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Talk about a Friday the 13th worth getting excited about. While millions of Americans are dreaming of hitting tonight’s staggering $264 million Mega Millions jackpot, Matthew McConaughey just played his own winning hand — and this one’s got Hollywood buzzing.

The Oscar winner’s latest power move? Teaming up with “True Detective” creator Nic Pizzolatto to breathe new life into hardboiled detective Mike Hammer. Now that’s what you’d call betting on a sure thing.

Let’s talk odds for a moment. Sure, your chances of snagging that lottery jackpot are about as likely as finding a parking spot in downtown LA during Oscar week (we’re looking at a mind-boggling 1-in-292 million, darlings). But McConaughey’s gamble? That’s another story entirely. His last dance with Pizzolatto gave us one of television’s most haunting performances — the kind that had Emmy voters practically tripping over themselves to shower both men with nominations.

The Hammer project feels almost destined. Mickey Spillane’s legendary detective series hasn’t just moved 250 million copies — it’s practically written the blueprint for every brooding detective from Dirty Harry to 007. For McConaughey, who’s masterfully ping-ponged between romantic comedy heartthrob and serious dramatic force, this role could be the cherry on top of an already impressive career reinvention.

Speaking of reinvention, tonight’s lucky Mega Millions winner (should the universe decide to play nice) faces their own transformative choice: grab the headline-worthy $264 million jackpot or settle for the still-outrageous $117.3 million cash option. Decisions, decisions…

2025’s already shaping up to be McConaughey’s year. His SXSW darling “The Rivals of Amziah King” has critics swooning, and whispers around his upcoming Apple Original Films thriller “The Lost Bus” (helmed by Paul Greengrass) are getting louder by the day. Oscar buzz? You better believe it.

Meanwhile, as lottery hopefuls refresh their browsers with crossed fingers, there’s something poetic about these parallel tales of chance and destiny. Whether you’re dropping a few bucks on those lucky numbers or betting on a gritty detective franchise revival, it all comes down to believing in that life-changing moment — even when the odds say otherwise.

The Mega Millions numbers drop just after 11 p.m. ET tonight. As for McConaughey’s next masterpiece? Well, Hollywood’s holding its breath. Because sometimes — just sometimes — the biggest wins come from knowing exactly when to roll the dice.

Hockey masks just got a whole lot scarier at Universal Studios. In a deliciously timed announcement (yes, on Friday the 13th), the entertainment giant revealed that Jason Voorhees — everyone’s favorite camp-dwelling nightmare — is getting his own haunted house experience dubbed “Jason Universe.”

Let that sink in for a moment. The machete-wielding terror who’s been stalking teenage counselors since 1980 will soon be terrorizing a whole new generation of willing victims at Universal’s Halloween Horror Nights. The timing couldn’t be more perfect, really — what with the franchise lurching toward its 45th anniversary like one of Jason’s seemingly unstoppable walks through Crystal Lake.

Starting August 29 at Universal Orlando Resort (and September 4 for you West Coast thrill-seekers), brave souls can stumble through what Universal’s marketing wizards are calling a “vengeance tour” of Jason’s greatest hits. Think blood-stained cabins, creepy forest paths, and that infamous main lodge where so many ill-fated camping trips met their end. The teaser footage — featuring Jason’s iconic mask lurking in the shadows of a decrepit cabin — practically screams “terrible life choices ahead.”

But here’s where things get interesting. Universal isn’t just throwing together another jump-scare funhouse. They’re going all-in on the horror front across their properties. Take their upcoming Las Vegas venture, Universal Horror Unleashed — because nothing says “Sin City” quite like mixing blackjack with The Exorcist and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, right? And let’s not forget Epic Universe’s Dark Universe land, where Universal’s classic monster squad will be hanging out. (Frankenstein’s probably already practicing his poker face.)

Speaking of scares, Fallout fans might want to pack their Rad-X. Halloween Horror Nights is also featuring a radiation-soaked nightmare based on the post-apocalyptic franchise. Because apparently, regular monsters aren’t enough — we need irradiated ones too.

The whole thing feels like Universal’s love letter to horror fans, wrapped in barbed wire and soaked in fake blood. It’s fascinating to watch them double down on fear as entertainment, especially as we head into 2025. They clearly understand that good horror, like a well-timed jump scare, never gets old — it just finds new ways to make us scream.

For Friday the 13th devotees, “Jason Universe” represents something special: a chance to experience those movies from the inside out. Though hopefully with better survival odds than your average camp counselor. (Pro tip: Maybe don’t split up to “check out that weird noise.”)

As summer creeps toward fall and the haunting season approaches, one thing’s crystal clear: Universal’s cooking up something wickedly good. Just remember — if you hear that iconic “ki ki ki, ma ma ma” while walking through Camp Crystal Lake, you might want to pick up the pace. Jason may be part of an attraction now, but old habits die hard.

Corporate America’s week of reckoning has brought some eye-popping settlements to the headlines, with both McDonald’s golden arches and a basketball legend’s golden touch facing the music for very different reasons.

Let’s talk about those billions first. McDonald’s just wrapped up what might be the most expensive advertising dispute in fast-food history, settling a whopping $10 billion lawsuit with media entrepreneur Byron Allen. The deal’s exact numbers? Well, those are staying under wraps — but Mickey D’s has committed to advertising “at market value” with Allen’s media empire. Not too shabby for a lawsuit that essentially called out the burger giant for playing favorites with its ad dollars.

The settlement comes at an interesting moment, really. With 2025 around the corner, McDonald’s previous pledge to boost Black-owned media spending from a measly 2% to 5% was starting to look like tomorrow’s cold fries. Allen’s Entertainment Studios Networks — home to channels like The Weather Channel and Comedy.TV — won’t just benefit from the settlement; they’ve helped reshape how corporate America thinks about media diversity.

Meanwhile, in a plot twist worthy of a crypto-thriller, Shaquille O’Neal’s finding out that his FTX endorsement is costing him a cool $1.8 million. Remember when crypto seemed like a slam dunk? Those were the days. Now Shaq’s joining a rather impressive roster of celebrities (hello, Tom Brady and Stephen Curry) who’ve learned the hard way that not all that glitters is digital gold.

Speaking of which — how’s this for irony? While these stars were busy promoting FTX, its founder Sam Bankman-Fried was orchestrating what court documents dramatically dubbed “one of recent history’s greatest financial disasters.” That 25-year prison sentence he received? Makes Shaq’s $1.8 million settlement look like pocket change.

The whole situation reads like a cautionary tale for the Instagram age. Celebrity endorsements have always been a thing, sure, but there’s something different about watching sports icons and supermodels hawk financial products to their millions of followers. Perhaps by 2025, we’ll see influencer contracts with more fine print than a terms of service agreement.

These parallel settlements paint quite the picture of corporate responsibility circa 2024. On one side, there’s McDonald’s grappling with diversity commitments in an increasingly scrutinized advertising landscape. On the other, there’s the aftermath of crypto’s wild west era, where star power met digital finance with all the stability of a house of cards.

The takeaway? Corporate America’s learning some expensive lessons about accountability — whether it’s about who gets the advertising dollars or who should think twice before becoming a crypto cheerleader. And hey, maybe that’s not such a bad thing for 2025 and beyond.

Something magical happens when Manchester, Tennessee transforms into a musical paradise each summer. For 2025, Bonnaroo isn’t just casting its spell over “the Farm” — it’s bringing that enchantment right into our living rooms.

Hulu’s decision to stream the entire festival feels perfectly timed for our increasingly hybrid entertainment world. Gone are the days when experiencing Bonnaroo meant pitching tents and braving the Tennessee heat (though there’s certainly something special about that too). Now, music lovers can catch every beat, every crowd surge, and every spontaneous collaboration from their couches.

The lineup? Well, it’s enough to make any music fan’s heart skip a beat. Tyler, The Creator brings his genre-defying artistry to the main stage. Luke Combs promises to turn the field into a country music revival. Olivia Rodrigo, fresh off her sophomore album’s success, stands ready to prove she’s more than just last year’s headlines. And Vampire Weekend? They’re back with that infectious indie rock that somehow feels both nostalgic and completely of the moment.

Tonight’s kickoff features Marcus King at 8:15 ET — his soul-drenched guitar work seems almost too perfect for a sunset slot. But that’s just the beginning of a weekend that refuses to be boxed into any single genre or moment.

Sure, watching through a screen might seem like a compromise at first glance. But at $82.99 monthly for Hulu + Live TV (which, let’s be honest, probably costs less than a single festival day pass these days), viewers get front-row access to every act. Plus, there’s something wonderfully democratic about being able to channel-hop between performances without worrying about crossing the sprawling festival grounds.

Friday’s schedule reads like a music lover’s fever dream. Foster the People’s introspective melodies flow into Tyler, The Creator’s boundary-pushing set. Saturday belongs to Olivia Rodrigo, while Sunday closes with a one-two punch that feels almost unfair: Vampire Weekend into Hozier. Who needs camping when you’ve got that lineup streaming in HD?

The virtual experience captures more than just music. Glimpses of the iconic Ferris wheel against the Tennessee sky, shots of the brand-sponsored parade weaving through crowds, moments of pure festival serendipity — it’s all there. Because Bonnaroo was never just about the performances; it’s about that indefinable festival magic.

Broadway legend Stephen Schwartz recently mused about supporting emerging artists: “It’s scary and bewildering when you first start out without any connections.” His words ring especially true at Bonnaroo, where tomorrow’s headliners often play today’s afternoon slots.

From Raye’s R&B sophistication to Megadeth’s metal mastery, from Wallows’ indie charm to Luke Combs’ country anthems — the 2025 lineup reflects music’s beautiful chaos. And thanks to modern streaming tech, experiencing it doesn’t require sunscreen or a tent stake in sight.

As the first notes drift through screens across America tonight, thousands of living rooms become satellite venues for one of music’s most beloved gatherings. Different, yes — but the spirit? That remains gloriously, wonderfully intact.

The electronic music world fell silent this week as news spread of Douglas McCarthy’s passing. The Nitzer Ebb frontman — whose commanding presence helped define industrial music’s golden age — died on June 11, 2025, at 58, leaving behind a legacy that transformed electronic music from basement experiments to stadium-filling anthems.

Anyone who witnessed McCarthy perform knew exactly what they were seeing: raw, unfiltered energy channeled through what he’d cheekily describe as “shouting and pointing.” But that simple description barely scratches the surface of his artistic impact. In an age where AI-generated vocals and perfectly quantized beats dominate the charts, McCarthy’s passing feels particularly poignant — a reminder of when electronic music still carried the grit and swagger of human imperfection.

The story begins, as many great British music tales do, with childhood friendship and cheap synthesizers. McCarthy met drummer David Gooday at age 10, and by 1982, they’d joined forces with Bon Harris and Simon Granger to form Nitzer Ebb. Their early shows featured a metal bin nicknamed “John” for percussion — the kind of delightfully makeshift solution that’d be unthinkable in today’s polished electronic scene.

Those first years weren’t without controversy. The band’s martial aesthetics raised eyebrows, but as Harris later explained, their imagery reflected the harsh realities of Thatcher’s Britain — the miners’ strikes, the riots, the social upheaval. It wasn’t mere theatrics; it was commentary through movement and sound.

“Join in the Chant” broke them into the mainstream, a track so powerful that legendary DJ Andrew Weatherall once claimed it brought him “the closest I felt to God.” Not bad for a bunch of kids from Essex with a metal bin and a dream.

McCarthy’s influence spread far beyond industrial music’s boundaries. Nine Inch Nails drew heavily from their sound, while tours supporting Depeche Mode in ’87 and ’90 exposed them to arena-sized crowds. By 1991’s “Ebbhead,” their most successful US release, McCarthy had evolved from electronic music’s drill sergeant to a nuanced vocalist capable of surprising subtlety.

But success extracted its toll. Last year’s revelation about his battle with liver cirrhosis shocked fans, forcing him to step away from a European tour in March 2024. “For over two years I have not been drinking,” he shared with characteristic frankness, “but recovery is a long process.” His openness about these struggles, particularly in an industry still grappling with substance abuse, added another dimension to his already complex legacy.

Looking back during a 2019 interview, McCarthy displayed the kind of clear-eyed wisdom that only comes with time: “We worked exceptionally hard, and still do, on everything that has the Nitzer Ebb mark on it, and even if there are missteps I think the purity of what we were or are trying to get is indicative of the time and place.”

Dark Entries’ tribute called him “a tour de force of musical innovation and acumen” — true enough, but perhaps missing the raw humanity that made McCarthy special. In today’s landscape of perfectly produced electronic music, his unfiltered presence behind the microphone reminded us that sometimes the most powerful sounds come from the most human places: pure, unvarnished emotion.

His passing creates a void in electronic music that won’t easily be filled. But somewhere, in clubs and bedrooms around the world, the next generation of electronic musicians is discovering McCarthy’s work, learning that sometimes the most revolutionary act is simply being yourself — shouting, pointing, and all.

Oh darlings, grab your popcorn and settle in for some delicious industry tea — Marvel’s mighty empire appears to be showing a few cracks in its perfectly polished armor. The latest stumble? “Thunderbolts” has landed with all the grace of a superhero’s first flying lesson, and the numbers aren’t pretty.

Let’s dish out the cold, hard facts. Despite critics giving it a rather generous standing ovation (we’re talking an 88% Rotten Tomatoes score), “Thunderbolts” has barely scraped together $371 million worldwide. Now, in any other universe, that might sound impressive — but honey, when you need $425 million just to break even, it’s about as comfortable as wearing last season’s couture to the Met Gala.

The bean counters at Disney tried to play it smart, keeping the budget at a relatively modest $180 million (plus another $100 million for marketing — because darling, even superheroes need their billboards). But as industry analyst Jeff Bock so perfectly put it, these “lower-tier comic book movies aren’t cinematic slam dunks anymore.” The fact that “Thunderbolts” is wrapping up its theatrical run faster than a quick costume change speaks volumes.

Remember the glory days? During the Infinity Saga, Marvel was serving hit after hit like a master chef at a Michelin-starred restaurant — 19 out of 22 films soared past the $500 million mark. Fast forward to our current Multiverse Saga, and we’re looking at numbers that would make Tony Stark reach for a stiff drink: only 6 out of 13 films have hit that once-routine milestone.

But don’t write off the House of Mouse just yet. Like any seasoned diva who knows when to switch up their signature move, Marvel’s already pivoting faster than Doctor Strange in a crisis. Word from Variety suggests they’re adopting a “go-big-or-go-home” strategy that would make even Thanos blush. We’re talking heavyweight contenders like “Avengers: Doomsday,” “Spider-Man 4,” and “Avengers: Secret Wars” — projects with enough star power to light up the Hollywood sign.

Meanwhile, smaller projects like “Blade” are collecting dust faster than unused gym equipment (and in 2025, that’s saying something). It’s a dramatic shift from Marvel’s recent strategy of turning every B-list hero into the next big thing — remember that brief moment when we all pretended to know who the Eternals were?

The silver lining? Unlike its rivals scrambling for box office gold, Marvel’s got more backup plans than Nick Fury has secrets. Between Disney+ subscriptions and merchandise sales (because apparently, everyone still needs their Spider-Man lunch box), they’re not exactly headed for bankruptcy row.

Still, darlings, times they are a-changing. The era of Marvel throwing every caped crusader at the wall to see who sticks might be going the way of flip phones and dial-up internet. We’re witnessing a transformation that could reshape Hollywood’s approach to blockbuster filmmaking — and honestly? Maybe it’s about time. After all, even the most fabulous party needs to know when to send guests home.

Oh darling, just when we thought celebrity faux pas couldn’t get more cringe-worthy in 2025, David Walliams has managed to outdo himself — and not in that fabulous, headline-grabbing way we usually love to dish about.

The comedian — whose career has more ups and downs than a Hollywood marriage — turned what should’ve been a delightfully festive recording of BBC’s “Would I Lie to You?” Christmas special into something that would make even Joan Rivers speechless. And trust me, that’s saying something.

Picture this: Pinewood Studios, twinkling with holiday cheer, “Call the Midwife” star Helen George sharing a charming little anecdote about spraining her wrist from excessive waving during a Strictly tour. Rather wholesome, right? Enter Walliams, stage left, with all the sensitivity of a bull in Valentino’s spring collection.

The 53-year-old former “Little Britain” star — apparently mistaking himself for a method actor in a particularly tasteless period piece — chose this moment to perform not one, but two Nazi salutes. The audience’s gasps could’ve powered a wind farm, darling.

Times Radio producer Sebastian Topan, who had the misfortune of witnessing this trainwreck firsthand, described the atmosphere as having “an elephant in the room.” More like a whole circus, if we’re being honest. The remainder of the show apparently limped along like a supermodel in broken Louboutins — painful to watch and impossible to ignore.

Rob Brydon, bless his heart, tried to salvage the situation with the grace of a seasoned awards show host dealing with an unexpected wardrobe malfunction. His gentle reminder about the show’s family-friendly holiday audience fell on deaf ears as Walliams — displaying all the wisdom of a reality show contestant on day one — doubled down with a second salute, this time accessorized with a crude sexual gesture. Because nothing says “deck the halls” quite like combining offensive historical references with playground vulgarity, right?

The BBC’s response was faster than a publicist during a red carpet crisis. “The use of such an offensive gesture is completely unacceptable,” they declared, while Banijay UK (owner of production company Zeppotron) ensured the segment would disappear faster than last season’s micro-bangs trend.

In an entertainment landscape where even the slightest misstep becomes tomorrow’s trending topic, Walliams’ spectacular lack of judgment feels like wearing cargo shorts to the Met Gala — inexcusable and honestly, a bit desperate. It’s giving very much “former A-lister trying to trend on X” energy, honey.

The silver lining? Holiday viewers will be spared this particular disaster, though the aftermath might linger longer than those regrettable celebrity couple tattoos we’ve seen throughout 2024. Sometimes, darling, the best performance is the one that never makes it to air.

Westlife’s silver jubilee celebration hits a somber note as the Irish pop powerhouse announces their 25th-anniversary plans minus a crucial voice. Mark Feehily, whose soaring vocals helped define the group’s signature sound, won’t be joining the festivities — a stark reminder that even in pop music’s glossiest moments, real life has its own script to follow.

The announcement dropped like a perfectly produced pop song with an unexpected minor chord. “New music, an album, special shows” — the works. But something’s missing, and fans know it. Three voices where there should be four (five, if you’re counting all the way back to the Brian McFadden days).

Behind the glittering promises of anniversary celebrations lurks a story that reads more like a medical drama than a pop music headline. Feehily’s health saga kicked off in August 2020 with what should’ve been routine surgery. Instead, it spiraled into a nightmare cocktail of complications — sepsis, emergency procedures, and a stint in intensive care that nobody saw coming. Talk about terrible timing: stuck in hospital during peak Covid lockdowns, separated from his baby daughter who wasn’t even a year old.

“Physically and mentally difficult” barely scratches the surface of what Feehily endured. The hits kept coming: pneumonia in late ’21, more surgeries in ’22, topped off with an incisional hernia that needed yet another trip to the operating theater. His social media’s gone quieter than a post-concert arena — approaching a year of silence that’s got fans hitting the worry button hard.

The response to the anniversary announcement? Mixed doesn’t begin to cover it. “Westlife isn’t Westlife without Mark,” fans declare, and honestly? They’ve got a point. It’s like trying to serve tea without the tea leaves — sure, you’ve got hot water and milk, but something essential’s missing.

Shane Filan, Nicky Byrne, and Kian Egan are pushing forward with the show, as performers must. Their statement walks that delicate tightrope between celebration and concern, leaving the door wide open for their missing brother-in-arms. “When he’s ready and able” — those words hang in the air like the last note of a power ballad.

This isn’t the band’s first rodeo with lineup changes. Remember 2004? When Brian McFadden decided to peace out? But this feels different. There’s no creative differences here, no dramatic exits — just life throwing its curveballs with frustrating accuracy.

As Westlife gears up for what promises to be a landmark year in 2025, that empty spot on stage speaks volumes. It’s a reminder that behind the polished performances and perfect harmonies, these are real people dealing with real challenges. The show goes on, but not without acknowledging the space where a fourth voice should be.

The upcoming celebration will undoubtedly showcase why Westlife’s survived a quarter century in the brutal pop landscape. But perhaps their greatest hit right now is the quiet demonstration of loyalty and patience toward their missing member. In an industry that often treats performers as replaceable parts, that’s a harmony worth noting.

New York’s about to remind us why it’s the undisputed champion of Fourth of July celebrations. As Macy’s gears up for its 49th annual fireworks spectacular, the city that never sleeps is preparing to outdo itself yet again — and honestly, who’d expect anything less from the Big Apple?

Let’s talk star power. The entertainment lineup this year feels like someone raided your favorite playlist and brought it to life. The Jonas Brothers (still riding high from their 2025 world tour) are sharing the stage with country rebel Eric Church. Throw in rock legend Lenny Kravitz, whose recent collaboration with emerging AI artists made waves last winter, and the incomparable Trisha Yearwood, and you’ve got yourself a show before the first spark hits the sky. Rising pop sensation Ava Max and multi-hyphenate Keke Palmer round out this eclectic mix of talent.

But here’s where things get really interesting.

The technical specs behind this show would make NASA engineers scratch their heads in appreciation. Picture this: four massive barges, strategically positioned along the East River, loaded with enough firepower to turn Manhattan’s skyline into nature’s greatest light show. We’re talking 80,000 shells in 30 different colors, some reaching — get this — 1,000 feet high. That’s roughly the height of the Chrysler Building, for those keeping score at home.

The musical backbone? That’s where things get seriously interesting. The Roots’ Questlove and James Poyser are crafting the soundtrack, which probably means we’re in for something that’ll make traditional patriotic tunes feel fresh again. Their involvement suggests a score that’ll bounce between genres as effortlessly as New Yorkers dodge tourists in Times Square.

Will Coss, the show’s executive producer, calls it “creating tradition” and “bringing millions together.” Sure, Will — that’s like saying the Super Bowl is just another football game. This isn’t just fireworks; it’s America’s biggest block party, broadcast coast to coast.

Speaking of broadcasting — the Brooklyn Bridge is getting dolled up for its close-up. They’re using some fancy projection mapping tech that’ll transform this 140-year-old icon into something straight outta tomorrow. There’s even gonna be a tribute to the Milano Cortina 2026 Winter Olympics, because why not dream of snow in July?

Broadway’s own Ariana DeBose is hosting the 25-minute spectacle. Expect everything from crown jellyfish patterns (whatever those are) to atomic rings painting the night sky. Yellow and green sunbursts? Check. Strobing lemon cascades? You bet. It’s like someone gave a pyrotechnician a blank check and said “go nuts.”

Can’t make it to NYC? No sweat. NBC’s got you covered from 8 to 10 p.m. ET, with simultaneous streaming on Peacock. Spanish speakers can catch the action on Telemundo at 9 p.m. ET — because let’s face it, a good fireworks show needs no translation.

In a world where we’re increasingly glued to our phones watching 15-second clips, there’s something refreshingly old-school about millions of people looking up at the same sky, sharing the same moment of wonder. Maybe that’s what Coss meant about tradition after all.

Apple TV+ is reaching for the stars — and snagging them — with Foundation’s third season announcement, showcasing a spectacular vision that would leave even the most seasoned sci-fi aficionados breathless. The streaming giant’s crown jewel is about to unleash its most compelling antagonist yet, as Pilou Asbæk steps into the role of The Mule, replacing Mikael Persbrandt in what might be 2025’s most inspired casting shake-up.

The latest trailer drops viewers straight into the deep end of space opera magnificence. “I have talents, you see. I can worm my way into people’s minds,” Asbæk menaces with the kind of delivery that sends shivers down your spine. His take on The Mule promises the sort of delicious villainy we haven’t seen since — well, since his scene-stealing turn as Euron Greyjoy, though this performance appears to trade brutish chaos for calculated manipulation.

Let’s talk about that 152-year time jump. Foundation’s bold leap forward (somewhere between ambitious and absolutely bonkers) sets up what showrunner David S. Goyer describes as an “uneasy alliance” between the Foundation and the Cleonic Dynasty’s Empire. The phrase “uneasy alliance” in television typically signals the calm before an absolutely magnificent storm — rather like those tense moments at awards season after-parties when rival studios pretend to play nice.

Jared Harris returns as Hari Seldon, bringing that gravitas only a seasoned performer can deliver. His warning to Lou Llobell’s Gaal that “The Mule is your battle” carries the weight of impending doom wrapped in Harris’s signature eloquence. Speaking of eloquence, the addition of Emmy-winner Cherry Jones and Oscar-winner Troy Kotsur to the ensemble cast feels like the kind of power move usually reserved for prestige period dramas, not space epics.

The production value continues to push boundaries in ways that make other streaming shows look positively quaint. With the industry’s recent pivot toward budget-conscious content (thanks to 2024’s writers’ strike aftermath), Foundation stands as a refreshing testament to what’s possible when a studio really commits to a vision.

Mark those calendars for July 11, 2025 — the premiere kicks off what promises to be a nine-week journey through space, politics, and the kind of mind-bending sci-fi that makes Black Mirror look straightforward. Episodes will drop weekly until September 12, giving viewers plenty of time to digest each installment’s complexity. Both previous seasons remain available on Apple TV+ for anyone needing a refresher on the intricate web of galactic intrigue.

Between the stellar cast additions, Goyer’s carefully planted narrative seeds (apparently scattered throughout Season 1), and Asbæk’s potentially career-defining turn as The Mule, Foundation’s third season is shaping up to be more than just prestige television — it’s positioning itself as a cultural moment that could define streaming entertainment in 2025.