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The 2025 VMAs proved that some things never change — especially music’s uncanny ability to bring people together. On a balmy September night at New York’s UBS Arena, the ceremony pulled off something unprecedented: a simultaneous broadcast on both CBS and MTV that managed to feel both nostalgic and thoroughly modern.

Perhaps the night’s most touching moment came through its tribute to Ozzy Osbourne. The Prince of Darkness had left us just weeks after Black Sabbath’s final bow, and the weight of his absence hung heavy in the air. Jack Osbourne’s pre-recorded introduction, flanked by his four daughters, struck just the right chord between celebration and remembrance. “I know for sure it would make me incredibly happy to see these great musicians carry on his legacy,” he shared, his voice catching slightly.

What followed wasn’t just another tribute performance — it was rock history in the making. Yungblud, that electric force of nature from the TikTok generation, absolutely owned “Crazy Train” before seamlessly sliding into the haunting melody of “Changes.” Then came the moment nobody saw coming: Steven Tyler and Joe Perry of Aerosmith materialized onstage for “Mama, I’m Coming Home.” The whole thing felt less like a memorial and more like a torch being passed between generations of rock royalty.

Speaking of passing torches — Ricky Martin showed up looking like he’d raided his own closet from 1999 (black leather bandana and all) to accept MTV’s first-ever Latin Icon Award. His performance? Pure fire. Between “Livin’ La Vida Loca” and “The Cup of Life,” Martin reminded everyone why he helped crack open the door for today’s Latin music explosion. His acceptance speech hit home: “We just want to unite countries, break boundaries, and keep music alive.” Simple words carrying decades of meaning.

The night’s biggest twist came courtesy of Lady Gaga, fresh off her sold-out “Mayhem” tour dates. Draped in a dramatic black number with sleeves that could’ve doubled as wings, she snagged Artist of the Year — preventing either Taylor Swift or Beyoncé from breaking their deadlocked record of 30 VMAs each. But Gaga being Gaga, she couldn’t stick around long. After a heartfelt “I cannot begin to tell you what this means,” she was off to honor her Madison Square Garden commitment. Talk about dedication to the craft.

LL Cool J nailed it in his opening when he said music brings us together. On this particular night, with streaming numbers hitting record highs and AI-generated tracks stirring up industry debate, his words rang especially true. From Ozzy’s eternal rock spirit to Martin’s Latin rhythms and Gaga’s boundary-pushing pop, the 2025 VMAs served up a reminder that great music doesn’t just transcend time — it builds bridges between generations, genres, and cultures. Some awards shows feel manufactured; this one felt real.

The music world lost one of its quiet revolutionaries this week. Rick Davies, the soul behind Supertramp’s distinctive sound, passed away at 81 in his Long Island home on September 5th. While perhaps not as widely recognized as some of his contemporaries, Davies’ influence on progressive rock and pop music stretches far beyond the spotlight he often avoided.

Born to working-class parents in Swindon, England — his mother a hairdresser, his father a merchant navy seaman — Davies’ musical awakening came through an unlikely source. The thunderous rhythms of Gene Krupa’s drumming crashed through the stuffy British radio landscape of his youth like a bolt of lightning. “That one hit me like a rocket. It was like water in the desert,” Davies once mused during a 1997 chat with Pop Culture Classics, his characteristic dry wit showing through even in reminiscence.

The story of Supertramp begins in 1969, when Davies, then 25, crossed paths with Roger Hodgson. Their partnership would prove both brilliant and combustible — a classic case of opposing forces creating something greater than their parts. Davies’ working-class pragmatism clashed and merged with Hodgson’s privileged background, somehow spinning their differences into musical gold.

Success didn’t come overnight. The band’s first two albums barely made a ripple in the vast ocean of 1970s rock. But 1974 changed everything. “Crime of the Century” burst onto the scene, showcasing Davies’ growing confidence as both songwriter and vocalist. His gravelly voice on “Bloody Well Right” became one of the band’s calling cards, though Davies himself would probably just shrug and call it a good day’s work.

Then came 1979’s “Breakfast in America” — the album that would define not just Supertramp’s career but an entire era of progressive pop. Two Grammys and quadruple Platinum status later, Davies’ masterful keyboard work and songwriting on tracks like “Goodbye Stranger” had helped create something truly special. The album somehow managed to be both commercially accessible and artistically adventurous — no small feat in any era.

But success, as it often does, brought complications. The creative tension between Davies and Hodgson finally snapped in 1983, leading to a split that would spawn decades of legal battles. Just this past April, another court decision regarding songwriting royalties added another chapter to their complicated history. Yet through it all, Davies remained Supertramp’s steady hand, continuing to perform until health issues — specifically multiple myeloma — forced him to cancel a planned 2015 tour.

In a business notorious for its fleeting relationships, Davies’ marriage to Sue in 1977 stands out as a remarkable exception. Their partnership transcended the personal when Sue stepped into the role of band manager in 1984, a position she held until the end. It’s a touching reminder that sometimes the best harmonies happen off-stage.

Looking back now, as we approach 2025’s rapidly evolving music landscape, Davies’ contribution to popular music feels more significant than ever. His ability to bridge the gap between progressive complexity and pop accessibility helped create a template that countless musicians still reference today. While he may have left us, the intricate keyboard lines and thoughtful compositions he crafted continue to echo through the years, touching new generations of listeners who might not even know his name.

In the end, perhaps that would suit Davies just fine — letting the music speak for itself, while he simply played on.

Detroit’s sporting landscape hit a fever pitch this Saturday, serving up a triple-header of excitement that had Motor City fans glued to their screens and seats. From contract extensions to home run heroics — and yeah, even some wrestling drama thrown in for good measure — the day packed enough action to fill a highlight reel.

The Lions, clearly not content with just making waves, decided to make a splash. Just hours before their season opener against those pesky Packers, they locked down speedster Jameson Williams with an eye-popping three-year, $83-million extension. Talk about timing. Williams, fresh off a 1,001-yard season (with seven trips to the end zone), joins forces with Amon-Ra St. Brown — who’d already secured his own massive payday with a four-year, $120-million deal earlier.

Detroit’s aerial attack? Let’s just say opposing defensive coordinators won’t be sleeping easy anytime soon.

But wait — there’s more. Over at the ballpark, something special was brewing. The Tigers, in what started as a classic pitcher’s duel between Tarik Skubal and Zack Wheeler, turned into an unexpected slugfest. Four bombs later (who saw that coming?), Detroit walked away with a 7-5 victory that had Phillies fans scratching their heads. Baseball, right? Just when you think you’ve got it figured out…

And then there’s the wrestling scene. Because apparently, Detroit needed more drama on Saturday. AEW’s Collision show delivered exactly that — with MJF pulling a classic heel move that would’ve made the old-school wrestlers proud. Picture this: Mark Briscoe’s going toe-to-toe with Konosuke Takeshita when suddenly, from beneath the ring (yeah, that old chestnut), emerges MJF.

The aftermath? Pure chaos. Officials scrambling everywhere, Don Callis trying to play peacemaker (there’s a first time for everything), and Takeshita looking like someone had stolen his lunch money. MJF’s challenge to Briscoe — “name the time, place, and stipulation” — sets up what’s bound to be a barn-burner at All Out in Toronto.

Look, Detroit’s been through its share of ups and downs. But Saturday? That was something else. From the gridiron to the diamond, with a dash of wrestling theatrics thrown in, the Motor City’s sporting pulse is beating stronger than ever. And hey, with the way things are shaping up, 2025 might just be the year Detroit reminds everyone why they call it the City of Champions.

Not bad for a Saturday, eh?

What a difference a year makes at the Venice Film Festival. As Jim Jarmusch’s “Father Mother Sister Brother” claims 2025’s Golden Lion, it’s hard not to recall last year’s festival — when the Lido transformed into something closer to a Hollywood tabloid circus than a celebration of cinema.

Jarmusch’s latest masterwork, featuring Cate Blanchett in what might be her most nuanced performance yet, weaves together three distinct narratives across different continents. The film’s triumph marks a refreshing return to form for both the director and the festival itself. Gone are the social media storms and conspiracy theories that dominated last year’s headlines — replaced by thoughtful discussions about cinematography and narrative innovation.

Speaking of storms — who could forget the “Don’t Worry Darling” saga? The film’s premiere became less about Olivia Wilde’s psychological thriller and more about an increasingly bizarre series of events that felt like they’d been scripted by a particularly imaginative gossip columnist.

There was the now-legendary “spit-gate” incident (did Harry Styles really aim saliva at Chris Pine’s lap during the premiere? Pine’s team certainly didn’t think so). Then came Florence Pugh’s fashionably late arrival, Aperol Spritz in hand, dressed in show-stopping purple — a moment that spoke volumes about reported behind-the-scenes tensions.

Harry Styles, bless him, provided some of the most memorable press conference quotes in recent memory. His earnest observation that the movie “feels like a movie” somehow managed to be both endearing and slightly baffling — rather like watching a puppy discover its own reflection.

This year’s ceremony has thankfully steered clear of such theatrics. Kaouther Ben Hania’s “The Voice of Hind Rajab” earned the Silver Lion Grand Jury Prize, while Benny Safdie’s direction of “Smashing Machine” secured him the Silver Lion. These victories remind us what Venice does best: celebrating bold, innovative filmmaking that pushes boundaries without requiring social media investigations.

Chris Pine perhaps summed up last year’s chaos best when he noted that if there was drama, he “absolutely didn’t know about it, nor really would have cared.” His measured response feels particularly poignant now, as Venice reclaims its identity as cinema’s most prestigious showcase.

The success of “Father Mother Sister Brother” serves as a fitting bookend to this tale of two festivals. While last year’s drama proved irresistibly entertaining, there’s something deeply satisfying about watching Venice return to its roots — even if part of us might miss the memes.

After all, isn’t that the magic of cinema? Sometimes it’s the carefully crafted narrative that moves us, and sometimes it’s the unexpected drama that unfolds when the cameras stop rolling. Venice, it seems, has room for both — though perhaps not in the same year.

Toronto’s crisp autumn breeze carried whispers of anticipation through the Princess of Wales Theater lobby. Rian Johnson’s latest mystery had just unspooled, and the buzz was electric. “Wake Up Dead Man” – less Christie, more Poe – marks an unexpectedly gothic turn for the Knives Out franchise, and thank goodness for that.

The film’s two-hour-plus runtime flies by in what feels like moments. Johnson, sporting his trademark thick-rimmed glasses and easy smile, introduced the screening with characteristic humility. “This is my favorite place to be in the world,” he told the crowd, before launching into a brief evolution of his mystery trilogy. From cozy manor houses to Mediterranean yachts, and now – somewhat improbably – to shadowy church crypts.

Josh O’Connor steals scenes as Father Jud Duplenticy, a young priest whose crisis of faith forms the story’s emotional backbone. His delivery of “young, dumb, and full of Christ” drew nervous laughter from the premiere crowd – the kind of laugh that comes when something’s both funny and uncomfortably true.

Daniel Craig’s Benoit Blanc doesn’t show up for a good thirty minutes (a bold choice that pays off beautifully). When he finally appears, declaring himself a “heretic” while standing in a centuries-old church, the audience collectively leaned forward. Craig’s post-screening quip about managing his co-stars being “literally like herding cats” felt particularly apt given the powerhouse ensemble.

Speaking of which – what a cast. Josh Brolin brings menacing charm to Monsignor Wicks, while Glenn Close’s Martha provides the film’s moral center. Kerry Washington’s fierce turn as lawyer Vera proves she’s still criminally underused in Hollywood. The way these veterans weave through Johnson’s labyrinthine plot feels less like acting and more like a masterclass in character work.

The film tackles heavy themes – disinformation, blind faith, manipulation – without getting preachy. Andrew Scott’s MAGA-adjacent author (complete with an honest-to-god moat) could’ve been cartoonish. Instead, he’s disturbingly believable. Maybe that’s what makes the film so unsettling – how familiar these extremes feel in 2025.

But here’s the thing: despite the darker territory, Johnson hasn’t forgotten how to entertain. The mystery clicks along with precise timing, each revelation landing like a well-timed punch. There’s something almost musical about how he orchestrates the chaos, never losing sight of the human drama at the core.

When “Wake Up Dead Man” hits select theaters November 26 (before its December Netflix debut), audiences might be surprised by its ambition. This isn’t just another whodunit – it’s a meditation on belief itself. What makes people accept the unacceptable? How does truth become negotiable? Heavy stuff for a franchise that started with Chris Evans in a sweater.

Johnson has done something remarkable here. By marrying Poe’s gothic sensibilities with modern anxieties about truth and manipulation, he’s created something that feels both timeless and urgently current. The result? A mystery that doesn’t just ask who committed the crime, but makes us question what we’re willing to believe – and why.

Not bad for a movie that includes a chase scene through a church bell tower.

Awards season has exploded onto the scene with enough star power to light up Times Square — and honestly, who doesn’t love a good dose of Hollywood glamour? Between the Creative Arts Emmys and Toronto’s latest cinematic spectacle, the entertainment world is serving up drama both on and off screen.

The Creative Arts Emmy Awards — think of it as television’s dress rehearsal before the main event — delivered some genuinely surprising moments this year. Apple TV+’s “The Studio” (that delightfully sharp workplace comedy everyone’s been buzzing about) nabbed the Casting for Comedy Series trophy. Not to be outdone, Netflix’s “Adolescence” claimed its own victory in Limited Series casting, though HBO Max’s “The Pitt” might’ve stolen the whole show with an unexpected win in drama casting that had industry insiders reaching for their martinis.

Speaking of unexpected… Shawn Hatosy’s acceptance speech for Outstanding Guest Actor was pure gold. The veteran actor, clearly caught off guard, dropped an unfiltered “Holy S—” that had the audience howling. Sometimes the best moments in Hollywood are the ones nobody rehearsed.

Then there’s Rian Johnson’s latest masterpiece making waves up in Toronto. “Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery” premiered at the Princess of Wales Theatre — because where else would you debut a film that’s practically dripping in star power? The red carpet looked like someone had emptied out the Chateau Marmont’s most exclusive guest list: Daniel Craig, Glenn Close, Josh Brolin, Mila Kunis… the list goes on.

Craig, ever the charmer, couldn’t resist a quip about the cast size. “Putting this many stars into one film is literally like herding cats,” he mused, while Jeremy Renner (still riding that new-cast-member high) compared his casting to a lottery win. Though let’s be real — the lottery’s the one that got lucky here.

Johnson’s taken his mystery franchise down a darker path this time around. The film weaves through church corridors and existential questions like a noir detective through rain-slicked streets. “We’re going to go by way of Poe into some John Dickson Carr,” Johnson explained, proving that even three films deep, this series refuses to get comfortable.

The release strategy’s particularly interesting — a limited two-week theatrical run starting November 26 before hitting Netflix. It’s the kind of hybrid approach that’s become increasingly common in 2025, as studios try to keep both traditional cinema buffs and streaming devotees happy. Rather like trying to please both your vegan friends and your carnivorous relatives at a dinner party, really.

Back in Emmy-land, the tea leaves are starting to form some fascinating patterns. That Limited Series casting award? It’s been practically joined at the hip with the main category winner for five straight years — a correlation that would make any statistician weak at the knees. The comedy category’s playing harder to get, though. Recent years show that a casting win doesn’t guarantee the big prize like it used to.

As the industry holds its breath for the main Emmy ceremony, “Severance” sits pretty with its 27 nominations. But don’t sleep on “The Pitt” — with that surprise casting win and 14 nominations, it’s giving serious dark horse energy. After all, in Hollywood, sometimes the best stories are the ones nobody saw coming.

Well, darlings, Venice just threw us the most delicious curveball of 2025. Who would’ve thought that Jim Jarmusch — yes, that silver-haired prince of indie cinema — would waltz away with the Golden Lion? His “Father Mother Sister Brother” (could the title be any more Jarmusch?) beat out the usual suspects, proving that sometimes the quietest voices make the loudest splash on the Lido.

The festival’s glittering finale turned into something of an indie love story. Jarmusch’s intimate family portrait — featuring a dream ensemble of Cate Blanchett, Adam Driver, and the eternally magnificent Charlotte Rampling — managed to outshine the more politically charged heavyweights. Shot across New Jersey’s worn diners, Dublin’s rain-soaked streets, and Paris’s café-lined boulevards, the film whispers rather than shouts. And honey, sometimes a whisper is all you need.

“We’re not motivated by competition,” Jarmusch drawled at the podium, trademark sunglasses firmly in place despite the evening hour. Classic Jim — acting like he just happened to stumble into one of cinema’s most prestigious honors. But there’s no denying his mastery in capturing those awkward family dinners and loaded silences that speak volumes about who we are.

The political undercurrent at Venice couldn’t be ignored, though — especially with the ongoing reverberations of the Gaza crisis. Kaouther Ben Hania’s “The Voice of Hind Rajab” claimed the Silver Lion, earning that rare 24-minute standing ovation that had even the most jaded critics reaching for their handkerchiefs. Ben Hania’s acceptance speech? Pure electricity.

Now, here’s the twist nobody saw coming: Dwayne Johnson — yes, our beloved Rock — proved he’s got more than just those famous biceps. His transformation into MMA legend Mark Kerr in “The Smashing Machine” helped secure Benny Safdie the best director trophy. Who’d have thought 2025 would be the year The Rock became a serious contender for awards season?

The acting prizes painted their own fascinating picture. Italy’s Toni Servillo (still serving looks and talent at 65) nabbed best actor for “La Grazia,” while China’s rising star Xin Zhilei claimed best actress for her tour de force in “The Sun Rises On Us All.”

But darlings, let’s talk about the elephants that left the room empty-handed. Netflix’s triple threat — Bigelow’s “A House of Dynamite,” del Toro’s “Frankenstein,” and Baumbach’s “Jay Kelly” — all departed the Lido without so much as a consolation prize. Even Park Chan-wook and Yorgos Lanthimos (despite Emma Stone apparently turning water into wine) couldn’t crack the winners’ circle.

Venice 2025 might’ve kept its glamorous facade — the Champagne flowed, the gowns sparkled, and the paparazzi remained relentless — but this year proved that substance can trump spectacle. With the festival’s recent track record of launching Oscar campaigns (90+ nominations in four years isn’t too shabby), all eyes are on whether Jarmusch’s quiet family drama can transform that Lion’s roar into Academy gold.

But then again, in this industry, darlings, anything’s possible. Even The Rock making us cry.

Scotland’s political landscape has taken a particularly dark turn this winter, as twin crises — one systemic, one deeply personal — cast long shadows over Holyrood’s marble halls. The nation’s housing emergency has reached catastrophic proportions, while a disturbing scandal involving a suspended MSP has left many questioning the very foundations of parliamentary privilege.

Let’s talk numbers — though they’re enough to make anyone’s head spin. Scottish councils have burned through an astounding £100 million on temporary accommodation in the past year. That’s not a typo. It’s a 128% increase in just four years, and if that doesn’t set off alarm bells, nothing will.

Glasgow City Council’s spending on temporary housing has hit an almost unfathomable £54,387,214 for 2024-25. Edinburgh’s not far behind, hemorrhaging £26,381,593. Behind these cold figures lies an even colder reality: 480 children currently call hostels or B&Bs home. Think about that for a moment.

And then there’s the Smyth affair.

Labour MSP Colin Smyth — now suspended and stripped of parliamentary access — continues to enjoy his taxpayer-funded Edinburgh flat. The charges he’s facing are deeply troubling: allegations involving hidden cameras in Parliament toilets and possession of indecent images of children. Yet somehow, he’s still claiming £865 monthly for his flat, plus £2,308 yearly for council tax and utilities.

The timing couldn’t be more grotesque. While Smyth maintains his comfortable lodgings (courtesy of the public purse), thousands of Scottish families face housing insecurity. Mark Griffin, Labour’s housing spokesperson, put it rather bluntly: “These miserable conditions were banned for a reason, but hundreds of children are still being subjected to the insecurity and instability of living in a hostel or B&B.”

Housing Secretary Mairi McAllan recently unveiled what she’s calling an emergency plan — £4.9 billion over five years for affordable housing. Sounds impressive, doesn’t it? Until you realize it’s rather like trying to extinguish a forest fire with a garden hose. Sure, the government claims this could provide “up to 24,000 children with a warm, safe home,” but with 10,000 children currently homeless, the math feels a bit… optimistic.

Graham Simpson, Central Scotland MSP, didn’t mince words about the Smyth situation: “If there is no prospect of Colin Smyth returning to Holyrood any time soon then he should be seriously considering giving this up as he has no need for it.” Well, quite.

The contrast is stark enough to make even the most hardened political observer wince. On one side, families desperate for stable housing; on the other, an accused politician maintaining his cushy taxpayer-funded residence. It’s the sort of thing that might seem heavy-handed if you wrote it as fiction.

As winter 2025 settles in and energy costs continue their relentless climb, the question becomes unavoidable: How can Scotland justify maintaining the privileges of those who’ve betrayed public trust while failing to house its most vulnerable? The answer — or lack thereof — might well reshape Scottish politics for years to come.

Hold onto your designer handbags, soap opera devotees — the latest casting shake-up in daytime television feels like something ripped straight from a sweeps week storyline. Matt Cohen, that brooding heartthrob who captured hearts on “Supernatural” and “General Hospital,” is trading his stethoscope for a badge as he steps into Genoa City’s most intriguing new role.

The news dropped like a perfectly timed bombshell: Cohen will debut as Detective Burrow on “The Young and the Restless” starting October 16. (And let’s be honest — daytime television could use a few more smoldering detectives prowling around palatial estates and dimly lit corporate offices.)

His understated social media response — “excited and appreciative” — barely scratches the surface of what this means for daytime’s most-watched drama. Here’s a man whose acting chops have graced everything from “NCIS: Los Angeles” to “How to Get Away with Murder,” now stepping into the void left by Chance Chancellor’s departure. Talk about big shoes to fill.

The timing couldn’t be more delicious. While streaming services duke it out over subscriber numbers and network television grapples with the aftermath of 2024’s writers’ strike, soap operas keep serving up the kind of drama that’s sustained them for decades. Cohen isn’t just joining any show — he’s diving into a world where family dynasties clash over breakfast and corporate takeovers happen between lunch and dinner.

But wait, there’s more. Because apparently one casting coup wasn’t enough, “Y&R” has also snagged Roger Howarth fresh from his mind-bending triple-role performance on “General Hospital.” And as if that weren’t enough to keep viewers glued to their screens, Tamara Braun is sashaying into town as Sienna Bacall, a character whose mysterious “personal connections” practically guarantee fireworks.

Detective Burrow will be “investigating a major case involving key characters in the series” — which, in soap opera terms, probably means uncovering enough secrets to fuel storylines well into 2026. Because nothing spices up afternoon television quite like a handsome detective asking uncomfortable questions at charity galas.

Cohen’s journey from playing young John Winchester and the archangel Michael to this latest role showcases exactly the kind of range soap operas thrive on. His recent ventures into directing and producing — including that wickedly clever animated comedy “Public Domain” — suggest we’re dealing with someone who knows how to craft a compelling narrative from any angle.

Meanwhile, over at “General Hospital,” fans are practically storming the castle with pitchforks, demanding Cameron Mathison’s Drew character get the boot. Proof positive that in the soap world, today’s hero can become tomorrow’s pariah faster than you can say “evil twin reveal.”

When Detective Burrow hits the streets of Genoa City next month, expect the unexpected. After all, in a town where corporate mergers lead to bedroom mergers and everyone’s got at least one skeleton doing the cha-cha in their closet, a new detective might be exactly what the script doctor ordered.

And darling, isn’t that exactly why we’ve been tuning in all these years?

Oh darlings, Hollywood’s latest plot twist might just be its most audacious yet. In a move that would make even the most seasoned studio exec reach for their smelling salts, artificial intelligence is stepping into Orson Welles’ directorial shoes.

Remember those fabled 43 minutes of “The Magnificent Ambersons” that vanished faster than a starlet’s career after a box office bomb? That holy grail of cinema that’s had film buffs combing through dusty vaults from Pomona to São Paulo? Well, Showrunner (the tech world’s latest “it girl” who’s branded herself the “Netflix of AI”) has decided to wave her digital wand and — honey, hold onto your vintage Valentino — recreate the whole thing.

The delicious irony would make even the most jaded critic crack a smile. Here we are, using 2025’s cutting-edge tech to restore a film that practically screamed “careful what you wish for” about technological progress. Somewhere, Welles is either applauding or ordering a very stiff drink.

Edward Saatchi — Showrunner’s CEO who’s got more chutzpah than a young Weinstein (minus the ick factor, thank heavens) — has declared Welles “the greatest storyteller of the last 200 years.” Honestly, sweetie, why stop at 200?

Now, before you start clutching those vintage pearls, here’s where it gets interesting. They’ve assembled quite the odd couple: Brian Rose, who’s spent five years recreating the film through charcoal drawings (darling, how delightfully analog), and Tom Clive, fresh from working his AI magic on Zemeckis’ “Here.” It’s like pairing Audrey Hepburn with a Kardashian — shouldn’t work, but somehow…?

Showrunner’s playing it smart, mind you. They’re calling this an “academic project” — the same clever little loophole they used to play in South Park’s sandbox without getting Matt and Trey’s blessing. (Speaking of which, have you seen their latest NFT venture? But that’s tea for another time.)

The technical mumbo-jumbo is enough to make your head spin faster than Linda Blair’s — AI keyframe generation, face transfer, voice synthesis… It’s either brilliant innovation or cinema’s most elaborate cosplay, depending on which side of the velvet rope you’re standing.

But here’s the real showstopper: Saatchi’s team is hinting at a future where movies become “playable experiences.” Imagine “Citizen Kane” where you decide what “Rosebud” means. Actually, don’t — some mysteries are better left in their vintage packaging.

As we barrel toward what Saatchi calls “a scary, strange future of generative storytelling,” one can’t help but wonder: Are we preserving art, or are we simply playing dress-up with algorithms? Then again, darling, isn’t that what Hollywood’s always done — just with different tools?

The Ambersons themselves might appreciate the irony. After all, they too struggled to adapt as their world transformed around them. Now here we are, watching AI try to piece together their story, one digital frame at a time. How’s that for a plot twist?