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Darlings, let’s dish about “28 Years Later” — the zombie flick that’s got Hollywood clutching its pearls and critics reaching for their thesauruses. In a world drowning in tired franchise retreads (looking at you, superhero movie #47), this deliciously controversial addition to Britain’s favorite viral apocalypse series has proven there’s still some bite left in those infected jaws.

The ending? Oh honey, it’s a whole mood. We’re talking about a surreal zombie dance number that would make Bob Fosse rise from the grave — either pure genius or absolute madness, depending on which side of the popcorn bucket you’re sitting on. After watching Jodie Comer break our hearts (and several infected skulls) as Isla, Jack O’Connell swoops in with his band of matching-tracksuit acolytes like some twisted boy band from hell.

Here’s the tea: That Jimmy Savile reference isn’t just bold — it’s nuclear. The film’s 2002 divergence point (pre-scandal) adds layers of complexity that’ll have film students writing dissertations until the next pandemic hits. Chi Lewis-Parry, serving delicious menace as Infected Alpha Samson, tries to smooth things over by calling it “just fiction,” but darling, we all know better.

Critics are practically swooning — 89% on Rotten Tomatoes? Get into it! — while audiences seem… shall we say… less enthused (a tepid 66%). It’s the kind of split that makes studio execs reach for their anxiety meds, especially with “28 Years Later: The Bone Temple” already wrapped and eyeing that coveted January 2026 slot.

The numbers? Honey, they’re giving us drama. $60 million globally against a matching budget isn’t exactly setting the world on fire. Even the whispered promise of Cillian Murphy’s return (those cheekbones!) might not be enough to secure financing if “The Bone Temple” doesn’t slay both critically and commercially.

Danny Boyle, bless his candid heart, isn’t playing Hollywood’s usual PR games. “We still need the money,” he admitted to Business Insider, displaying the kind of refreshing honesty that’s rarer than a zombie with table manners.

Let’s be real — this isn’t your mother’s zombie movie. Between evolved infected and sympathetic undead (who knew?), the franchise is serving fresh takes faster than a TikTok trend. But that’s exactly what might make or break it in today’s play-it-safe cinema landscape.

The truth? “28 Years Later” is giving us everything: social commentary, gore galore, and enough choreographed carnage to make “Thriller” look like amateur hour. Whether that’s enough to secure its future… well, that’s a cliff-hanger worthy of its own sequel.

One thing’s crystal clear: this franchise, like that nasty little Rage virus, isn’t going down without a fight. And in an era where every other release feels focus-grouped to death, there’s something deliciously rebellious about a film that dares to death-drop while Rome burns.

Now if you’ll excuse me, darlings — there’s a screening of “The Bone Temple” footage calling my name, and these Louboutins won’t click-clack themselves down the red carpet.

Love, music, and family drama collided at London’s Mayfair Arts Club last night — proving that sometimes the most compelling stories happen off-stage. The premiere of Miley Cyrus’s “Something Beautiful” morphed into an unexpected celebration of modern family dynamics, with Elizabeth Hurley and Billy Ray Cyrus stealing the spotlight.

The couple (who’ve been turning heads since going public last spring) transformed what could’ve been just another album launch into something rather extraordinary. There they were, both looking impossibly glamorous — Hurley at 60, somehow defying time itself, and Billy Ray, 63, sporting that signature grin that hasn’t changed since “Achy Breaky Heart” dominated radio waves.

Their Instagram feeds lit up faster than a paparazzi flash mob. Between stolen kisses and those knowing looks couples share when they think no one’s watching, they managed to capture what Billy Ray later dubbed “what rock n’ roll is all about.” (Though let’s be honest — rock n’ roll used to be about rebellion and leather pants, not wholesome family reunions. Times change, eh?)

But here’s where it gets interesting. Standing together before a massive screen were their children — Miley, 32, and Damian Hurley, 23. Elizabeth’s caption hit that sweet spot between sentimental and social-media-savvy: “The babies are all grown up 🥹❤️.” It’s the kind of moment that makes you forget about algorithm-driven content and remember we’re all just humans trying to figure out this crazy thing called family.

Mind you, not everything went according to script. The meet-and-greet at Rough Trade East turned a bit sour when Miley and special guest Naomi Campbell apparently couldn’t quite match fans’ expectations for interaction. One particularly pointed comment cut through the PR gloss: “If you’re charging people to meet you, at least pretend to care.” Ouch.

This wasn’t exactly new territory for Miley — earlier this month at Tribeca, she faced down hecklers who’d dropped $800 expecting a concert. In classic Cyrus fashion, she broke into “The Climb” right there on the spot. Whether that was genuine spontaneity or clever crisis management probably depends on your level of cynicism.

Yet somehow, watching Billy Ray beam with pride as he commented on social media about the kids being together felt genuinely touching. Their father-daughter reconciliation has been playing out like a country song in reverse — instead of losing the truck, the dog, and the girl, everything’s coming back together.

Billy Ray’s recent post about Miley joining Spotify’s Billions Club captured that perfectly: “Like when I was a young teenager going to see Joan Jett for the first time. We all knew she was gonna kick our butt. Only question was …. How hard!” There’s something endearing about a dad who can still fanboy over his kid’s success.

Perhaps that’s what makes this whole scenario so captivating. In an era where celebrity relationships often feel manufactured for social media consumption, there’s something refreshingly messy and real about this blended family finding its footing in the spotlight. It’s not perfect — but then again, what family is?

Welcome to 2025, where your mother’s voice on the phone might not be your mother at all.

The digital underworld has evolved far beyond those laughably obvious Nigerian prince emails. Today’s scammers are orchestrating something far more sinister – a technological sleight of hand that’s turning our voices, faces, and trust against us. And they’re doing it with artificial intelligence that’s gotten frighteningly good at its job.

“Pretty much impossible.” Those three words from Francesco Cavalli, co-founder of cybersecurity firm Sensity, should send shivers down anyone’s spine. He’s talking about our ability to detect these new AI-powered fakes, and coming from someone whose literal job is fighting this stuff, well… that’s not exactly comforting.

Take what happened in Manitoba last winter. A woman picked up her phone to hear her son’s voice – or so she thought. The cadence, the tone, the little verbal quirks she’d known for decades – all perfect. Except it wasn’t him. Just an AI puppet master pulling digital strings. She got lucky, though. Something felt off enough to make her double-check.

Not everyone’s spider-sense tingles at the right moment. Remember that poor finance worker who watched $25 million vanish during what seemed like a routine video call? The faces were right, the voices familiar – but it was all smoke and mirrors, a digital masquerade ball where every mask was perfect.

The pace of this technology is enough to give you whiplash. Last year, we were chuckling at that bizarre deepfake of Will Smith wrestling with physics-defying spaghetti. Now? Google’s VEO3 creates videos so real that only the oddly crunchy sound of virtual pasta gives the game away. (Seriously, why can’t they get that pasta sound right?)

But here’s the real kicker – while we’re all freaking out about video deepfakes (and the Alan Turing Institute says that’s about 90% of us), the real threat might be something we’re not watching closely enough. “Audio fakes are where it’s at,” warns Lilian Edwards from Glasgow University’s Centre for Regulation of the Creative Economy. Makes sense, right? After all, a dodgy video might raise eyebrows, but a perfect voice clone? That’s harder to spot than a ninja in a blackout.

The implications stretch way beyond your wallet. As Oxford University’s Sandra Wachter points out, we’re stumbling into an era of “unreality” where truth is becoming as slippery as a greased eel. These AI systems aren’t built to tell the truth – they’re designed to keep us glued to our screens, reality be damned.

The solutions sound like something out of a spy thriller. The National Cybersecurity Alliance suggests using secret code words with family and coworkers. Companies are rolling out real-time facial and voice scanning during video calls. Next thing you know, we’ll all be wearing tinfoil hats and communicating through elaborate handshakes.

Perhaps most unsettling is how accessible these tools have become. Sensity found 2,298 different programs for AI face swapping, lip-syncing, and facial reenactment – many of them free and requiring about as much technical know-how as posting a selfie. “Live deepfakes in just three clicks!” they advertise, as casual as a pizza delivery app.

The UK’s trying to lead the charge against this digital wild west, making both creation and sharing of deepfakes illegal. But let’s be real – that’s like trying to catch a tornado with a butterfly net.

In this brave new world of digital smoke and mirrors, our best defense might be good old-fashioned skepticism. When seeing isn’t believing, and hearing isn’t truth, maybe the answer is to question everything – even if it looks, sounds, and feels real enough to fool your own eyes and ears.

Because in the end, the most dangerous scam isn’t the one that empties your bank account – it’s the one that makes you question whether anything is real at all.

Kevin Durant found out he was headed to Houston in perhaps the most 2025 way possible — live on stage at Fanatics Fest, with fans breaking the news before his agent could even reach him. The moment perfectly captured the bizarre reality of modern basketball, where multi-million dollar deals unfold in real time on social media.

Durant’s response? A characteristically understated “We’re gonna see man. We’re gonna see.” Just like that, the 15-time All-Star learned he’d be suiting up for his fifth NBA franchise.

The trade package isn’t small potatoes. Phoenix agreed to send Durant to the Rockets in exchange for rising star Jalen Green, the ever-controversial Dillon Brooks, the No. 10 draft pick, and five second-rounders. The deal can’t officially happen until July — though in today’s NBA, that’s practically a lifetime away.

Durant’s stint in Phoenix never quite lived up to the hype. Sure, his numbers were stellar — 26.6 points per game while shooting a ridiculous 52.7% from the field and 43.0% from three. But the much-hyped “Big Three” experiment with Devin Booker and Bradley Beal produced more headaches than highlights.

Houston’s betting big here, and why shouldn’t they? Coming off a surprising second-place finish in the West (before Golden State reminded everyone they’re still Golden State in that first-round exit), the Rockets managed to snag Durant while keeping their young core intact. Alperen Sengun, Amen Thompson, Jabari Smith Jr. — they’re all still there, ready to learn from one of the game’s greatest scorers.

There’s a fascinating wrinkle to this story: Durant’s reunion with Rockets head coach Ime Udoka. Their shared history — from Brooklyn to the 2020 Olympics — could prove crucial in making this work. Chemistry like that doesn’t grow on trees.

For Phoenix, well… this one’s gonna sting. That league-leading $220 million payroll didn’t exactly buy happiness. Mat Ishbia’s aggressive owner moves — the coaching carousel, the Beal trade — it all reads like a cautionary tale about trying to force championship chemistry.

At 36, Durant’s not the same rim-attacking force who terrorized the league in his OKC days. But watching him adapt his game post-Achilles injury has been fascinating. The jumper’s still pure as ever — maybe even better.

As the 2024-25 season wraps up with Game 7 between Oklahoma City and Indiana (there’s some irony for you), this trade feels like a fitting bookend. In a year that saw Luka Doncic don the purple and gold in February, the NBA’s star movement shows no signs of slowing down.

The Rockets are getting a different Durant than the one who left Golden State, but maybe that’s exactly what they need — a master craftsman ready to help shape the league’s next contender. Whether this latest chapter yields the postseason glory that’s eluded him lately remains to be seen. But one thing’s certain: come opening night, all eyes will be on H-town.

Drama struck Liverpool’s sun-soaked On The Waterfront festival when a member of hometown heroes The Christians collapsed during their afternoon set, transforming a celebration of music into moments of breathless anxiety at the Pier Head.

The incident unfolded with jarring suddenness. Lead singer Garry Christian’s powerful vocals — a voice that’s echoed through Liverpool’s music scene for nearly four decades — cut off mid-song as he spotted his bandmate in distress. The crowd fell silent, thousands of festival-goers frozen in place as Christian’s urgent calls for medical help carried across the waterfront.

Those next few minutes seemed to stretch endlessly. Emergency responders rushed through the crowd while festival staff hurriedly erected privacy screens around the fallen drummer. The packed audience, many who’d grown up with The Christians’ music, maintained a respectful hush — proof, if any were needed, of Liverpool’s legendary musical family taking care of its own.

Band manager Emma Bridget later addressed the crowd, her voice raw with emotion. “We’re really hoping he is going to make it,” she managed, fighting back tears. “He didn’t have a pulse, he’s got one now, we think.” She paused, gathering herself. “I’m just so sorry because Garry loves Liverpool and he wanted to put on the show of his life and we’re really devastated but thank you so much.”

Some relief came later that evening when STING 3.0 World Tour headliner Sting shared cautiously optimistic news. “The drummer in the band before is OK,” he told the still-worried crowd. “He’s in hospital. All of us are praying he’s going to be fine. Our thoughts are with him.”

For Liverpool music lovers, The Christians aren’t just another band — they’re part of the city’s musical DNA. Since emerging from the vibrant local scene in ’85, they’ve written their own chapter in Liverpool’s rich musical story. Their achievement as Island Records’ highest-selling debut artists and subsequent chart success through the late ’80s and early ’90s earned them a special place in British music history.

The current lineup features the commanding vocals of Garry Christian alongside Roger Christian, Russell Christian, and Henry Priestman — who, despite sharing the band’s name, isn’t actually related. They’ve weathered their share of storms, including the devastating loss of Roger Christian to a brain tumor in ’98 and a temporary split when Garry pursued solo ventures in Paris. Yet they’ve always found their way back home to Liverpool, their resilience matching that of their hometown.

As darkness settled over the Pier Head, the festival continued with a notably subdued atmosphere. Thoughts drifted toward the nearby hospital where one of Liverpool’s musical sons was fighting a different kind of battle. Festival organizers kept the crowd informed with a simple message that captured the evening’s shifted priorities: “We appreciate your patience and understanding. Medical staff are with the performer, and we will provide an update as soon as we can.”

Sometimes it takes moments like these to remind us that behind the music, the lights, and the celebration, we’re all just human beings looking out for one another. And nowhere is that truth more evident than in Liverpool’s musical community.

The Phoenix Mercury turned Footprint Center into their personal shooting gallery Saturday afternoon, unleashing a barrage of three-pointers that had even seasoned basketball observers shaking their heads in disbelief. When the final buzzer sounded on their 107-86 dismantling of the Chicago Sky, the Mercury hadn’t just won — they’d written themselves into the history books.

How hot were they from downtown? Try 17 three-pointers — yeah, you read that right — obliterating their previous franchise mark of 16. But here’s the kicker: six different Mercury players knocked down multiple triples, matching a WNBA record that perfectly captures the “pick your poison” nightmare they’ve become for opposing defenses.

Sami Whitcomb played conductor in this long-range symphony, drilling five threes on her way to 17 points. Yet somehow, the most electric moment came from an unlikely source. With the clock winding down and the record already in hand, 6-foot-7 center Kalani Brown — not exactly known for her perimeter game — stepped behind the arc and splashed just the second three-pointer of her career. The bench went absolutely wild.

The Mercury’s sharpshooting wasn’t just about quantity — their efficiency was off the charts. They shot a blistering 51.5% from the field (35-of-68) and matched that same clip from three-point territory (17-of-35). Even their free-throw shooting was locked in, with a crisp 20-of-24 showing from the stripe.

“This team is clicking on all cylinders right now,” noted a courtside analyst, in what might qualify for understatement of the season. The victory pushed Phoenix to 11-4 and stretched their winning streak to five games — something they hadn’t done since their 10-game heater back in 2021.

The scoring wealth spread around like butter on hot toast. Kahleah Copper dropped 16, Satou Sabally added 15, and Alyssa Thomas orchestrated it all with 11 points and 8 dimes. Brown and Kitija Laksa chipped in 11 each, showcasing the depth that’s made Phoenix such a handful this season.

For Chicago (3-9), it was another tough day at the office. Kamilla Cardoso and Michaela Onyenwere tried to keep things respectable with 17 points apiece, but Angel Reese — usually a double-double machine — struggled to find her rhythm. She managed just nine points and, surprisingly, only two rebounds.

The win carries extra weight coming just 48 hours after Phoenix knocked off defending champ New York. With the Mercury set to host the Liberty again this Friday, they’re serving notice that their championship ambitions are more than just talk. And with any player capable of catching fire on any given night, good luck game-planning for this bunch.

Sometimes basketball really is as simple as putting the ball in the hoop. On Saturday, the Mercury did that better than they ever have before — and the rest of the WNBA better take notice.

Oh, darlings, let’s dish about Hollywood’s latest confession that proves money can’t buy taste – or comfort, for that matter. Gabrielle Union just spilled some deliciously candid tea about her first major splurge, and it’s giving us all the early 2000s flashbacks we never knew we needed.

Remember those heady days when “Bring It On” was serving cheerleader realness and “10 Things I Hate About You” was making Shakespeare actually watchable? That’s when our girl Gabrielle, flush with that sweet Hollywood success, made a purchase that screams “rookie star” louder than a designer knockoff at the Oscars.

Picture this scene: Young Gabrielle, fresh off her streak of teen movie triumphs, strutting into a Mazda dealership like she’s about to close the deal of the century. Daddy’s warnings about depreciation? Please. When you’re riding the wave of Y2K success, who’s counting zeros?

“Oh, I’ve made it when I have a Mazda,” Union recently quipped at the American Black Film Festival in Miami, serving up a healthy portion of self-awareness with a side of nostalgia. The choice? A black-on-black Mazda Miata with leather seats – because nothing says “I’ve arrived” quite like a compact convertible that could barely fit a designer handbag.

But here’s where karma – and the Los Angeles sun – had other plans. Those supposedly luxe leather seats? They transformed into what might as well have been industrial-grade griddles. “Do you know I scorched myself every time I got out?” Union shared, perfectly encapsulating that moment when Hollywood glamour meets reality-check realness.

Fast forward to 2025, and Union’s financial savvy has evolved faster than red carpet fashion trends. These days, she’s making power moves that would make her younger self’s head spin – maintaining a 50/50 split on expenses with NBA legend husband Dwyane Wade, complete with a prenup that’s more carefully crafted than a Marvel movie plot.

The moral of this fabulous fable? Even the brightest stars have their “what was I thinking” moments. Though let’s be honest – few probably looked quite as stunning while learning their lessons about depreciation and the perils of sun-baked leather. And isn’t that what Hollywood is all about, darlings? Making even our mistakes look absolutely fabulous.

Hollywood’s luminous tapestry lost one of its most elegant threads last Thursday. Lynn Hamilton, whose remarkable career spanned over five decades and helped reshape television’s cultural landscape, has taken her final bow at 95. The beloved actress — best known for bringing warmth and dignity to “The Waltons” and “Sanford and Son” — passed peacefully in Chicago, surrounded by those who loved her most.

Born Alzenia Hamilton on a spring day in 1930, in Mississippi’s Yazoo City, she’d go on to craft a legacy that seems almost mythical by today’s standards. At a time when Hollywood’s doors remained stubbornly narrow for performers of color, Hamilton didn’t just squeeze through — she transformed the entire doorframe.

“Her remarkable legacy continues to uplift and inspire,” shared her grandson Carson, his words carrying the weight of both personal loss and cultural significance. In an era where diversity conversations dominate entertainment headlines, Hamilton’s groundbreaking achievements from decades past feel startlingly relevant.

Television audiences fell head over heels for her portrayals of Nurse Donna Harris (the ever-patient fiancée to Redd Foxx’s irascible Fred Sanford) and Verdie Foster (the determined matriarch who brought depth and nuance to “The Waltons”). These weren’t just roles — they were revolutionary moments in prime-time television, quietly challenging stereotypes while captivating viewers.

But Hamilton’s artistry stretched far beyond these beloved characters. As the sole African American graduate of her class at the prestigious Goodman School of Drama, she blazed trails with sophisticated determination. Her theatrical roots ran deep and wide — from Broadway’s bright lights in the late ’50s to representing American theater abroad through President Kennedy’s cultural exchange program. (And doesn’t that sound like something we could use more of in 2025?)

The small screen simply couldn’t resist her magnetic presence. Her resume reads like a masterclass in television history — “Gunsmoke,” “The Golden Girls,” “227,” and even “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” Each appearance, whether brief or extended, carried her trademark blend of grace and gravitas. Later roles in “The Practice” and “NYPD Blue” proved that true talent, like fine wine, only grows richer with time.

Off-camera, Hamilton’s 50-year marriage to poet and playwright Frank Jenkins (until his passing in 2014) spoke volumes about her dedication to both love and art. Their collaborative work, particularly “Nobody: The Bert Williams Story,” showed how creativity could flourish when hearts and minds aligned.

Some stars fade away — others transform into constellations that guide future generations. Lynn Hamilton belongs firmly in the latter category. Her legacy isn’t just about the roles she played or the barriers she broke; it’s about the dignity and grace with which she accomplished it all. In today’s entertainment landscape, where overnight TikTok sensations can eclipse decades of craft, Hamilton’s story reminds us that true artistry requires something more — patience, persistence, and an unwavering commitment to excellence.

As the curtain falls on this remarkable life, Hollywood would do well to remember: sometimes the quietest revolutions leave the loudest echoes.

The Kids’ Choice Awards is about to get a fresh splash of international flavor — and yes, plenty of that iconic green slime. South African pop sensation Tyla’s historic hosting gig at tonight’s ceremony marks a pretty significant shift for Nickelodeon’s beloved chaos-fest, now in its 38th year at Santa Monica’s Barker Hangar.

Let’s be real — this isn’t your older sibling’s KCAs anymore. While the show’s trademark green goo remains locked and loaded, the 2025 edition feels distinctly more global, more connected, and somehow even more unpredictable than ever before.

The nominee list reads like a fever dream of pop culture greatness. Heavyweight contenders Ariana Grande, Lady Gaga, Kendrick Lamar, and Selena Gomez are leading the pack with four nods each — though let’s be honest, everyone’s really buzzing about the Taylor Swift-Travis Kelce factor. Their respective nominations (Swift for Favorite Female Artist and “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart,” Kelce for Favorite Male Sports Star) have social media practically begging for a red carpet moment that could break the internet faster than you can say “slime time.”

Speaking of evolution, the show’s finally catching up with how kids actually consume entertainment these days. New categories like Favorite Podcast and Favorite Kids’ Creator feel almost overdue — though somehow perfectly timed for 2025’s digital landscape. Meanwhile, Jack Black (sharing the three-nomination club with Dwayne Johnson and Jelly Roll) is set to snag the “King of Comedy” title. Here’s hoping he’s wearing something slime-proof.

Cord-cutters, fear not. The streaming options are actually pretty solid this time around. Philo’s throwing down with a week-long free trial and access to their massive library for $28 monthly after that. FuboTV’s got some decent first-month discounts going ($20 off Pro and Elite plans), while DIRECTV’s keeping things interesting with a 5-day trial and various package deals.

The production value’s gotten a serious upgrade too. Think neon graphics that’d make Times Square jealous, a multi-level set that probably required some serious engineering, and AR interludes that somehow make the whole spectacle even more surreal. Because apparently, regular reality just wasn’t wild enough for the KCA universe.

Fresh faces in the nominee pool — Cynthia Erivo, Frankie Grande, Shohei Ohtani, and Florence Pugh among them — are mixing things up nicely. Though at its core, the show’s still powered by that same kid-driven democracy that’s kept it relevant for nearly four decades. Thirty-five categories, millions of votes, and enough slime to fill an Olympic pool — some traditions never get old.

Between the skateboarding stunts, surprise slimings, and what’s sure to be some wild musical numbers, tonight’s show promises to maintain that perfect balance of controlled chaos and celebrity baptism by slime that’s made the Kids’ Choice Awards such a weirdly wonderful cultural touchstone. Now, who’s taking bets on which A-lister gets slimed first?

Lynn Hamilton’s passing at 95 marks more than just the end of a remarkable life — it represents the closing chapter of television’s transformative era. The trailblazing actress, who died peacefully in Chicago last Thursday, leaves behind a legacy that spans well beyond her memorable roles on screen.

Born Alzenia Hamilton in Mississippi’s Yazoo City back in 1930, she’d later adopt the stage name that would grace countless television credits. Her journey from the Deep South to the bright lights of Hollywood reads almost like a script itself — though perhaps even the best writers couldn’t have crafted such a compelling narrative.

The Goodman School of Drama in Chicago became her first real stage, where she stood out as the sole Black student among her peers. Not that it fazed her much. Hamilton would go on to break similar barriers throughout her five-decade career, most notably as Nurse Donna Harris on “Sanford and Son,” where her chemistry with Redd Foxx created some of the show’s most memorable moments.

Television audiences of a certain age might remember her better as Verdie Foster from “The Waltons” — a role she loved so deeply she returned to it twice for holiday specials in the ’90s. But Hamilton’s reach extended far beyond these signature parts. From “Gunsmoke” to “Curb Your Enthusiasm” (talk about range), she brought depth and authenticity to every character she portrayed.

Her theatrical roots ran deep. Before becoming a familiar face on the small screen, Hamilton conquered Broadway in the late ’50s and early ’60s, appearing in four productions that showcased her versatility. Perhaps most fascinating was her selection for President Kennedy’s cultural exchange program — imagine touring the world performing “The Miracle Worker” and “The Skin of Our Teeth” as an cultural ambassador during the height of the Cold War.

Behind the scenes, Hamilton’s 50-year marriage to poet and playwright Frank S. Jenkins produced more than just domestic bliss. Their collaboration on “Nobody: The Bert Williams Story” demonstrated how artistic partnerships could transcend the personal, creating works that resonated with audiences while pushing creative boundaries.

The NAACP recognized Hamilton’s contributions with an award that acknowledged not just her talent, but her role in reshaping the entertainment landscape for performers of color. As we look back now, in early 2025, at how far representation in media has come, it’s worth remembering pioneers like Hamilton who helped pave the way.

Rev. Calvin Carson, her former manager and publicist, put it best in his touching social media tribute: Hamilton’s work continues to “uplift and inspire” new generations. In an age where streaming platforms constantly serve up fresh content, her performances — spanning from classic television to daytime soaps — remain masterclasses in the art of character development.

Hamilton’s peaceful departure, surrounded by family in her beloved Chicago, feels like an appropriately graceful final bow for an actress who brought such dignity to every role she touched. Her story reminds us that some stars shine not just brightly, but with a warmth that continues to light the way for others long after they’ve left the stage.