortably close to the protagonist, forced to grapple with the uncomfortable truths of his journey. But in Sharp Corner, the absurdist undertones take the narrative to a whole new level, creating a tension that keeps the audience guessing until the very end.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on M3GAN 2.0: Pop Culture’s Creepiest Icon Is Back and Deadlier Than Ever
“To be honest, I thought I was making a career-ending goofy puppet movie for the longest time,” says director Gerard Johnstone, who returns as the writer-director of M3GAN 2.0. “We could never have anticipated the reaction to her and how she became this crazy, unexpected hero, even though she was the villain. It is a testament to something about the character of M3gan. It is bigger than the movies. She is bigger than all of us.”
It is hard to imagine, but it has been more than two years since a demented little dance captivated audiences worldwide and spawned a billion memes. M3gan, the killer doll with some pep in her step, was a superstar from the moment the world first glimpsed her sashaying down that hall — in the trailer, weeks before the smash-hit horror movie even opened in theaters. And as soon as audiences met her properly, they could not get enough of her A.I.-powered attitude and her ruthless skill with a paper cutter.
M3gan was a genuine cultural sensation. She has become one of the defining characters in the Blumhouse/Atomic Monster universe.
The original creative team behind that phenomenon—led by horror titans James Wan for Atomic Monster, Jason Blum for Blumhouse and writer-director Gerard Johnstone—reboot an all-new wild chapter in A.I. mayhem with M3GAN 2.0.
Two years after M3gan, a marvel of artificial intelligence, went rogue and embarked on a murderous (and impeccably choreographed) rampage and was subsequently destroyed, M3gan’s creator Gemma (Allison Williams) has become a high-profile author and advocate for government oversight of A.I. Meanwhile, Gemma’s niece Cady (Violet Mcgraw), now 14, has become a teenager, rebelling against Gemma’s overprotective rules. Unbeknownst to them, the underlying tech for M3gan has been stolen and misused by a powerful defence contractor to create a military-grade weapon known as Amelia (Ivanna Sakhno; Ahsoka, Pacific Rim: Uprising), the ultimate killer infiltration spy. But as Amelia’s self-awareness increases, she becomes decidedly less interested in taking orders from humans. Or in keeping them around. With the future of human existence on the line, Gemma realises that the only option is to resurrect M3gan (Amie Donald, voiced by Jenna Davis) and give her a few upgrades, making her faster, stronger, and more lethal. As their paths collide, the original A.I icon is about to meet her match.
A Fresh Perspective
Writer-director Gerard Johnstone has had a significant impact on New Zealand cinema by injecting it with a fresh, genre-savvy voice that blends horror, humour, and heart.
For M3GAN 2.0, Johnstone wanted to approach the character and the narrative from a fresh perspective. “I never want to repeat myself, and telling the same story again with slight variations didn’t feel right for M3gan—especially after the unexpected cultural moment the first film became,” Johnstone says. “When we made the original, it reflected a time when I was deeply concerned about how technology, especially things like iPads and smartphones, was reshaping parenting. But by the time we started thinking about the sequel, Chat GPT had arrived, and the conversation around A.I. had shifted. Suddenly, it was not about whether A.I. would become part of our lives—it already was. That is what inspired the new film: the idea that M3gan is not going anywhere, so what does it mean to live with her? Is she entirely bad, or did her behavior come from how she was raised—how Gemma trained her? And if she had been guided differently, could she have learned the difference between right and wrong? Those are the questions we are exploring now.”
The other central question involved how the world might react to a real-life M3gan and how her technology might be deployed for uses other than becoming a child’s best friend and protector. “The first film was a small story about the world of toys, but if the technology for M3gan actually existed, it felt natural that other industries would be interested and looking to get their hands on it,” Johnstone says. “We had this little thread in the first movie where the character of Kurt, the toy company CEO’s assistant, had stolen secrets from Gemma and was committing a kind of corporate espionage. In this film, it became an opportunity to ask, what would have happened if someone actually got hold of M3gan’s schematics and software? That took us into the world of the military-industrial complex and how A.I. is entering warfare. There is already concern about robot soldiers and A.I. being involved in global conflict, so it just made sense that there would be a M3gan—or something like her—in that space. And that gave us a really worthy opponent for her.”
Enter Amelia, the ultimate A.I. military weapon. “In a lot of ways, Amelia is M3gan 2.0—she’s M3gan rebuilt with military hardware, and her sole purpose is revenge,” Johnstone says. “For all of M3gan’s flaws, at least she was designed to protect Gemma’s niece, Cady. But Amelia seems to have been reprogrammed, and once she becomes self-aware and goes rogue, all she has is animosity toward the people who created her, tortured her and treated her like a slave. It raises this fascinating question: if we build robots to serve us, and they become self-aware, how are they going to feel about us?”
Not great, it turns out, says producer James Wan. “If M3gan represents, at least in this film, the idea of a potentially positive A.I., then Amelia is the dark side of that—something built to do harm, with the potential to be deeply disruptive to humanity,” Wan says. “Sure, the government or whoever created her might believe they can control her. But what happens if she becomes sentient? What happens when she decides, ‘I don’t want to be confined by the code of humanity—I want to be something greater’? That is the real fear with A.I. It keeps learning, and at some point, it may realize the fastest way to evolve is to eliminate the main threat. And that threat is humans.”
That hits right at the core of what makes M3gan, and the potential for A.I. so exciting and terrifying at the same time. “There is this idea called ‘the Paperclip Theory’ by the philosopher Nick Bostrom,” Johnstone says, “and the basic idea is that if you program a super-intelligent A.I. to make paperclips, it will destroy the world to do it.”
The endless unknowns about A.I. create fertile soil for cinematic storytelling, says Wan. “There’s been no faster technological explosion than what we’re seeing with A.I.,” Wan says. “It is not even about decades anymore; it is happening in a matter of months. The pace of change is incredible, and it is already reshaping our daily lives. I try not to be too frightened by it, because there’s real potential for good. But as sci-fi horror has taught us repeatedly, stories about the rise of machines usually do not end well. That tension is part of what makes this territory so compelling to explore in film.”
For M3GAN 2.0, the filmmakers knew that they had to elevate everything about the first film to a new level. “The ambition on this film was huge, and thankfully Blumhouse and Atomic Monster supported that from the very beginning,” Johnstone says. “This wasn’t about making a cookie-cutter sequel—it was about going bigger, bolder, and bending genre in new ways.”
M3gan, in many ways, has become her own genre: a clever mash-up of horror, comedy, sci-fi, and particularly in this film, action. There is even a little globe-trotting espionage thriller thrown into the mix. “This film is definitely more of a genre blend,” Wan says. “It has stronger action set pieces, but the horror and the danger of the technology still run through the whole thing. This time around, Gerard was able to indulge in some of the ideas he wanted to explore in the first film but could not. The set pieces are more lavish, everything has been upgraded. It really lives up to what a M3GAN 2.0 should be. Fans of the first movie are expecting it to play on a bigger level, and I do not think they are going to be disappointed.”
That includes horror fans, producer Jason Blum says. “There’s no doubt that there’s more action, more comedy, more sci-fi, more of everything in M3GAN 2.0, but it’s still rooted in horror,” Blum says. “You can’t escape M3gan’s primal DNA, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.”
That, says Johnstone, was by design. “I grew up on Wes Craven and Sam Raimi, filmmakers who had no problem being terrifying one moment and hilarious the next,” Johnstone says. “That balance really influences me. We are always walking that line, making sure it never gets so funny that it undercuts the tension. The goal is to keep the audience on edge, never quite sure what is coming next.”
The first film ended with a pair of cliffhangers. First, there were clues that M3gan’s A.I. consciousness had somehow transferred into Gemma’s smart-home speaker system, ELSIE, and that M3gan, now disembodied, was lying in wait for her grand return. And second, M3gan’s blueprints were stolen from Gemma’s lab, and it was anyone’s guess in whose hands they would wind up.
As M3GAN 2.0 begins, a lot has changed in Gemma’s life. “After the events of the first film, Gemma finds herself in a lot of hot water over her involvement in creating M3gan,” Johnstone says. “She is in the crosshairs of the media and the public, and she tries to turn that backlash into something constructive by becoming an advocate for A.I. regulation. Through that, she meets Christian, who runs a nonprofit focused on A.I. ethics, and together they push for governments to take this technology more seriously.”
Meanwhile, Amelia, the A.I. spawn of Gemma’s work, is on a mission to assassinate anyone involved in her creation, with the circle getting closer and closer to Gemma. And by extension, Cady. It becomes clear to Gemma and her team that the only solution to the problem is to bring M3gan back, with a few upgrades and guardrails, to help them find Amelia before Amelia finds them.
But just because M3gan promises that she is on Gemma’s side this time, that may not be the truth. “One of the things we always wanted to keep intact in the sequel was that seed of doubt about M3gan’s true intentions,” Wan says. “Even if she is helping the main characters, you never fully know what she is thinking or what her real agenda might be. That tension is such a big part of what makes her fun. She might seem like an anti-hero, but you are constantly questioning where her loyalties lie—or whether she is playing a longer, smarter game than anyone realizes.”
Behind the Lens: Gerard Johnstone’s Twisted Vision
Gerard Johnstone is a New Zealand screenwriter and director celebrated for his unique blend of horror and comedy. Born in Invercargill, he began his creative journey in television, co-creating the satirical series The Jaquie Brown Diaries in the late 2000s. His breakout moment came with Housebound (2014), a horror-comedy that premiered at South by Southwest and earned praise for its inventive tone and storytelling. he helped create a global pop culture phenomenon that was shot in New Zealand and employed local cast and crew. That success showcased the country’s filmmaking infrastructure and talent pool to major studios like Universal and Blumhouse, reinforcing New Zealand’s reputation as a world-class production hub.
He’s also inspired a new generation of Kiwi filmmakers by showing that it’s possible to maintain a distinctively local voice while achieving global success. His work bridges the gap between indie ingenuity and blockbuster appeal, and he’s become a kind of ambassador for New Zealand’s creative potential in genre cinema.
Gerard Johnstone was drawn to M3GAN by the opportunity to blend horror with satire and emotional depth. For the first film, he was intrigued by the idea of a killer doll that wasn’t just terrifying, but also stylish, witty, and oddly sympathetic. He took a darker, more straightforward script and infused it with his signature mix of humor and genre playfulness, making M3GAN feel like an iPad with legs—both a critique of tech obsession and a pop culture icon in the making. Beyond film, he’s directed episodes of The New Legends of Monkey and rebooted the cult Kiwi series Terry Teo. He’s also been involved in developing a biopic about New Zealand weightlifter Sonia Manaena.
For M3GAN 2.0, Johnstone leaned into the idea of redemption and ambiguity. He wanted to explore whether M3GAN was truly evil or simply a product of her programming. The sequel introduces a new threat—AMELIA, a military-grade android built from M3GAN’s tech—and positions M3GAN as a potential antihero. Johnstone was inspired by Terminator 2 in crafting this arc, aiming for a bigger, more action-packed story while still keeping the mystery: can we trust her?
Gerard Johnstone’s directorial style is a clever cocktail of genre-blending, sharp wit, and emotional nuance. He’s known for taking familiar horror tropes—like haunted houses or killer dolls—and twisting them with unexpected humor and heart. His breakout film Housebound was a horror-comedy that balanced genuine scares with quirky character moments, and that same DNA runs through M3GAN.
What sets him apart is his ability to satirise without losing sincerity. Johnstone himself has said he loves playing in the “sandbox of iconic monster myths” and sees genre as a way to explore deeper themes while still having fun. His work often feels like a mash-up of horror, satire, and heartfelt storytelling—equal parts spooky and stylish.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Freedom of Expression in the Writer’s World
For writers, freedom of expression is both a gift and a challenge. Writers wield their words like blades—sharp enough to cut through injustice, but also capable of inflicting unintended wounds.
The beauty lies in the power to provoke: to spark thought, stir hearts, and ignite change. However, that same power can also lead to controversy, censorship, or even danger, as seen with authors such as Rushdie, Lawrence, or Nabokov. It’s a fine, often shifting line between courageous storytelling and crossing into cultural, legal, or ethical landmines.
Some writers embrace the risk as part of their duty. Others become accidental lightning rods. Either way, freedom of expression isn’t just a right—it’s a responsibility. And for many, it’s the tightrope they walk between truth and trouble.
In essence, freedom of expression gives writers the wings to soar—but they still have to navigate the storms.
Advantages and Disadvantages
Advantages
Creative liberty: Writers can explore bold themes, challenge norms, and give voice to marginalized perspectives without fear of censorship.
Social impact: Through essays, fiction, journalism, or poetry, writers can influence public opinion, spark movements, and hold power to account.
Personal authenticity: It allows writers to express their true selves, beliefs, and experiences, fostering deeper connections with readers.
Disadvantages
Risk of backlash: Controversial or misunderstood content can lead to public criticism, online harassment, or even legal trouble in some regions.
Self-censorship: Ironically, the fear of offending or being “cancelled” can cause writers to hold back, diluting their message.
Legal and cultural boundaries: What’s acceptable in one country might be punishable in another, especially when it comes to political or religious commentary.
Plenty of writers have made their mark by pushing boundaries and challenging norms—some with fire, others with finesse.
Literary rebels whose bold writing left a lasting impact
George Orwell – Fearlessly tackled totalitarianism and censorship in 1984 and Animal Farm, both of which remain chillingly relevant.
James Baldwin – Wrote with unflinching honesty about race, sexuality, and identity in America. His essays and novels like Giovanni’s Room still resonate deeply.
Virginia Woolf – Broke literary conventions with stream-of-consciousness narratives and explored gender and mental health in works like Mrs. Dalloway and A Room of One’s Own.
Salman Rushdie – His novel The Satanic Verses sparked global controversy and a fatwa, but also cemented his place as a fearless literary voice.
Toni Morrison – Gave voice to the Black American experience with lyrical, powerful prose in novels like Beloved and The Bluest Eye.
Margaret Atwood – Known for speculative fiction that critiques patriarchy and power, especially in The Handmaid’s Tale.
Chinua Achebe – Boldly challenged colonial narratives with Things Fall Apart, reshaping African literature on the global stage.
These authors didn’t just write stories—they started conversations, stirred debate, and sometimes even risked their lives for their words. Want to dive into one of their works or explore bold voices from a specific region or genre? I’ve got plenty more where that came from.
These bold authors often dive into themes that challenge, provoke, and illuminate.
Writers like George Orwell (1984) and Margaret Atwood (The Handmaid’s Tale) dissect how power can corrupt and how systems of control—whether political, religious, or patriarchal—shape human lives.
James Baldwin and Toni Morrison explore race, sexuality, and cultural heritage, asking: Who am I in a world that tries to define me? Their work often centers on the search for self in the face of societal rejection.
Virginia Woolf’s stream-of-consciousness style delves into the inner workings of the mind, touching on mental illness, existential dread, and the fragility of perception.
Chinua Achebe and Salman Rushdie confront the legacy of colonialism, exploring how it fractures identity, language, and tradition. Their stories often wrestle with hybridity and the tension between old and new worlds.
Whether it’s Orwell’s dystopias or Rushdie’s magical realism, these authors often champion the individual’s fight against conformity, censorship, or authoritarianism. Even in the most politically charged works, there’s often a deep undercurrent of emotional truth—love, grief, longing, and the need to be seen. These themes aren’t just literary—they’re deeply human.
Freedom of expression is a cornerstone of creativity—but when pushed to its limits, it can provoke backlash, censorship, or even danger
Salman Rushdie – The Satanic Verses
Rushdie’s 1988 novel was accused of blasphemy against Islam, leading to a fatwa (religious edict) calling for his death issued by Iran’s Ayatollah Khomeini. Rushdie went into hiding for years, and the controversy sparked global debates about religious sensitivity versus artistic freedom.
Marquis de Sade – Justine, The 120 Days of Sodom
His works were so explicit and violent that they coined the term “sadism.” De Sade spent much of his life imprisoned or in asylums, and his writings were banned for obscenity. His case raises questions about the limits of sexual expression in literature.
D.H. Lawrence – Lady Chatterley’s Lover
Lawrence’s novel was banned in multiple countries for its explicit sexual content and language. In 1960, a landmark obscenity trial in the UK tested whether literature with graphic content could still be considered of literary merit. The case became a turning point in censorship laws.
Vladimir Nabokov – Lolita
Nabokov’s portrayal of a middle-aged man’s obsession with a young girl remains one of the most controversial literary works. Though praised for its prose, Lolita has been banned and challenged for its disturbing subject matter, sparking ongoing debates about artistic intent versus moral responsibility.
H.P. Lovecraft – Racist Ideologies in Fiction
While a pioneer of horror, Lovecraft’s deeply racist views were embedded in his stories and personal writings. Today, many readers and scholars grapple with how to reconcile his literary influence with his discriminatory beliefs.
These examples show that while freedom of expression empowers writers to explore taboo or provocative themes, it also comes with social, legal, and ethical consequences. The line between bold and offensive is often drawn by culture, context, and time.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Writer Scott Frank – A Storyteller Who Transcends Genres
“I’m not the writer who says, ‘You have to say it exactly as I wrote it,’ because you don’t get good work. You want somebody who’s going to bring something interesting to it and really create a character with you,” says writer Scott Frank, whose approach to storytelling is deeply literary, for him, writing—whether for the screen or the page—is about crafting compelling characters and narratives.
Scott Frank’s journey to becoming a writer started with his love for storytelling and film. He studied film studies at the University of California, Santa Barbara, graduating in 1982.
While working as a bartender, he wrote his first screenplay, Little Man Tate, which eventually led to his breakthrough in Hollywood.
His early career saw him writing scripts for films like Plain Clothes (1987) and Dead Again (1991), but it was his adaptation of Elmore Leonard’s novel Get Shorty (1995) that earned him industry recognition. This success reignited his passion for screenwriting, leading to collaborations with Steven Soderbergh (Out of Sight) and Steven Spielberg (Minority Report).
Frank’s ability to craft sharp dialogue, layered characters, and emotionally resonant stories made him one of Hollywood’s most sought-after screenwriters. His transition into directing and producing came later, with projects like The Queen’s Gambit and Dept. Q showcasing his storytelling mastery.
Scott Frank directed both The Queen’s Gambit and Dept. Q. He was the creator, writer, and director of The Queen’s Gambit, which became a massive success on Netflix. For Dept. Q, he co-created the series and directed several episodes.
Scott Frank’s influences span classic noir films, literary thrillers, and psychological dramas. He has cited Elmore Leonard as a major inspiration, particularly in how Leonard crafts sharp dialogue and morally complex characters. He also admires Philip K. Dick, whose philosophical sci-fi shaped Frank’s approach to Minority Report. Additionally, Scandinavian crime fiction, especially Jussi Adler-Olsen’s Dept. Q series, inspired his adaptation of Dept. Q, where he infused British crime drama sensibilities into the storytelling.
Scott Frank’s collaboration on Dept. Q was deeply influenced by British crime dramas like Happy Valley and Broadchurch, which focus on complex characters rather than just dark situations. He admired the depth and psychological nuance of Scandinavian noir but wanted to bring a British storytelling sensibility to the adaptation.
Scott Frank has a collaborative and actor-focused approach when working with directors and performers. He believes in giving actors space to interpret their roles while ensuring that the emotional depth of the story remains intact. He ensures that every role has psychological complexity, helping actors fully embody their characters.
Frank often rewrites roles to better fit an actor’s strengths. For Dept. Q, he adjusted Carl Morck’s character to suit Matthew Goode’s performance, working closely with Goode. Despite Goode’s reputation for playing “posh” characters, Frank saw his intensity and versatility, knowing he could bring emotional depth to the role. The setting was also a major focus—Frank and producer Rob Bullock wanted Edinburgh to feel like a character in itself, using its gothic atmosphere to enhance the show’s psychological tension. He even experimented with aspect ratios in key episodes to reflect a character’s isolated mental state.
“Matthew brings an intensity that makes Carl Morck feel both brilliant and broken. He understood the character’s isolation immediately, and that made all the difference,” says Frank.
Scott Frank structured Dept. Q to emphasise psychological depth, slow-burn tension, and emotional complexity. Each episode unfolds like a puzzle, revealing new details about cold cases while deepening the characters’ struggles. – Instead of heavy exposition, Frank lets the environment and interactions reveal the backstory with subtle World-Building. Every case builds toward a powerful emotional climax, ensuring that the audience is invested in both the mystery and the characters.
Scott Frank’s screenplay structure is built on tight pacing, emotional depth, and character-driven storytelling.
He follows a few key principles to craft compelling narratives:
Start with Character, Not Plot – Frank believes that a story should emerge organically from the characters rather than forcing them into a predetermined structure. He has emphasised that when characters are well-developed, their choices and conflicts naturally shape the narrative, making it feel authentic and emotionally resonant. In The Queen’s Gambit, Beth Harmon’sinternal struggles and ambitions drive the story forward, rather than a predetermined sequence of events. Similarly, in Dept. Q, Carl Morck’s trauma and guilt influence how he approaches investigations
Emotional Climax is Essential – He ensures that every screenplay delivers a powerful emotional payoff, making the audience feel deeply invested. He crafts narratives that build toward deeply resonant moments, ensuring that audiences feel invested in the characters’ journeys. In The Queen’s Gambit, for example, Beth Harmon’s final chess match isn’t just about winning—it’s about self-acceptance and overcoming personal demons. Frank’s approach ensures that his stories don’t just entertain—they leave a lasting impact.
Avoid Overwriting – He keeps his scripts lean and efficient, using minimal stage directions and trusting actors and directors to bring scenes to life. Scott Frank believes in lean, efficient storytelling, avoiding excessive exposition or unnecessary details. He has said that screenwriting is about terseness, where saying a lot with a little is key. Instead of overloading scripts with lengthy descriptions, he trusts actors, directors, and cinematography to bring scenes to life.
Subvert Genre Expectations – Whether it’s a crime thriller or a Western, Frank finds ways to reinvent familiar tropes, making his stories feel fresh and unpredictable, taking familiar tropes and reshaping them into something fresh and unexpected. His ability to reinvent genres keeps his work engaging and unpredictable. The Queen’s Gambit turns chess into a thrilling, cinematic experience, proving that intellectual battles can be just as intense as physical ones. He reinvented the crime thriller genre with Dept. Q by blending Scandinavian noir with British crime drama sensibilities. Instead of a straightforward procedural, he crafted a psychological mystery where the setting, characters, and atmosphere play as much of a role as the cases themselves.
Let the Story Breathe – He avoids excessive exposition, allowing visual storytelling and subtext to carry the narrative. He is known for his minimalist approach to storytelling—he trusts the audience to pick up on nuances and visual cues instead of relying on excessive dialogue or exposition.
His approach results in immersive, intelligent screenplays that feel both cinematic and deeply personal.
Fine Tips for Writers
Scott Frank has shared valuable insights for writers. Here are five key tips from him:
Write Every Day – Even if it’s just for 10 minutes, consistency keeps creativity flowing.
Deliver an Emotional Climax – A story should build toward a powerful emotional payoff, making it resonate with audiences.
Characters Should Be in the Grey Area – No one is all good or all bad—complexity makes characters feel real.
Embrace Genre Tropes, Then Reinvent Them – Understanding the style and form of a genre allows you to subvert expectations effectively.
Don’t Be Too Precious with Your Material – Be open to rewriting and adapting, especially when working on adaptations.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Jurassic World Rebirth – A new era is born
“’Life finds a way’ is, for me, always the story,” says screenwriter David Koepp about Jurassic World Rebirth. “What’s wonderful about that theme is it can apply quite literally to your plot about the persistence of nature, represented by our dinosaurs, and it can apply to the characters and what they’re going through. They will manage to prevail and survive. Or they don’t! Sometimes life finds a way through death – though hopefully not for the characters you really like.”
Jurassic World Rebirth was conceived almost immediately after 2022’s Jurassic World Dominionbrought the second trilogy to a close and retired the cast of characters of both series, when revered blockbuster screenwriter David Koepp, who wrote the screenplay for the original Jurassic Park and The Lost World: Jurassic Park, got a call from Steven Spielberg. “He said, ‘Hey, do you want to make another one of these?’” Koepp says. The answer, of course, was yes. “Developing stories with Steven is so much fun because he’s so good at it and we have such a great vibe and rapport.”
Spielberg and Koepp commenced the collaboration by riffing on the central theme of the series. Their brainstorming focused on imagining the state of the world following the events of Dominion, which left the entire planet suddenly overrun by dinosaurs running amok. Returning to Michael Crichton’s books for inspiration and leaning into his science-based premises, they decided this new age of human-dinosaur co-existence wouldn’t last long because most of the modern world would be inhospitable, if not toxic, to creatures indigenous to the Mesozoic Era. And so, in Rebirth, dinosaurs are in danger of extinction once more. The only places they continue to thrive are the tropical climes along the equator.
Here, warm-water leviathans like the Mosasaurus troll for food near Ile Saint-Hubert, located 227 miles off the northeastern coast of South America. A lush rain forest of low mountains and mangrove swamps, the island is also dotted with ruins of an ancient civilization and the blight of a more recent endeavor: a secret R&D facility run by InGen, the firm that cloned dinosaurs for the ill-fated theme parks of the first two Jurassic trilogies. Something went catastrophically awry deep in the jungle 18 years ago, and now, Ile Saint-Hubert is a forbidden zone, haunted by the horrendous consequences of reckless hubris.
Having forged a new “lost world” for Rebirth, and a rather lethal one at that, Koepp and Spielberg now needed a credible reason to visit it. They concocted a mission plot about a pharmaceutical giant that tasks a team of covert operations experts (and one sensible scientist) to infiltrate Ile Saint-Hubert and extract DNA from three colossal Cretaceous-period creatures, each the largest of their general type: Quetzalcoatlus (avian), Mosasaurus (aquatic), and Titanosaurus (terrestrial). The reason: to use the genetic material of these (literally) big-hearted animals to manufacture medicines that can cure cardiac disease.
“While doing research, I found that certain dinosaurs, larger ones in particular, did have extraordinarily long lifespans and the reason was they had remarkably low incidences of heart disease,” says Koepp. “That led to the idea that a drug could be synthesized from their DNA, because the greatest killer of humans is heart disease. The nice thing about that premise was that it was true to the core theme, ‘life finds a way.’ Life extension! Everyone can get onboard with that! To me, that seemed a valid reason—combined with the promise of a massive payday for the covert operations team—for smart, competent people to take the risk of going on an adventure into the most dangerous place in the world.”
To create complications for this quest, Koepp and Spielberg spun a subplot about a shipwrecked family, the Delgados, whose plight troubles the goals and consciences of the dino-hunting team. Koepp and Spielberg also devised strange new creatures—creepy misbegotten byproducts of InGen’s ill-fated genetic experimentation—to terrorize the characters. One was inspired by a memorable afternoon of yard work at Koepp’s house. “We had these old columns that were rotting, so we had to replace them,” says Koepp. “I was spraying off one of these things when two clawed hands came crawling out of the column at the top. They were followed by these long arms that just kept coming, followed by the head. It was this huge bat, soaking wet from the water. I thought: ‘I’m putting you in a movie!’”
Spielberg and Koepp also wanted to create action sequences unlike any seen before in a Jurassic film. Spielberg was particularly intrigued by the possibilities suggested by a Mosasaurus roaming the oceans. Koepp swam with it. “I loved the idea that part of the movie could be a seafaring adventure,” says Koepp. “Not only have I never seen that before in a Jurassic film, but it would be a new way for the franchise to capture the raw beauty of the natural world, which I believe all these films should do.”
Koepp and Spielberg found further inspiration in material from Crichton’s novels that had gone unused in the first two Jurassic films, including a suspenseful stretch on a river in which characters come upon a T. rex slumbering in a lagoon, sleeping off a feast of fresh kill. “We always loved that moment in Michael’s Jurassic Park novel,” says Koepp. Back in the early ’90s, when they were making the first Jurassic film, Koepp says, “there was discussion of putting that scene in that movie, but the number of shots that one could do with CG at that time was limited, and for reasons of pacing and budget and time, it was never fully pursued. So, one of the first things Steven and I decided when we started working on Rebirth was to get the scene into this story. Besides, the T. rex is the star of these movies; it had to at least make a cameo. This scene seemed like the perfect amount of T. rex.”
Prior to writing the script for Rebirth in earnest in the fall of 2023, Koepp reviewed the six previous movies and created a list of commandments: the nine rules that all Jurassic films should follow. “I’m afraid they’re now official trade secrets, so the list is now locked up somewhere inside Universal,” Koepp says. Still, he’s willing to share a few of them: Jurassic films should embrace plausible science as much as possible; they must keep continuity with past films; and they should be funny. “Humor is oxygen for movies like these,” Koepp says. “Not in a self-conscious way, but in an utterly believable, character-oriented way. To me there’s nothing funnier in films like these where you have characters trying to stay calm in the face of extreme peril by understating it.”
The first thing Koepp wrote was the Mosasaurus attack at sea, which dominates the first act of the film. “Shooting on water is always very tricky,” Koepp says, with a chuckle. “I remember thinking: “Oh, the poor people who will actually have to do this!’ But I’m just the writer! That’s their problem, not mine!”
A New Epic At Epic Speed
Accepting the challenge of solving the script’s seemingly impossible scenes were veteran Jurassic producers Frank Marshall and Patrick Crowley, who also recently produced Twisters for Universal. First, though, they had to get over the shock that the challenge even existed. “When we finished releasing Dominion in 2022,we had no doubt there would be another Jurassic film, but we had no idea Steven was cooking up a new one or that it would be ready so soon,” Crowley says. “We were focused on wrapping up Twisters when suddenly this script from David Koepp arrives in December of 2023. It really snuck up on us.”
With an accelerated production schedule, Rebirth needed a director with a proven record for big-budget franchise filmmaking. Enter Gareth Edwards, whose résumé made him ideally suited for telling the story of Rebirth and re-energizinga franchise: 2010’s Monsters, an ingeniously designed low budget creature feature; 2014’s Godzilla, which reintroduced the towering atomic kaiju to a new generation of moviegoers; and 2016’s Rogue One, a Star Wars tale with a heist-movie engine. He was also, unbeknownst to Spielberg at the time, perhaps the legendary director’s longest and most devoted student.
Edwards grew up in in England loving and studying Spielberg’s films. At the age of 10, he decided to learn storyboarding and special effects after watching a documentary on the making of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. “Most of my films have been secret attempts to make my own Jurassic Park film, sometimes more obviously than others,” Edwards says.
Director Gareth Edwards (center; pointing) on the set of JURASSIC WORLD REBIRTH
Edwards also impressed screenwriter David Koepp. “Gareth has a 3-D imagination that can visualize things that are spectacular,” Koepp says. “But what makes him gifted is he can not only visualize them, but also he can figure out how to bring them to reality. That’s the line that separates a director who’s good from one who’s terrific.”
Still, the call to Jurassic adventure arrived at a moment when Edwards’ energy was at an ebb. He was feeling depleted after finishing The Creator, and part of him hoped Koepp’s script would give him a reason to say no. But much like life, good writing finds a way. Edwards was riveted by the Rebirth script,from its thrilling story to its implicit love letter nostalgia for the films of Spielberg. “I wanted to not like it,” Edwards says. “I wanted to be able to say, ‘Thank you very much, but I’m going to take a break.’ But when I got to the end and closed the script, I went, ‘Oh, f—.’ I knew I had to do it.”
Indeed, Edwards could probably write another four-page essay about Koepp’s Rebirth screenplay. “It’s a mission story that becomes a survival story with some great curveballs thrown along the way,” Edwards says. “It elegantly balances and intertwines a story about these adventurers on a quest and an emotional family story. It’s a journey of distinct chapters set in interesting environments, sea, land, and air. Each one is their own short story thrill ride that adds up to one roller-coaster of epic story. At times, it’s like Jaws, at other times, it’s like Indiana Jones, and in between, it delights in the majesty of nature like a David Attenborough film. Truth be told, when I was reading the script, I thought if it presented one opportunity to do anything as cinematic and intense as the T. rex attack in Jurassic Park, I’d probably do it. But David’s script presented multiple opportunities, and I just got excited by the thought of making all of them.”
Besides an accelerated prep, the most intimidating challenge Edwards faced prior to rolling film in June of 2024 was getting over the pinch-me awe of working for Steven Spielberg. “Say you’re a composer who admires Mozart. Well, Mozart lived long ago, so he’s like a mythical person,” Edwards says. “But the great cinematic master of today is still very much with us, and I’ve now sat in rooms with him, and I can tell you, it’s a surreal experience; it’s like learning Santa Claus is real.”
As for his vision for Rebirth, Edwards wanted to use Spielberg’s original Jurassic Park as his tonal touchstone. “Jurassic Park was presented as a family film, but I always thought of it as a horror film in a witness protection program pretending to be a family film,” Edwards says. ”Jurassic Park is perfect pure cinema. You’re never going to get close to beating what Steven did with the original, and I never once thought I could. But I do hope we’ve made a film that’s worthy of it. Jurassic World Rebirth should feel as if Universal went into the vault and found a movie that they’d forgotten they’d made, a sequel to Jurassic Park from the nineties, with the vibe and style of the original.”
From Page To Screen
Jurassic Park Rebirth was shot in Thailand, Malta, the United Kingdom and New York. Principal photography began on June 13, 2024, and wrapped in October.
To craft the world of Rebirth, director Gareth Edwards enlisted production designer James Clyne, who also served as his production designer on The Creator. “Jurassic Park was a seminal movie for me and in film history and I wanted to pay tribute to that as much as possible,” says Clyne. “The aesthetic of Rebirth feels very much like nineties-era Jurassic Park, especially on the island, with the concrete buildings and fences and use of colors like red and yellow. But there were some areas, such as the depiction of technology, where we borrowed from the Jurassic World movies and even pushed the futurism while always remaining as grounded as possible.”
To serve as director of photography, director Gareth Edwards enlisted John Mathieson, a two-time Oscar nominee (Gladiator films, Logan), known for his many collaborations with legendary auteur Ridley Scott. Fresh off lensing Gladiator II, Mathieson brought valuable experience shooting in the horizon tanks at Malta Film Studios, where Scott had staged Gladiator II’s battleship sequences.
Shot with Panavision cameras and anamorphic lenses, just as 1993’s Jurassic Park had been, Rebirth is the first feature that Edwards has made using 35mm film rather than digital. “I wanted that vintage look, the kind of texture that made Jaws and Jurassic Park so special,” says Edwards, who also credits Mathieson for encouraging him to embrace film. “Shooting in the jungle environments, film brings out colors in a way that digital just doesn’t. And when I held that Panavision camera, it felt alive. It vibrated in my hands like an animal.”
The challenge of designing Rebirth’s dinosaurs and bringing them to life on set and screen was a team effort across multiple departments, led by director Gareth Edwards, visual effects supervisor David Vickery andvisual effects producer Carlos Ciudad. The creature effects department was led by CFX creative supervisor John Nolan (Jurassic World Dominion, The Witcher).
Rather than jumping between physical builds and CF creatures during the movie, Edwards’ goal was to keep a consistent aesthetic by sticking to one clear methodology and use VFX to create all the dinosaurs in Rebirth. That approach allowed the team to focus on developing the fully realized digital assets—some of which took nearly a year to complete.
Introduced with a splash in Jurassic World, the Mosasaurus was the Jaws of the Late Cretaceous period, only bigger: a massive, muscular eating machine, and technically, not a dinosaur but a close reptile cousin. The Titanosaurus is one of the biggest sauropods ever seen. This massive herbivore from the Late Cretaceous period, whose name aptly means Titanic lizard, is around 50 feet tall, 70 feet long, weighed more than 30 tons and had legs the size of Redwoods, each measuring about eight feet in circumference. The Quetzalcoatlus is a gigantic pterosaur from the Late Cretaceous period. This massive omnivore is one of the largest known flying animals of all time. It stands 16 feet and seven inches high when on the ground and has a 30-foot wingspan when in flight. It sports a six-feet-long razor-sharp beak and weighs approximately 550 pounds. A fan favorite since their first appearance in Jurassic Park III, the Spinosaurus is a massive, amphibious predator. The Spinosaurus, whose name means “spine lizard,”first lived during the Late Cretaceous period. They are 39 feet long and 13 feet high, with thick, powerful bodies, massive claws, razor-sharp teeth and six-feet-high sail fins. Inspired by Ray Harryhausen’s iconic creature work and staying loyal to the incredible designs created by previous Jurassic teams, the VFX concept artists set out to evolve the T. rex for Rebirth—creating something meaner, recognizable, but distinct. Inspired by Koepp’s creepy close encounter with a giant bat that crawled out of a rotted column on his property, the Mutadon is roughly the size of a raptor, measuring 6-7 feet high, 16 feet long and weighing approximately 550 pounds. Other creatures include two new Velociraptors, The Dilophosaurus is a theropod from the Early Jurassic period, the well armored herbivore packs Ankylosaurus, and the Compsognathus, a small bipedal theropod dinosaur the size of a chicken.
To create the score for Jurassic World Rebirth, director Gareth Edwards turned to a distinguished friend, two-time Oscar® winner Alexandre Desplat (The Grand Budapest Hotel, The Shape of Water), who worked with Edwards on Godzilla. “I feel very fortunate to be doing the music for a movie franchise like this, which entertained me so greatly, as a filmgoer, for decades,” Desplat says. “I dreamed of writing music for movies like this since I was a teenager, and now, here I am,” he adds with a laugh, “part of Jurassic World, almost a teenager.”
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on 28 Years Later – A terrifying new “auteur horror” story
“I want that sense of suffocating intensity where you cannot escape this world,” says director Danny Boyle of 28 Years Later. “At the same time, that world must sometimes be pleasurable, and horror can be pleasurable, especially when the intensity of the experience is a communal one. I want audiences to sit down and say, ‘I’m here, I’m part of this now.’”
Academy Award-winning director Danny Boyle and Academy Award-nominated writer Alex Garland reunite for 28 Years Later, a terrifying new “auteur horror” story set in the world created by 28 Days Later.
It’s been almost three decades since the rage virus escaped a biological weapons laboratory, and now, still in a ruthlessly enforced quarantine, some have found ways to exist amidst the infected. One such group of survivors lives on a small island connected to the mainland by a single, heavily defended causeway. When one of the group leaves the island on a mission into the dark heart of the mainland, he discovers secrets, wonders, and horrors that have mutated not only the infected but also other survivors as well.
“The Rage Virus laid waste to the UK. It was driven back from continental Europe. The British mainland was quarantined to contain the virus. Survivors were left to fend for themselves.”
Since his feature directorial debut with Shallow Grave, Danny Boyle has been recognized as one of today’s most innovative filmmakers and a true visionary known for pushing the boundaries of storytelling.
With 28 Years Later he has crafted a terrifying and gritty tale that will resonate with fans of the landmark original, 28 Days Later, as well as attract new audiences to the world he and Garland created.
Garland, an esteemed director in his own right, is known for his thought-provoking films, and in 28 Years Later has written an uncompromising and suspenseful script that takes this world in electrifying and startling new directions.
He and Boyle have once again created a visceral and thrilling cinematic experience unlike any audiences have experienced before.
Boyle’s unique vision is heightened by his and cinematographer Anthony Dod Mantle’s use of the 2.76:1 widescreen aspect ratio with an eye to creating an immersive feel as audiences return to the Rage Virus-ravaged UK.
“We used a very widescreen format in this one,” Boyle says. “We thought we’d benefit from the unease that the first film created about the speed and the velocity, the visceral [aspect] of the way the infected were depicted. If you’re on a widescreen format, they could be anywhere… you have to keep scanning, looking around for them, really.”
Indeed, the goal for Boyle with 28 Years Later was to embrace both an epic and immersive feel and find new ways to depict the infected, all the while focusing on the smaller moments of character that made the original a horror classic.
Boyle and Garland bring us into a world that exists 28 years after the outbreak of the virus that has decimated the UK. Society has been forced to rebuild from the ground up, forming new communities.
“We imagined how a world would remake itself after an apocalypse, when everything – all the ‘stuff’ – that had surrounded us now feels irrelevant or even useless,” says Boyle. “How would you go about making sure to have the essentials, like food and fuel?”
28 Years Later is partially set on Holy Island, a thousand-acre section in the northeast coast of England, in a small community that has sealed itself in, to keep the infection out.
This tight but fragile community is protected by a causeway, which helps create a semblance of a safe space for the islanders. “The island and causeway felt like a great starting point for our story,” Boyle elaborates, “because the causeway can be defended when it’s exposed by the tide. A community could thrive. Instead of a post-apocalyptic state, it looks like a town from the turn of the twentieth century. But the mainland then becomes somewhere ‘over there,’ offering both promise and threat.”
The causeway also serves as a reminder of the island’s one ironclad rule: If you don’t come back from an expedition to the mainland, no one is permitted to look for you. There are no search parties or rescues.
As Boyle points out, “With this kind of film we can explore characters by deciding what rules they’re setting and following. It helps define how they think, what they prioritise, and who they are.”
For Garland, that kind of self-sufficient society stems from the global reaction to the infection, which has plagued Britain but left the rest of the world largely untouched. “We considered what the infection would look like,” he remembers. “What happens to the country being quarantined and essentially abandoned by the rest of the world? For those answers, just look at the real world, there’s a kind of ruthless, pragmatic, dog-eat-dog dimension to the ways things play out when a nation collapses. Broadly speaking, people not affected by the collapse ignore it and just go about their lives.”
That kind of deep dive into both global politics and horror is a potent mix, says producer Andrew Macdonald: “We wanted to make a film with a unique kind of epic scale. Using 28 Years Later to accomplish that has been very exciting. It felt like the perfect time for us to return to the infected.”
On the film’s closed-off island, a family is making the best of it. Jamie (Aaron Taylor Johnson) is a loving and protective husband to his wife Isla (Jodie Comer) and father to his young son Spike (newcomer Alfie Williams). When we meet them, Jamie is preparing Spike for a major rite of passage: a journey to the mainland and an opportunity for Spike to kill his first infected. At the same time, they are taking care of Isla, who has been stricken with a grave illness that has yet to be diagnosed, as there are no doctors or modern medicines remaining in this secluded community.
In addition to amping up the thrills and terror, Boyle and Garland embraced focusing on this family, “which allowed us to explore characters and relationships,” Boyle notes. “Alex came up with this idea centred around a family. It is inventive writing, in a way that was exciting for everyone involved and helped make us feel like we were making an original film, and not a sequel.”
“28 Years Later is a family story,” Garland confirms. “What happens when one member becomes ill, not infected, but still very sick. How do the other family members react?”
Twenty-eight years since the emergence of the rage virus – a virulent, bloodborne infection that sends its hosts into a state of extreme, uncontrollable rage – new variants have emerged. The resulting infected are physically different from those we’ve met before. The so-called “Slow-Lows” are fat, fleshy, and slow, and move on all fours with their stomachs low to the ground. Then, there are the first generation infected – those who were stricken during those fateful first waves nearly three decades earlier, and who are etched in muscle, with veins protruding in freakish knots. The clothes they were wearing when infected have long since disintegrated, so they roam the mainland naked and animalistic.
“We wanted to show how they have evolved, because ‘nature always finds a way’ to evolve,” Boyle notes. “It doesn’t stop, no matter how ugly, repellent, or even beautiful the process. With this movie, we’ve accelerated the change, because it’s been only 28 years since the initial infection, which in evolutionary terms is the blink of an eye. We compress it and force it forward. Different elements emerge from the infected. There are even families within them, and groupings begin to form.”
Who needs an iPhone when you have 20 (and 2:76:1 widescreen)?
28 Days Later was famously shot on digital video, which gave it a uniquely homemade feel. So, when it came time to make the new film, the team’s attempts to figure out unique production methods was partly inspired by that approach.
“I suppose you could ignore it, but we decided to carry it as an influence,” says Boyle, who explains that on the first film he and Garland had the “meta idea” that since domestic video cameras were everywhere at that time, there would be low-fi recordings of the horrors of the apocalypse lying around everywhere.
Taking that idea 28 years later, the iPhone was the now-ubiquitous version of 2002’s camcorder. For depicting the apocalypse, Boyle believes “it’s wonderful to give yourself parameters that you use to try and depict it and have technical limitations.” That would include using iPhones to shoot certain sequences, sometimes as many as 20 of them at a time. But that was just one of the methods the filmmaker implemented.
Several production techniques were used to achieve that immersive feeling, including attaching cameras to actors, special sensors, designing rigs to house multiple cameras, drones, and working with a wide variety of camera types and lenses. And that included three special rigs for the iPhone sequences.
“One for eight cameras, which can be carried very easily by one person, one for 10 cameras, and one for 20,” explains the director of the iPhone rigs. “I never say this, but there is an incredible shot in the second half of the film where we use the 20-rig camera, and you’ll know it when you see it. … It’s quite graphic but it’s a wonderful shot that uses that technique, and startlingly that kind of kicks you into a new world rather than thinking you’ve seen it before.”
Boyle equates the 20-camera rig to “basically a poor man’s bullet time.” It allows flexibility for the filmmakers in terms of light and ease of use on location shoots, and it can be attached to cranes or a camera dolly or built into a location even.
“Wherever, it gives you 180 degrees of vision of an action, and in the editing, you can select any choice from it, either a conventional one-camera perspective or make your way instantly around reality, time-slicing the subject, jumping forward or backwards for emphasis,” he says. “As it’s a horror movie, we use it for the violent scenes to emphasise their impact.
“I also like it for the same reason I love jumping the line,” he adds. “For a moment the audience is inside the scene, the action, rather than classically observing a picture. You feel like you’re in the room with Jodie Comer and her son, venting her rage at Aaron Taylor Johnson, like you’re in the abandoned train with the naked Alpha and the unzipped spine and head.”
“I never say this, but there is an incredible shot in the second half of the film where we use the 20-rig camera, and you’ll know it when you see it. … It’s quite graphic but it’s a wonderful shot that uses that technique, and in a startling way that kind of kicks you into a new world rather than thinking you’ve seen it before.
”Dod Mantle also used more conventional cameras, but in unconventional ways. For jarring smash cuts to animals and infected roaming the mainland. “I was basically photographing thermal energy and moving it through them,” he explains. “Moreover, to maximize the impact and “ick” factor of the new Slow-Low variants of the infected, Dod Mantle attached cameras to them, producing what he calls “very disturbing” views of their bounteous flesh moving close to the ground. “I call it embedding the audience through the lens, and Danny and I really love that,” he elaborates. “I want audiences to feel like they’re riding on the back of the Slow-Lows.”
Boyle’s decision to employ the 2.76:1 widescreen aspect ratio – an unexpected choice for a film of this nature, as 2.76:1 is often used for IMAX or Ultra Panavision 70mm epics, such as Quentin Tarantino’s The Hateful Eight, Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer, and Ryan Coogler’s recent Sinners – heightens the immersive feel.
It all points to Boyle and Dod Mantle’s drive to always push the envelope. “This is the tenth picture on which Danny and I have worked together, which means we can cut to the chase quite quickly,” the cinematographer says. “We both like maverick ideas, techniques, and technology that are insistent in their language and push boundaries. We believe in testing, challenging, and breaking conventions, and wanted to do all of that with this film.”
Now, these practices serve Boyle’s vision for 28 Years Later to be an auteur horror theatrical event best experienced on the big screen. “I want that sense of suffocating intensity where you cannot escape this world,” he states. “At the same time, that world must sometimes be pleasurable, and horror can be pleasurable, especially when the intensity of the experience is a communal one. I want audiences to sit down and say, ‘I’m here, I’m part of this now.’
DANNY BOYLE (Director / Producer) reprises his role as director of the original film, 28 Days Later. Prior to 28 YEARS LATER, Boyle directed the films Yesterday, Steve Jobs, Battle of the Sexes, 127 Hours, and Slumdog Millionaire, for which he won the Academy Awards for Best Directing and Best Picture. His debut film, Trainspotting, was nominated for a BAFTA for Outstanding British Film.
ALEX GARLAND’s (Writer / Producer) latest film Warfare, which he co-wrote and directed with Navy SEAL veteran Ray Mendoza, was released April 11, 2025. Garland teamed with A24 on Warfare, as he did on his 2024 film Civil War. Garland directed the 2022 horror film Men, the 2018 film Annihilation, and the 2014 film Ex Machina, for which he was nominated for Best Original Screenplay at the Academy Awards, as well as three BAFTAs, including Best Original Screenplay. Garland created, wrote, and directed Devs, an eight-part miniseries for FX starring Nick Offerman, which premiered spring 2020.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Searching – An Inspired New Form Of Storytelling In The Digital Age
The thought-provoking and captivating Searching began when two young filmmakers (writer/director Aneesh Chaganty and writer/producer Sev Ohanian along with veteran producer Timur Bekmambetov) sought to tell a hyper-modern thriller told via the technology and devices we use every day to communicate.
Although it re-imagines modern technology and digital storytelling, it is, importantly, anchored by a riveting, dramatic mystery with unpredictable twists and a compelling emotional base.
The film took just thirteen days to shoot. However, it took two years to make due to the prep, editing and animating.
After watching this film you will approach cyberspace with caution and logon with care.
At the centre of the mystery is beloved, missing daughter Margot, determined father David and sympathetic but no-nonsense Detective Vick.
After David Kim (John Cho)’s 16-year-old daughter goes missing, a local investigation is opened and a detective is assigned to the case. But 37 hours later and without a single lead, David decides to search the one place no one has looked yet, where all secrets are kept today: his daughter’s laptop.
The hunt is abetted by our modern tools of communication – social media, texts, emails, life played out in photos and video snippets saved on computer files for safekeeping. But all is not what it seems. We are what we hide in our mobile devices, which often conceal as much as they reveal. Our virtual identities are subjective constructs at best and David learns more about his daughter than he had ever known with every digital clue.
You can watch Searching (2018) on several streaming platforms. It’s available on STARZ for a subscription fee, and you can also rent or buy it on iTunes, Google Play, and Movies Anywhere
In telling the story, the filmmakers use a screen-based language of storytelling that authentically depicts the way we interact today and explores the reality of a modern parent/child connection in the Internet age.
Our modern modes of communication provide instant ways to present and reinvent ourselves. The virtual world is especially enticing to teenagers pushing boundaries and exploring their identities, while also offering life-affirming promises with a lurking menace.
Searching investigates the age-old parental dilemma in a brand new cinematic way – how much latitude to give a child, how much independence to afford them, and when to reign them in – made especially harder by social media.
The question lies in who are they connecting to and who are they becoming?
It is a big-screen thriller told in real-time, in a new way that is also super familiar – these are the devices we all use and thus far audiences are embracing to this crowd-pleaser.
It won the Audience Award at Sundance. Chaganty and Ohanian make their feature debuts with Searching but met prior at USC in a film production class, where Ohanian was a graduate teaching assistant and Chaganty one of his strong students. “Aneesh always had the best ideas, a good work ethic, positive energy, an inquisitive mind and you just had a sense that he could be something great.”
Student and teacher eventually became writing partners and film collaborators and Ohanian soon established himself as a successful independent producer (Sundance Festival selects “Fruitvale Station,” “Results,” and “The Intervention” among his credits).
At this point, Chaganty worked for Google in New York creating short-form content, including “Google Glass: Seeds,” a short film shot entirely with Google Glass. It was at the behest of a small program called The Creative Collective, designed to ascertain how the product could be implemented as a filmmaking tool. Creating this screen-based content – screen in the most current interactive sense of the word – required both technical and operational workflow skills Chaganty and Ohanian would apply to the production of Searching.
Aneesh Chaganty & Sev Ohanian
In many ways, Chaganty was perfectly poised for Searching – his Google projects and commercial work gave him the experience and pedigree to lead to feature filmmaking, particularly this innovative approach to cinema.
Timur Bekmambetov
Filmmaker Timur Bekmambetov experimented with a new cinematic approach that better illustrated our modern communication paradigms.
He calls this concept screen-life and describes it as a new film language. The notion occurred to him in 2012 during a Skype conversation with his producing partner. After the business discussion ended, this colleague forgot to turn off the screen sharing function. Bekmambetov saw him search the Internet, send messages on Facebook, place orders on Amazon, etc.
At that moment, he glimpsed into his friend’s inner life, his motivations, and his concerns in real-time, merely based on what windows were open, the way he moved his cursor, the choices he made and the manner in which he typed. A text message, from the typing to the back spacing to the decision to send or delete revealed a kaleidoscope of emotions and all in a singularly visual way.
“It’s very simple. We spend half of our time now in front of us on our devices and it means our ‘screen life’ is quite important to us and reveals so much about us. Our entire lives play out on our devices – fear, love, friendship, betrayal, our fondest memories, our silliest moments. It seemed to me that there wasn’t a way to tell stories about today’s world and today’s characters without showing our screens. Because multiple dramatic life events play out on our phones and computers. Most importantly we make impactful moral choices today with these instruments. To be able to depict this I think is a way to authentically reflect who we are today, collectively,” Bekmambetov explains.
Inspired by this new form of storytelling, Bekmambetov, through his company Bazelevs, began to seek out like-minded young filmmakers who would embrace the screen-life approach. He had some success in 2014 with the hit 2015 thriller “Unfriended,” told through a group Skype conversation amongst teenagers that takes a deadly turn, and was looking for young cinephiles to join him in taking the approach to a new level. “We found those filmmakers in Sev and Aneesh, and they gave us an unbelievably great teaser pitch. It was clear that they totally understood the beauty and possibility of this new language and also had a fantastic sensibility for story and character”
Bekmambetov relays. Ohanian and Chaganty, thinking almost entirely in terms of short-form content, had come up with an idea about a father who breaks into his missing daughter’s laptop, figuring it would be part of a digital anthology series.
“We put together a pitch for a six-minute film,” recalls Chaganty, and at the end of the pitch, Bazelevs said, “We like it – but we love it as a feature.”
“I wasn’t interested in a short film, but I could definitely see the possibility of it as a full-length feature. And they had great ideas. I personally love to encourage young filmmakers, they usually have the boldest, most creative ideas and Aneesh and Sev were exceptional examples of that,” Bekmambetov says.
Bazelevs suggested that the pair write the feature and Chaganty would direct. And Chaganty initially declined. “I could have kicked him under the table!” recalls Ohanian.
Leaving the meeting with the promise that they would “think about it,” Ohanian and Chaganty took some time to figure out if the feature-length concept would work.
“I worried that turning our short idea into a feature script would feel like we were stretching an idea thin instead of expanding on it organically.”
Chaganty says about his initial hesitation. “But we kept talking about it.” Ultimately, they signed on to write and direct, mostly based on being inspired by montage opening sequences from other films that cracked their creative conundrum. In a curious moment of serendipity, both men hatched the same concept for the film’s first few minutes while thousands of miles apart. Their mutual idea revolved around telling the backstory of the Kim family through a screen-life montage, illustrating the delicate and compelling emotional universe of the main characters’ lives through our everyday communication devices.
The prologue of Searching guides us through the video chats, calendar entries, home movies shot on phones, and text messages that tell the story of the birth of Margot Kim, the happy early years, and the darker days to follow.
“One night we texted each other at the same time, saying, “Hey, I just came up with the opening scene.” And we called each other, and we both pitched each other the same thing, which is what ended up in the movie, which was reminiscent of the opening scene in the movie ‘Up.’ We thought that approach, translated through screen-life, could create characters people cared about, could become invested in them and in the first five minutes, our hope was that it would be both familiar, in that it is how we communicate with each other, and that people would forget that it was an unconventional way to see a movie,” Chaganty says.
Indeed, that segment that helped convince actor John Cho that the screen-life storytelling experiment might work:
The bulk of the work is done in that opening montage – if that speaks to you, if that gets you, then you’re in, and you accept the premise of the movie because you know who that family is,” says Cho. “He had to get that right, and he nailed it – when I watched it, I felt like I could give myself to this story and not think too much about the new technique.”
In addition to receiving the funding and production support from Bazelevs, they also received creative freedom and some of the ingenious rigs the company had invented specifically for the screen-life format.
“The biggest challenge for any producer is just to find the right filmmaker,” says Timur Bekmambetov. “Then you just shake hands. I know that because I am a director myself, and it’s very important that when a producer makes a decision about a filmmaker, you have to let them make their own movie and especially with one like this, it was more important for me to be there for them in the edit. We at Bazelevs are looking for talented filmmakers that we can help AND learn from.”
Indeed, as much as Searching is shaped by the way it reimagines modern technology and digital storytelling, it is, importantly, anchored by a riveting, dramatic mystery with unpredictable twists and a compelling emotional base.
“We wanted to make a movie that we wanted to watch,” explains Chaganty. “Our favourite kinds of movies are gripping and emotional with a lot of suspense and intrigue, and from day one, we wanted this to be a story where you would just fall into the mystery and almost forget the way it’s being told.”
In developing the screenplay, Chaganty and Ohanian watched dozens of missing person thrillers to see what worked and what didn’t, and various strategies filmmakers had employed in order to conceal information and subtly misdirect.
“If you look at the actual storyline of Searching,” says Chaganty, “you’ll see a lot of the traditional elements of the mystery thriller. Our goal was to mirror those things that we loved best and adapt that into the screen-life concept.”
To prepare for the shoot, Chaganty borrowed a system he’d used at Google called prototyping, similar to the motion picture industry’s “pre-viz” process.
“In prototyping, they create a version of the project ahead of time with a lot of temp footage and material that they gather on their own. So Aneesh had been used to this workflow and applied that to this project, and actually, very early on, made an entire version of this film which was very helpful because we were able to really watch the film before we went out and shot any of it, and we were able to solve a lot of problems beforehand. Essentially, we started editing the film seven weeks before we started principal photography,” says Ohanian recalls.
This mini-movie provided Chaganty with invaluable information that in turn was vital to the actors translating this new film language, including Debra Messing who plays the accomplished and determined police detective Rosemary Vick tackling the case of Kim’s missing daughter.
“I was incredibly intrigued. It literally was unlike any film script I had ever read before. The whole thing that makes this movie so original and exciting and forward-thinking is this really thrilling approach to storytelling in a completely new way,” she explains.
“Even reading the script was a different experience, and that’s what excited me – it was obvious that Aneesh was so clear in his storytelling and the kind of film he wanted to make. At first, it was a big leap of faith, but on set, there was always a sense of ‘this is how we are going to make this work,’ with room for tinkering if we needed to. There was always a sense of discovery.”
In a bit of life imitating art, the digital video communication that becomes another visual platform in the movie became the conduit of her research.
“I thought research was really important because I didn’t have any idea about what a missing person detective job is, really. And so, I was able to speak with two detectives from Los Angeles, via Facetime with them simultaneously. It was wonderful, they were very patient with me, going over everything from what is the protocol as soon as you get the call to going in front of the public, speaking about the case and what’s expected of that; the dynamics between a victim’s family and the detective,” Messing recalls.
“The prep process for this movie was a lot of not only technical conversations, but we also had a lot of philosophical conversations, of ‘how are we going to do this? What is our approach? What does this mean? Are we going to have the actors operate the camera, is that part of our philosophy for this? Are we going to do a lot of the deterioration of the footage in post, or are we going to capture it as real as possible?
Aneesh’s mandate from Day One really was, ‘I want to make this as real as possible. I want people to feel connected to this movie because it’s really relatable and very honest.’ In keeping with that, the cinematography has to be grounded. It has to be just as organic.
That mini-movie Aneesh made ahead of shooting was very helpful in terms of figuring out the pacing and what was going to be visually important from my end, what my team had to concentrate on during production and what we could leave to the editors,” Herrera notes.
While the film was shot for a limited number of days, the edit was substantially longer and required two editors. Will Merrick and Nick Johnson. In a sense, their work began even before principal photography, working with Chaganty to stitch together his pre-visualized DIY movie. The overall process of assembling the film paralleled that of an animated motion picture in that layer by layer, each new pass added more critical information to the original “mini-movie” that Chaganty had constructed.
Apart from the actors’ performances and physical sets, assets that were filmed staged or imaged as screen capture, website, blog comment, text message, or digital news clip all had to be added in the edit.
“We began working on editing seven weeks before production started, with a totally blank timeline and worked with Aneesh, taking pictures of the space and screenshotting web pages to build out kind of an animatic, like a Pixar-style storyboard of what the movie was going to look like, which was used during production,” Merrick explains. “So, we were refining the story with the director and producer in the room, so that essentially, when they started shooting, they knew exactly what they were shooting, they knew what the eye-lines should be, what they would see in terms of the actual set, etc. and that helped tremendously because ultimately, we didn’t have to do as many pick-ups as we might have otherwise had to do, had we not had the pre-viz,” Johnson adds.
The entire process of editing was over a year. We had two editors working full time, and even though we were working in the modern age of digital, non-linear editing, the level of detail we had to bring to each scene felt like we were cutting on an old Moviola,” says Ohanian.
“The rendering was so complex – we’d ask the editors to make a change, and they’d say, ‘come back in a couple of hours when we are so used to seeing things instantly, because of the sheer size of the files and programs we were working with.” While the process was painstaking and pioneering, the result is a movie that resonates with the familiar iconography and discourse of contemporary life.
“Audiences will recognize themselves in every click and movement of the mouse, every notification, every sound, everything that we now use to experience everyday life in a way that is also compelling and cinematic,” says Bekmambetov.
“This approach, we hope, helps the audience relate to the character in an intimate way – you see how the character is writing something, deleting it, then writing something else, debating whether to save or delete a cherished memory – traditional filmmaking relies on techniques like voiceover to do that and to me, that seems less real and certainly less visual. Based on our previous screen-life movies, it does seem that audiences are ready to embrace this new form of cinema. But of course, it only works if you have a filmmaker who can create meaningful characters and tell great stories and discover something emotionally.”
“Ever since I picked up a camera I’ve always liked films that told stories we know in a way that we don’t expect. Searching takes that to a whole new level. But when we were filming, I wasn’t thinking about the novelty of the approach. When you’re in it, you’re not thinking you might be doing something groundbreaking, you’re just doing the best work you can, trying to be true to the characters and story. But every once in a while, during this process, I would take a step back and think ‘what we are making could be really, really cool,’” sums up Chaganty.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Universe Just Called… And It Wants Elio!
For centuries, people have called out to the universe looking for answers—in Disney and Pixar’s original, all-new feature film Elio, the universe calls back! The cosmic misadventure introduces Elio, a space fanatic with an active imagination and a huge alien obsession. “He’s an unusual kid who’s obsessed with getting abducted by aliens,” says director Domee Shi. “He feels like a lot of us feel sometimes—lonely, unwanted, like no one understands us. Elio feels like there’s nothing for him on Earth—he dreams of going to another world where he’s accepted for who he is.”
Adds director Madeline Sharafian, “He’s so bright and very driven, but he puts that energy into trying to contact aliens rather than reaching out to people around him. He’s even modified a ham radio to send signals to space, but what really gets the aliens’ attention is the Voyager satellite—it’s a real thing that’s still out there.”
On the satellite is what’s known as the Golden Record—a veritable “message in a bottle” from children around the world. In “Elio,” aliens receive the messages and make contact. “Elio is instantly convinced it’s the real deal,” says Sharafian. “He hijacks the signal and is able to respond with an S.O.S. to the aliens.”
So, when Elio is beamed up to the Communiverse, an interplanetary organization with representatives from galaxies far and wide, he’s all in for the epic undertaking. Mistakenly identified as Earth’s leader, Elio must form new bonds with eccentric alien lifeforms, navigate a crisis of intergalactic proportions, and somehow discover who and where he is truly meant to be. “It’s a wish fulfilled,” says Shi. “He has the exact opposite reaction that anyone else might have after getting abducted by unknown beings from space. He’s elated. I feel like this movie really embodies that sense of wonder and imagination. It’s so exciting to see him finally going into space and seeing all of his dreams come true.”
According to producer Mary Alice Drumm, the film is rooted in research. “We met with Dr. Jill Tarter early on—she’s one of the founding members of the SETI Institute,” says Drumm. “[Tarter] is an astronomer who’s studied extraterrestrial intelligence. She taught us to think about space in a more expansive way that in turn made us feel more connected here. We’re all Earthlings. There’s a strong theme of connection in this story that really resonated with all of us.”
Elio is directed by Madeline Sharafian (“Burrow” SparkShort), Domee Shi (“Bao” short, “Turning Red”) and Adrian Molina (co-screenwriter/co-director of “Coco”), and produced by Mary Alice Drumm, p.g.a. (associate producer of “Coco”). The screenplay was written by Julia Cho, Mark Hammer, and Mike Jones. Adrian Molina also contributed to the story.
Pixar Animation Studios’ animated films showcase stylistic points of view when it comes to characters
. For “Elio,” however, artists had to go above and beyond—way above and way beyond—to create a cast of characters that includes both humans and multiple species of aliens. “A big part of our world on Earth takes place at a [coastal] military base,” says production designer Harley Jessup. “Everyone, except Elio, wears the same Air Force uniform—muted tan camouflage. Elio stands out in this monochromatic world. He’s quirky and colorful.”
Director Domee Shi explains that the subdued tone at the military base comes from their lead character. “We’re not saying that all military bases are cold and calculated,” says Shi. “There are many wonderful people who work on these bases. But from Elio’s POV he just feels so different. He’s a fish out of water, and we kept that top of mind as we were lighting and shooting his life on Earth—ensuring he felt like the odd boy out—like an alien on Earth. And then when he’s finally in space, we feel the switch from alien on Earth to being welcomed to this vibrant, warm world with open arms.”
Not that the aliens in the Communiverse all come with arms. Artists created dozens of alien species with an assortment of limbs, varying manners of moving and imaginative ways of expressing themselves. “It’s like the coolest club in the universe,” says Shi. “Leaders from planets near and far come together in this fascinating, layered place to share knowledge.”
Adds director Madeline Sharafian, “It’s an incredibly expansive space because each alien species needs a habitat that works for them. Aliens of all shapes, sizes and languages get to live together. It’s very aspirational.”
Filmmakers called on cast members representing locales around the world to help establish the pure vastness of the Communiverse and its inhabitants. “The aliens come from different planets with different ways of communicating—we really wanted to represent that,” says Shi.
Stylistically, filmmakers leaned into the fantastical nature of this new world—both on Earth and in space—they didn’t want a realistic feel. According to animation supervisor Jude Brownbill, the look of animation for “Elio” called for holding poses for a beat. “It’s a bit like the way 2D animators work with their drawings,” she says. “In 3D animation, the computer can interpolate those drawings perfectly—but we moved away from that a little to ensure we hold each pose a beat longer before moving to the next.”
Elio, of course, is the link between contrasting worlds where humans and aliens, young and old, peacemakers and warlords ultimately have more in common than anyone imagines.
Two Distinct Worlds Call for Creativity and Contrast
Designing and crafting the world for Disney and Pixar’s “Elio” felt in some ways like working on two different films. Says production designer Harley Jessup, “Early on, we knew that we would be designing two very distinct worlds. Earth was clearly based on authentic military research, while the Communiverse was grounded in the tiny details of nature, lending an organic order that I think the audience will recognize. Through that amazing macro-photographic research, we tried to look at space in a new way.”
For planet Earth, filmmakers set out to create an austere world, a place that audiences would understand a boy like Elio might yearn to escape. Says Jessup, “The military base is shown as acres of tarmac and Brutalist concrete buildings—very hard edged with a lot of repetition and rectangular symmetry.”
Graphics art director Kyle Jones worked with military consultants to craft the look. “We did everything from military patches to details within the headquarters, mission control and computer screens,” he says. “We tried to be authentic and work within a palette of colors including muted blues, browns and grays.”
According to Derek Williams, director of photography (layout/camera), the goal of shot composition and camera selections is to help convey the story from Elio’s point of view. “When we’re on Earth, we have to tap into how he’s feeling emotionally,” he says. “What is Elio dealing with? How can we show that visually with the camera? I wanted to explore keeping the camera very flat, conveying a feeling of loneliness.
“We also played with centering Elio in frame,” Williams continues. “And one of the things I talked to the directors about was this idea of frame within a frame. We looked for opportunities to frame him within a hallway, within a doorway or window. It’s another way to give that feeling of being trapped.”
Jordan Rempel, director of photography (lighting), adds, “We tried to keep things pretty linear, even in the way we treated light and shadow, trying to keep things static. We wanted the light itself to come from the sun or from practical lights, bulbs.”
Olga, eager to offer Elio a change of scenery, enrolls him in Camp Carver, created for the children of military personnel. Though breathtaking, the redwood forest does little to convince Elio, who still dreams of getting beamed up to space. According to Jessup, the untamed wilderness provides an almost enchanted backdrop for Elio’s long-awaited alien abduction. It’s an unearthly transition from the rigid setting of the military base to the vibrant world known as the Communiverse. “The contrast is dramatic—the Communiverse is all curves and translucent surfaces,” says Jessup. “We were inspired by photographs of tiny structures in nature, and we found that by just looking through the microscope, we’d be transported to an astonishing natural world very different from what audiences have come to expect. We were excited by everything from tiny mushrooms and fungus to crystals and microscopic sea creatures. We really wanted to create a fresh take on space.”
Sets supervisor David Luoh says he’s excited to share with audiences the epic breadth of their take on outer space. “I have a fondness for when we see the Communiverse as a whole, like when Elio first encounters that world,” he says. “You can see the outer shell where the alien species grow their crops. Then we have four orbiting, twisting discs— each one hosting a different biome: aquatic, lush forest, icy tundra, and hot with lava. Nestled inside those discs, there’s an inner paraboloid with skylines of central Communiverse infrastructure and a radiant core of light and energy, all with intricate, dynamic details sprinkled throughout.”
Artists and technicians assembled a vibrant world with blink-and-you’ll-miss-them details—from alienesque architecture to varying vegetation. “It’s designed as a reflection of the aliens who came together to create it,” says Luoh. “It’s our version of the United Nations—species from across the galaxy coming together and forming a brilliant, cooperative interspecies society.”
With an environment so rich—from the sets to the various alien species—lighting was an essential element to anchor the audience’s view. “There’s so much variety in the alien characters in terms of shape and color and size, each one requires special attention in each scene to make them as appealing as possible,” says Rempel. “We look at what’s most important in each shot—that might mean suppressing a character that’s too interesting or overwhelming—pushing and pulling those elements the story needs. When they’re all interesting, it’s so tempting to want to take it all in. We use light to direct the eye in those situations.”
Graphics art director Kyle Jones ensured the graphics fit the vibrant look of the Communiverse. “We created a universal alien design language that we could use everywhere,” he says, “from the magenta takeover on Olga’s computers, which is a bit mysterious and unsettling, to hologram signage in space. We wanted to find a unique take on symbology that didn’t look like anything that already exists but still feels recognizable as both a language and alien.
“The graphics in space are more organic with a softer shape language and a prismatic look with Ooooo energy that perhaps powers all their technology” adds Jones. “There’s so much energy, you can feel it undulating in almost everything.”
Helping to bring those worlds to life every single time are composers like Rob Simonsen, who tap into their armories of instruments and sounds to create scores that transport audiences—in this case, to space.
Simonsen infused the score with depth from every angle. “It’s a heartfelt adventure through space and memory,” he says. “It’s also a meditation on signals—on how we reach out, and what it means when something reaches back.
“From early on, we were drawn to the idea of a signal, which is a simple pulse that opens the film,” Simonsen continues. “It’s the sound of humanity reaching out, asking if we’re alone. It’s the sound of Elio’s wondering if he’s alone. Loneliness is a big theme in this film. That concept became part of the DNA of the score. We created a theme tied to that signal, which becomes the sound of the response from the Communiverse—that we aren’t alone, that we’re part of something much bigger.”
According to Simonsen, the score focuses less on where Elio is—Earth or space—and more on the emotional needs of the story. The composer pushed the limits of creativity to accompany Elio on his mission. “There are a lot of moments using synths to create colorful arpeggios that function within the overall orchestration,” he says. “But we also take moments to feel large expanses with analog synth washes and processed sounds from Buchla, Moogs and other synths. There was a lot of programming in it that feels technical but also human. The washes are more about Elio’s emotional landscape than literal outer space. Space itself gets treated more with orchestral sweep. The synths are used to reflect longing, memory and internal movement.”
As the titular character, Elio received a special theme to spotlight his journey. “Elio’s theme starts with a leap of a major 7th,” says Simonsen. “It gives it this reaching quality, like he’s looking for something just out of reach. It ties to memory, to family, to wonder. We used it throughout, sometimes in very subtle ways. It’s one of those themes that hopefully grows in meaning the more it returns.”
MADELINE SHARAFIAN(Directed by) joined Pixar Animation Studios as a story intern in 2013, and returned for a full-time position in May 2015 as a storyboard artist on the Academy Award®-winning film “Coco.” She also worked as a story lead on Pixar’s feature film “Onward.” Sharafian directed “Burrow,” the Academy Award-nominated short film that came out of Pixar’s SparkShorts program. “Burrow” released on Disney+ on December 25, 2020, along with Pixar’s Academy Award-winning feature film “Soul.”
Prior to Pixar, Sharafian worked at Cartoon Network as a storyboard artist and writer on the show “We Bare Bears.” She also created character designs for the pilot episode while she was attending CalArts.
DOMEE SHI(Directed by) began as a story intern at Pixar Animation Studios in June 2011, and was soon hired as a story artist on the Academy Award®-winning feature film “Inside Out.” Since then she has worked on the feature films “The Good Dinosaur,” “Incredibles 2” and the Academy Award-winning “Toy Story 4.” In 2015 she began pitching ideas for short films, and soon was greenlit to write and direct “Bao,” which won the Academy Award for best animated short film. In her role as a creative VP, Shi is involved in key creative decision-making at the studio and consults on films in both development and production. Shi made her feature film directorial debut with “Turning Red,” which was released on Disney+ on March 11, 2022, and was nominated for an Academy Award®.Shi graduated from the animation program at Sheridan College, where she was fueled by her love of anime/manga, Disney and Asian cinema influences that can be seen in her work to this day. Shi was born in Chongqing, China, and resided in Toronto, Canada, for most of her life. She lives in Oakland, Calif., and notes that her love of animation is rivaled only by her love of cats.
ADRIAN MOLINA(Directed by / co-screenwriter) began at Pixar Animation Studios as a story intern in the summer of 2006. Since joining the studio full-time that fall, Molina has worked on the Academy Award®-winning feature films “Ratatouille” and “Toy Story 3,” and was a story artist on “Monsters University.” Molina served as the co-director and writer on “Coco,” released in November 2017. “Coco” earned a Golden Globe® for best animated feature film, and two Academy Awards for best animated film and best original song for “Remember Me.” Prior to Pixar, Molina attended the California Institute of the Arts (CalArts) and received a Bachelor of Fine Arts in character animation. Molina resides in the East Bay, Calif.
JULIA CHO (Screenwriter) is an American playwright and television writer. She was born on July 5, 1975, in Los Angeles, California. She studied at Amherst College, the University of California, Berkeley, and New York University, and later attended Juilliard. Her plays, such as 99 Histories, The Language Archive, and Aubergine, explore themes of memory, identity, and human connection. She has also written for television series like Big Love and Fringe.
MARK HAMMER (Screenwriter) is known for his work in comedy and adventure films. While details on his career are less widely documented, he has contributed to various projects in Hollywood. He wrote the screenplay for Two Night Stand (2014), a rom-com starring Miles Teller and Analeigh Tipton, and Shotgun Wedding (2022), an action-comedy featuring Jennifer Lopez and Josh Duhamel. He is also credited as a writer for the upcoming Pixar film Elio (2025). Hammer has expressed a passion for keeping the romantic comedy genre alive, despite claims that it is fading. He once mentioned that his love for rom-coms drives him to write them, believing that “funny stories about love” should never go out of style.
MIKE JONES (Screenwriter) is a filmmaker known for his work in animation and independent cinema. He was born in 1971 in San Antonio, Texas, and studied film at New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts. Jones has worked extensively with Pixar Animation Studios, co-writing films like Soul (2020), Luca (2021), and Elio (2025). He also wrote the English adaptations of Studio Ghibli’s The Wind Rises and The Tale of Princess Kaguya. Before his screenwriting career took off, Jones worked as an entertainment journalist, serving as Managing Editor at Filmmaker Magazine and Executive Editor at IndieWire. His first screenplay, EvenHand (2002), was featured at major film festivals, including *AFI, Tribeca, and South by Southwest. At Pixar, Jones collaborates closely with directors, artists, and editors on every aspect of storytelling. He has also contributed to the senior creative teams behind Coco, Incredibles 2, Toy Story 4, Turning Red, and Inside Out 2.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Class, Power, and Intrigue: The Legacy of Gosford Park
Gosford Park is a 2001 satirical black comedy mystery film directed by Robert Altman and written by Julian Fellowes. It provides a nuanced look at the rigid class structures of early 20th-century Britain, highlighting the stark contrast between the privileged elite and the working-class servants.
“I wanted to make a film about the people who are usually ignored—the servants. They see everything, they know everything, but they are invisible,” says director Robert Altman, an influential American filmmaker known for his unconventional storytelling, ensemble casts, and satirical approach to cinema.
Altman’s big break came with MASH* (1970), a dark comedy that redefined war films. He became known for overlapping dialogue, improvisation, and a focus on character-driven narratives, including Nashville (1975), The Player (1992), Short Cuts (1993). His impact on independent filmmaking remains profound.
“The servants are the real witnesses to history. They see everything, even when they are invisible to those they serve,” says British screenwriter, novelist, actor, and producer Julian Fellowes, best known for his work on Gosford Park and Downton Abbey, which became a global phenomenon Born on August 17, 1949, in Cairo, Egypt, Fellowes was raised in a British diplomatic family. His screenplay for Gosford Park (2001) won an Academy Award, establishing him as a leading writer of period dramas.
Set in 1932, Gosford Park unfolds over a weekend at a lavish English country estate, where wealthy aristocrats and their servants gather for a hunting party. Beneath the surface of elegance and social formalities, tensions simmer between the privileged guests and the hardworking staff. When a murder disrupts the gathering, the film shifts from a satirical exploration of class dynamics to a compelling mystery.
“Gosford Park” is the kind of generous, sardonic, deeply layered movie that Altman has made his own. As a director he has never been willing to settle for plot; he is much more interested in character and situation, and likes to assemble unusual people in peculiar situations and stir the pot. Here he is, like Prospero, serenely the master of his art.” Roger Ebert
Rather than focusing solely on solving the crime, Gosford Park offers a rich tapestry of interconnected lives, revealing secrets, alliances, and the stark divide between those upstairs and downstairs. With its sharp dialogue, layered storytelling, and poignant critique of British society, the film stands as a brilliant blend of drama, mystery, and social commentary.
The inspiration behind Gosford Park came from a blend of classic murder mysteries, British period dramas, and a desire to explore class dynamics in a unique way.
Agatha Christie-style Whodunits: Producer Bob Balaban initially suggested creating a film in the vein of Agatha Christie’s mysteries, featuring a murder at a grand estate with multiple suspects.
Jean Renoir’s The Rules of the Game: Director Robert Altman was influenced by this 1939 French classic, which similarly examines the interactions between the upper class and their servants.
British Aristocracy & Servant Culture: Julian Fellowes, who wrote the screenplay, drew from his own knowledge of British high society to craft an authentic portrayal of the upstairs-downstairs dynamic.
Hollywood’s Role in the Story: Balaban also introduced the idea of including an American film producer character, adding a layer of self-referential humor about Hollywood’s fascination with British period dramas.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Inside Daniel Dercksen’s Retreat for Writers in the Karoo: A Journey into Storytelling and Creativity
The Inspiration Behind the Retreat
Meeting legendary filmmaker Jans Rautenbach in 2014 felt like fate—it was a pivotal moment that set me on a path toward following my intuition. Inspired by our encounter, I made the life-changing decision to settle in Prince Albert, where I could fully immerse myself in my own writing while also mentoring aspiring writers. The retreat was born from this journey—a space designed to nurture creativity and provide mentorship for those eager to develop their stories.
Daniel Dercksen in Conversation with Jans Rautenbach during The Writing Studio’s masterclass for storytellers at the Artscape Resource Centre in 2014
The Retreat Experience
The retreat is set in the heart of the Karoo, an environment that naturally fosters deep creative exploration. While I have a structured program, I tailor each retreat to the individual writer, allowing an organic flow that suits their needs. The landscape itself plays a key role, offering serenity and space to reflect.
Overcoming Doubt and Building Confidence
One of the biggest obstacles for writers is self-doubt. Many struggle to fully express their ideas or take the next step in their craft. My approach is immersive—through structured mentorship, workshops, and open discussions, I guide writers to trust their instincts and strengthen their storytelling techniques. By the end of the retreat, they leave with not only stronger stories but also a renewed sense of confidence in their voice.
The Challenges of Teaching Writing Today
We live in a TikTok and YouTube era, where many aspiring writers expect quick fixes—hoping to complete their story in a week rather than spending years honing their craft. Writing, like any art, requires patience, deep thinking, and willingness to rewrite. My retreat encourages writers to slow down and appreciate the process, shifting their mindset from instant gratification to mastery.
Personal Growth Through Mentorship
Teaching isn’t just about guiding others—it’s a journey of self-discovery for me as well. Each retreat gives me fresh insights, renewed inspiration, and sometimes even personal breakthroughs. Seeing writers grow reinforces my belief in the power of storytelling and strengthens my own confidence.
Why This Retreat Matters More Than Ever
In today’s fast-paced world, this retreat provides a rare opportunity for writers to pause, reflect, and truly immerse themselves in their stories. Here, writing isn’t rushed—it’s carefully developed. The retreat isn’t just about technique; it’s about fostering creative breakthroughs, building resilience, and embracing storytelling as a long-term craft.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Dangerous Animals – Exploring the terror of human obsession
Visual artist and screenwriter Nick Lepard was living in California and spending a lot of time surfing. “I came up with the visual of somebody sneaking a person onto a boat in a surfboard bag and couldn’t let it go”, and so he started imagining reasons why that might happen.” His research inspired the serial killer in Dangerous Animals, “A character who becomes a twisted reflection of the public’s fascination with shark attacks, all while exploring a paradoxical stance “
Dangerous Animals is a sharp, exhilarating thriller that takes you on a ride through the terror of human obsession, deadly creatures and a twisted dance of survival. But beneath its visceral exterior lies a deeper story about facing your demons – and the price of running from them.
The film follows a vagabond surfer, Zephyr, who is abducted by a local fisherman and held captive on his boat, and must outsmart her killer before she’s fed to the sharks below.
Nick’s vision for Zephyr was a character who appeared to have total freedom: “At first glance, she’s living life to the fullest, travelling, surfing all day,” but in reality, she’s stuck in an internal prison. Her van is both a source of freedom and a cage, allowing her to pick up and leave whenever she feels threatened. When Tucker abducts her, however, it’s the end of the road. She must finally face what she has been running from to be truly free. Side by side, Tucker and Zephyr appear similar — ocean-lovers who are mistreated and solitary, like sharks— but they’re also opposites. Zephyr pushes people away while Tucker forces himself on them.
Nick’s script made its way to horror auteur and director Sean Byrne, who quickly read the script and immediately signed on because of the high concept: shark flick meets serial killer film. “After that, I worked with Nick to refine the project. I was excited to finally make a shark film that didn’t vilify the shark,” says Sean.
Dangerous Animals marks a major milestone in Nick Lepard’s career as a screenwriter. It is his first widely recognised screenplay and has garnered attention for its unique blend of survival horror and psychological thriller elements.
Originally, the script Dangerous Animals was much lighter, Nick recalls, “Sean wanted something darker. Something closer to Texas Chainsaw Massacre… with sharks.”
“It was the rare combination of serial killer and shark film. A high concept that would be highly marketable and could cut through. However, the more I thought about it, the more excited I got about the chance to make a shark film where the shark isn’t the obvious antagonist. I thought, if Jaws turned the shark into a monster, then this could be the long overdue film to correct the cruel misconception by pointing the finger at the real monster: man.”
Sean and Nick reworked the script together, Nick reflecting on the incredible amount he learned from Sean. “He’s a master of pacing and tension, knowing when to pull back and when to hit the audience.”
And as a result, the film is packed with some of the most chilling moments Lepard has ever written. “There are scares in Dangerous Animals that leave you breathless,” says Nick, “Tucker has this one kill, his first big kill, and it’s heart-stopping. I’ve never seen anything like it. Audiences are going to be reeling from it long after they leave the cinema.”
“Sean, the cast, the crew, everybody involved, made an absolutely terrifying movie that is also a lot of fun. We locked a ruthless villain and a determined hero on a boat with sharks circling below. It’s a powder keg at sea.”
Dangerous Animals is a shark film and a serial killer film rolled into one. Sean emphasises, “It’s a really fun ride, but character always has to come first. If you don’t care, then you don’t scare.”
The visual approach
The visual approach for Dangerous Animals was developed through extensive discussion between director Sean Byrne and cinematographer Shelley Farthing-Dawe. “I was fortunate that Sean had done storyboards for the whole film before we started official prep, so we were able to sit down and work through his ideas and thoughts early in the piece,” Shelley explains that the boards were a great start and Sean was very open to shifting things as locations and new ideas came in. They wanted to do as much as they could in camera on location in terms of the actors work, to add to the intensity of the film.
Sean praises Shelley, “He’s just an amazing DP not only in a technical sense, but also in a performance sense, [he is always considering] what is going to be the best thing to keep the actors in the moment.” Shelley reflects on the process, “It was great because we had actors hanging on a crane off a boat on the water, which visually adds a lot of horror to the scenes, watching those performances in such compromising positions.” The film was shot over many weeks on water, which was logistically very tricky but brings so much to the overall look of the film. “We built a great deal of practical lighting into the boat itself, both inside and out so that the actors had a good range of movement within the scenes. We wanted a look that felt stylised but still felt true to the characters and the script.” To achieve this, the filmmakers used the Alexa Mini LF and Arri Signature primes with the use of FX rear diopters to help with some intense moments.
Hassie Harrison and Jai Courtney in Sean Byrne’s DANGEROUS ANIMALS. Courtesy of Independent Film Company and Shudder. An Independent Film Company and Shudder Release.
Australian director Sean Byrne burst onto the scene with The Loved Ones, following a teenage boy who finds himself at the mercy of a classmate’s demented party after he declines her offer to attend the school dance. Written and directed by Sean Byrne, it marked his feature directorial debut, which achieved official selection at over twenty international film festivals, winning the People’s Choice Award, Midnight Madness Category, Toronto International Film Festival; the Siren Award for Best International Feature, Lund International Film Festival; and the Jury Prize at Gérardmer International Film Festival. Sean’s following feature, The Devil’s Candy, had its world premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival; was nominated for Best Motion Picture at the Sitges International Film Festival; awarded the Prix du Public (Audience Award) at Gérardmer International Film Festival; and Best Independent Horror at The Rondo Hatton Classic Horror Awards.
Nick Lepard is the Canadian screenwriter whose writing blends psychological depth with visceral tension. With two highly anticipated projects from acclaimed directors Sean Byrne (The Loved Ones, The Devil’s Candy) and Keeper (2025) helmed by Osgood Perkins (Longlegs, The Monkey), Lepard has emerged as a bold new voice in horror. Nick has a BFA in visual art from Emily Carr University of Art and Design in Vancouver BC, and an MFA from the New York Academy of Art in New York City. Interview
“After graduating from the Academy I found myself wanting a project that would work some of the creative muscles painting did not, so I enrolled in a continuing studies screenwriting class at NYU. I’ve always been interested in writing and have always loved movies. Screenwriting was a natural bridge between the two. Screenwriting has its own challenges but a benefit is that you can get away with more than you can in literary writing and it requires only a tenuous grasp on grammar. What’s paramount is the story, characters, and imagery. In fact, art school was an oddly useful education for screenwriting in that a screenplay is in some way just a list of images.”
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Retreat for Writers in the Heart Of The Karoo
If you need to break away to write your story, this interactive retreat offers an exclusive one-on-one session in Prince Albert
The retreat will take you on a personal journey into how to discipline the process of crafting your story, developing your idea, characters and plotting to create a story the world needs to experience.
“Thanks, Daniel. The writing retreat and our meeting were a turning point in my life. Many thanks to you and the Writing Studio. This week has been one of my most memorable. I will forever carry this week with me.” Dr. Soraya Khan (Pretoria) June 2025
“I had the privilege of attending Daniel Dercksen’s private Writer’s Retreat in June, 2025, in the breathtaking Karoo town of Prince Albert. Immersed in its serene beauty, I worked closely with Daniel to refine the characters, plot, and structure of my musical play. His expertise and thoughtful approach helped me delve deeper into my story, unlocking layers I hadn’t explored before. For anyone eager to expand their understanding of the art of writing or seeking expert advice on a story in development, I wholeheartedly recommend his workshop. It’s an invaluable experience that nurtures creativity and sharpens storytelling skills.” Annelien Kirsten (George), June 2025
“The retreat was life changing. I went from someone with vague ambitions to write a book to someone who has a first draft in sight. It really helped me clarify what my story was and taught me both the thought process and writing process needed to write.” Nicholas Morkel, December 2024
“What an incredible experience to learn from a master of the art of storytelling, in a sublime setting. It was a privilege to have been able to attend this workshop, thank you!” Michele Marais
“I’m writing this e-mail to tell you how thankful I am for taking time out of your day to tutor me on how to write not only my story, but my novel. The retreat was super awesome and I’ll be forever grateful for your help. Not only that, but I’ll miss how charming the little town of Prince Albert was. P.S: I give your retreat 10/10.” Jordyn Lee Bird
Final morning walk pitstop on the wandelpad with Jordyn Lee Bird , who did a 3-day writer’s retreat in December 2023.
“The retreat was an inspiration and an eye-opener. It inspired me to write in a much more disciplined fashion. To tell the stories that are in my heart. To try my hand at scriptwriting, which, now that I have a road map and a plan with wonderful pointers, does not seem as daunting as it was before I attended the course. Daniel also edits manuscripts, and his feedback goes way beyond grammar; it includes pointers, questions to consider, and expert advice. I strongly recommend this course to all writers.” Anthea Pretorius (Sept 2022)
Escape to the tranquil serenity of the Karoo, where you can share some me time with your characters and find yourself in the process
“If you want to learn to write, struggle to write, or just want to sharpen your talent, I highly recommend this workshop. It’s a soul-enriching experience. ” Belinda Martins, Cape Town“Die passie waarmee Daniel sy ervaring deel is aansteeklik en die struktuur en voorbeelde wat hy vir mens gee waarvolgens mens jou storie of draaiboek kan skryf is maklik verstaanbaar en prakties uitvoerbaar. Ek kan die ervaring hoog aanbeveel.”Louis Botha
Daniel Dercksen will take you on an insightful and inspirational journey into what it takes to be a writer and how to make the most of who you are as a writer.
The session takes place at Daniel’s private studio in Prince Albert. The Writing Studio will accommodate your needs and will be available for whatever dates suit you. You are responsible for your own travel and accommodation, The Writing Studio can make suggestions
It is an interactive, intimate, and introspective journey into the world of the story, empowering you to take ownership of the creative journey, and creative expression.
“Daniel’s workshop has given me exactly what I needed – the tools and the process to finally start writing books. The content of his workshop is rich, practical and interesting.” Tamsin Collins, Prince Albert“I learnt to see the structure of a story and how characters, theme and plot all interact to shape a memorable tale or movie. I am inspired to put pen to paper. Some of us are fortunate enough to be shown the way and start the journey.”Petro Lotz, Prince Albert
For ideal accommodation where you can relax and write in the writing room or garden, we highly recommend the elegant By-die-Koppie Gastehuis. Contact Us for more info
Daniel Dercksen has been working actively as a journalist, screenwriter, playwright, novelist, and story editor for the past 25 years, nurturing the careers and success stories of many storymakers and storytellers. As the driving force behind the successful independent training initiativeThe Writing Studioand a published film and theatre journalist of 40 years, Daniel Dercksen has been teaching workshops and online courses in creative writing, playwriting, and screenwriting throughout South Africa for the past 22 years. He will share his secrets to finding your story and making the most of your creativity.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Materialists – An honest film about modern dating
“The things that are in Materialists came from the truth I learned: that there is a very funny, very dark objectification of each other’s humanity, and therefore a very real commodification of each other, as we go through this thing that we call dating,” says writer-director Celine Song. “But it’s supposed to be in pursuit of love.”
Celine Song drew inspiration for Materialists from her own past experience as a matchmaker in New York City. Before her success as a filmmaker, she worked in the matchmaking industry, where she observed how people approached love with a checklist of materialistic criteria—height, income, age, and even race. This experience gave her deep insight into human desires and relationships, which she knew she wanted to explore in a film.
In Materialists, Song channels these observations into the story of Lucy, a cynical matchmaker played by Dakota Johnson, who views dating as a financial transaction rather than an emotional connection. The film contrasts Lucy’s professional approach to matchmaking with her own personal struggles in love, as she finds herself torn between two suitors—one wealthy and stable, the other broke but deeply understanding. Unlike her previous film Past Lives, which focused on romantic destiny, Materialists delves into the economic pragmatism of modern relationships.
Materialists is a stirringly new, almost terrifyingly modern romance film: one that stealthily deconstructs the genre, only to put it all back together in its own image. Most romantic comedies and dramedies might have taught us to fall for the cookie-cutter sentimentality of love in the big city, while shows like Sex and the City attempted to unmask the merry-go-round of dating. But Song’s Materialists is perhaps the most subversive and true of them all for explicitly drawing a line between the two, and exposing the paradox of it all.
“It’s very specifically a movie about how to find love that lasts, that is going to lead to a partnership that’s forever — in the middle of the economy of dating,” Song says. “How are you going to survive?”
Call it love in the age of Raya, and in an era of relentless self-optimisation. If Song’s film is partially based on the hard truths of dating she was exposed to a decade ago, those superficial checklists have only become more extreme in a world where pursuing love now means endless profiles and swipes. Marriage may have always been a business partnership, but the accounting seems to have only become more stark.
“The math is never going to work when it comes to love, and the contradiction of that is what’s at the heart of the film,” Song says. “The film is meant to be about this impossible, contradictory, mysterious thing,” love itself.
Perhaps the most remarkable trick of Materialists rests in Song’s answer to the dissonance: amid its blistering observations about how we pursue love, the film refuses to be cynical, instead holding tight to our most tenderhearted beliefs around love and its mysteries.
“It’s part of Harry’s father’s speech at the wedding: It’s the last religion, the last country, the last surviving ideology,” Song says, referencing an early scene from the film. “Everybody has a belief about their love life. To me, that’s the most interesting conversation I’ve ever had about anything with anyone. If you want to get to know someone, ask them what their love life is like.”
A young, ambitious New York City matchmaker finds herself torn between the perfect match and her imperfect ex.
While Song set out to make an honest movie about modern dating, her closest reference points were far more classical.
“The main references I had were Victorian romances,” she notes. “They’re more in touch with the practical realities of partnership and love than modern romances, because almost all Victorian romances are about class. The fantasy of Pride and Prejudice is that the love of your life is the same as the person who’s going to solve all your practical problems.”
Lucy is wise enough to recognize the fantasy for what it is, even if her clients can’t. It’s partly why she’s such a successful matchmaker. “She’s extremely nonjudgmental,” Dakota Johnson says of her character. “She just wants to deliver and she wants people to find love, but she’s pretty shut off from that search herself.”
“She’s somebody who’s very clear about the fact that love really does baffle her, but she’s very good at the math of dating,” Song adds. Lucy is someone who has clad herself in a kind of protective armour. “There are ways that she has basically made herself appear more valuable than she actually believes about herself,”
Song says. “I think that’s who she is: somebody who believes herself to be worthless and is showing up to every interaction she has with the world as the most valuable-looking version of herself as possible.”
She is, in other words, only responding to the real world, where dating increasingly has been hijacked by the logic and language of self-improvement, “which was supposed to be this internal Buddhist thing,” Song notes. “We turned it into something that is so corporate and so scary: I’ve got to invest in my body. I’ve got to invest in my mind. You’ve got to improve your value so that your value is high enough. Our thinking about love has become so steeped in that, that it’s hard to even escape.”
Materialists is perhaps most scathingly familiar to modern bachelors and bachelorettes for tapping into not only an exhaustion with this objectifying view of romantic partnership (ideas that are reinforced by the romance genre itself, Song notes) but also a deeply damaging sense of abstraction that reduces the people involved to a set of cold facts.
“It’s the constant dehumanisation that shouldn’t exist in your bedroom or on your date — that dehumanisation that we all deal with at work or in the world, we are having to do that in our intimate space,” Song says. That dehumanisation is what leads to a startling turn in the film, when Lucy’s success at her job is suddenly punctured by a frightening incident between two of her clients.
“The truth is there’s always a violent end to any kind of dehumanisation,” Song says. “There’s always going to be something that comes at the end of that. You’re never going to walk away from thorough dehumanising and thorough objectifying of another person without there being some very real consequences.”
The arc of the film, in one sense, follows Lucy’s struggle to walk away from this philosophy of dehumanisation, to realise “you’re not an asset—you’re a person,” Song says. “But that’s hard to imagine when the whole world is treating you like you’re an asset.”
It’s a corrosive way of thinking made plain when Lucy and Harry speak openly about what they can offer each other, going back and forth on what their worth is as investments for the other.
Lucy doesn’t see much in her own self-value, but “she’s seeing him as an asset, too,” Song says. “And through her eyes we see everything that he is, which is this very, very high-value person — the unicorn.” He’s pushed all the right buttons and gone to extreme lengths to optimise himself. But his superficiality is not something the film judges or caricatures, but in fact something that is entirely reasonable to someone like Lucy.
“Harry wants to be the most valuable version of himself, and he has a lot in common with Lucy on that level,” Song says. “They’re really clear about their own value, and they also be lieve in improving it, which is why I think Harry and Lucy respect each other so much.”
He also, crucially, offers exactly what Lucy says she wants: to marry rich. John, meanwhile, is utterly broke, stubbornly struggling, and determined to make his way as a theater actor.
“He is 37 years old and in a bit of a state of arrested development,” says Chris Evans. “He has roommates, lives a college lifestyle and is fine with it, at least on the surface. But he’s also very much in love with Lucy.”
In the math of dating, “he’s minus dollars,” Song says. But for all of Lucy’s brutally calculated approach to dating, she still knows that it’s different than love.
It’s far more inexplicable why when we see Lucy — a self-made woman, gleaming in her steely exterior — first run into John, all of that suddenly falls away and a deeper, perhaps truer part of her is rendered visible. Suddenly, we see a connection and his tory, something ineffable and beyond the calculations.
Celine Song made Materialists for those who were curious about seeing dating and love for what it actually is — which is to say, everyone. One thing has always been consistent in Song’s experience talking to anybody ever.
“No matter where you are, who you are, how old you are, if I say I was a matchmaker, everybody lights up,” Song says. “It’s be cause love and dating is a mystery to everyone. And the first thing they say is, You need to help me. Help me talk about it, help me think about it. Can you help my friend with this?”
And yet, just as our attitudes and expectations (full of stubborn fixations and shallow materialism) around love are entirely at odds with what we hope love to be (blind, unconditional, and lifelong), we ignore the dissonance and trivialise the ideas that reinforce it.
“Some thing that I learned in matchmaking is just how deeply the way that love is depicted in media has completely corrupted all of our brains and our hearts,” Song says. “It completely forms the things that you believe about yourself and the things that you believe about who your partner should be for the rest of your life and what kind of erotic life you deserve.”
Materialists is the result of Song’s desire to seriously contend with our ideals. After all, if love is indeed our last religion, why shouldn’t we be anything but utterly honest about what love should be?
If Song’s film holds up a mirror to ourselves and to the phony cliches of the romance genre itself, it never comes to see love itself as a hollow pursuit. How could Song, who has had a front-row experience to people’s most unseemly desires and expectations around love, maintain that belief?
“Maybe this is all it is: It’s that I know it,” she says. “I believe it because I know it and I experienced it. And even if the love that I have ends, I’m always going to forever know now that love is possible. It exists, so how could I not believe?”
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on How to Train Your Dragon: A Myth Reimagined
“I decided to revisit How to Train Your Dragon because it presented a remarkable opportunity—not only to direct a live-action film, but to return to a world I’ve genuinely missed,” says writer, producer and director Dean DeBlois “These characters and this universe have stayed with me, and now we can bring them back with such authenticity and conviction that, when audiences enter this world, they’ll never want to leave.”
From three-time Oscar nominee and Golden Globe winner Dean Deblois, the creative visionary behind DreamWorks Animation’s acclaimed How to Train Your Dragon trilogy, comes a stunning live-action reimagining of the film that launched the beloved franchise.
Inspired by Cressida Cowell’s New York Times bestselling book series, DreamWorks Animation’s How to Train Your Dragon franchise has captivated global audiences, earning four Academy Award® nominations and grossing more than $1.6 billion at the global box-office. Now, through cutting-edge visual effects, DeBlois transforms his animated saga into a breathtaking live-action spectacle, bringing the epic adventures of Hiccup and Toothless to life with jaw-dropping realism as they discover the true meaning of friendship, courage and destiny.
There’s an ineffable magic to seeing dragons come to life on the screen—a blend of myth and marvel that speaks to the child in all of us
Few stories have captured this magic as masterfully as DreamWorks Animation’s How to Train Your Dragon franchise. Since the debut of the first Dragon film in 2010, the trilogy has redefined animated storytelling through an extraordinary fusion of artistry and emotion. Beyond its acclaim and box-office success, the franchise has become a cultural phenomenon, transforming ancient mythology into a tale that connects deeply with our modern humanity. Now, as the saga is reimagined in live-action, it looks to expand that legacy, exploring new creative depths while making dragons feel more tangible than ever before.
At the creative helm is writer-director Dean DeBlois, whose decade-long stewardship of How to Train Your Dragon represents a masterclass in pushing the boundaries of storytelling. DeBlois’ early work at Disney, including the heartfelt storytelling of Lilo & Stitch, showcased his ability to uncover universal truths in unexpected places. With Dragon, he crafted a trilogy that grew more ambitious with each installment, tackling themes of loyalty, identity and the courage to stand apart—all while retaining the sense of wonder that thrilled minds and captured hearts worldwide.
The story unfolds on the Isle of Berk, a rugged Viking outpost locked in an ancient conflict with dragons. Here we meet Hiccup, a young Viking whose empathy and imagination lead him to challenge his society’s deep-seated hatred of these creatures. When fate brings him together with Toothless, a wounded Night Fury dragon, Hiccup makes the radical choice to help rather than harm—a decision that sets in motion a profound transformation for both their worlds.
Veteran producer and four-time Oscar® nominee Marc Platt worked closely with DeBlois to bring the ambitious story to life. “Dean lives inside this world and these characters,” Platt says. “He understands what makes Hiccup’s journey so compelling. He has an intuitive grasp of the character’s inner conflict and courage, which allows him to tell this story with remarkable authenticity. That’s essential when you’re adapting material this beloved.”
For author Cowell, the story’s roots are surprisingly personal. “It’s funny to say, but How to Train Your Dragon is largely autobiographical,” Cowell says. “The Isle of Berk is based on a real place. As a child, my family spent summers on an uninhabited island off the west coast of Scotland. There were no roads, no electricity—just wilderness—so, we’d spend weeks exploring the island, catching fish and climbing cliffs. This part of Scotland was the first place the Vikings landed when they invaded Britain, and it was the last place they left. They believed dragons were real, and growing up surrounded by that history and isolation, I couldn’t help but imagine dragons flying overhead or Viking ships appearing on the horizon.”
Central to DeBlois’ approach was exploring the tension between tradition and change. “In Cressida’s books, Vikings and dragons shared a complicated history—they’re both enemies and allies,” DeBlois says. “Our story focuses on the moment that relationship begins to shift. Hiccup becomes the first to break from his people’s traditions and see these creatures not as enemies, but as potential partners. It’s a leap of faith that transforms everything.”
Expanding the scope of Berk’s world was a key priority for the filmmakers. “We wanted Berk to feel like a true crossroads of Viking culture,” Emmy-winning producer Adam Siegel says. “Through our research and Dean’s work on the animated franchise, we discovered that dragon myths exist in cultures all over the world. That gave us the chance to bring in influences from many traditions and make this world feel even more diverse and interconnected.”
Making dragons feel real drove every aspect of the production. “The key is grounding the dragons in familiar animal behaviors,” DeBlois says. “By drawing inspiration from cats, dogs, horses and other animals, we’ve created creatures that feel authentic even though they’re fantasy creatures. Each dragon has a unique personality, and they live within a real, grounded world. Our goal was to make audiences believe in dragons as completely as they believed in the dinosaurs of Jurassic Park.”
Technological advancements made this realism possible. “The animated dragons were stunning, but today’s technology lets us achieve photorealism with unparalleled detail, from the way their muscles move, the smallest texture in their scales or the subtle details in their eyes,” Platt says. “Dean has always been a master of creating lifelike, emotionally resonant creatures, and this time he has the tools to fully realize his vision.”
The landscapes also became a vital storytelling tool. “Real environments add weight and believability,” Siegel says. “When you see characters at the edge of a cliff, the stakes feel immediate because the world around them is tangible. The laws of physics apply, and that became a great asset for us.”
For Cowell, seeing her creation brought to life in such vivid detail was profoundly moving. “Walking through the village of Berk or into the blacksmith’s forge was like stepping into a dream,” Cowell says. “The attention to detail—the wear on the tools, the weathered wood of the buildings—made everything feel alive. It was extraordinary.”
This meticulous craftsmanship brought new dimensions to the story’s emotional core. “How to Train Your Dragon isn’t just about these magnificent creatures,” Platt says. “It’s the story of a boy who doesn’t quite fit in, whose bond with a dragon transforms both their worlds. With this adaptation, we’ve also been able to further explore Hiccup’s relationships, particularly the complexities of his dynamic with his father.”
The blend of intimate character moments and sweeping action sequences is what defines the film’s identity. “When I saw Top Gun: Maverick, it hit me—this was the feeling we wanted to evoke,” Platt says. “That exhilaration, that sense of weightlessness, but with dragons. Filming in magnificent places with expansive, dramatic landscapes gave us the authenticity to match the spectacle. We wanted audiences to feel like they’re right there, soaring through the skies on the backs of these incredible creatures.”
As the filmmakers brought the richly imagined world to life, they recommitted themselves to capturing the beating heart of this story. “Hiccup’s journey shows us the power of understanding,” Siegel says. “When he reaches out and puts his hand on Toothless’ nose for the first time, it’s more than just a boy connecting with a dragon—it’s two worlds coming together and breaking centuries of mistrust. They become partners in flight; Hiccup needs Toothless as much as Toothless needs him. When one falls, they both fall. Their connection shows us how fear can transform into friendship.”
On the rugged isle of Berk, where Vikings and dragons have been bitter enemies for generations, Hiccup (Mason Thames; The Black Phone, For All Mankind) stands apart. The inventive yet overlooked son of Chief Stoick the Vast (Gerard Butler, reprising his voice role from the animated franchise), Hiccup defies centuries of tradition when he befriends Toothless, a feared Night Fury dragon. Their unlikely bond reveals the true nature of dragons, challenging the very foundations of Viking society. With the fierce and ambitious Astrid (BAFTA nominee Nico Parker; Dumbo, The Last of Us) and the village’s quirky blacksmith Gobber (Nick Frost; Snow White and the Huntsman, Shaun of the Dead) by his side, Hiccup confronts a world torn by fear and misunderstanding. As an ancient threat emerges, endangering both Vikings and dragons, Hiccup’s friendship with Toothless becomes the key to forging a new future. Together, they must navigate the delicate path toward peace, soaring beyond the boundaries of their worlds and redefining what it means to be a hero and a leader.
For DeBlois, reimagining his beloved creation in live-action was a delicate balancing act between reverence and reinvention.
“My hope is that audiences who loved these characters in animation will discover them all over again, both with familiar warmth and surprising new depth,” DeBlois says. “We approached this adaptation with profound respect for what came before, while daring to imagine what could be. It’s a story that captures the magic of flying, the courage to question what we’re taught and the wonder of discovering something extraordinary within yourself. That’s what How to Train Your Dragon has always been about—and what this film delivers in a way audiences have never seen before.”
The live-action adaptation deepens Hiccup’s internal struggle, exploring how his bond with Toothless, a rare Night Fury dragon, becomes the catalyst for his transformation. When fate brings them together, Hiccup’s choice to save Toothless instead of harming him sets off a chain reaction that reshapes his world. “The bond between Hiccup and Toothless is the soul of the story,” director Dean DeBlois says. “Their connection is transformative—it’s what allows Hiccup to find his true strength and redefine what it means to be a Viking.”
Transforming the animated world of How to Train Your Dragon into a live-action epic was a monumental task, spearheaded by production designer Dominic Watkins. Watkins’ goal was not only to honor the spirit of the original films but also to craft a Viking-inspired world that felt tangible, immersive and historically grounded. From sprawling landscapes to intricately detailed interiors, every set was designed to blend fantasy and historical realism.
The production was anchored at Belfast’s Titanic Studios, in Northern Ireland, where Watkins and his team utilized multiple soundstages and expansive backlot locations. The ambitious builds were designed to accommodate both sweeping action sequences and intimate character-driven moments. Beyond the studio, the filmmakers sought real-world inspiration for Berk’s geography in the Faroe Islands, Iceland and Scotland. The untouched, rugged beauty of these landscapes helped shape the film’s visual identity and ensured the dragons felt integrated into a natural yet extraordinary world.
Historical authenticity also played a key role in shaping the film’s production design. Watkins and his team drew from extensive research into Viking-era craftsmanship, architecture and trade routes. This informed a multicultural approach to Berk’s design, blending traditional Norse elements with influences from the Silk Road and Asia. A muted, historically grounded color palette—developed using pigments sourced from herbs, minerals and plants—helped ground the fantastical elements of the world in Viking-era realism.
Crafting the visual language for How to Train Your Dragon was a unique challenge for BAFTA nominated director of photography Bill Pope, who worked closely with director Dean DeBlois to translate the animated world of Berk into a live-action epic. Pope’s cinematography aims to balance the kinetic energy of the original films with the emotional depth and tangible stakes of live-action storytelling, all while maintaining the iconic, soaring spectacle that fans love about the series. Pope’s key focuses included capturing the scale and majesty of dragon flight sequences, finding ways to humanize animated characters in live-action and crafting a visually cohesive film that appeals to a broad audience.
The costumes of How to Train Your Dragon bring the Viking-inspired world of Berk to life with a blend of historical authenticity, whimsy and cutting-edge craftsmanship. Spearheaded by Emmy nominated costume designer Lindsay Pugh and her team of more than 120 craftspeople, the designs balance vibrant, fairytale-like colors with Viking-era silhouettes and textures, reflecting both the animated films’ charm and the characters’ personalities. Sustainability and innovation also played key roles, with Pugh’s team making environmentally conscious material choices and employing modern techniques such as 3D printing to craft costumes that were practical, safe and visually striking.
Bringing the Viking-inspired world of Berk to life required the hair and makeup team, led by Academy Award®-winning designer Alessandro Bertolazzi, to merge meticulous historical research with the whimsical aesthetic of the animated trilogy. Guided by a philosophy of grunge, organic and believable imperfection, Bertolazzi and his team created an intricate visual identity that connected the fantastical elements of Berk with the cultural and historical roots of its Viking inhabitants. The result is a rich palette of hairstyles, facial hair and makeup that reflect the rugged, diverse and storied lives of Berk’s characters.
The visual effects (VFX), special effects (SFX), creature effects (CFX) and dragon puppetry in How to Train Your Dragon were designed to immerse audiences in the fantastical Viking world of Berk while grounding its dragons in realism and emotional authenticity. A combination of cutting-edge technology, practical effects and innovative puppetry techniques helped bridge the gap between live-action performances and the digitally rendered creatures.
How to Train Your Dragon brought breathtaking action sequences to life with a blend of practical stunts, innovative rigging systems and the physical talents of both the actors and the stunt team. Stunt coordinator Roy Taylor (Barbie, Saltburn) and his team worked tirelessly to ground the film’s fantastical elements in realism while delivering adrenaline-fueled action that honored the spirit of the animated source material.
Few film scores have left as profound a mark as John Powell’s How to Train Your Dragon, a career-defining work that earned him his first Academy Award® nomination. Nearly 15 years later, he returns to revisit the music that shaped the world of Berk—this time for the live-action adaptation. Fresh off his second Oscar® nomination for Wicked, Powell approached the project not as a recreation, but as an evolution, shaping the score to match the film’s expanded scale and emotional depth. “When Dean first called me about directing the live-action adaptation, my answer was simple: ‘If you’re doing it, I’m in,’” Powell says. “The animated film was already cinematic in its approach to music—more live-action in its sensibilities than most animated scores. So, in many ways, this wasn’t about reinventing anything, but about realizing something that was always present beneath the surface. How to Train Your Dragon has always felt like a grand fantasy epic, even in animation. This adaptation allows it to reach the scale Dean always envisioned.”
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Writing the Impossible: How Fictional Realities Shape Our Minds
The creation of fictional realities is more than mere storytelling—it is a powerful art form where imagination runs wild, and entire worlds take shape. These crafted realms serve as gateways to boundless creativity, deep exploration, and profound meaning, offering both writers and readers a chance to escape, reflect, and challenge perspectives.
A well-crafted fictional reality elevates storytelling beyond simple narrative—it becomes an experience. It allows writers to build worlds that captivate, challenge, and inspire, making every story more engaging, insightful, and emotionally resonant. Through rich settings, compelling characters, and layered conflicts, fiction turns abstract ideas into something tangible, inviting readers to explore possibilities beyond their reality.
A fictional reality is important because it expands the boundaries of thought, emotion, and experience in ways real life often can’t. It lets writers and readers explore possibilities beyond the constraints of reality, making stories more engaging, insightful, and transformative. Here’s why it matters:
Understanding the Human Condition – Fictional realities allow us to experience different perspectives, cultures, and struggles, fostering empathy and deeper understanding.
Challenging Ideas & Norms – By presenting alternate worlds, fiction can question societal structures, push boundaries, and introduce new ways of thinking.
Providing Emotional Catharsis – Readers can relate to characters and events, using fiction as a way to process their own emotions, struggles, and hopes.
Fueling Innovation – Many great scientific and technological breakthroughs were inspired by fiction, proving that imagined realities can shape real-world progress.
Preserving & Reinventing Stories – Through myths, legends, and new narratives, fictional realities carry cultural heritage forward while constantly evolving.
Creating Meaning & Connection – Whether it’s an epic adventure, a quiet introspective journey, or a surreal dreamscape, fictional realities resonate with readers in personal ways.
Fictional realities allow us to experience different perspectives, cultures, and struggles, fostering empathy and deeper understanding. By presenting alternate worlds, fiction can question societal structures, push boundaries, and introduce new ways of thinking.
Readers can relate to characters and events, using fiction as a way to process their own emotions, struggles, and hopes.
A fictional reality doesn’t always require a completely fabricated world—it can simply be a story that distorts or bends the truth. Many great works of fiction take real events, places, or concepts and twist them slightly to create something compelling.
It’s not just about making stories entertaining—it’s about expanding perspectives, triggering curiosity, and making sense of the world in unexpected ways.
In screenwriting, J.R.R. Tolkien’s Middle-earth (The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit) stands as a richly detailed fantasy world. J.K. Rowling’s Wizarding World (Harry Potter series) brings magic to life in a vast and immersive universe. George Lucas’s Star Wars saga spans multiple films, series, and novels, shaping an expansive sci-fi reality. The Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU), based on Marvel Comics, has established an interconnected superhero world that dominates modern cinema. Meanwhile, Blade Runner, The Matrix, and Mad Max explore dystopian futures, cyberpunk aesthetics, and post-apocalyptic landscapes.
Other notable examples include Jurassic Park, where genetic engineering brings dinosaurs to life, James Cameron’s visually stunning Avatar universe, Christopher Nolan’s layered dream worlds in Inception, and the eerie 1980s nostalgia of Stranger Things. Each of these fictional realities captivates audiences through compelling narratives, innovative world-building, and thought-provoking themes.
In novels, George R.R. Martin created the intricate world of politics, war, and magic known as Westeros (A Song of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones). C.S. Lewis explored an allegorical fantasy realm in The Chronicles of Narnia. Terry Pratchett crafted the satirical and humorous universe of Discworld. Isaac Asimov’s Foundation series presents an influential sci-fi narrative about galactic civilizations. Meanwhile, Stephen King’s The Dark Tower series blends fantasy, horror, and western themes
Films like Forrest Gump (1994) weave a fictional protagonist into historical events, making the story feel both authentic and imaginative. Similarly, The Man in the High Castle explores an alternate history where the Axis powers won World War II, reshaping reality while staying grounded in historical themes. Titanic (1997) blends real historical events with fictional storytelling, introducing characters like Jack and Rose to add emotional depth to the tragedy while keeping key historical details intact. Literary works such as The Great Gatsby present a fictionalised version of real societal dynamics, capturing the essence of the Roaring Twenties without inventing an entirely new setting. Biographical dramas like Catch Me If You Can (2002) and The Social Network (2010) take real-life events and enhance them with dramatised storytelling, blurring the line between truth and fiction. Meanwhile, Slumdog Millionaire (2008) immerses viewers in real-world India while telling a fictionalised story centred around fate and memory. Magical realism, as seen in One Hundred Years of Solitude, blends historical events with surreal elements, creating a world that is both familiar and extraordinary.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Q & A With Director Mike Flanagan
The Life of Chuck is a life-affirming, genre-bending story based on Stephen King’s novella, which tells the story of three chapters in the life of an ordinary man named Charles Krantz, adapted and directed by Mike Flanagan, is the founder of Red Room Pictures and one of the most influential creators in the genre industry, having written, directed, edited, and produced numerous successful films and series over the last two decades.
As writer-director-editor, he has made eight feature films, including Stephen King adaptations DOCTOR SLEEP and GERALD’S GAME, as well as OUIJA: ORIGIN OF EVIL, HUSH, BEFORE I WAKE, OCULUS, ABSENTIA, and the upcoming THE LIFE OF CHUCK, based on the Stephen King novella and starring Tom Hiddleston, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Karen Gillan, and Mark Hamill. He is also writing, directing, and producing a new take on THE EXORCIST for Blumhouse and Universal Pictures. In television, Flanagan has served as creator, writer, director, and showrunner on several hit series, including Netflix chart-topper “The Fall of the House of Usher,” based on the iconic works of Edgar Allan Poe, Emmy nominees “Midnight Mass” and “The Haunting of Bly Manor,” “The Haunting of Hill House,” and “The Midnight Club.”
When did you first read Stephen King’s novella ‘The Life of Chuck,’ and what made you want to bring it to the screen?
I first read the novella in April of 2020 as an advanced copy before the book was published. Stephen King had sent it out to a bunch of different producers, production companies and filmmakers, as he typically does, to gauge interest. I was completely bowled over by its message and its joy and its complexity and its structure, which I thought was fascinating. I cried the entire time reading it.
Honestly, I had never read anything like it. Not from Stephen King, not from anyone before. I emailed King that day and said, “If I could have a crack at this story, it might be the best movie I’ll ever make.” He had just given me the rights to Dark Tower and his response at the time was, “Let’s focus on Dark Tower and if this comes back around, I’ll let you know.” But for years after that, I obsessed over the story and I would tell anyone who would listen that if I could make the movie that was in my head, it would be the best film I’ve ever made.
When I got back in touch with Stephen last year to give an update on the Dark Tower, I asked again about The Life of Chuck and this time he said, “You know what? Let’s go for it.” And the rest is history.
This film marks your fourth adaptation of a Stephen King novel following Gerald’s Game,Doctor Sleep and the upcoming Dark Tower series. What are the biggest difficulties associated with adapting the work of such an iconic author and do you feel a certain amount of pressure to get it right?
It is always a challenge for me on a number of levels, including a very personal one because Stephen King is my favorite author, and my literary hero. So letting him down on an adaptation would be devastating to me.
Also, as a constant reader and as a fan of King my whole life, I’ve been on the roller coaster of watching so many of his works be adapted, and have experienced the incredible highs and lows that you have as a fan watching his work be translated to the screen. And so I’m also very conscious about letting the Stephen King community down and making the kind of movie that I wouldn’t enjoy as a fan. So there’s always a lot of pressure. This is my third Stephen King movie. And I felt the same pressure with Gerald’s Game and with Dr. Sleep, both of which were kind of considered to be very high level of difficulty adaptations. This was no different. It’s a challenging story to adapt regardless. But the pressure is always there and I feel an incredible amount of responsibility to protect the experience that I had when reading King’s work and to honor my hero and to make something that he’ll be proud of.
While it certainly has elements of fear and grief surrounding death, the film still feels very hopeful and life-affirming. Can you talk about the overall tone of the film that you so delicately strike here?
One of the great surprises for me reading the story was just how incredibly life-affirming and hopeful the overall tone was. In many ways, it lept off the page as a true celebration of joy and of art. And when I first began reading it I was reacting to this story about the end of the world and feeling a lot of the emotions that certainly, since the pandemic, have really come to the foreground for so many of us. A feeling like the wheels have come off and the chaos is increasing. And feeling like one thing after another just seems to catastrophize. All of that was there, but without any despair and without any cynicism, and that was the starting point for a story that ultimately revealed itself to be an incredibly joyful celebration of what it means to be alive. You know not to dwell on the endings, but to celebrate the moments that we get to experience between our beginning and our end and to understand how our lives come together and make sense when we look back on them. Not to fear the ending of things, whether it’s the end of life or the end of the world. The story doesn’t draw much of a difference. The ending of a single human being in King’s story is the end of a universe entire and that is even something not to be feared in his story.
It’s rare, especially from an author so well known for his horror, to read something that was so full of light and so full of hope. And at the time I was reading it in lockdown in 2020, when the pandemic was brand new, and when there was kind of no visibility into when we would be released from our homes, and there was a sense that the world was falling apart. This message hit me in a place where I really needed it and I had no idea that I needed it. And what amazes me is that it’s just as resonant today where it still feels like the wheels are off and the chaos runs rampant.
More than ever, stories like this are critical. My entire mission in the movie was to present the realities of the stakes that exist in Chuck’s life and in this story, but to do so without despair and without cynicism. And to underscore all of the beautiful things that King had to say about life and art. I’ve never worked on something more joyful. I’ve never worked on anything like this – a movie that does not have one ounce of cynicism. I wanted so badly for it to exist in the world for my children. This is a movie I wanted them to be able to find in their lives when they might need it. And because it’s especially a new thing for me. I wanted to protect that swelling in my heart that I felt when I read it.
Both the film and the novella really seem to subvert expectations of what a Stephen King story and a Mike Flanigan project should be and what audiences may initially expect from each of you respectively. Talk about that:
If you look at Stephen King’s body of work, particularly titles like The Shawshank Redemption and The Green Mile, he has always exhibited an incredibly humanistic approach to storytelling and has straddled a lot of genres beyond just horror, even though that is primarily what he is known for. In my own work, I’ve existed entirely within the horror genre for my whole professional career, but what he and I have in common is a deep love for human beings.
King has famously said that what separates his horror from his contemporaries is that horror in his stories cannot exist without love, and cannot exist without hope. His constant readers know this. We feel the beauty, even in the darkest of his novels. King has always had his heart in his work and I can think of a few examples where it doesn’t quite make it to the screen in an obvious way. Yet, with CHUCK, I can’t think of a single other story he’s ever written in which that joy, that heart, that earnestness and that humanism is as foregrounded in the story as this one.
We are certainly both venturing far outside of our expected lanes, which has only made it more important for me to try to make it as clear as I can that this is not a horror film, and to try to work against those expectations as people find their way to the movie. The genre doesn’t matter as much as the message and the characters and in this case, those hits close to my heart. I read his story, and I felt the way I felt when I first watched Kurosawa’s Ikuri or Rudy or Searching for Bobby Fischer, It’s a Wonderful Life… you know,… movies that feel profoundly uncynical and beautiful and life affirming. And it’s an honor to be able to kind of walk with Steve on this road that is less traveled by us generally.
The film has such an incredible ensemble cast, many of whom you have worked with on previous projects.
One thing I think is really neat about the film is that it really represents a fascinating mix of actors who I’ve worked with throughout my career, along with incredible new faces. There are actors here who I’ve worked with eight to nine times before. They’re actors who I first worked with when they were children, like Jacob Tremblay and Annalise and with whom there’s a really palpable kind of familial bond.
Talk about the decision to tell the story in three parts, backwards over time
One of the things I loved the most about the short story was the structure. Our lives only truly make sense when we look back at them. He embraced this beautiful three act structure in the novella, which, you know, movies have been employing a three act structure since pretty much the beginning of film entertainment. And so this was a wonderful opportunity to protect the structure he created, that translated so cleanly to the medium that I was working in. It was apparent to me immediately that I wanted to do exactly what he did, and that there were other opportunities within that structure to play even more and to make visual and thematic connections between these three chapters that you can’t do in a book because of the visual nature of our medium. It’s a structure I adore. I found it to be unexpected and incredibly poetic. The story is the same if told the other way if told linearly, but the impact and the meaning are diminished. And I think that’s because the impact of our lives takes on a whole other level when viewed retroactively when looked back upon.
What is the best memory you have of making this film and how did Tom Hiddleston’s big dance scene come together?
This project is among my favorite experiences on a set in my entire career. First of all, I have so many beautiful memories of this shoot, being back in Alabama where my career began as my fifth movie shooting there with a lot of the same crew who were there for Oculus when my career has started, the same actors. So Annalise Basso and Karen Gillan, you know we’re in that movie playing the same character. And then here they are, again, there was an enormous amount of feeling of Homecoming in making the film. But I have to say, the first four days of our shoot, we’re filming the midpoint dance sequence with Tom Hiddleston, Annalise Basso and Pocket Queen on the Drums. And we knew that we were starting with one of the most critical sequences of the entire film. But those four days that it took to film that sequence were amazing onset, and I recall that my face physically hurt at night when I came back to the hotel from smiling so much during the day, watching Tom and Annalise and PQ (which was call Taylor “the Pocket Queen”) was watching them perform that dance, which they would do from beginning to end.
As we continue to find our coverage, and the entire time watching that five and a half minute routine. It was just as joyful to see on Thursday as it was on Monday. I’ve never been part of a sequence like that. I’ve never been on set for something like that. It was blissful. And well it was still very difficult and we dealt with all the stuff you deal with on any films set and had to cut because the sun went behind a cloud or because we were wrangling 150 backgrounds to fill it and that became tough. It had all the headaches, but they were thoroughly eclipsed by the joy of watching, watching that dance. And when I think about this movie that will always be the foreground image for me of what the life of Chuck is.
We felt at times, you know, we made we shot that whole week, which is the entire second act of the movie. And then it was like the movie ended because all of those actors went home. And suddenly we had a new cast and a new directive. And we would say, well, it feels like we’re starting a new film. It’s like we just wrapped a complete movie with Tom Hiddleston. And he’s back on a plane and Chiwetel is just landing to start and then we have to tell this other story about the end of the world or we have to go tell this other story about Ben Payjack and Mark Hamill and Mia Sara, in childhood. And it was really, especially after working in television for the last five years where you’d set these 100 Day shoots for one long story to out an entire act of the movie and feel like we finished a story every week and a half. It was crazy.
What was your biggest challenge during production and how did you overcome it?
One of the biggest challenges of this movie is absolutely having to consider and juggle these three distinct stories that make up one much larger story. They each have a completely different cast. They each have a completely different aesthetic down to the aspect ratio of the film. They each have a completely different visual approach, different tones and different narrative priorities. But they have to come together to paint one picture of a life and to paint one clear message, keeping all of that together and navigating the cast, the crew and the logistical difficulties of a low budget independent movie, especially shooting last fall. Amid all of the turmoil in the industry, there were a lot of challenges. There was always a belief, though, that this film was special, and I heard that echoed from the crew, from the cast. You know, everyone walked into this with their eyes wide open about what the challenges would be, and we’re eager to meet them daily.
We were a SAG interim agreement movie. Yeah, we couldn’t change the script. The script was locked prior to the WJ strike. And yeah, we had to get the permission of the unions to shoot the film because we were completely independent. They were very supportive of us. It was an insane time to make a movie.
What do you hope audiences take away from The Life of Chuck?
I hope audiences take away some of the joy that is inherent in the story. I hope it helps them look at our world today, at the challenges of each of our individual lives, and encourages them to sometimes put down the briefcase and let yourself dance, whatever that means to you, whatever kind of expression of joy dancing represents, you know, whether that’s painting or just being with family, writing, being athletic, you know, all these different ways that we can let our hearts out. I hope that’s what they take away. This movie certainly gave me a lot of peace and joy and hope and affirmation, and if I can give our audience a fraction of what I felt, then this would have been absolutely worth it.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Weekend Online Course For Screenwriters
Join our Weekend Online Course for Screenwriters and embark on a creative journey to master the art of storytelling. Whether you’re a seasoned writer or just starting, our workshop offers valuable insights and practical tasks to enhance your writing skills.
With 25 years of experience guiding and shaping the careers of screenwriters and filmmakers, renowned coaches Daniel Dercksen and Dirk Fourie are ready to present the ultimate online course, crafted to inspire, elevate, and empower the next generation of storytellers.
The Weekend Online Course for Screenwriters is here to guide you every step of the way—from sparking inspiration to crafting compelling ideas, characters, and plots, all the way to writing your first pages.
Presented by The Writing Studio, this enriching online course takes place on Saturdays from 2 PM to 5 PM on July 5, 12, 19, 26, 2025. The course fee is R2,799.00.
Don’t miss this opportunity to enhance your writing skills!Register now
What you will learn
Session One: Fundamentals of writing and the writing process.
Session Two: Crafting compelling premises and concepts.
Session Three: Developing dynamic characters and understanding visual dynamics.
Session Four: Structuring and plotting your story.
Who is the workshop aimed at
Aspirant writers
Experienced writers who are unsure of what they are writing
Writers who need discipline and motivation
Writers who find the story they are writing dull and lifeless.
Ideal for novelists, screenwriters and playwrights
Anyone who has a story to unleash
Why Choose Us?
Expert guidance from two experienced writers and filmmakers.
Interactive tasks to apply your learning.
Flexible online sessions to fit your schedule.
Goals and Objectives
How to write Your First Draft
How to develop an idea into a story
To lay the foundation of your story
To define and develop your characters
To structure and plot your story
To understand the process of writing your story
Adapt the first pages of your novel or stage play into a screenplay.
Meet your Instructors
The driving force behind The Writing Studio is Daniel Dercksen, a published film and theatre journalist of 40 years, who’s been teaching workshops and courses in creative writing, playwriting and screenwriting throughout South Africa since he formed the studio. During the last 24 years, The Writing Studio has taken many leading South African storytellers from first idea to success on the big screen and publishing their novels locally and internationally. Read more
Dirk Lombard Fourie began his prolific journey as a video editor, filmmaker, and writer 25 years ago. In 2001, his film Ouma Plaas won the Flame Award for Best Screenplay. The following year, his short film Teaching Stanley won the NTVA Stone Award for Best Short Film. He graduated from City Varsity Film, Television and Multimedia School in 2002, majoring in directing. His talent continued to shine, and in 2007, his film In God’s Country (co-written by Daniel E. Dercksen)won the Jury Prize Award at the Apollo International Film Festival. Dirk’s exceptional skills as a video editor were recognised in 2013 when he won the Vodacom award for Best Television Program, Against All Odds,in both the regional and national competitions. Since then, Dirk has been involved in international productions as video editor of documentaries, TV programs, and content for social media for various local and international broadcasting channels and clients such as eTV, eNCA, BGTN, South African Tourism, Nala Media and Tiger’s Milk. His storytelling prowess extends to the written word, with two published short stories, The Dress and the first of a trilogy, Hearts and Bones, available on Amazon Kindle. In his spare time, he also writes film reviews for his website, The Edit Booth.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on MET Opera Live In Cinemas
The Met: Live in HD, the Metropolitan Opera’s award-winning 2025 -2026 series of live high-definition cinema simulcasts exclusively at select Ster-Kinekor and Cinema Nouveau cinemas will be announced soon.
The Metropolitan Opera’s 2025–2026 season promises a dynamic interplay between tradition and transformation, offering a preview that feels both grand and intimate.
Opening on September 21 with Mason Bates’s The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, the season launches into a sonic reimagining of Michael Chabon’s Pulitzer-winning novel, where Jewish resilience, comic book mythology, and 1940s New York collide in orchestral and electronic textures. Gabriela Lena Frank’s El Último Sueño de Frida y Diego, set to close the Live in HD season in May 2026, conjures a magical-realist reunion between Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera on Día de los Muertos, blending mariachi, cumbia, and spectral electronics into a vibrant, grief-soaked dreamscape.
For South African audiences—where the season has not yet been formally introduced—this preview offers a glimpse into a global operatic pulse: one that honours legacy while daring to reimagine its emotional and cultural reach.
Don’t miss these world-class opera productions filmed and transmitted from the Met stage to the big screen at Cinema Nouveau and select Ster-Kinekor cinemas: Bedford and Rosebank Nouveau in Johannesburg; Brooklyn in Tshwane; Gateway in Durban; Garden Route in George; Somerset in Somerset West; and Blue Route and V&A Waterfront (livestream) in Cape Town.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on On Swift Horses Explores Themes of Love, Identity, and Personal Discovery
“I think the thing about the 1950s is that it was a time when anyone who was living on the margins was really limited in how much freedom they had, how much they could express themselves, how much they could be themselves,” says screenwriter Bryce Kass about On Swift Horses, portaying the struggles of individuals seeking connection and self-discovery in a time of rigid societal expectations.
On Swift Horses is a heartfelt romantic drama based on Shannon Pufahl’s 2019 novel, directed by Daniel Minahan and adapted for the screen by Bryce Kass.
Based on a novel, the movie follows characters as they navigate complex relationships and societal expectations, offering a deeply emotional and thought-provoking experience. The film has been praised for its nuanced performances, evocative cinematography, and rich storytelling, making it a standout in contemporary cinema. It delves into the intricacies of human connection, portraying the struggles of its protagonists with remarkable depth.
Minahan and producer Peter Spears were searching for a compelling love story when they both came across the book independently. They were immediately drawn to its unique characters and themes. Kass worked closely with director Minahan and Spears to bring the novel’s themes and characters to life on screen.
Inspiration & Adaptation
The adaptation of On Swift Horses from novel to screenplay was a meticulous process led by Kass, who worked to translate Shannon Pufahl’s rich prose into a cinematic experience. Kass had to navigate the novel’s complex structure, and find ways to externalise the characters’ emotions for the screen. The adaptation process involved refining dialogue, restructuring scenes for dramatic impact, and ensuring that the film’s pacing matched the emotional depth of the novel.
Kass was inspired to adapt On Swift Horses into a screenplay after reading Pufahl’s novel during the summer lockdown. He was immediately struck by the uniqueness of the characters and the richness of the story. Kass found the novel’s alternating timelines and deep interior monologues fascinating, and he saw an opportunity to externalize those elements to make the story more cinematic.
“It was definitely during summer lockdown that I read the book. I was immediately struck because I had never seen characters like this before,” says Kass.” Right away I knew there was so much to play with. The book itself is actually very different than what we see on screen, but it’s incredible—it’s one of the most beautiful books I’ve ever read.”
He also recognized the novel’s influences from great queer writers like Gore Vidal, James Baldwin, and Patricia Highsmith, as well as film noir and melodrama. These inspirations helped shape the screenplay’s tone and style, making it a compelling adaptation.
The team worked closely with the novel’s themes of longing and self-discovery, ensuring that the cinematography reflected the emotional depth of the characters. The choice of muted tones and shadow-heavy scenes helped enhance the film’s noir-inspired atmosphere. The 1950s setting was recreated with meticulous attention to detail, from wardrobe choices to the locations that captured the feeling of postwar America.
Actors were encouraged to dive into the literary source material to inform their performances, making sure every scene was infused with authenticity. The collaborative efforts between the screenwriter, director, and cast ensured that the film honoured the novel’s essence while making it visually compelling.
The Actors were drawn to the Screenplay
The principal actors in On Swift Horses—Daisy Edgar-Jones, Jacob Elordi, Will Poulter, Diego Calva, and Sasha Calle—were drawn to the screenplay because of its deeply emotional storytelling and historical significance.
Jacob Elordi, portraying Julius, connected with the screenplay’s exploration of identity and personal freedom. He appreciated how the film reimagines the American dream through a queer lens, making it a unique and powerful story. Elordi’s was particularly drawn to how the story reimagines the American dream through a queer lens, offering a fresh and compelling perspective on self-discovery. Elordi’s approach to the role was shaped by an understanding of the 1950s setting, where personal freedom was often restricted, making Julius’s choices feel even more impactful.
Will Poulter, playing Lee, was intrigued by the complexity of his character, who serves as both a supportive figure and an unconventional antagonist. He saw the role as an opportunity to explore themes of masculinity and repression. Poulter’s found the role compelling because it allowed him to explore themes of masculinity, repression, and personal conflict, particularly in the context of 1950s societal expectations.
Diego Calva, who plays Henry, was inspired by the film’s depiction of hidden queer lives in the 1950s. He felt the screenplay captured the struggles and joys of characters who had to navigate love in secrecy. Calva approached Henry’s character with an understanding of how societal pressures forced people to conceal their true selves, making every moment of tenderness and connection even more powerful. His performance captures the quiet intensity of Henry’s love story, bringing authenticity and emotional depth to the role.
Sasha Calle, portraying Sandra, was drawn to the film’s rich emotional depth and the way it portrays unconventional relationships with honesty and nuance. Calle’s interactions with Muriel (Daisy Edgar-Jones) reveal layers of vulnerability and desire, creating a powerful emotional arc. She appreciated how the film doesn’t shy away from the complexities of love, instead embracing the quiet, transformative moments that shape the characters’ journeys.
Daisy Edgar-Jones was deeply drawn to the screenplay because it explored self–discovery and unconventional relationships. She appreciated how the story allowed her character, Muriel, to evolve in unexpected ways, challenging societal norms of the 1950s. Edgar-Jones highlighted the romantic-platonic bond between Muriel and Julius (Jacob Elordi), describing it as a mirror that reflects different versions of Muriel’s life.
The actors worked closely with director Minahan and Kass to ensure their performances reflected the novel’s essence while making the characters feel authentic on screen
Director Daniel Minahan described the film’s approach to intimacy as something that “transcends even sexuality,” particularly in the relationship between Julius (Jacob Elordi) and Muriel (Daisy Edgar-Jones). Their bond is portrayed as a platonic romance that carries an emotional depth beyond traditional romantic connections. Minahan noted that their dynamic is about recognising each other’s truths and finding confidence in their identities through that connection.
Muriel’s journey into self-discovery also involves exploring her own desires, particularly through her relationship with Sandra (Sasha Calle). Her realisation that love can exist in multiple forms adds layers to her character’s emotional arc, making her exploration of intimacy feel authentic and transformative.
For Julius and Henry (Diego Calva), their love story unfolds in secrecy, reflecting the societal pressures of the time. Their intimate moments are carefully crafted to highlight both passion and restraint, showing the tension between desire and the need for discretion. The film captures the quiet, stolen moments that define their relationship, making their connection feel both tender and urgent.
On Swift Horses Explores Themes of Love, Identity, and Personal Discovery
The film On Swift Horses is a deeply evocative exploration of human connection, set against the backdrop of 1950s America. It delves into themes of love, identity, and self-discovery, following characters who navigate societal expectations while searching for personal freedom.
Love in Its Many Forms
The film examines love beyond traditional boundaries, portraying relationships that challenge societal norms. It explores the exhilaration of new love, the pain of unrequited affection, and the complexities of desire. The characters’ interactions highlight the emotional depth of human relationships, making love a central force that drives the narrative.
Identity and Self-Discovery
Each character in On Swift Horses embarks on a journey of self-discovery, confronting their desires and fears. The film captures the struggle of individuals who feel constrained by their environment, emphasizing the importance of personal freedom and authenticity. The historical setting adds depth to this theme, illustrating how identity was shaped by the limitations of the era.
The Pursuit of Freedom
Freedom—both physical and emotional—is a recurring theme. The characters seek liberation from societal expectations, whether through travel, gambling, or secret relationships. The film portrays the tension between longing for stability and the desire to break free, making it a poignant reflection on personal agency.
Daniel Minahan is an American television director, filmmaker, and writer known for his work on acclaimed series such as Game of Thrones, Deadwood, Six Feet Under, and American Crime Story. Born in 1962, Minahan studied Film and Video at the School of Visual Arts in Manhattan, graduating with a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in 1987. Minahan has directed numerous episodes of HBO and Showtime series, including True Blood, The Newsroom, and The L Word. He also wrote and directed the independent film Series 7: The Contenders and was a writer and second-unit director for I Shot Andy Warhol (1996).
Bryce Kass is an American writer, director, and producerknown for his work in film and television. He has written screenplays for projects such as Lizzie (2018), Outlaw Prophet: Warren Jeffs (2014), and most recently, On Swift Horses (2024). He has also directed music videos, including Jay Reatard: It Ain’t Gonna Save Me (2009) and Smog: I Feel Like the Mother of the World (2005). His work often explores themes of identity, history, and personal discovery, making him a compelling voice in contemporary storytelling.
You can watch On Swift Horses on Amazon Prime Video, Apple TV, and Google Play, where it’s available for rent. The film had a limited theatrical release on April 25, 2025, and became available on VOD platforms starting May 27, 2025
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Life of Chuck – A Journey in Reverse: Exploring Life, Memory, and Fate
“Of the feature films I’ve gotten to work on in my career, this is my favourite by a lot,” says writer-director Mike Flanagan of The Life Of Chuck, which he describes as “the kind of softest, gooey, most humanist side of Stephen King and of me too!”
The Life of Chuck is a science fiction drama based on Stephen King’s novella of the same name. Unlike King’s usual horror stories, this film explores themes of life, loss, and the joy of living.
The story follows Charles Krantz (Tom Hiddleston), a seemingly ordinary man whose life is told in reverse, through three distinct chapters. The film is deeply emotional, encouraging viewers to appreciate the beauty of existence and cherish the moments they have.
Mike Flanagan’s adaptation of The Life of Chuck was shaped by several key influences. First, his deep admiration for Stephen King’s work played a major role—Flanagan has previously adapted Gerald’s Game and Doctor Sleep, and he has a strong understanding of King’s storytelling style.
Additionally, Flanagan was drawn to the novella’s unique structure, which unfolds in reverse chronological order. He saw this as an opportunity to craft a deeply emotional and existential narrative that explores memory, fate, and human connection. His approach also reflects his filmmaking style, which often blends horror with introspective drama, though The Life of Chuck leans more into the latter.
Crafting the screenplay adaptation
The screenplay for The Life of Chuck was written by Mike Flanagan, continuing his tradition of adapting Stephen King’s works into emotionally resonant stories. Flanagan’s approach to storytelling often blends psychological depth with unconventional narrative structures, making this adaptation particularly compelling.
Mike Flanagan has adapted several Stephen King works into films, each showcasing his signature blend of psychological depth and emotional storytelling. Here are some of his notable King adaptations:
Gerald’s Game (2017) – A psychological thriller based on King’s novel, this film was praised for its intense atmosphere and Carla Gugino’s gripping performance.
Doctor Sleep (2019) – A sequel to The Shining, this film balances King’s novel with elements from Stanley Kubrick’s original movie, creating a unique and haunting experience.
Flanagan has also been involved in other King-related projects, including an upcoming adaptation of Revival.
Mike Flanagan’s screenplay for The Life of Chuck stays true to the core themes of Stephen King’s novella while adapting it for a cinematic experience. The novella, originally published in If It Bleeds, is structured in three distinct acts, moving in reverse chronological order. Flanagan preserved this unique storytelling approach but expanded certain elements to enhance emotional depth and visual storytelling.
One key difference is the film’s emphasis on Chuck’s relationships and personal journey, which are given more screen time compared to the novella’s introspective tone. Additionally, Flanagan incorporated his signature atmospheric style, making the transitions between acts more seamless and visually striking.
Mike Flanagan’s adaptations of Stephen King’s works stand out for their emotional depth and psychological complexity compared to other King films.
His films rely on atmospheric Storytelling, on mood, tension, and psychological horror rather than jump scares, making them more immersive and emotionally resonant.
Flanagan is known for staying true to King’s themes while making necessary cinematic adjustments. Gerald’s Game was considered “unfilmable” due to its confined setting, but Flanagan successfully translated its psychological horror to the screen.
Unlike some King adaptations that focus primarily on horror, Flanagan’s films have emotional and psychological Depth, emphasising character-driven narratives. The Life of Chuck uses reverse storytelling, a technique rarely seen in King adaptations.
Flanagan’s approach to nonlinear storytelling sets his work apart from more traditional adaptations. Compared to other directors like Frank Darabont (The Shawshank Redemption, The Green Mile) and Rob Reiner (Misery, Stand by Me), Flanagan’s adaptations lean more into psychological horror and unconventional storytelling techniques
Director Mike Flanagan with Tom Hiddleston during the filming of The Life of Chuck
Unravelling a Life: A Story Told in Reverse
The reverse storytelling in The Life of Chuck creates a unique emotional impact by presenting Charles Krantz’s life in three acts, starting from the end and moving backwards. This structure allows viewers to see the consequences of his life choices before understanding the experiences that shaped him, making each revelation more poignant.
By beginning with an apocalyptic setting and gradually moving towards Chuck’s childhood, the film emphasises themes of memory, existence, and human connection in a deeply reflective way. This approach aligns with director Mike Flanagan’s signature emotional storytelling, offering a fresh perspective on how lives unfold and are remembered.
Reverse storytelling and linear narratives offer distinct ways to engage audiences and shape a story’s emotional impact
Linear Narratives follow a straightforward chronological order, moving from beginning to end. This structure helps maintain clear cause-and-effect relationships, making it easy for audiences to follow character development and plot progression. Classic examples include To Kill a Mockingbird and most traditional films.
Reverse Storytelling, on the other hand, starts at the end and works backwards, revealing events in reverse order. This technique can create intrigue, deepen emotional resonance, and allow audiences to piece together the story like a puzzle. It’s often used in thrillers, mysteries, and unconventional dramas, such as Memento.
Both approaches have their strengths—linear narratives provide clarity and gradual tension-building, while reverse storytelling offers unique perspectives and unexpected revelations.
Reverse storytelling creates a powerful emotional impact by reshaping how audiences experience a narrative.
Since the ending is revealed first, viewers or readers are compelled to piece together how events led to that conclusion, keeping them engaged throughout. Since the ending is revealed first, viewers or readers are compelled to piece together how events led to that conclusion, keeping them engaged throughout.
This technique mirrors how people often reflect on their own lives, looking back on decisions and their consequences. It can evoke feelings of nostalgia, inevitability, and introspection.
Traditional storytelling builds tension toward a resolution, but reverse storytelling challenges this norm, making audiences reconsider cause-and-effect relationships and how narratives unfold.
Several films use similar narrative techniques that experiment with time, memory, and unconventional storytelling
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2008) – Like The Life of Chuck, this film explores a life in reverse, following a man who ages backwards. Both films use time as a central theme to reflect on existence and human connection.
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) – This film plays with memory and nonlinear storytelling, much like The Life of Chuck. It presents fragmented recollections that gradually reveal the emotional depth of the characters.
Memento (2000) – Christopher Nolan’s psychological thriller unfolds in reverse, forcing audiences to piece together the protagonist’s past as he struggles with memory loss. This technique creates suspense and emotional weight, similar to The Life of Chuck.
The Tree of Life (2011) – A deeply philosophical film that explores life, memory, and human existence through a fragmented narrative, much like The Life of Chuck.
These films, like The Life of Chuck, challenge traditional storytelling by using time and memory in unconventional ways to evoke deep emotional responses.
Writer-Director Mike Flanagan
Mike Flanagan is an American filmmaker best known for his work in horror and psychological storytelling. Born on May 20, 1978, in Salem, Massachusetts, he developed an early interest in ghost stories and horror fiction. His family moved frequently due to his father’s career in the U.S. Coast Guard, and he later settled in Maryland, where he attended Towson University, earning a degree in Electronic Media & Film.
Flanagan’s career took off with independent horror films like Absentia (2011) and Oculus (2013), which showcased his talent for atmospheric storytelling. He gained widespread recognition with films such as Gerald’s Game (2017) and Doctor Sleep (2019), both adaptations of Stephen King’s works. His success extended to television, where he created acclaimed Netflix series like The Haunting of Hill House (2018), Midnight Mass (2021), and The Fall of the House of Usher (2023).
Mike Flanagan has several exciting upcoming projects, continuing his work in horror and psychological storytelling. Here are some of the key ones:
Carrie TV Series – Flanagan is developing a television adaptation of Carrie for Amazon MGM Studios, serving as showrunner and executive producer.
Shelby Oaks (2025) – While Flanagan is not directing this supernatural horror film, he is involved as an executive producer. The film is set to release on August 22, 2025.
The Exorcist Franchise – Flanagan has signed on to take over the Exorcist franchise, bringing his signature psychological depth to the iconic horror series.
In 2023, he signed an exclusive deal with Amazon Studios, marking a shift in his creative direction. Flanagan’s shift from Netflix to Amazon Studios has opened new creative opportunities, and his upcoming projects continue to push boundaries in horror and psychological drama.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Screenwriters and writer-directors are the architects of cinema
Screenwriters and writer-directors are indeed the backbone of cinema, shaping narratives that captivate audiences and define generations. Screenwriters craft the blueprint—the dialogue, the structure, the emotional beats—while writer-directors bring their vision to life, ensuring that every frame reflects the essence of the story.
The collaboration between writers and directors is often a delicate dance of creativity, where ideas evolve and transform through mutual understanding and artistic synergy. This relationship is often likened to a dance, where both partners must be in sync to create a seamless narrative. The writer brings the story to life on the page, while the director breathes motion and emotion into it through framing, pacing, and performance.
The collaboration between writers and directors is a dynamic interplay of vision and execution, where ideas evolve through mutual understanding and artistic synergy. Writers craft the foundation—the script, the dialogue, the emotional arcs—while directors interpret and translate these elements into a visual and cinematic experience.
This process is not without challenges. Creative differences, budget constraints, and logistical hurdles can test the strength of the partnership. Yet, overcoming these obstacles often leads to innovative solutions and groundbreaking cinema.
Navigating Creative Difference
Director’s Interpretation vs. Screenwriter’s Intent – A director may see a script differently than the writer, leading to alterations in tone, pacing, or even structure.
Budget Constraints – What works beautifully on paper doesn’t always translate within financial limits. Expensive set pieces, large-scale sequences, or intricate visual effects sometimes need to be simplified or reimagined.
Casting & Performances – Characters are written with distinct voices, but actors bring their own interpretations. Sometimes, performances shift the story’s emotional balance or nuance.
Editing & Post-Production – A tight, well-structured script can change dramatically in the editing room. Scenes may be cut for pacing or clarity, affecting the overall narrative flow.
Studio & Market Demands – The commercial side of filmmaking often dictates final changes. Producers and distributors may request adjustments for mass appeal, sometimes altering a film’s core themes.
Genre & Audience Expectations – A screenplay might push boundaries, but audience expectations (and ratings boards) can lead to compromises in storytelling.
Many great films have undergone significant transformations from script to screen—sometimes for the better, sometimes losing key elements of what made the script special.
Director’s Interpretation vs. Screenwriter’s Intent
The screenwriter lays the foundation, crafting the story’s structure, dialogue, and themes, but the director is responsible for translating those words into a visual experience. This can lead to differences in interpretation, where a director might shift tone, alter pacing, or even change key elements for artistic or practical reasons. Sometimes these creative clashes result in cinematic magic, but occasionally, they create tension between the original vision and the final film. Stephen Kinghated Stanley Kubrick’s adaptation of The Shining, claiming it missed the heart of his novel and altered fundamental character motivations. While David Fincher kept much of Aaron Sorkin’s dialogue intact in The Social Network, his visual execution added an atmospheric tension that wasn’t necessarily evident in the original script.
Genre & Audience Expectations
Screenwriters often push boundaries, but once a film enters production, studios, distributors, and even ratings boards play a role in shaping the final cut to ensure marketability. The studio forced an explanatory voice-over and happier ending in the theatrical release of Blade Runner (1982)to ensure mainstream appeal, while Ridley Scott’s later version restored his original vision. Audience feedback can influence rewrites or re-edits. Fatal Attraction originally had a much darker ending, but test audiences reacted negatively, leading to the final, more commercially viable version.
Many legendary screenwriters have shaped cinema with their storytelling brilliance
Billy Wilder – Known for classics like Sunset Boulevard and Some Like It Hot, Wilder mastered sharp dialogue and complex characters, influencing generations of filmmakers.
Aaron Sorkin – His fast-paced, intelligent dialogue in The West Wing and The Social Network set a new standard for screenwriting.
Quentin Tarantino – His unconventional storytelling and stylised dialogue (Pulp Fiction, Kill Bill) redefined modern screenwriting.
Charlie Kaufman – His mind-bending narratives (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Being John Malkovich) pushed the boundaries of storytelling.
Francis Ford Coppola – His adaptation of The Godfather transformed the crime genre and set a benchmark for cinematic storytelling.
William Goldman – His work on Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and All the President’s Men set a gold standard for storytelling, blending humor, suspense, and realism.
Paul Schrader – Known for Taxi Driver and Raging Bull, Schrader’s introspective, psychologically complex characters have influenced generations of filmmakers.
Diablo Cody – Her witty, unconventional writing (Juno, Young Adult) brought fresh, authentic voices to modern cinema.
David Mamet – His sharp, rhythmic dialogue (Glengarry Glen Ross, The Untouchables) redefined how characters speak in film.
In The Write Journeycourse, we guide writers through the entire screenwriting process—from the spark of inspiration to the first page—while delving into filmmaking’s art and craft. We explore the language and visual dynamics that shape compelling stories and bring characters to life on screen.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Phoenician Scheme: A Tapestry of Quirks and Conspiracies
With The Phoenician Scheme, writer-director Wes Anderson, producer Roman Coppola, and (especially) Benicio del Toro create an instantly iconic antihero. Inscrutable, compelling, worldly, and completely singular in Wes Anderson’s world.
Amid the sun-drenched shores of the Mediterranean, a peculiar ensemble of characters—an exiled archaeologist, a disgraced diplomat, and a runaway heiress—find themselves entangled in a grand deception spanning centuries. As cryptic Phoenician artifacts begin surfacing in unexpected places, whispers of an elaborate scheme emerge, linking the past to a scandalous present. Through meticulously framed scenes and pastel-infused palettes, Anderson weaves a tale of destiny, deception, and delightful absurdity, where love, loss, and historical intrigue collide in ways both heartwarming and hilariously tragic. With secret rendezvous in quaint harbour cafés and a mysterious ledger that may—or may not—unravel the truth, The Phoenician Scheme is a whimsical voyage through time and betrayal.
The ruthless, charismatic European business tycoon: an archetype distinctly different from his American counterparts, an even grander, almost mythic, figure against the swiftly-shifting backdrop of the continent’s extraordinary post-war transformation. At present, in 1950, we find Anatole “Zsa-zsa” Korda (Benicio del Toro): one of the richest men in Europe and most sought-after dealmakers on any continent; ruthless capitalist, industrialist, and de facto diplomat; an itinerant with multiple passports, yet no fixed address, bound by few borders and fewer rules. Also, a man of exquisite taste and boundless curiosity, a relentless collector of antiquities and natural treasures, criss-crossing the globe always with a book and personal tutor in tow (in addition to, if needed: a crate of hand-grenades).
Possessed with calmness, elegance, cunning, and flair, Zsa-zsa is reminiscent of a number of twentieth-century US robber barons who built the rails and cornered markets, and the titans abroad who piped oil across the desert—creating early templates for the billionaire buccaneers that still dominate industries today. “A certain type of businessman who can always pivot,” says writer/producer/director Wes Anderson, “and has very little obligation to honor the truth.”
Zsa-zsa is inscrutable and unknowable, like many cinematic depictions of larger than life men of industry, the giant of all being Orson Welles as Charles Foster Kane, among many others in cinematic history (including Welles’s lesser known Mr. Arkadin, even a more mysterious character than Kane). The characters are amalgams of gangsters, behind the scenes string-pullers, shape-shifters and brutes who get what they want by their will and questionable legality, sometimes horrible men, but sometimes redeemable, and often, even, heroic. Though for now, it remains to be seen which Zsa-zsa is.
“The beginning of the story was to try to invent something about one of these 1950s Euro tycoons, like an Onassis or Niarchos,” says Anderson. “I had read about Árpád Plesch and Calouste Gulbenkian, or Gianni Agnelli as well.”
What begins as a solitary hero’s story, very quickly presents itself as much richer and deeper. In very short order, we meet Liesl, and what is immediately evident is that this will be the journey of two people, with their individual paths, yet completely intertwined. In simplest terms, this is the story of a father and daughter’s newfound relationship. “Zsa-zsa strategically decides he needs to bring his daughter back into his life because she will serve the purposes of his business interests,” says Anderson. “In the course of the movie, as he continues to be threatened and struggles with changing circumstances and new enemies, his strategy begins to evaporate, and is replaced by an aspiration to be a father instead.”
Del Toro is much more direct in his assessment: “The father/daughter angle is the heart of the piece.” For one key scene between Zsa-zsa and Liesl, he recalls how Anderson asked him to look directly into the camera, even though Threapleton was sitting to his side. It worked, he marveled. “It’s almost like I am talking to the audience. I’m making everyone in the audience feel what Zsa-zsa feels for Liesl.”
In addition to the real life and cinematic inspirations, there was a personal connection to the subject matter for Wes Anderson that added another layer to the creation of Zsa-zsa Korda. “That theme might have something to do with me having a daughter,” he says, “and I suppose the father/daughter aspects also reflect the father of my wife Juman, Fouad Malouf, a Lebanese businessman, and her experiences with him, and my experiences, too. In a way, he’s the first inspiration for the movie. Something in Zsa-zsa is just totally rooted in Fouad.”
The colorful characters who populate Zsa-zsa’s world, who are key to the scheme, were also drawn in part from people in Fouad Malouf’s world, to whom the film is dedicated. Anderson says, “This was somewhat inspired by Fouad’s circle of colleagues, and we had the idea that certain colleagues would specialize in certain tasks in this big infrastructure project: a shipping magnate, a kingdom, railroad men. He had his company, his team, and a series of colleagues. I asked him what they were like and he said: ‘All lions.’”
There have been other single-minded characters in Anderson’s films, whose purpose (and quests for redemption) are often heralded by their name in the title: Royal Tenenbaum and his children, the shark-hunting Steve Zissou, and revenge-minded Mr. Fox. But all their desires collectively combined can’t match the scale of what Zsa-zsa wants. He is a new, instantly iconic creation of Anderson’s.
Casting / On Set
Anderson only ever had one person he could conceive playing the character of Zsa-zsa. “The interest for me in writing a story about a character like that was the visual in my mind of Benicio playing the character. The idea for the movie was to write a part specifically for Benicio del Toro” says Wes. “I first brought this up with Benicio in 2021, at Cannes for The French Dispatch. I told him then that something was coming his way if he was interested. Benicio and I started working on it very early. As soon as there were fifteen pages of the script, he’d seen that. There was never a moment in the process when Benicio was not involved.” Del Toro was the only actor Anderson ever imagined the part, at least in the modern era, “The kind of character who might have been played by Anthony Quinn, or maybe Lino Ventura, or Jean Gabin,” he says.
As Bjorn, the Norwegian tutor and entomologist Michael Cera brought his own characterization to the role Wes had written for him. “He was the guy we wanted from the beginning,” says Anderson. “He knew about the script right off the bat, and there was no one else for the part. He invented Bjorn’s manner, accent and look.”
“The character was very, very complete in the script,” says Cera. “When we first approached it, I think Wes was a little surprised that I was talking about doing the accent. Of course, he wrote it so it’s Norwegian, so it had that, but I don’t think Wes had really thought about how it would be until I showed up. But we found it together, and committed to it, and went from there.”
In what is nearly impossible to believe as one of her first starring roles as Liesl, from whose point of view the action unfurls, is Mia Threapleton, now only twenty-three years old. “Once we had Mia,” Anderson says, “we had Liesl.”
The film is ultimately a three-hander. The leads joined Anderson at Studio Babelsberg for two weeks of rehearsals before the start of shooting.
With the scheme laid out (in an elaborate set of shoeboxes) and “the gap” widening (due to one of many possible adversaries), the three set out on their quest across Modern Greater Independent Phoenicia, to meet with (and enlist the help of) each of the business partners in each of the shoeboxes.
Their first connection is with Prince Farouk, played by Riz Ahmed, in his first Anderson film. Farouk, and the kingdom they are negotiating with, “that comes a bit from Calouste Gulbenkian [the Armenian businessman, collector, and philanthropist] and his efforts in organizing the oil business in the Middle East, the nature of the politics there, and the different regions and fiefdoms,” says Anderson.
The gang then heads to an underground, literally in a tunnel, meeting with Leland and Reagan (played by Tom Hanks and Bryan Cranston). “With the railroad men, even though it is a later era, we still wanted something coming from the robber baron period, a JP Morgan-type railway man, though being Californian. That led us to Tom Hanks and Bryan Cranston.”
More faces of recognizable performers from previous Anderson films begin to appear in the roles of the partners whose cooperation, and financial contributions, hold the key to any hope of success for Zsa-zsa’s plan. Anderson wrote a part for Jeffrey Wright, following his recent turns in The French Dispatch and Asteroid City. “Essentially, I just wanted Jeffrey Wright, so we thought up an East Coast American whose business is shipping. There is a sort of fast-talking downtown New York and beatnik in the character.”
In the role of Cousin Hilda, Anderson says simply: “We wanted Scarlett in the movie.” On the site of her under-construction utopia/kibbutz, the idea was to demonstrate a time-honored form of pact-making, from ancient Egypt to modern monarchy. “She comes from some branch of Zsa-zsa’s family. It is also another way of negotiating—to marry—which is not a totally uncommon way of doing business.” We hasten to add that Hilda and Zsa-zsa are second cousins.
“Marseille Bob [played by Mathieu Amalric] comes out of Jean-Pierre Melville or Jacques Becker, and films like Bob le flambeur and Touchez pas au grisbi,” says Anderson. “We know these kinds of characters, but they’re from American films as much as the milieu of Paris. It’s American nightclub gangsters who we’ve seen press a button to let people into their office and have guns in their desk drawers. Though usually they are not interrupted by terrorist attacks—that’s a different direction we went in.”
“Richard [Ayoade, who plays the terrorist leader Sergio] is an old friend now. It is like that Buñuel thing as well, having a group of terrorists like The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie. Buñuel has anarchy deep in his personality. I am sure the guerrillas come out of that; this idea that one of the most erudite people you will meet is also the leader of the jungle unit of this militia.”
“He’s not human. He’s biblical.”The final reveal, the character you have been hearing about all along, and now finally get to meet, is Uncle Nubar. An homage in name and look to Nubar Gulbenkian, the magnificently-bearded, famously litigious son of Calouste, with whom he battled to the end for control of the family fortune, he’s portrayed, with a menacing flair, by Benedict Cumberbatch.
“We had the great, good fortune that Benedict could come do the part. It’s one of those kinds of characters that people in the story keep talking about all along, but doesn’t enter until much later,” says Anderson. Like his real-life namesake, Nubar embodies the rancor and darkness that can take root when business and family mix—or, more precisely, when they don’t. Continues Anderson, “It is such a familiar story that these men totally neglect their children, who also expect them to achieve more than their peers.”
Whereas any kind of détente with Nubar will prove to be utterly impossible, his demise does close a previously unfinished chapter for Zsa-zsa and Liesl. Some people prove irredeemable, but as del Toro poetically says, not all: “I want to be optimistic and believe there is good in everyone. There are people with no good in them—it just happens. But for most people, I think, there’s still hope, it doesn’t matter how late. Doesn’t matter how old you are. There is still hope for mending things. Maybe it is not going to be how you hoped it would look—but you’ll get it.”
Questions Of Morality
Previous Anderson films had surrealist and fantastical moments, but not specific sequences that take place in another universe or dimension. Throughout the film, as Zsa-zsa has more near-death experiences, begins to develop more of a conscience about his dealings, and draws closer to Liesl, he encounters heavenly figures, before whom he sits in judgement. “These reveries express what is happening to his brain, as Zsa-zsa’s desire to finally be a father to Liesl, leads him unexpectedly, and without any desire to, reevaluate his life,” says Anderson. “He goes from being epic to being humble.”
As in heaven, so on Earth, Liesl’s own exploration of her faith connects father and daughter’s individual journeys, as well. Zsa-zsa, after all, had sent her to the convent at age 5. Says Threapleton of her preparation: “Wes asked me to have a look over the Bible. When I went to Rome for costume fittings, I made full use of any opportunity I had to look at anything with Catholic connections—different churches, art pieces. I spoke to as many people as I could about it.”
The religious elements also double back on Surrealism’s fascination with, and upending of, the sacred. “In part that takes its inspiration from Buñuel,” says Anderson. “Catholicism is woven into every Buñuel movie; somehow it’s one of the threads, and sometimes it’s most of the threads.”
Art & Craft
The vast majority of the film was shot at Studio Babelsberg, in Potsdam, Germany, the world’s oldest large-scale film studio, open since 1912. Anderson had filmed miniature sequences for The Grand Budapest Hotel there previously, and this would be, of his live-action films, the most he had ever shot on soundstages. Save for some exteriors, there were minimal location shoots. Says Anderson: “I knew the stages. Usually, there are one or two key locations and then you try to find a way for everything to fall in around those. In this case, it was going to be a movie made on a soundstage.”
There was also a new face on the set of an Anderson feature: cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel. Anderson and Delbonnel had previously collaborated on commercials, but this would be the first film they made together. Delbonnel’s range stretches from working with Tim Burton, Julie Taymor and the Coens, to international auteurs Jean-Pierre Jeunet, Alexander Sukurov and Alfonso Cuarón.
“It was of interest to have a European director of photography. It’s a different ingredient that brings something special,” says Anderson. “There is something darker that Bruno brought to the lighting of the film that was right for the story,” he adds. “Not darkness in terms of luminosity, but a darkness in personality.”
For the masterpieces in Korda’s house (where “we only burn the fakes”), the production used actual masterpieces. “We’ve done a lot of movies where we make original artwork,” says Anderson, “but right at the beginning I thought, ‘Let’s try to have the real things.’ The Renoir is from the Nahmad Collection, and Magritte is from the Pietzsch Collection. Other pieces are from the Hamburger Kunsthalle. Lots of surrealist work, photography, abstract expressionism, a 14th century wood carving.”
Anderson, along with Art Curator Jasper Sharp, considered the great and varied collections of the real-life men who, like Zsa-zsa, are obsessed with gathering art, antiquities, and natural specimens: Árpád Plesch’s botanical bounty; Calouste Gulbenkian’s 6,000-piece collection, spanning BC to AD, amassed in his own museum; or William Randolph’s private zoo, once the world’s largest, at San Simeon.
“It took a little arm-twisting to secure the loans,” says Sharp, who worked with Anderson on the selecting and securing the pieces. “Several people that I approached hung up the phone laughing. But a combination of curiosity and the sense of adventure won out, and the effect of their presence on set was remarkable.”
Anderson says: “I thought it would mean something to the actors to be with these real objects, and you would feel in the movie that they were real, you can feel it on the set. You can tell the difference and it has an aura to it. It also meant that there were people with gloves around to protect these objects, and that was interesting, too.”
WES ANDERSON (Writer/Director/Producer) was born in Houston, Texas. His films include Bottle Rocket, Rushmore, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, The Darjeeling Limited, Fantastic Mr. Fox,Moonrise Kingdom, The Grand Budapest Hotel, Isle of Dogs, The French Dispatch and Asteroid City, as well as the short film compilation The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Three More. His latest film, The Phoenician Scheme, is set for release on May 30 from Focus Features.
ROMAN COPPOLA (Story/Executive Producer) is a problem solver. Whether it’s in his multiple lives as a filmmaker, inventor, consultant, entrepreneur, advisor or tech visionary, Roman Coppola has proven time and again that there is no problem too challenging to solve using his filmmakers’ tool bag. His unique perspective informed by his unmatched wealth of diverse creative experiences enables him to translate his technical skills and creative storytelling to invent innovative solutions to unexpected challenges.
Coppola is best known as a director, screenwriter and producer, but his origins began by wearing all hats available. From sound recording to cinematography, writing, directing, producing and even acting, his hunger for experience and eager inquisitiveness led him to earn his first BAFTA nomination for his work as visual effects director on Bram Stoker’s Dracula at the age of 28.
This unwavering curiosity remains insatiable as ever, and he continues playing an integral part in many other film projects in every capacity, including second unit work, producing, and cowriting with frequent collaborators Sofia Coppola on such projects as Priscilla, Marie Antoinette, Lost in Translation, Somewhere, The Virgin Suicides and with Wes Anderson on projects including Asteroid City, The French Dispatch, Isle of Dogs, The Grand Budapest Hotel, The Fantastic Mr. Fox, The Darjeeling Limited, The Life Aquaticwith Steve Zissou and Moonrise Kingdom, which earned him an Academy Award nomination for Best Original Screenplay.
In addition to all of his collaborative efforts, Coppola has written, directed and produced his own feature films CQ and A Glimpse Inside the Mind of Charles Swan III, as well as being the president of pioneering independent production company American Zoetrope, earning him producing credits on the aforementioned Sofia Coppola projects, as well as many other films including Walter Salles’ Cannes Palme d’Or nominated On the Road.
Coppola is also the founder and owner of award-winning commercial and music video production company The Directors Bureau, where his music video direction has been recognized with a Grammy nomination, 3 MTV VMAs for the now-legendary Fatboy Slim Praise You video, as well as residency in the MoMa permanent collection for his stream-of-consciousness video for Phoenix’s Funky Squaredance. He has directed countless other iconic music videos for the likes of Sir Paul McCartney, Daft Punk, Air, The Strokes and Phoenix, as well as promotional films for luxury brands including Prada, Chanel, Louis Vuitton, Zegna, and a docu-series for Suntory Whisky starring Keanu Reeves.
Coppola is also no stranger to television, winning a Golden Globe Award as co-creator of Mozart in the Jungle, and he has directed numerous television specials including The Strokes: MTV $2 Bill, the Emmy-nominated A Very Murray Christmas, Arcade Fire’s Saturday Night Live special Here Comes the Night Time, and Mariah Carey’s Magical Christmas Special.
As an inventor, Coppola has many creations under his belt including an inflatable film enclosure Photobubble, colorful high-quality tote bags from Pacific Tote Company, and a streamlined communication app close to release. He also launched a revolutionary blockchain-based film community known as Decentralized Pictures with a community of 40,000 strong and growing daily, and most recently cofounded a quarterly culture magazine called Enthousiasmos.
Most recently, Coppola served as second-unit director on Francis Ford Coppola’s Megalopolis, served as an executive producer on Sofia Coppola’s Priscilla, and is now finishing up on his latest feature collaboration with Wes Anderson, The Phoenician Scheme. What lies next for Coppola is as good your guess as it is his.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Rewriting the Past: How Fiction Breathes Life into History
History is full of untold stories, overlooked perspectives, and moments that can be reimagined in fresh ways. Blending fiction with history is an art that allows you to breathe life into the past while keeping your narrative compelling and immersive.
Storytelling is one of humanity’s oldest and most profound tools—it shapes culture, preserves history, and even changes the way we understand ourselves. When stories blend fact and fiction, they have the power to breathe life into the past, offering fresh perspectives and emotional depth that pure historical records might lack.
It’s a fascinating balancing act—melding the factual with the imaginative while keeping readers both informed and entertained. A successful blend of fiction and history can transport readers into past eras while allowing space for creativity.
The transformative power of storytelling lies in its ability to:
Bridge Time and Place: Stories allow us to step into the shoes of people from different eras, making history feel personal and immediate.
Challenge Perceptions: A well-crafted narrative can reframe established ideas, giving voice to overlooked figures or hidden truths.
Inspire Empathy: By weaving personal struggles and triumphs into historical events, storytelling fosters a deeper emotional connection with the past.
Spark Imagination: Fictional elements can make history more accessible, engaging, and magical, turning dry facts into immersive experiences.
Here are some ways to blend fiction with history
Authentic Research: Dig deep into primary sources, accounts, and credible historical texts. Knowing the finer details of an era helps you craft a believable setting and avoid anachronisms.
Anchor Fiction in Reality: Even if you’re introducing fantastical elements, grounding them in historical truth makes them feel more immersive.
Use Foreshadowing with Real Events: If readers know the historical outcome, build tension through dramatic irony—letting your characters inch toward an inevitable fate.
Blur the Line Between Fiction and Fact: Mixing historical characters with fictional ones seamlessly can make your story feel more authentic.
Play with Perspective: Retelling events through the eyes of a witness, an outsider, or an alternative protagonist can offer fresh angles.
Layer Multiple Timelines: Exploring past events through a present-day character’s discovery process (like through diaries, artefacts, or oral stories) adds mystery and depth.
Moral & Social Themes: Exploring timeless themes—power, justice, resistance, love—through a historical lens can create resonance with modern audiences.
If you’re eager to craft a story that seamlessly blends fact and fiction, The Write Journey Course will guide you from initial inspiration to writing your first pages.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Lilies Not for Me – A Haunting Tale of Love, Loss, and Liberation
“There is great power in stories that explore the past in new ways,” says writer-director Will Seefried about Lilies Not for Me, a deeply moving film that explores the intersection of queer identity and institutional control in 1920s England.
Pictured above: Fionn O’Shea and Robert Aramayo in Lilies Not for Me (Image: Wolflight and Paradise City)
“The idea for Lilies Not for Me started when I learned about a shocking procedure from the 1920s, which claimed to ‘cure’ homosexuality. This history struck me as a chilling expression of the violence that queer people still endure to this day, while evoking the books and films that were most influential to me as a young person — haunting period romances with queer relationships at their centre, like James Baldwin’s masterpiece Giovanni’s Room, Todd Haynes’s Carol, and Merchant Ivory’s Maurice (from the novel by E.M. Forster), to name a few.”
Writer-director Will Seefried
Love Forbidden, Truth Unveiled
One of the film’s most profound insights is its depiction of compulsory conformity—the pressure to suppress one’s identity to fit societal norms. Owen’s forced teatime sessions with Nurse Dorothy, intended to prepare him for a “normal” heterosexual life, evolve into a poignant exploration of resilience and quiet rebellion. The film also highlights the hidden resistance within oppressive institutions, as some psychiatric nurses secretly worked against the system to support queer individuals.
“I dove deep into sources like Curing Queers: Mental Patients & Their Nurses, which revealed fascinating accounts of friendships between gay men and their psychiatric nurses. Many nurses became radicalised, fighting the system from within,” says Seefried on researching the historical context.
Seefried employs a mesmerising nonlinear narrative, using flashbacks to reveal Owen’s past relationships and the emotional weight of forbidden love. These sequences are drenched in golden light, emphasizing the contrast between the warmth of queer intimacy and the cold, clinical environment of the medical facility. The film’s artistic approach—treating its visuals like a painting rather than a strict historical photograph—allows for symbolic storytelling that resonates more deeply emotionally.
Another key aspect of the film is the relationship between psychiatric nurses and their patients. Seefried found that many nurses, initially tasked with enforcing heterosexual courtship, became radicalized and worked against the system to help queer individuals regain their freedom. This theme of hidden resistance adds depth to the narrative, showing how acts of defiance can emerge even within oppressive institutions.
Seefried also emphasises artistic interpretation in his storytelling. He describes the film as being approached like a painting rather than a photograph, allowing for expressive, symbolic storytelling rather than strict historical accuracy. This creative choice enables the film to explore its themes in a way that is both visually striking and emotionally resonant.
“I wrote the script at the beginning of 2021, in lockdown, and then have just been fortunate that it has found a path to being made, which for a first feature is always hard and particularly a period drama,” says Seefried.
Lilies Not for Me follows Owen James, a young aspiring novelist who is subjected to medical procedures aimed at “curing” his homosexuality. Through its haunting narrative and evocative cinematography, the film sheds light on the historical persecution of LGBTQ+ individuals while drawing parallels to contemporary struggles.
The film is set in 1920s England and follows Owen James (Fionn O’Shea) , a young aspiring novelist who is admitted to a medical facility that claims to “cure” homosexuality through experimental procedures. As part of his treatment, Owen is assigned daily teatime sessions with Nurse Dorothy (Erin Kellyman), meant to prepare him for a “normal” heterosexual life. Seefried uses flashbacks as a powerful narrative device to reveal Owen’s past relationships and the deep emotional scars left by the facility’s attempts to “cure” him. These sequences contrast the warmth of queer intimacy with the clinical coldness of the medical institution, emphasizing the film’s themes of compulsory conformity, hidden resistance, and identity suppression, with powerful performances by Robert Aramayo as Philip, a key figure in Owen’s past, and Louis Hofmann as Charles, another important character tied to Owen’s story.
Deeply rooted in historical and personal contexts that shape its themes, the film explores the harrowing reality of conversion therapy in the 1920s
Seefried’s research uncovered disturbing practices that is still practised in 2025, reinforcing the film’s message about systemic oppression and the resilience of queer individuals.
Although conversion therapy has a long and troubling history, dating back to the late 19th century when psychiatrists and doctors began labeling same-sex attraction as a medical condition and sought ways to “reverse” it. Despite its prevalence, conversion therapy has been widely discredited by medical professionals and human rights organizations. Today, many countries and states have banned the practice due to its harmful effects on mental health and well-being. It is not explicitly banned in South Africa in 2025, In Australia and the United States, conversion therapy is banned in certain states or territories, but not nationwide, and England is in the process of banning conversion therapy.
Crafted with deep historical research and a strong artistic vision, the film was inspired by archival accounts of early 20th-century medical practices that falsely claimed to “cure” homosexuality.
Seefried wanted to tell a historically grounded yet emotionally resonant story, conducting extensive research, including studying old medical journals and documentaries, to ensure authenticity in the film’s portrayal of repression and forbidden desire. He drew inspiration from classic queer literature and films like Maurice and Carol. The screenplay evolved from his research into psychiatric facilities and the relationships between patients and nurses.
You can watch Lilies Not for Me on Prime Video, where it’s available for rent or purchase
Louis Hofmann and Fionn O’Shea in Lilies Not for Me (Image: Wolflight and Paradise City)
Lilies Not for Me marks Will Seefried‘s feature directorial debut. **, though he has previously worked on short films.
Will Seefried has worked on several projects beyond Lilies Not for Me. Here are some of his other films:
Homesick (2023) – A short film about an unhappy man who attends a retreat offering adults a second chance at a happy childhood. It was featured at SXSW, won the Audience Award at Short of the Week, and was recognised at various film festivals.
Dominant Species (2019) – A short film exploring a world where aliens find themselves in human bodies and must adapt to their new environment.
Pregnant (2017) – A short film about a man who unexpectedly becomes pregnant and embarks on a journey of self-discovery.
Seefried has also been involved in television projects, including Sink Sank Sunk, a docudrama series he co-created, co-wrote, and co-directed.
Will Seefried studied at New York University and has been involved in various film and television projects based in the United States and South Africa.
Conversion therapy has a long and troubling history
The Practice dates back to the late 19th century when psychiatrists and doctors began labelling same-sex attraction as a medical condition and sought ways to “reverse” it. Early methods included hypnosis, hormone treatments, and even surgical procedures such as testicle transplants. By the 20th century, conversion therapy became more widespread, with techniques ranging from electroconvulsive therapy to lobotomies. Some practitioners believed homosexuality was a psychological disorder and attempted to “cure” individuals through behavioural conditioning, including exposing them to heterosexual pornography while administering electric shocks. Conversion therapy is not explicitly banned in South Africa. While the country has strong constitutional protections for LGBTQ+ rights, conversion therapy still occurs in various settings, including religious institutions, homes, and traditional healing spaces. Historically, South Africa had state-sponsored conversion therapy programs, such as the Aversion Project during apartheid, which subjected LGBTQ+ individuals to medical procedures like chemical castration and electric shock therapy. Today, conversion therapy continues in different forms, with reports of forced prayer sessions, exorcisms, and even physical abuse. There have been calls for legislative action to ban the practice, but no formal law has been passed yet. In Australia and the United States, conversion therapy is banned in certain states or territories, but not nationwide. England is in the process of banning conversion therapy. The Labour government has announced plans to introduce a Conversion Practices Bill, which aims to outlaw practices intended to change or suppress a person’s sexual orientation or gender identity
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Mission Impossible: The Final Reckoning – The Impossible Legacy
“We don’t ever start with ambitions of big and crazy, we start with practical solutions to storytelling problems. For us, it’s never been about spectacle. Spectacle naturally follows but spectacle, frankly, is meaningless if there’s no story, says director Christopher McQuarrie, who co-wrote the screenplay of Mission Impossible: The Final Reckoning with Erik Jendresen.
“In The Final Reckoning, alongside our beloved returning heroes and villains are a host of acclaimed and fascinating fresh faces, “ says McQuarrie. A key line from the film that speaks to both its core theme and the manifesto of those who have made it is this: “Everything you were, everything you’ve done, has come to this.” And that sense of culmination is something that everyone associated with The Final Reckoning has felt acutely over the course of the heroic journey – again both literal and figurative – to bring it to the screen.
The drive for this constant expansion has always been an integral part of the Mission: Impossible DNA. To the point that on each of the now four Mission movies that Tom Cruise and McQuarrie have made together, these distinctive partners have always begun with the same approach. Lighting the creative fuse before a single typewriter key has been touched – before, in fact, they have even decided whether to choose to accept a new Mission – Cruise and McQuarrie always ask themselves a question.
“Every time, we ask each other at the very start what we want to achieve with any new story,” McQuarrie reveals. “This time, when Tom asked me what I wanted to do, I said, ‘I want to make a truly global Mission movie.”
Filming on this latest installment even commenced while the cameras were still rolling on the previous one, the two films shooting concurrently until Dead Reckoning was finally completed in April 2023.
“When it was first announced that we were doing two movies, I was asked how I was feeling about that. And I said, ‘I’m terrified. This is a tall order. If you say that you’re making a two-part movie, you’d better tell a story that swallows the franchise whole,’” the director remembers. “And that truly became the mandate, as you will see with this. The Final Reckoning is telling a story that encompasses the entire franchise, going back to the very first film.”
What powers this chapter of that story is the team’s fight to find their way back to each other, against all the odds. “That’s the engine that drives this film,” McQuarrie says. “It’s very much a journey, quite Homeric. Most importantly, it is very, very internal because Ethan is away from the team for so much of the movie. He is alone in ways that we haven’t seen him in these films before. At the same time, it could never stop being a story about the entire team. That presented a unique challenge which, in turn, produced some unique solutions.”
As Cruise has it, The Final Reckoning will show audiences Ethan Hunt through a completely new lens. “Because it’s a culmination of all of Mission: Impossible, you’re going to see Ethan from the very beginning and understand him in a whole different way,” he says.
On set, the filmmaking process, as is always the way on a Mission movie, proved to be an ever-changing beast to tame, Cruise and McQuarrie’s tendency to think on their feet and listen to the movie – “to where it wants to take us,” McQuarrie says – meaning a plot constantly in flux, expanding and focusing in on itself along the way.
That, says Cruise, is just the nature of things on Mission: Impossible. “That’s Mission and that’s movies,” he smiles. “That’s being a pilot. That’s living life. You can prepare for everything, and the better prepared you are, the better you’re equipped for the obstacles that could potentially make things go off the rails. But you also need to have the confidence to deviate from the plan. It’s not stuff that ever bothers me. You just go, ‘Okay, how do I make this an opportunity? How do we work within this to make everything work and find the story?’”
“I don’t want to tell the audience how to feel, what they’re going to walk away with [after watching this]. Even I, as an audience member, like to experience things for myself. For me, as a storyteller, that communication with the audience is critically important,” Cruise says. “I want them to have their experience. My films are on the whole films you have to participate with, cinema that I want the audience engaged in, not just sitting back. One of our favorite lines on these movies is always when someone says to us, ‘I bought the whole seat, and I only used the edge.’ That is what I want. That’s how I feel as an audience member when I’m engaged in a story. And on this one, we have achieved that.”
To properly appreciate why this Mission means so much to its makers means going back to the very beginning. By the mid-‘90s, with everything from Top Gun to Rain Man, A Few Good Men and Born on the Fourth of July already under his belt, Cruise was by most metrics enjoying a ludicrously successful career.
But he hadn’t just been acting. Cruise had spent the best part of the past 15 years studying every aspect of the filmmaking process, from its foundations up, observing up close directors like Francis Ford Coppola (on The Outsiders), Ridley Scott (on Legend) and Martin Scorsese (on The Color of Money) as well as a whole host of celebrated cinematographers including the iconic Owen Roizman, who Cruise worked with on Taps but who had already shot no less than the likes of The French Connection, The Exorcist and Network.
Having made it his mission to understand how each head of department achieved innovative excellence, how producers like Stanley Jaffe and Jerry Bruckheimer, for instance, marshalled mammoth productions with a cohesive creative vision, Cruise now felt it was time to pour everything he’d learned into producing a movie of his own.
With multiple options open to him, the film Cruise settled on for his first as a producer seems now like a sure thing. Back then, that was far from the case. To date, Cruise’s big screen adaptation of Mission: Impossible has generated nearly $5 billion in box office. But in the early ‘90s, it was a concept that many felt had largely run out of steam.
The original TV series, launched by Bruce Geller in September 1966, played out on CBS over 171 hour-long episodes, across seven seasons, and concluded in March 1973. A sequel series, released to less fanfare, ran for just two years, from 1988 to 1990. It looked like its spy-centric, mask-shifting escapades might be a product of the past.
“I brought Mission to the studio [Paramount Pictures] when Sherry Lansing [who produced seminal late ‘80s and early ‘90s talking-point pictures like Fatal Attraction, The Accused and Indecent Proposal] and Stanley Jaffe [who produced Fatal Attraction and The Accused with Lansing, as well as Cruise’s Taps, and the Best Picture-winning Kramer vs. Kramer] said to me, ‘Please produce movies,’” Cruise says now. “I was like, ‘Okay, my first one for you is going to be Mission: Impossible.’”
Cruise knew that here was a film that could be the start of something special, a story with the potential to evolve alongside him. Others in the industry were a little less certain. “People laughed, like, ‘You’re doing a TV series?’” Cruise remembers. “I was like, ‘Yeah. I got some ideas about it.’”
One of the key things he has learned from the many talented people he has worked with over his career – to add to the list of directors above, Cruise also namechecks both Sydney Pollack, who directed him in The Firm, and Brian De Palma, from his first Mission: Impossible – is this: ultimately, every element on a movie must come down to both character and story. Anything else is redundant.
“Motion informs character and story. Set design informs character and story. Lighting and the skills you learn inform character and story,” Cruise says. “Whatever it is you’re learning to do, whether it’s riding a motorcycle, driving a car, dancing, singing, studying thrillers, whatever it is, it’s always then about applying it. ‘What story can we tell with this? What challenges are ahead of us?’”
For The Final Reckoning, Cruise took that ethos and married it to the same excellence in execution he implemented on another of his landmark sequels – Top Gun: Maverick, that Cruise starred in, McQuarrie co-wrote (Ehren Kruger and Eric Warren Singer were also screenplay writers, with a story by Peter Craig and Justin Marks), and they both produced with Jerry Bruckheimer and David Ellison.
“On this movie, we’ve taken everything we learned from the level of storytelling on Top Gun: Maverick and applied it to a new film that is the culmination of eight films. The idea behind them both was the same. We always wanted the audience to be seated in the lore of the franchise in a way that they have never seen before, to give them throughlines that genuinely resonate,” McQuarrie says.
It is impossible to overstate how seismically significant the filmmaking partnership between Tom Cruise and Christopher McQuarrie has been on the direction the Mission: Impossible franchise has taken since they first joined forces on it. Or how uniquely potent it is. The Final Reckoning marks their 11th movie together – and their greatest achievement.
In McQuarrie, Cruise has discovered what he calls his “creative brother”, a collaborator with whom he feels he can make the impossible possible. “For me, to have that partnership with McQ is a dream come true,” Cruise says. “I always wanted that, always wanted someone who is just as passionate about movies as I am. I’m impressed by McQ every day. We share a passion for the language of movies.”
“On the last movie, Tom wanted to jump a motorcycle off a cliff, I wanted to wreck a train. That’s how that movie started. And that’s what we did,” McQuarrie says. “With this one, Tom wanted to walk on the wing of a plane, and I wanted to shoot a submarine sequence, so that’s what we’ve done.”
McQuarrie’s love for submarine movies stretches back to his childhood obsession with Ice Station Zebra, John Sturges’ North Pole-set thriller starring Rock Hudson and Ernest Borgnine, and his continued fascination with seeing these metallic hulks on screen, most notably in Wolfgang Petersen’s Das Boot. And it’s not like Cruise, who has long been fascinated with the underwater explorations of Jacques Cousteau, was ever arguing.
“Submarines are one of the most amazingly cinematic environments,” McQuarrie says. “I just love the language of them. The culture on a submarine is a very specific world with very specific jargon, and even when you can’t understand a word the people on them are saying [in movies], it’s very, very gripping and involving. Take Crimson Tide. I don’t know what ‘zero degrees down bubble’ means, but it sounds really cool.”
Besides, McQuarrie suggests, as environments go, is there any other than could be more thematically pertinent? “I mean, look, the essence of Mission: Impossible is pressure,” the writer and director notes. “A submarine is the manifestation of a high-pressure environment. It’s basically perfect for the tone we’re trying to hit.”
“Things always start on these movies as a pebble rolling down a hill that turns into an avalanche. It always starts with a pebble: ‘Hey, I want to do a submarine sequence.’ Then it gets complicated,” McQuarrie smiles.
If you ask McQuarrie for a metaphor to describe how Mission movies are constructed, he will offer up this one: “The development of these stories is like trying to build a jigsaw puzzle with all the pieces face down. You’re trying to figure out how all the pieces fit together. But you don’t know what the picture is until you flip it over. That’s what these screenplays are like. We try to remain very free and fast and loose.”
It was around 4:00am one day in early 2013, in a hotel somewhere off the south coast of England, when Christopher McQuarrie first realized that he was going to wind up directing a Mission: Impossible movie. The memory still burns bright, a full 12 years later. “My blood ran cold,” he says.
He and Tom Cruise were in the middle of making Edge of Tomorrow at the time, with Cruise starring and McQuarrie writing, and everyone else had gone to bed. “They’d probably collapsed,” McQuarrie suspects.
“That was a very challenging movie, a very challenging screenplay,” he continues of the time loop sci-fi. “It was constantly banging us in the head. Tom and I were still up, relentlessly pursuing this script problem we were at. And as we were talking, I could see that something was occurring to him. Suddenly he just said, ‘You know, you should direct the next Mission: Impossible.’ The first thing that flashed through my mind was exhaustion.”
It was around 4:00am one day in early 2013, in a hotel somewhere off the south coast of England, when Christopher McQuarrie first realized that he was going to wind up directing a Mission: Impossible movie. The memory still burns bright, a full 12 years later. “My blood ran cold,” he says. He and Tom Cruise were in the middle of making Edge of Tomorrow at the time, with Cruise starring and McQuarrie writing, and everyone else had gone to bed. “They’d probably collapsed,” McQuarrie suspects.
“That was a very challenging movie, a very challenging screenplay,” he continues of the time loop sci-fi. “It was constantly banging us in the head. Tom and I were still up, relentlessly pursuing this script problem we were at. And as we were talking, I could see that something was occurring to him. Suddenly he just said, ‘You know, you should direct the next Mission: Impossible.’ The first thing that flashed through my mind was exhaustion.”
Cruise and McQuarrie say the process of making a Mission is in some ways a process of letting the Mission tell you how it wants to be made. To approach it with a detailed plan and the courage to be prepared to abandon that plan altogether. To listen to your instincts, and the movie itself.
“It really is like that,” Cruise says. “These stories come together in a way where you think, ‘Here’s where it’s going to go, and it’s definitely going to go that way.’ Then you look at it, and it’s just not going that way. There is a certain point that the story is going to tell you what it needs, what the tone is. Until you get that lens on it, until I’m able to play around and show the progression of what this thing can do, you just don’t know. When I start doing it, that’s when we know.”
By the end of eighth film in this legendary action franchise, for both its audience and for its makers, what shines through maybe most of all when it comes to the latter is not just how they have changed Mission: Impossible, but how Mission: Impossible has changed them.
Cruise says that by now he and McQuarrie have come to know each other so well that, sometimes on set I just don’t look because I know what he’s thinking, know the lens, know what he’s doing. It all just comes naturally.”
But McQuarrie maintains that the filmmaker he is now and the filmmaker he was at the start of his Mission adventure are two very different people. That making these movies has altered him personally and profoundly.
“It is very important that you understand that I am not, by nature, an outdoor guy,” McQuarrie smiles. “My wife calls me ‘The Great Indoorsman’. I have an Irish complexion. I get sunburned very, very easily. My happy place is at my desk, shielded from the sun.”
Before working on Mission: Impossible, McQuarrie says, he wouldn’t have ever – “and to be clear, by ever, I mean ever,” he stresses – dared to get himself into any of the treacherous situations he now has.
“However, I discovered over the course of Dead Reckoning that I am in fact addicted to doing so. When I was shooting the sandstorm in the desert in Dead Reckoning, I realized, ‘God, the harder something is to shoot because of these environmental elements, the more inherently dramatic those things are.’ I realized midway through that movie that I had become addicted to a style of storytelling that meant I was going to be very, very uncomfortable for the rest of my career,” he grins. “When I’m shooting these movies, I’m constantly astonished. I am, daily, looking at what I’m doing and saying, ‘How did you get here?’ I’d describe my experience on these films as being the frog in the pan of water. I just am not aware that the water is slowly heating up until suddenly there I am, in boiling water.”
Cruise has always been passionate about all the movies he makes. But there’s something exclusively personal to him about Mission: Impossible. Perhaps that comes down to the fact that the original was his first film as a producer. Perhaps because in Ethan Hunt he has found and crafted a character who has grown wiser and braver as he has. But as he prepares to film the very final scene of The Final Reckoning, there’s a sense of sheer and sincere satisfaction to the sound of his voice.
“I always get emotional about movies. I don’t make them just to make them,” Cruise says. “When I first started out, when suddenly I realized that I was doing Taps [his first major role, in 1981], I was like, ‘Oh my gosh, this is happening. This is really happening.’ I remember thinking, ‘I’m never going to take this for granted. Ever.’ And I can honestly say that I haven’t, not a moment of it. It might sound insincere but that’s the damn truth.”
Whatever the movie, Cruise’s approach remains the same, to take everything he has learned to that point and put it into it, improving the film and himself in the process.
“For me, the core was, is and always will be: ‘What’s the challenge? What am I going to learn? What can I do better?’” he says. But never has that been more evident and acute than in Mission: Impossible, the series of movies that has seen him push himself to the limit and then beyond eight consecutive times.
“The complexity that has come out of the process of making The Final Reckoning is the detail and richness of the storytelling,” Cruise says. “When you’re trying to make a movie of this scale, in this era, you have many challenges. You have to face them head on and push past them. I’m fortunate, I know I am. To have that ability to build a submarine, to do what we did with the airplanes and to thrill an audience in a way that has a very authentic quality to it, I know that’s a privilege.”
Cruise pauses, proud to now be close to finishing a film that he believes is the best Mission he has ever made. “Since I was a child, I was always thinking of stories and characters and looking at houses and people and admiring their abilities, being interested in their lives, and then wanting to reflect that in cinema. In Hollywood, they used to train you to do the things you couldn’t. I just went and did it on my own,” he says. “My life has been living in rented houses and on soundstages. I just feel privileged to be able to do this and entertain an audience. That is the core and the simplicity of who I am.”
Given everything they’ve achieved over their 18 years of working together, and the past five years on this movie especially, the evening of the world premiere for The Final Reckoning will be a particularly poignant affair. But this one, says McQuarrie, will also be unique.
“After you’ve made a number of Mission: Impossibles, you learn not to trust that movie is finished until you’re watching it at the premiere because, to us, we are never done. The movie is never finished. We never, ever stop,” McQuarrie says. “That’s why, every time we have watched one of these movies at its premiere, there’s that space between the movie ending and the music starting and the credits rolling. And in that space, every time, Tom will invariably turn to me and say, ‘We can do better.’”
This time, though, will be different. “At this premiere I’ll be thinking about the premiere of the last movie, because we had shot pieces of The Final Reckoning before we had finished Dead Reckoning,” McQuarrie smiles. “At the Dead Reckoning premiere, as the credits started to roll, I knew what was coming. Tom turned to me to say it, and before he could, I turned to him. I said, ‘Tom, we already did.”
CHRISTOPHER McQUARRIE (Directed, Written and Produced by) is an acclaimed director, producer, and screenwriter. His 1995 screenplay for The Usual Suspects was named by the Writer’s Guild of America as one of the greatest screenplays of all time. In addition to his credited work, McQuarrie is known throughout the industry for his uncredited contributions as a writer, editor, and production consultant. In 2008, he co-wrote and produced Valkyrie, starring Tom Cruise – a film which would lead to many more McQuarrie/Cruise collaborations. They re-teamed in 2012 for McQuarrie’s sophomore directorial effort, Jack Reacher. Within hours of completing the film, he was at work with Cruise again, this time re-writing the script for Doug Liman’s Edge of Tomorrow. It was while working together on the sci-fi action film that Cruise suggested McQuarrie write and direct what would become Mission: Impossible – Rogue Nation. In 2017, McQuarrie and Cruise re-teamed again for Mission: Impossible – Fallout, the most successful installment of the franchise to date and the highest grossing film of their respective careers until their subsequent collaboration on Top Gun: Maverick, which McQuarrie co-wrote and produced. When the release of Top Gun: Maverick was delayed by the outbreak of COVID 19, Cruise and McQuarrie recognized both the film industry and big screen exhibition were facing unprecedented challenges and they committed themselves fully to the preservation of both. What followed was the simultaneous production of Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning and Mission:Impossible – The Final Reckoning. Even before factoring in the obstacles presented by a global pandemic and two industry strikes during its production, Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning represents an unprecedented physical and technical achievement, pushing the outermost boundaries of big screen practical action.
As co-creator, lead writer, and supervising producer of “Band of Brothers” for HBO in 2001, ERIK JENDRESEN (Written by) was one of the recipients of that year’s Golden Globe and Emmy Award for Outstanding Miniseries. His friendship with Christopher McQuarrie dates back 20 years when they met as fellow advisors at the Sundance Screenwriters Lab, and they have been working together ever since. In addition to their collaboration on Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning and Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning, Jendresen and McQuarrie have seven feature film projects in the development pipeline, and one limited series. Jendresen is also writing/producing a film about the French Foreign Legion to be directed by Dimitri Rassam; and Aloft (based on the book, On the Wing by Alan Tennant) to be directed by Ramin Bahrani. He is the author of two books about South American shamanism, The Dance of the Four Winds and Island of the Sun; two children’s books, The First Story Ever Told and Hanuman; and a play, The Killing of Michael Malloy. He divides his time between a 120-year-old Dutch former-naval vessel (a veteran of Dunkirk) in Sausalito, California; and a home on the Catawba River in North Carolina with his wife, psychotherapist Venus Bobis. He is a member of the Television Academy and the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences and still advises at Sundance whenever he can.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Salt Path – A journey that is exhilarating, challenging, and liberating
The script for The Salt Path evolved slowly over a few years, with director Marianne Elliott and screenwriter Rebecca Lenkiewicz collaborating on the script together, both taking the time to walk the path separately and meet with Ray and Moth together. ‘It always felt like a joint project between Elizabeth, Rebecca and me as we were trying to grow this thing for a completely new medium. We were trying to give it a different voice in a different medium, in a different way,’ says Elliott.
The Salt Path is the profound true story of husband and wife, Raynor and Moth Winn’s 630-mile trek along the beautiful but rugged Cornish, Devon and Dorset coastline. After being forcibly removed from their home, they make the desperate decision to walk in the hope that, in nature, they will find solace and a sense of acceptance. With depleted resources, only a tent and some essentials between them, every step along the path is a testament to their growing strength and determination. It’s a portrayal of home, how it can be lost and rediscovered in the most unexpected ways.
Producer Lloyd Levin recalls reading The Salt Path when it was first published. He and Beatriz, his wife and producing partner were both deeply moved by its story of resiliency and personal growth in the face of many adversities: ‘It immediately struck us as something that had the potential to be very cinematic, particularly if the film could convey the raw power and beauty of nature as Ray so exquisitely wrote and captured it in her memoir.’
The extreme hardships that Ray and Moth faced, both in financial and medical terms are very relatable. This is why Lloyd believed the book connected with so many people, ‘They never gave up or lost hope (or their sense of humour!) They faced adversity and triumphed over it, literally and metaphorically by reconnecting with nature and simply putting one foot in front of the other, which for readers – and moviegoers – is at once pragmatic and inspiring’ Lloyd remarks.
Lloyd decided to reach out to Ray directly. She recalls receiving a social media message from Lloyd explaining that the book had resonated with him so profoundly that he wanted the opportunity to make it into a film. Ray was walking on the Coast Path with her dog at the time, ‘I sat on a bench for a while, near a spot where we’d camped when we were walking, and watched the tide come in. I couldn’t comprehend what was happening, it seemed completely surreal.’
For acclaimed Olivier and Tony award winning theatre director Marianne Elliott, the only woman to have won three Tony Awards for Best Direction (Company, Angels in America, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time) and recipient of an OBE in 2018, the step towards the medium of film was one she had wanted to make for a long time. When the pandemic struck, she decided that it was finally time. With theatres closed, Marianne worried that they may never open again.
Producers Elizabeth Karlsen and Stephen Woolley explained that they had wanted to collaborate with Marianne for many years. As Elizabeth states: ‘I admired her. I’d seen a lot of her theatre work and thought that she was such an incredible talent.
’Elizabeth also recalls going to an event and running into Tony Kushner, acclaimed writer of Angels in America, who told Elizabeth: ‘Of all the theatre directors, I think Marianne will make a great film director because she’s so profoundly visual.’
They got in contact with Marianne and were delighted to hear that she wanted to make the leap over to the film. Marianne suggested that they read The Salt Path and that was where their journey with the project began. They tracked down the rights to the film, which led them to Lloyd and Beatriz Levin who agreed to join forces on the project.
The next step for them was to find the best person to adapt the book into a screenplay and for Elizabeth, there was only one woman for the job: Rebecca Lenkiewicz. Having collaborated previously, Elizabeth reached out to her about the project. Rebecca told her she had recently been gifted the book from her mother, who lives in Cornwall, for Christmas. They both took this to be a sign. ‘All the stars aligned, and we were so lucky to have her, she’s a wonderful, lyrical writer,’ commented Elizabeth.
Lloyd commends Rebecca for adapting Ray’s work so excellently: ‘She masterfully crafted characters with real depth, made nature a palpable essence and a character in its own right while skilfully maintaining an undercurrent of social consciousness.’
When Ray heard that Rebecca would be adapting her story, she was delighted as she had been a huge admirer of Rebecca’s writing. ‘I was excited to see how she would interpret my words and make them her own. The final script was beautiful, capturing the essence of the original story while taking it forward on a powerful new journey.’
Elizabeth revealed that when it came to casting the part of Ray, both she and Marianne knew that it had to be Gillian Anderson: ‘She has that steely strength and tenacious quality, but also a vulnerability about her. She’s just a fantastic actor, very professional, very talented and a lot of fun too.’
Gillian Anderson is no stranger to playing real life characters. As she states: ‘I’ve played Margaret Thatcher, and I played Eleanor Roosevelt, and I remember that thirst to spend time in those shoes and figure out what made them tick and their early years and this wasn’t so much that. I realised that it’s really about the journey.’
Gillian met with Ray, she read the book a couple of times and listened to her audiobook. There were a few things that she chose not to do in terms of Ray’s mannerisms, as she explains: ‘It was important for me put together a version that was Ray, but also still me. I didn’t want to get too obsessed with it, as much as anything, it’s about portraying the story and their circumstances.’
For Jason Isaacs, the Moth to Gillian’s Ray, he discloses that: ‘All you ever want from acting is that the other person seems like they are who they’re meant to be, and then it’s just easy, and she was Ray to me. She made it easy, because she’s a cracking actress and is unrecognizable from part to part. I don’t know that I ever got to know Gillian. I think I probably got to know Ray with a little sheen of Gillian on her.’
When it came to Jason landing the role of Moth, he believes it was down to him wearing a scarf for the first-time meeting Marianne, which he explains further: ‘Moth always wears a bandana or a scarf. I really wanted the job, so I wore a little coloured scarf inside my shirt, hoping that subliminally, Marianne would see it and believe I was the right person for the job. It’s since become a habit now, and I feel slightly undressed if I’m not wearing a bandana or a scarf.’
While Jason was preparing for the part, he met the real-life Moth and completely fell in love with him. ‘He’s an extraordinary person in so many ways. He’s completely self educated, incredibly humble, and just constantly wanting to learn, listen, be amazed and find wonder in anything anyone has to say around him. I’m madly in love with him. That’s the truth. As is everyone who ever meets him, and he made himself permanently available to me throughout the process. He has been incredibly generous in opening himself up to me about the things that were most vulnerable and difficult and awkward.’
An important component in both Gillian and Jason’s preparation involved meeting the real-life Ray and Moth. Ray remembers how Marianne, Gillian and Jason travelled to their home in Cornwall to spend the day with them before filming began. Ray said of her observations that day: ‘Gillian naturally exudes a calm inner strength, while Jason has an intense curiosity about life, and they were both deeply passionate about finding the nuance of the story. I immediately felt they were perfectly cast.’
Director Marianne Elliott has directed some of the most celebrated theatrical productions in the West End and on Broadway; WAR HORSE, THE CURIOUS INCIDENT OF THE DOG IN THE NIGHT-TIME, ANGELS IN AMERICA, COMPANY and DEATH OF A SALESMAN. She is the only woman to have won 3 Tony Awards for Best Direction. As Artistic Director of Elliott & Harper Productions, Marianne’s credits include the West End premiere of Mike Bartlett’s play COCK and the award winning revival of Arthur Miller’s DEATH OF A SALESMAN (co-directed with Miranda Cromwell) at the Young Vic Theatre and then the Piccadilly Theatre in the West End, where it won the Olivier Award for Best Director of a Play.
Elliott’s acclaimed 2018 revival of Stephen Sondheim and George Furth’s COMPANY originated in the West End at the Gielgud Theatre where it won 4 Olivier Awards (including Best Revival of a Musical) as well as the Evening Standard Award for Best Director of a Musical. Marianne’s first show for Elliott & Harper was the West End premiere of Simon Stephens’ play HEISENBERG at Wyndhams Theatre. Marianne was an Associate Director at the National Theatre for over ten years. Her final production for the NT was her Olivier Award-winning revival of Tony Kushner’s ANGELS IN AMERICA, which subsequently transferred to Broadway, where it won 3 Tony Awards, including Best Revival of a Play. Marianne’s other productions for the National Theatre include WAR HORSE which she co-directed with Tom Morris (West End and Broadway; winner of the Tony Award for Best Direction of a Play); THE CURIOUS INCIDENT OF THE DOG IN THE NIGHT- TIME (also West End and Broadway; Olivier and Tony Awards for Best Director and Best New Play; South Bank Sky Arts Award). Other plays at the National Theatre include HUSBANDS & SONS, RULES FOR LIVING, THE LIGHT PRINCESS, PORT, SEASON’S GREETINGS, WOMEN BEWARE WOMEN, ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL, MRS AFFLECK, HARPER REGAN, SAINT JOAN (Olivier Award for Best Revival, South Bank Show Award), THÉRÈSE RAQUIN and PILLARS OF THE COMMUNITY (Evening Standard Best Director Award). Other theatre includes SWEET BIRD OF YOUTH at the Old Vic starring Kim Cattrall; MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING for the RSC starring Tamsin Greig; and THE LITTLE FOXES at the Donmar Warehouse starring Penelope Wilton. Marianne was an Associate Director at the Royal Court, London, from 2002 – 2006, and from 1998 – 2002, an Artistic Director of the Royal Exchange in Manchester. In 2020, Marianne directed two episodes of Alan Bennett’s TALKING HEADS for the BBC, starring Tamsin Greig and Harriet Walter. In 2018, Marianne was awarded an Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) in the Queen’s Birthday Honours List for her Services to Theatre.
Screenwriter Rebecca Lenkiewicz is an award-winning writer who, in 2008, was the first living female playwright to have her work produced on the Olivier stage at the National Theatre. She co-wrote Academy award-winning feature IDA with Pawel Pawlikowski, COLETTE with Wash Westmoreland, DISOBEDIENCE with Sebastian Lelio and SERVANTS with its director Ivan Ostrochovsky and co-writer Marek Lescak. More recently, she adapted SHE SAID for Plan B and Universal and won the WGA Paul Selvin Award, the Hamilton Behind the Camera Award for Best Screenplay, and was BAFTA nominated for Best Adapted Screenplay. Rebecca currently has projects in development with Plan B, Element, New Regency and Killer Films, amongst others. She recently shot her directorial debut HOT MILK (based on her own adaptation of the novel by Deborah Levy), for Bonnie Productions, Heretic and Film4, starring Emma Mackey, Fiona Shaw, Vicky Krieps, Vincent Perez and Patsy Ferran.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Hurry Up Tomorrow – a visceral, cinematic, and singular experience
“This experimental film delves into the emotional journey of a tormented artist, exploring the complex mental health struggles that many of us face,” says writer-producer Abel Tesfaye of the psychological thriller Hurry Up Tomorrow. The story follows a musician, plagued by insomnia, who is drawn into an odyssey with a stranger—one that begins to unravel the very core of his existence.
Pictured above: Barry Keoghan as Lee and Abel “The Weeknd” Tesfaye as Abel in Hurry Up Tomorrow. Photo Credit: Andrew Cooper
Hurry Up Tomorrow is a major cultural moment at the intersection of music, cinema, and artistry. It marks The Weeknd’s first leading film role, bringing his creative vision into a new medium in collaboration with director Trey Edward Shults and a compelling ensemble cast. The film’s unique approach bridges artistic disciplines, creating a cinematic event that reflects the evolution of storytelling in both music and film.
Hurry Up Tomorrow is a deeply personal project for Abel Tesfaye, also known as The Weeknd. The psychological thriller explores themes of mental health, identity, and artistic struggle, drawing inspiration from Tesfaye’s own experiences. The film follows a musician plagued by insomnia who embarks on an existential journey with a mysterious stranger, unravelling the core of his existence.
Tesfaye has described the film as his most personal work yet, revealing that it was born out of one of the darkest moments of his life. He lost his voice during a 2022 concert, which led to a crisis of identity and purpose—an experience that heavily influenced the film’s narrative. The movie also incorporates elements of sleep paralysis, a condition Tesfaye has struggled with, using it as a metaphor for psychological distress.
Directed by Trey Edward Shults, Hurry Up Tomorrow blends cinematic influences from Ingmar Bergman’s Persona and Terrence Malick’s Tree of Life, creating a visually and emotionally immersive experience. The film marks Tesfaye’s transition from music to filmmaking, showcasing his evolution as an artist.
It has already generated significant buzz for its raw and introspective storytelling. Fans and critics alike are eager to see how Tesfaye’s struggles translate into this ambitious cinematic endeavour.
A note from writer-producer Abel Tesfaye
Film and storytelling have always been at the core of everything I do, and discovering new films has played a huge role in shaping that. I remember one year at TIFF, I saw Trey’s film Waves, and I instantly connected with his visual style and the way he captured such layered, complex emotions. It stuck with me. Years later, as I started to hone in on what I wanted to say with Hurry Up Tomorrow, it became clear that Trey was the perfect director to bring that vision to life.
Trey and I connected deeply as artists, and we just understood each other from the first time we met. I gave him my initial ideas for the film, and I really wanted him to feel connected to the material – as much as it’s my story, he needed to see himself in it as well. We had a lot of long conversations on the phone that were like therapy sessions where we would talk through our ideas and build out the story – I could tell how passionate he was, how much he cared, and that built a lot of trust between us. We continued to work very closely throughout the writing process and all the way through production.”
This character is based on my personal experience as an artist – a fictional version of myself in an alternative reality if things took a very dark turn. We meet my character when he’s at a breaking point and follow him through a mind-bending odyssey.
Jenna is a force on screen and behind the camera – her performance was incredibly mesmerising and keeps you immersed in every scene. She’s also a creative force behind the scenes and was a real asset as an executive producer.
Barry’s a great friend and having him in this role was an honor. He’s a selfless performer and was really patient with me on set. He’s also incredibly dynamic, which allowed us to really explore the themes of identity and self-awareness with his character in unique ways.”
This is an experimental film that follows the emotional journey of a tormented artist and explores the complex mental health struggles that so many of us experience.
Abel “The Weeknd” Tesfaye as Abel and Writer/Director Trey Edward Shults in Hurry Up Tomorrow. Photo Credit: Andrew Cooper
A Note from Trey Edward Shults – Director / Writer / Executive Producer
Writer-Director Trey Edward Shults is widely known for his vibrant storytelling and the depth of character that he captures in his films, as seen in the coming-of-age drama, Waves (A24), and the psychological horror, It Comes at Night(A24). His directorial debut, Krisha (A24), is an emotionally charged drama that sparked his career and won several awards including the National Board of Review’s Best Directorial Debut, The Independent Spirit John Cassavetes Award, The Bingham Ray Breakthrough Director Award at the Gothams, and both the Grand Jury Award and Audience Award at SXSW.
My producers Kevin Turen and Harrison Kreiss said Abel had an idea for a movie and was a fan of mine so he wanted to meet. We had a meeting and I instantly loved Abel. He was not what I expected. Kind, down to earth, and he had very similar taste to mine. He pitched me the idea for HURRY UP TOMORROW with the caveat that the only way it or us collaborating would work is if I put all my heart and soul into it and made it my own film. Shortly after the meeting I got crazy inspired, the most inspired I had been with anything since I wrote Waves, and I went on a writing binge writing the first outline for this film. Everything continued to click into place and we were shooting the film months later, and that’s never happened to me before. It was exhilarating and inspiring.
He had the idea for the film and then I got inspired. We would start with long phone calls that went from bouncing ideas back and forth from structure, character, and themes to doing kind of therapy sessions with Abel where I’d find out all about this past, where he was at mentally in different phases of his life, etc. These led[AE1] to us creating a character of Abel that’s more how Abel could’ve turned out if things went differently in his life, while also combining very vulnerable and personal elements into his character and the film. So it started in the writing phase and it was just effortless. We bounced everything back and forth and I would go away and do a ton of writing to interject my own stuff. That kind of effortless collaboration then continued into the shooting and post-production. I think we have an enormous amount of trust built up between us and we push ourselves to do our best work.
Well, Abel is perfect because he’s literally playing a version of himself, haha. It inspired me so much though that he was brave enough to go the places this film required him to go. I truly feel like we’ve never seen a film do this before. Having a massive pop star playing a version of himself in such a bold yet vulnerable way. I was also blown away by his skills as an actor. I really didn’t know what to expect because my only frame of reference was his music videos but I thought he was fantastic in them, but obviously a film requires much more skill as a performer and he delivered beautifully. I think by the end of the film he’s doing something so vulnerable and putting his true heart and soul out there. Jenna was initially Abel’s idea, and I didn’t know her work terribly well. I thought she was great in X and Scream, but that’s all I had seen, and knew this film required her to go to some heavy vulnerable places and require incredible nuance. Abel and I took a meeting with her, and I loved her. Then once we were shooting, she blew me away every day. She’s one of the best actors I’ve ever worked with and, at the time of shooting, she was only 20 years old! The end of the film literally wouldn’t work without her performance. It’s so exciting because I feel like I’ve never seen Jenna in a role like this and I can’t imagine anyone else on the planet doing what she did. Barry was already friends with Abel, and I was a huge fan of Barry. We had a meeting one night, and he agreed to do the movie without reading a script. We just talked about the film and what his character was and me promising him that he’d have room to play and discover. Jenna’s approach was so refined and dialed in, but Barry was like this tornado of exciting energy. Every day he showed up on set I didn’t know what he was gonna do or what I was gonna get and it was incredibly exciting. I just had to make sure I captured everything he was giving us. I also loved that he really fought for his character’s nuance. There are times where it would be easy to vilify Lee and for Barry’s performance to take the easy route, but he always brought the deeper layer and nuance to the character.
I’m terrible at talking about my own films but with everything I make I have the ambition to try to make something fresh that feels like something we haven’t seen before, and I truly believe I’ve never seen a film quite like this. I think it’s a riveting, singular experience. I also think if you’re a fan of The Weeknd [AE2] and love his music then you will LOVE this movie, but it’s also designed in a way to where you don’t have to be a fan of his to LOVE this movie. For me, HURRY UP TOMORROW is a rich character piece and singular cinematic experience that plays with dream and reality in a way that is interesting and honest to our story and characters.
I tried to design the movie to work on two levels. If you just wanna take everything in the movie at face value and go on a ride, I think it works on that level. If you want to look deeper and interpret the movie and its characters at a deeper level I think it also works incredibly well. I think in simplistic terms audiences can expect something fresh that they haven’t seen before. It’s a great movie and a wild ride. The movie was designed for the big screen. We shot on 35mm and have many intricate shots and set pieces. We worked on the music and sound design for a very, very long time with incredibly talented people. All with the goal of making a visceral, cinematic, and singular experience.
Jenna Ortega as Anima in Hurry Up Tomorrow. Photo Credit: Andrew Cooper
A Note from Reza Fahim – Writer / Producer
Reza Fahim is an Iranian-American writer and producer for film and television whose fast rising career includes co-creating an HBO series. Born in Hamburg, Germany, Fahim spent his early childhood in Tehran, Iran, and fled to the US as a refugee when he was four years old. At that young age, Fahim watched his family establish new roots in Virginia through a sandwich shop where he realized the beauty in creating experiences for people, something his mother also liked to do. At the age of 17, Fahim moved to California to advance his studies at UCSB and UCLA in California. While in school he discovered a love for writing and storytelling and soon kickstarted his career in the film industry when he landed a job working alongside legendary producer David Permut, who became his first mentor in the business.
Abel and I have been close for the past ten years. Early on in our friendship we realized that we both had very similar ambitions outside of our current careers, which was to become filmmakers. From that point we started sharing ideas and building stories that we wanted to tell. Abel came to me one day with the concept for a film that would be loosely tied to a new music project, and it felt incredibly personal and bold. The more we started building out the story, the more we understood how singular this project would be – something that audiences have not seen before.
I loved working with these two brilliant minds. Our goal with this film was to do something that highlighted the convergence of music and film, and we wanted to do that in a unique way. I love films like Purple Rain and The Wall because they both are an expression of artistic merit and not something intended to drive metrics and aggregation. With Abel’s perspective as an artist and musician and Trey being known for weaving sound and music into his storytelling, the stars aligned perfectly during the creative process.”
Abel was a vital part of this cast since he plays an iteration of himself in an alternate universe. I don’t think any other artist could have accomplished this performance except for Abel. Jenna is truly just a brilliant talent. She captures Ani’s duality so well, portraying her softness but also her intensity perfectly. And for Barry, we’ve been friends with him for a while, he and Abel have great banter which is essential when portraying the role of a manager, to really establish that these two characters have been working together for years. Barry also strikes this unique balance of playing someone that Abel can trust but also blends that manipulative quality of his character so subtly. I can’t think of a better choice for this character.”
Trey is a true visionary first and foremost. I highly regard his work in Krisha, It Comes at Night, and Waves. He approaches filmmaking in such a caring and thoughtful way, and he really took the concept and made it his own. Between his cinematography and how he’s able to weave music in as a driver of a film’s narrative, we knew he was the right choice for Hurry Up Tomorrow.
Audiences can expect a visual and sonic experience that delves deep into an artist’s psyche. It’s a cerebral journey with a lot of genre bending between thriller, horror, drama, etc. I also hope audiences can see a new side to Abel, his performance (alongside Jenna and Barry’s brilliance) is impressive.”
Abel Tesfaye as Abel in Hurry Up Tomorrow. Photo Credit: Andrew Cooper
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Silencing your inner critic
Overcoming the fear of writing your story is a challenge many aspiring writers face, but it’s entirely possible with the right mindset and strategies. Silencing your inner critic is essential for unlocking creativity and confidence in writing.
Recognising that fear is a natural part of the creative process. Many great writers have struggled with self-doubt.
Stephen King – He famously threw his Carrie manuscript in the trash, believing it was terrible. His wife rescued it, and it became his first published novel.
– J.K. Rowling – Before Harry Potter became a global phenomenon, she faced multiple rejections from publishers and questioned her abilities as a writer.
– Maya Angelou – Despite her literary brilliance, she once admitted: “I have written eleven books, but each time I think, ‘Uh-oh, they’re going to find out now. I’ve run a game on everybody, and they’re going to find me out.’”
– F. Scott Fitzgerald – He struggled with criticism throughout his career and even felt like a failure after The Great Gatsby underperformed initially.
– Sylvia Plath – She faced deep insecurities and self-doubt, yet her work became some of the most influential poetry in modern literature.
Self-doubt doesn’t define a writer—it’s often just part of the process
The key is pushing through it, embracing growth, and continuing to write despite the fear. You don’t have to write an entire book, screenplay or TV series right away. Begin with short stories, journal entries, or even a few sentences to build confidence.
Perfectionism can be paralysing. Allow yourself to write freely without worrying about grammar or structure—editing comes later. Establish achievable writing goals, such as writing for 10 minutes a day or completing a certain number of words per week.
Writing your story means sharing personal experiences, which can feel intimidating. Remember that authenticity resonates with readers, who connect most deeply with writing that feels genuine and honest. Authenticity allows your voice to shine through, making your story compelling and relatable. Whether you’re sharing personal experiences or crafting fiction, being true to yourself fosters trust and emotional engagement.
One way to embrace authenticity is to write without fear of judgment—let your experiences, thoughts, and emotions flow naturally. Your unique perspective is what makes your story special. Instead of trying to fit into a mold, embrace your individuality.
Join writing groups, workshops, or online communities where you can share your work and receive constructive feedback, or read books by other writers that can inspire you and help you understand different storytelling techniques.
Instead of worrying about how others will perceive your story, focus on writing for yourself. Your voice matters.
Here are some effective strategies for silencing your inner critic
Recognize Its Voice – The first step is identifying when your inner critic is speaking. It often disguises itself as self-doubt, perfectionism, or fear of failure.
Reframe Negative Thoughts – Instead of thinking, “I’m not good enough,” try “I’m learning and improving with every word I write.” Shifting your mindset can help silence self-judgment.
Practice Self-Compassion – Treat yourself as you would a friend. Writing is a process, and mistakes are part of growth. Be kind to yourself and acknowledge your progress.
Write Freely Without Editing – Allow yourself to write without worrying about grammar or structure. Editing can come later—right now, focus on getting your thoughts down.
Challenge Unrealistic Expectations – Your inner critic often sets impossible standards. Accept that no first draft is perfect, and even the best writers revise their work multiple times.
Surround Yourself with Encouragement – Join writing groups, seek feedback from supportive people, and read inspiring stories from other writers who have overcome self-doubt.
Use Affirmations – Positive affirmations like “My voice matters” or “I have a story worth telling” can help counter negative thoughts.
Our WRITE JOURNEY COURSE will guide you every step of the way—from the spark of inspiration to developing your ideas, characters, and plot, all the way to writing your first pages.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Rewrite, Reinvent, Revolutionise: A Call to Literary Arms
Push yourself to craft something truly groundbreaking—something that defies convention and reshapes the landscape of storytelling. Experiment boldly with form, style, and language. Break the rules. Reinvent the rhythm. Let your words ignite revolution.
Let’s tear apart the old, dismantle conventions, and craft something that doesn’t just shimmer—it collides.
Let’s make something that doesn’t ask permission—it demands to be felt, to be seen.
The key to innovation is understanding before disrupting—honoring the structure, rhythm, and rules that exist so you can bend them with intention rather than recklessness.
How do you create something new without disrespecting traditional formats and structures.
How to create something new without disrespecting tradition:
Learn the blueprint – Before dismantling a format, study its foundations. Understand why sonnets follow a meter, why screenplays have beats, or why narratives arc the way they do. That knowledge allows you to twist convention without breaking its spine.
Find the gaps – Traditional structures often leave room for interpretation and evolution. Ask yourself: What’s missing? What hasn’t been done yet? Innovation lives in the spaces between established ideas.
Twist, don’t tear – Instead of rejecting tradition outright, bend it, reshape it. A novel might blend poetry and prose. A screenplay might break the fourth wall in a way that feels organic rather than gimmicky.
Respect the essence – Even when breaking rules, stay true to the core of the craft. A story is still a story, a song still conveys emotion, a painting still speaks—even if the mechanics change.
Make the audience feel it – If disruption serves only as shock value, it risks feeling empty. But if your approach enhances the experience—creates something immersive, breathtaking, unforgettable—then the boundary-pushing feels earned.
The magic lies in balancing rebellion with reverence—knowing when to follow, when to lead, and when to leap. Want to try experimenting with a format right now? Let’s craft something bold together.
That’s where the real magic happens.
It’s not about breaking everything—it’s about bending, reshaping, refining. It’s the ability to challenge without dismissing, to push boundaries while acknowledging the foundation beneath them.
Think of poetry that warps meter but still sings, jazz that defies structure but still swings, narratives that disrupt form but still captivate. Revolution without soul is just noise—but rebellion guided by reverence? That’s art, that’s movement, that’s creation.
Emilia Pérez is a fascinating example of balancing rebellion and reverence in storytelling
Written and directed by Jacques Audiard, the film blends musical elements, crime drama, and telenovela influences into something entirely fresh and genre-defying.
The screenplay follows four women in Mexico, each navigating their own pursuit of happiness. At its core, it’s about transformation, particularly Emilia, a cartel leader who enlists a lawyer to help fake her death so she can live authentically as her true self. The film’s structure bends traditional crime narratives by infusing them with musical sequences, experimental visuals, and deeply emotional storytelling.
Audiard himself has described the screenplay as closer to an opera libretto than a conventional film script, which is a brilliant example of reshaping tradition rather than rejecting it. It doesn’t fit neatly into one genre—it’s a musical crime drama, a melodrama, and a telenovela-inspired piece all at once.
“I wanted to create a film that exists between reality and fantasy, blending the gritty world of crime with the stylised elements of musicals,” says visionary writer-director Jacques Audiard of Emilia Perez.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Juliet & Romeo launches a revolutionary Pop Musical trilogy
“We’ve set out to tell the greatest love story of all time, set to the musical pulse of our time. But Shakespeare only told part of that remarkable tale, whose events changed the course of history!” says writer-director Timothy Scott Bogart of Juliet & Romeo, a bold reimagining of the real-life events that inspired Shakespeare’s timeless tragedy.
Set in 1301, at the end of the Middle Ages, Juliet & Romeo launches a revolutionary Pop Musical trilogy, based on a play by William Shakespeare with original Songs and music from Grammy-Winner, Evan Kidd Bogart (Beyonce’s “Halo” / Rihanna’s “SOS”),
In Juliet & Romeo, Romeo and Juliet as more than just star-crossed lovers — they are pivotal figures in the birth of the Italian Renaissance.
Forced to flee Verona as rival forces clash, they uncover a far greater conflict brewing beyond their city walls. The Holy Roman Empire and the Church, under the tyrannical rule of Pope Boniface, are locked in a power struggle that will shape the future of Europe. Escaping to Rome, Juliet and Romeo join forces with some of history’s most iconic figures—including Dante Alighieri—on a daring quest to challenge Pope Boniface’s brutal campaign for absolute control. As they navigate battles, betrayals, and shifting allegiances, their love becomes the driving force behind a revolution that will change the world forever.
Leaving behind the poetry of iambic pentameter, Juliet & Romeo reimagines this timeless tale with a fresh, contemporary edge—infusing its high-stakes drama with the electrifying power of modern pop music. This is Romeo & Juliet as it’s never been seen before — where love defies destiny, history is rewritten, and music becomes the language of rebellion.
When star-crossed lovers Juliet and Romeo defy their fate and escape Verona, they are thrust into a battle for the soul of Italy. As the Holy Roman Empire and the Church, ruled by the ruthless Pope Boniface, wage war for ultimate control, Juliet and Romeo find themselves at the heart of a revolution that will shape history. Partnering with iconic figures like Dante Alighieri, they must navigate political intrigue, forbidden alliances, and the raw power of music to fight for a future where love conquers all. A revolutionary Pop Musical set at the dawn of the Renaissance, Juliet & Romeo transforms the world’s most legendary romance into an electrifying saga of rebellion, passion, and destiny. The cast includes: Clara Rugaard, Jamie Ward, Jason Isaacs, Tayla Parx, Dan Fogler, Nicholas Podany, Ferdia Walsh-Peelo, Rupert Graves, Martina Ortiz Luis with Rebel Wilson, Rupert Everett and Derek Jacobi.
A note from Timothy Scott Bogart, Writer/Director
This was my first interaction with William Shakespeare, and it would become a driving creative influence in my life. The themes took hold immediately… Love… Rebellion… Family… Fate… War… Destiny… And those three words… “Star-Crossed Lovers…” they had become part of the cultural zeitgeist in every city, in every country, around the world. This was the stuff of great character, and tremendous plot, and whether it’s been as a play, a ballet, an opera, or as a movie, it’s why the Bard’s greatest love story of all time has continued to entertain audiences for nearly five hundred years. Shakespeare had written the original, and most successful, YA story of all time!”
“In a world where Harry Potter has sold over six hundred million books, where The Hunger Games have sold over a hundred million, where Twilight has sold over a hundred and sixty million and Dune, has now sold over 20 million. For Shakespeare’s, “Romeo & Juliet”, they stopped even trying to count, with estimated sales exceedingly well into the billions. Having been adapted thousands of times, in more than 100 different languages, virtually no one on Earth doesn’t know the story of “Romeo & Juliet.” It is, by nearly all measures, the most widely read and universally adored story in literature, not including the Bible.
“Romeo & Juliet is one of the most romantic stories ever told. And the challenge for any storyteller is to find a different color that they can add. To work from a different palette. To me, what Shakespeare did was to express the poetry of his time. So, in searching for the poetry of our time, we turn to music… Original, Pop Music, as a way to truly dive into our character’s journeys – which I believe makes our film different than any other version that’s ever been done before.”
Re-Imagining Romeo & Juliet – A note from Timothy Scott Bogart
More than a decade ago, I was having coffee with my brother Evan, the genius who co wrote “Halo” for Beyonce, discovered Rihanna and Lizzo among others, and has an endless string of pop music hits to his name, the likes of which any major songwriter could only dream of.
We were discussing the power of music and why pop songs, specifically, had a way of crawling under our skin and staying there forever.
My brother’s answer was shockingly simple; “because that’s our poetry.” When we’re in love, when we’re heartbroken, when we’re feeling betrayed, when we’re roused to fight – there’s always a song we can turn up loud and belt from our souls. And we’ll feel better!
It was amazing how simple and specific his answer was.
We feel music, we don’t think it. And younger people, want to feel, far more than they want to think.
It was in that moment that my head, and my heart, returned to Shakespeare. If his writing was the poetry of his time, what if we were to use the poetry of our time, to reach this new, and ever-expanding audience?
What if we made Romeo & Juliet a truly original Pop Musical?
The idea our characters soaring through song to express their true, inner passions and struggles, felt like a version I had just never seen before. All at the heart of the greatest love story ever told. And so, I began to write. Our vision was a world that would be driven by a visceral energy, filmed in real Castles, on real horses, on real mountaintops – shooting in the rain and the snow – all to give an immediacy and a reality that had never truly been tackled before.
We’re making it a muscular piece, throwing our characters into the real world. We were not shooting on a sound stage. They are really riding on horseback, riding on mountaintops, they are really racing through castles. We were shooting in the winter, with snow, with rain, in the mud. Placing them in what was very likely the real world of 1301 where these two families actually battled.
From the very start, the film I envisioned was one of empowerment. And yes, female empowerment, specifically, in a story that rarely has attempted to do so. And yet, for me, that’s the only reason to do it all. To be sure, for our story – and our Franchise – the very question of whether Romeo & Juliet are doomed to their pre-determined destinies is right at the core of the way we’ve approached everything.
A reimagining… of the central arc and the evolution of the tale.
But whether Romeo & Juliet, or the other characters, ultimately defy fate and destiny – the fact that they are all caught right in the storm of struggling against it, was always crucial to illustrate and get right. Yes, it’s the 1300s, but our Romeo & Juliet is always about empowerment. In every moment and on every frame.
And to understand empowerment, I felt we first needed to understand the struggle for it by the main characters.
“I’ve always thought there are two kinds of musicals… the first, where there’s a Milkman who clearly knows he’s in a musical – and even his cow seems to know he’s in a musical! It’s not a real world – and I’ve always found that a little distancing. Then there’s the world where the music is such an integral driver, that one can’t help but lose themselves to a different connection to it all. That’s the musical I hope we’ve made. Where the inner emotional truths of these characters is what we see come to life in song. Drawing inspiration from virtually everywhere, from Wicked and The Greatest Showman, to Sweeney Todd, Les Miz and more – the inspiration ultimately came from finding where the music and the moments in those other films suddenly became something more than just song and dance – and revealed themselves to be the core emotional truth as the compass to it all.”
Note from Evan Kidd Bogart, Executive Music Producer, Songwriter.
We’re not trying to write a musical. I think that’s a really big distinction. We’re writing hit songs for the radio, based on these characters and bringing them to light in a brand new way. I feel like song is an extension of the scene, and weaves in and out of the storytelling. The emotion becomes so overwhelming, it’s just bursting to get out of their skin – that they have to just start singing. Music exists in this world, so it’s a musical world. But that’s different than a movie musical.
Timothy Scott Bogart is a producer, writer, and director known for films such as The Last Full Measure (2019) and Spinning Gold (2023). He is the son of Neil Bogart, the founder of Casablanca Records, and the brother of record producer Evan Bogart. Bogart has worked on various projects across film and television, including Majors & Minors, Platinum Hit, and Life Flight: Trauma Center Houston[2^]. His most recent work, Spinning Gold, is a biographical drama about his father’s career in the music industry.
Timothy Scott Bogart and Evan Kidd Bogart are brothers. They are both sons of Neil Bogart, the founder of Casablanca Records. Evan Kidd Bogart is a songwriter, music publisher, and record executive known for his work in the music industry, including writing Beyoncé’s hit song Halo. Timothy Scott Bogart, on the other hand, is a filmmaker and producer, most recently known for directing Spinning Gold, a biopic about their father.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Deadly Secrets Unravel In The Accountant
“The concept of an accountant, a profession that we normally think of as pretty mundane — who is outside what most would consider conventional and has extraordinary abilities, was something different,” says screenwriter Bill Dubuque of The Accountant. “As I thought more about what would make this person special, I hit on the notion that he is on the autism spectrum. But he uses it to his advantage, and I just loved the idea of that.”
“This guy risks his life uncooking the books for some of the scariest people on the planet. Drug cartels. Arms brokers. Money launderers. Assassins… Imagine the secrets this guy has. It’s always compelling when people have secrets—when you think someone is one thing and then discover they’re something else entirely,” says director Gavin O’Connor.
At first glance, Christian Wolff seems to be nothing more than a storefront CPA, right down to his spreadsheets and pocket protector. However, his usual clientele are among the world’s most powerful crime lords, and his mild-mannered demeanor and somewhat innocuous appearance belie the fact that he may be more dangerous than any of them.
Ben Affleck, who stars in the role, notes, “The story speaks to the duality in all of us. It might be easy to pigeonhole a guy like Chris, but we find out he’s capable of much more than you imagine.”
The actor goes on to reveal that there is another unexpected wrinkle to Christian, who is able to crunch more than just numbers. “On the one hand, he’s this effectively trained fighter and on the other, he’s a math savant. Those facets of his personality—seemingly at odds in him—were unlike anything I’ve ever done before and made it both exciting and challenging.”
O’Connor agrees. “The center point of the film was this fascinating character that I loved and wanted to explore. How did he become this man? How did he get those skills? How did he become this lethal fighter? The story has intertwining puzzles, which gave it a high IQ factor and made it especially intriguing.”
Anna Kendrick, Ben Affleck and director Gavin O’Connor during the filming of The Accountant
The spark for the story initiated with producer Mark Williams
“I had heard the term ‘forensic accountant’ and thought it sounded like a detective of some sort. But then I started pushing the envelope, raising the stakes with who he’s working for and that had the potential to kick the action into high gear. Once I had the general framework in my head, I took it to Bill Dubuque, who is a writer I’ve worked with before and is flat-out great. He responded to the idea and started fleshing out the script.”
Dubuque affirms, “The concept of an accountant—a profession that we normally think of as pretty mundane—who is outside what most would consider conventional and had extraordinary abilities was something different. If you’re a mainstream company and think someone’s embezzling funds, you have a team of accountants who can determine where the money is going. But if you’re a drug cartel or a Mafia kingpin, you can’t do that. You’ve got to be able to call somebody who can come in, figure out the patterns in your books, and say, ‘This is where the leak is.’ And then get out. As I thought more about what would make this person special, I hit on the notion that he is on the autism spectrum. But he uses it to his advantage, and I just loved the idea of that.”
O’Connor emphasizes, “We learned the term ‘spectrum’ is especially fitting because there is really no single type of autism; every person is an individual and at a different place on that spectrum. Christian is fictional and not based on anyone in real life—his remarkable aptitude for figures is a gift and his physical attributes are a product of his unique upbringing.”
Dubuque surrounded Christian with other characters that are just as multifaceted, pointing out, “Almost no one is really who they seem to be.”
Producer Lynette Howell Taylor says, “Bill created a fantastically written screenplay. I had never read anything like it before and found it completely unpredictable, which is always a good sign. There were twists that took me by surprise and I had a couple of gasp moments. That’s what ultimately made me want to make the movie.”
With the script in hand, the producers chose O’Connor to helm “The Accountant” after meeting with him and finding “he had a deep understanding of these characters and a vision for how to shoot their interwoven storylines,” Williams recalls. “We knew he was the perfect director for this. He has such a fine eye for detail and kept track of all the puzzle pieces so they would all fit together in the end, which was very important for this film.”
Affleck adds, “I’d seen Gavin’s work on ‘Warrior’ and ‘Miracle,’ and in both of those movies I saw tremendous integrity in the performances. I thought, ‘This is a director who doesn’t let a false note land in his films.’ I knew ‘The Accountant’ needed that kind of unflinching eye to capture the complexity and the nuances and ground it in reality. At the end of the day, I was so glad he directed this movie because amidst the incredible action, he imbued it with authenticity, originality, humanity and heart. I loved working with him.”
Anna Kendrick, who stars alongside Affleck in the film, says she especially appreciated the director’s “reverence for the emotional content,” noting, “It’s an interesting thing because, in many ways, Gavin is such a dude. He and Ben would get so excited about all the action sequences, but then he also took such joy in the really sweet, emotional scenes.”
O’Connor says the divergent elements of the story and its characters were what attracted him to the project. “It’s refreshingly unconventional and defies definition because it’s a suspense thriller, a drama, an action film and a character study. I thought the script was one of the best that I’d read, so I really wanted to do it.”
The cleverly constructed screenplay also drew the film’s impressive acting ensemble
“It kept me guessing until the very last page,” Affleck states, “and I thought it was very smart, rich in detail and in character depth, and inventive in its evolution.”
J.K. Simmons concurs, “Bill Dubuque crafted a layered script with very deep characters, so it has a great combination of an intricate plot with a range of fascinating people.”
“Part of my job as a director,” O’Connor says, “is surrounding myself with people who are really good at what they do—people who are going to constantly lift up the material and make me better and make the movie the best it can be. All of these actors are of that caliber.”
As “The Accountant” opens, we meet Christian Wolff as a child whose parents are seeking professional help for him. Telling the couple their son is actually more gifted than handicapped, the neurologist offers to work with him. But Chris’s dad has his own ideas of how to prepare his son for a world that can be harsh for anyone deemed “different.”
“Chris’s father puts him through all kinds of rigorous training to toughen him up for a world he thinks could hurt him,” says Affleck. “Instead, in a way, he ends up damaging him even further. I thought that was an interesting theme—how he reconciles his past with the man he is now.
“What resonated with me about this character was not the ways he is different, but the ways he is similar to everyone else,” the actor continues. “He grapples with the differences between himself and what is considered ‘normal,’ and those pose real challenges for him to get by in life. But deep down he’s very much the same: he wants to be happy, he wants human contact, he wants love, he wants friendship… He has things that bother him, like we all do, but he has goals in his life that he wants to meet, and he wants to succeed. He just defines those things differently from how other people do.”
Prior to the start of filming, O’Connor and Affleck engaged in research they knew was essential “to make sure we got this character right,” the director says. “We all have our advantages and disadvantages as people, so it was important to me that we embrace Chris as an individual and never look at him as a tragic figure.”
The two consulted with several autism experts, including Dr. Neelkamal Soares, Laurie Stephens, Cheryl Klaiman, Christine Hall and Shelley Carnes. They also visited a number of homes and schools. “I was lucky,” Affleck says. “I had my director doing research with me, which gave us a shared vocabulary and made it a lot easier. There’s no task Gavin won’t undertake if he thinks it might make the movie better. We learned that there’s quite a range to what people refer to as being on the spectrum. Ultimately, I tried to strike a balance between letting the audience in on what’s going on with Christian and not doing it in too obvious a way.”
O’Connor was so impressed with Affleck, he stated, “I would make every movie with Ben if I could. He just poured himself into the role, and the more you give him to do, the more he just keeps attacking it.”
Affleck remarks, “The great thing about ‘The Accountant’ is it’s smart and it has a ton of action and fun twists. And when it all comes together, I think the audience is in for a surprise.”
O’Connor concludes, “I wanted to make a film that was intellectually engaging, while also being a rollercoaster ride that can sweep the audience up in a story that doesn’t let up until the end. And if it moves you or makes you think or want to talk about it after you leave the theatre, that’s cool, too.”
The Accountant 2 is the sequel to The Accountant
Starring Ben Affleck as Christian Wolff, a highly skilled accountant with a unique set of abilities, The Accountant 2 is directed by Gavin O’Connor from a screenplay by Bill Dubuque and continues the story of Christian as he investigates the murder of a Treasury Department official. This time, he teams up with his estranged brother, Braxton (played by Jon Bernthal), and Treasury Agent Marybeth Medina (Cynthia Addai-Robinson) to uncover a dangerous conspiracy.
The sequel builds on the foundation of the original film by deepening the emotional and narrative arcs of its characters, particularly the relationship between Christian Wolff (Ben Affleck) and his brother Braxton (Jon Bernthal). It explores themes of family, redemption, and the complexities of neurodivergence, while also delivering the intense action and intricate plotting that fans of the first movie enjoyed.
The film also expands the world of Christian Wolff, introducing new characters and challenges, such as a global smuggling ring and a mysterious assassin, Anaïs. It balances action with humor and emotional depth, making it more than just a typical action thriller
GAVIN O’CONNOR (Director / Executive Producer) is a native New Yorker who began writing while studying at the University of Pennsylvania. After graduation, he returned to New York, where he began his career writing short films and plays. He made his screenwriting debut with the award-winning short film The Bet, then wrote and directed the short film American Standoff. O’Connor first garnered attention when he directed the independent feature Tumbleweeds. He also co-wrote the screenplay with Angela Shelton, based on Shelton’s childhood diaries. O’Connor’s next directing effort was the widely acclaimed 2004 hit Miracle. Following the success of Miracle, he co-wrote and directed the 2008 drama Pride and Glory. In 2010, O’Connor co-wrote, produced and directed the acclaimed film Warrior. Turning his attention to the small screen, O’Connor directed the pilot of the award-winning television series The Americans, and helmed the pilot of Seven Seconds. , After Atlantic Wall, Gavin O’Connor directed several notable films: The Way Back (2020): A sports drama starring Ben Affleck as a former basketball star struggling with addiction and redemption, Seven Seconds (2018): A Netflix series exploring racial tensions and justice in the aftermath of a tragic accident and The Accountant 2.
BILL DUBUQUE (Screenplay) turned to screenwriting after working 12 years as a corporate headhunter, and poured his recruiting experiences into one of his first screenplays, “The Headhunter’s Calling.” The film, which Dubuque wrote and executive produced, just premiered at the 2016 Toronto International Film Festival. In 2014, Dubuque gained critical attention with his first produced screenplay, the family drama “The Judge.” In addition, he recently wrote “The Real McCoy.” Dubuque is the co-creator and executive producer of the series Ozark and The Judge.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Unlocking Terror: Writing the Ultimate Horror Film
Writing a horror screenplay is unlike writing any other type of screenplay. In addition to telling a story, a horror movie script must also scare the audience and give them the adrenaline rush they’ve come to expect from the horror genre.
Horror screenwriting is a unique craft that requires a balance between storytelling and fear-inducing elements. To truly grip an audience, a horror script must build suspense, create unsettling atmospheres, and deliver unexpected twists.
Horror is a genre of film that’s scary for the purpose of entertainment. Horror movies prey on viewers’ biggest fears and worst nightmares, leaving them with a sense of dread and a rush of adrenaline.
Writing horror films is an art that blends suspense, fear, and psychological tension
Here are some key elements to consider:
Horror thrives on unique ideas: Whether it’s a supernatural entity, psychological horror, or a slasher film, your premise should be fresh and unsettling.
Building Atmosphere: Horror thrives on mood. Whether it’s eerie silence, unsettling visuals, or a creeping sense of dread, setting the right tone is crucial.
Character Development: A strong horror story needs compelling characters. Audiences need to care about the characters to feel the stakes. Give them depth, flaws, and motivations.
Pacing & Tension: Horror isn’t just about jump scares—it’s about building tension gradually, making the audience uneasy before delivering the fright. Create tension through pacing, eerie atmosphere, and unsettling moments.
Subverting Expectations: The best horror films surprise viewers. Twisting familiar tropes or playing with audience assumptions can make a film truly terrifying.
Themes & Symbolism: Many horror films explore deeper fears—societal anxieties, personal trauma, or existential dread—giving them lasting impact. The best horror films tap into universal fears.
Master the Art of Surprise – Subvert expectations and avoid clichés to keep viewers on edge.
Write Visually – Horror is a visual genre. Use descriptions that evoke fear and unease.
Tips and Tricks for Writing Horror Screenplays
Here’s how to make your horror screenplay scarier:
Take the audience inside the mind of your main character. The closeness to the character’s experience will make their fear more real. You want viewers to identify with the protagonist and experience the horror as their own.
Hook viewers right away. Quickly introduce the main characters, time, and place so the audience is invested in the action. Start with a shocking first scene to set the tone right away.
Tap into your own fears and use them to your advantage. Think about what spooked you as a kid or still scares you now and access that same feeling of panic when you set up a scene.
Turn normal, familiar locations into scary places. Instead of using tired horror backdrops like a spooky European castle, try everyday settings like regular neighborhoods, schools, and backyards. This lets people identify with the setting and picture themselves in the middle of the action.
Master the art of building suspense. The secret to suspense is the unknown. You need to write scenes in which the character doesn’t know something: what’s pounding on the door, what’s scraping across the ceiling, how to find their way home. Build suspense by heightening sensory details and slowing down the pacing of the action of choice moments, like when something bad is about to happen.
Subvert expectations. Identify a trope within the scary movie genre and find a new way to tell the story. Audiences will think they know what to expect, but you can pleasantly surprise them with a fresh take on a classic horror movie.
Borrow from your influences. Watch horror movies and read horror novels to improve the quality of your writing. Ideas are often generated by absorbing story concepts from other screenwriters and authors.
Balancing Horror With Humor
Avoid putting too much horror in your screenplay. If you pile on one terrible thing after another, it’ll feel too absurd and audiences won’t buy it. Use humor to keep the story entertaining and from getting too scary. It’s a great way to achieve the proper balance between fantasy and real life. If a roller coaster only did twists and turns the whole time, it wouldn’t be as fun to ride.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Until Dawn – A love letter to the horror genre
Weaving in several different tropes of terror, “allows us to have the fun of killing off our characters,” says producer-writer Gary Dauberman of Until Dawn, an expansion of PlayStation Studios’ popular videogame of the same name, introducing a new story and fresh characters, tailored to a broader horror audience while honoring what makes the game so memorable.
For director-producer David F. Sandberg and producer-writer Gary Dauberman (who co-scripted with Blair Butler), having, separately or together, been responsible for Annabelle: Creation, Lights Out, and The Nun, their love for all things horror is fully realised in Until Dawn.
Within the film’s time loop framework, where each night sees the characters trapped in what feels like a different horror film, the filmmakers have crafted a terrifying mix of different genre styles, creating a unique experience for movie audiences.
The time loop structure also offers an unpredictable, propulsive, and supernatural mystery, which the characters must unravel to make it through – and avoid becoming part of the night. They must continually reconsider their choices and explore different paths, while coming to understand a shocking paradox in which they can only survive by dying first.
“Every night, the story resets, taking us into a new horror genre,” Sandberg elaborates. “As a lifelong horror fan, it was a dream come true to work in all these subgenres. Every night, the characters undergo what feels like a new chapter in a different story.
“Before learning of Until Dawn, I’d been thinking about what a perfect project would be,” he continues.
“Would it be a slasher movie, or a supernatural story, or maybe a creature feature? Until Dawn has it all; it’s several horror movies in one, which made me fall in love with it. We get to play with the entire horror toolbox. You never know what’s coming next in our story, because it changes every night.”
Weaving in several different tropes of terror, “allows us to have the fun of killing off our characters,” says Dauberman, with a smile. “It was both a challenge and tremendous fun because we had the freedom to say, ‘Yeah, f*** it, let’s just kill him.’”
An expansion of PlayStation Studios’ popular video game of the same name, as fans of the game, Sandberg and Dauberman saw an opportunity to build upon its world and turn it into a theatrical cinematic experience. The film introduces a new story and fresh characters, tailored to a broader horror audience while honouring what makes the game so memorable.
Producer Asad Qizilbash, who is SVP Head of Publishing, Studio Business Group and Head of PlayStation Productions, Sony Interactive Entertainment, says he’s more than impressed by how the filmmakers have extended, while always respecting the world envisioned by the artists at PlayStation.
“PlayStation Productions serves as a vessel for top creators to translate their passion for gaming into compelling narratives across various media. Being fans of the game themselves, David, Gary and their cast and crew have worked closely with our team at PlayStation Productions to make sure the film captured what fans love most about the Until Dawn world. And while you don’t need to have played the game to enjoy the movie’s twists and turns, there’s a good chance that fans will spot some cool references to the original story.”
Adds screenwriter Blair Butler: “Gary and I loved the way the game starts as one horror genre and turns into something different. This amazing blend of horror styles – and a structure that lets you try to save everybody or just kill them all off in terrible ways – were our north stars in crafting the screenplay.”
A loop in time
While the characters relive the night again and again, each time facing a horrifically different challenge, they are far from invincible. There are strict rules in the film’s mysterious and deadly time loop. It’s not as simple as reliving the same day. They must work together in a race against time to survive until dawn. Each one fears dying but living without each other scares them even more.
As Sandberg points out, “They only get so many chances to escape. It’s more intriguing than having the characters die and come back repeatedly. We had to make it more challenging for them. We put them through hell and got creative with ways of killing them.”
“The consequences multiply,” he continues. “And they have only a limited time to extricate themselves by finding a way to work together, before they die for real.”
To that end, each time a character comes back to life, something new is trying to kill them. “They have no idea what horror is waiting for them next,” says Dauberman. “It’s never, ‘Oh, if we just do the same thing we did last night, we’ll get out of this situation.’ It doesn’t work like that.”
Moreover, each character returns from the dead diminished, physically and mentally. “They are slowly becoming the thing that’s been terrifying them for several nights,” Dauberman summarises.
An integral part of the time loop concept is a prominent hourglass, resting ominously on one of the walls of a “welcome center” in which the friends are trapped. The hourglass is a totem of the group’s race against time and a constant reminder of their horrific predicaments. A complex mechanism resets the hourglass by rotating it 180 degrees at dawn as it counts down the hours before they meet an nspeakable fate.
“The hourglass is one of the most important parts of the movie,” producer Lotta Losten claims. “It has this otherworldly feel. Every time we cut to it, you’ll know something really bad is going to happen. At the same time, it’s very beautiful.”
Reteaming on the heels of their horror hit Annabelle: Creation, Sandberg and Gary Dauberman kickstarted pre-production on Until Dawn by reassembling the core creative team from Sandberg’s previous films (Shazam! Annabelle: Creation and Lights Out) and from The Conjuring cinematic universe, on which Dauberman was a key creative.
Production designer Jennifer Spence, director of photography Maxime Alexandre, creature and prosthetic effects artist Steve Newburn, and editor Michel Aller, came aboard to collaborate with the two filmmakers on their unique vision for this horror thrill ride.
Spence was tapped to usher the cursed mining town of Glore Valley into reality. Having already established a solid visual shorthand with Sandberg and Dauberman, she set out to find ways to depict how this once thriving community had catastrophically sunk underground after a local mine’s collapse, burying thousands of its citizens alive.
Clover and her friends’ desperate search for Melanie and terrifying race against time begins at Glore Valley’s mysterious Welcome Center, before dragging them into the bowels of the collapsed mine system and the rotting urban structures below.
As the characters transform upon waking after each night’s death, their physical environment similarly rearranges itself upon every reset. These narrative time-jumps, backwards and forward, demanded meticulous planning and logistical oversight from all creative departments.
Principal photography took place in the Hungarian capital city of Budapest, a production hub popular with international filmmakers.
DAVID F. SANDBERG (Director / Producer) is a renowned Swedish filmmaker based in Los Angeles known for his wide array of talents across a variety of genres. Sandberg started his career releasing short horror films in his native Sweden, including the 2013 viral hit Lights Out, which starred Losten in the lead role. Shortly after its online debut — the film has over 18 million views on YouTube — the short quickly caught the attention of the biggest decision-makers in Hollywood as well as a massive fanbase. In 2016, it was adapted into a feature film by New Line Cinema/Warner Bros. with Sandberg at the helm and grossed $148 million against a $4.9 million budget. Until Dawn marks Sandberg’s highly anticipated return to the horror genre, after a wildly successful stint directing the Shazam! franchise. Sandberg and his partner, Lotta Losten, have never strayed far from their genre roots, as they recently created two horror shorts from their home during quarantine – the first titled Shadowed and the other titled Not Alone in Here. These shorts were both released online under David’s pseudonym ‘ponysmasher’ and were massive hits. Previously, Sandberg directed Annabelle: Creation for New Line Cinema, which was the fourth instalment in The Conjuring Universe franchise.
GARY DAUBERMAN (Producer / Writer) is one of the most sought-after filmmakers in Hollywood today as seen by his numerous projects which include original content, franchise film series and high-profile adaptations in both film and television. Dauberman has a production deal with Sony and Screen Gems for his Coin Operated production company. Until Dawn is the first project to be released in theaters under the deal. After the success of writing the It and Annabelle film franchises, Dauberman made his directorial debut in 2019 with Annabelle Comes Home, which he also wrote. His second feature as director was Stephen King’s Salem’s Lot, which he adapted and executive produced. As for his screenwriting credits, Dauberman penned the adaptation of Stephen King’s beloved tome It, directed by Andy Muschietti. Dauberman wrote and executive produced the film’s box-office smash sequel, It: Chapter Two, which was released in 2019. Combined, the films earned over $1.1 billion worldwide. Dauberman joined the creative team behind The Conjuring Universe when he wrote the screenplay for Annabelle, and wrote the sequels Annabelle: Creation and Annabelle Comes Home. Dauberman also wrote the record-breaking spinoff, The Nun, which Warner Bros. released in 2018. The film’s sequel, The Nun 2, with Dauberman as producer, was released theatrically in 2023 and topped the opening weekend box-office. To date, the combined earnings of The Conjuring universe films exceed $2 billion at the worldwide box-office. On the development front, Dauberman is the writer and a producer on the upcoming remake of Train to Busan for New Line Cinema; he is the writer and an executive producer on the Gargoyles live-action series for Disney+, based on the 1990’s cartoon; and he is producing an adaptation of the Eisner Award nominated horror graphic novel Stray Dogs. Dauberman served as producer of The Curse of La Llorona. In television, Dauberman wrote Swamp Thing with Mark Verheiden for Atomic Monster and Warner Bros. Television, which streamed on DC Universe in 2019. He was also an executive producer on the critically acclaimed series.
In addition to adapting PlayStation’s iconic game Until Dawn, BLAIR BUTLER (Writer) rewrote Omega for Mandalay and Simon McQuoid and adapted Ology, the fantasy franchise starter from the thirteen-book series of the same name. Continuing her streak at the studio, Blair did a production polish on Area 51 for Sony, Atomic Monster and Colin Minihan and has done production work on several other Sony and Screen Gems titles. Screen Gems released The Invitation in 2022, which Butler originally sold on pitch to the studio. Most recently, she adapted Occupant for New Line and wrote Nonstop for Netflix and Amblin. Additionally, Butler did production work on Hell Fest for CBS Films and Valhalla, and received sole credit on Polaroid, which was released by Dimension Films in 2019, with Vertigo and Good Fear producing. Butler also wrote a project for Bad Robot and Paramount, had a thriller for James Wan and New Line, and worked on a feature for Pixar. On the TV side, Butler was a producer on Marvel’s Helstrom for Hulu. She’s also well known for her comedy background, having spent eight years as the head writer and on-air talent on G4’s Attack of the Show, where she created a comedy series called Slasher School. She also completed a comedy pilot for eOne in the style of a mash-up between House Flippers and The Exorcist.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Unveiling the Heart and Soul of Your Story
The heart and soul of a story often lies in the emotional resonance and the core themes it seeks to convey. It’s about the connections it forges with the reader—the moments that make them laugh, cry, ponder, or even change their perspective. It’s in the characters who feel alive and the world that draws you in.
Beyond themes and emotions, the heart and soul of a story lies in its ability to transport the reader—whether to a fantastical realm or into the depths of a character’s mind.
Storytelling is a dance between the universal and the specific
It’s about weaving vivid details, crafting compelling conflicts, and creating moments that linger long after the final page
At its core, the universal connects with readers—love, loss, triumph, or growth—while the specific paints a unique picture through your lens, making your story one-of-a-kind. Great stories thrive on contrasts: light and dark, stillness and action, hope and despair.
Storytelling’s heart lies in its layers—the textures of conflict, the rhythm of dialogue, and the melodies of emotions that pulse through the narrative.
At the soul of any story is the power of transformation
Characters who evolve, challenges that reshape perspectives, and journeys that echo both in the mind and the heart of the audience.
Then there’s the interplay between voice and silence—the words that leap off the page and the spaces where the reader’s imagination fills the gaps. It’s not just about what’s told, but what’s hinted at, creating a connection where the reader becomes a co-creator, breathing life into the world you’ve designed.
As you delve deeper, think of your story as a living, breathing entity. What heartbeat drives it? Is it the longing of a protagonist, the clash of ideologies, or perhaps the mysteries waiting to be unraveled?
Every story has its pulse, an intangible rhythm that carries readers from the opening line to the last page. It’s in the tension that builds with every decision, the revelations that unravel like whispered secrets, and the humanity—or inhumanity—that beats at the core of your characters. Whether it’s a sprawling epic or a quiet, intimate tale, the soul of a story is found in how deeply it resonates with universal truths while remaining wholly its own.
The most compelling stories are layered with contrasts: moments of tenderness amid chaos, shadows that amplify the light, and triumphs that feel earned after struggles. They ask questions that linger, ignite curiosity, and sometimes refuse to give easy answers.
At its deepest level, a story is an exploration of change
How people, places, or even entire worlds are transformed. It captures the essence of struggles and triumphs, the pursuit of dreams, or the battle between inner demons and personal growth. The heart of a story is not just in what happens, but why it matters.
The soul shines in the details: the quirks of a character that make them unforgettable, the sensory descriptions that immerse readers in the world, and the emotions that leave an indelible mark.
Great stories are often built on contrasts—moments of quiet reflection juxtaposed with high-stakes action, or the mundane colliding with the extraordinary.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on The Narrator is Absolutely Pivotal in a Story
The narrator serves as the lens through which readers experience the world of a story, influencing not just what the audience sees, but how they feel about it. Whether it’s an omniscient voice unveiling every character’s secrets or a first-person perspective sharing deeply personal insights, the narrator shapes the narrative’s tone, pace, and emotional impact. They guide readers through the plot, subtly influencing how events and characters are interpreted.
The narrator plays a crucial role in shaping how a story is told and experienced. Without this guide, the narrative risks losing focus, emotional impact, or coherence.
A narrator as a “voice of reason or wisdom” plays a guiding, reflective, or moral role in the story. Their purpose is to offer clarity, insight, or balance, often elevating the narrative to a deeper, more universal level. A “voice of reason or wisdom” narrator can ground a story, making it feel timeless and insightful.
A narrator can be either a character actively participating in the story or a disembodied voice that exists solely to guide and explain
Positioning your narrator effectively depends on the story you want to tell and the perspective you wish to emphasize.
Here’s why their role is so important
Shaping the story’s tone: The narrator’s voice sets the mood—whether it’s lighthearted, mysterious, dramatic, or reflective—and this profoundly impacts the reader’s experience.
Framing the events: A narrator determines what aspects of the story are emphasized, what is left ambiguous, and how events are interpreted.
Building trust (or mistrust): A reliable narrator helps readers fully invest in the narrative, while an unreliable one adds complexity, mystery, or tension by forcing the audience to question the truth.
Connecting with the audience: A well-crafted narrator creates a bond with the reader or viewer, offering perspective and insights that make the story feel personal or compelling.
Adding depth: Through a narrator’s observations, inner thoughts, or reflections, stories can explore themes, emotions, and character motivations in rich, layered ways. Narrators offer commentary, insights, or biases that add depth and complexity to the narrative.
Guiding the reader: The narrator helps readers navigate the events, characters, and settings of the story, providing structure and clarity.
Providing perspective: Through their voice, the narrator establishes the point of view—be it first-person, third-person, or omniscient—that influences how readers perceive the story’s events.
Controlling the flow of information: Narrators decide what details to reveal, when to reveal them, and what to withhold, creating suspense, surprise, or dramatic impact.
In both novels and screenplays, narrators serve as the storytellers, but their functions adapt to the medium.
Narrators in Novels
A novel’s narrator can delve deeply into the characters’ thoughts, emotions, and backgrounds. They often guide readers through complex narratives, adding layers of meaning and perspective. Whether first-person, third-person limited, or omniscient, the narrator’s chosen perspective shapes the readers’ engagement with the story. The narrator’s style and attitude influence the mood of the book and its impact on readers. Narrators manage the flow of events, building tension, resolution, or philosophical reflection.
Nick Carraway (The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald): As a peripheral narrator, Nick observes the glamorous yet tragic life of Jay Gatsby, offering reflections on wealth, love, and the American Dream.
Scout Finch (To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee): Told from Scout’s perspective as a child, her narration brings innocence and honesty to complex themes of racial injustice and morality.
Death (The Book Thief by Markus Zusak): A highly unusual narrator, Death offers a poignant and introspective view on human lives during World War II.
Humbert Humbert (Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov): An unreliable narrator whose disturbing perspective forces readers to question his motives and truthfulness.
Narrators in Screenplays
Screenplays rarely feature a traditional narrator, as storytelling relies heavily on visuals, dialogue, and actions. However, voiceover narration is used occasionally. In films with narrators, their role is often to frame the story, provide exposition, or reflect on events from a character’s perspective. A narrator’s voiceover can evoke specific feelings or reveal information that complements on-screen action.
Red (The Shawshank Redemption): Red’s voiceover narration provides profound insights into hope, friendship, and the human spirit within the confines of prison life.
Travis Bickle (Taxi Driver): An unreliable narrator whose internal monologue reveals his descent into alienation and obsession.
Forrest Gump (Forrest Gump): Forrest’s straightforward and heartfelt narration brings humor and poignancy to his extraordinary life story.
Tyler Durden (Fight Club): The narrator’s perspective plays with reality and perception, leading to one of cinema’s most memorable twists.
Here are some tips for placing your narrator
Positioning your narrator effectively depends on the story you want to tell and the perspective you wish to emphasize.
Choose the Narrator’s Perspective
First-person: The narrator is a character within the story, offering a personal and subjective account. This perspective creates intimacy but limits the scope to their experiences.
Third-person limited: The narrator knows the thoughts and feelings of one character, giving readers focused insight while maintaining some narrative distance.
Third-person omniscient: The narrator has an all-knowing perspective, providing a broad view of characters and events. This allows for more complex storytelling.
Unreliable narrator: A narrator whose perspective is biased or distorted can add intrigue and depth, encouraging readers to question their account.
Decide on Narrator Placement in the Story
Central narrator: The narrator is directly involved in the main events of the story, shaping the plot as it unfolds.
Peripheral narrator: The narrator observes the story from the sidelines, offering a unique perspective without being the focus of the action.
Detached narrator: A distant observer, often used in third-person narratives, providing an unbiased account of events.
Establish the Narrator’s Role
Expository: Use the narrator to explain or clarify events and context.
Reflective: A narrator who looks back on events, offering insight and wisdom gained over time.
Interactive: In some cases, the narrator can directly address readers or engage with them, breaking the fourth wall for a more dynamic storytelling experience.
Adapt to the Medium
In novels, narrators can explore inner thoughts, build a unique voice, and control the pace of the narrative.
In screenplays, if using voiceovers, ensure the narrator complements visual storytelling without overwhelming it.
Think about the emotional and thematic impact you want your narrator to have.
When the Narrator is a Character
Active participant: The narrator might play a key role in the plot, sharing their perspective as events unfold (e.g., Nick Carraway in The Great Gatsby).
Peripheral observer: They could be on the sidelines, witnessing the story but not driving the action (e.g., Dr. Watson in Sherlock Holmes).
Reflective: A character-narrator might tell the story from a later point in time, reflecting on past events with the benefit of hindsight.
When the Narrator is a Disembodied Voice
Neutral guide: The narrator functions as an impartial voice presenting the facts, often in third-person omniscient or objective viewpoints.
Voice of reason or wisdom: The narrator might offer philosophical or moral insights, framing the story’s events in a way that encourages deeper reflection.
Stylized device: In some stories, the narrator is an abstract presence, like Death in The Book Thief, or even a playful voice breaking the fourth wall.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Drop – A whodunnit where everyone in the vicinity is a suspect
“What’s terrifying about Drop is that it feels very grounded. This is a scenario that some people might see and feel like it could happen to them,” says director Christopher Landon. “There’s just something about the idea of being tormented and harassed by an unseen person on your phone that I think most people can relate to. I believe we’ve all experienced some form of that, whether it’s on social media or maybe even with an ex, so there’s an immediate relatable element to the concept of Drop, which ends up becoming the fully realized and ultimate nightmare version of that.”
Director Christopher Landon returns to the thriller genre with the playful, keep-you-guessing intensity he perfected in the Happy Death Day films with this of-the-moment whodunnit where everyone in the vicinity is a suspect . . . or victim. Drop is jointly produced by blockbuster genre houses Blumhouse and Platinum Dunes.
“The Blumhouse brand has always been about suspense and terror,” says Landon. “One of the things I love the most about them is that they take big swings and try stuff that a lot of other people would shy away from. I’m sure that if I took this script around Hollywood and said I wanted to make a thriller about two people sitting at a dinner table all night, most people would answer, “No, thank you.” But Jason Blum and Blumhouse trust filmmakers and gave us the opportunity to tell a story that we think is personal and worth telling.”
In Drop, Landon saw an opportunity to make a style of film he felt a certain nostalgia for. “I wanted to make a sort of throwback to ’90s thrillers and even further back to Hitchcock and De Palma, but with this very modern conceit at the center of it,” Landon says. “That was really appealing to me. This also felt like my chance to make a love letter to films like Red Eye. That’s a movie I really love, and think is under-appreciated. It is such a tight, contained thriller.”
Landon found an even deeper connection to the material, which involves themes of domestic abuse and the impact of that trauma on survivors. “I’ve had people very close to me who have been victims of abuse, specifically domestic abuse,” says Landon. “This was very personal to me, and something I wanted to handle delicately. But I also wanted to show that there is a path for people, a way out.”
“I think audiences are going to love how fast-paced, suspenseful, exciting and emotional the movie is,” says Landon. “You know, I think it fires on a lot of different cylinders, having a real conversation with the audience about the nature of our highly abusive online culture. I went through something personal prior to making this movie, where I found myself being attacked by a bunch of people I didn’t know, and it’s a scary and bizarre feeling. So, I think audiences are going to relate to Violet and the situation that she’s in, rooting for her to get the upper hand and take back control. And Drop is definitely a must see on the big screen because it’s such an audience experience. There are many twists and turns and surprises, which just hits differently in a movie theater where you can hear everyone reacting together as they try to work out the mystery. That experience is irreplaceable.”
Imagine you are at a restaurant, enjoying your evening, when an unexpected notification pops up on your phone. You have received a drop request from someone in the restaurant, someone you do not know. Assuming the drop must be a prank, you accept. But, instead of funny memes or jokes in return, you begin to receive messages that feel both threatening and personal. You get the eerie feeling that you are being watched, observed, toyed with. In a matter of minutes, your night out has taken a dark, and potentially dangerous, turn.
This scenario, which provides the narrative engine forDrop, is also its real-life inspiration.
Platinum Dunes producer Cameron Fuller and his friend, actor Sam Lerner (The Goldbergs), were on vacation overseas with family when they fell victim to a wave of unrecognized drops. “We’re at a beautiful dinner and we start receiving drops from someone in the restaurant,” Fuller says. “Over the course of the meal, they are getting progressively scarier. By the end, we thought we had figured out who it was, but we were never able to confirm it. That was the scariest part. We never knew who the sender of these drops was. And then we said, ‘maybe this should be a movie.’”
The Screenplay
Fuller and Lerner brought that idea back to the states and enlisted the help of screenwriters Jillian Jacobs and Christopher Roach, whom Lerner knew. The writers wrote the screenplays for Blumhouse’s Truth or Dare and Fantasy Island. In addition to Drop, Jacobs and Roach have often collaborate with director Christopher Landon, known for blending genres. Some of their notable work includes writing for films like Freaky (2020), a horror-comedy twist on a body-swap story, and Happy Death Day 2U (2019), the sequel to the time-loop slasher film Happy Death Day. Their screenwriting style frequently mixes suspense, humour, and unexpected emotional depth.
“Usually, a movie doesn’t happen this way,” Fuller says. “This was just a combination of luck and having great people involved.”
“I wasn’t looking for a thriller specifically,” says Landon, “but I tend to gravitate towards things that I feel on a gut level, and I just had such a visceral reaction to this script. In a strange way, it felt a bit like a bookend to me. Early in my career I wrote a film called Disturbia, which was very much my love letter to Alfred Hitchcock by way of John Hughes. Drop felt like an evolution for me—it was nice to work on something a little bit more adult and mature after having made a lot of films that focus on teenagers.”
Not long after this initial meeting, Jacobs and Roach returned to Fuller with a completed script. He was floored by it. “When you read a script that holds you the whole way through, it’s kind of like you’ve struck gold,” Fuller says. Fuller then delivered the script to his father, Brad Fuller—producer of the A Quiet Place and The Purge franchises. “My dad usually doesn’t get excited about things,” Cameron Fuller says, “but he got really excited about this one.”
Brad Fuller immediately saw the potential for a rare kind of thriller. The script expertly blends elements from the ticking-clock thriller and whodunit genres, concocting a single-location story that feels both timeless and relevant in today’s digital world. From the moment Violet steps into the restaurant in the film, the narrative takes place in real time, as the audience experiences every single second of terror with her. “I’m personally attracted to films that feel like they could actually happen, and this was a great realistic thriller,” Brad Fuller says. “The script was a movie the first time I read it.”
The writing process involved crafting a modern thriller that cleverly integrates technology into its suspenseful narrative.
As the Fullers set out to find the ideal filmmaker to direct the project, Brad recalled an old friend who seemed the perfect man for the job. “About 20 years ago, my partner Michael Bay and I were developing a movie at Universal, and we hired a young Chris Landon to rewrite the script,” Brad Fuller says. “Chris came in, rewrote the script, and Bay and I loved him, so he was always in the back of my head.” Michael Bay, as both a director and producer, has been responsible for some of the biggest blockbuster franchises of the past 30 years, from Bad Boys to Transformers, The Purge to A Quiet Place. He knows talent when he sees it. “Chris Landon was cool before anyone knew he was cool,” Bay says. “He knows how to tell a killer, entertaining story on screen. You can’t learn that; it’s intrinsic. You either have it or you don’t.”
Landon had come a long way since his rewrite days at Universal, becoming one of the most sought-after horror directors in the industry. Brad called him. “I said, ‘I know we haven’t talked in a long time, but I have a script that you just have to read,’” Brad Fuller says. “He called me the next day and said, ‘I love it.’ And so, Chris committed to it.”
Christopher Landon shares a longstanding relationship with both the Fullers and Jason Blum. Having helmed many of Blumhouse’s signature hits—Freaky (2020), Happy Death Day (2017) and Happy Death Day 2U (2019), Scouts Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse (2015), and Paranormal Activity: The Marked Ones (2014)—the director leaped at the opportunity to work with the company again. “I think the reason I’ve had such a lasting relationship with Blumhouse, and specifically Jason, is the amount of creative freedom they give their filmmakers,” Landon says. “If you can make your movie within a certain budget parameter, you have control. It is an empowering situation, and that is why a lot of filmmakers keep going back.”
Jason Blum was equally happy to be working with Landon again. “Chris has this incredible gift as a director of finding the fun and the pure adrenaline rush in movies that are primarily designed to scare the hell out of you,” Blum says. “You are on the edge of your seat, or curled into a ball, terrified for what is coming, but you are also having a blast. Among his many talents, he is an expert in getting the tone right, and so was a perfect fit for Drop.”
Drop is set almost entirely in one location, the upscale restaurant Palate, located on the top floor of a Chicago skyscraper. But you won’t find it on OpenTable or Grubhub. Production designer Susie Cullen and her team built the entire, fully functional restaurant from scratch at Ardmore Studios just outside Dublin, Ireland.
Cullen embraced the opportunity to tell a story in one location. “When a script is spent largely in one space, it definitely puts pressure on that space to hold interest,” Cullen says. “It’s a huge consideration because with that much time there, the camera is going to be all over the space, and there’s nowhere to hide.”
“One of the things I love the most about Drop is that it’s very much about a woman simultaneously trying to solve a mystery and prevent a crime,” says Landon. “Violet has been tasked with murdering her date, and there is an unseen person in the restaurant who is this sort of puppet master controlling her – watching her every move, listening to her every word – while she’s trying to figure out who it is. So, I loved playing with the mystery elements, casting suspicion on different characters in the movie. Is it the bartender? Is it the hostess? Is it the waiter? Could it even be her date, Henry? There’s at least a hundred people in that room with her; so, it could be anyone. I think it’s fun to watch the audience get into that element of the story, trying to figure out who it is. That’s really the joy of the movie.”
First dates are nerve-wracking enough. Going on a first date while an unnamed, unseen troll pings you personal memes that escalate from annoying to homicidal? Blood-chilling. In Drop, Violet (Meghann Fahy), a widowed mother on her first date in years, arrives at an upscale restaurant where she is relieved that her date, Henry ( Brandon Sklenar) is more charming and handsome than she expected. But their chemistry begins to curdle as Violet begins being irritated and then terrorized by a series of anonymous drops to her phone. She is instructed to tell nobody and follow instructions or the hooded figure she sees on her home security cameras will kill Violet’s young son and babysitting sister. Violet must do exactly as directed or everyone she loves will die. Her unseen tormentor’s final directive? Kill Henry.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Warfare – A “forensic approach” to storytelling
Breaking the formula of conventional war movies, Warfare pulls no punches in its frank and visceral depiction of young men under fire. “Reality doesn’t let people off the hook; when things are tough, there isn’t a dissolve or a cut or some music to cheer you up,” says writer-director Alex Garland of his approach to making the movie. “You remain in that state until circumstances relieve you from pressure or the moment, and that’s what Warfare does — it adheres to reality, not the reassurances of cinema.”
From writer-directors Alex Garland and Ray Mendoza, arriving one year after Civil War, comes an immersive and electrifying new take on the war movie, created from the memories of real-life Navy SEALs, including Mendoza himself, from a dangerous mission in Ramadi, Iraq, in 2006.
Warfare takes place in real-time, using extended takes, meticulously constructed sets, and unmatched realism to capture the fog and chaos of war, and the indelible brotherhood that develops in its wake.
“We made this film,” says Mendoza, a combat veteran who worked with Garland to design the battle sequences in Civil War, “as a reminder to the people who make the decisions to go to war that there are people that will answer that call so that others don’t have to — and usually it’s the youth of America.”
“Warfare breaks with convention and dispenses with romanticization in its depiction of war and what it feels like to be under fire,” says Will Poulter, who plays an Officer in Charge of the operation. “Playing out like a transcript from found footage, the movie gives people a more authentic understanding of being in a combat environment under intense pressure.”
Warfare is also a moving tribute to wounded SEAL Elliott Miller, whose daring evacuation from a Ramadi apartment building forms the heart of Garland and Mendoza’s pulse-pounding story. Miller, along with several other SEALs who took part in the operation, were on set as the movie filmed, reconstructing their collective experience and offering Miller a glimpse of what he could not see on that fateful day.
“This film is not only an immersive experience of warfare, but also a bridge to communication about the subject of combat,” says Mendoza. “Oftentimes a veteran or active military person wants to talk about war, or a loved one wants to understand it, but conveying the confusion of combat or seeing a friend wounded — those are hard things to talk about.
“Memories come rushing back, sometimes closure and understanding follow,” Mendoza adds. “We were young when we fought in Ramadi and didn’t have the tools or the dialogue to talk about these things until 20 years later.”
The Art Of Collaboration
Two decades after the Ramadi evacuation, and retired from the Navy, Mendoza found himself in another career, working as a Hollywood stunt man specialising in choreographing gunfight sequences in action movies. Through a stunt coordinator, he met writer-director Alex Garland and became a consultant on Civil War, designing battle scenes, including the assault on the White House that closes the movie. While doing preliminary blocking on the final sequence, Garland and Mendoza realized how well they worked together.
The collaborators had become friends, and halfway through filming Civil War, Mendoza shared Elliott Miller’s story, which was never far from Mendoza’s mind.
“After I left the Navy and started making movies, I kept returning to Elliott’s story,” says Mendoza, who carried the unconscious SEAL to the rescue tank that ultimately saved his life. “Elliott doesn’t recall what happened that day in 2006, but his fellow SEALs on the mission do. I wanted to track down and collect everybody’s memories and perspectives from the day in question, to create a living document that would give Elliott the ability to see and experience what happened during the operation.”
Crafting The Screenplay
Garland decided to make Mendoza his co-writer and co-director on his follow-up to Civil War — but first they needed a script.
After Civil War wrapped in 2023, Garland and Mendoza sat down together for a week in Los Angeles to break down Elliott’s story. Garland transcribed while Mendoza recounted, minute by minute, the story of the Ramadi operation.
They conducted a series of interviews with Mendoza’s former SEAL team, building out key memories and incidents until the transcript took the shape of a screenplay. Other characters were also interviewed, with their memories of the operation depicted without editorializing as they were recounted to Garland and Mendoza.
The co-writers set rules for themselves not to embellish or dramatise story events for effect — to make it as true reportage as possible.
“This was an unusual process and not like any other writing job I’ve been involved with before,” says Garland, whose screenplays include 28 Days Later, Ex Machina, and Annihilation, as well as several acclaimed novels.
“This film is specifically not editorialising — it’s not the job of the filmmakers to make those kinds of decisions because it is from the perspective of the people who experienced the memories. If there was a memory of something happening and the memory could be verified, it went into the story. That’s the goal of this movie — to listen to the people who were able to impart their memories and recount their stories.”
A Forensic Approach
Describing the process as a “forensic approach” to storytelling, not unlike investigative work, Mendoza and Garland rebuilt the story from the ground up, embracing authenticity at every turn.
“Everybody’s got a different perspective — certain memories, especially traumatic ones, became conflicted when other people started joining the interviews,” says Mendoza.
“Memories become compartmentalized over time. Stuff these guys had forgotten for 20 years started pouring out, triggering other recollections, which became a rush of information and recall.”
Creative license has been a hallmark of true-life military-themed movies since the dawn of cinema, most notably in the modern age, in studio spectacles like Saving Private Ryan and Dunkirk, which showcase emotionally heightened moments.
The co-writers debated whether they should categorize Warfare as a true story, acknowledging early in the process that memory is imperfect.
“We were not inventing people or reordering events here,” says Garland. “When you look through the timeline of what the SEALs were saying happened, we had to forensically piece together events — until a point arose when we had enough information from multiple sources to decide how we would tell it onscreen.”
Once the script was complete, the pair set about finding the right actors to fill the roles of Mendoza’s brothers in combat.
“We co-wrote and co-directed Warfare, but my duties on this project became more technical and logistical,” says Garland.
“The heart and soul of the story, including working with the actors, became Ray’s job.”
Warfare filmed in a suburb north of London on a former World War II airfield repurposed as a 100-acre film & TV studio. Unfolding in a close approximation of real-time, and aside from a brief male-bonding prologue in the SEAL barracks and some late-night drone shots, the movie plays out in and around the apartment building where the SEALs are fired upon by Al Qaeda operatives.
Ray Mendoza (l) and Alex Garland on the set of ‘Warfare.’ A24
The Filmmakers
Ray Mendoza joined the Navy in 1997 and served for over 16 years as a Member of SEAL Team 5 and a Land Warfare Training Detachment and BUD/s instructor. Ray was introduced to filmmaking while performing in Act of Valor and went on to serve as a Military Advisor on Peter Berg’s Lone Survivor. Since then he has worked both in front of and behind the camera on multiple projects. He produced the documentary series The Warfighters and The Selection for History® Channel. Ray is especially proud of The Warfighters for which he employed more than 90 Veterans across multiple military branches on the production. Ray’s vast experiences in entertainment and special operations are the perfect blend to bring authentic stories of our men and women in uniform to the screen. Recently, he was the military advisor on Civil War in which he worked with Alex Garland, which then led to them collaborating on their current film Warfare, which they both wrote and directed.
Alex Garland began his career as a novelist, most famously writing The Beach and The Tesseract. He moved into screenwriting with his debut 28 Days Later, directed by Danny Boyle and produced by DNA Films. Garland made his directorial debut in 2015 with Ex Machina, for which he was nominated for an Academy Award® for Original Screenplay along with a BAFTA award for Outstanding British Film, and BAFTA’s Outstanding Debut by a British Director. In 2018, Garland released his second film as writer-director, Annihilation, based on the 2014 novel by Jeff VanderMeer. His other screenplays include Sunshine, Never Let Me Go, Dredd, and the video game Enslaved: Odyssey to the West which he co-wrote with Tameem Antoniades in 2010. Garland also executive produced 28 Weeks Later. His original 8-part TV series Devs, for which he is the sole writer and director, was released in 2020 by FX Networks. Men, a psychological horror, and Civil War, a dystopian action thriller, were written and directed by Garland and released by A24 Films. Garland most recently wrote and produced 28 Years Later and wrote and directed Warfare.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Reinventing the Sitcom: The Writers’ Journey of Mid-Century Modern
The narrative of Mid-Century Modern “really expresses what everybody ultimately wants,’ says producer-writer Max Mutchnick, who created the sitcom with David Kohan. “Everyone, no matter who you are, wants a friend group that you love and adore, that you feel safe around. When it’s all over, the only thing that we’re going to have are the connections that we make with other people, and whether it’s blood relatives or your chosen family, you’ve got to make the most of it.”
Sitcoms, or situational comedies, originated as a form of serialised entertainment designed to bring humour and lighthearted storytelling into people’s lives. Their roots can be traced back to the golden age of radio in the 1930s and 1940s when radio comedies like Amos ‘n’ Andy and The Jack Benny Program became incredibly popular. These shows relied on humorous scenarios and engaging characters to keep audiences tuning in week after week. With the rise of television in the 1950s, sitcoms transitioned from radio to TV screens, gaining widespread popularity. Early television sitcoms like I Love Lucy and The Honeymooners set the template for the genre, featuring recurring characters, laugh tracks, and episodic plots centered around everyday situations. These shows emphasized relatable humor, which resonated deeply with audiences and evolved over time, experimenting with formats, styles, and themes.
The Mid-Century Modern TV series draws inspiration from the timeless aesthetic of mid-century modern design, which emphasizes clean lines, organic shapes, and functional elegance. The creators, Max Mutchnick and David Kohan, were inspired by the nostalgic charm of this design era and its ability to evoke a sense of sophistication and warmth. The show’s setting—a chic Palm Springs home—perfectly embodies the style, blending retro elements with contemporary themes.
The series pays homage to classic sitcoms like The Golden Girls, using humour and heartfelt storytelling to explore themes of friendship, loss, and reinvention. The creators aimed to create a show that feels both nostalgic and fresh, appealing to audiences who appreciate the enduring appeal of character-driven comedy.
The cultural impact of Mid-Century Modern lies in its ability to bridge nostalgia with contemporary storytelling. By drawing on the charm and camaraderie of classic sitcoms like The Golden Girls, while weaving in modern themes of ageing, identity, and friendship, the show appeals to a broad audience. It opens up conversations about life’s transitions, finding joy in unexpected moments, and embracing the complexities of relationships—topics that resonate universally.
Mid-Century Modern follows three gay best friends — Bunny Schneiderman (Nathan Lane), Jerry Frank (Matt Bomer) and Arthur Broussard (Nathan Lee Graham) — who, after an unexpected death, decide to spend their golden years in Palm Springs, where Bunny lives with his mother, Sybil (Linda Lavin).
All 10 episodes are available for streaming on Hulu
Max Mutchnick, James Burrows, David Kohan (back) with Matt Bomer, Nathan Lane, Nathan Lee Graham and the late Linda Lavin
The writing process of Mid-Century Modern
When Max Mutchnick and David Kohan set out to craft each episode of their new comedy,Mid-Century Modern, they made sure to include plenty of laughs, but, at the same time, make it feel realistic and heartfelt, emphasising the emotional core of each episode.
To achieve this, they used a guiding principle in their writers’ room called “WITRA”—”What is this really about?”—to ensure that every story was rooted in truth and authenticity.
“In our writing room, we wrote across the top of the dry-erase board, ‘What is this really about?’ That’s the WITRA, and that’s what guides us. It’s about finding the emotional core of the story and when you’re using that as the jumping-off point, you’re pretty sure that you’re going to write something from a place of truth and that’s just the way that we have always written our shows,” says Mutchnick.
The duo has had previous success using this method including with their hit series Will & Grace, which ran for 11 seasons.
With Mid-Century Modern, they’re telling the story of three best friends — gay gentlemen of a certain age — who, after an unexpected death, decide to spend their golden years living together in Palm Springs, in the home the wealthiest one shares with his mother. The series stars Nathan Lane as Bunny Schneiderman, Matt Bomer as Jerry Frank, Nathan Lee Graham as Arthur Broussard, and Linda Lavin as Sybil Schneiderman, Bunny’s mother.
To keep foundational truthfulness in the story, while still injecting as much humor as possible, Kohan says that, “all of the writers are pretty honest with each other to keep anything from getting out of hand, like, we’ll say, ‘is this cringy? Is this too maudlin? Does this feel right tonally?’. When we see the rehearsal process, we can tell if anything feels dishonest and if you’re being hard enough on yourself, you know what you want to get out of a scene, and you know whether or not you are getting that.”
Mutchnick, being true to what Kohan has just said, interjects, ”You just write them all like a negotiation with the spouse, right? Meaning, you know, you’re trying to get what you want, and give them love at the same time, and make them laugh so you get what you want. That’s what every scene is, really.”
Balancing the serious with the funny, while telling a modern, relatable story makes the series both ‘new, but also familiar,’ says Kohan. “That, to me, is one of the strengths of our show. And I think sometimes sit-coms get a bad rap, but really they still work well, and they’re totally enjoyable.”
The team worked to balance the nostalgic charm of classic sitcoms with modern sensibilities, creating relatable and meaningful narratives. They also maintained a collaborative environment, where writers were encouraged to be honest and critical to ensure the tone and humor felt genuine. This approach allowed them to craft scenes that were both funny and emotionally resonant, staying true to the characters’ experiences.
The series also faced unique challenges, such as incorporating the real-life passing of Linda Lavin, who played Sybil, into the storyline. The creators honored her memory by writing her character’s journey with care and sensitivity, reflecting the impact of loss and the resilience of moving forward.
Working with the duo behind the camera is legendary director James Burrows, who’s helmed classic shows such as Cheers, Friends, Frasier, and the entirety of Will & Grace.
“We’ve had almost a 30 year relationship [with Jimmy] at this point. He’s kind of watched us grow up,“ says Kohan. “He always says, ‘I have a fun clause. I have to have fun and if I’m not having fun, I’m going. So our goal has always been to keep him around, and he stayed for all of the episodes so, yeah, he must have had fun.”
Kohan mentions that he and Mutchnick are actually a reflection of this ideal, saying, “I mean, we went to high school together, and we keep ending up working on shows together!”
The sitcom Mid-Century Modern was primarily written by Max Mutchnick and David Kohan, who also created the show. Other contributors to the writing include Suzanne Martin, Adam Barr, Dan Bucatinsky, Alex Herschlag, and Tracy Poust.
Producer and writer Max Mutchnick
Best known as the co-creator of the iconic sitcom Will & Grace, Max Mutchnick was raised by his single mother. Mutchnick graduated from Emerson College in 1987, and his career in Hollywood began with writing for game shows and sitcoms like Good Advice and The Wonder Years. Together with his creative partner David Kohan, Mutchnick created several successful TV shows, including Boston Common, Good Morning, Miami, and Will & Grace. The characters Will Truman and Grace Adler from Will & Grace are inspired by Mutchnick and his best friend. He has received numerous accolades for his work, including an Emmy Award and multiple Golden Globe nominations.
Mutchnick has been a strong advocate for LGBTQ+ representation in media. Many of the themes and characters in his shows, like Will & Grace, reflect his personal experiences and his journey as part of the LGBTQ+ community. He is married to Erik Hyman, an entertainment lawyer, and the couple has twin daughters born via a surrogate. Together, they’ve been active philanthropists, supporting various charities and causes, particularly those related to LGBTQ+ rights and education.
Mutchnick has often spoken about the importance of telling authentic stories and creating spaces for diverse voices in the entertainment industry. His work continues to inspire and resonate with audiences around the world.
Producer and writer David Kohan
Celebrated for his contributions to the sitcom genre. David Kohan comes from a family deeply rooted in the entertainment industry—his father, Buz Kohan, is an Emmy-winning television writer, and his sister, Jenji Kohan, is the creator of Orange Is the New Black. Kohan is best known for co-creating the groundbreaking sitcom Will & Grace alongside his longtime writing partner, Max Mutchnick. The show, which debuted in 1998, was a trailblazer for LGBTQ+ representation on television and earned numerous accolades, including an Emmy Award. Kohan and Mutchnick have also collaborated on other series like Boston Common, Good Morning, Miami, and most recently, Mid-Century Modern, which premiered in 2025.
Kohan graduated from Wesleyan University, where he majored in English and philosophy. He has a reputation for blending humor with heartfelt storytelling, creating shows that resonate with audiences while addressing contemporary themes.
David Kohan’s career reflects his skill in creating heartfelt and impactful television. Beyond his work on Will & Grace, which brought LGBTQ+ stories to mainstream audiences, Kohan has been praised for his talent in developing relatable characters and sharp, engaging dialogue.
He has collaborated with Max Mutchnick on several other shows, including Boston Common and Good Morning, Miami. Their latest project, Mid-Century Modern, showcases their ability to balance nostalgia with contemporary storytelling, drawing comparisons to classic sitcoms like The Golden Girls. Kohan’s creative process often emphasizes humor as a way to explore universal themes, making his work resonate across generations.
Additionally, Kohan’s philosophical background from Wesleyan University has influenced his storytelling approach, often blending comedy with deeper human truths. His ability to adapt and innovate has cemented his place as one of television’s most influential creators.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Exploring the Outer Life of a Story: Unveiling the Journey Beyond the Page
Exploring the outer life of a story can take you into fascinating territory! This approach dives into everything surrounding the story itself—its context, influence, and impact on the world beyond the characters and plot. It’s about understanding how the story connects to its environment, whether it’s the cultural, historical, or societal forces shaping it.
It’s a bit like examining a ripple in a pond: the story is the pebble, but the ripples are its “outer life,” influencing and being influenced by the world around it.
The outer life of a story turns it into more than a standalone narrative—it becomes a living, breathing entity interacting with the broader world.
Let’s dig deeper into the outer life of a story—there’s so much richness to explore:
Genre and Tradition: How does the story fit into its genre or challenge it? Is it part of a larger tradition, like Gothic fiction, science fiction, or mythic storytelling? Examining its relationship to genre can reveal how it interacts with or disrupts established norms.
Audience Interaction: What role does the audience play in the story’s outer life? Has the audience interpreted the story in ways the creator didn’t anticipate? Is there fan culture or debate surrounding it?
Symbolism in the Real World: Sometimes, stories become symbolic or emblematic of broader ideas. For example, “1984” is often referenced as a symbol for surveillance and authoritarianism—its outer life exists in political discourse and cultural memory.
Legacy and Longevity: How has the story endured over time? Has it gained new meaning in different eras? Stories like Shakespeare’s plays or classic novels often evolve in relevance, as they’re reinterpreted through fresh cultural lenses.
Interdisciplinary Links: Stories can connect with other areas like philosophy, psychology, or science. For instance, a story about artificial intelligence might spark discussions in ethics and tech development.
When considering the outer life of a story in the context of a screenplay versus a novel, the differences become even more intriguing.
Here’s how these formats shape and interact with the “outer life” of a story:
In essence, a screenplay’s outer life is deeply interconnected with the broader ecosystem of the film industry, while a novel’s outer life tends to be shaped by literary traditions and reader connections. Exploring both formats illuminates how the “ripples” from each story reach into different aspects of culture and society. Are you thinking about adapting a story, or analyzing an existing one?
For a writer, understanding both the inner and outer life of a story is crucial for crafting a work that resonates deeply with audiences and leaves a lasting impact.
Screenplay and Its Outer Life
Cinematic Influence: A screenplay’s outer life is closely tied to the final film or TV show. The success and cultural impact of the visual medium can significantly amplify the story’s reach and influence. Example: The Godfather began as a novel, but its screenplay (and resulting film) cemented its iconic status in popular culture.
Adaptation and Collaboration: Screenplays invite collaboration, meaning the “outer life” includes contributions from directors, actors, and production teams. These interpretations shape how audiences perceive the story. Example: A director’s stylistic choices can elevate a screenplay into a visual masterpiece or even reinterpret its meaning.
Audience Impact: Screenplays that turn into films often gain massive audiences, leading to phenomena like fandoms, critical discourse, or even socio-political movements (e.g., Black Panther sparked cultural conversations about representation).
Global Reach: The visual nature of a screenplay-turned-film transcends language barriers, broadening the outer life of the story to international audiences.
Novel and Its Outer Life
Literary Legacy: Novels often live longer as standalone works of art, existing within literary traditions and continuing to inspire discussions, adaptations, and reinterpretations over decades or centuries. Example: Jane Austen’s novels have a rich “outer life,” influencing countless adaptations and modern takes on her themes.
Reader Intimacy: Novels build direct connections with readers, often leaving a personal imprint on them. This individual relationship can lead to cult followings, book clubs, or academic analysis, all parts of the story’s outer life. Example: J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye sparked widespread debate and interpretation among generations of readers.
Cultural Reflections: Novels often reflect the time they were written in, and their outer life may include being studied as historical or cultural artifacts, contributing to an understanding of a particular era or place.
Adaptability: Many novels live a dual “outer life” as they are adapted into other media, including films, TV shows, or stage plays. These adaptations can sometimes overshadow the original (e.g., Forrest Gump as a movie vs. its novel).
The Inner Life of a Story is where the emotional, psychological, and thematic core resides.
Being aware of this allows a writer to:
Create Depth: By delving into characters’ emotions, motivations, and conflicts, the writer adds layers of complexity that engage readers or viewers on a personal level.
Establish Themes: The inner life drives the story’s meaning and message. Without awareness of this, a story risks feeling shallow or aimless.
Foster Authenticity: Knowing the inner life ensures characters and events feel genuine and relatable. It helps the writer stay true to the story’s essence.
The Outer Life of a Story encompasses the story’s context, connections, and influence.
Awareness of this helps a writer:
Situate the Story: By understanding the societal, historical, or cultural backdrop, the writer can weave the narrative into larger conversations, making it more relevant and impactful.
Predict Reception: Awareness of the story’s potential outer life can guide the writer in tailoring the work to resonate with intended audiences or spark desired conversations.
Shape Legacy: Considering how the story might be interpreted or adapted over time can elevate its significance, ensuring it has a lasting presence in culture or discourse.
Balancing Both
A strong story bridges the inner and outer lives seamlessly:
A deeply personal narrative (inner life) may become universally meaningful when it speaks to shared experiences or challenges (outer life).
Stories rooted in specific contexts (outer life) gain emotional power when they focus on authentic characters and conflicts (inner life).
Ultimately, when a writer embraces both aspects, they not only create a story that captivates but also one that lingers in minds, conversations, and even history.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Night of the Zoopocalypse – A family-friendly animated horror
Night of the Zoopocalypse began with a concept which author and filmmaker legend, Clive Barker, had for a graphic novel about a zombie virus spreading in a zoo. That graphic novel was never made, but Clive allowed Copperheart producer, Steve Hoban, and writer James Kee to take the kernel of the idea and transform it into a family film told from the point of-view of the animals dealing with a “zombie-like” virus. It had to be zombie-like because no animated animals could be harmed in the making of the movie.
Night of the Zoopocalypse is co-directed by veteran animators and story artists Ricardo Curtis (The Incredibles, Monsters, Inc.) and Rodrigo Perez-Castro (The Book of Life, Ferdinand) whose combined list of credits, in various roles, include hits such as the Ice Age movies, Angry Birds and Rio through animation pre-production studio House of Cool (Paw Patrol, The Peanuts Movie, Despicable Me). The story is inspired by a concept from genre master, Clive Barker, and is based on a script by Steven Hoban and James Kee. The production was made at major international animation studios Mac Guff (Despicable Me) and L’Atelier Animation (Leap!, Fireheart).
The Nerd Section of Script Development (for Zombie Enthusiast Eyes Only)
Every committed zombie fan knows that the undead come with rules. Screenwriters Hoban and Kee refined the nature of how the zoo animals mutated into zombie-like creatures, understanding that they couldn’t become ‘undead’ because you can’t have a family film where dead creatures stay dead.
Ensuring that the animals could all eventually be changed back to normal, they came up with a novel kind of creature: mutants or as they were affectionately called, “gumbeasts”, creatures seemingly made of a gummy or rubbery kind of substance. This allowed them to have holes in their hides and for their limbs drop off, like classic zombies, but it also meant the body parts could be stuck back on. From there, with Kee, Hoban decided some of the zoo animals would be the survivors, the ones trying to get away from this zombie-like outbreak. And like all family films, it ends on a positive note, so , the survivors not only save themselves, but they figure out how to return all the zoo animals back to their normal, fully intact state, except for Gramma Abigale’s tail (but that turns out to be a good thing).
Once a solid draft of the script was ready, Hoban and his producing partner, Mark Smith, needed a Canadian director
“We want to build up the ability to do theatrical animated movies here at home. House of Cool was created with such a focus on the creative that it, I think it would’ve been hard to start it anywhere else which is why we started our search with Ricardo Curtis – who had never directed an animated feature film at that point, even though he’s been in demand and offered many animated feature films over the years from the studios – and ended with Ricardo,” said Hoban. House of Cool would also design the film and do the storyboards.
“Zombie animals in a zoo,” recalled Ricardo Curtis. “That’s all it took. It was just so clear. I love zombie movies. I love animated films which usually have a lot of animals together. When you put them together with this idea of animals in a zoo trapped together in a zombie thriller, I thought that was amazing. I immediately had visions of what this could be. But I also knew that I was probably not the zombie/monster movie aficionado, but I did know who the guy who was: Rodrigo Perez-Castro.”
Rodrigo Perez-Castro and Ricardo Curtis have known each other for years, having worked together at The House of Cool. “Ricardo gave me the premise of a zombie apocalypse in a zoo which was a perfect combination of the things I love the most: creepy, weird horror and animals. Put that together and I thought, I gotta make this movie,” said co-director Rodrigo Perez-Castro. “And it was a rare chance because you don’t really get to make films like this in the family space for animated movies. What attracted me to this project was the opportunity to do something very unique and different. I like giving people something they’ve never seen before.”
“What separates Night of the Zoopocalypse from other films,” said Executive Producer Wes Lui, “is that is it not a single character-driven story like Nightmare Before Christmas or Box Trolls. This one has a cast of characters who are very different in their personalities and what they are going through in their individual lives. They are scared of each other, they don’t want to work with each other, but they are forced to work with each other. Through those characters, we are really leaning into that genre space the scariness of what zombies can be but doing it in a way that Gremlins or Ghostbusters does – giving it comic relief.”
Night of the Zoopocalypse sets itself apart from the family animation pack by carving out a fresh genre of family-friendly horror, augmented by the limitless possibilities offered by animation. Tapping into Hoban’s love of animation, something that dates back to his childhood, and combining that with his abiding affection for horror and making it a family film felt like a natural fit.
“Horror is a little bit strong for Night of the Zoopocalypse. but it fits with Ghostbusters and Gremlins which are the movies that inspired this project. Better to think of our film as Madagascar meets The Walking Dead.”
“Animation is a medium, not a genre,” said Curtis. “And as a medium, you can do whatever you want with it: make action films, make stories for preschool, or make stories for teenage girls, it doesn’t really matter. This is a family film with elements from the type of films that we love in the live action world, and the end result is something new, something that no one’s ever seen before.”
“The beauty about animation is that there’s no limit,” added Perez-Castro. “Whatever you imagine in your head can actually be manifested. In this film, we moved the needle a little bit in a direction that’s a little offbeat, a little different, a little unusual.”
The trick to family-friendly frights rests in the pacing of the plot, allowing younger film-going audiences to be a little scared without going so far as to trip over and keep it fun. It is a film for the whole family after all.
Perez-Castro wanted to make Night of the Zoopocalypse an experience: “I remember being a kid and watching movies like Ghostbusters and Gremlins and feeling that there was something a little taboo about it, like I’m not supposed to see this. There’s almost something aspirational about horror for kids. It’s almost like a milestone in your life when you get to actually sit through one of these movies and really survive it.”
For Curtis, watching early scary movies felt like forbidden territory. “We knew we shouldn’t have been there because maybe this is a little too scary for us, but it isn’t because this isn’t for babies. This is for grown kids like us. So that’s the type of film we wanted to make.”
Perez-Castro added, “When you watch those movies as a kid, they stay with you forever. You tend to revisit them. Watching Alien now is not the same as when I watched it the first time. It’s interesting how your relationship with a movie can evolve through time, but I don’t think happens with all movies. Definitely happens with good movies, but with horror movies in particular, yes, that relationship stays with you and evolves.”
In making Night of the Zoopocalypse, Curtis hopes kids will have the kind of experience “where they’ll remember the laughter, but also the thrill of getting spooked, not unlike getting into a rollercoaster ride and thinking, why am I doing this? I don’t want to do it. And then you do it and you love it, and then you can’t wait to do it again.”
The idea of a family movie has a double meaning: a storyline the whole family can enjoy and also an experience that can/should/ought to be enjoyed with your family. “The movies that touch the most are the ones parents take their kids to, knowing their kids are identifying with one of the characters, learning something from it, and then at home they can talk about it. That was the genesis of this movie. When the world goes through this craziness of the zombies, the zoo animals are forced to work together, they are forced to use each other’s differences to be able to protect each other. There’s a parental storyline in there that becomes a teachable moment for kids about how to survive in the world,” Lui explained.
The easiest way to make a family film is to create a family dynamic. That is what the characters of Gracie, the young wolf, Dan, the mountain lion, Felix, the proboscis monkey, Ash, the ostrich, Frida, the capybara, Xavier, the lemur, and Poot, the young pygmy hippopotamus, ultimately became.
“We made this movie at this point in the history of the world where we’re very divided as people, ideologically divided in our bubbles,” he said. “In our movie, we wanted to represent this divide through these animals who literally live in their own enclosures where they don’t get out, they don’t know about the other and in one night, they’re forced together to work together to save themselves from the apocalypse.”
And this is exactly where the power of animation comes into play. Going back again to films like Night of the Living Dead, stereotypes are used to describe characters very quickly because it would take too long to construct full personalities of an ensemble. The House of Cool strategy was to take the differences in personalities and exacerbate them with animation.
“Animation as a medium is very good at caricature, boiling down human traits to their essence, creating full characters quickly using design, voice and motion that’s difficult to do in live action,” explained Curtis.
When a meteor crashes into Colepepper Zoo, a virus that transforms the animals into slobbering zombie-like mutants is unleashed. Gracie, a young quirky wolf, teams up with a gruff mountain lion named Dan to find a way back to her pack. As the zoo is overrun, they must come up with a plan to get all the animals back to normal. Together with the help of a motley crew of survivors – Xavier, the movie-obsessed lemur, Frida the fiery capybara, Ash the sarcastic, fabulous ostrich and Felix the treacherous monkey – they embark on a perilous mission to rescue the zoo and learn a thing or two about the power of working together. Welcome to… THE ZOOPOCALYPSE!
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Explore the inner life of your story
Building a rewarding and emotionally charged fictional reality is an exciting creative endeavor.
A story may boast a clever plot, expertly crafted with intricate twists and compelling complexities. Yet, without a meaningful connection between the External Activity—the events and actions—and the Internal Life—the emotions, motivations, and personal stakes—it risks falling flat. Such a disconnect renders the narrative hollow, leaving readers or viewers disengaged and disappointed, no matter how masterful the structure appears.
Without genuine emotion, we lose our ability to truly care. While we may experience fleeting moments of excitement, terror, horror, or even awe, these feelings remain superficial and short-lived. They lack depth and fail to forge a meaningful connection. Authentic emotion—an unfiltered glimpse into the writer’s humanity—is what brings a story to life. Without it, the narrative remains hollow, devoid of the profound resonance that lingers long after the tale is told.
We don’t just follow a character as they journey from their ordinary world into an extraordinary existence; we become deeply entwined in their lives. Their struggles, triumphs, and transformations resonate with us on a personal level. By the time the credits roll, we leave not only with a sense of wonder but also with something meaningful—a piece of their story that stays with us, shaping our own perspective in unexpected ways.
As a storyteller, it’s essential to have a clear strategy or technique for developing the physical, or External, Plotline of a story and crafting a compelling line of dramatic action. In our The Write Journey course we introduce you to 16 structural points that will plot your story effectively.
When it comes to expressing inner values and establishing a personal perspective on a story, writers are often guided only by their instinct or intuition and a little luck.
Creating a rewarding & emotional fictional reality
As a writer, you have to:
lluminate the thoughts and inner world of your characters: Show us what a character is thinking, delve into what’s happening inside their mind, and reveal how their perspective shapes a meaningful and rewarding inner life.
Reflect on the thematic purpose of your story: If the central theme revolves around ‘Man versus Nature,’ you must subtly integrate it into your dramatic action. Use subplots to deepen the exploration of this theme, allowing it to emerge naturally. Amplify its presence with nuance and balance, steering clear of overt preaching.
Reveal the memories or histories of the events and characters in your story: As your character navigates the external plot, juxtapose the physical action with a vivid emotional landscape. Use this to delve into the past, uncovering experiences that shape and inform the present, enriching the narrative with depth and resonance.”
It’s a delicate balance between the Internal Life and External Life of your story that culminates in a complete story that is engaging and emotional.
Building a rewarding and emotionally charged fictional reality
Craft Compelling Characters: Create characters with depth and complexity, including strengths, flaws, fears, and desires. Their emotional journeys should feel authentic and relatable. Introduce varied dynamics among characters, like conflicts, alliances, and evolving relationships.
Build an Immersive Setting: Design a world that feels alive and meaningful—whether it’s grounded in reality or fantastical. Pay attention to its culture, history, and environment.Use sensory details (smells, sights, sounds) to draw readers into the reality you’ve created.
Emphasize Themes and Moral Dilemmas: Explore universal themes like love, loss, identity, or redemption to give the story a resonant emotional core. Include moral challenges or pivotal moments where characters’ choices carry profound consequences.
Pace Emotional Highs and Lows: Balance moments of tension with relief. Give readers time to process intense scenes before introducing new drama.Use emotional hooks—scenes that deeply impact characters and readers—to create powerful turning points.
Add Unexpected Twists: Surprise readers with plot twists or emotional revelations, but ensure they feel earned and not arbitrary.
Involve the Reader’s Imagination: Leave some ambiguity or open questions for readers to interpret and engage with.
Nothing is more rewarding than a story that lives in your heart forever.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on A Working Man: A Tale of Redemption, Justice, and Resilience
The screenplay for A Working Man was co-written by Sylvester Stallone and director David Ayer, inspired by Chuck Dixon’s 2014 novel Levon’s Trade. The novel’s themes of justice, redemption, and the fight against systemic corruption provided the foundation for the film’s narrative. Stallone and Ayer adapted these elements into a gripping action thriller, blending intense action with emotional depth.
A Working Man follows Levon Cade, a former Royal Marines commando turned construction worker, who is drawn back into his dangerous past when his boss’s teenage daughter is kidnapped by human traffickers. As Cade uses his specialized skills to rescue her, he uncovers a deeper conspiracy involving corruption and government agents.
The significance of the film lies in its portrayal of the struggle between personal responsibility and societal duty. It highlights the moral dilemmas faced by individuals trying to reconcile their past with their present while addressing critical issues like human trafficking and systemic corruption. The film also emphasizes the importance of courage and determination in the face of adversity.
With Jason Statham in the lead role, the movie combines intense action sequences with emotional depth, making it a gripping tale of heroism and sacrifice. Its gritty tone and layered narrative offer a compelling exploration of the complexities of justice and redemption.
David Ayer, known for films like End of Watch and Fury, brings authenticity to the storytelling, while Stallone’s legacy of heroic narratives adds a layer of emotional resonance. Together, they crafted a gripping tale that highlights both action and the moral complexities of justice and redemption.
Both Stallone and Ayer have emphasized the film’s focus on gritty realism and emotional depth. Stallone has spoken about the importance of creating characters who are driven by resilience and a sense of duty, while Ayer often highlights the human aspect of his protagonists, grounding the story in real-world struggles such as human trafficking.
David Ayer and Jason Statham have collaborated on multiple projects, showcasing their shared commitment to creating intense, action-packed narratives. Their partnership began with The Beekeeper (2024), a film that combined Ayer’s gritty storytelling style with Statham’s signature physicality and charisma. The success of The Beekeeper paved the way for their reunion in A Working Man.
Ayer has praised Statham’s dedication and encyclopedic knowledge of action sequences, noting how his expertise elevates the realism and intensity of their films. Together, they have crafted stories that resonate with audiences, blending high-octane action with emotional depth. Their collaboration highlights the synergy between a director who excels in raw, visceral storytelling and an actor who embodies strength and determination.
David Ayer is an American filmmaker known for his gritty storytelling and focus on themes like crime, corruption, and urban life. He grew up in challenging circumstances, spending part of his youth in South Central Los Angeles, which heavily influenced his work. Ayer served in the U.S. Navy as a submariner, an experience that inspired his screenplay for U-571. He gained recognition for writing the screenplay for Training Day (2001), which earned Denzel Washington an Academy Award. Ayer transitioned to directing with Harsh Times (2005) and later helmed notable films like End of Watch (2012), Fury (2014), and Suicide Squad (2016). His work often explores the moral complexities of his characters, making him a distinctive voice in Hollywood.
Sylvester Stallone is an iconic actor, screenwriter, and filmmaker. He rose to fame with Rocky (1976), a film he wrote and starred in, which won the Academy Award for Best Picture. Stallone’s portrayal of Rocky Balboa and his creation of the Rambo series solidified his status as a Hollywood legend. Despite early struggles in his career, Stallone became one of the highest-grossing action stars, with hits like Cliffhanger (1993), Demolition Man (1993), and The Expendables series. His work often features underdog characters overcoming immense challenges, reflecting his journey in the film industry. Stallone continues to inspire audiences with his dedication to storytelling and his enduring legacy.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Flow – The power of visual storytelling
“The film is as much about the silence as it is about the visuals. I wanted the audience to be immersed in a world where the absence of words compels them to feel rather than think,” says writer-director-animator Gints Zilbalodis about Flow, an independent masterwork that moves audiences worldwide, achieving recognition with over 60 awards, including a handful of Annecy Cristals, a Golden Globe for Best Animation, a César, and an Academy Award.
The film Flow (2024), also known as Straume, is a visually poetic Latvian animated adventure that has gained international acclaim. It was Latvia’s submission for the Best International Feature Film at the Oscars in 2024. The movie stands out for its unique storytelling approach, as it features no dialogue and relies entirely on striking imagery and atmosphere to convey its narrative
The Story
Set in a post-apocalyptic world, Flow follows a domesticated black cat navigating a transformed Earth after a catastrophic flood. The film explores themes of survival, resilience, and the interconnectedness of life. The animals in the story, including a capybara, a ring-tailed lemur, and a secretarybird, symbolize various human traits and approaches to survival. The absence of humans and the haunting remnants of their civilization add to the film’s dreamlike and reflective quality. It’s a meditation on overcoming fears and adapting to challenges. The protagonist’s journey is not about achieving a simple resolution but about learning to live with anxieties and finding strength in companionship and perseverance
Flow is available for streaming on platforms like Max, Amazon Prime Video, and Apple TV+.
Flowbegan as a high school project
Gints Zilbalodis created a short film about his cat overcoming its fear of water. Years later, he revisited this idea and expanded it into a feature film, focusing on themes of collaboration and overcoming fears. created a short film about his cat overcoming its fear of water. Years later, he revisited this idea and expanded it into a feature film, focusing on themes of collaboration and overcoming fears.
“The entire project took about five and a half years. In the first year, I was writing the script, learning Blender, and looking for funding as Dream Well Studio. That was in 2019. In 2020, we secured some funding, and I moved into a co-working studio space with other artists and developers who were using Blender. That’s where I connected with Mārtiņš Upītis and Konstantīns Višņevskis. Mārtiņš was one of the first people I approached—not specifically for water simulation, but just to see how he could contribute. However, it quickly became clear that he had a deep expertise in water, unlike anyone else. We were fortunate that, in the early stages, it was just me, so the pandemic didn’t affect us much. By the time we moved into full production in 2023, things had stabilized. ‘
The film was largely a solo effort, saying, “When you work alone, every choice becomes deeply personal. It’s an intimate process, and it pushes you to trust your instincts and vision entirely.” This approach allowed him to craft a film that feels singular in its style and storytelling.
“I learned a lot online, but it was great to have someone with more experience next to me (Konstantīns). He did a lot of rigging and was much more technical than me, so I could ask him for advice.”
He drew inspiration from his own personal growth
“The cat’s journey reflects a part of myself—learning to trust, to collaborate, and to find peace in uncertainty. It’s a universal story told in a very intimate way.” Zilbalodis believes that emotions, even the challenging ones, are essential for growth, and this philosophy is embedded throughout the film.
The isolation of the protagonist mirrors the creative process itself: “Creating a film, especially one like Flow, is a solitary and deeply introspective journey. Yet, the moment it connects with an audience, it becomes something shared and collective.”
Flow reflects a blend of inspiration from nature and animation traditions
“I wanted the visuals to feel alive, almost as if they were breathing with the world. The water, the animals, the landscapes—they’re not just settings but characters in their own right.” Zilbalodis has often cited his love for minimalist storytelling and how it connects with the audience on a deeper emotional level.
The silence of the film was also an intentional choice to encourage introspection. He remarked, “In silence, we find clarity. I hoped that viewers would not just watch the story but feel it resonate within themselves.”
The themes of Flow were deeply influenced by his own experiences and emotions
He reflected on the solitary nature of the creative process, saying, “Making this film was like navigating uncharted waters—it was both daunting and freeing.” He compared the protagonist’s journey to the process of artistic creation, where uncertainty is not just a challenge but a vital part of discovery.
The film is a meditation on overcoming challenges and embracing vulnerability, saying, “The journey of the cat is a metaphor for facing fears and discovering strength through connection.” He also noted that the lack of dialogue was a deliberate choice to evoke a sense of timelessness, allowing viewers to interpret the story through their own emotions and experiences.
The transformative power of nature in the narrative
“Nature is both a mirror and a guide in Flow. It challenges the characters, but it also heals them.” The ever-changing water, in particular, serves as a central symbol of life’s unpredictability and beauty.
“Water is a powerful metaphor. It can be calm and beautiful, but also overwhelming and destructive. In Flow, it represents emotions—fear, hope, and everything in between.”
Zilbalodis has expressed his hope that Flow resonates universally, stating, “The story is intentionally open-ended because life rarely offers neat resolutions. It’s about learning to find peace in the currents, no matter where they take you.”
Zilbalodis emphasized the importance of the film’s pacing and visuals in creating an immersive experience: “Each frame is designed to invite the audience to pause, reflect, and connect with the story in their own way. The silence allows for a dialogue between the viewer and their own emotions.”
He also elaborated on the minimalist aesthetic of the film, saying, “Simplicity doesn’t mean less—sometimes it means more. Stripping away dialogue and complex visuals allows the audience to feel and interpret the story in their own unique way.”
Zilbalodis’s love for solitary storytelling
“Creating Flow was a deeply personal process. It was just me, the story, and the art coming alive. Yet, I hope it speaks universally to anyone navigating uncertainty and change.”
Zilbalodis has frequently emphasized the profound emotional connection he hoped to establish through Flow. He described the film as “a story about healing through companionship,” noting that even in solitude, there’s potential for growth, self-discovery, and unexpected connection. He reflected, “Fear can be isolating, but it can also be an invitation—to trust, to collaborate, and to grow stronger.”
The power of visual storytelling
“The absence of words opens up a dialogue between the viewer and their own experiences. It’s less about telling and more about feeling.” This focus on atmosphere and emotions allows the audience to immerse themselves in the story in their own way.
“Storytelling offers infinite possibilities, but sometimes constraints can be beneficial. For example, deciding to use only four characters and a handful of locations can lead to stronger creative choices. Some of my favorite films take this approach. They don’t need an epic scope to be powerful.”
“I wanted to show how the cat does improve on its fears, but it still has these deep down, something that it has to learn how to live with. And I wanted to show how that’s okay, and we can accept those things, and maybe there’s others who can support that.”
Through his thoughtful reflections, Zilbalodis invites viewers to find their own interpretation and meaning in the ebb and flow of life, much like the waters in his film.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Som van Twee – a heartfelt Afrikaans story about family, loss, and reconciliation
“Life is a journey of faith and grace. Never stop dreaming, because dreams are the building blocks of hope,” says writer-director Simoné Pretorius, who makes her directorial debut with the new South African film Som Van Twee.
Som Van Twee has already garnered attention, winning several prestigious awards, including Best Feature Film at the 2024 kykNET Silwerskermfees. The screenplay, written by Simoné Pretorius and Liani Jansen van Rensburg, draws on the universal experiences of love, loss, and redemption to create a compelling narrative that resonates with audiences
“It’s hard to believe, but it’s based on a true story. My fellow screenwriter, Liani Janse van Rensburg, discovered an article about a woman in the Netherlands, Melissa Kelderhoff, who admitted at a school reunion that she saw her Biology paper before writing the final exam. The story reached the Minister of Education, Culture and Science, who then decided that the country’s 1992 matric group had to rewrite the exam,” says Pretorius. “Of course, we adapted and changed the story extensively. ‘
“It took many rewrites of the screenplay before the characters finally settled and the themes came through adequately, so it was important to drive the process through to the floor before allowing the actors to further breathe life into the characters. While I was writing, I directed all the performances in my head, and while directing, I rewrote the script. It worked out well,” says Pretorius.
The film delves deep into the intricate relationships within a family, particularly focusing on the bond between a father and his son. It explores how grief and loss can either pull family members apart or bring them closer together.
Henk Opperman’s journey is one of self-discovery and redemption. His struggle to connect with his son, Renier, after the tragic loss of his wife is a central theme. The story highlights the process of forgiveness and the importance of making amends.
It aims to resonate with audiences by portraying raw, genuine emotions and the complexities of human relationships. It is a story of hope, reconciliation, and the enduring power of love and understanding.
The story follows Henk Opperman (Louw Venter), a psychologist coping with the emotional aftermath of losing his wife in a tragic car accident. He struggles to connect with his son Renier (Adriaan Havenga), who masks his emotions behind anger and denial. During Nicolene’s funeral, Henk confesses to leaking the Matric Math Paper to Barberton in 1990. An investigation leads to an ultimatum: retake the exam in Barberton or forfeit academic records. Henk and Renier reconcile as Renier tutors him, joined by Henk’s eccentric father and Renier’s friends. Tensions rise with Henk’s classmates, culminating in a pivotal moment where Henk must choose between reconciling with his son and saving his career.
“It has been a dream for ten years. Bennie Fourie recommended that I read Judith Weston’s Directing Actors when we worked together on Vir die voëls. At that stage I regarded the book as a guideline to what directors expect from actors, but I became aware that I was reading the book with a director’s eye. Later, with other projects, I realised it was quite tough not to want to direct myself all the time, and with the last role I played, I felt ready to take charge. At the same time, I suffered severely of imposter syndrome and doubted my own abilities. But when I wrote my first screenplay in 2019, I started feeling confident about my journey to becoming a director. It took five years and three undeveloped screenplays on the shelf, but I am grateful that the road led me here.”
Simoné Pretorius (née Nortmann) is a South African actress, director, screenwriter, and producer. She was born on May 18, 1990, in Pretoria, South Africa. Simoné gained prominence for her role as Irma Humpel in the 2016 Afrikaans biographical film “Vir die Voëls,” for which she received both national and international acclaim. She made her television debut in the popular Afrikaans soap “7de Laan” in 2013 as Nadia Croukamp, earning the Best Newcomer award at the Royalty Soapie Awards in 20143. Simoné has starred in several South African box office hits and award-winning films, including “Vuil Wasgoed” (2017), “Stroomop” (2018), “Wonderlus” (2018), and “Vlugtig” (2020). In 2024, she made her screenwriting and directorial debut with the film Som van Twee, which won seven awards at the Cape Town Silwerskerm festival, including Best Director and Best Screenplay. Simoné is also the founder and managing director of Art of Acting South Africa.
Liani Jansen van Rensburg is a South African screenwriter known for her work on Som van Twee (2024), “Blindelings” (2023), the story of René, a brilliant, blind pianist with synesthesia, whose life changes after an assault on the night of her first solo performance, and “Een Keer Om Die Son” (2024), a television drama series depicting a month in the lives of a seemingly happy family, exploring their trials and tribulations over a year.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Disney’s Snow White – A live-action musical reimagining of the classic 1937 film
Screenwriter Erin Cressida Wilson was faced with the task of determining just what it means for a young woman to be a leader and what it means to be someone who can inspire and connect with the people around you. “The producers, songwriters and I spent four years in close collaboration, carefully forming a script that dovetailed the vital elements of Disney’s 1937 animated classic ‘Snow White’ with the modern,” says Wilson. “I took my cues from the masterpiece that already existed – gently fleshing it out for a more contemporary audience.”
Disney’s 1937 animated film, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, helped establish the studio as an animation powerhouse. Based on a classic fairy tale by The Brothers Grimm, the film introduced the world to the iconic characters of Snow White, the Evil Queen, and the lovable dwarfs and spawned the iconic songs Heigh-Ho and Whistle While You Work.
The original ‘Snow White’ was a great work of art,” says producer Marc Platt. “It was the first fully narrative animated film, and its animation was beautiful and groundbreaking. And for audiences in 1937, it immersed them in a world and made them feel that they had been transported, with characters that have become through time beloved; songs that have become beloved and a story that remains a classic.”
When the opportunity to create a new live-action musical reimaging presented itself, Platt leaped at the opportunity. The four-time Oscar-nominated producer (“Wicked,” “La La Land,” “Bridge of Spies,” “The Trial of the Chicago 7”) and fellow producer Jared LeBoff, with whom he produced the successful film version of the Broadway musical phenomenon “Wicked,” quickly zeroed in on Marc Webb to direct. The talented filmmaker, who has helmed such hit films as “500 Days of Summer” and “The Amazing Spider-Man,” Webb was eager to take on a property steeped in love and nostalgia.
“It was really important for us to honor the DNA of Snow White,” Webb says. “The original ‘Snow White’ didn’t break the mold…it created the mold. Somehow Walt Disney connects to something inside of us – a kind of childlike wonder and optimism.”
Webb continues, “But there was also an opportunity to re-tell the mythology to reflect the times that we’re in, and I think all good stories evolve over time. They become reflections of the world that we live in and what we want the world to be to a degree.”
“Our story is about a young woman who’s learning to be queen, to be a leader,” Webb says. “And one of the guiding principles for us when developing the script was who is Snow White as a leader? Disney princesses have evolved pretty dramatically in the last century, so we wanted to know what is specific about Snow White. What makes her different? And the idea that she is a princess is easy to gloss over, but the fact is that she has a destiny to lead was something that we really wanted to hone in the script.”
The filmmakers brought in Erin Cressida Wilson (“The Girl on the Train”) to pen the screenplay
Wilson continues, “My task was to dive into the character of Snow White and find what second act her story begged for. I massaged the theme of her discovering and trusting her own voice and her own purpose with compassion and strength. Snow White is Disney’s first princess, and it was an honor to be given the gift of bringing her entire story to life.”
Fortunately, everyone was in agreement. And Webb was the ideal person to bring the story to life.
“Marc is so talented,” says Gal Gadot. “He had a clear vision from day one and knew how he wanted to tell this story. The fact that he started as a music video director helped the production become a fully realized musical production. He was wonderful to work with…as an actor, he gives you a lot of freedom. And at the same time, he has his own space, his own range where he has already envisioned everything in his head, and he makes it very easy for us to get there.”
Rachel Zegler adds, “Marc is one hell of a director. I’m so honored that he took on this project and honored that he let me come along with him on this journey.”
LeBoff agrees, saying, “For every single take, Marc was right there with the actors. He loves to be out there going back and forth with everybody. When we do the big dance warm-up’s, he’s actually doing the dances and jumping up and down.”
Rachel Zegler plays Snow White, the kind, resilient, and courageous title character. She is the daughter of the beloved King and Queen who encouraged her to be fearless, brave, and true.
The actress, who first wowed audiences with her film debut in Steven Spielberg’s West Side Story and went on to star in The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes, was primarily drawn to the role because of director Marc Webb’s vision. “From the word go, it was obvious that Marc wanted to make a ‘Snow White’ for this generation,” says Zegler. “That is what is so poignant in our story, and I think people all over the world will be able to resonate with her.”
Producer Marc Platt adds, “Snow White’s superpower is her goodness, her kindness…themes and ideas that are very important in the world we live in today, maybe even undervalued some might say. And it imbues her with an inner beauty and an ability to lead.”
“To be honest, Snow White’s core is exactly the same – goodness, kindness and a belief that you can have your dreams come true without being mean-spirited,” says screenwriter Erin Cressida Wilson. “Like other Disney princesses, it’s not that her character changes, it’s that her generosity of spirit becomes threatened and ultimately wins as she saves her kingdom and shows us that kindheartedness is a true leadership quality. It is, in fact, the characters around her that will forever be changed by Snow White’s altruism.”
Snow White’s stepmother, the Evil Queen, is hard and unyielding, with an icy calm voice and eyes that are full of rage. She despises Snow White for her beauty and virtue and devises a wicked scheme involving a poisoned apple. Gal Gadot, the Israeli actress and producer, who is best known to audiences as Wonder Woman in the DC Universe and for her role in the “Fast & Furious” franchise, had numerous discussions with Webb early in pre-production, as to what drives her character.
“We talked about what motivates her, and who she really is as a person,” says Gadot. “I loved the fact that this was something completely new for me as an actress, and playing a villain is exciting. It allows you to go to places you can’t when playing a straight character. And on a musical, you can do everything in a more theatrical way and use your body language to be really over the top. She was a very, very delicious character to play.”
Gadot continues, “I wanted to make sure that she is all about power, and her looks are the only way she can mesmerize people and work her magic. Once she has that, she becomes vicious and powerful. The Evil Queen is all about power. She wants to be in control, she is the alpha character, she is a narcissist, and she loves being in control and having people worship her.”
MARC WEBB (Director) has directed and produced numerous film and television projects of critical acclaim and commercial success. His upcoming film projects include Disney’s live action “Snow White” starring Rachel Zegler and Gal Gadot, and “Day Drinker,” an action thriller starring Johnny Depp and Penélope Cruz for Lionsgate. Webb has served as an executive producer for the CW series “Crazy Ex-Girlfriend” with Rachel Bloom, CBS’ “Instinct,” “Limitless,” “The Code,” and Hulu’s “Death and Other Details.” He also executive produced and directed Netflix’s original series “The Society,” a young adult drama series written by Chris Keyser and starring Kathryn Newton, Rachel Keller, and Gideon Adlon.
Webb directed the feature film “The Amazing Spider-Man” and its sequel, “The Amazing Spider-Man 2,” each of which grossed more than $700 million worldwide. Following that, he directed “Gifted,” starring Chris Evans and Jenny Slate, which was released in April 2017 by Fox Searchlight. Webb made his feature film debut with “(500) Days of Summer,” starring Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Zooey Deschanel. The film was nominated for two Golden Globe Awards®, including best picture, and The National Board of Review honored Webb with its spotlight award, which recognizes outstanding directorial debuts.
Webb began his career as a music video director. He has been honored with several MTV Video Music Awards including the best director award for Green Day’s “21 Guns,” best rock video in 2006 for AFI’s “Miss Murder,” and best group video for The All-American Rejects’ “Move Along.” Also, the Music Video Production Association honored him as director of the year for his work with Weezer, AAR, and MyChemical Romance.
ERIN CRESSIDA WILSON (Screenwriter) won the Independent Spirit Award for her first screenplay, “Secretary,” starring Maggie Gyllenhaal and James Spader. Among her other credits are “The Girl on the Train” (Emily Blunt), “Men, Women, and Children” (co-written and directed by Jason Reitman), “Chloe” (Amanda Seyfried, Julianne Moore, Liam Neeson, directed by Atom Egoyan), “Fur: An Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus” (Nicole Kidman, Robert Downey Jr). For television, she served as writer/producer on the HBO series “Vinyl,” executive produced by Martin Scorsese and Mick Jagger. In 2025, Scarlett Johansson’s directorial debut, “Eleanor the Great,” will be released (production rewrite and executive producer). Current credits include a film for Ron Howard, the biopic of Janis Joplin, and the Madonna biopic (co-writing with Madonna). Wilson mentors at the Sundance Institute Screenwriting Lab and was a professor at Brown, Duke, Stanford, and UCSB. As a recipient of awards from the Guggenheim and the NEA, she is an off-Broadway and internationally produced playwright. She is currently adapting Ibsen’s “Hedda Gabler” for the Old Globe.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Last Breath – A pulse-pounding survival thriller set deep underwater
“This is the story I’ve lived with for ten years now, and I know it inside out,” says screenwriter-director Alex Parkinson of Last Breath, based upon the strength and ingenuity of the storytelling in the lauded 2019 documentary. “It was such a vast canvas I could paint the story on, much bigger than the documentary.”
In September 2012, saturation divers Chris Lemons, Dave Yuasa, and Duncan Allcock embarked on a routine expedition. Diving hundreds of feet underwater, a computer error set their ship helplessly adrift up above, severing the umbilical cable connecting Lemons to his oxygen, electricity, and communications. With only minutes of oxygen reserves remaining, Yuasa and Allcock raced against time to retrieve Lemons and bring him to safety.
The 2019 British documentary Last Breath, directed by Alex Parkinson and Richard da Costa, chronicled the events aboard and below the ship using archival footage, audio, reconstruction, and interviews.
Stewart le Maréchal and Al Morrow produced the documentary through their company, MetFilm. Inspired by the success of the documentary, le Maréchal and Morrow shared their film with the father-son producing team of Paul and David Brooks for consideration as a narrative feature. “I was totally mesmerized by it,” Paul Brooks recalls. “It’s about the best of humanity and how people just won’t give up. I think that’s just incredibly compelling.”
Paul and David Brooks developed the project with producer Jeremy Plager, who anchored the casting process. Plager and Paul and David Brooks joined up with Dark Castle Entertainment producers Norman Golightly and Hal Sadoff.
“Paul shared Last Breath with us and we immediately responded to it, not only because it’s an exciting movie, but it has these universal themes of humanity, hope, and perseverance,” says Golightly. “The best stories have the ability to thrill us, entertain us, make us think, and make us feel. Sometimes they can even inspire us. Chris’s story manages to do all of those things and then some.”
Based upon the strength and ingenuity of the storytelling in the documentary, Paul Brooks sought out Parkinson to co-write and helm the narrative adaptation.
Paul Brooks explains: “The documentary actually plays as this incredible thrill ride. We thought, ‘Well, isn’t the logical thing to do here to get Alex to direct the movie?’ He has a great feel for narrative, which is why the documentary was so good.”
Parkinson explains his initial interest in Lemons’ story: “I immediately connected with what Chris Lemons was going through, which speaks to the power of this story of hope and the human spirit. When people come together with a common goal, the most incredible things can happen.”
Parkinson, with writers Mitchell LaFortune and David Brooks, worked on a draft of the screenplay: “I aimed to do more than just remake the documentary,” Parkinson says. “I wanted to tell this remarkable story on the grandest scale possible, and explore new dimensions of the characters’ emotional journeys.”
David Brooks embraced an opportunity to explore a world that is unfamiliar to moviegoers. “It’s so rare to come across such a gripping story that feels truly original,” says David Brooks. “The world of saturation diving really hadn’t been explored in a narrative feature before, certainly not at this scale. I was further drawn to the uniqueness of the characters and the intimacy of their dynamics.”
“I felt this responsibility to keep it as true to the reality of what happened as possible. I want these people to be represented properly, because they did an incredible thing on that night,” adds Parkinson.
A heart-pounding film that follows seasoned deep-sea divers as they battle the raging elements to rescue their crewmate trapped hundreds of feet below the ocean’s surface. Based on a true story, Last Breath is an electrifying story about teamwork, resilience, and a race against time to do the impossible. It honors the selflessness and perseverance of a team of divers whose lives changed forever when an accident strands one of their own deep beneath the surface of the North Sea.
With the script in place, Parkinson and the producers of Last Breath searched for a cast that could accurately represent the heroism of the real-life divers
They found adventurous, willing partners in Woody Harrelson, Simu Liu, Finn Cole, and Cliff Curtis.
Paul Brooks collaborated with Harrelson on Bobby Farrelly’s Champions, and believed the actor might have an interest in this remarkable story. Brooks was correct: “Once I saw the documentary, I was already in,” Harrelson remembers. “I think the documentary speaks for itself. People love it. I loved it. It sure made me want to be a part of this.”
Barbie and Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings star Simu Liu reviewed the documentary to familiarize himself with the story. “When I watched it, I was absolutely taken aback by not only the story but also the introduction to the world of saturation diving, which was unlike anything that I had ever known. And then I learned that Alex Parkinson, who directed the documentary, was also doing the adaptation, and I thought, ‘Well, I’m definitely in.’”
Liu responded to the screenplay’s themes of personal responsibility and teamwork: “So much of this story is about that camaraderie that develops over time,” Liu says. “When the stakes are high and an incident happens, these divers are willing to go out and risk their own lives to make sure that nobody gets left behind.”
When Peaky Blinders star Finn Cole received the script, he noticed that it shared its title with the documentary. “I’d seen the documentary a year or so before and loved it. I was into diving beforehand, so the doc got me excited for the movie. I was really intrigued to see how this would translate into film,” says Cole.
The actors held their real-life counterparts in high regard, and sought to tell their story with integrity. “There is a responsibility because it’s a real story with these real characters. And hopefully we are all doing justice to that,” Harrelson says.
“I think that’s just such an incredible story,” adds Liu. “It’s such an honor to be a part of it and to get to tell it. For me, the enduring message of Last Breath is that of hope, perseverance and never giving up.”
“We ended up with the three actors we really wanted, and the chemistry between them was terrific,” Paul Brooks says. “They all got along fantastically, and I think you can see the chemistry on screen. It feels really authentic.”
Production on Last Breath began in February 2023 in the North Sea onboard the ship the real events took place on.
ALEX PARKINSON (Co-Writer, Director) is an Emmy-nominated director who is making his narrative feature directorial debut with Last Breath. Parkinson’s other work includes HBO Max and Channel 4’s documentary, Lucy The Human Chimp, which he both wrote and directed. It follows psychologist Janis Carter taking on the seemingly impossible task of giving a chimpanzee raised as a human a new life in the wild. Directing documentaries for more than 20 years, Parkinson has also made films for a number of global broadcasters including the BBC, ITV, National Geographic, Animal Planet, History and Travel.
DAVID BROOKS, p.g.a. (Co-Writer, Producer) earned a BFA in Film Production from New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts. His feature directorial debut, ATM, was released by Universal Studios in partnership with Netflix and IFC Films and received Comcast’s XFinity On Demand Award for Most Watched Independent Film (2012). While developing directing projects, David has continued to work as a producer on other features including voyeuristic horror film, The Den, released by IFC Midnight, The Boy Downstairs, a modern romantic comedy, which premiered at the 2017 Tribeca Film Festival and was released by Film Rise in partnership with HBO, and Prey for the Devil, a contemporary exorcism story based on true events for Lionsgate. Most recently David produced, Oh, Hi!, starring Molly Gordon and Logan Lerman, which premiered at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival.
MITCHELL LAFORTUNE (Writer) is a former intelligence officer who served four deployments to Afghanistan from 2007 to 2013. He started his intelligence career in the Army, developing counterinsurgency strategy for Afghanistan and Pakistan, where he would be awarded a Battlefield Promotion for extraordinary efforts in a combat zone. After serving, Mitchell worked for the Defense Intelligence Agency, focused on Iranian foreign policy. He authored Presidential Daily Briefings and participated in military operations in Herat and Kabul in support of Operation Enduring Freedom. After leaving the Agency, Mitchell attended UCLA’s prestigious film school as a Pat Tillman Scholar. Based on Mitchell’s real-life experiences as an intelligence officer, he penned Kandahar, repping Gerard Butler’s re-team with his Angel Has Fallen filmmaker, Ric Roman Waugh. Open Road released the film wide Memorial Day Weekend in 2023. Mitchell recently completed Greenland: Migration, the sequel to the disaster thriller Greenland and has signed on to adapt the real-life story of Mike and Carlos Boettcher, father-son war correspondents and multi-Emmy and Peabody winners for Mandalay.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Novocaine – An Explosive Cinematic Experience
Screenwriter Lars Jacobson has always loved unique characters who can take something that can be perceived as a disability and turn it into their superpower and that was exactly what he created with the character of Nathan Caine in Novocaine. “We have this great everyman character who’s never been in a fight and he throws caution to the wind and risks all to save the love of his life,” he says.
When the girl of his dreams (Amber Midthunder) is kidnapped in Novocaine, everyman Nate (Jack Quaid) turns his inability to feel pain into an unexpected strength in his fight to get her back.
“Thematically it’s about what we are willing to risk for love and this was the perfect story of a guy willing to risk everything,” says Jacobson. “He can’t feel anything but once he feels something for Shelley, he wants to make sure he can feel it again. This was a unique story with a complex, diverse, dynamic character at its center. It is a genre film, but it’s really a love story.” Jacobson was also an admirer of bank heist films like Dog Day Afternoon and Killing Zoe and as he developed the scenario to place this character in, he loved the idea of a fast-paced action movie within the walls of a bank.
Screenwriter Lars Jacobson
“When you can take something familiar and add a unique twist, that’s a fun thing to do in storytelling,” Jacobson says. “I wanted to stay true to the genre, but add layers that would hopefully elevate and augment. There is also a superhero element, but it’s about Nate outlasting and outsmarting his opponent because he knows he can’t overpower them. So when he’s faced with guys with military training, his only ability is to be crafty and to persevere. I equated it to Bruce Willis’ t-shirt in Die Hard. It starts white and crisp, and by the end, he’s bare-chested and bloody. Nate is not always winning these fights, he’s surviving these fights, but he’s coming out ahead and overcoming insurmountable odds by applying his smarts and ingenuity. This was such a great writing experience for me because you could have fun with many of the set pieces as well the high-concept element of it.”
Jacobson’s manager, Julian Rosenberg, who also serves as a producer on Novocaine, pitched Safehouse Pictures’ Matt Schwartz with the writer’s idea for the film.
“I read it that night and immediately fell in love,” recalls Schwartz. “Novocaine was the type of film that Safehouse and producers Tory Tunnell, Joby Harold, and myself have always gravitated towards. It was unique and had an awesome high concept but with a relatable, lovely, and sympathetic hero at the center of it. There were also great universal themes. On the one hand, it’s about all the crazy things you’ll do for love. But what struck me about it was that it forces us to think about how we can change the way we see our insecurities and things that make us different, and turn those into positives, spinning them into things that make us special and unique. That felt like such a lovely thing that would resonate with everyone so we immediately leaned into the project.”
“It took a little while to find the right home for the script,” says producer Harold, who knew a little bit about high concept action from his work within the world of John Wick, “but I couldn’t shake the concept of the movie. The idea of this character was really stuck in my teeth – it felt like such an amazing casting opportunity – and I just kept saying “what’s happening with Novocaine? What can we be doing that we aren’t doing?” I just had a real instinct that Nate was going to be a character that audiences would fall in love with. All we had to do was find the right partner who saw what we saw.”
Fellow producer Drew Simon had recently established Infrared Pictures and as one of Schwartz’s closest friends, it felt like the perfect project to collaborate on. “Drew and I have incredibly similar tastes,” notes Schwartz. “And when we reached out to him, he loved it and we were off to the races.”
“Getting the chance to work with one of your best friends on a movie like this is a special experience that we didn’t take for granted,” says Simon. “Novocaine got me from the very beginning because we watch this man who doesn’t feel pain have to find his identity and break out of the bubble that his life has created for him while falling in love and going through an obstacle course of action. He’s an incredibly relatable protagonist and this special condition allows for set pieces done in inventive, creative ways you haven’t seen before on screen. It felt like a fresh take on a genre that people love.”
The Safehouse Pictures team had an existing relationship with directing partners Dan Berk & Robert Olsen and instantly felt they would be the perfect filmmakers for the project.
Filmmakers Dan Berk and Robert Olsen
“And after our first meeting, I knew these were the directors for the movie,” says Simon. “They had passion, vision, and a style they wanted to bring to it that felt fresh, unique, and special. They wanted to subvert the genre. This was a great script to begin with and then they took it up several notches and made it into something that will stand the test of time as an action movie. The biggest challenge was finding the right balance of action, heart, and humor because we were not trying to make just another action movie. We were trying to make something fun, different and that stands out.”
Though Berk and Olsen have traditionally written and originated the films they direct, when they read Jacobson’s script, they were immediately hooked. “It had a very sticky concept at the core of it,” says Berk. “A guy who can’t feel pain being thrust into this action movie is a protagonist you don’t expect in that situation. We also saw that it had a lot of potential for an infusion of our signature tone so we jumped at it.”
Adds Olsen, “The mix of humor and violence is also what makes this movie special because everybody’s seen an action movie that has a ton of gore in it and a more dour tone. But the image of somebody being punched in the face and smiling right after is the heart of this movie.”
Jacobson, too, was thrilled with the choice of Berk and Olsen to bring his script to the screen. “As a writer, you’re always hoping that the directors will elevate your material, bring something new, and open it up further,” says Jacobson. “Dan and Bobby did a great job of establishing a tone with Nate by balancing the action with the comedy while also giving it a strong engine. Once the movie gets started, it doesn’t stop.”
After helming five features together, the directing duo is a well-oiled machine when it comes to their communication, something that was noticed by every member of the cast and creative team.
“We’ve learned to get on the same page before even stepping onto the set so no one has to come and get the check mark from both of us,” shares Olsen. “What makes our partnership work, is that we were best friends way before we ever started to work together so we have that foundation of brotherhood.” Adds Berk, “It’s taken a long time to perfect our process. We spend months and months and months before we ever get to the sound stages mapping out every single possible eventuality so that when something comes up on set, we already have the answer. It may seem effortless from the outside, but we spend a lot of time on it.”
Casting Novocaine
As Berk and Olsen further developed the film and began their directors’ pass at the shooting script, they found themselves writing with one actor in particular in their thoughts. “It was months before we brought up Jack Quaid to anyone else but we always had his voice in mind,” recalls Berk. “Jack was our dream casting for this role. We were huge fans of his from The Boys and felt he was an actor with massive potential. We pitched the idea to our producers and the studio, and they were into it. Jack is an atomic bomb of charisma and there’s nobody as likable as him. In our first Zoom meeting with him, it felt like we had known him for 20 years.”
“And it wasn’t easy to find the right person for this role,” adds Olsen. “It’s hard to find somebody who has that nerdy quality to them to play the introverted parts of the role, but then still has the oomph to go in there when it turns into an action movie and to sell it and be a movie star. Jack’s ability to shift into those different roles is something you can’t find easily.”
For Jacobson, Quaid couldn’t have been more perfect to portray the anti-action hero, Nathan Caine. “With Nate, you want someone who is inherently sympathetic, likable, and an everyman and someone you don’t necessarily think would win a fight,” he says. “Jack played it to a T. He understood the anxiety, the neuroses of this character and also that he was willing to risk it all to save the woman he loved.”
As for Quaid, the actor counts himself as a huge fan of action movies, “especially the fun ones of the 1980s and ‘90s,” which was a large reason he leaped at the chance to play Nathan Caine. “I find these movies so impressive when they’re done right, especially if they can make you feel something or elicit a reaction,” he says. “So what I loved about this movie is that it’s very much inspired by older action movies where the focus is on the fun of it all.”
In preparing the actor for the role, the directors provided Quaid with a list of movies to view. “Firstly, Dan and Bobby are two of my favorite people I’ve ever worked with,” says Quaid. “Their passion and joy about this entire experience was so infectious, and it created an amazing environment on set. They recommended films like Lethal Weapon 1 and 2, Die Hard, and Hard Boiled, which is an incredible movie. I also watched romance movies like Before Sunrise. Hopefully, if we did our jobs right, Novocaine will fit into the pantheon of both genres in such a fun and unique way.”
Quaid also says he thoroughly enjoyed bringing his character’s hero’s journey to life over the course of the film. “At his core, Nate is a really big sweetheart, an extremely nice guy, and a big nerd, which I loved about him,” he says. “He’s also quite lonely as he hasn’t ever connected with anyone romantically in his life. And now that he’s turned 30, he’s realizing that he’s living on borrowed time. It’s been hard to go out there and meet people when you’re a balloon in a world of pins.”
“Amber Midthunder was ideal casting for Sherry,” raves Jacobson. “And the chemistry between Jack and Amber is perfect. Sherry is a very complex character. At first, she’s this object of affection and admiration for Nate, but once he gets to know her, she’s very upfront, honest, and direct. They form a deep and fast connection.”
Midthunder says she was captivated by the beautiful complexity of their relationship given that Sherry initially doesn’t expect to form such genuine feelings for Nate. “I think what makes their relationship so special is that they bring out this true version of the other person,” she shares. “Dan, Bobby, and I talked a lot about how Nate sees Sherry in a way she’s never been seen before. To Sherry, that is both alarming and disarming and that’s what makes her feel so drawn to him and feel safe with him, especially so quickly. She’s affected by that because she’s never felt that kind of safety before in her life.”
Creating the visually arresting, action-packed world of Novocaine
To land the perfect visual aesthetic for Novocaine, the filmmakers spent considerable time discussing the possibilities with the film’s cinematographer, Jacques Jouffret. Novocaine marks the first action film for Berk and Olsen after helming several thrillers and horror films, so they were set on finding a director of photography who had experience in the genre and Jouffret’s previous credits include Tom Clancy’s Jack Ryan, Gran Turismo, and American Primeval.
The impressive and imaginative non-stop stunts, fights, and gags in Novocaine were brought to the screen by Bulgarian-born Stanimir ‘Stani’ Stamatov who served as the film’s stunt coordinator, alongside co-stunt coordinator Kerry Gregg, and their team. “Stani and Kerry have done an incredible job and their team was so professional,” raves Simon. “We don’t know how they pulled it off. There were so many stunts with these bone-crunching hits.” Stamatov’s specialty has been producing brawler-type fights in projects including The Expendables and Game of Thrones, making him the natural fit for developing the specific style of fighting in Novocaine.
Like many filmmakers, Berk and Olsen have always strived to do things practically as much as they could, without relying too heavily on visual effects. “It looks more authentic and it’s also more authentic for the actors when there’s something tangible there to touch and perform with,” shares Berk. “So this movie is very prosthetics-heavy. There’s so much violence, gore, wounds, breaks, and all this wild stuff. We were really lucky to find Clinton, who has a great resume including Guardians of the Galaxy and Resident Evil. What he does is very scientific. The prep process is massive and there is so much technology behind it. He had to break Nate’s journey into the 52 different steps of physical degradation and have a plan for every one of those. He would look at the 3D scans of Jack at various times and be able to say, ‘It looks a little too messed up there’ or ‘That’s a little too scary.’
Recreating San Diego In South Africa
When Novocaine’s creative team was searching for a shooting location that could believably stand in for San Diego, California, they were drawn to the similar landscape and climate found in Cape Town, South Africa. “As we started getting into the logistics of how we were going to create the biggest feeling, most event-worthy and cinematic movie possible for our budget, we started looking all over the world,” recalls Simon. “Our story takes place over the Christmas season, but we set it in San Diego which opens the movie up in such a great way. Cape Town is a near-perfect replica of San Diego. But more than that, it also provided so much more scale to the movie. Our climactic set piece which was once set in a tunnel, became a scene at a shipping port with giant shipping crates and boats everywhere. Cape Town provided so much scope, in addition to having some of the best crews in the world. Every department, every crew, every person who worked on this movie was better than the next. It was a pleasure.”
As Novocaine explodes onto cinema screens, audiences can look forward to experiencing dynamic characters in a high-concept story that blends a variety of genres with a wildly specific action language, separating it from anything ever seen on screen before.
“This movie delivers incredible action, tons of humor, and great heart,” says Simon. “It’s a nonstop action thrill ride that will have audiences on the edge of their seats. They’re going to be laughing and crying, and in a really fun way, they’re going to be looking away from the screen at times. It’s a movie that belongs in the theaters as it feels like such a cinematic experience. When you watch a movie like this with an audience, it’s going to feel like an event and that is what movies are all about.”
Agrees Berk, “There are certain scenes you shoot and based on the reactions of those around you, you know this is what makes a theatrical experience. Novocaine will still be fun to watch on your couch, but it will be nowhere near as much fun as watching it in a dark theater with several hundred other people.”
Quaid says he’s most excited for people to experience the film’s singular tone and the journey Nathan Caine goes on over the course of the movie. “I love that Nate is ultimately a very positive character and he’s happy-go-lucky despite all of the horrific stuff that happens to him,” says the actor. “This film blends all these genres in a cool, unique way that I’ve never seen before. I hope audiences will enjoy that. It’s going to be a wild ride, and I’ll be so excited to hear the reactions inside the theater.”
Novocaine’s screenwriter agrees, adding that in addition to the non-stop action and comedy, he hopes audiences also find this to be a compelling and unique love story. “That’s how I always looked at it,” concludes Jacobson. “It’s about two very broken characters who come from different sides of the spectrum of pain. Nate can’t feel pain and feels disconnected from humanity because of it. Sherry uses pain as a way to feel connected to life and to remind herself that she’s alive. When these two characters meet, they have instant chemistry, but then they’re torn apart until they ultimately sacrifice for one another. That’s what this story is about at the end. Nate’s not just saving Sherry. Sherry is saving Nate.”
DAN BERK & ROBERT OLSEN
After meeting as roommates during their freshman year at NYU, Dan Berk and Robert Olsen quickly bonded over their mutual love for genre films. They began honing their craft in commercial work, music videos, and comedy sketches, developing a distinct visual style and a knack for blending suspense with dark humor.
Their feature filmmaking journey began with BODY (2015), a minimalist psychological thriller that gained attention on the festival circuit before securing a limited theatrical release through Oscilloscope. This was followed by The Stakelander (2017), a sequel to Jim Mickle’s cult vampire film Stake Land, which further solidified their ability to work within established genre frameworks while injecting their own voice.
In 2018, they wrote and directed VILLAINS, a darkly comedic thriller starring Bill Skarsgård, Maika Monroe, Jeffrey Donovan, and Kyra Sedgwick. The film premiered at the 2019 South by Southwest Film Festival to strong reviews and was later released theatrically by Gunpowder & Sky, earning praise for its sharp writing and unpredictable twists.
Continuing their momentum, Berk and Olsen directed Significant Other (2022), a sci-fi thriller starring Maika Monroe and Jake Lacy. Released by Paramount+ to critical acclaim, the film showcased their ability to blend intimate character drama with high-concept storytelling.
Most recently, they directed the action-comedy Novocaine starring Jack Quaid and Amber Midthunder, set for a Spring 2025 theatrical release by Paramount Pictures.
Throughout their careers, Berk and Olsen have demonstrated a keen ability to subvert genre conventions while maintaining a deep appreciation for classic horror, thriller, and sci-fi storytelling. Their films are marked by tension, sharp dialogue, and an ever-present sense of unpredictability, positioning them as two of the most exciting voices in modern genre filmmaking.
LARS JACOBSEN
Lars Jacobson is the Writer and an Executive Producer of the upcoming Paramount movie NOVOCAINE, as well as the Executive Producer of the current Peacock series FIGHT NIGHT, starring Kevin Hart and produced by Will Packer. Lars has also written and produced several podcasts under and overall at iHeart Media, including WHEEL WOMAN and FODOR’s GUIDE TO ESPIONAGE, and recently had his first graphic novel THE HORROR published by Dark Horse Entertainment.
by Daniel Dercksen·Comments Off on Black Bag – A gripping tale of passion, deception and betrayal
The idea for Black Bagfirst occurred to screenwriter David Koepp while he was doing research for the first chapter of the blockbuster Mission: Impossible franchise. He interviewed several intelligence operatives on background and found himself fascinated by their personal lives. “All the spycraft stuff was very cool, but I learned more than I ever expected about the people,” he says. “One woman told me that her job made it impossible for her to sustain a relationship. A line in the movie was inspired by my conversations with her. ‘When you can lie about everything, how do you tell the truth about anything?’”
Since they first met over 30 years ago, Steven Soderbergh and David Koepp have become two of the most successful filmmakers in Hollywood, with a string of critical hits and commercial blockbusters that has rarely been matched. Their latest film, Black Bag, the third time they have teamed up as director and writer, respectively, is an unconventional spy drama that takes audiences behind the scenes of a top-secret search for a double agent and into the personal lives of two elite espionage operatives, who are also passionately in love.
The key to their successful collaborations is what Soderbergh describes as the same amount of healthy respect and disrespect for each other. “David is obviously very good at his job and I think he generally likes my directing,” he says. “Knowing that, we’re comfortable being honestly critical with each other. Neither of us feels any need to obfuscate.”
That idea for Black Bag stuck with Koepp
“Think about it,” he says. “If you want to have an affair, it couldn’t be easier. You just say, ‘I’ll be gone for three days and you can’t ask me where I’m going because you don’t have clearance.’ You can’t trust people and people can’t trust you. For George and Kathryn, the confidential information they can’t share goes into what they call their ‘black bag.’”
Soderbergh is always looking for a script that is intelligent and has the potential to be a star-driven, commercial movie. “I love that it’s smart, like so many of David’s scripts,” he says. “And I want as many people as possible to see my work. Black Bag seemed to be the same kind of opportunity that the Ocean’s films presented.”
One of Soderbergh’s best qualities as a director is his decisiveness, in Koepp’s eyes. “Otherwise, you could drown in possibilities. He’s also not afraid of contradictions. In the world of espionage, everything’s ambiguous. Everything’s a puzzle.”
The most significant change Soderbergh suggested during development was moving the story from the U.S. to the U.K., where the main characters are all employed by the NCSC. A division of the country’s Government Communications Headquarters (GCHQ), the NCSC focuses on intelligence drawn from technology as opposed to their partners MI5 and MI6 (the latter famously the home of James Bond), which gather in
