- Venice Film Festival 2026: Ink, Moragheb, Too Much Sugar (September 6, 2026)
“Ink,” Danny Boyle’s movie about the London newspaper scene in the 1960s and ‘70s, is a Frankenstein story. Strangely, however, the monster is not Rupert Murdoch, the most notorious and powerful character in the tale, and the architect of a very salable brand of right wing mob-pandering journalism that helped reshape the world into a neofascist purgatory. Here, Murdoch is Dr. Frankenstein, tinkering in his lab in hopes of making loads more money than already has and sticking it to the “posh” snobs who look down on him.
Murdoch’s monster is Larry Lamb, Northern editor for Manchester’s Daily Mail, who quickly shapes up as a favorite son, thrills Murdoch by going too far and then way too far, crossing lines that even Murdoch is afraid to flout. Lamb’s name is unknown outside journalism circles, but in Beatles-era London, he was the media equivalent of a bad-boy rockstar whose fame rose in proportion to how many journalistic norms he violated. Among other innovations, he invented the Page Three Girl, a daily dose of topless tease that he later said he regretted.
In 1968, Murdoch hired Lamb away from the Daily Mail, which, like most English newspapers, had a veneer of respectability and operated under the belief that the press had a moral responsibility to give citizens useful information about their community and the world (even as they rotted their brains in other ways). The story begins when Murdoch (Guy Pearce), who was already styling himself as a giddy rule-breaker who struck terror in the hearts of Fleet Street’s Old Guard, meets with Lamb (Jack O’Connell) at London’s oldest restaurant.
Lamb is the son of a Yorkshire blacksmith and shares the Aussie’s reflexive loathing of the ruling class, so he agrees with Murdoch’s dim view of the Daily Mail as a bland establishment mouthpiece that makes reading feel like homework. But he still resists Murdoch’s pressure to jump ship because he believes that even inconsistently observed rules are better than none. Murdoch plays Lamb’s feelings of being unappreciated and meets his demand for an even larger salary than Murdoch was prepared to officer, plus a new Jaguar. And a brand new maverick is born.
What follows is a punk rock answer to “Citizen Kane,” a film Boyle references visually. Fisheye lenses warp straight lines, and make rooms seem huge and roads endless. In an early pressroom sequence, Boyle and cinematographer Alwin H. Küchler put the camera on the floor pointing up, so Murdoch and Lamb tower over us while sheets of freshly-printed newspapers rush above and around them. Pearce is, as usual, very solid and unfussy, and so controlled that some of his most electrifying moments are captured from behind his back, or from a three-quarters view that shows only a sliver of his face. He also captures the mogul’s odd mix of puritanism and sleaze. O’Connell dazzles in a newly minted superstar performance that evokes the steamroller confidence of Jon Hamm in “Mad Men.”
“Ink” is a breezy, cheeky feature that packs three hours’ worth of story into two and finds ways to make history feel immediate. Boyle affixes GoPro cameras to Lamb’s Jaguar as he and a pair of arm-candy birds rip through smalltown streets. The soundtrack throws a few 2020s needle-drops in with the expected period music. Daniel Pemberton’s score combines Nine Inch Nails-adjacent noise rock with the subterranean rumble of newspaper presses.
But the script, adapted by James Graham from his same-titled play, makes some unfortunate choices. The sexual politics, for instance, are altogether pretty rank, even after you’ve extended the movie the standard “depiction does not equal endorsement” waiver. And some of the things it seems to think it’s doing to counter the ingrained sexism of that time and place instead come across as attempts to soft-pedal the facts. For example, Claire Foy plays a character named Jules Davies, described as a composite representing various women journalists from 1960s Fleet Street. Claire’s contributions to editorial meetings revolve around sex, and the most salient fact in her bio is that she’s Larry’s mistress. It would’ve had more impact to write multiple women journalists based on actual people, and visit with each of them occasionally and briefly, so the movie had to struggle to make space for them in much the same way the newspapers did.
And then there’s the deeply weird turn the story takes near the end, when it’s implied that Lamb has repeatedly gone beyond the pale by pretty much everyone’s standards, including those of his boss, the original “move fast, break things” CEO. Yes, it’s dramatically effective to have the protagonist end the story as such a pariah, but the implication that Murdoch distances himself from Lamb because he and his wife are uncomfortable with how far he’s gone is not just historically incorrect but dishonest. The Sun featured topless Page Three girls until 2015, and although Murdoch’s papers evolved over time, the changes were tactical and aesthetic and had nothing to do with remorse or personal evolution. Even the film’s own coda inadvertently confirms that Murdoch couldn’t have been that upset. If he had totally lost trust in Lamb, why did he keep him around for another 12 years? This is a dazzlingly assured but untrustworthy movie, almost as cynically expedient as the men it depicts.
As lean and focused as it is powerful, “Moragheb (Falling House)” is the sum total of its many influences, and as good as the best of them. It’s about a family in suburban Tehran whose house is slated for demolition in a redevelopment project that has already flattened most of what used to be their neighborhood. They’re supposed to be moving out in a few days, but bad luck and poor judgment leaves them without a new home to move into, and few prospects for temporary housing. This nerve-wracking predicament is the ticking clock that drives the film’s action. But it’s also an amazingly versatile analogy for other problems facing the family as individuals and as a unit, and for much larger threats, from the ongoing rise of corporate-driven authoritarianism to the escalating effects of climate change.
Rashid (Farhad Aslani) is not only employed by the ruling powers (as a prison guard on death row), but he also embodies them. From his propensity for bullying to the ingrained patriarchal values that guide his decisions as a husband and father, he’s a reactionary to his core. This isn’t softened even by his evident love for his wife Zinat (Rima Raminfar), his bright and principled younger daughter Janan (Elena Khakbazan), and his older daughter Ensi (Laleh Marzban), whose great love is the history and craft of runway modeling, something that, to put mildly, is not a viable career path in modern Iran. Nevertheless, she’s secretly been sending headshots to foreign modeling agencies and just got an interview with one in Istanbul, an impressive accomplishment for a young woman who’s afraid to go outside without covering her hair.
If you think dad’s going to have an issue with that, you’re right. His reaction quickly escalates from sadness to bluster to condemnation and finally blatant oppression. All the doors inside the house have locks to which only he possesses keys (not the sign of a healthy household to start with), so he locks Ensi in her own bedroom and tells her he won’t let her out until she surrenders her passport. Ensi refuses, rightly saying she doesn’t believe the standoff will end there. Everyone turns against dad, but his emotional stranglehold on the house is such that they can’t confront him directly, much less make demands. So they try to cajole and trick him while playing on his fatherly sentimentality. This doesn’t get them very far because Rashid is a soft-spoken but ruthless negotiator who’s good at convincing the ladies of the house that he’ll do things he has no intention of doing.
Directed and cowritten by Mohsen Gharaei (with script collaborator Emad Khodabakhsh), “Moragheb” is an Iranian Neorealist drama in the vein of classic 1990s works by such giants as Abbas Kiarostami, Jafar Panahi, Mohsen Makmalbaf, and Majid Majidi. These directors and others from the period told realistic, empathetic, tough stories about working people struggling against society’s injustices and their own thorny personalities. In the spirit of that period of Iranian cinema, “Falling House” is a domestic drama that’s also a political one, in which women of independent spirit become prisoners of a man who’s supposed to be their protector.
The movie also feels indebted to western stage and screen dramas of with a “kitchen sink” flavor. There are fragments of Arthur Miller and John Osborne; the working class-focused, live television plays of the 1950s (“Marty,” “Requiem for a Heavyweight”); and the 1960s American film dramas by politically progressive directors like Sidney Lumet. What these works all have in common is a skill at being micro and macro at the same time. They were about what they were about, but they were also aiming at bigger and more daunting targets than whoever happened to be the least likable character.
And, like those works, “Falling House” is as theatrical as it is cinematic. It gives every actor the equivalent of one or more spotlight moments, and pairs them all off to perform beautiful little duets that deepen both characters while advancing the story and adding more complications. It stages action within the family’s home, in the surrounding ruins, and inside and outside Rashid’s place of employment in a manner that converts real locations into sets in an enormous outdoor theater. The knockout final stretch is both tragic and cathartic, leaving us with a sliver of hope for positive change while also conceding that, with caveman values baked into societies all around the world, situations like this can never be transcended, only endured.
Calling filmmaker Robert Greene and his regular cinematographer Robert Kolodny documentarians doesn’t feel quite right. But there isn’t another word that precisely describes the merger of fiction, nonfiction, experimentation, and social work that has defined so much of their output (which includes “Procession” and “Bisbee ‘17”). And taxonomic labels seem beside the point when you surrender to the flow of the work itself and abandon any preconceptions you brought in.
“Too Much Sugar” might be the most audacious and free-form entry yet in their body of work. Imagine one of those workshops that are intended to help people process their traumas by making art, and then imagine it taking the form of a feature-length film where all the main players get to imagine a movie of their own lives, then cast, write, and direct it. The result illuminates hard truths about their personalities and experiences, just not necessarily the ones they hoped to present to the audience.
The main characters are a couple of ex-convicts who became best friends and now live in houses directly across from each other in a small-town Missouri cul-de-sac. Each has a brood of kids with different baby mamas. Ryan “Holli-wood” Hollinger, aka “Toe Tag,” is a former WWA fighter turned carpenter and volunteer children’s athletic coach who has fathered six children by five women. Most of his offspring live with him and his partner Amanda, a beautiful, generous, sweet woman whose default smile hides her anxiety over whether Ryan will ever stop screwing around and become the husband and father he loudly insists he’s trying to be. Ryan’s pal, boxer and fellow construction worker Michael Mydgett, aka “AccRite,” is also a veritable Johnny Appleseed of genetic material, with five kids by four women (including the one he currently lives with).
It was Ryan’s original idea to write, direct and star in a homemade movie about his own journey, but it was Greene (who met Ryan at a children’s basketball game and initially found him insufferable) who expanded the idea and brought everybody else into the project. We get to see personal stories reimagined as a fantasy, a love story, and a goofy slapstick comedy about a large family, among other genres. The subjects defy media stereotypes of ignorant Midwestern po’ folks, demonstrating an easygoing familiarity not just with cinematic grammar and tropes, but psychiatric terms and therapy-speak (“Is my dad a narcissist?” one of Ryan’s sons asks Greene).
What ultimately makes the movie powerful, as opposed to merely intriguing, is its mid-narrative pivot toward AccRite. He’s been a broken husk ever since he lost one of his sons, then 16, in a senseless shooting after a house party. AccRite wants to make a time-travel thriller in which he rescues his son and brings him forward into the future where he can live a full life. The agony emanating from AccRite’s haunted face and often watery eyes is almost too much to take. Even with the filmmakers and his friends and family going out of their way to treat him with compassion, his unreachability can’t be breached. It’s only when Greene, Kolodny, Ryan and the others lure him into improvised scenes dealing with his loss that he begins to process what happened rather than continue hiding inside his pain. That so many of these moments could be either real, caught-on-camera eruptions of pure pain or improvisational theater exercises that mutate into primal scream therapy further emphasizes the film’s belief that, deep down, everyone knows how to act, and would use it for therapeutic purposes all the time if they only knew how.
At a time when the very idea of art as a useful human pursuit is under concentrated assault by technology, politicians, and the culture as a whole, this movie is as replenishing as a bottle of cold water on a hot day. It also gets across the idea that cinema, drama, writing, indeed creativity itself, are sources of nourishment for human beings of every race, class, and nationality. It might fit well on a double-bill with “Falling House” because it comes at lot of the same conundrums and challenges armed with the same tools, but uses them in a different way.
- The Places Underneath Words: Cassandra Wilson (1955-2026) (September 6, 2026)
Cassandra Wilson traversed this world for seven magical decades. The news of her passing reached me while seated in the shade on the very hot dusk at the Chicago Jazz Festival, before her sister in jazz, Dee Dee Bridgewater closed the first night. I wrote the brief reflection on the tribute screen off, as if I must have seen wrong. I did something similar when I first heard her on the “Love Jones” soundtrack in 1997. I figured she was from days before my time and had come and gone.
A few years later, in a Colorado library, I picked up a CD with an image of a woman photographed in a Miles Davis pose, as if in a Gil Evans collaboration, Traveling Miles. Once I heard her “Run the Voodoo Down,” it was clear I had to buy my own; it deserved respect because it gave it, entirely. By then, I could learn through new technology, the internet: she was alive. I was wrong and overwhelmed with delight. I heard her live soon after, during her “Belly of the Sun” tour in Denver. I bought every CD from Blue Light ‘til Dawn to Coming Forth by Day.
Wilson’s work was a transformation and stylistic interpretation of sepia-hued notes, leaning into lyrics likened to Anita Baker, and what Toni Morrison pinned in the multi-awarded novel Beloved, before there was language: “the sound that broke the back of words.” Cassandra Wilson found the places underneath words, where meaning is as layered as life. Taking a song from the past and reimagining it, she did, to liberate it into a cosmos vivid and in full range. Her original works are no less tantalizing. Always pushing, moving forward, exploring eclectic blends of genres conjured into what Maya Angelou called “kindled into delicious color.”
Wison’s cover of Cyndi Lauper and Rob Hyman’s “Time After Time” is featured exquisitely in movie soundtracks for “Brown Sugar” and “Good Deeds”. I relished her cameos in film and TV productions, from the theme song of “True Detective” to a brief appearance in “Treme”. Her “Death Letter” for season three of “True Detective” hits to the core like Nina Simone’s “Sinnerman”. She collaborated with a lush range of artists, including India Arie, Prince, Luther Vandross, Meshell Ndegeocello to the Pulitzer Prize-winning creation with Wynton Marsalis’s Blood on the Fields. Her creative genius earned her multiple awards, including Grammys and the NEA Jazz Master. She was a griot in the sacred world of music. A defining pioneer and positive influence then and forever. She threw it all away, as one of her muses, Abbey Lincoln wrote and sang:
“You can throw it awayGive your love, live your lifeEach and every dayAnd keep your hand wide openAnd let the sun shine through‘Cause you can never lose a thingIf it belongs to you”
I was thinking of doing an album cover for her, one of my collage works. The night had come; Chicago celebrated Third World Press’s 50th anniversary, with founder Haki Madhubuti, with the culminating headliner evening dinner and performance with Cassandra Wilson. Paying the bill, as if purchasing all her CDs in my collection again, with no fuss, I saw her at the edge of the stage of the Parkway Ballroom. I love food but I don’t recall the meal, overwhelmed by the encounter. I remember “In The Belly of Jesus” was among the known-but-refreshed numbers that evening.
“Round Midnight,” I was welcomed to enter her company, and as if floating, we talked, laughed and then I shared the sleeve cover of the first CD I had and the last program booklet of hers to sign. In a calm and clear first response, she noted, “now you know I don’t do autographs.” I replied, truthfully, “but my birthday is in a few minutes.” “Now you didn’t tell me that,” Wilson replied, as she retrieved the silver sharpie and signed them both. We parted as her sister friend, grand dame of Black literature, Sonya Sanchez entered the room. Those signatures take up wonderful space on my wall of respect next to Dianne Reeves, Angelique Kidjo, Lizz Wright and Terri Lynn Carington, among others.
Now her “Red Guitar” is being played in “blue heavens,” humming down the road; I can almost hear her singing Jimi Hendrix’s “The Wind Cries Mary.” We shall cherish you eternally. Thank you, CW, for taking those “Seven Steps” so beautifully.
- It’s Time to Grow Up: Joe Swanberg and Cory Michael Smith on “The Sun Never Sets” (September 4, 2026)
Taking full advantage of its sun-kissed ambiance and featuring wonderfully lived-in performances from its central cast, director Joe Swanberg’s “The Sun Never Sets” is an understated, whimsical look at the ways adults fail to love one another, while also being a testament to how it’s never too late to start over, even if you think the script for your life is set.
The film benefits, as most of Swanberg’s films do, from its truly collaborative nature: the core actors receive producer credits and improvise during takes based on an outline he writes. The result is filled with characters who are earnest in their imperfections, people who mean well but are still very much figuring life out, even as they feel the tension of time and the need to settle down.
At its core is Wendy (Dakota Fanning), a construction manager who lives in Anchorage, Alaska, whose relationship with her partner, Jack (Jake Johnson), is upended when he tells her that they should go on a break so she can go on other dates to explore if being with him is what she really wants.
Jack’s big-brained plan didn’t factor in the potential re-entry of Wendy’s ex-boyfriend, Chuck (Cory Michael Smith), a suave pilot with questionable credit, who scratches Wendy’s itch for adventure and spontaneity. Caught between the orbit of these two strong personalities, Wendy wrestles with whether it’s possible to live a life in relationship with both of them, if she has to choose, or if she needs to expand her horizons beyond this binary.
Although “The Sun Never Sets” marks six years since Swanberg’s last feature, the intervening years haven’t been idle, from acting in projects like “Invention,” “Invader,” and “Loafers” to his extensive producer work. This project is a delightful reminder of what makes his mumblecore work so beloved, and feels as though it’s the most robust version of films of this ilk, whether it’s the Alaska setting that’s beautifully captured by cinematographer Eon Mora’s 35mm filming, or Swanberg’s own willingness to not settle for easy resolutions when dealing with such sensitive matters of the heart.
Contrary to most limited releases, “The Sun Never Sets” opened first in Chicago before expanding to other territories this weekend. While in Chicago last week for a pair of in-person Q&As at the Music Box Theatre, RogerEbert.com sat with Swanberg and Smith to talk about the role of silence in understanding a character like Chuck, how Swanberg’s improvisational approach to scriptwriting has changed, and how spending time in Alaska has reframed their relationship to darkness and light.
This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.
Most movies usually open in LA/NY first, but it was heartening to see “Exclusively in Chicago” pop up on the poster and trailer screen. Can you speak to the importance of starting this film’s theatrical run in Chicago?
JS: That was an IFC choice, but I totally agree with you, and I love that it’s met with some confusion and possibly some jealousy from the New Yorkers.
Cory, as our resident East Coaster here, can you confirm if this is the case?
Cory Michael Smith: (Laughs) Yeah … why the hell is Chicago getting it first?
JS: The Music Box Theatre, to me, was a holy place since I was 16 years old, and as early as I could take the train from the suburbs into the city to start watching movies, I was having important experiences there. I saw many of my favorite films there for the first time. I saw millions of films I had never heard of, and they completely expanded my idea of what movies could be. When I went to film school, I dreamed of making movies that would play there. That, combined with IFC looking at the calendar, felt like the right factors for that release.
What’s also significant is that this is the biggest release any of my films has had by a wide margin. I think “Drinking Buddies” at its widest was in twenty-seven screens one weekend. We’re going over five hundred screens next weekend. So I got to say, I’m middle-aged, and careers don’t go in straight lines, but there were still points in my life where I thought, “I wonder if I kind of already saw the best of my career ten years ago.” It’s so nice to feel like, “I’m getting better at my job.”
I also enjoyed seeing Chicago directors like Brandon Daley, who directed “$Positions,” and Katelyn Douglass in small roles here. Can you talk a bit about bringing Chicago with you to these productions?
JS: I really wanted Dakota and Debby Ryan to feel like part of a real friend group, and Brandon, Katelyn, and Drew Angle are all actual real-life, longtime friends. Dakota and Debby don’t know each other, and I was nervous to cast some Alaska locals to play this friend group and throw them into a world that needed to feel unified. I knew that if I could get that trio out there, from a vibes perspective, Dakota and Debby could plug right in.
I’m also a huge fan of all of their filmmaking. I love casting directors in my movies in particular. Timing-wise, Brandon was having a nice moment with “$Positions,” and Katelyn with “Spanked by a Ghost.” I thought it would be great to capture these two during a year when their movies are really blowing up, and it’ll be a neat feather in the movie’s cap. They’re both going to go on and have big directing careers, and it’ll be cool in ten years to be like, “Oh my God, look, they’re both in this movie.”
The other thing we laugh about is that Brandon isn’t in that many scenes in the movie, but his character, Brad, casts a long shadow. There’s a team Brad situation, not team Chuck or Jack, that’s brewing and is going to blow back on all of us. I see it on Letterboxd where all the comments are saying “Pour one out for him; he didn’t do anything wrong.”
The Sun Never Sets (IFC)
Joe, I heard you talk about something Cory does in the film that you love: the beat of silence he takes between scenes. I’d love to hear you expand on that, and also, Cory, how you were thinking through the role of silence in someone like Chuck.
JS: Chuck’s silence in the film is very powerful; it gives him a unique vibe. It’s funny and intimidating. It functions in all these different ways and is perpetually watchable. It’s the opposite of dead time; it’s extremely active time. There’s that scene in the movie where Wendy asks him, “Can I call you?” and the pause that Chuck takes before answering … you see him work through five years of their relationship history in real time. These brief moments become so magnetic through that silence. It’s going to affect my direction going forward a lot. It’s a tool that I know I’m going to use in future movies. Maybe the right way to play a moment is for the actor to say nothing.
CMS: As an actor, I’m not afraid of using silence. I think it’s an incredible storytelling tool. With this project specifically, I had the benefit of being cast last and understanding Jake’s assets. Jake is an unbelievably hilarious, witty, fast-talking man. Chuck needs to offer something else, and I think Dakota and I had agreed that there’s a different kind of sexual tension in this relationship, and often sexual tension can be born out of relationships where physical communication outweighs verbal communication. So it felt important to build a relationship with Dakota where the connection felt inexplicable and nonverbal.
Then there also needed to be some understanding of what the problems were in the past. If your strength is a sexual connection, the weakness might be talking through things. “Why would Wendy be drawn to someone who can’t communicate their feelings?” was a question running through my mind. You can really be drawn to somebody just because you can’t understand them, and that made leaning into the silence the more natural reaction.
JS: It does make Chuck thoughtful in his own way. He’s not a knee-jerk guy who is going to just say something to get himself out of a situation. Those moments of silence let you see Chuck as a compelling, mature character in his own way. He has his flaws and shit he’s dealing with, but there are a lot of moments where you just feel him thinking and being considerate. He doesn’t want to answer a question just because it was asked, or say the easy thing that’s going to solve the problem right then.
He’s weighing his response, and in those moments you’re like, “I do see why she likes him.” He’s not just a blabbermouth; he’s more like, “Let me make sure what I’m about to say is how I feel so that whatever the outcome of that is, I’m not losing sleep about it later.” As an audience member, I love the ability to sit in that tension and think, “I’m leaning in right now. What’s about to happen?” He doesn’t even know what’s coming next in his life, but it also creates an excitement and charismatic energy that Jake, who is loaded with charisma, doesn’t bring to that character.
I think about the sequence where Wendy and Chuck are looking at properties, and once Chuck looks at the housing application and realizes it’s going to be an issue, he immediately closes off and resorts to a type of formality that’s disarming.
JS: Chuck’s ability to close off like that leaves other people flabbergasted. You also realize in that scene, “This guy has a sense of humor. It’s dry as hell, and it makes Wendy laugh.” He’s fun, and he’s funny, but he chooses his moments to let it out.
CMS: It’s a humor made for one other person. You can see why Wendy would love someone like him.
The Sun Never Sets (IFC)
Did these conversations around personality differences manifest in any tangible way in the direction of the kissing scenes? I feel like the way the characters express their passion to each other is often another way to see how each man offers something different to Wendy.
JS: It was a huge part of the conversation around what this movie was. To put it in its most basic terms, I think I probably said something like, “We need to feel like Wendy and Chuck, fuck.” Whereas Wendy and Jack have sex, we see them; they’re intimate too. That relationship is not devoid of a sex life. I’m not sure they “fuck.” So that, to me, was maybe from a directing standpoint where I was trying to send that thing. To me, it’s a huge distinction. It’s a big part of why, after two years with Jack, when Wendy runs into Chuck at the pool table, she realizes he’s going to bring something to the table that is missing.
CMS: I think that we had a collective understanding that that was what we needed to do, but in terms of actual execution, I don’t think we really had conversations over specific choreography or movement. Dakota is an excellent storyteller, and it was easy to capture these physical differences because we all started on the same page.
Dakota also shared that Wendy would carry characteristics similar to her because when you’re trying to come up with things on the spot, you naturally dig into the reservoir of your own life. I’m wondering if that was a familiar experience for you, and whether you resisted or embraced it?
I think there are experiences I’ve had or behaviors I’ve exhibited in the past that I find familiar in this, but ultimately, I was still trying to make a character. I haven’t said anything to my parents, but I would be interested to hear what they think of this performance. I think there’s a lot of my brother, Chad, in here. I found that, inherently, communicating more freely without a script just feels more personal, despite it being a character. This has been an enjoyable but challenging film to watch, I think, because you’re watching the manifestation of instincts beyond what I’m used to seeing in a normal film.
When I see the film, or even past takes, what I’m seeing on-screen are the specific choices with those words and those ideas from, say, take three. What I’m saying at any given moment is in reaction to Dakota, how she’s looking at me–which can shift from scene to scene. Some scenes were truly a real swerve from what we intended initially, simply by existing in space with her and being comfortable enough to freestyle with her in real time.
It was not terrifying, but I was nervous about how it would really go early on. Maybe what I’m about to say is terrible for art, but I don’t like wasting time. I like having intention and purpose when working, and so I didn’t want to waste time with instincts. With an actor like Dakota, though, it’s difficult to do that. I learned that nothing is wasted; everything is worthwhile.
Joe, you talked about the role of improv in your script writing as being “in the service of naturalism.” How did that manifest tangibly in your work?
JS: I know, improv is a tough word because I do feel like a lot of people have a lot of associations with it. I love improvisation and the shows associated with that word, but when I say, “My movie is improvised,” I know I’m invoking a very cringe idea of a type of performance.
I also think there’s no other way to say what it is. It is an improvised movie, but it’s a very drama-based, character-based, storytelling-based improv. Especially being an improv filmmaker in Chicago, I know I’m drawing connotations to beautiful institutions like Second City. I’m in no way trying to throw people or that work under the bus. I’m referencing it to get people into the flow and rhythm of naturalism found through living life, as opposed to saying memorized words.
One thing that has changed, though, is that my approach was born out of working with non-actors in my early films, and there was a real hard line between an inability to speak dialogue and a real ability to be themselves a thousand times more compelling. Now that I’m working with actors this good, I am often sitting there going like, “I could write dialogue. These are good actors who can handle this dialogue. So I’m getting over my fear and I’m writing more and more each time I work on a project because I’m less like, “I’m going to give this person this script and it’s just going to sound bad when they try and do it,” and more”I could give this person the script and it’s going to be great.”
Across your filmography, you play characters with rich inner lives who have to suppress them. Whether it’s Edward Nygma from “Gotham,” the insecurity of Chevy Chase in “Saturday Night,” or Adrian Lester in “1985.” I think there’s something similar here with Chuck, so I’m wondering if you can speak to this throughline.
CMS: Yeah, I tend to like characters that struggle to communicate or that have a big secret and that don’t feel comfortable speaking. Adrian in “1985,” he’s just holding a secret the whole time. He’s with his family, whom he loves dearly, and he can’t live or speak freely or talk about the biggest thing in his life. That was a truly profound experience for me to play a heartbreaking character. I had to make that movie because when I read it, I was like, “This is a particular kind of pain that I actually want to exercise.”
Chevy was interesting and a completely different experience, and I was petrified in pre-production that I wouldn’t be able to live up to his speed, wit, and dynamism. I was just watching him exclusively for two months out of paranoia that I would show up and not be able to embody that prowess and cockiness. The crazy thing that happened during that experience was that I started writing jokes in the voice of Chevy Chase. Because he was all I was listening to, it was exciting to channel him, to know one man’s voice so specifically that it could infiltrate my writing process.
That second scene where we see him doing standup was initially just two jokes on a page that Jason wrote. I told Jason, though, “I just don’t see how this man could get up in a room filled with a bunch of men from around the country who are drunk and smoking, and leave the stage unless he gets some laughs from these guys.” I know the movie has to have momentum, but I showed up that day with all these jokes I had written, and to Jason’s credit, he let me perform them. He said, “Start the scene with what’s written, then do whatever the fuck you want.” It felt nice to have this instinct I had about him get validated.
The Sun Never Sets (IFC)
I’ve heard Jake talk about how the pervasive light in Alaska–from which the film gets its title–was one of the hardest things to get used to, because it would be 10 PM, you’d see kids playing at the playground still, and then you’d see other people doing drugs in a gas station. We associate so many activities with light or darkness, and I’m wondering how filming in Alaska, during a season of such full light, reshaped your relationship to darkness?
JS: (Laughs) Jake was most certainly the most tripped out of all of us with the pervasive light. I don’t know what world he’s living in, but it seems to me that there are things he doesn’t want to see, and that Alaska forced him to look at. We shot the whole movie without the title, and the only thing in my head was “If the title does not remind the audience and address this daylight situation, we’re cooked.”
I didn’t know what that title was, but I just thought some scenes looked like continuity errors. You just have an interior bar scene at night and then characters exit, and you’re like, “Oh, they ran out of time, and they had to shoot the nighttime scene at 5:00 PM the next day. Something’s wrong. That is just our instinctual movie-watching habit. I was thinking, “If the title of this movie does not remind you that you’re in Alaska, then you may be thrown off. But the title acts as a way to keep them invested.”
From a filming standpoint, in many ways, it’s the greatest gift you could receive, especially shooting on 35 millimeter where you need light. We don’t have to chase short days the way some movies do. In Chicago, sometimes you run out of time. We were sort of gifted this nebulous perpetual day to play with and work with. So it ended up granting us freedom instead of being a problem. Eon and I had a lot of conversations heading into the shoot about utilizing the weird bit of Twilight nighttime. I was thinking a lot about whether I wanted to normalize Anchorage or make it feel like an American city.
CMS: The thing that felt important to me is understanding that it’s bright all day in the summer, but these people also live through complete darkness during the winter. I was fascinated by the kind of person exposed to that experience. How does that person live? How do they feel? What are they willing to suffer through? The people there have more weight to them than people in other places.
I read a novel called The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah before being invited onto the film. It talks very much about how late summer is about preparing for winter, literally, physically with supplies, and also mentally preparing for it. I do think that there is a toughness to Alaskans, and I felt like that was an important thing to be able to understand as a character.
JS: As a filmmaker, I would be interested in going back to Alaska and doing a movie during the dark part of the year, where it’s reversed and instead of pervasive light, it’s pervasive night.
I don’t know that I’ve ever worked in a place that can be so psychologically and physically different in the same locations, environments, and with the same people.
The Sun Never Sets (IFC)
Digging deeper into Karley Sciortino’s written work–whether it’s “I Want Your Sex” or her column at Vogue–much of her public-facing work explores women’s health and sexual life. How did she join the project, and did any conversations with her—whether about her work directly or just about her philosophies, experiences, and writings—impact your approach when exploring sex and relationships in the film?
I was a fan of Karley’s writing and video work, and we became friends almost 15 years ago. I wrote an episode of my Netflix series “Easy” (the season 2 episode “Side Hustle”) for Karley to star in, and while she’s known for her writing, I always thought she was a really talented and natural performer and had a great time working with her in front of the camera.
I thought she would be a perfect match with Jake and that they would be funny together, and she would seem like a real threat to Dakota’s character. Karley is probably one of the people I talk to most about life, sex, and relationships in general, and as a friend she also knew all of the ins and outs of my real relationship and breakup that inspired the film, so it was a natural fit and her influence is definitely there. She also has a great role in my next film and proves even further what a good actor she is!
Sara says, “I feel like we’re sort of too old for this.” Has working on the film made you reflect on what it means to “age well” in relationships? At what point do certain foibles become unacceptable, or when does “still trying to figure yourself out” no longer garner sympathy?
I hope that Sara’s conversation with Jake is refreshing for audience members who are already wondering why a mid-40s guy is being so messy and dramatic. The whole film inspires a lot of reflection for me, and I think “figuring yourself out” is a lifelong process, but I do think there are certain markers that most people hit at certain ages, and Jake’s character is interesting because in some aspects of his life he is very settled and mature, and in others he’s a total mess.
For me, that’s the reality of life. We all advance, grow, and mature at different rates, in different contexts, and sometimes people are successful in one area of their life and can’t figure out another. I try to sympathize with all my characters, and Jake is such a fun, winning performer that it’s hard not to love him. But by that point I hope he’s maxed out everyone’s patience, and both Sara and Wendy tell him it’s time to grow up.
“The Sun Never Sets” is in theaters via IFC.
- Visible and Powerful: Gloria Steinem (1934-2026) (September 3, 2026)
When I was seven years old in the early 1990s, I came across an issue of Ms. magazine. I asked my mom what the term “Ms.” meant. She said it was a way for women to have a professional title without disclosing whether or not they were married. I thought about this and realized that I had only ever heard of Mrs. for married women and Miss for unmarried women, yet boys and men, regardless of their marital status, were called Mr.
This struck me as bullshit (I was always a very opinionated kid). I immediately started writing my name out as Ms. Marya E. Gates on all my school assignments, and have used that as my professional name ever since. That same year, I participated in the very first national celebration of Take Our Daughters to Work Day, which was the brainchild of Ms. Foundation for Women, going out into the forest on an archaeological survey with my mom.
This was my first brush with the legacy of Gloria Steinem, who co-founded Ms. magazine and the Ms. Foundation for Women. A paragon, for better or for worse, of second-wave feminism and the nascent women’s movement of the 1960s and 1970s, Steinem passed away yesterday at the age of 92.
Born in Toledo, Ohio, in 1934, Steinem was seemingly preordained for her role in the women’s movement. Pauline Perlmutter Steinem, her paternal grandmother, was a member of the National Woman Suffrage Association and chaired its educational committee. She served as a delegate at the 1908 International Council of Women and was the first woman to be elected to the Toledo Board of Education.
Last year on the Substack for Gloria’s Foundation, Steinem wrote that her grandmother died when she was just five years old. She didn’t know much about her feminist history until later in life when someone wrote a monograph about Pauline’s life. In the newsletter, Steinem shares, “I remember my grandmother for her own courage, but also as an example of the ways women’s history can be lost, even in our own families.”
Steinem’s parents divorced when she was just ten years old, after her mother had a nervous breakdown. She remained in Ohio with her mother, while her father moved to California. Steinem later recalled that observing how doctors treated her mother, as well as her mother’s inability to hold down a job, helped her realize early on just how hostile the world can be towards women, especially in terms of their health and their ability to support themselves in the workplace.
Stein attended Waite High School in Toledo before moving in with her older sister Susanne Steinem in Washington, D.C., where she graduated from Western High School. Steinem graduated from Smith College in 1956. A year later, she had an abortion in England while she was on her way to India. She dedicated her 2015 memoir “My Life on the Road” to the man who performed the abortion, Dr. John Sharpe, writing that he said to her, “You must promise me two things. First, you will not tell anyone my name. Second, you will do what you want to do with your life.” She added, “I’ve done the best I could with my life. This book is for you.”
After spending two years in India studying as a Chester Bowles Asian Fellow, she returned to the United States where she was the director of the Independent Research Service. In her four years working for the foundation, she told The New York Times in 1967 that she had “come home in 1958 full of idealism and activism, to discover that very little was being done.” Unable to find funds from private donors like the Ford Foundation, Steinem, as director, took CIA funding to send American students to the World Youth Festivals in Vienna in 1959 and Helsinki, Finland, in 1962. Although she claims the Agency at the time was “enlightened, liberal, nonpartisan, activist of the sort that characterized the Kennedy Administration,” her time working with the CIA remains one of the most controversial parts of her legacy.
Pivoting to journalism, she became the first employee of Help! magazine in 1960 and, as a freelancer, wrote the 1962 Esquire article “The Moral Disarmament of Betty Coed,” which took on the then-controversial subject of contraception. She also wrote trailblazing articles about the sexual harassment of Playboy Bunnies for Show magazine and abortion and civil rights for New York magazine, before co-founding Ms. magazine in 1971 alongside founding editors Letty Cottin Pogrebin, Mary Thom, Patricia Carbine, Joanne Edgar, Nina Finkelstein, Dorothy Pitman Hughes, and Mary Peacock.
That same year, she co-founded the National Women’s Political Caucus and the Women’s Action Alliance. In 2005, along with Jane Fonda and Robin Morgan, Steinem co-founded the Women’s Media Center, an organization that “works to make women visible and powerful in the media.” Along with her work in journalism, Steinem was an activist, taking on issues like the Vietnam War, advocating for the Equal Rights Amendment, the end of South African apartheid, and greater access to abortions for women across the globe.
Through her journalism and activism, Steinem became a celebrity in her own right. A 1971 photograph of Steinem and Ms. magazine co-founder Dorothy Pitman Hughes immediately became an iconic image of the women’s movement. Steinem traveled the United States and the globe as an activist and speaker. She appeared as a talking head on countless television programs like “The Mike Douglas Show,” “The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson,” “The Dick Cavett Show,” and others.
She also appeared as herself in documentaries about other trailblazing women in politics and pop culture, such as Marilyn Monroe, Victoria Woodhull, Viola Liuzzo, Billie Jean King, Annie Leibovitz, Dolores Huerta, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, Mary Tyler Moore, Cyndi Lauper, Bella Abzug, Diane von Furstenberg, Martha Stewart, and Katharine Graham. Steinem even had cameos on “The L Word” and in the cult classic comedy “The First Wives Club” (1996).
Her 2015 memoir “My Life on the Road” was adapted by Julie Taymor into a feature film called “The Glorias,” in which Steinem is played at different ages by four different actresses: Julianne Moore as older Gloria Steinem, Alicia Vikander as young Gloria, Lulu Wilson as teen Gloria, and Ryan Kiera Armstrong as child Gloria. In her three-star review of the film, Christy Lemire wrote, “What’s elegant and efficient in the storytelling of “The Glorias” is the way it reveals how each person and experience throughout her life shaped her ideology and sense of purpose.
The Glorias’ conversations on a bus ride that serves as the film’s through-line further illuminate this arc. Sitting side by side, the wind in their center-parted hair, Vikander-as-Steinem laments to Moore-as-Steinem that she wishes she’d spoken up and fought back more when male colleagues and editors discouraged, objectified, and harassed her. The elder Steinem reassures her that she will eventually: “Plenty of times, lots of times, speaking your mind will get you into trouble,” she tells her younger self with an amused smile at the memory of her own feistiness.
That same year, Rose Byrne also portrayed Steinem in the miniseries “Mrs. America,” which, as Allison Shoemaker wrote in her review, is “the story of the fight to pass (or, depending on your perspective, stop) the passing of the Equal Rights Amendment.” Shoemaker also noted that “though Gloria Steinem (Rose Byrne, expertly cast—honestly, they’re all terrific) is one of Chisholm’s staunchest supporters, her own blind spots rise up with great frequency, often to the detriment of the brilliant women of color in her orbit.” According to IMDb, Steinem was listed as an executive producer on Lateef Calloway’s upcoming project about abolitionist and activist Sojourner Truth, which will include interviews with 10 of her bloodline descendants. Calloway shared a peek into the project’s production during Black Writers Week a few years ago.
Steinem also inspired leaders of third-wave feminism, like feminist punk riot grrrl movement pioneer and Bikini Kill musician Kathleen Hanna, whose first introduction to feminism was when her mother took her to a rally in Washington, D.C., where Gloria Steinem was a speaker when she was nine years old. In a 2000 interview between Steinem and Hanna with BUST magazine, Hanna recalled:
“My mom was a housewife and wasn’t somebody that people would think of as a feminist, and when Ms. magazine came out we were incredibly inspired by it. I used to cut pictures out of it and make posters that said ‘Girls can do anything’, and stuff like that, and my mom was inspired to work in the basement of a church doing anti-domestic violence work. Then she took me to the Solidarity Day thing, and it was the first time I had ever been in a big crowd of women yelling, and it really made me want to do it forever.”
Last year, the complex legacy of Ms. magazine was examined in the multi-part HBO series “Dear Ms.: A Revolution in Print” In her review, Cortlyn Kelly wrote, “To hear interviews of Steinem in the ’70s and ’80s sharing the same sentiments on women’s rights as she does today is reassuring of hers and the publication’s values, but concerning regarding our lack of social progress.”
To this point, I was struck by a moment in one of Steinem’s final major interviews, for the BBC’s 100 Women series in 2023. Even at 89, Steinem still used her airtime to advocate for bodily autonomy. When asked by host Faranak Amidi what she has to say about the impact of the reversal of Roe v. Wade, the landmark 1973 court ruling that made access to abortion legal in the United States, Steinem replied, “it’s not for me to say, except to continue to support reproductive freedom, the ability of each individual woman to have the right to children or not to have children, and do my best connect with and communicate with and support women who are supporting this around the world. Reproductive freedom is as basic, maybe more basic, than freedom of speech.” On the issue of bodily autonomy, in the last few years, Steinem also put her whole weight behind supporting trans rights.
Twenty years after I was first inspired by Ms. magazine, when I was just shy of thirty, I saw Steinem in conversation with Melissa McCarthy in Los Angeles. It was a stop on her book tour for her memoir “My Life on the Road.” It was an enlightening conversation, not just for what Steinem had to say, but for the way McCarthy pushed back on some of Steinem’s outdated terminology and ideology, even as the two women agreed on their shared vision for a more equitable world for all.
With a legacy as complex as Steinem’s, it’s important to remember that even though she was a pioneer and a tireless advocate for women’s rights, she was not perfect. She was not the end of the road for modern feminism, even if she helped pave it. The important lesson from Steinem’s life and legacy is that the rocky road toward liberation and freedom for all takes endless work. There is no rest for anyone as long as inequality for some remains the status quo.
So let’s keep fighting.
- Peacock’s “The Paper” Starts To Run Out Of Ink In Season 2 (September 3, 2026)
The Peacock comedy series “The Paper” was co-created by Greg Daniels, who shepherded the American version of “The Office,” and has a similar workplace setup. (We even have Oscar Nuñez reprising his role of Oscar Martinez.) Still, even after a promising rookie season that introduced us to the obligatory dysfunctional but (mostly) likable characters, the odds that “The Paper” would ever match the enduring brilliance and longevity of “The Office” were slim to none.
Season 2 confirms that. While the 10-episode arc has its moments of comedic inspiration, with some sharp writing and a solid cast that continues to grow into their roles, I can’t imagine ever going back for repeated viewings, as I’ve done with “The Office” over the years. “The Paper” is breezy but uneven, pleasant but rarely memorable, clever but sometimes contrived. It seems poised to settle into a four- or five-season run as a respectable middle-tier comedy.
We pick up the story in the immediate aftermath of the Season 1 finale. The Toledo Truth Teller is riding high after winning in three categories at the Ohio Journalism Awards, but still desperately needs funds and is staffed mostly with inexperienced (and, in many cases, untrained) journalists. They’ll be hard-pressed to duplicate all those upset victories at the OJAs (which I’ve decided to call them).
THE PAPER — Pictured: (l-r) Eric Rahill as Travis, Domhnall Gleeson as Ned, Melvin Gregg as Detrick, Oscar Nunez as Oscar Martinez — (Photo by: John P. Fleenor/Peacock)
There’s also the matter of the nascent romance between Domhnall Gleeson’s editor-in-chief Ned Sampson and Chelsea Frei’s Mare Pritti, which is instantly complicated because Mare’s a reporter and Ned’s her boss. I won’t say where the relationship goes in Season 2, but Gleeson and Frei have a natural chemistry reminiscent of classic workplace couples like Sam and Diane on “Cheers,” and yes, Pam and Jim on “The Office.” Ned and Mare are flawed, authentic, and endearing characters; we root for them, and we root for them to figure out a way to be together. They deserve each other.
“The Paper” is at its best when it goes a little dark or politically incorrect, as when the staff pools their resources to put together an obituary for someone who turns out to be an absolutely terrible human being, or when Lisa in Human Resources (a hilarious Lisa Gilroy) asks wildly inappropriate questions to employees who dutifully report that they’re involved with a co-worker. I also enjoyed the tributes to old-school newspaper life, including a 125th anniversary celebration of the Toledo Truth Teller that doesn’t exactly go as planned, but still reminds us how cool it is when the latest edition of a newspaper comes rolling off the presses.
It’s also gratifying to see a number of supporting players carry their own storylines. Melvin Gregg’s Detrick Moore, Gbemisola Ikumelo’s Adelola Olofin and Tim Key’s Ken Davies are among the most memorable characters, with all three of these actors doing elevated work. When the ensemble on “The Paper” is cooking, especially when they’re pursuing a story in unconventional but sometimes effective ways, it’s really something.
THE PAPER — Pictured: Sabrina Impacciatore as Esmeralda — (Photo by: John P. Fleenor/Peacock)
Unfortunately, the series sputters and gasps in other ways. Sabrina Impacciatore is a talented performer who was absolutely sensational as Valentina on Season Two of “The White Lotus,” but her cartoonishly over-the-top Esmeralda Grand is more grating and boorish than funny. It’s such a broad and ridiculously drawn persona that it makes Dwight Schrute look like a Neil Simon creation. It’s as if Impacciatore is playing a series of characters in a sketch comedy show, and not anything even sniffing reality.
Making matters more problematic, “The Paper” features a number of other characters whose behavior veers into the genuinely bizarre and sometimes borderline unhinged. Yes, it’s played for laughs, and I’m a fan of the anything goes school of comedy—but if you’re going to travel down darker corridors, it has to be seriously funny. That’s not the case here. Some of the behavior here is so weird and alarming that you start wondering if each episode should end with a therapy session—or a police officer being called to the scene.
We know some of the best sitcoms ever have featured people who behave in truly appalling fashion. “Seinfeld” and “Curb.” “Veep” and “Arrested Development.” We don’t see that level of bad behavior in “The Paper.” It’s more unsettling than terrible, but it doesn’t have the level of precision comedy we’ve seen on those shows. It feels like the series either needs to lean even more into the shadiness of some characters, or have them get their respective acts together. The Toledo Truth Teller is a good paper. It deserves to stay in circulation.
Full season screened for review. Premieres September 9th on Peacock.
