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The attempt to punish Macklemore ultimately placed Robert Kraft, Ed Sheeran, and the entertainment establishment itself under unprecedented scrutiny. Far from silencing the message of Palestinian freedom, their actions amplified it.
Page Six Hollywood recently declared: “War of Open Letters Erupts Between Pro-Israel and Pro-Palestine Factions in Hollywood.” Only a few years ago, a headline like this would have seemed unthinkable.
The article described an increasingly open struggle between pro-Palestine and pro-Israel forces within the entertainment industry. On one side are artists and other industry figures taking a clear stand against Israel’s genocide in Gaza; on the other are defenders of Israel attempting to deny that genocide in the face of irrefutable evidence.
Yet even this framing failed to tell the whole story. What is unfolding is far more consequential than a quarrel among celebrities or a “war of open letters.” It is part of a brewing cultural revolution in American society—one that has now reached the highest echelons of the country’s cultural establishment. And in that struggle, Israel is losing—and losing badly.
When the pendulum swings this far, neither Kraft’s money nor the stadiums he controls can stop the movement.
Though the article acknowledged that support for Palestine has become powerful enough to divide Hollywood openly, it concealed the scale of the transformation underway by presenting the moment as a "war" between two factions.
Long before Israeli filmmakers, production companies, and actors established a significant presence in Hollywood, the industry’s cultural infrastructure routinely elevated Israel at every opportunity. Film and television constructed a glossy image of a heroic nation whose establishment and continued survival were portrayed as miraculous, while the dispossession and violence underpinning that narrative were largely erased from view.
Palestinians, Arabs, and Muslims, meanwhile, were almost invariably cast in a negative light: the uncultured and menacing "other," supposedly possessing no legitimate claim to civilization, no recognizable morality, and no history or identity worthy of serious consideration.
Indeed, Hollywood played a central role in the systematic dehumanization of Palestinians in Western popular culture. When thousands of actors, filmmakers, producers, and artists begin taking principled public stands for Palestine—often at considerable professional risk—we can therefore speak confidently of a cultural shift of historic proportions.
Susan Sarandon, Mark Ruffalo, Penélope Cruz, Javier Bardem, Joaquin Phoenix, Tilda Swinton, Olivia Colman, Emma Stone, Cynthia Nixon, and Riz Ahmed are only some of the most visible names on an ever-expanding list of morally driven and courageous artists confronting an archaic industry establishment.
The story, however, extends far beyond Hollywood. Consider the major controversy that recently erupted in the US following Macklemore’s removal from the remaining dates of Ed Sheeran’s Loop Tour.
Macklemore is far more than a pro-Palestine singer. The Grammy-winning rapper and songwriter is a gifted political storyteller whose career has combined mainstream artistic success with an enduring commitment to social causes. Since the beginning of the genocide, he has emerged as one of the most powerful voices of Palestinian solidarity in the US and beyond.
During Sheeran’s recent concerts at MetLife Stadium in New Jersey, Macklemore expressed solidarity with Palestinians in Gaza and the occupied West Bank, called for a "free Palestine," and performed "Hind’s Hall," his protest anthem honoring Hind Rajab, the Palestinian child killed by Israeli forces in Gaza.
The response to Macklemore’s courageous stand was immediate, but also predictable. The billionaires who controlled the venues reached for the weapon still at their disposal: financial power. Robert Kraft, the owner of Gillette Stadium, refused to allow Macklemore to perform there.
Sheeran, who appeared to underestimate the gravity of the moment, went on the defensive. “I am not complicit,” he declared, insisting that Macklemore’s removal had been the promoter’s decision rather than his own. But such a weak response by one of the world’s most influential musicians, particularly while an artist on his own tour was being punished for speaking out, could hardly be presented as a politically "neutral" position.
In the past, the story might have ended there. Macklemore would have been isolated and his career placed in jeopardy, while Sheeran, the promoters, and the stadium owners continued largely untouched.
Those days are gone. Global solidarity with Macklemore—and, by extension, with Palestine—spread so rapidly that the people responsible for his removal were forced to issue a succession of defensive and sometimes contradictory explanations.
By then, however, the damage had been done. Sheeran faced mounting boycott calls, protests, and even the suspension of his music by an Irish radio station. Finneas, Lukas Graham, and Aaron Rowe withdrew from the tour, while Beoga, Sheeran’s backing band, also pulled out. Artists and public figures began speaking openly about the genocide, freedom of expression, and the power of billionaires to dictate the political boundaries of art.
Podcasters and social-media commentators also mobilized, reaching audiences of millions and digging deeper into the controversy. They began asking who Kraft was, examining his longstanding relationship with Israel; his campaign against Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions; and the enormous financial machinery behind his political advocacy.
The attempt to punish Macklemore ultimately placed Kraft, Sheeran, and the entertainment establishment itself under unprecedented scrutiny. Far from silencing the message of Palestinian freedom, their actions amplified it.
Ultimately, this is not a story about two feuding artists, just as Hollywood’s transformation cannot be reduced to two camps trading open letters. Both are manifestations of a much larger cultural upheaval rooted in grassroots American society, where people from diverse backgrounds are finally opening their eyes to Israeli crimes and to the extraordinary influence Tel Aviv has long exercised over their country.
Beyond the occasional opinion poll, that story rarely makes headlines. But when the pendulum swings this far, neither Kraft’s money nor the stadiums he controls can stop the movement.
Nor can they silence Macklemore’s cry of "Free Palestine"—a cry now echoed by millions of people throughout the world.
"Have I mentioned lately that oligarch-owned media consolidation is bad?" said one critic.
Filmmaker Alex Gibney's scathing four-hour documentary about SpaceX CEO Elon Musk has received rave reviews since its debut at the Venice Film Festival earlier this month, but it could soon be without an international distributor.
According to a Wednesday report from The Hollywood Reporter, Comcast-owned Universal Pictures, which holds distribution rights to the film outside the North American market, is getting "cold feet" about releasing it.
"The company has not dated the movie," explained The Hollywood Reporter, "has not communicated with the filmmaking team about its plans, and generally appears to be rethinking the release of a project that it once showed high enthusiasm for but is now politically sensitive for parts of the Trump administration."
Two sources told the publication that they wouldn't be surprised if Universal decided to not release the movie and returned its distribution rights to the filmmakers, even though doing so would require the studio to pay a kill fee.
The Hollywood Reporter noted, however, that it's unlikely that the film would be without an international distributor for long because "distributors in individual countries have been salivating over the film ever since the four-hour project began gaining buzz in recent weeks."
Slate culture writer Sam Adams pointed out in a social media post that independent distributor Bleecker Street "is holding steady on releasing Musk in the US, and actually moved up the opening to October 9."
Emmy Award-winning sports broadcaster Brian Webber noted that there is past precedent for Hollywood studios coming under pressure to not release a movie that is critical of a wealthy oligarch.
"William Randolph Hearst famously tried to... suppress Citizen Kane from being released," Webber explained in a social media post. "Hollywood had more guts in the 1940s—probably because there was real competition among the studios and not today's oligopoly problem."
Tech journalist Karl Bode reacted with dismay to news that Universal might spike its release of the documentary.
"Have I mentioned lately that oligarch-owned media consolidation is bad?" he asked rhetorically.
"You're not going to believe this but Gavin Newsom is taking the side of capital over workers," said one critic.
The Wall Street Journal on Friday reported that California Gov. Gavin Newsom has expressed reservations about his state's antitrust lawsuit that aims to block the $110 billion megamerger between Paramount Skydance and Warner Bros.
According to the Journal's sources, Newsom, who is widely expected to seek the Democratic Party's nomination for the presidency in 2028, has expressed concern about the impact that blocking the merger would have on jobs in Hollywood, and his office has reportedly "encouraged" California Attorney General Rob Bonta to reach a settlement with Paramount.
"It is unclear what impact, if any, Newsom’s urging will have on the California attorney general’s suit," the Journal reported. "Newsom doesn’t have a role in the litigation and doesn’t have authority over the state attorney general’s actions."
Bonta, along with several other Democratic state attorneys general who are co-plaintiffs in the antitrust suit, scored a major victory last week when a federal judge granted a temporary restraining order to pause the merger from going forward. In response, the companies have agreed not to close the deal until five days after a trial is held or next June 1, whichever is sooner.
The combination of Paramount and Warner Bros. has long been controversial because it would put control of CBS, CNN, HBO, TikTok, and other major media properties all under the control of David Ellison, the son of billionaire Larry Ellison, a major donor to President Donald Trump.
Newsom earlier this year told Semafor media reporter Maxwell Tani that he's known David Ellison for years, while emphasizing that California's probe of the proposed merger "isn't a personal attack" on the Paramount CEO.
David Dayen, executive editor of The American Prospect, expressed mock surprise at Newsom reportedly going to bat for the merger.
"You're not going to believe this but Gavin Newsom is taking the side of capital over workers," Dayen wrote. "In this case it's tricky because he's backing the very MAGA allies his cosplaying X account claims he's fighting."
Tech journalist Karl Bode described Newsom's reported efforts to push the merger through as a "nice sneak peak of the sort of media policies you can expect under his presidency."
Elections analyst Nick Field questioned Newsom's reported concern about Hollywood jobs being lost if the merger gets blocked, as corporate consolidation usually coincides with mass layoffs.
"Paramount will undoubtedly cut tons of jobs if they buy Warner Bros., as the Ellisons did when they bought Paramount in the first place," wrote Field. "To say nothing of allowing the Ellisons to own CNN and consolidate more power. Just disgusting supplication from Newsom."
Antitrust advocate Matt Stoller, however, expressed skepticism at the Journal's reporting on Newsom, if for no other reason than the California governor was unlikely to risk hurting his image among Democratic primary voters by pushing through an unpopular corporate merger.
"It would be an odd for Gavin Newsom to encourage the control of Hollywood by close allies of Donald Trump considering his 2028 ambitions," wrote Stoller. "He's not stupid."
California's attorney general called the development "great news for audiences, movie theaters, and the many people who write, build, and create the art, news, and entertainment so many of us enjoy."
Paramount Skydance on Friday officially delayed its attempted acquisition of Warner Bros. Discovery after a federal judge in the Northern District of California temporarily blocked the $111 billion deal at the request of a dozen Democratic attorneys general.
US District Judge Araceli Martínez-Olguín granted the temporary restraining order on Monday after finding that the plaintiffs—led by California Attorney General Rob Bonta—provided "compelling evidence that the combined firm resulting from the transaction will possess substantial market share in the wide-release theatrical distribution market." She extended the order on Thursday.
The companies have now agreed not to close the deal—also the target of a Writers Guild of America lawsuit—until five days after a trial is held or June 1, 2027, whichever is sooner. While the attorneys general and their supporters framed the development as a victory for their side, a Paramount spokesperson similarly said that "today's agreement is a significant win because the result is exactly what we have sought from the outset: a direct path to a trial based on the evidence."
"This is the fastest and clearest way to prove that this transaction is good for competition, good for consumers, and good for creators, a conclusion dozens of competition authorities around the world have already reached," the spokesperson continued. "Plaintiffs' market definitions bear no relationship to the realities of today's marketplace and cannot withstand scrutiny. We look forward to proving our case at trial."
Meanwhile, Bonta said in a statement that "our argument against this illegal merger is straightforward: When too few corporations have too much power in markets central to American life, it makes things more expensive, and it makes things worse."
"Today's agreement is great news for audiences, movie theaters, and the many people who write, build, and create the art, news, and entertainment so many of us enjoy," he emphasized. "We are eager to continue to make our case in court and celebrate another tremendous win in our effort to ensure this unlawful merger never sees the light of day."
Joining Bonta in battle are the attorneys general of Arizona, Colorado, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Minnesota, Nevada, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, Oregon, and Washington. They, too, celebrated on Friday.
"Stopping this merger while our case proceeds is a critical victory in our efforts to uphold the law and protect the film and television industries," New York's Letitia James stressed on social media. In a video, New Jersey's Jennifer Davenport also called the companies' decision "a huge win for consumers" and pledged to "continue to fight to block this merger for good."
Responding to one of Davenport's social media posts, actor and activist Mark Ruffalo declared: "Today's news is a repudiation of Paramount's strategy of currying favor with the Trump administration to grease the wheels on this illegal merger—from sham settlement payments to manipulating its own news coverage. Stay strong and #BlockTheMerger."
Some opposition to the deal is rooted in the fact that it would give Paramount CEO David Ellison—the son of billionaire Larry Ellison, a major donor to President Donald Trump—control of CNN, as he already faces mounting criticism for his and Bari Weiss' management of CBS News.
"The Ellisons believed their relationship with President Trump would help them push through a disastrous deal that threatened democracy, creative freedom, and independent journalism. We in the #BlocktheMerger campaign helped prove them wrong," said Norm Eisen, co-founder and executive chair of Democracy Defenders Fund, in a statement.
"Paramount's decision keeps two major studios competing instead of handing one company even more power over what Americans watch, what they pay, and where entertainment workers can earn a living," he continued. "The merger would have eliminated one of Hollywood's largest buyers of scripts and productions while placing Paramount+, HBO Max, CBS News, CNN, and dozens of local stations under the management of one company."
"This victory in putting the merger on hold belongs to the people who refused to treat the merger as inevitable," Eisen added. "Artists, journalists, filmmakers, and consumer advocates spoke out despite the risk of retaliation, more than 5,500 people signed our open letter, and Attorneys General Rob Bonta and Letitia James, along with 10 other attorneys general, acted. This collective resistance is turning the tide."
Craig Aaron, co-CEO of the advocacy group Free Press, said that "Paramount tried to tell us this deal was a slam-dunk, but it just shot an airball. Late in the game, Paramount's lawyers grasped what we've said all along: The states have a very solid case that this deal violates US antitrust law. For the broad and growing coalition against this corrupt and dangerous deal, this delay marks a significant victory."
"Instead of fighting against an injunction and possibly losing now, Paramount's lawyers have resigned themselves to waiting for a full antitrust trial in federal court," Aaron added. "Paramount can pretend all it wants that it looks forward to that test, but that’s just more bluster from company mouthpieces trying to spin a major setback. Now this deal will face its day in court, and we are confident the evidence will show this mega-merger should be blocked."
One critic called Trump's social media post following the murders "the most disturbing, deranged, and demented post you'll ever see from a US president."
"Fucking grotesque." "A monstrosity." "A real post by the president of the United States, who has the nuclear codes." "DESPICABLE."
This is but a sampling of the reaction to President Donald Trump's Monday morning response to the apparent double murder of iconic film director Rob Reiner and his wife Michele Singer Reiner—who were among Hollywood's most vocal critics of the president and the threat he posed to US democracy.
Trump took to his Truth Social network to make the deaths about himself:
A very sad thing happened last night in Hollywood. Rob Reiner, a tortured and struggling, but once very talented movie director and comedy star, has passed away, together with his wife, Michele, reportedly due to the anger he caused others through his massive, unyielding, and incurable affliction with a mind crippling disease known as TRUMP DERANGEMENT SYNDROME, sometimes referred to as TDS. He was known to have driven people CRAZY by his raging obsession of President Donald J. Trump, with his obvious paranoia reaching new heights as the Trump Administration surpassed all goals and expectations of greatness, and with the Golden Age of America upon us, perhaps like never before. May Rob and Michele rest in peace!
"Nobody celebrates the murder of perceived enemies quite like Trump—whose celebration of the murder of Rob Reiner is the most disturbing, deranged, and demented post you'll ever see from a US president," singer-songwriter and activist Bill Madden said on social media.
If the New York Times was waiting for a news hook to write a long-overdue story about how Trump is mentally unfit to be president, Trump has provided one today with his post saying Rob Reiner got murdered because he was mean to Trump.Write it, NYT. End the normalization. @nytimes.com
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— Mark Jacob (@markjacob.bsky.social) December 15, 2025 at 7:26 AM
Even Trump's supporters could not believe the president actually posted the message, with some seeking confirmation from Grok, the generative artificial intelligence chatbot on Elon Musk's social media site X, that the post was "fake." Grok obliged, replying falsely that "the statement attributed to Trump is not real" and "appears fabricated."
Invoking the recent assassination of Charlie Kirk—the far-right firebrand known for purveying racist, xenophobic, homophobic, and misogynistic rhetoric from behind a shield of "free speech"—Democratic strategist Max Burns said, "I don't want to hear another sanctimonious word from the Republicans who accused Democrats of not showing enough sadness when Charlie Kirk died."
"Trump is dancing on Reiner's body and blaming Reiner for his own murder—but remember, they demanded people be FIRED for not dropping down in tears to praise Charlie Kirk after his death," Burns added. "It's all an act. These people only have compassion for their own."
Some also pointed out that in contrast to Trump's comments, after Kirk's killing, Reiner called the assassination an "absolute horror" and condemned political violence.
Nuclear films have been canaries in the uranium mine; each resurgence has coincided with waves of nuclear escalation. What does it mean that top directors are tackling the subject again?
As the nuclear threat once again dominates the headlines, the nuclear blockbuster has returned to screens. Following the success of Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer, Kathryn Bigelow’s A House of Dynamite reminds us that the atomic bomb is not mere history. Equal parts political thriller and apocalyptic horror, the film compels viewers to imagine the unimaginable, refusing any illusion of security or assurance that catastrophe could not happen here.
There is no catharsis, no safe distance from which to retreat. What we confront on screen is not fiction but the collective madness of our current reality. The dread that Bigelow conjures does not dissipate with the closing credits; it follows us out of the theater, past the exit signs, and into a world where the possibility of instant annihilation remains stitched into everyday life.
Such films are hardly new, though their resurgence should give us pause. Since 1945, Hollywood has capitalized on the mix of fear and fascination unleashed by the atomic age. In response, studios have produced roughly 1,000 nuclear-themed films, a cinematic proliferation mirroring the buildup of nuclear arsenals (70,000 warheads by 1986). As scholar Jerome Shapiro observes, these works became “a statistically important part of the American filmgoer’s diet” for decades.
Yet atomic cinema has always been more than entertainment. It has served as both warning and witness, shaping a collective consciousness of the bomb. Within the secretive and anti-democratic architecture of the nuclear security state, these films often served as cultural critique and political resistance, piercing the veil of official classification, challenging the monopoly of defense experts, and democratizing a debate otherwise foreclosed to the public.
What we need now are stories that break the spell of American innocence.
Nuclear films have been canaries in the uranium mine. Each resurgence has coincided with waves of nuclear escalation. But they have also served as calls to action, catalyzing mass movements demanding disarmament. To understand what this revival signals, and what more is needed to reignite the anti-nuclear movement, it is worth revisiting the earlier cycles of Cold War filmmaking that were shaped by and informed nuclear and popular culture.
The first major wave of atomic cinema emerged in the late 1950s and early 1960s. This was a time in which the United States had lost its temporary monopoly on nuclear force and both Washington and Moscow were producing, testing, and stockpiling weapons a thousand times more destructive than the now nearly obsolete fission bombs that had obliterated Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In less than a decade, the atomic bomb had evolved from a “city-killer” to a “nation-killer.”
The earliest films of this era confronted a growing public anxiety over radiation. They represented a response to official efforts to downplay the danger, as politicians prioritized the management of political fallout over the prevention of radioactive fallout. From the very beginning, there emerged attempts to trivialize radiation, none more infamous than General Leslie Groves’ 1945 remark that radiation poisoning was a “very pleasant way to die.”
By 1954, the Lucky Dragon incident had made the deadly consequences of nuclear contamination impossible to ignore. Science fiction movies such as Them! and Godzilla, both released that same year, translated these fears into monstrous allegories. Yet even as such films dramatized the terror of nuclear technology, official discourse worked to normalize it.
Kubrick’s dark satire exposed the Nazi-like madness underwriting “rational” deterrence, ridiculing mutual destruction while indicting the US for deepening the peril through its own policies.
Strategic war planners like Herman Kahn embodied the technocratic detachment of the emerging nuclear priesthood. By 1960, Kahn was publicly arguing that nuclear war was winnable and that even scenarios resulting in tens of millions of deaths would not ultimately preclude “normal and happy lives for the majority of survivors and their descendants.”
He also dismissed concerns about radiation, insisting that the numbers of children born “seriously defective” due to such exposure would rise by “only” 10%. Noting that there are still birth defects in peacetime, he concluded, “War is a terrible thing; but so is peace.” Such statements shocked the public, revealing the moral vacancy of those entrusted with preserving life and preventing death in the atomic age, fueling a growing fear that ordinary people might be sacrificed on the altar of Cold War credibility.
After the October 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis, when the United States came to the brink of serving as ground zero of nuclear annihilation, many Americans fully awoke to the insanity. The public backlash, led by SANE and Women’s Strike for Peace, that followed the near catastrophe helped push President John F. Kennedy to sign the Limited Test Ban Treaty of 1963, a rare moment when popular and political pressure combined to produce tangible reform.
In response also came Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove (1964), one of the most indelible films of the Cold War. Drawing inspiration from figures such as Kahn, it confronted the suicidal nihilism of the defense intellectuals. Kubrick’s dark satire exposed the Nazi-like madness underwriting “rational” deterrence, ridiculing mutual destruction while indicting the US for deepening the peril through its own policies. These included stationing nuclear weapons in Turkey to attempting to overthrow Castro, actions that helped manufacture a crisis that threatened to extinguish the lives of as many as 200 million North Americans and even more Soviet citizens. This is not to mention the many millions dead attributed to what is perversely termed “collateral damage.”
Two decades later, a new wave of films emerged amid another period of nuclear escalation. Their arrival in 1979 marked what many remember as the spark that reignited the anti-nuclear movement after more than a decade of dormancy. That year saw the rise of presidential candidate Ronald Reagan, whose rhetoric revived the language of nuclear confrontation, alongside two disasters that reawakened fears of radiation: the partial meltdown at Three Mile Island and the uranium mill spill at Church Rock, New Mexico. Together, these events rekindled public anxiety about the existential dangers of nuclear weapons and deepened fears surrounding nuclear power.
Reagan’s campaign and subsequent presidency again advanced the chilling notion that nuclear war might be winnable, even at the cost of millions of lives. This sentiment persisted despite scientists warning of “nuclear winter,” stressing that a nuclear exchange could devastate the atmosphere and result in “omnicide,” the death of all life on Earth. The mix of apocalyptic scientific doomsaying and bellicose political posturing sent fear soaring. By the early 1980s, polls showed that nearly half of Americans believed they might die in a nuclear war.
As historian Paul Boyer observed, even the most devastating portrayals inevitably fall short, since the only truly accurate nuclear war film, he wrote, “would be two hours of a blank screen.”
Released just 12 days before the disaster at Three Mile Island, The China Syndrome (1979) captured this mounting dread with eerie prescience. What began as a fictional thriller about a near meltdown quickly became a public relations catastrophe for nuclear power. The film’s portrayal of institutionalcorruption and bureaucratic negligence, alongside the industry’s efforts to dismiss it as propaganda, exposed official narratives on nuclear safety. In a post-Vietnam, post-Watergate America defined by cynicism and mistrust, the movie crystallized public anxieties about nuclear power and the broader dangers of corporate and governmental deceit.
Under Reagan, the popular energy unleashed by this moment coalesced into a mass movement. By 1982, anti-nuclear activism had reached its apex. On June 12, some 1 million demonstrators filled the streets of New York City for what remains the largest single protest rally in American history. Their message was unambiguous: The nuclear status quo was intolerable.
Their reach extended far beyond the streets. The Nuclear Freeze campaign mobilized communities across the country, while the 1983 ABC television film The Day After brought the horror of nuclear annihilation directly into American living rooms. More than 100 million people, including the president himself, watched as a bucolic Midwestern town of Lawrence, Kansas, emblematic of the American heartland, was reduced to a radioactive wasteland. The film remains one of the most searing depictions of nuclear war ever produced. Yet, as historian Paul Boyer observed, even the most devastating portrayals inevitably fall short, since the only truly accurate nuclear war film, he wrote, “would be two hours of a blank screen.”
But public pressure grew impossible to ignore. In a remarkable reversal, Reagan declared that “a nuclear war cannot be won and must never be fought,” beginning direct talks with Soviet premier Mikhail Gorbachev to pursue arms-reductions. This marked at least the second time that protests rendered potential nuclear weapons use not only morally unimaginable but also politically untenable (the other being the 1969 Vietnam Moratorium protests which helped dissuade President Richard Nixon from carrying out a contemplated nuclear strike against North Vietnam).
The two major nuclear films of the past two years are significant cultural events. They have revived an apocalyptic imagination and a sense of nuclear consciousness that are essential if we are ever to confront the nuclear nightmare and end the arms race before it ends us. Yet they also fall short in critical ways, and risk being remembered as great films that stirred awareness but failed to inspire the resistance necessary to meet this perilous moment.
Oppenheimer, despite its cinematic brilliance, was a missed opportunity to reckon with Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Rather than compelling audiences to confront historical responsibility, it offered a familiar narrative of tragic necessity. The bomb had to be built; the bombings, though regrettable, were justified. The moral center of the story was not the victims in Japan but Oppenheimer himself, the tormented “American Prometheus.” The result was not reckoning but retreat into myth.
A House of Dynamite follows a similar trajectory. The film is powerful and unsettling, reminding viewers that any city, and the world, could be reduced to ashes within minutes. It captures the immediacy of the danger and the near impossibility of containing a “limited” exchange. Yet it ultimately retreats into American exceptionalism, reinforcing the comforting illusion that our nuclear arsenal exists only in a defensive posture to deter aggression while it is “our enemies” that recklessly endanger both us and the planet. In reality, the most perilous moments of the atomic age were less the product of foreign provocation than of American escalation.
To imagine the United States then as only a victim of a nuclear war is to obscure its role as the principal architect of prospective annihilation. For eight decades, Washington has held humanity hostage to the possibility of instant destruction, insisting that peace depends on the ever-present threat of total devastation, including in a US-initiated first strike. Moving beyond this suicidal logic of deterrence requires an honest reckoning with that history and the will to dismantle it.
What we need now are stories that break the spell of American innocence. The only sane position remains abolition, the dismantling of weapons for which there is no defense and whose risk to the continuity of human life is intolerable. Until that reckoning arrives, Oppenheimer and A House of Dynamite, and any other future films that fail to summon the courage to speak the full truth and mobilize resistance will stand as monuments to the mythology of American victimhood, stories about the terror of being attacked told by the most heavily armed nation on earth.
A House of Dynamite in limited theatrical release and will begin streaming on Netflix on October 24, 2025.
“They’re betting on our fear and our silence,” Fonda said. “But our industry—and artists around the world—have a long history of refusing to be silenced, even in the darkest times.”
As the US descends into authoritarianism under President Donald Trump and Republicans, hundreds of celebrities led by actor and progressive activist Jane Fonda on Wednesday revived a free speech initiative originally launched by Hollywood stars including her father during the right-wing repression of the post-World War II McCarthy era.
Fonda and over 550 celebrities rebooted the Committee for the First Amendment, which was first formed in 1947 by a bevy of actors including Henry Fonda in response to hearings held by the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) and blacklisting of actual and suspected communists throughout US society, including Hollywood.
“The federal government is once again engaged in a coordinated campaign to silence critics in the government, the media, the judiciary, academia, and the entertainment industry,” the renewed committee said in a statement. “We refuse to stand by and let that happen.”
Other members of the newly re-formed committee include filmmakers Spike Lee, Barry Jenkins, J.J. Abrams, Patty Jenkins, Aaron Sorkin, and Judd Apatow; TV show creator Quinta Brunson; musicians Barbra Streisand, John Legend, Janelle Monáe, Gracie Abrams, and Billie Eilish; comedians Tiffany Haddish and Nikki Glaser; as well as actors Mark Ruffalo, Anne Hathaway, Kerry Washington, Pedro Pascal, Natalie Portman, Viola Davis, and Ben Stiller. Another signatory is actor Fran Drescher, who last month ended a term as the president of the SAG-AFTRA union.
"This committee was initially created during the McCarthy era, a dark time when the federal government repressed and persecuted American citizens for their political beliefs," the initiative's founders wrote. "They targeted elected officials, government employees, academics, and artists. They were blacklisted, harassed, silenced, and even imprisoned."
"The McCarthy era ended when Americans from across the political spectrum finally came together and stood up for the principles in the Constitution against the forces of repression," they added. "Those forces have returned. And it is our turn to stand together in defense of our constitutional rights."
Fonda’s committee revival comes after Jimmy Kimmel's late-night talk show was temporarily removed from ABC's airwaves earlier this month following pressure form Brendan Carr, Trump’s Federal Communications Commission (FCC) chief, over a monologue by the comedian about far-right podcaster Charlie Kirk’s accused assassin. Kimmel's show returned amid massive public backlash.
Fonda has more than 60 years of political activism under her belt, starting with the civil rights and anti-Vietnam War movemements and continuing through Fire Drill Fridays, #StopLine3, and the Jane Fonda Climate PAC in more recent years.
"I'm 87 years old. I've seen war, repression, protest, and backlash. I've been celebrated, and I've been branded an enemy of the state," Fonda said in a letter inviting people to join the committee.
"But I can tell you this: This is the most frightening moment of my life," she continued. "When I feel scared, I look to history. I wish there were a secret playbook with all the answers—but there never has been. The only thing that has ever worked—time and time again—is solidarity: binding together, finding bravery in numbers too big to ignore, and standing up for one another."
“They’re betting on our fear and our silence,” Fonda added without identifying anyone by name. “But our industry—and artists around the world—have a long history of refusing to be silenced, even in the darkest times.”
Will there ever be another figure like him in Hollywood?
One morning my wife answered the phone and someone said, “Is Miles there? It’s Robert Redford.” My wife yelled audibly, “There’s some joker on the phone who says he’s Robert Redford.” I grabbed the phone, and it was indeed him. I had submitted a screenplay written by Larry McMurtry (“Terms of Endearment, “Lonesome Dove,” etc.) for Redford to potentially direct, and he wanted to meet in person.
We did have several meetings in his modest offices that lasted close to an hour each and were much more thoughtful and substantive than most meetings I’ve had with actors and directors. He treated me as an equal, even though he was the biggest movie star in the world and I was just a relative newcomer, having made an Oscar-nominated documentary, managed The Film Fund which made grants to indie filmmakers, and co-founded The Independent Feature Project which later morphed into Film Independent which gives the annual Independent Spirit Awards. We had in-depth discussions of McMurtry's characters, the meaning of the location (Montana), and the screenplay's sub-themes about the dangers of strip mining. For a variety of reasons (probably mistaken in retrospect) I went instead with Francis Coppola to produce who shortly after went bankrupt and tied up the rights to McMurty's screenplay for 7 years, until it was finally made through HBO.
I’m mourning Redford's passing this week, not just because I knew him, however slightly, but because of his singularity in Hollywood as an actor, director, producer, social justice/environmental activist, and founder of the Sundance Film Festival.
Although often dismissed as an acting lightweight because of his extraordinary good looks, Redford actually brought psychological depth and insight to the characters whom he played. Despite all of his dozens of great performances, he never won an acting Oscar, although he received a directing Oscar for "Ordinary People." (He was also awarded an honorary Oscar for "inspiration to independent and innovative filmmakers everywhere" in founding The Sundance Film Festival.)
Redford's passing symbolizes what I believe to be the impending death of the theatrical film as we've known it for over a century to financialization, monopolization, and AI. The movie moguls of old may have wanted to make a profit but they also loved movies. Does David Ellison have that same passion? (I plan to be writing more about this.)
As Hollywood declines, I don’t think there will ever be another figure like Robert Redford.
"What do we do now?" Bob's politician character fatefully asks in the final line of his film "The Candidate."
I wish Bob were still around to help us answer that question.
"Why is it that cinema, a breeding ground for socially committed works, seems to be so indifferent to the horror of reality and the oppression suffered by our sisters and brothers?"
On Monday, in the lead-up to the annual Cannes Film Festival in France, nearly 400 international actors, directors, and producers released an open letter condemning Israel's genocide in the Gaza Strip.
The letter—published by French newspaper Libération and U.S. magazine Variety—begins with Fatma Hassona a 25-year-old Palestinian freelance photojournalist killed in an Israeli military strike on April 16, 2025, just a day after it was announced that Sepideh Farsi's film Put Your Soul on Your Hand and Walk, in which she stars, was selected to premiere at a section of the festival.
Just weeks earlier, in March, "Palestinian filmmaker Hamdan Ballal, who won an Oscar for his film No Other Land, was brutally attacked by Israeli settlers and then kidnapped by the army, before being released under international pressure," the letter details, noting that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences was pushed to apoloize for not adequately supporting him.
"We are ashamed of such passivity," asserted the signatories, including Pedro Almodóvar, Javier Bardem, Ralph and Sophie Fiennes, Richard Gere, Jonathan Glazer, Viggo Mortensen, Cynthia Nixon, Ruben Östlund, Guy Pearce, Laura Poitras, Mark Ruffalo, and Susan Sarandon.
"Let us collectively dare to look at it with the precision of our sensitive hearts, so that it can no longer be silenced and covered up."
"Why is it that cinema, a breeding ground for socially committed works, seems to be so indifferent to the horror of reality and the oppression suffered by our sisters and brothers?" they asked. "As artists and cultural players, we cannot remain silent while genocide is taking place in Gaza and this unspeakable news is hitting our communities hard."
In addition to condemning silence in the face of genocide, they argued that "far-right, fascism, colonialism, anti-trans and anti-LGBTQIA+, sexist, racist, islamophobic, and antisemitic movements are waging their battle on the battlefield of ideas, attacking publishing, cinema, and universities, and that's why we have a duty to fight."
"Let's refuse to let our art be an accomplice to the worst," the letter declares. "Let us rise up. Let us name reality. Let us collectively dare to look at it with the precision of our sensitive hearts, so that it can no longer be silenced and covered up. Let us reject the propaganda that constantly colonizes our imaginations and makes us lose our sense of humanity."

Farsi—who also signed the letter—welcomed the impact of her film featuring Hassona but also called on Cannes organizers to denounce Israel's ongoing assault on Gaza, which has killed over 52,900 Palestinians since October 2023 and left the enclave's more than 2 million survivors struggling to access essentials, due to an Israeli blockade on humanitarian aid.
"There needs to be a real statement," Farsi
told Agence France-Presse. "Saying 'the festival isn't political' makes no sense."
"We won't be able to make movies for the same budgets, actors won't get paid the same fees, and the list goes on," said one film professional. "Simply, it would destroy the independent sector."
U.S. President Donald Trump's announcement via social media Sunday evening that he would "begin the process of instituting a 100% Tariff" on films produced in foreign countries was met with confusion and shock in the U.S. entertainment industry and abroad, with filmmakers cautioning that such extreme levies would render many productions impossible and do nothing to save what the president called the "dying" movie industry.
On his social media platform, Truth Social, Trump took issue with "incentives" that have pushed filmmakers to shoot projects outside of the U.S., not only saying that the industry centered in Hollywood is "being devastated" but also suggesting that simply traveling to other countries to produce films leads to foreign "propaganda" being embedded in the final products.
"This is a concerted effort by other Nations and, therefore, a National Security threat," said Trump. "It is, in addition to everything else, messaging and propaganda!"
Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick suggested the administration is moving to implement the president's plan, writing, "We're on it" in his own social media post.
While the vast majority of U.S. films are already produced mainly in the U.S.—providing jobs to actors, editors, and other production staff—many major studios including streaming giants Amazon and Netflix have brought their production shoots to cities like Toronto and Dublin, where local leaders have offered large tax breaks.
California Gov. Gavin Newsom, a Democrat, is currently addressing the effects those foreign tax incentives have had on working film professionals in Southern California—including makeup artists, camera operators, electricians, and other middle-class workers—by pushing for a tax credit for studios to film locally. The state Legislature is currently considering that proposal.
"Putting a tariff on movies shot outside the U.S. will increase the cost of shooting and the studios will lobby the exhibitors to raise ticket prices and then the audience will skip the theater and then... well you see where this is going."
But by "instituting a 100% Tariff on any and all Movies coming into our Country that are produced in Foreign Lands," film industry veterans said Trump would not succeed in bringing production jobs back to the United States—but would rather make all but the biggest budget films impossible to produce.
"This is NOT the effect this is going to have," one industry professional told Deadline. "It will make low- and mid-level productions completely unproducable, hence destroying many jobs from producer assistants to writers to post-production. Further, it will lessen the amount of big budget content created because the studios won't be able to make as much because the cost of production will be more."
An official at a top U.S. film company that produces movies both domestically and internationally told Deadline that international film distributors will be less likely to buy U.S. films under Trump's new tariff plan.
"It affects domestic distribution deals but it also impacts equity players who have money in movies because their films will suddenly be worth less money," they said. "We won't be able to make movies for the same budgets, actors won't get paid the same fees, and the list goes on. Simply, it would destroy the independent sector."
Exactly how the proposed policy would be implemented was unclear from Trump's social media post, but U.K.-based producer told Deadline that "leading independent distributors would all be out of business if it's them" who have to pay the tariffs.
A source close to the White House told Politico that the tariff policy originated with actor Jon Voight, a strong supporter of Trump who—along with Mel Gibson and Sylvester Stallone—has been named one of Trump's "special ambassadors" to Hollywood.
Deadline reported last week that Voight was meeting with studios and union representatives in Hollywood to discuss a plan to revive the film industry, with "a federal tax incentive" expected to be a main component.
Voight's fellow ambassador, Gibson, is one Hollywood player who could be directly impacted by Trump's proposed tariffs; his film, a sequel to The Passion of the Christ, is scheduled to begin filming in Italy this summer.
"Putting a tariff on movies shot outside the U.S. will increase the cost of shooting and the studios will lobby the exhibitors to raise ticket prices and then the audience will skip the theater and then... well you see where this is going," wrote producer Randy Greenberg in a post on LinkedIn after Trump announced his plan.
The Washington Post reported that Trump could rely on a provision of a 1962 trade law that he has used in the past to impose tariffs on goods; the law gives the Commerce Department 270 days to complete an investigation into alleged national security threats created by certain imports.
"Other nations have stolen our movie industry," Trump told reporters on Sunday. "If they're not willing to make a movie inside the United States, we should have a tariff on movies that come in."
At The Guardian, film editor Andrew Pulver wrote that Trump's plan appears aimed at destroying "the international film industry":
The effect of any tariff is likely to be dramatic. Recent figures from the British Film Institute (BFI) show that in 2024 £4.8 billion ($6.37 billion) of production spend on film and high-end TV in the U.K. came from international sources, 86% of the total spent on film and TV made in Britain. In Australia, the film industry stands to lose up to AUS $767 million. A program of studio building in the U.K., designed to increase capacity and therefore revenue, is likely to feel the chill almost immediately. And the effect on the domestic industry in the U.S. is forecast to be adverse, as production costs rise without the injection of overseas tax incentives, with mid-level projects potentially wiped out.
Despite Trump's claim that the industry is "dying," according to the Motion Picture Association's latest economic impact report, the U.S. film industry had a $15.3 billion trade surplus in 2023 and $22.6 billion in exports.
An executive at a U.S. distribution company expressed hope to Deadline that Trump's threat would encourage "desperately needed increases in U.S. state tax incentives being implemented ASAP."
"Can't see his target here," they said, "other than confusion and distraction."