Category: Entertainment

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A great handbag can instantly elevate any wardrobe, but finding a designer style on sale is a rare opportunity. Nordstrom’s Anniversary Sale is giving shoppers the chance to save on luxury handbags, with limited-time discounts on coveted styles that rarely receive markdowns throughout the year.

The annual shopping event is back with some of the retailer’s biggest savings across fashion, beauty and accessories. Early access for Nordstrom’s Anniversary Sale began Tuesday, July 14, while the sale opens to all shoppers on Saturday, July 18 and runs through Sunday, Aug. 9.

This year, the sale features some of its steepest discounts yet on sought-after designer handbags from luxury labels like Tory Burch, Marc Jacobs, Coach and Tory Burch. With select styles marked down by more than $500 and many luxury bags reaching nearly $1,500 off in total, shoppers have a rare opportunity to add coveted pieces to their collections before the best deals sell out.

Nordstrom’s Anniversary Sale 2026 Dates

Nordstrom’s Anniversary Sale opens to the public on Saturday, July 18 and ends Sunday, Aug. 9. Since designer handbags are among the most popular categories during the annual savings event, shopping early is a major advantage for those looking to secure their favorite styles.

Why Nordstrom’s Anniversary Sale Is the Best Time to Buy a Designer Handbag

A designer handbag is more than just an accessory — it’s a wardrobe investment, which makes finding one on sale even more exciting. Nordstrom’s Anniversary Sale offers a rare chance to save on current-season styles and elevated designs that don’t typically receive major discounts.

Whether you’ve been eyeing an everyday crossbody, a polished work tote or a statement handbag, the annual sale brings together some of the most sought-after styles at a lower price point. For anyone looking to add a luxury accessory to their collection, it’s one shopping event worth watching before prices go back to normal on Aug.10.

Nordstrom Anniversary Sale 2026: Best Designer Handbag Deals

On May 1, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences announced a major change to the eligibility rules for the best international feature film. No longer would a film have to be nominated by the country of origin; henceforth, it could land in the pool of nominees by winning an award from a list of high-profile international film festivals. Moreover, in recognition of the fact that a person not a nation actually directs the film, the director’s name and not the country’s will be engraved for posterity on the statuette plaque.

The new protocols for the best international film category, née best foreign language film, are the latest rejiggering in what has historically been one of the more contentious and confusing Oscar categories.  Of course, under whatever rules, Oscar validation can mean the difference between multi-platform distribution and oblivion in the American marketplace.   

So, despite the provincialism of allotting a mere five slots to the output of the rest of the planet, foreign filmmakers have been eager to perform due obeisance before the Academy, which since 1957 has granted offshore films a regular seat at the festivities. (The first winner was Federico Fellini’s La Strada.)  Before that, the Academy doled out an Honorary Oscar when the impact and excellence of a foreign film became too conspicuous to ignore, as with Italy’s The Bicycle Thief in 1949 or Japan’s Rashomon in 1952. The honor was voted on by the Board of Governors, to save the full Academy membership from reading subtitles. (Today the nominees are chosen by an Academy-approved Select Committee). Costa-Gavras’s Z (1969), nominated for best picture and best foreign language Film (it won the latter), was a landmark border crossing and, in 2020, Bong Joon Ho’s Parasite broke the language barrier by becoming the first non-English language film to win best picture.

However, of all the foreign-born incursions into top-tier Oscar territory, the first breakthrough is the most curious. At a time when subtitled films were a species of exotica, and with no major studio backing, Jean Renoir’s antiwar classic La Grande Illusion (1937) — easily translated as Grand Illusion — landed a nomination in the best picture slot, which was then called outstanding production and included ten candidates. (The other nominees were Boys Town, The Citadel, Pygmalion, Test Pilot [all MGM],  Four Daughters, The Adventures of Robin Hood, Jezebel [Warner Bros.], Alexander’s Ragtime Band [20th Century-Fox]  and You Can’t Take It with You [Columbia]. The last, directed by Frank Capra, won.) To be sure, in 1949 a British invader, Laurence Olivier’s Hamlet, won best picture, but it was at least in English and credited to an A-list screenwriter. But how did Grand Illusion manage to crash the exclusive party?

In 1938, Jean Renoir was not a known name in the US, much less a world-famous auteur.  It seems unbelievable that two of his early masterpieces — Boudu Saved from Drowning (1932) and The Crime of Monsieur Lange (1936) were not released in the US until 1967 and 1964 respectively. Renoir’s version of Maxim Gorky’s The Lower Depths (1936) and his Popular Front documentary The People of France (1936) got only modest arthouse circulation and critical attention, with reviewers sure to identify the director as “the son of the famous French impressionist Auguste Renoir.” Only after Grand Illusion was Renoir acknowledged in his own right as a French master in another medium.

Made in Paris by Les Realisation d’Art Cinematographyque, Grand Illusion was distributed stateside by World Pictures Corp., operated by the legendary foreign film magnate Irvin Shapiro, who began his career importing The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920) and capped it by exporting The Evil Dead (1985).  Like almost all films about the Great War made in its aftermath but before its sequel, it is somber in tone and pacificist in sentiment. There are no scenes of thrilling aerial combat or over-the-top attacks in no man’s land. “A War Story without War Scenes!” warned the advertising. Renoir knew the material first hand, having served as both a cavalry officer and a pilot in the Great War and been wounded twice. 

Two French pilots — Captain de Boeldieu (Pierre Fresnay), a white-gloved aristocrat, and Lieutenant Maréchal (Jean Gabin), a gruff former machinist — are shot down over German lines by the ramrod-straight Prussian aviator Captain von Rauffenstein (Erich von Stroheim). A chivalric knight of the air, von Rauffenstein plays the gracious host to his prisoner-guests before they must depart for a prison camp. The accommodations in the German POW camp are not half bad and the company is great. De Boeldieu and Marechal encounter a diverse crew of colorful countrymen — a comedian, a literary scholar, and the son of a wealthy Jewish family, Lieutenant Rosenthal (Marcel Dalio), a stalwart solider who generously shares his bountiful food parcels.  (The affirmative portrait of Rosenthal was certainly by way of apology for the treatment of the most famous Jew in French military history, Captain Alfred Dreyfus, who had just died in 1935.)

Of course, the prisoners are digging a tunnel to escape. “A golf course is for golf, a tennis court for tennis, a prison camp for escape,” observes de Boeldieu. When not excavating and eating Rosenthal’s bread and cheese, the men rehearse for a musical comedy performance featuring a chorus line of men in drag. The shenanigans are interrupted by news that the French have retaken Fort Douaumont, marking the end of the carnage at Verdun. In an outburst of patriotism, the prisoners rise to sing “La Marseillaise,” a scene that ranks as the second most stirring rendition of the French National anthem in motion picture history.   

As recidivist would-be escapees, de Boeldieu, Marechal, and Rosenthal are transferred to an impregnable medieval fortress, commanded by Captain von Rauffenstein, now burnt, broken in body, and wearing a neck brace. Knowing their days of bloodline privilege are numbered, the German and the French aristocrat bond, their class affinities binding them more tightly than the uniforms that separate them. Renoir told film historian Arthur Knight that if a French farmer and a French financier dined together, they would sit in uncomfortable silence, but if a French farmer and a Chinese farmer dined together, they would find plenty to talk about.

Still, a French prisoner must do his duty: de Boeldieu gallantly stages a diversion so Maréchal and Rosenthal can escape, during which a reluctant von Rauffenstein is forced to shoot his class comrade. On his death bed, de Boeldieu accepts the fortunes of war as Von Ruffenstein grieves.  

The third act finds Maréchal and Rosenthal scurrying through the woods and fields, squabbling and miserable, until they come upon a farmhouse run by a fetching German war widow (Dita Parlo) with an adorable daughter. She takes them in, gives them shelter and food, and falls hard for Marechal, 1937 being the year of peak Jean Gabin. In too short a time, though, the pair must leave the idyll. Against odds, they escape into Switzerland. The guards on the German side see no point in firing as, in the distance, the men plod through the snow to freedom. In Great War territory, this counts as a happy ending.

On June 8, 1937, La Grande Illusion premiered at the 1250-seat Marivaux Theater in Paris, to a packed house made up of “members of Paris society, Paris cinema and theater circles, writers and press representatives” who, at the end, “gave long and loud applause.” The French critics, then as now a surly and hard-to-please lot, were unanimous in praise: “an important and extremely happy event in French cinema history” (Le Temps); “a masterpiece of cinema”; (Mariane); and “a very fine film, a beautiful human work” (Oeuvre). In the theater that night was Pierre Autre, Motion Picture Herald’s man in Paris, who first sent word back to American readers, a rave that has stood the test of time. “La Grande Illusion is, by far, the best French film of the year, up to date — in fact, it is one of the best French films ever made.” The Hollywood Reporter also predicted that “the smash hit” should “go well in the States.”

It did better than well. In America, Grand Illusion became the most widely circulated and highly praised foreign film of the 1930s.

On Sept. 12, 1938, Grand Illusion opened at the newly refurbished Filmarte Theater in New York with columnist Dorothy Thompson, novelist Fannie Hurst, playwright Clifford Odets, and actress Aline MacMahon in attendance. The Filmarte was run by a pioneering importer of foreign film, Jean H. Lenauer, whose arthouse was emblematic of what were called “sure seaters” in the trade because a small but devoted clientele was sure to buy a ticket to whatever foreign film happened to be booked. Grand Illusion played the Filmarte for a record-breaking 27 weeks. The lobby was decorated with reproductions of Impressionist paintings by Auguste Renoir.

Meanwhile, the word on Grand Illusion was getting out beyond the insular arthouse crowd. Samuel Goldwyn called it “the most brilliantly directed film I have seen in years — a challenge to Hollywood.” Producer Walter Wanger, director Mervyn LeRoy, and the actresses Lillian Gish and Helen Hayes also offered endorsements. The New York Film Critics named Grand Illusion the year’s best foreign film. The National Board of Review dispensed with qualifiers and named it “the best film of the year from any country.”  The Film Daily ran out of superlatives and finally just said, “you owe it to yourself to see this picture — it will send you out thinking.”

Some of the best notices went to von Stroheim, basically radioactive in Hollywood since Joseph P. Kennedy booted him off the set of Queen Kelly in 1929.  In The New York Times, Frank Nugent chided Hollywood for its “folly in permitting so fine an actor to remain idle and unwanted.” Von Stroheim responded in character. “You can’t expect a director to enjoy acting when directing is the nearest thing to being God,” he said. “I have enjoyed acting in pictures directed by a director called Eric von Stroheim, and written by a writer called Eric von Stroheim.”

To break out of the arthouse ghetto, however, Grand Illusion needed a transit visa into the mainstream exhibition market, namely a Production Code seal. On July 29, 1938,  Irvin Shapiro duly applied for the imprimatur from Hollywood’s censorship regime. Unsurprisingly, the Code guardians asked for a few “slight deletions” — a shot of a prisoner rubbing a pair of silk underwear, the use of the word “damn,” and a reference to a prisoner who tries to escape dressed as a woman (“Quite amusing,” comments a friend. ”Not so amusing when a sergeant mistook me for one,” he replies.).  Also concerning was “the racial angle in reference to Rosenthal” — that is, an antisemitic insult aimed at him once in anger, once in jest, by Maréchal. But this was a matter left “solely for [Shapiro] to decide.”  Shapiro decided to keep the insults. On Nov. 23, 1938, after the requested cuts were made, the PCA issued Grand Illusion a Code seal. The Roman Catholic Legion of Decency also gave it clean bill of health, rating it “AI: unobjectionable for adults.”

With the Code imprimatur, Grand Illusion spread out beyond the arthouses and played the RKO, Warner, and Publix circuits. Reviews and ads were careful to explain to the first-time foreign filmgoers that “English titles translate the dialogue.” The box office thrived on word of mouth, repeat business, and high school French teachers dragging their classes to screenings.

Grand Illusion was also fortunate to hit the crest of an antiwar zeitgeist.  Another great war, with less chivalric Germans, was looming on the horizon: in March 1938, the Nazis annexed Austria; October saw the invasion of the Sudetenland, and on Nov. 9-10 the Reich-wide pogrom now known as Kristallnacht was launched.  For many Americans, a film about what Variety called “the futility of mankind’s armed conflict” had ominous relevance. 

Not that the antiwar message was universally embraced. Though Grand Illusion  won “the most artistic ensemble” award at the Venice Film Festival in 1937, it was banned by the Italians under pressure from Nazi Germany on the grounds that the film “has an anti-German tendency and offends Germany’s honor.” Actually, what offended the Nazis was the sympathetic portrayal of Rosenthal. The Nazis also took more active measures to suppress the film. In 1938, film historian Herman G. Weinberg reported that on the very day that the Nazis moved in to Vienna [March 13, 1938], “Grand Illusion was taken off the screen in the middle of a reel by the storm troopers.” Renoir regarded the shut-down “as a signal honor — and a decoration.”

In America, the reception of Grand Illusion was less violent but still passionate: isolationists and anti-Nazis alike adopted the film for their cause. On Jan. 12, 1939, a special “Congressional Night” screening of Grand Illusion at the Belasco Theater in Washington, DC was arranged for senators and congressmen because, said the management, “the picture’s indictment of warfare will be a message of interest to not only the Committees of Foreign Affairs and Foreign Relations, but to legislators generally.” The ardent isolationist Congressman Hamilton Fish (R-NY) blurbed the film as “an antidote to war hysteria.” From the other side of the ideological spectrum, anti-Nazis interpreted the tolerant and pacifist spirit of the film as a rebuke to Nazi eugenics and militarism. “It will give you hope for humanity and patience and inspiration in the fight against the Nazi syphilis,” said Mike Gold in the Daily Worker. In Los Angeles, the Hollywood Anti-Nazi League sponsored screenings of Grand Illusion.

Ultimately, the critical buzz and cultural impact of Grand Illusion reached into the ranks of the Academy voting pool. The timing was fortuitous. In accord with newly agreed to protocols adopted by the Academy Rules Committee on Dec. 20, 1937, selection of the nominees for Outstanding Production was now open to all eligible voters (whereas only directors selected the best director nominees and actors the Best Actor and Actress nominees and so on).

On Jan. 23, 1939, the nomination ballots were sent out to 4,000 Academy members; they had to be returned by February 3. By then Grand Illusion had been playing in New York since its premiere in July and in Los Angeles since November 1938. When the voting went down, every savvy person in the motion picture industry had certainly seen it. Its resonant timeliness and manifest excellence (everyone knew it was a work of genius on sight) catapulted Grand Illusion into the top ten. For Jean Renoir and Irvin Shapiro, the cliché was true: it was an honor just to be nominated.  

The recognition from the Academy kept Grand Illusion circulating. In New York, after ending its run at the Filmarte, it moved over to the 68th Street Playhouse, another landmark arthouse.

In September 1939, upon the outbreak of the war in Europe, World Pictures Corp. re-released Grand Illusion with a new publicity campaign tailored to the moment. “Never so timely!”  exclaimed the ads. “They said the Europe of 1914-1918 would never happen again—but!” Renoir’s response — you can picture him giving a resigned Gallic shrug — was laconic. “In 1936, I made a picture in which I tried to express all my deep feelings for the cause of peace. It was very successful. Three years later the war broke out.”

By then, von Stroheim had offered his services to the French army, which thanked him politely but declined. Back in Hollywood, he played sinister Nazis in Five Graves to Cairo (1943) and The North Star (1944). In 1941, Renoir also came to Hollywood. Darryl F. Zanuck, a great admirer of Grand Illusion, signed him to a deal at 20th Century-Fox, but after an unhappy experience with the Tobacco Road-ish Swamp Water (1942), Renoir moved to RKO for This Land Is Mine (1943), about French resistance under the Nazi occupation, and United Artists for The Southerner (1945), a social realist drama about sharecroppers that was a genuine hit. After The Woman on the Beach (RKO, 1947), a moody noir with Joan Bennett as the woman, he returned to Europe for a postwar blossoming in Technicolor that included The Golden Couch (1952), which exposed Americans to the Commedia dell Arte, and French Can Can (1955), set during the Belle Epoque. He later made his home in Los Angeles, where he died in 1979, still tormented by a leg wound from the Great War.

The story of Grand Illusion has a coda that Captain de Boeldieu and Captain Von Ruffenstein might have appreciated. 

In June 1940, when the Nazis barreled in to Paris, Henri Langlois, the archivist-programmer of the Cinematheque Francaise, was desperate to protect his collection of French cinema — including the original 35mm negative of Grand Illusion which Nazi Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels ordered seized and destroyed.  Before the war, however, at the first meeting of the International Federation of Film Archives, held at the Museum of Modern Art in 1939, Langlois had made friends with Franz Hensel, head archivist for the Reichsfilmkammer, the motion picture branch of Goebbels’s propaganda ministry.  
Hensel was now a Nazi major stationed in Paris during the Occupation. Going seriously rogue, he collaborated with Langlois to safeguard the treasures of the Cinémathèque Française, which Langlois had hidden in the basement of the Palais de Chaillot Hotel. Described by The Hollywood Reporter as “a Nazi who apparently cared more for cinema than party allegiance,” Hensel rescued the negative of Grand Illusion despite the film being deemed “cinematic public enemy No. 1” by Goebbels. When the Nazis confiscated the negative and shipped it back to Berlin, Hensel safeguarded it in the Reichsfilmarchiv vaults in Berlin until the Allied victory.

Berlin was in the Soviet sector. In 1945, according to an account by Stuart Klawans in The Nation, the Russians transported the negative back to Moscow and deposited it at Gosfilmofund, the Soviet film archive, unaware of its value. Eventually, Soviet and French film archivists realized what they had. In 1999, a clean print of Grand Illusion was struck from the original negative and released by Rialto Pictures. This is the definitive version currently in circulation.

It probably never happened but I like to think it is just possible that in 1939 Langlois and Hensel cut out from the film conference at MoMA and wandered up to the 68th Street Playhouse to catch a screening of Grand Illusion.   

***
Author’s note: I want to thank the indispensable Louise Hilton, archivist at the Margaret Herrick Library, for facilitating access to the Production Code files on Grand Illusion. 

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Keep track of everyday essentials with Disney and Life360’s new line of Tile Bluetooth trackers featuring Mickey and Minnie Mouse. Following last year’s successful partnership with Hello Kitty, the GPS-safety company launches their Disney campaign with three limited-edition products: a Mickey Mouse Tile Starter Pack, Minnie Mouse Tile Starter Pack and Mickey Mouse Tile.

Timed to coincide with one of the busiest shopping seasons of the year, the latest in Disney’s extensive collection of merch and brand partnerships takes off as families juggle back-to-school preparations with the final stretch of summer vacation. Those are also the moments when backpacks, luggage, wallets, passports, strollers and other must-have items are most likely to be misplaced.

With the Starter Pack, fans get two trackers for keeping tabs on everyday essentials. The Tile Slim’s credit card-thin design makes it the thinnest Bluetooth tracker on the market. It can fit into wallets and passport covers, while the standard Tile can be used on bags, keys or a belt loop.

The Mickey Mouse Tile features a 350-foot Bluetooth range, a long-lasting three-year battery and a built-in ring function. Setup on the Life360 app takes just minutes on a phone of tablet, where you can view family, pets and Tile-tracked items together on one map. The app includes 24/7 emergency dispatch, and a silent SOS button sends your location to first responders and family.

Designed for everyday convenience, these Minnie Mouse trackers similarly offer up to 350 feet of Bluetooth coverage and a battery that lasts for three years. They’re also fully compatible with Apple and Android phones and tablets through the Life360 app. Whether you’re organizing school supplies for the new semester, packing for a family vacation or spending the day at a Disney Resort, the two-tracker bundle helps track multiple items.

Tracked via the Life360 app on a phone or tablet, the Mickey Mouse Tile tracker keeps your belongings on the same map as your Circle, while unlocking features like real-time location sharing, crash detection and emergency support. Unlike its direct competitor, Apple AirTag, each Tile comes with a ring for attaching to a keyring, or carabiner and belt loop, so parents have ease of mind when kids are running wild at a Disney Resort.

Larry David has returned to HBO Max with the American history-centered sketch comedy show Life, Larry and the Pursuit of Unhappiness, following the conclusion of his long-running series Curb Your Enthusiasm — and it’s not just executive producers Barack and Michelle Obama who are along for the ride. Dozens of celebrity guests have joined the comedian to fill out the cast of historical figures.

This is not just a few cameos here and there — each episode of Life, Larry and the Pursuit of Unhappiness has over a dozen celebrity guests, and the roster ranges from a few of David’s co-stars on Curb to the late Rob Reiner, in what became his final screen performance. Major Hollywood stars including Samuel L. Jackson and Lin-Manuel Miranda don the wigs and garb of decades and centuries past alongside television’s biggest names, like Jerry Seinfeld and Jon Hamm. The Hollywood Reporter is watching the series closely to make sure all these stars are accounted for — after all, they deserve some credit for spending time working with L.D.

New episodes of Life, Larry and the Pursuit of Unhappiness air Friday nights at 9 p.m. on HBO and stream on HBO Max.

Episode 1 – “Livingston”

President Barack Obama as Himself; Samuel L. Jackson as The Narrator; Henry Winkler as John Hancock; Chris Parnell as Benjamin Franklin; Alan Tudyk as Thomas Jefferson; Alison Becker as Spectator 1; Mary Sohn as Spectator 2; Rodney J. Hobbs as Spectator 3; Richard Kind as Thomas Watson; Jake Reiner as Private Wallace; Mike Castle as Private Smith; Michael Chiklis as Sergeant; and Jurnee Smollett as Rosa Parks.

The series opens with an appearance by one of its EPs and a familiar face to all: former President Barack Obama, whose Higher Ground Productions is behind the historical sketch comedy show. Obama praises the nation he led for eight years as it reaches its semiquincentennial and dunks on David a bit — because why not? He’s America’s most beloved curmudgeon. The intro gives way to narration from Samuel L. Jackson, a go-to voiceover these days, giving Morgan Freeman a run for his money.

The first sketch has Winkler, Parnell and Tudyk as our founding fathers as they shut down the additions David’s Robert Livingston is trying to include in the grievances section of the Declaration of Independence. Next up, David portrays Alexander Graham Bell, forced to make awkward conversation with Curb cast member and national treasure Kind as Thomas Watson, as Bell debuts the telephone to a crowd of revelers already demanding text messaging and a variety of color options for the new invention. The annoying crowd features sitcom stalwarts Alison Becker (Parks and Recreation), Mary Sohn (A.P. Bio) and Rodney J. Hobbs (The Office, Modern Family).

The third sketch involves WWI trench warfare, where David portrays a cowardly soldier under the command of a sergeant, played by none other than The Shield‘s Michael Chiklis; his fellow soldiers are Comedy Bang Bang and Curb alum Mike Castle and Jake Reiner, the son of the late Rob Reiner (who also appeared on Curb). The premiere episode closes with David as an irritating bus passenger who sits next to famed civil rights icon Rosa Parks, perfectly cast with Jurnee Smollett in the role.

Episode 2 – “Farewell”

Samuel L. Jackson as The Narrator; Rita Wilson as Mavis Lewis; Jerry Seinfeld as William Clark; Matthew Jones as Tilden’s Aide; Rich Fulcher as Tilden’s Aide; Larry Wilmore as Barney; Kaley Cuoco as Gloria, the Widow; Colton Dunn as Dominic the Soup Server; Rob Reiner as George Washington; Jimmy Kimmel as Crowd Member; and Allan Havey as Crowd Member.

The second episode opens with a reunion between the two creators of the greatest sitcom of all time: Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld. The comedy duo behind the ’90s hit Seinfeld portrays explorers Lewis and Clark, whose landmark military mission, commissioned by President Thomas Jefferson, mapped the newly acquired Louisiana Territory and sought a water route to the Pacific Ocean. The gag is that the two are drinking buddies and it’s a bit too convenient they’re off to explore together for years on their own — as noted by Rita Wilson as Mavis Lewis, Meriwether Lewis’s long-suffering wife.

David then skewers the Electoral College as he portrays Samuel Tilden, who won the popular vote in the 1876 presidential election but fell one vote shy of an Electoral College majority, ultimately losing to Rutherford B. Hayes. Ranting ensues as Matthew Jones, a Curb alum, and Rich Fulcher of The Mighty Boosh portray his aides.

Next, in a Great Depression-set segment, David is joined by Larry Wilmore (formerly of late-night fame) and the incomparable Colton Dunn (Superstore, Parks and Recreation), and, in a series highlight, Kaley Cuoco as a grieving widow David is trying to use to cut in line for bread for his soup.

Finally, the episode ends with the much-talked-about final screen appearance of Rob Reiner; here he portrays George Washington as he discusses term limits for the U.S. presidency in front of a gathered crowd. It’s all a setup for David’s townsman to take veiled swipes at President Trump, who is not named but we all know who L.D. is talking about. Jimmy Kimmel delightfully turns up in some meta-commentary on his forever feud with Trump, too.

Episode 3 – “McCarthy”

Samuel L. Jackson as The Narrator; Lou DiMaggio as Colonial Man; Lin-Manuel Miranda as Michael Finney; Jordan Black as Samuel Cooper; Brad Morris as Joseph Warren; J.B. Smoove as Jonesy Dean Sharpe; Armoire Tru Valentino as Ottoman Jon Hamm as Orville Wright; Sean Hayes as Wilbur Wright; Michael McKean as Joseph Welch; and Rob Huebel as Senator Mundt.

The episode opens with David again playing his usual “guy caught up in a real historical moment” role as he crashes the Boston Tea Party [see flag No. 2 above]. Lin-Manuel Miranda, in fun stunt casting given his Broadway Revolutionary War pedigree from Hamilton, steals the scene as one of the Tea Party ringleaders. Comedian Lou DiMaggio appears too, playing off David’s character being left out of the rebellion.

Speaking of scene stealers, J.B. Smoove’s character Jonesey makes a stop along the Underground Railroad, flabbergasting David’s host with his demands and, soon, his arriving friends. Next, David plays a fictional, less-than-heroic Wright sibling squabbling with his wife (Isla Fisher) over her critique of his butter-churning skills, while Jon Hamm and Sean Hayes play the actual Orville and Wilbur Wright preparing for the first flight.

The episode’s closing and most talked-about segment features David himself playing Senator Joseph McCarthy. It also features Kids in the Hall alum Michael McKean as attorney Joseph Welch, delivering the famous “Have you no decency, sir?” rebuttal, and Rob Huebel (Human Giant, Transparent) as a senator helping moderate one of the infamous hearings.

Episode 4 – “Deepthroat”

Samuel L. Jackson as The Narrator; Beck Bennett as Bob Woodward; Ike Barinholtz as Henry Ford; Diallo Riddle as John Appleton; Katie Aselton as Sylvia Jordana Brewster; Beatrice Merle Dandridge as Clementine; Andrea Savage as Cordelia; Rory Scovel as Jefferson Davis; Judy Gold as Evelyn; Adam Lustick as Jonas Salk; and Gregg “Jeep” Perrie as Bobby.

The Watergate scandal gets the Larry David treatment: in the first sketch of the fourth episode, he portrays “Deep Throat,” the anonymous source who leaked details of the hotel break-in to Washington Post reporters. But David’s leaker doesn’t provide any useful information to SNL alum Beck Bennett’s Woodward when they meet in a parking lot — just trivial nonsense.

Next up, Ike Barinholtz plays the notoriously antisemitic Henry Ford, less than thrilled to be showing his new vehicle to David’s rabbi character. David then portrays President James Buchanan, hitting on each passing lady at a party where he’s introduced the concept of passed appetizers in lieu of dinner. Jordana Brewster of the Fast & Furious movies and The Other Two, and The League‘s Katie Aselton, are among the unfortunate ladies to cross his path; Diallo Riddle (Marlon, South Side) is Buchanan’s assistant, John Appleton.

The big talker of the episode is saved for the finale, with David reviving an old stand-up bit as the overly proud mother of Jonas Salk, Dora, bragging on her son to her neighbor Evelyn about his discovery of the polio vaccine. It gets personal as David mocks his former friend and former co-star Cheryl Hines’ husband, HHS Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. Soon a young man named Bobby turns up to naysay, telling Dora Salk, “That vaccine’s gonna kill people. It’s gonna give them heart attacks!” A parody of the stark politics of the MMR vaccine ensues, as only David could script.

John Kirby, the longtime acting coach and son to Bruce Kirby, has died. He was 75.

Kirby died Wednesday three years after being diagnosed with ALS. His associate, Nathan Besbitt, confirmed his death on Instagram.

“I am here to officially, with a broken heart, announce the passing of our beloved John on the early morning hours of Wednesday, July 15, and it has been devastating for all of us, and we’re trying to just find a way to cope,” Besbitt said.

Kirby lent his talents as an acting coach to a number of projects across his career, and was a frequent collaborator with Jim Caviezel.

The two worked together on films including Frequency (2000); Pay It Forward (2000); Angel Eyes (2001); The Count of Monte Cristo (2002); High Crimes (2002); I Am David (2003); The Final Cut (2004); Bobby Jones: Stroke of Genius (2004); Unknown (2006); and Paul, Apostle of Christ (2018). Kirby also served as Caviezel’s acting coach for the 2009 miniseries The Prisoner.

His additional credits tied to coaching include 2003’s Peter Pan, The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, Outlander, Hotel California, Scream 4, Stick It and Prom.

Kirby’s family was connected within the entertainment industry, with The Muppet Movie actor Bruce Kirby being his father. His brother, Bruno Kirby, also pursued acting, appearing in City Slickers, Good Morning, Vietnam and When Harry Met Sally…, among others.

The acting coach was diagnosed with ALS on June 7, 2023, after experiencing symptoms a year prior. He suffered a hard fall that resulted in a hip fracture on June 1 of the same year which led to his diagnosis.

A celebration of life will be held on Aug. 15 at the Hall of Liberty Forest Lawn Hollywood Hills, and is open to the public.