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curated-realities:-an-ai-film-festival-and-the-future-of-human-expression

Curated realities: An AI film festival and the future of human expression


We saw 10 AI films and interviewed Runway’s CEO as well as Hollywood pros.

An AI-generated frame of a person looking at an array of television screens

A still from Total Pixel Space, the Grand Prix winner at AIFF 2025.

A still from Total Pixel Space, the Grand Prix winner at AIFF 2025.

Last week, I attended a film festival dedicated to shorts made using generative AI. Dubbed AIFF 2025, it was an event precariously balancing between two different worlds.

The festival was hosted by Runway, a company that produces models and tools for generating images and videos. In panels and press briefings, a curated list of industry professionals made the case for Hollywood to embrace AI tools. In private meetings with industry professionals, I gained a strong sense that there is already a widening philosophical divide within the film and television business.

I also interviewed Runway CEO Cristóbal Valenzuela about the tightrope he walks as he pitches his products to an industry that has deeply divided feelings about what role AI will have in its future.

To unpack all this, it makes sense to start with the films, partly because the film that was chosen as the festival’s top prize winner says a lot about the issues at hand.

A festival of oddities and profundities

Since this was the first time the festival has been open to the public, the crowd was a diverse mix: AI tech enthusiasts, working industry creatives, and folks who enjoy movies and who were curious about what they’d see—as well as quite a few people who fit into all three groups.

The scene at the entrance to the theater at AIFF 2025 in Santa Monica, California.

The films shown were all short, and most would be more at home at an art film fest than something more mainstream. Some shorts featured an animated aesthetic (including one inspired by anime) and some presented as live action. There was even a documentary of sorts. The films could be made entirely with Runway or other AI tools, or those tools could simply be a key part of a stack that also includes more traditional filmmaking methods.

Many of these shorts were quite weird. Most of us have seen by now that AI video-generation tools excel at producing surreal and distorted imagery—sometimes whether the person prompting the tool wants that or not. Several of these films leaned into that limitation, treating it as a strength.

Representing that camp was Vallée Duhamel’s Fragments of Nowhere, which visually explored the notion of multiple dimensions bleeding into one another. Cars morphed into the sides of houses, and humanoid figures, purported to be inter-dimensional travelers, moved in ways that defied anatomy. While I found this film visually compelling at times, I wasn’t seeing much in it that I hadn’t already seen from dreamcore or horror AI video TikTok creators like GLUMLOT or SinRostroz in recent years.

More compelling were shorts that used this propensity for oddity to generate imagery that was curated and thematically tied to some aspect of human experience or identity. For example, More Tears than Harm by Herinarivo Rakotomanana was a rotoscope animation-style “sensory collage of childhood memories” of growing up in Madagascar. Its specificity and consistent styling lent it a credibility that Fragments of Nowhere didn’t achieve. I also enjoyed Riccardo Fusetti’s Editorial on this front.

More Tears Than Harm, an unusual animated film at AIFF 2025.

Among the 10 films in the festival, two clearly stood above the others in my impressions—and they ended up being the Grand Prix and Gold prize winners. (The judging panel included filmmakers Gaspar Noé and Harmony Korine, Tribeca Enterprises CEO Jane Rosenthal, IMAX head of post and image capture Bruce Markoe, Lionsgate VFX SVP Brianna Domont, Nvidia developer relations lead Richard Kerris, and Runway CEO Cristóbal Valenzuela, among others).

Runner-up Jailbird was the aforementioned quasi-documentary. Directed by Andrew Salter, it was a brief piece that introduced viewers to a program in the UK that places chickens in human prisons as companion animals, to positive effect. Why make that film with AI, you might ask? Well, AI was used to achieve shots that wouldn’t otherwise be doable for a small-budget film to depict the experience from the chicken’s point of view. The crowd loved it.

Jailbird, the runner-up at AIFF 2025.

Then there was the Grand Prix winner, Jacob Adler’s Total Pixel Space, which was, among other things, a philosophical defense of the very idea of AI art. You can watch Total Pixel Space on YouTube right now, unlike some of the other films. I found it strangely moving, even as I saw its selection as the festival’s top winner with some cynicism. Of course they’d pick that one, I thought, although I agreed it was the most interesting of the lot.

Total Pixel Space, the Grand Prix winner at AIFF 2025.

Total Pixel Space

Even though it risked navel-gazing and self-congratulation in this venue, Total Pixel Space was filled with compelling imagery that matched the themes, and it touched on some genuinely interesting ideas—at times, it seemed almost profound, didactic as it was.

“How many images can possibly exist?” the film’s narrator asked. To answer that, it explains the concept of total pixel space, which actually reflects how image generation tools work:

Pixels are the building blocks of digital images—tiny tiles forming a mosaic. Each pixel is defined by numbers representing color and position. Therefore, any digital image can be represented as a sequence of numbers…

Just as we don’t need to write down every number between zero and one to prove they exist, we don’t need to generate every possible image to prove they exist. Their existence is guaranteed by the mathematics that defines them… Every frame of every possible film exists as coordinates… To deny this would be to deny the existence of numbers themselves.

The nine-minute film demonstrates that the number of possible images or films is greater than the number of atoms in the universe and argues that photographers and filmmakers may be seen as discovering images that already exist in the possibility space rather than creating something new.

Within that framework, it’s easy to argue that generative AI is just another way for artists to “discover” images.

The balancing act

“We are all—and I include myself in that group as well—obsessed with technology, and we keep chatting about models and data sets and training and capabilities,” Runway CEO Cristóbal Valenzuela said to me when we spoke the next morning. “But if you look back and take a minute, the festival was celebrating filmmakers and artists.”

I admitted that I found myself moved by Total Pixel Space‘s articulations. “The winner would never have thought of himself as a filmmaker, and he made a film that made you feel something,” Valenzuela responded. “I feel that’s very powerful. And the reason he could do it was because he had access to something that just wasn’t possible a couple of months ago.”

First-time and outsider filmmakers were the focus of AIFF 2025, but Runway works with established studios, too—and those relationships have an inherent tension.

The company has signed deals with companies like Lionsgate and AMC Networks. In some cases, it trains on data provided by those companies; in others, it embeds within them to try to develop tools that fit how they already work. That’s not something competitors like OpenAI are doing yet, so that, combined with a head start in video generation, has allowed Runway to grow and stay competitive so far.

“We go directly into the companies, and we have teams of creatives that are working alongside them. We basically embed ourselves within the organizations that we’re working with very deeply,” Valenzuela explained. “We do versions of our film festival internally for teams as well so they can go through the process of making something and seeing the potential.”

Founded in 2018 at New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts by two Chileans and one Greek co-founder, Runway has a very different story than its Silicon Valley competitors. It was one of the first to bring an actually usable video-generation tool to the masses. Runway also contributed in foundational ways to the popular Stable Diffusion model.

Though it is vastly outspent by competitors like OpenAI, it has taken a hands-on approach to working with existing industries. You won’t hear Valenzuela or other Runway leaders talking about the imminence of AGI or anything so lofty; instead, it’s all about selling the product as something that can solve existing problems in creatives’ workflows.

Still, an artist’s mindset and relationships within the industry don’t negate some fundamental conflicts. There are multiple intellectual property cases involving Runway and its peers, and though the company hasn’t admitted it, there is evidence that it trained its models on copyrighted YouTube videos, among other things.

Cristóbal Valenzuela speaking on the AIFF 2025 stage. Credit: Samuel Axon

Valenzuela suggested that studios are worried about liability, not underlying principles, though, saying:

Most of the concerns on copyright are on the output side, which is like, how do you make sure that the model doesn’t create something that already exists or infringes on something. And I think for that, we’ve made sure our models don’t and are supportive of the creative direction you want to take without being too limiting. We work with every major studio, and we offer them indemnification.

In the past, he has also defended Runway by saying that what it’s producing is not a re-creation of what has come before. He sees the tool’s generative process as distinct—legally, creatively, and ethically—from simply pulling up assets or references from a database.

“People believe AI is sort of like a system that creates and conjures things magically with no input from users,” he said. “And it’s not. You have to do that work. You still are involved, and you’re still responsible as a user in terms of how you use it.”

He seemed to share this defense of AI as a legitimate tool for artists with conviction, but given that he’s been pitching these products directly to working filmmakers, he was also clearly aware that not everyone agrees with him. There is not even a consensus among those in the industry.

An industry divided

While in LA for the event, I visited separately with two of my oldest friends. Both of them work in the film and television industry in similar disciplines. They each asked what I was in town for, and I told them I was there to cover an AI film festival.

One immediately responded with a grimace of disgust, “Oh, yikes, I’m sorry.” The other responded with bright eyes and intense interest and began telling me how he already uses AI in his day-to-day to do things like extend shots by a second or two for a better edit, and expressed frustration at his company for not adopting the tools faster.

Neither is alone in their attitudes. Hollywood is divided—and not for the first time.

There have been seismic technological changes in the film industry before. There was the transition from silent films to talkies, obviously; moviemaking transformed into an entirely different art. Numerous old jobs were lost, and numerous new jobs were created.

Later, there was the transition from film to digital projection, which may be an even tighter parallel. It was a major disruption, with some companies and careers collapsing while others rose. There were people saying, “Why do we even need this?” while others believed it was the only sane way forward. Some audiences declared the quality worse, and others said it was better. There were analysts arguing it could be stopped, while others insisted it was inevitable.

IMAX’s head of post production, Bruce Markoe, spoke briefly about that history at a press mixer before the festival. “It was a little scary,” he recalled. “It was a big, fundamental change that we were going through.”

People ultimately embraced it, though. “The motion picture and television industry has always been very technology-forward, and they’ve always used new technologies to advance the state of the art and improve the efficiencies,” Markoe said.

When asked whether he thinks the same thing will happen with generative AI tools, he said, “I think some filmmakers are going to embrace it faster than others.” He pointed to AI tools’ usefulness for pre-visualization as particularly valuable and noted some people are already using it that way, but it will take time for people to get comfortable with.

And indeed, many, many filmmakers are still loudly skeptical. “The concept of AI is great,” The Mitchells vs. the Machines director Mike Rianda said in a Wired interview. “But in the hands of a corporation, it is like a buzzsaw that will destroy us all.”

Others are interested in the technology but are concerned that it’s being brought into the industry too quickly, with insufficient planning and protections. That includes Crafty Apes Senior VFX Supervisor Luke DiTomasso. “How fast do we roll out AI technologies without really having an understanding of them?” he asked in an interview with Production Designers Collective. “There’s a potential for AI to accelerate beyond what we might be comfortable with, so I do have some trepidation and am maybe not gung-ho about all aspects of it.

Others remain skeptical that the tools will be as useful as some optimists believe. “AI never passed on anything. It loved everything it read. It wants you to win. But storytelling requires nuance—subtext, emotion, what’s left unsaid. That’s something AI simply can’t replicate,” said Alegre Rodriquez, a member of the Emerging Technology committee at the Motion Picture Editors Guild.

The mirror

Flying back from Los Angeles, I considered two key differences between this generative AI inflection point for Hollywood and the silent/talkie or film/digital transitions.

First, neither of those transitions involved an existential threat to the technology on the basis of intellectual property and copyright. Valenzuela talked about what matters to studio heads—protection from liability over the outputs. But the countless creatives who are critical of these tools also believe they should be consulted and even compensated for their work’s use in the training data for Runway’s models. In other words, it’s not just about the outputs, it’s also about the sourcing. As noted before, there are several cases underway. We don’t know where they’ll land yet.

Second, there’s a more cultural and philosophical issue at play, which Valenzuela himself touched on in our conversation.

“I think AI has become this sort of mirror where anyone can project all their fears and anxieties, but also their optimism and ideas of the future,” he told me.

You don’t have to scroll for long to come across techno-utopians declaring with no evidence that AGI is right around the corner and that it will cure cancer and save our society. You also don’t have to scroll long to encounter visceral anger at every generative AI company from people declaring the technology—which is essentially just a new methodology for programming a computer—fundamentally unethical and harmful, with apocalyptic societal and economic ramifications.

Amid all those bold declarations, this film festival put the focus on the on-the-ground reality. First-time filmmakers who might never have previously cleared Hollywood’s gatekeepers are getting screened at festivals because they can create competitive-looking work with a fraction of the crew and hours. Studios and the people who work there are saying they’re saving time, resources, and headaches in pre-viz, editing, visual effects, and other work that’s usually done under immense time and resource pressure.

“People are not paying attention to the very huge amount of positive outcomes of this technology,” Valenzuela told me, pointing to those examples.

In this online discussion ecosystem that elevates outrage above everything else, that’s likely true. Still, there is a sincere and rigorous conviction among many creatives that their work is contributing to this technology’s capabilities without credit or compensation and that the structural and legal frameworks to ensure minimal human harm in this evolving period of disruption are still inadequate. That’s why we’ve seen groups like the Writers Guild of America West support the Generative AI Copyright Disclosure Act and other similar legislation meant to increase transparency about how these models are trained.

The philosophical question with a legal answer

The winning film argued that “total pixel space represents both the ultimate determinism and the ultimate freedom—every possibility existing simultaneously, waiting for consciousness to give it meaning through the act of choice.”

In making this statement, the film suggested that creativity, above all else, is an act of curation. It’s a claim that nothing, truly, is original. It’s a distillation of human expression into the language of mathematics.

To many, that philosophy rings undeniably true: Every possibility already exists, and artists are just collapsing the waveform to the frame they want to reveal. To others, there is more personal truth to the romantic ideal that artwork is valued precisely because it did not exist until the artist produced it.

All this is to say that the debate about creativity and AI in Hollywood is ultimately a philosophical one. But it won’t be resolved that way.

The industry may succumb to litigation fatigue and a hollowed-out workforce—or it may instead find its way to fair deals, new opportunities for fresh voices, and transparent training sets.

For all this lofty talk about creativity and ideas, the outcome will come down to the contracts, court decisions, and compensation structures—all things that have always been at least as big a part of Hollywood as the creative work itself.

Photo of Samuel Axon

Samuel Axon is the editorial lead for tech and gaming coverage at Ars Technica. He covers AI, software development, gaming, entertainment, and mixed reality. He has been writing about gaming and technology for nearly two decades at Engadget, PC World, Mashable, Vice, Polygon, Wired, and others. He previously ran a marketing and PR agency in the gaming industry, led editorial for the TV network CBS, and worked on social media marketing strategy for Samsung Mobile at the creative agency SPCSHP. He also is an independent software and game developer for iOS, Windows, and other platforms, and he is a graduate of DePaul University, where he studied interactive media and software development.

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a-shark-scientist-reflects-on-jaws-at-50

A shark scientist reflects on Jaws at 50


We’re still afraid to go in the water

Ars chats with marine biologist David Shiffman about the film’s legacy—both good and bad.

Roy Scheider starred as Chief Martin Brody in the 1975 blockbuster Jaws. Credit: Universal Pictures

Today marks the 50th anniversary of Jaws, Steven Spielberg’s blockbuster horror movie based on the bestselling novel by Peter Benchley. We’re marking the occasion with a tribute to this classic film and its enduring impact on the popular perception of sharks, shark conservation efforts, and our culture at large.

(Many spoilers below.)

Jaws tells the story of Chief Martin Brody (Roy Scheider), the new police chief for Amity Island, a New England beach town and prime summer tourist attraction. But that thriving industry is threatened by a series of shark attacks, although the local mayor, Larry Vaughn (Murray Hamilton), initially dismisses the possibility, ridiculing the findings of visiting marine biologist Matt Hooper (Richard Dreyfuss). The attacks keep escalating and the body count grows, until the town hires a grizzled shark hunter named Quint (Robert Shaw) to hunt down and kill the great white shark, with the help of Brody and Hooper.

Benchley wrote his novel after reading about a sports fisherman named Frank Mundus, who captured a very large shark in 1964; in fact, the character of Quint is loosely based on Mundus. Benchley wrote an early draft of the screenplay, which underwent multiple revisions during production. In the end, he estimated that his contributions amounted to the basic storyline and the mechanics. Spielberg wasn’t the studio’s first choice for director; initially they hired Dick Richards, but Richards kept referring to the shark as a whale. Eventually, he was fired and replaced with the 26-year-old Spielberg, who had just finished his first feature film (The Sugarland Express).

Spielberg was given a $3.5 million shooting budget and a timeframe of 55 days for filming. However, the production was troubled from the start, largely due to the director’s insistence on shooting on location in Martha’s Vineyard; Jaws was the first major film to be shot on the ocean. Spielberg later admitted, “I was pretty naive about Mother Nature and the hubris of a filmmaker who thinks he can conquer the elements was foolhardy.” Unwanted boats kept drifting into the frame; cameras kept getting waterlogged; Carl Gottlieb (who played the local news editor Meadows) was nearly decapitated by a propeller; Dreyfuss nearly got stuck in the shark cage; and several actors suffered from seasickness. Frustrated crew members took to calling the movie “Flaws.”

A shark strikes

“duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh….” Universal Pictures

There were three pneumatically powered full-sized mechanical sharks built for the shoot, nicknamed “Bruce,” and they kept malfunctioning. The pneumatic hoses kept taking on seawater; the skin was made of neoprene foam, which soaked up water and became bloated; and one of the models kept getting tangled up in seaweed. In the end, Spielberg opted to shoot most of the early scenes without ever showing the actual shark, which actually heightened the tension and suspense, especially when combined with John Williams’ ominous theme music (“duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh…”).

In the end, shooting ran for 159 days, and the budget ballooned to $9 million. All the delays gave Spielberg and his writers (especially Gottlieb) extra time to refine the script, often just prior to filming the scenes. A lot of the dialogue was improvised by the actors. And it was all worth it in the end, because Jaws went on to become a major summer box office success. All told, it grossed $476 million globally across all its theatrical releases and won three Oscars, although it lost Best Picture to One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

Jaws inspired many, many subsequent films, including Ridley Scott’s Alien in 1979, described in pitch meetings as “Jaws in space. Audience reactions were often extreme, with many people becoming fearful of swimming in the ocean for fear of sharks. And while the sequels were, shall we say, underwhelming, the original Jaws has stood the test of time. Ars spoke with marine biologist and shark conservationist David Shiffman, author of Why Sharks Matter, to discuss the film’s depiction of sharks and its enduring place in popular culture.

Ars Technica: Let’s start by talking about the enormous impact of the film, both good and bad, on the general public’s awareness of sharks.

David Shiffman: A lot of folks in both the marine science world and the ocean conservation communities have reported that Jaws in a lot of ways changed our world. It’s not that people used to think that sharks were cute, cuddly, adorable animals, and then after Jaws, they thought that they were bloodthirsty killing machines. They just weren’t on people’s minds. Fishermen knew about them, surfers thought about them, but that was about it. Most people who went to the beach didn’t pay much mind to what could be there. Jaws absolutely shattered that. My parents both reported that the summer that Jaws came out, they were afraid to go swimming in their community swimming pools.

No, really, the water’s fine!

“You knew.” The young boy’s mother (Lee Fierro) confronts Brody. Universal Pictures

David Shiffman: I have encountered people who were so scared that they were afraid to go in the bathtub. A lot of movies are very scary, but they don’t have that real-world impact. I love Jurassic Park, but I’m not afraid that a T. rex is going to eat me when I go into an outhouse, even though that’s about as realistic as what’s portrayed in Jaws. There’s something called the “Jaws Effect” in public policy literature, which is a way of measuring how fictional portrayals of real-world issues affect what citizens think about that issue and what policy preferences they support as a result. It’s fascinating how a fictional portrayal can do that, because I cannot stress enough: That is not what sharks look like or how they behave.

The movie also was the first time that a scientist was the hero. People half a generation above me have reported that seeing Richard Dreyfuss’ Hooper on the big screen as the one who saves the day changed their career trajectory. “You can be a scientist who studies fish. Cool. I want to do that.” In the time since Jaws came out, a lot of major changes have happened. One is that shark populations have declined globally by about 50 percent, and many species are now critically endangered.

And shark science has become much more professionalized. The American Elasmobranch Society—I’m on the board of directors—was founded in 1983, and now we have about 500 members in the US, Canada ,and Mexico. There have since been subsequent organizations founded in Australia and the Pacific Islands, Europe, South America, and a new one starting this year in Asia.

And then, from a cultural standpoint, we now have a whole genre of bad shark movies.

Ars Technica: Sharknado!

David Shiffman: Yes! Sharknado is one of the better of the bunch. Sitting on my desk here, we’ve got Sharkenstein, Raiders of the Lost Shark, and, of course, Shark Exorcist, all from the 2010s. I’ve been quoted as saying there’s two types of shark movie: There’s Jaws and there’s bad shark movies.

Ars Technica: Populations of the tiger shark, the great white, and couple of other species have declined so dramatically that many are on the verge of extinction. Is it just a coincidence that those declines started shortly after Jaws came out? 

David Shiffman: The short answer is not that Jaws caused this, but that perhaps Jaws made it easier for it to happen because people weren’t outraged the way they might’ve been if it happened to say, whales, whose populations were also declining around the same time. The number one threat to shark species as a whole is unsustainable overfishing practices. People are killing too many sharks. Sustainable fisheries for sharks can and do exist, and the US largely has done a good job with this, but around the world, it’s a bad scene.

“A whole genre of bad shark movies”

For instance, shark fin soup started to be a problem around the 1980s thanks to the economic boom in China and the emergence of a new middle class there. Shark fin soup is a traditional Chinese and Southeast Asian delicacy. It’s associated with the emperor and his court. It’s not shark meat that’s used. It’s the little skeletal fin rays from the fins that are basically a bland, noodle-like substance when they’re dried and boiled. The purpose of this was for people to say, “I have so much money that I can eat these incredibly rare delicacies.” That was not caused by Jaws. But perhaps it was allowed to happen because there was less public sympathy for sharks.

It’s worth noting that shark fin soup and the shark fin trade is no longer the biggest or only threat to sharks. It hasn’t been in about 20 years. Ironically, a lot of that has to do with Chinese government efforts not to save the ocean, but to crack down on public corruption. A lot of government officials used to throw extravagant banquets for their friends and family. The new Chinese government said, “We’re not doing that anymore.” That alone saved a lot of endangered species. It was not motivated by concern about the state of the ocean, but it had that effect.

Ars Technica: People have a tendency to think that sharks are simply brutal killing machines. Why are they so important to the ecosystem?

David Shiffman: The title of my book is Why Sharks Matter because sharks do matter and people don’t think about them that way. These are food chains that provide billions of humans with food, including some of the poorest humans on Earth. They provide tens of millions of humans with jobs. When those food chains are disrupted, that’s bad for coastal communities, bad for food security and livelihoods. If we want to have healthy ocean food chains, we need a healthy top of the food chain, because when you lose the top of the food chain, the whole thing can unravel in unpredictable, but often quite devastating ways.

 So sharks play important ecological roles by holding the food chain that we all depend on in place. They’re also not a significant threat to you and your family. More people in a typical year die from flower pots falling on their head when they walk down the street. More people in a typical year die falling off a cliff when they’re trying to take a selfie of the scenery behind them, than are killed by sharks. Any human death or injury is a tragedy, and I don’t want to minimize that. But when we’re talking about global-scale policy responses, the relative risk versus reward needs to be considered.

Ars Technica:  There’s a scene in Jaws where Hooper is talking about his personal theory: territoriality, the idea that this rogue great white came in and made this his personal territory and now he’ll just keep feeding until the food runs out. Is that a real scientific premise from the 1970s and how valid is it?

The hunt begins

The town hires grizzled shark hunter Quint (Robert Shaw) to kill the great white shark. Universal Pictures

David Shiffman: Rogue sharks are nonsense. It is nonsense that is still held by some kooks who are ostensibly in my field, but it is not supported by any evidence whatsoever. In all of recorded human history, there is proof that exactly one shark bit more than one human. That was the Sharm el-Sheikh attacks around Christmas in Egypt a few years ago. Generally speaking, a lot of times it’s hard to predict why wild animals do or don’t do anything. But if this was a behavior that was real, there would be evidence that it happens and there isn’t any, despite a lot of people looking.

Was it commonly believed in the 1970s? No. Did Peter Benchley make it up? No. It’s a thing in some animals for sure. In some neighborhoods, people will pick up gators and move them hundreds of miles away; the gators will move back to that exact same spot. I think the same thing has been shown with bears. Wolves certainly have a home range. But for sharks, it’s not a thing.

Ars Technica: Quint has a famous monologue about surviving the USS Indianapolis sinking and witnessing crew members being eaten by sharks. How historically accurate is that?. 

David Shiffman: We don’t really know how many of the people who were killed following the sinking of the Indianapolis were killed by sharks. Certainly, firsthand accounts report that sharks were present. But those people were in the water because they were on a boat that exploded after being hit by a torpedo. That is not good for your health. So a lot of those people were either mortally wounded or killed by that initial explosion, and then perhaps were scavenged by sharks. Those are also people who are in the water bleeding, making a lot of noise. That’s an incredible scene in the movie. But the deaths Quint attributes to sharks is more people than have been reliably documented as killed by sharks in the history of the world ever.

Ars Technica: How accurate is Jaws in terms of how and why sharks attack humans? For instance, someone says that people splashing in the water mimics what sharks want to hunt. 

David Shiffman: Anyone who tells you they know exactly why a wild animal does or does not do something is someone who you should be a little skeptical of. But a leading theory, which I think makes sense, is this idea of mistaken identity. Some of the people who are most commonly bitten by sharks, though it’s still astronomically rare, are surfers. These are people who are cutting through the water with a silhouette that resembles a seal, wearing black neoprene, which is modeled after seal blubber. Sharks have been patrolling the ocean since before there were trees on land, and it’s only in the last hundred years or so that they’ve had to wonder, is that my preferred prey, or is it a human using technology to mimic my preferred prey for recreational purposes?

If you’ve been in the ocean, there’s been a shark not that far from you, and it knew you were there, and you probably had no idea it was there and had a pleasant day in the water. The sharks that do bite people, they take a little bite and they go, what is that? And swim away. That can be real bad if it hits a major artery or if you’re far from shore. Again, I don’t want to minimize the real harm. But it is not a shark hunting you because it has a taste for human flesh. They don’t have hands. They explore their environment with their mouths and most things in their environment they can eat.

I think Mythbusters tested fish blood versus mammal blood versus chicken blood, I think. And the sharks were attracted to fish blood and had no reaction to the others. So these are animals that are very, very, very well adapted for environmental conditions that in some cases don’t really exist anymore.

Man vs. great white

Brody fights off an increasingly aggressive great white. Universal Pictures

With humans, most of the time, what happens is an immediate bite, and then they swim away. With seals or large prey, they’ll often hit it really hard from below, sometimes knocking it completely out of the water. Or if they’re hunting whales or something that they can’t fit in their mouth, they just take a huge bite and swim away. With fish, they swallow them whole to the extent possible. Sometimes there’s a shaking motion to snap a neck or whatever. You see that with some land predators, too. It’s nothing like what’s seen there—but what an awesome scene.

Ars Technica: What is your favorite scene in Jaws and the one that makes you cringe the most?

David Shiffman: Oh, man. It’s really a great movie, and it holds up well. It was hailed as revolutionary at the time because you hardly ever see the shark. But the reason they did that was because the model of the shark that they built kept breaking. So they decided, let’s just shoot it from the shark’s eye view and save money and annoyance. I love the scene when Hooper realizes that the tiger shark that they’ve caught is obviously not the right species and the reaction that people have to that—just this idea that science and expertise can be used to solve problems. Whenever a shark bites someone, there are people who go out and kill any shark they can find and think that they’re helping.

One of my favorite professional experiences is the American Alasdair Rank Society conference. One year it was in Austin, Texas, near the original Alamo Drafthouse. Coincidentally, while we were there, the cinema held a “Jaws on the Water” event. They had a giant projector screen, and we were sitting in a lake in inner tubes while there were scuba divers in the water messing with us from below. I did that with 75 professional shark scientists. It was absolutely amazing. It helped knowing that it was a lake.

Ars Technica: If you wanted to make another really good shark movie, what would that look like today? 

David Shiffman: I often say that there are now three main movie plots: a man goes on a quest, a stranger comes to town, or there’s a shark somewhere you would not expect a shark to be. It depends if you want to make a movie that’s actually good, or one of the more fun “bad” movies like Sharknado or Sharktopus or Avalanche Sharks—the tagline of which is “snow is just frozen water.” These movies are just off the rails and absolutely incredible. The ones that don’t take themselves too seriously and are in on the joke tend to be very fun. But then you get movies like Netflix’s Under Paris (2024); they absolutely thought they were making a good movie and took themselves very seriously, and it was painful to watch.

I would love to see actual science and conservation portrayed. I’d love to see species that are not typically found in these movies featured. The Sharknado series actually did a great job of this because they talked with me and other scientists after the success of the first one. Sharknado II is thanked in my PhD dissertation, because they funded one of my chapters. In that movie, it’s not just great whites and tiger sharks and bull sharks. They have a whale shark that falls out of the sky and hits someone. They have a cookie-cutter shark that falls out of the sky and burrows through someone’s leg. There’s a lot of shark diversity out there, and it’d be nice to get that featured more.

Photo of Jennifer Ouellette

Jennifer is a senior writer at Ars Technica with a particular focus on where science meets culture, covering everything from physics and related interdisciplinary topics to her favorite films and TV series. Jennifer lives in Baltimore with her spouse, physicist Sean M. Carroll, and their two cats, Ariel and Caliban.

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Review: Thunderbolts* is a refreshing return to peak Marvel form

It looks like Marvel has another critical and box office hit on its hands—and deservedly so—with Thunderbolts*, a follow-up of sorts to 2021’s Black Widow and the final film in the MCU’s Phase Five.

Yes, the asterisk is part of the title. Yes, I found that choice inexplicable when it was first announced. And yes, having seen the film, the asterisk makes perfect sense now as a well-timed joke. I won’t spill the beans because that would spoil the fun. Instead, I’ll simply say that Thunderbolts* is a refreshing return to peak Marvel form: well-paced, witty, and action-packed with enough heart to ensure you care about the characters.

(Some spoilers below.)

It’s basically the MCU’s version of The Suicide Squad (2021) with less over-the-top R-rated violence. In fact, that film’s director, James Gunn, was originally attached to direct Thunderbolts* but bowed out because he felt the projects were just too similar. Yet the PG-13 film definitely boasts that irreverent Gunn sensibility, with a vibe on par with the director’s delightful Guardians of the Galaxy (2014). Thunderbolts* might not reach the spectacular box office heights of last year’s R-rated Deadpool and Wolverine, but so far I’m optimistic about the MCU’s future.

Black Widow introduced us to Natasha Romanoff’s (Scarlett Johansson) backstory as a child recruited for training as an elite assassin, along with her adoptive sister (and equally lethal assassin) Yelena Belova (Florence Pugh). Thunderbolts* finds Yelena working as a hired mercenary for CIA director Valentina Allegra de Fontaine (Julia Louis-Dreyfus), but she’s still grieving the loss of Natasha, and her heart just isn’t in.

Yelena’s existential ennui leads her to seek out her adoptive father, Alexei/Red Guardian (David Harbour), the Russian super soldier counterpart to Captain America. He’s not doing much better, working as a limo driver and living off takeout, and tells Yelena that Natasha found the secret to fulfillment: be a superhero.

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Monty Python and the Holy Grail turns 50


Ars staffers reflect upon the things they love most about this masterpiece of absurdist comedy.

king arthur's and his knights staring up at something.

Credit: EMI Films/Python (Monty) Pictures

Credit: EMI Films/Python (Monty) Pictures

Monty Python and the Holy Grail is widely considered to be among the best comedy films of all time, and it’s certainly one of the most quotable. This absurdist masterpiece sending up Arthurian legend turns 50 (!) this year.

It was partly Python member Terry Jones’ passion for the Middle Ages and Arthurian legend that inspired Holy Grail and its approach to comedy. (Jones even went on to direct a 2004 documentary, Medieval Lives.) The troupe members wrote several drafts beginning in 1973, and Jones and Terry Gilliam were co-directors—the first full-length feature for each, so filming was one long learning process. Reviews were mixed when Holy Grail was first released—much like they were for Young Frankenstein (1974), another comedic masterpiece—but audiences begged to differ. It was the top-grossing British film screened in the US in 1975. And its reputation has only grown over the ensuing decades.

The film’s broad cultural influence extends beyond the entertainment industry. Holy Grail has been the subject of multiple scholarly papers examining such topics as its effectiveness at teaching Arthurian literature or geometric thought and logic, the comedic techniques employed, and why the depiction of a killer rabbit is so fitting (killer rabbits frequently appear drawn in the margins of Gothic manuscripts). My personal favorite was a 2018 tongue-in-cheek paper on whether the Black Knight could have survived long enough to make good on his threat to bite King Arthur’s legs off (tl;dr: no).

So it’s not at all surprising that Monty Python and the Holy Grail proved to be equally influential and beloved by Ars staffers, several of whom offer their reminiscences below.

They were nerd-gassing before it was cool

The Monty Python troupe famously made Holy Grail on a shoestring budget—so much so that they couldn’t afford to have the knights ride actual horses. (There are only a couple of scenes featuring a horse, and apparently it’s the same horse.) Rather than throwing up their hands in resignation, that very real constraint fueled the Pythons’ creativity. The actors decided the knights would simply pretend to ride horses while their porters followed behind, banging halves of coconut shells together to mimic the sound of horses’ hooves—a time-honored Foley effect dating back to the early days of radio.

Being masters of absurdist humor, naturally, they had to call attention to it. Arthur and his trusty servant, Patsy (Gilliam), approach the castle of their first potential recruit. When Arthur informs the guards that they have “ridden the length and breadth of the land,” one of the guards isn’t having it. “What, ridden on a horse? You’re using coconuts! You’ve got two empty halves of coconut, and you’re bangin’ ’em together!”

That raises the obvious question: Where did they get the coconuts? What follows is one of the greatest examples of nerd-gassing yet to appear on film. Arthur claims he and Patsy found them, but the guard is incredulous since the coconut is tropical and England is a temperate zone. Arthur counters by invoking the example of migrating swallows. Coconuts do not migrate, but Arthur suggests they could be carried by swallows gripping a coconut by the husk.

The guard still isn’t having it. It’s a question of getting the weight ratios right, you see, to maintain air-speed velocity. Another guard gets involved, suggesting it might be possible with an African swallow, but that species is non-migratory. And so on. The two are still debating the issue as an exasperated Arthur rides off to find another recruit.

The best part? There’s a callback to that scene late in the film when the knights must answer three questions to cross the Bridge of Death or else be chucked into the Gorge of Eternal Peril. When it’s Arthur’s turn, the third question is “What is the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?” Arthur asks whether this is an African or a European swallow. This stumps the Bridgekeeper, who gets flung into the gorge. Sir Belvedere asks how Arthur came to know so much about swallows. Arthur replies, “Well, you have to know these things when you’re a king, you know.”

The plucky Black Knight (“It’s just a flesh wound!”) will always hold a special place in my heart, but that debate over air-speed velocities of laden versus unladen swallows encapsulates what makes Holy Grail a timeless masterpiece.

Jennifer Ouellette

A bunny out for blood

“Oh, it’s just a harmless little bunny, isn’t it?”

Despite their appearances, rabbits aren’t always the most innocent-looking animals. Recent reports of rabbit strikes on airplanes are the latest examples of the mayhem these creatures of chaos can inflict on unsuspecting targets.

I learned that lesson a long time ago, though, thanks partly to my way-too-early viewings of the animated Watership Down and Monty Python and the Holy Grail. There I was, about 8 years old and absent of paternal accompaniment, watching previously cuddly creatures bloodying each other and severing the heads of King Arthur’s retinue. While Watership Down’s animal-on-animal violence might have been a bit scarring at that age, I enjoyed the slapstick humor of the Rabbit of Caerbannog scene (many of the jokes my colleagues highlight went over my head upon my initial viewing).

Despite being warned of the creature’s viciousness by Tim the Enchanter, the Knights of the Round Table dismiss the Merlin stand-in’s fear and charge the bloodthirsty creature. But the knights quickly realize they’re no match for the “bad-tempered rodent,” which zips around in the air, goes straight for the throat, and causes the surviving knights to run away in fear. If Arthur and his knights possessed any self-awareness, they might have learned a lesson about making assumptions about appearances.

But hopefully that’s a takeaway for viewers of 1970s British pop culture involving rabbits. Even cute bunnies, as sweet as they may seem initially, can be engines of destruction: “Death awaits you all with nasty, big, pointy teeth.”

Jacob May

Can’t stop the music

The most memorable songs from Monty Python and the Holy Grail were penned by Neil Innes, who frequently collaborated with the troupe and appears in the film. His “Brave Sir Robin” amusingly parodied minstrel tales of valor by imagining all the torturous ways that one knight might die. Then there’s his “Knights of the Round Table,” the first musical number performed by the cast—if you don’t count the monk chants punctuated with slaps on the head with wooden planks. That song hilariously rouses not just wild dancing from knights but also claps from prisoners who otherwise dangle from cuffed wrists.

But while these songs have stuck in my head for decades, Monty Python’s Terry Jones once gave me a reason to focus on the canned music instead, and it weirdly changed the way I’ve watched the movie ever since.

Back in 2001, Jones told Billboard that an early screening for investors almost tanked the film. He claimed that after the first five minutes, the movie got no laughs whatsoever. For Jones, whose directorial debut could have died in that moment, the silence was unthinkable. “It can’t be that unfunny,” he told Billboard. “There must be something wrong.”

Jones soon decided that the soundtrack was the problem, immediately cutting the “wonderfully rich, atmospheric” songs penned by Innes that seemed to be “overpowering the funny bits” in favor of canned music.

Reading this prompted an immediate rewatch because I needed to know what the first bit was that failed to get a laugh from that fateful audience. It turned out to be the scene where King Arthur encounters peasants in a field who deny knowing that there even was a king. As usual, I was incapable of holding back a burst of laughter when one peasant woman grieves, “Well, I didn’t vote for you” while packing random clumps of mud into the field. It made me wonder if any song might have robbed me of that laugh, and that made me pay closer attention to how Jones flipped the script and somehow meticulously used the canned music to extract more laughs.

The canned music was licensed from a British sound library that helped the 1920s movie business evolve past silent films. They’re some of the earliest songs to summon emotion from viewers whose eyes were glued to a screen. In Monty Python and the Holy Grail, which features a naive King Arthur enduring his perilous journey on a wood stick horse, the canned music provides the most predictable soundtrack you could imagine that might score a child’s game of make-believe. It also plays the straight man by earnestly pulsing to convey deep trouble as knights approach the bridge of death or heavenly trumpeting the anticipated appearance of the Holy Grail.

It’s easy to watch the movie without noticing the canned music, as the colorful performances are Jones’ intended focus. Not relying on punchlines, the group couldn’t afford any nuance to be lost. But there is at least one moment where Jones obviously relies on the music to overwhelm the acting to compel a belly laugh. Just before “the most foul, cruel, bad-tempered rodent” appears, a quick surge of dramatic music that cuts out just as suddenly makes it all the more absurd when the threat emerges and appears to be an “ordinary rabbit.”

It’s during this scene, too, that King Arthur delivers a line that sums up how predictably odd but deceptively artful the movie’s use of canned music really is. When he meets Tim the Enchanter—who tries to warn the knights about the rabbit’s “pointy teeth” by evoking loud thunder rolls and waggling his fingers in front of his mouth—Arthur turns to the knights and says, “What an eccentric performance.”

Ashley Belanger

Thank the “keg rock conclave”

I tried to make music a big part of my teenage identity because I didn’t have much else. I was a suburban kid with a B-minus/C-plus average, no real hobbies, sports, or extra-curriculars, plus a deeply held belief that Nine Inch Nails, the Beastie Boys, and Aphex Twin would never get their due as geniuses. Classic Rock, the stuff jocks listened to at parties and practice? That my dad sang along to after having a few? No thanks.

There were cultural heroes, there were musty, overwrought villains, and I knew the score. Or so I thought.

I don’t remember exactly where I found the little fact that scarred my oppositional ego forever. It might have been Spin magazine, a weekend MTV/VH1 feature, or that Rolling Stone book about the ’70s (I bought it for the punks, I swear). But at some point, I learned that a who’s-who of my era’s played-out bands—Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, even Jethro (freaking) Tull—personally funded one of my favorite subversive movies. Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, key members of the keg-rock conclave, attended the premiere.

It was such a small thing, but it raised such big, naive, adolescent questions. Somebody had to pay for Holy Grail—it didn’t just arrive as something passed between nerds? People who make things I might not enjoy could financially support things I do enjoy? There was a time when today’s overcelebrated dinosaurs were cool and hip in the subculture? I had common ground with David Gilmour?

Ever since, when a reference to Holy Grail is made, especially to how cheap it looks, I think about how I once learned that my beloved nerds (or theater kids) wouldn’t even have those coconut horses were it not for some decent-hearted jocks.

Kevin Purdy

A masterpiece of absurdism

“I blow my nose at you, English pig-dog!” EMI Films/Python (Monty) Pictures

I was young enough that I’d never previously stayed awake until midnight on New Year’s Eve. My parents were off to a party, my younger brother was in bed, and my older sister had a neglectful attitude toward babysitting me. So I was parked in front of the TV when the local PBS station aired a double feature of The Yellow Submarine and The Holy Grail.

At the time, I probably would have said my mind was blown. In retrospect, I’d prefer to think that my mind was expanded.

For years, those films mostly existed as a source of one-line evocations of sketch comedy nirvana that I’d swap with my friends. (I’m not sure I’ve ever lacked a group of peers where a properly paced “With… a herring!” had meaning.) But over time, I’ve come to appreciate other ways that the films have stuck with me. I can’t say whether they set me on an aesthetic trajectory that has continued for decades or if they were just the first things to tickle some underlying tendencies that were lurking in my not-yet-fully-wired brain.

In either case, my brain has developed into a huge fan of absurdism, whether in sketch comedy, longer narratives like Arrested Development or the lyrics of Courtney Barnett. Or, let’s face it, any stream of consciousness lyrics I’ve been able to hunt down. But Monty Python remains a master of the form, and The Holy Grail’s conclusion in a knight bust remains one of its purest expressions.

A bit less obviously, both films are probably my first exposures to anti-plotting, where linearity and a sense of time were really besides the point. With some rare exceptions—the eating of Sir Robin’s minstrels, Ringo putting a hole in his pocket—the order of the scenes were completely irrelevant. Few of the incidents had much consequence for future scenes. Since I was unused to staying up past midnight at that age, I’d imagine the order of events was fuzzy already by the next day. By the time I was swapping one-line excerpts with friends, it was long gone. And it just didn’t matter.

In retrospect, I think that helped ready my brain for things like Catch-22 and its convoluted, looping, non-Euclidean plotting. The novel felt like a revelation when I first read it, but I’ve since realized it fits a bit more comfortably within a spectrum of works that play tricks with time and find clever connections among seemingly random events.

I’m not sure what possessed someone to place these two films together as appropriate New Year’s Eve programming. But I’d like to think it was more intentional than I had any reason to suspect at the time. And I feel like I owe them a debt.

—John Timmer

A delightful send-up of autocracy

King Arthur attempting to throttle a peasant in the field

“See the violence inherent in the system!” Credit: Python (Monty) Pictures

What an impossible task to pick just a single thing I love about this film! But if I had to choose one scene, it would be when a lost King Arthur comes across an old woman—but oops, it’s actually a man named Dennis—and ends up in a discussion about medieval politics. Arthur explains that he is king because the Lady of the Lake conferred the sword Excalibur on him, signifying that he should rule as king of the Britons by divine right.

To this, Dennis replies, “Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.”

Even though it was filmed half a century ago, the scene offers a delightful send-up of autocracy. And not to be too much of a downer here, but all of us living in the United States probably need to be reminded that living in an autocracy would suck for a lot of reasons. So let’s not do that.

Eric Berger

Photo of Jennifer Ouellette

Jennifer is a senior writer at Ars Technica with a particular focus on where science meets culture, covering everything from physics and related interdisciplinary topics to her favorite films and TV series. Jennifer lives in Baltimore with her spouse, physicist Sean M. Carroll, and their two cats, Ariel and Caliban.

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Our top 10 Jackie Chan movies


Happy birthday to a living legend

Chan’s distinctive style combines slapstick, acrobatics, martial arts, and astonishing stunts he performs himself.

There is no action star quite like Jackie Chan, who made his name in the Hong Kong movie industry starting in the late 1970s and developed his own signature style: combining slapstick physical comedy with acrobatics and martial arts, and designing astonishing stunts—all of which he performed himself along with his own handpicked stunt team. His stunt sequences and fight choreography have influenced everything from The Matrix and Kill Bill to the John Wick franchise and Kung Fu Panda (in which he voiced Master Monkey).

Born on April 7, 1954, Chan studied acrobatics, martial arts, and acting as a child at the Peking Opera School’s China Drama Academy and became one of the Seven Little Fortunes. Those skills served him well in his early days as a Hong Kong stuntman, which eventually landed him a gig as an extra and stunt double on Bruce Lee’s 1972 film, Fist of Fury. He also appeared in a minor role in Lee’s Enter the Dragon (1973).

Initially, Hong Kong producers, impressed by Chan’s skills, wanted to mold him into the next Bruce Lee, but that just wasn’t Chan’s style. Chan found his milieu when director Yuen Woo-ping cast him in 1978’s kung fu comedy Snake in the Eagle’s Shadow and gave Chan creative freedom over the stunt work. It was Drunken Master, released that same year, that established Chan as a rising talent, and he went on to appear in more than 150 movies, becoming one of Hong Kong’s biggest stars.

Chan struggled initially to break into Hollywood, racking up commercial misses with 1980’s The Big Brawl and 1985’s The Protector. He had a minor role in 1981’s hit comedy, The Cannonball Run, and while it didn’t do much to raise his US profile, he did adopt that film’s clever inclusion of bloopers and outtakes during closing credits. It’s now one of the trademark features of Jackie Chan films, beloved by fans.

By the mid 1990s, Chan had amassed a substantial cult following in the US, thanks to the growing availability of his earlier films in the home video market, and finally achieved mainstream Hollywood success with Rumble in the Bronx (1995) and Rush Hour (1998). In his later years, Chan has moved away from kung fu comedies toward more dramatic roles, including the 2010 remake of The Karate Kid.

Look, nobody watches classic Jackie Chan movies for the plot, complex characterizations, or the dubbing (which is often hilariously bad). We’re here to gasp in admiration at the spectacular fight choreography and jaw-dropping stunts, peppered with a generous helping of slapstick humor. His gift for turning ordinary objects into makeshift weapons is part of his unique style, which I like to call Found Object Foo. Who could forget the hilarious chopsticks duel and “emotional kung-fu” (eg, fighting while crying or laughing to unmask an opponent’s weaknesses) in 1979’s The Fearless Hyena? Chan even inspired the entire parkour movement.

Chan has broken multiple fingers, toes, and ribs over the course of his long career, not to mention both cheekbones, hips, sternum, neck, and ankle. He has a permanent hole in his skull from one near-fatal injury. And he did it all for our entertainment. The least we can do is honor him on his 71st birthday. You’ll find our top 10 Jackie Chan films listed below in chronological order, spanning 30 years.

Drunken Master (1978)

bare chested young Jackie Chan in crouched position with hands held in front, while an older man stands beside him urging him on

Jackie Chan as Wong Fei-hung in Drunken Master. Credit: Seasonal Film Corp

In Drunken Master, Chan portrays a fictional version of legendary Chinese martial artist/folk hero Wong Fei-Hung, who undergoes strict, punishing training under the tutelage of another legend, Beggar So (Yuen Liu-Tin), aka the Drunken Master because he practices a martial art called “Drunken Boxing.” Fei-Hung chafes at the training initially, but after a humiliating defeat in a fight against the villain, Yim Tit-sam (Hwang Jang-lee, a specialist in Taekwondo), he devotes himself to learning the martial art.

Naturally we’re going to get a final showdown between Fei-Hung and his nemesis, Tit-Sam, aka “Thunderfoot” or “Thunderleg,” because of his devastating “Devil’s Kick.” Fei-Hung is able to match his rival’s kicks, but falters again when he comes up against Tit-Sam’s infamous “Devil’s Shadowless Hand.” That’s because Fei-Hung refused to learn a crucial element of the Hung Ga fighting system because he thought it was too “girly.” He ends up inventing his unique version of the technique (“Drunken Miss Ho”) to win the day. These are all fictitious moves that are nonetheless enormously fun to watch—even though Chan nearly lost an eye after taking a blow to the brow ridge in one scene.

Project A (1983)

Jackie Chan hanging off a clock tower

The famous clock tower stunt.  Credit: Golden Harvest

This film marks the official debut of the Jackie Chan Stunt Team and co-stars Chan’s longtime martial arts buddies, Sammo Hung and Yuen Biao, both major stars in their own right. They were known as the “Three Dragons” in the 1980s. Chan plays Sergeant Dragon Ma, a police officer battling both pirates and gangsters in Hong Kong, and corruption within his own law enforcement ranks. Hung plays a street informant named Fei (or Fats), who tips off Dragon to an illegal gun deal, while Biao plays an inspector and the nephew of the police captain, Hong Tin-Tsu. The three team up to take down the pirates and gangsters and restore integrity to the force.

There’s a lot of delightful slapstick stunt work in Project A, reminiscent of the work of Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd, but apparently Chan never saw either man’s films before developing his signature style. (In 1987’s Project A Part 2, Chan does pay direct homage to Keaton’s most famous stunt from Steamboat Bill, Jr.) The highlight is Chan hanging off a clock tower (a la Lloyd) 60 feet above the ground and falling backward through a canopy. Ever the perfectionist, Chan insisted on an additional two takes of the dangerous stunt until he was satisfied he’d gotten it exactly right.

Wheels on Meals (1984)

Chan vs Benny “The Jet” Urquidez: one of the best martial arts fight scenes of all time.

Hung and Biao joined Chan again for 1984’s Wheels on Meals, with Chan and Biao playing Chinese cousins running a food truck in Barcelona. They get snared into helping their private investigator friend Moby (Hung) track down kidnappers intent on capturing a young woman named Sylvia (Lola Forner), who turns out to be the illegitimate daughter of a Spanish count.

There’s an exciting raid of the villains’ castle that involves scaling the castle walls, but the undisputed highlight of the film is the showdown between Chan and professional kickboxing champion Benny “the Jet” Urquidez, widely regarded as one of the best martial arts fight sequences on film. Both Chan and Urquidez exchange kicks and blows with dazzling speed. At one point, Urquidez lets loose a kick so fast that the resulting wake blows out a row of candles. (You can see it in the clip above; it’s not a trick.) And throughout, one gets Chan’s trademark physical comedy, even taking a moment to rest on a chair to catch his breath before the next round of blows.

Police Story (1985)

Jackie Chan in green khaki jumpsuit hanging off a bus using the crooked handle of a metal umbrella

Chan hung off a moving bus using the crook in an umbrella handle. Credit: Golden Harvest

Police Story introduced Chan as Hong Kong Police detective Ka-Kui “Kevin” Chan and launched one of the actor’s most popular trilogies. Kevin joins an undercover mission to arrest a well-known crime lord and through a complicated series of events, ends up being framed for murdering a fellow police officer. Now a fugitive, he must track down and capture the crime lord to clear his name—defeating a horde of evil henchmen and saving his girlfriend, May (Maggie Cheung), in the process.

The film is noteworthy for its many elaborately orchestrated stunt scenes. For instance, during a car chase, Chan finds himself hanging off a double-decker bus with nothing but the hooked end of a metal umbrella. (An earlier wooden umbrella prop kept slipping off the bus.) The climactic battle takes place in a shopping mall, and the stunt team broke so many glass panels that the film was dubbed “Glass Story” by the crew. The finale features Chan sliding down a pole covered in strings of electric lights that exploded as he descended. Chan suffered second-degree burns on his hands as well as a dislocated pelvis and back injury when he landed.

Armour of God (1986)

Jackie chan opening coat to reveal array of explosives strapped to his chest

Chan nearly died doing a stunt for Armour of God. Credit: Golden Harvest

Of all the death-defying stunts Chan performed over hundreds of films, the one that came the closest to killing him—while shooting Armour of God—was relatively mundane. Chan was simply jumping off a ledge onto a tree, but the branch broke, and he crashed to the ground, hitting his head on a rock. His skull was cracked, with a bit of bone penetrating part of his brain, an injury that took eight hours of surgery to repair, followed by a long recovery that delayed production of the film. Chan has a permanent hole in his skull and suffered partial hearing loss in his right ear.

Chan stuck with tradition and showed the footage of the accident in the ending credits of this Indiana-Jones style adventure film. His daring base jump off a cliff—after setting off a series of explosives in a cave to take out a monastic cult—onto the top of a hot air balloon that closes the film was done in two stages. Since Chan had no BASE jumping experience, he jumped onto the balloon by skydiving off a plane. The crew rigged him up with a wire to get a shot of him “jumping” off the cliff.

Police Story 3: Supercop (1992)

Chan and Michelle Yeoh take out the bad guys atop a moving train.

If the second installment of this trilogy was largely dismissed as mediocre “filler” in Chan’s expansive oeuvre, the third film, Supercop, ranks as one of his best. Kevin Chan returns for another undercover assignment to take down a drug cartel led by kingpin Khun Chaibat (Kenneth Tsang), and finds himself paired with Chinese Interpol officer Jessica Yang, played by a young Michelle Yeoh (credited as Michelle Kwan). This does not please Kevin’s longtime girlfriend, May (Maggie Cheung), who ends up blowing his cover and getting taken hostage by Chaibat and his wife (Josephine Koo) because of her jealousy.

May might be a bit irritating, but Yeoh’s Yang is pure dynamite, matching Chan’s prowess in a series of fight scenes and gamely performing her own stunts—including riding a motorbike onto a moving train (see clip above), where she and Chan battle the bad guys while dodging helicopter blades. (Yeoh had a narrow escape of her own during an earlier stunt when she fell into oncoming traffic, suffering only minor injuries.) Special shoutout to Bill Tung, reprising his role as Kevin’s superintendent, “Uncle” Bill Wong, who at one point appears in drag as Kevin’s aging grandmother in a remote village to keep Kevin’s cover story secure.

Drunken Master II (1994)

Chan fights fire with fire in Drunken Master II.

Released in the US as The Legend of Drunken Master, this one will always top my list as Jackie Chan’s best film, against some very stiff competition. It works on every level. This is technically not a sequel to the 1978 film, but it does feature Chan playing the same character, Wong Fei-hung. The film opens with Fei-hung getting into a fight all across (and under) a train with a military officer who has mistaken Fei-hung’s box of ginseng for his own box containing the Imperial Seal. The British consul wants to smuggle the seal out of China, with the help of a group of local thugs. Fei-hung finds himself embroiled in efforts to retrieve the seal and keep it in China where it belongs.

Fei-hung is a fan of Drunken Boxing, and his father disapproves of this and other screwups, kicking his son out of the house. We are treated to an amusing scene in which an intoxicated Fei-hung drowns his sorrows and sings an improvised song, “I Hate Daddy”—right before being attacked by the thugs and soundly defeated, since he’s too tipsy even for Drunken Boxing. (The trick is to be just inebriated enough.)

But Fei-hung gets his revenge and saves the day in a literal fiery showdown against the consul’s chief enforcer, John (taekwondo master Ken Lo). This is Chan’s physical comedy at its best: Drunken Boxing requires one to execute precise martial arts moves while remaining loose and being slightly off-balance. The stunts are equally impressive. At one point in the finale, Chan falls backward into a bed of hot coals (see clip above), scrambling to safety, before chugging industrial alcohol and blowing flames at his attackers wielding red-hot pokers.

Rush Hour (1998)

black man and asian man on the street in front of yellow car with hands up, pistols dangling from one finger to signal surrender

Chris Tucker co-starred with Chan in Rush Hour. Credit: New Line Cinema

Chan finally made his big North American mainstream breakthrough with 1995’s Rumble in the Bronx, which grossed $76 million worldwide, but if we’re choosing among the actor’s US films, I’d pick 1998’s Rush Hour over Rumble for inclusion on this list. Hong Kong Detective Lee (Chan) comes to Los Angeles to help negotiate the return of a Chinese consul’s kidnapped daughter, Soo-Yung (Julia Hsu), to whom he once taught martial arts. He’s paired with LAPD Det. James Carter (Chris Tucker), who is supposed to keep Lee occupied and out of the way while the “real” cops handle the investigation. Wacky hijinks ensue as the two gradually learn to work together and ultimately save the day.

Sure, the decades of injury and advancing age by this point have clearly taken their toll; Chan moves more slowly and performs fewer stunts, but his fighting skills remain world-class. While Rush Hour grossed an impressive $244 million worldwide and spawned two (subpar) sequels, it was not a critical favorite; nor was it among Chan’s favorites, who criticized the dearth of action and his English, admitting he often had no idea what Tucker was saying. The two nonetheless have good onscreen chemistry, with a solid supporting cast, and it all adds up to an entertaining film.

Shanghai Noon (2000)

asian man with long hair in a cowboy hat with hands on hips, a stance mirrored by blonde man standing next to him on the right, in a 19th century suit

Chan teamed up with Owen Wilson for Shanghai Noon. Credit: Buena Vista Pictures

Chan found an even better match when he co-starred with Owen Wilson in Shanghai Noon, best described as a “buddy Western” action/adventure. Chan plays Chon Wang (as in John Wayne), a Chinese Imperial guard who comes to the American West to rescue the kidnapped Chinese princess Pei-Pei (Lucy Liu). He ends up bonding with a bumbling, rakishly charming outlaw named Roy O’Bannon (Wilson), who agrees to help find the princess with the ulterior motive of stealing some of the gold being offered as ransom. Since they are also accidental fugitives, they must elude a posse led by the sadistic Marshall Nathan Van Cleef (Xander Berkeley).

Both Chan and Wilson’s comedic talents are on brilliant display here, with plenty of creative fight choreography and set stunt pieces to keep hardcore fans happy. The script is clever, the supporting cast is excellent, and the pacing never lags. If you’re keen to make it a double feature, the 2003 sequel, Shanghai Knights, brings Chon Wang and Roy to jolly old England to recover a stolen Imperial Seal and foil a plot against the British throne. Granted, it’s not as good as its predecessor, but the Chan/Wilson chemistry still makes it work.

The Forbidden Kingdom (2008)

man in white shirt and green khaki paints kicking up from his back on the ground at another man in disheveled dress in a fighting stance

Chan and Jet Li found it easy to work together in The Forbidden Kingdom. Credit: Lionsgate

The Forbidden Kingdom is a fantasy film in the wuxia genre that features not just Chan, but his fellow martial arts film legend, Jet Li, for their first on-screen pairing. A young man in Boston, Jason (Michael Angarano), who loves wuxia movies, finds a mysterious golden staff in a local Chinatown pawn shop that transports him to a village in ancient China. He is attacked by soldiers keen to get the staff but is saved by an inebriated traveling scholar named Lu Yan (Chan), a reference to one of the Eight Immortals mentioned in the Drunken Master films.

The magical staff turns out to be the key to releasing the mythical Monkey King, imprisoned by his rival the Jade Warlord. Jason’s presence could fulfill an ancient prophecy of a Seeker who will use the staff to free the Monkey King. Li plays the Silent Monk, who teams up with Jason, Lu Yan, and a young woman known as the Golden Sparrow (Liu Yifei) to fulfill the prophecy. The Forbidden Kingdom is a visual feast, featuring stunning fight choreography and production design in the wuxia tradition, as well as an impressive, highly stylized fight scene between Li (tai chi) and Chan (Drunken Boxing).

Photo of Jennifer Ouellette

Jennifer is a senior writer at Ars Technica with a particular focus on where science meets culture, covering everything from physics and related interdisciplinary topics to her favorite films and TV series. Jennifer lives in Baltimore with her spouse, physicist Sean M. Carroll, and their two cats, Ariel and Caliban.

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The Stepford Wives turns 50

It’s hard to believe it’s been 50 years since the release of The Stepford Wives, a film based on the 1972 novel of the same name by Ira Levin. It might not be to everyone’s taste, but its lasting cultural influence is undeniable. A psychological horror/thriller with a hint of sci-fi, the film spawned multiple made-for-TV sequels and a campy 2004 remake, as well as inspiring one of the main characters in the hit series Desperate Housewives. The term “Stepford wife” became part of our shared cultural lexicon, and Jordan Peele even cited the film as one of the key influences for his 2017 masterpiece Get Out.

(Spoilers below for the novel and both film adaptations.)

Levin’s novels were a hot commodity in Hollywood at the time, especially after the success of his most famous novel, Rosemary’s Baby (1967), adapted into a 1968 horror film starring Mia Farrow. (The novels A Kiss Before Dying, The Boys from Brazil, Sliver, and Levin’s play Deathtrap were also adapted to film.) The plot of the The Stepford Wives film follows the novel’s plot fairly closely.

Katharine Ross stars as Joanna Eberhart, a young wife and mother and aspiring photographer who moves with her family to the seemingly idyllic fictional Connecticut suburb of Stepford at her husband Walter’s (Peter Masterson) insistence. She bonds with sassy fellow newcomer Bobbie (Paula Prentiss) over scotch and Ring Dings (and their respective messy kitchens), mutually marveling at the vacuous behavior of the other neighborhood’ wives.

There are soon hints that all is not right in Stepford. Carol (Nanette Newman) has a bit too much to drink at a garden party and begins to glitch. Together with dissatisfied trophy wife Charmaine (Tina Louise), Joanna and Bobbie hold a women’s “consciousness raising” meeting (aka a bitching session), only to have it devolve into the other wives raving about the time-saving merits of Easy On spray starch. Meanwhile, Walter has joined the exclusive Stepford Men’s Association and becomes increasingly secretive and distant.

When Charmaine suddenly transforms into yet another vapid housewife after a weekend getaway with her husband, Joanna and Bobbie become suspicious and decide to investigate. They discover that there used to be a women’s group in Stepford—headed by Carol, no less—but all the transformed wives suddenly lost interest. Is it something in the water causing the transformation? That turns out to be a dead end, but one clue is that the creepy head of the Men’s Association, Dale “Diz” Coba (Patrick O’Neal), used to work for Disney building animatronics. (When Diz first tells Joanna about his background, she says she doesn’t believe it: “You don’t look like someone who enjoys making people happy.” Her instincts are correct.)

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Buoy meets satellite soulmate in Love Me


a postapocalyptic love story about transformation

Ars chats with directors Andy and Sam Zuchero and props department head Roberts Cifersons.

Kristen Stewart and Steven Yeun star in Love Me Credit: Bleecker Street

There have been a lot of films and television series exploring sentient AI, consciousness, and identity, but there’s rarely been quite such a unique take on those themes as that provided by Love Me, the first feature film from directors Andy and Sam Zuchero. The film premiered at Sundance last year, where it won the prestigious Alfred P. Sloan Feature Film Prize, and is now getting a theatrical release.

(Some spoilers below.)

The film is set long after humans and all other life forms have disappeared from the Earth, leaving just remnants of our global civilization behind. Kristen Stewart plays one of those remnants: a little yellow SMART buoy we first see trapped in ice in a desolate landscape. The buoy has achieved a rudimentary sentience, sufficient to respond to the recorded message being beamed out by an orbiting satellite (Steven Yeun) overhead to detect any new lifeforms that might appear. Eager to have a friend—even one that’s basically a sophisticated space chatbot—the buoy studies the vast online database of information about humanity on Earth the satellite provides. It homes in on YouTube influencers Deja and Liam (also played by Stewart and Yeun), presenting itself to the satellite as a lifeform named Me.

Over time—a LOT of time—the buoy and satellite (now going by Iam) “meet” in virtual space and take on humanoid avatars. They become increasingly more advanced in their consciousness, exchanging eccentric inspirational memes, re-enacting the YouTubers’ “date night,” and eventually falling in love. But the course of true love doesn’t always run smoothly, even for the last sentient beings on Earth—especially since Me has not been honest with Iam about her true nature.

At its core, Love Me is less pure sci-fi and more a postapocalyptic love story about transformation. “We really wanted to make a movie that made everyone feel big and small at the same time,” Sam Zuchero told Ars. “So the timescale is gigantic, 13 billion years of the universe. But we wanted to make the love story at its core feel fleeting and explosive, as first love feels so often.”

The film adopts an unusual narrative structure. It’s split into three distinct visual styles: practical animatronics, classical animation augmented with motion capture, and live action, each representing the development of the main characters as they discover themselves and each other, becoming more and more human as the eons pass. At the time, the couple had been watching a lot of Miyazaki films with their young son.

“We were really inspired by how he would take his characters through so many different forms,” Andy Zuchero told Ars. “It’s a different feeling than a lot of Western films. It was exciting to change the medium of the movie as the characters progressed. The medium grows until it’s finally live action.” The 1959 film Pillow Talk was another source of inspiration since a good chunk of that film simply features stars Rock Hudson and Doris Day chatting in a split screen over their shared party line—what Andy calls “the early 20th century’s version of an open Zoom meeting.”

Building the buoy

One can’t help but see shades of WALL-E in the plucky little space buoy’s design, but the basic concept of what Me should look like came from actual nautical buoys, per props department head Roberts Cifersons of Laird FX, who created the animatronic robots for the film. “As far as the general shape and style of both the buoy and our satellite, most of it came from our production designer,” he told Ars. “We just walked around the shop and looked at 1,000 different materials and samples, imagining what could be believable in the future, but still rooted somewhat in reality. What it would look like if it had been floating there for tens of thousands of years, and if it were actually stuck in ice, what parts would be damaged or not working?”

Cifersons and his team also had to figure out how to bring character and life to their robotic buoy. “We knew the eye or the iris would be the key aspect of it, so that was something we started fooling around with well before we even had the whole design—colors, textures, motion,” he said. They ended up building four different versions: the floating “hero buoy,” a dummy version with lighting but limited animatronics, a bisected buoy for scenes where it is sitting in ice, and a “skeleton” buoy for later in the film.

“All of those had a brain system that we could control whatever axes and motors and lights and stuff were in each, and we could just flip between them,” said Cifersons. “There were nine or 10 separate motor controllers. So the waist could rotate in the water, because it would have to be able to be positioned to camera. We could rotate the head, we could tilt the head up and down, or at least the center eye would tilt up and down. The iris would open and close.” They could also control the rotation of the antenna to ensure it was always facing the same way.

It’s always a challenge designing for film because of time and budget constraints. In the case of Love Me, Cifersons and his team only had two months to make their four buoys. In such a case, “We know we can’t get too deep down the custom rabbit hole; we have to stick with materials that we know on some level and just balance it out,” he said. “Because at the end of the day, it has to look like an old rusted buoy floating in the ocean.”

It helped that Cifersons had a long Hollywood history of animatronics to build upon. “That’s the only way it’s possible to do that in the crazy film timelines that we have,” he said. “We can’t start from scratch every single time; we have to build on what we have.” His company had timeline-based software to program the robots’ motions according to the directors’ instructions and play it back in real time. His team also developed hardware to give them the ability to completely pre-record a set of motions and play it back. “Joysticks and RC remotes are really the bread and butter of current animatronics, for film at least,” he said. “So we were able to blend more theme park animatronic software with on-the-day filming style.”

On location

Once the robots had been completed, the directors and crew spent several days shooting on location in February on a frozen Lake Abraham in Alberta, Canada—or rather, several nights, when the temperatures dipped to -20° F. “Some of the crew were refusing to come onto the ice because it was so intense,” Sam Zuchero recalled. They also shot scenes with the buoy floating on water in the Salish Sea off the coast of Vancouver, which Andy Zuchero described as “a queasy experience. Looking at the monitor when you’re on a boat is nauseating.”

Later sequences were shot amid the sand dunes of Death Valley, with the robot surrounded by bentonite clay strewn with 65 million-year-old fossilized sea creatures. The footage of the satellite was shot on a soundstage, using NASA imagery on a black screen.

YouTube influencers Deja and Liam become role models for the buoy and satellite. Bleecker Street

Cifersons had his own challenges with the robot buoys, such as getting batteries to last more than 10 seconds in the cold and withstanding high temperatures for the desert shoot. “We had to figure out a fast way to change batteries that would last long enough to get a decent wide shot,” he said. “We ended up giving each buoy their own power regulators so we could put in any type of battery if we had to get it going. We could hardwire some of them if we had to. And then in the desert, electronics hate hot weather, and there’s little microcontrollers and all sorts of hardware that doesn’t want to play well in the hot sun. You have to design around it knowing that those are the situations it’s going into.”

The animated sequences presented a different challenge. The Zucheros decided to put their stars into motion-capture suits to film those scenes, using video game engines to render avatars similar to what one might find in The Sims. However, “I think we were drinking a little bit of the AI technological Kool-Aid when we started,” Andy Zuchero admitted. That approach produced animated versions of Stewart and Yeun that “felt stilted, robotic, a bit dead,” he said. “The subtlety that Kristen and Steven often bring ended up feeling, in this form, almost lifeless.” So they relied upon human animators to “artfully interpret” the actors’ performances into what we see onscreen.

This approach “also allowed us to base the characters off their choices,” said Sam Zuchero. “Usually an animated character is the animator. It’s very connected to who the animator is and how the animator moves and thinks. There’s a language of animation that we’ve developed over the past 100 years—things like anticipation. If you’re going to run forward, you have to pull back first. These little signals that we’ve all come to understand as the language of animation have to be built into a lot of choices. But when you have the motion capture data of the actors and their intentions, you can truly create a character that is them. It’s not just an animator’s body in motion and an actor’s voice with some tics of the actor. It is truly the actors.”

Love Me opens in select theaters today.

Trailer for Love Me.

Photo of Jennifer Ouellette

Jennifer is a senior writer at Ars Technica with a particular focus on where science meets culture, covering everything from physics and related interdisciplinary topics to her favorite films and TV series. Jennifer lives in Baltimore with her spouse, physicist Sean M. Carroll, and their two cats, Ariel and Caliban.

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Hollywood mourns the loss of David Lynch

The success of Lynch’s next film, Blue Velvet, helped assuage his disappointment, as did his move to television with the bizarrely surreal and influential series Twin Peaks—part detective story, part soap opera, with dashes of sci-fi and horror. The series spawned a spin-off prequel movie, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me (1992), and a 2017 revival series, Twin Peaks: The Return, that picks up the storyline 25 years later. Many other TV series were influenced by Lynch’s show, including The X-Files, Lost, The Sopranos, Bates Motel, Fargo, Riverdale, Atlanta, and the animated series Gravity Falls.

His final feature films were an LA-centric trilogy—Lost Highway (1997), Mulholland Drive, and Inland Empire (2006)—and 1999’s biographical road drama, The Straight Story, based on the true story of a man named Alvin Straight who drove across Iowa and Wisconsin on a lawn mower. It was acquired by Walt Disney Pictures and was Lynch’s only G-rated film.

“A singular visionary dreamer”

The director’s filmography also includes an assortment of short films, all bearing his eccentric stamp, including a surrealist short, Absurda, shown at Cannes in 2007, as well as Premonition Following an Evil Deed (NSFW YouTube link), Lynch’s contribution to the 1995 anthology film Lumière and Company. All 41 featured directors used the original Cinématographe camera invented by the Lumière brothers. Lynch was also an avid painter, cartoonist, and musician and directed several music videos for such artists as Moby and Nine Inch Nails. Until his death, he hosted quirky online “weather reports” and a web series, What Is David Lynch Working on Today? He even racked up the occasional acting credit.

Lynch received an Honorary Oscar in 2000 for lifetime achievement at the Governors Awards after three prior nominations for The Elephant Man, Blue Velvet, and Mulholland Drive. Deadline’s Pete Hammond called Lynch’s speech “probably one of the shortest for any Oscar acceptance.” Lynch briefly thanked the Academy, the other honorees, wished everyone a great night, then pointed to the statuette and said, “You have a very interesting figure. Good night.” At Cannes, he won the Palme d’Or in 1990 for Wild at Heart and won Best Director in 2001 for Mulholland Drive.

Naomi Watts, who played a dual role as doppelgängers Betty Elms and Diane Selwyn in Mulholland Drive, said that Lynch put her “on the map” as an actor by casting her. “It wasn’t just his art that impacted me—his wisdom, humor, and love gave me a special sense of belief in myself I’d never accessed before,” she said in a statement. “Every moment together felt charged with a presence I’ve rarely seen or known. Probably because, yes, he seemed to live in an altered world, one that I feel beyond lucky to have been a small part of. And David invited all to glimpse into that world through his exquisite storytelling, which elevated cinema and inspired generations of filmmakers across the globe.”

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The perfect New Year’s Eve comedy turns 30

There aren’t that many movies specifically set on New Year’s Eve, but one of the best is The Hudsucker Proxy (1994), Joel and Ethan Coen’s visually striking, affectionate homage to classic Hollywood screwball comedies. The film turned 30 this year, so it’s the perfect opportunity for a rewatch.

(WARNING: Spoilers below.)

The Coen brothers started writing the script for The Hudsucker Proxy when Joel was working as an assistant editor on Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead (1981). Raimi ended up co-writing the script, as well as making a cameo appearance as a brainstorming marketing executive.  The Coen brothers took their inspiration from the films of Preston Sturgess and Frank Capra, among others, but the intent was never to satirize or parody those films. “It’s the case where, having seen those movies, we say ‘They’re really fun—let’s do one!’; as opposed to “They’re really fun—let’s comment upon them,'” Ethan Coen has said.

They finished the script in 1985, but at the time they were small indie film directors. It wasn’t until the critical and commercial success of 1991’s Barton Fink that the Coen brothers had the juice in Hollywood to finally make The Hudsucker Proxy. Warner Bros. greenlit the project and producer Joel Silver gave the brothers complete creative control, particularly over the final cut.

Norville Barnes (Tim Robbins) is an ambitious, idealistic recent graduate of a business college in Muncie, Indiana, who takes a job as a mailroom clerk at Hudsucker Industries in New York, intent on working his way to the top. That ascent happens much sooner than expected. On the same December day in 1958, the company’s founder and president, Waring Hudsucker (Charles Durning), leaps to his death from the boardroom on the 44th floor (not counting the mezzanine).

A meteoric rise

Norville Barnes (Tim Robbins) gets a job at Hudsucker Industries Warner Bros.

To keep the company’s stock from going public as the bylaws dictate, board member Sidney Mussburger (Paul Newman) proposes they elect a patsy as the next president—someone so incompetent it will spook investors and temporarily depress the stock so the board can buy up controlling shares on the cheap. Enter Norville, who takes the opportunity of delivering a Blue Letter to Mussburger to pitch a new product, represented by a simple circle drawn on a piece of paper: “You know… for kids!” Thinking he’s found his imbecilic patsy, Mussburger names Norville the new president.

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Werner Herzog muses on mysteries of the brain in Theater of Thought

That mind is partly revealed through Herzog’s running narration, such as when he muses about collective behavior and whether fish have souls—a digression sparked by his interview with Siri co-inventor Tom Gruber. “In the background, I saw his TV screen still on, we didn’t switch it off, and I saw some very, very strange school of fish,” said Herzog. “I asked him about the school of fish, which he had filmed himself. And all of a sudden, I’m only interested in the fish and common behavior. Why do they behave in big schools, in unison? Why do they do that? Do they dream? And if they think, what are they thinking about? I immerse the audience into a very strange form of underwater landscape and behavior of fish.”

Werner Herzog’s inspiration for Theater of Thought arose from conversations with Columbia University neuroscientist Rafael Yuste, who served as science advisor on the film. Argot Pictures

We glimpse the inner workings of Herzog’s mind in the kinds of questions he asks his subjects, such as when he queries IBM’s Dario Gil, who works on quantum computing, about his passion for fishing, eliciting an enthusiastic smile in response. He agrees to interview University of Washington neuroscientist Christof Koch after Koch’s early-morning row on the Puget Sound and includes music from New York University neuroscientist Joseph LeDoux‘s band, the Amygdaloids, in the film’s soundtrack. He asks married scientists Cori Bargmann and Richard Axel about music, their dinner conversations, and the linguistic capabilities of parrots. In so doing, he brings out their innate humanity, not just their scientific expertise.

“That’s what I do. If you don’t have it in you, you shouldn’t be a filmmaker,” said Herzog. “But you see, also, the joy of getting into all of this and the joy of meeting these scientists. We are talking about speaking parrots. What if two parrots learned a language that is already extinct and they would speak to each other? What would we make of it? So I’m asking, spontaneously, because I saw it, I sensed it, there was something I should depart completely from scientific quests. And yet there’s a deep scientific background to it.”

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Keanu Reeves voices archvillain Shadow in Sonic 3 trailer

In addition to Reeves, new cast members include Krysten Ritter as Director Rockwell; Alyla Browne as Maria, a young girl from Shadow’s past; and Sofia Pernas, Cristo Fernandez, James Wolk, and Jorma Taccone in as-yet-undisclosed roles. Sonic 3 will also introduce the Chao creatures of Chao Gardens.

A tragic backstory

Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles are captured. YouTube/Paramount Pictures

It’s no surprise that Carrey is back once again as “Eggman” Robotnik, and this time, he’s playing a dual role: Robotnik and the character’s grandfather, Professor Gerald Robotnik, a genetic engineer who created Shadow while trying to cure his daughter Maria from a deadly disease. In the games, Shadow suffers from past trauma associated with Maria’s death; the two were close friends.

When she is killed by the Guardian Units of Nations (GUN), Shadow sets out for revenge before remembering his promise to Maria to prevent the destruction of the world. He eventually becomes an anti-hero ally to Sonic. We already knew that the third film would probably feature Shadow, thanks to a mid-credits scene in Sonic 2 informing us about the discovery of a secret research facility for something called “Project Shadow.” (Director Jeff Fowler once worked as a character animator, and Shadow was one of his first jobs.)

It’s clear from the new trailer that Shadow is in his early villain phase here. The trailer opens with Sonic and pals in a kid-friendly eatery, where one child mistakes Tails for Pikachu—before they are rudely attacked. Cut to Robotnik Sr. intoning, “It’s time, Shadow”—time for revenge. The trio is captured by the Robotniks, but they escape and end up in the Wachowskis’ living room, and naturally the couple joins them on a super dangerous top-secret mission. We see a flashback to Shadow’s friendship with Maria as well as Sonic and Shadow getting ready to throw down (“This ends now”). The smart money, as always, is on Team Sonic.

Sonic the Hedgehog 3 opens in theaters on December 20, 2024.

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It’s another bloody power struggle for Rome’s future in Gladiator II trailer

Those who are about to die…. —

“What is the dream of Rome if our people are not free?”

Paul Mescal and Pedro Pascal star in director Ridley Scott’s long-awaited sequel, Gladiator II.

Ridley Scott’s epic 2000 historical drama Gladiator was a blockbuster hit that has become a classic over the ensuing two decades, thanks to powerful performances and spectacular special effects—especially in the gladiator arena. The director has long wanted to make a sequel, and we’re finally getting Gladiator II later this year. Paramount Pictures just dropped the first trailer, and it promises to be just as much of a visual feast, as a new crop of power players (plus a couple of familiar faces) clash over the future of Rome.

(Spoilers for 2000’s Gladiator below.)

For those who inexplicably haven’t seen the original: Russell Crowe starred as Maximus, a Roman general who leads his army to victory against Germanic tribes on behalf of his emperor, Marcus Aurelius (Richard Harris). The aging emperor wishes Maximus to succeed him and restore the Roman Republic, passing over his own son, Commodus (Joaquin Phoenix). Commodus secretly murders his father instead and proclaims himself emperor, executing Maximus’ wife and son because Maximus would not acknowledge his rule. Commodus also harbors squicky incestuous longings for his sister, Lucilla (Connie Nielsen), mother to Lucius (Spencer Treat Clark) and former lover of Maximus.

Maximus escapes his own execution and ends up being sold by slave traders to gladiator trainer Proximus (Oliver Reed), who tells him he can earn his freedom by “winning the crowd” during the gladiator games in Rome. And win the crowd he does. Who could forget the epic scene where the gladiators are forced to re-enact the Battle of Zama, when the Romans defeated the Carthaginians? With Maximus in command, the tables are turned and the “Carthaginians” prevail in the re-enactment. Maximus is ultimately able to exact his revenge by killing Commodus in the arena, dying himself to join his wife and child in the afterlife.

Gladiator II focuses on the grown-up Lucius, originally played by Spencer Treat Clark.” height=”428″ src=”https://cdn.arstechnica.net/wp-content/uploads/2024/07/gladiator9-640×428.jpg” width=”640″>

Enlarge / Gladiator II focuses on the grown-up Lucius, originally played by Spencer Treat Clark.

YouTube/Paramount Pictures

Gladiator received much critical praise, grossing $464 million globally and receiving 12 Oscar nominations. It won five: Best Picture, Best Actor (Crowe), Best Visual Effects, Best Sound, and Best Costume Design. Scott was already planning for either a prequel or a sequel the following year, with the idea for a sequel centered on an older version of Lucius, hinging on the secret of his biological father (strongly hinted to be Maximus in the first film). But when Dreamworks was sold to Paramount in 2006, the Gladiator sequel project was shelved. Paramount finally green-lit the project in November 2018 with a production budget of $165 million. (That ballooned to a rumored $310 million during filming.)

Strength and honor

Gladiator II does indeed center on Lucius Verus (Paul Mescal), son of Lucilla and former heir to the Roman Empire, given that his father (also named Lucius Verus) was once a co-emperor of Rome. Lucius hasn’t been seen in Rome for 15 years. Instead, he’s been living in a small coastal town in Numidia with his wife and child. Like Maximus before him, he is captured by the Roman army and forced to become a gladiator. Pedro Pascal plays Marcus Acacius, a Roman general who trained under Maximus, tasked with conquering North Africa. Although the young Lucius once idolized Maximus, Marcus Acacius apparently will be a symbol of everything Lucius hates.

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