Tag: Entertainment-Variety

Faraz Shariat’s tightly wound “Prosecution” is a courtroom drama immersed in legalese, but rendered with the gripping intensity of a vigilante thriller. It follows a German-Korean woman prosecuting far-right hate crimes and running up against institutional blockades, until she becomes the victim of a targeted assault. This prompts her to push further and harder against these confines — and circumvent them if she must — at any ethical cost, as the herculean task before her fades into view.

Meticulously researched by co-writers Claudia Schaefer, Jee-Un Kim and Sun-Ju Choi, the story arrives in the wake of a recent uptick in far-right hate crimes in Germany, an apparent universality that Shariat grounds in the hyper-specifics of German law. At the film’s center is Seyo Kim (Chen Emilie Yan), a meek state lawyer looking to make a difference, but who accepts, with begrudging sighs, her department’s 80% rate of dropping hate crime prosecutions as just another part of the job.

While at home in her scant apartment, she speaks to her father in German while he responds in Korean; she seems disconnected from everyone, except occasionally her girlfriend Min-su (Kotbong Yang), whenever she finally answers the phone. During tightly shot and controlled scenes of her arguing in court, Seyo is subject to the gazes and occasional jeers of neo-Nazi defendants and their supporters, but retains her composure as best she can. After all, as characters repeatedly state throughout “Prosecution,” Germany claims the most objective system of law in the world, and maintaining objectivity is paramount. It’s no wonder that, after she’s knocked off her bicycle in a public park and pelted with Molotov cocktails by men in masks, she proves to be a pressure cooker waiting to explode.

Seyo’s immediate response is to throw herself into investigating her own attempted murder, even before she’s left the scene. But her largely Caucasian supervisors, like Senior Public Prosecutor Forch (Arnd Klawitter), insist that she keep her distance. However, with the reluctant help of a fellow non-white colleague, Ayten (Alev Irmak), she begins running a parallel inquiry: sneaking into records rooms to peruse old cases while sticking photographs and news articles on her window, practically walling herself off from the world. When her trial finally begins, she also takes over as her own attorney, not only questioning witnesses, but forcing former victims (some of them vulnerable immigrants) out of hiding, in order to make them testify at the risk of their own safety.

It wouldn’t be a stretch to call Seyo a self-centered protagonist, but her selfishness stems from a lucid sense of self-preservation. However, the film’s ultra-serious character drama is transformed into pulp — of the most ludicrously enjoyable sort — both by Shariat’s tight visual flourishes, which imbue every dialogue scene with oppressive potency, and by the way the initially straightforward Seyo slowly becomes an antiheroine in the vein of Lisbeth Salander from “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.” The pseudo-goth hair and costume choices speak to an inner rebelliousness that isn’t so much unleashed as forced loose by a system that values the appearance of a mythical impartiality over her humanity, leaving her with little recourse but to step outside the confines of the law.

The seemingly insurmountable challenge before her is reflected by the double meaning of the film’s German-language title “Staatsschutz,” which roughly translates to “state protection.” When institutions close ranks and downplay threats in the name of neutrality, who is the state truly protecting?

To be clear, Seyo isn’t an action heroine who employs gadgets or fisticuffs. She’s too physically diminutive for that, which only adds to her desperation. Picture if Marvel’s Daredevil were a lawyer by day, and a lawyer who bends the rules a little by night, and you should know what to expect. Except Seyo’s superhero suit is the everyday attire of a woman driven by anger to violently knock on the doors shut in her face — and kick at them if she must, even if it attracts genuine danger from hate groups and institutions alike. (She does, however, have her own Batmobile in the form of a muscly, matte-black Dodge Challenger, which gets a delicious closing shot.)

Much of the action involves Seyo rummaging through dusty boxes in rooms she shouldn’t be in, lest a security guard come snooping and scold her, or she be handed professional consequences. A slap on the wrist hardly sounds exciting on paper, but the stakes grow as the film goes on. These sequences of process and investigation are captured with all the verve and nerve-wracking tension of a slick spy thriller, aided by a detailed, thundering soundscape sure to leave you on edge.

All of this is made further convincing by Yan’s captivating performance, her first for the big screen. She adds great depth to a woman pushing back against the walls closing in around her. Despite her character’s steely resolve, the star isn’t afraid to sketch moments of determination with glimmers of self-doubt, as Seyo becomes increasingly one-tracked, and perhaps loses sight of the difference between personal vengeance and broader, institutional justice, until it nearly breaks her.

While the resolution to this dilemma ends up somewhat easy, the film remains an alluring liberal power fantasy about challenging systems from within. Which is to say it’s more realistic in its aims than your average, metaphor-laden blockbuster — not everybody can kickflip or attain superpowers — and in the process, it’s sure to draw an especially visceral response from any choir to which its anti-racist sentiments might preach. It may not change the world (after all, few movies do), but it’ll certainly rile you up enough to make change seem far less improbable.

Nick Reiner pleaded not guilty on Monday in the deaths of his parents, Rob and Michele, who were found stabbed to death in their Brentwood home on Dec. 14.

Reiner, 32, appeared in Los Angeles Superior Court, and spoke only once, agreeing to a future court date of April 29.

Reiner is facing two counts of murder with an enhancement that could carry the death penalty or life without parole if he is convicted.

He is being represented by Kimberly Greene, a deputy public defender who took over the case after his initial lawyer, Alan Jackson, withdrew last month.

No mention was made of Reiner’s mental state during the brief hearing.

Reiner is being held without bail at the Twin Towers Correctional Facility in downtown Los Angeles. He was arrested around 9:15 p.m. on Dec. 14, hours after his parents’ bodies were discovered by his sister.

“Rob Reiner was one of the greatest filmmakers of his generation,” said District Attorney Nathan Hochman, who called the Reiners’ killings “shocking and tragic.” “We owe it to their memory to pursue justice and accountability for the lives that were taken.”

Nick Reiner was open about his years-long battle with drug addiction. He told interviewers that he attended 18 rehabs between the ages of 15 and 19. In an interview for Anna David’s recovery podcast, he said he had thrown a rock through a window to prove he needed medication.

“I was insane,” he said. “And I said, ‘I’m insane.’ And they said, ‘No, you’re not.’ I was like, ‘Well, they’re not taking my word for it. I might as well demonstrate what crazy is.’”

Hans Zimmer and his composer collective, Bleeding Fingers Music, are set to score the upcoming Netflix series “All the Sinners Bleed.”

As previously announced, the show is an adaptation of the S.A Crosby novel of the same name. Joe Robert Cole is adapting the book for the screen and will also serve as executive producer and showrunner in addition to directing multiple episodes, including the first. The Obamas’ Higher Ground Productions and Amblin Television are also executive producing along with Cosby.

“’All the Sinners Bleed’ lives in the tension between faith, violence and redemption, the kind of moral complexity where music speaks most powerfully,” Zimmer said. “Joe Robert Cole and S.A. Cosby have created a world that is haunting, intimate and unflinchingly human. We’re proud to collaborate with Netflix, Higher Ground and Amblin on a series unafraid to sit with discomfort and truth, allowing the score to breathe in moments of silence as much as in moments of chaos.”

“All the Sinners Bleed” stars Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù alongside series regulars John Douglas Thompson, Nicole Beharie, Daniel Ezra, Andrea Cortés, Murray Bartlett, and Leila George. The official logline for the series states, “Haunted by his devout mother’s untimely death, the first Black Sheriff (Dìrísù) in a small Bible Belt county must lead the hunt for a serial killer that has been preying on his Black community for years in the name of God.”

“Hans crafts unforgettable themes and immersive scores that root you emotionally in the world of a story,” Cole said. “Our series explores the lighter and darker halves of who we are as people and which side wins within us. I’m incredibly excited to have Hans and the Bleeding Fingers Music composer collective interpreting this core contention through music.”

Zimmer is widely regarded as one of the greatest film composers alive today and one of the greatest of all time. He is a 12-time Oscar nominee in the best score category, winning the coveted award for his work on both “The Lion King” and Denis Villeneuve’s “Dune.” He has been nominated for and won numerous other accolades, including Grammys, Golden Globes, BAFTAs and beyond. Just a few of his other notable scores include work on “Interstellar,” “Gladiator,” Christopher Nolan’s “Dark Knight” trilogy, and “Inception.”

He is repped by CAA and Kleinberg Lange Cuddy & Carlo LLP.

A few months ago, I sat in a room where a product manager from a prominent TV operating system explained how an algorithm had reorganized their entire home screen. No human had approved the change. A show that a studio had spent two years, and a $100 million making, was now buried three rows down, behind a row of AI-generated thumbnails tested against 12 variants in real time. The show didn’t fail. It just disappeared.

Entertainment is a software industry now.

The tension we feel isn’t about content volume, business models, or even consolidation. Those are simply symptoms of an industry getting eaten by software when it’s still running the old playbook.

The cause: Every layer from production to distribution and monetization is now software. Cameras capture to hard drives. Editing happens in the cloud. Algorithms decide what viewers see, and ads are bought and sold in milliseconds by auction systems that do more daily transaction volume than a credit card company does in a year. Shows don’t compete on quality alone, but on code. A lot of this is good news: more stories from more voices, faster. But only if we acknowledge the shift and learn the new rules.

New Rules of the Game

Acting like a software industry means moving faster. It means building feedback loops that give the craft its best shot. Understanding audiences earlier. Testing assumptions before committing hundreds of millions of dollars. Learning what’s working while the project is still in motion, not after its release. The goal isn’t to create quick, cheap content; it’s about giving projects that creatives pour years into a real chance to land, commercially and culturally. Right now, we make huge creative bets in entertainment and hand over the outcome to algorithms that are not ours. That’s not protecting the craft. That’s gambling with it. The entertainment industry needs to invest in owning its future.

AI is the clearest example. Used well, it’s the most powerful creative tool in a generation. Writers can test story structures. Producers can previsualize entire sequences before committing a dollar to production. And marketing teams can find the right audience before launch, not after. The studios and streamers that build these capabilities through internal investment and trusted partnerships will make better work. The ones that wait will rent these tools from the same technology companies already controlling their distribution and often bulldozing their IP.

How Leverage Has Shifted

In every corner of entertainment, from gaming to movies, intermediaries have inserted themselves between creators and their audiences. A handful of companies control the operating systems apps run on and unilaterally decide which apps get prominent placement, and their cut of the subscription money. They decide what data flows and to whom.

Within streaming TV, another layer of software decides which shows get the home screen treatment and which disappear into the abyss of the infinite scroll. A streamer can invest hundreds of millions of dollars into content, build a beloved product, earn a loyal audience and still be at the mercy of whichever operating system owns the home screen.

The streaming industry spent the last decade fighting for subscribers while operating systems quietly gained an advantage. It’s the same way tech played out: If you own the OS, you’ll capture the leverage. It happened on mobile, in search and on social. Now it’s happening in media.

AI Raises the Stakes, Again

Platforms now use AI to generate quick content. This is not meant to replace the shows that spark culture and conversation, but to create a new category of programming: replaceable entertainment. It’s content designed to be sufficient — good enough that most people won’t notice the difference, and cheap enough that it doesn’t matter if they do. If that layer of programming sits more prominently atop an OS or a social platform, with no visibility into how other work is surfaced or monetized beside it, what leverage do we have?

Software and AI done right can mean more opportunities to grow and find new audiences and better tools to make great work. But that only happens if the systems are transparent. Right now, some of these systems are black boxes controlled by gatekeepers with conflicting incentives. The industry needs to come together around open tools for creation, distribution and monetization.

The next 18 months will determine who controls the stack. The AI layer isn’t locked in yet. Neither are the platforms. There’s a window, but it won’t stay open for long.

Here’s what we can do: 

I’ve spent my career in both worlds: building products at some of the world’s largest platforms, as well as working with the studios and creators who make the media people love. I know the impact that technology can have on entertainment. I also know what happens when an industry waits for someone else to figure it out. With these learnings, we’re focused on providing creators and entertainment companies with access to a streaming ecosystem that includes the tools and systems required to keep making great content that audiences love. We’re not fighting the future of technology — we’re ensuring the people who make the work have a seat at the table when the rules get rewritten.

If you run a studio, a streamer or a production company, this is your problem now. Not next year. Now. The window is open.

Let’s move.