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TIFF’s Golden Anniversary Lineup Sparkles with Star Power and Fresh Faces

Darlings, Toronto’s about to turn fifty, and she’s doing it with the kind of panache that would make Madonna’s reinventions look positively amateur. The Toronto International Film Festival just dropped its first wave of Special Presentations for 2025, and honey, it’s serving exactly the kind of cinematic feast we’ve been craving in this post-strike era.

Cameron Bailey, TIFF’s ever-diplomatic CEO, unveiled a lineup that’s got everyone from streaming moguls to old-school cinema purists nodding in approval. And while he’s calling it a reflection of “innovation, heart, and global perspective,” let’s call it what it really is — a masterclass in festival programming that proves Toronto hasn’t lost its touch after five decades in the game.

Steven Soderbergh (yes, that Steven Soderbergh) is gracing us with “The Christophers” — marking his tenth TIFF appearance, if you’re keeping score. The film pairs Ian McKellen with Michaela Coel and, somewhat surprisingly, James Corden in what’s being whispered about as his comeback vehicle after that rather unfortunate restaurant drama. The premise? Think “The Thomas Crown Affair” meets “Succession,” but with art forgery and family dysfunction cranked up to eleven.

But here’s where things get really interesting. Nia DaCosta’s modern spin on “Hedda Gabler” might just be the festival’s crown jewel. Tessa Thompson takes on the titular role in “Hedda,” and darling, the early buzz suggests she’s about to do for Ibsen what Cate Blanchett did for Streetcar. The footage that’s leaked online (not that anyone’s officially acknowledging it) hints at something wickedly contemporary.

Speaking of ambitious undertakings, Alejandro Amenábar has apparently outdone himself with “The Captive.” The film chronicles Miguel de Cervantes’ time in 16th-century Algiers — and if you’re thinking “not another period piece,” hold that thought. Word from pre-screenings suggests it’s more “The Favourite” than “Shakespeare in Love,” if you catch my drift.

Canadian cinema’s getting its moment too, thank heavens. Chandler Levack’s “Mile End Kicks” — featuring Jay Baruchel in what might be his meatiest role since “Goon” — promises to do for Montreal’s indie music scene what “High Fidelity” did for vinyl snobs. Bailey’s particularly proud of this one, and honestly? He should be.

The festival’s spreading its wings with a new International People’s Choice Award, though one has to wonder if this isn’t a subtle jab at certain other festivals’ increasingly insular approach to cinema. (Venice, darling, is that you we’re side-eyeing?)

From September 4-14, 2025, Toronto’s transforming into the kind of cinematic wonderland that makes Cannes look positively provincial. Between the TIFF Tribute Awards Gala at the Fairmont Royal York (September 7, mark those calendars) and the return of Festival Street, it’s shaping up to be less of a birthday party and more of a declaration: TIFF isn’t just surviving, it’s thriving.

And really, isn’t that what turning fifty should be about? The festival’s first wave of announcements suggests there’s plenty of life in the old girl yet. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a stack of screening schedules demanding attention and a very persistent publicist insisting I simply must see this year’s Palme d’Or winner. The things we do for cinema, darling.

Broadway’s creative legacy just found a permanent home, and the timing couldn’t be more perfect. The Library of Congress has acquired Stephen Sondheim’s life work — a collection that nearly vanished in flames back in 1995. Now, as we approach mid-2025, these irreplaceable treasures are finally accessible to the public.

What makes this collection extraordinary isn’t just its size — though 5,000 items is nothing to sneeze at. It’s the intimate glimpse into the creative mind of musical theater’s most celebrated composer. Coffee stains mark midnight inspiration. Margin notes reveal roads not taken. Each piece tells a story beyond the music itself.

Mark Horowitz, the Library’s Senior Music Specialist, practically glows when discussing these artifacts. “It’s staggering,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that suggests he’s still processing the magnitude of it all. The collection reveals Sondheim’s relentless pursuit of perfection — a creative spirit that never quite settled for “good enough.”

Some of the most fascinating pieces are the might-have-beens. There’s an unused reprise of “Side by Side by Side” from “Company” tucked away in one folder. Another holds variations of “I’m Still Here” from “Follies” — specially crafted for Barbra Streisand, though they never made it to her legendary voice.

Then there’s the wickedly clever workbook for “Sweeney Todd.” Forty pages of lyric sketches for “A Little Priest” contain more than 150 potential victims scribbled in the margins. That deliciously memorable line about the oily politician served with a doily? It emerged from this creative chaos, proving that sometimes the best art comes from exhaustive exploration.

The collection’s survival story reads like a thriller. When fire tore through Sondheim’s office in ’95, these papers should have been reduced to ash. Some still bear scorch marks — battle scars that only add to their mystique. “There’s absolutely no reason why the collection should not have gone up in flames,” Horowitz reflects, still amazed by their miraculous preservation.

What sets this acquisition apart is the personal connection. Horowitz, who’s spent 34 years processing collections, finds this one different. “For large collections, I tend to feel the ghost of that person over my shoulder,” he explains. “But with Sondheim… it’s the first time I’m processing a collection of someone who I really knew.”

The evolution of Sondheim’s process becomes clear through the physical volume of materials. Early shows might fill three or four boxes. Later works sprawl across eight or nine. Was it increasing complexity? Growing meticulousness? Perhaps both — a master craftsman becoming ever more devoted to his art.

Hidden among the grand works is an unexpected gem: a commissioned birthday song for a public TV contest winner’s mother. Even Broadway giants, it seems, occasionally wrote simply to make someone smile.

Starting July 1, anyone over 16 with proper ID can access these materials at the Library of Congress. There, alongside collections from Neil Simon, Bob Fosse, and Gwen Verdon, Sondheim’s creative legacy will continue inspiring future generations of theater makers. In an age of digital everything, there’s something profound about being able to touch the paper where genius first took shape.

Broadway’s latest casualty hits particularly close to home. “Boop! The Musical” — that plucky adaptation of Max Fleischer’s cartoon darling — will dim its lights at the Broadhurst Theatre come July 13, marking yet another premature farewell in what’s shaping up to be a brutal year for fresh productions.

The show dared to reimagine Betty Boop’s black-and-white world as a technicolor New York City spectacle. And boy, did it have moments that sparkled — none brighter than Jasmine Amy Rogers, whose star-making turn as the iconic flapper earned her both a Tony nod and a shared Drama Desk Award alongside Broadway royalty Audra McDonald.

Here’s the thing about Rogers’ performance: she didn’t just play Betty Boop — she reinvented her for 2025. No small feat, considering the character’s been around since your grandparents were doing the Charleston.

The numbers, though? They tell a different story. Weekly grosses barely scratched $600,000, with houses running at 80% capacity on good days. That’s tough math for any show, let alone one carrying a $26 million price tag. In today’s Broadway landscape, even Tony nominations don’t guarantee you’ll keep the lights on.

Look, the creative team brought serious firepower. Jerry Mitchell’s direction had all the snap and pizzazz you’d expect. David Foster’s music, Susan Birkenhead’s lyrics, and Bob Martin’s book created something genuinely fresh — when’s the last time anyone managed that with an almost century-old cartoon character?

But “Boop!” now joins an uncomfortably long list of early exits. It’s the fourth show this season — after “Smash,” “Real Women Have Curves,” and “Dead Outlaw” — to announce its closure following a Tony Awards shutout. Something’s gotta give in this economic equation, where astronomical production costs meet sky-high ticket prices in a game of theatrical chicken.

The ensemble deserves a special mention. Faith Prince, Ainsley Melham, and Erich Bergen brought depth to what could’ve been just another nostalgia cash-grab. Even Pudgy the Dog (puppet master Phillip Huber’s creation) managed to steal scenes without saying a word.

When the final curtain falls after 25 previews and 112 performances, “Boop!” will join that bittersweet Broadway club: shows that proved creativity’s alive and well, even if the bank account suggests otherwise.

Maybe that’s the real story here. Broadway’s going through changes — painful ones. When productions with this much talent and creative muscle can’t make it work, you’ve got to wonder what’s next for the Great White Way. Theater’s always been risky business, but these days? It feels like playing roulette with your life savings.

In what feels like a script rejected from Netflix’s latest season of “Unhinged Influencers,” the social media personality known as “Liver King” has managed to transform his digital theatrics into real-world legal troubles. Brian Johnson — the self-proclaimed champion of raw organ meat consumption — found himself in handcuffs at Austin’s Four Seasons Hotel last week after allegedly making threats against podcast titan Joe Rogan.

The whole mess reads like a cautionary tale about what happens when social media fame collides with unchecked ego. Johnson, whose perfectly-sculpted physique and primal lifestyle shtick earned him 2.9 million Instagram followers, apparently decided that 2025 was the year to escalate his long-running beef with Rogan from keyboard warrior status to something considerably more concerning.

Here’s where things get weird — and trust me, they get properly weird.

Despite never having met Rogan in person (yeah, you read that right), Johnson embarked on what can only be described as a one-man crusade against the podcast host. Through a series of increasingly unhinged Instagram videos, the shirtless wonder progressed from standard influencer callouts to statements that had Austin PD sitting up and taking notice.

“Man to man, I’m picking a fight with you,” Johnson declared in one post, displaying all the self-awareness of a caffeinated peacock. The situation might’ve been almost comical if it hadn’t taken such a dark turn when he started documenting his journey to Austin — Rogan’s home turf — while making cryptic statements about being “willing to die” for his cause.

Let’s pause for a moment to appreciate the rich irony here. This is the same guy who got caught with his grass-fed pants down in 2022 when leaked emails revealed he was dropping $11,000 monthly on steroids — all while preaching the gospel of “ancestral living.” Rogan, never one to bite his tongue, had previously called out this contradiction on his podcast, noting that Johnson’s physique was “preposterously jacked” for someone in their 40s claiming to live au naturel.

But wait — because somehow this story needed an extra splash of absurdity — Johnson’s final act before his arrest involved recording himself doing a “coffee enema” in his hotel shower. (Sometimes the jokes just write themselves, folks.)

The arrest itself played out like peak reality TV, broadcast live on Johnson’s own Instagram account — because apparently, if you’re going down for making terroristic threats, you might as well get the content. The Class B Misdemeanor charge could land him up to six months in county jail and a $2,000 fine, a far cry from the primitive showdown he seemed to be gunning for.

As we roll into the spring of 2025, this bizarre saga serves as a stark reminder that the line between digital persona and reality has become dangerously blurred. The Travis County justice system now faces the peculiar task of dealing with a social media star whose commitment to character apparently extended well beyond the boundaries of common sense — or legal limits.

Perhaps the most fitting detail? Rogan’s response to investigators that he “had never had any interaction with Johnson.” Sometimes the most devastating blow isn’t a punch — it’s complete irrelevance.

For now, the self-styled “ancestral CEO” finds himself grappling with a thoroughly modern predicament that no amount of raw organ meat can resolve. Turns out the justice system isn’t particularly impressed by Instagram followers or primal living philosophies. Who knew?

Hollywood’s Shifting Sands: Immigration, Innovation, and Industry Evolution

California’s entertainment industry finds itself caught in a perfect storm of challenges and opportunities as we head deeper into 2025. From immigration crackdowns threatening its workforce to groundbreaking technological leaps, the industry’s landscape is morphing faster than a CGI sequence in the latest Marvel blockbuster.

Let’s talk numbers — and they’re not the kind that make studio executives sleep easy at night. A fresh UC Merced study drops a bombshell: California could hemorrhage up to $275 billion from mass deportations. Behind the scenes, roughly 2.28 million undocumented workers (that’s 8% of the state’s workforce) keep the entertainment machine running smoothly. Think about that next time you’re watching those endless credits roll after a movie.

“California’s immigrant story isn’t just about numbers,” says Maria-Elena De Trinidad Young, who spearheaded the study. She’s right — it’s about the grip operators, set designers, and countless others who make movie magic happen while living in the shadows.

Meanwhile, Barbra Streisand just dropped a truth bomb that’s got Tinseltown buzzing. The legendary performer recently spilled some tea about the “Meet the Parents” franchise that’s both fascinating and infuriating. Turns out Dustin Hoffman wasn’t just her co-star — he was making triple her salary, plus extra percentage points on “Meet the Fockers.” Some things in Hollywood never change, eh?

“I was in the time when women were getting paid less than the men,” Streisand noted with characteristic directness on Variety’s podcast. Though honestly, has that time ever really ended? (Spoiler alert: nope.)

But it’s not all doom and gloom in La La Land. USC just scored a game-changing $25 million donation from Len Blavatnik’s family foundation. The cash is earmarked for a cutting-edge virtual production center — think “The Mandalorian” meets film school. Opening fall 2027, this 15,000-square-foot facility might just be Hollywood’s ace in the hole.

Elizabeth Daley, dean of USC’s School of Cinematic Arts, puts it bluntly: “Virtual production has just become critical to our industry.” She’s not wrong. With productions like “House of the Dragon” already leveraging this tech, we’re watching the future of filmmaking unfold in real-time.

The timing couldn’t be better. As California grapples with production slowdowns and workforce uncertainties, virtual production offers a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel. Creating elaborate worlds without leaving the studio? That’s not just cool — it’s cost-effective and environmentally conscious.

Habib Zargarpour, co-heading USC’s virtual production program, sees the writing on the wall: “Virtual production is definitely here to stay; it’s going to be a standard part of production.” Though let’s be real — while this tech revolution might ease some industry growing pains, it won’t completely offset the economic gut punch of aggressive immigration policies.

As Hollywood’s next chapter unfolds, one thing’s crystal clear: survival depends on adaptation. Whether it’s navigating immigration policies, tackling pay equity, or embracing new tech, the entertainment industry’s got to roll with the punches. And in true Hollywood fashion, this story’s far from over — the plot twists just keep coming.

Move over, Cannes—Karlovy Vary’s got star power to spare. The 59th edition of this beloved Czech festival is proving yet again why it’s more than just a pit stop between the French Riviera and the Venetian Lido.

Nestled in a picturesque spa town that could’ve stepped right out of a Wes Anderson fever dream (and actually did inspire The Grand Budapest Hotel), this year’s festival is serving up a feast of cinematic talent that would make the most jaded Hollywood exec do a double-take.

Leading the parade of luminaries? None other than Stellan Skarsgård—that magnificent Swedish chameleon who’s made a career of shape-shifting between arthouse treasures and blockbuster behemoths. From breaking hearts in “Breaking the Waves” to chewing scenery (deliciously) as Baron Harkonnen in “Dune,” Skarsgård’s Crystal Globe for Outstanding Artistic Contribution feels almost overdue.

But wait, there’s more. The festival’s throwing its prestigious President’s Award at not one, not two, but three powerhouse performers. There’s Vicky Krieps—Luxembourg’s finest export since, well, ever—fresh off her European Film Award triumph for “Corsage.” Remember when she went toe-to-toe with Daniel Day-Lewis in “Phantom Thread”? That was just the appetizer.

Then there’s Dakota Johnson, who’s somehow managed to dance away from the shadow of both her famous family and that certain grey franchise to become indie cinema’s new darling. She’s bringing double trouble to the festival with “Materialists” and “Splitsville”—and honestly? The timing couldn’t be better, what with all the buzz around her upcoming Marvel debut in 2025’s “Madame Web.”

Peter Sarsgaard rounds out this presidential trifecta, still riding high from that Volpi Cup win for “Memory.” Word on the street is his role in “The Bride!”—directed by better half Maggie Gyllenhaal and co-starring Christian Bale—might just be his finest hour yet.

But here’s where it gets really interesting. While some festivals are tightening their belts faster than a Hollywood starlet before awards season, Karlovy Vary’s thriving. Last year’s 140,000 tickets sold? That’s not just a number—that’s a middle finger to anyone who thinks cinema’s lost its magic.

The real kicker? They’re screening “Bidad,” an Iranian film so potentially explosive they had to keep it under wraps to protect the filmmakers. It follows a female singer defying religious laws against public performance—the kind of vital, gutsy storytelling that’s becoming increasingly rare in our play-it-safe era.

From the swanky soirées at Hotel Pupp to the 3 AM conversations at Becher’s Bar, Karlovy Vary proves you don’t have to choose between serious cinema and serious fun. As the festival gears up for its July 4-12 run, it’s clear this Central European gem isn’t just holding its own—it’s showing the big boys how it’s done.

Darlings, Hollywood’s latest power moves are serving us a deliciously contradictory feast that perfectly captures the industry’s current identity crisis. In one corner, we’ve got plastic perfection going haute couture; in the other, literary legacy getting a fresh-faced makeover. And honestly? We’re living for both.

The buzz around Amazon MGM’s latest acquisition has the industry clutching its pearls – and for good reason. After a fierce bidding war that had studio execs breaking their Louboutins, they’ve snagged rights to a live-action Bratz movie. But here’s the gag: They’re bringing in none other than Kim Kardashian to produce and (potentially) embrace her villain era on screen. Following Margot Robbie’s billion-dollar Barbie breakthrough last year, this feels almost mathematically inevitable.

Meanwhile, in a move that’s giving us serious whiplash, Focus Features is diving back into the empire-waist world of Jane Austen. They’ve tapped the absolutely luminous Daisy Edgar-Jones to breathe new life into Elinor Dashwood for yet another “Sense and Sensibility” adaptation. (Because apparently, Emma Thompson’s Oscar-winning turn needs a Gen-Z refresh?)

Let’s talk about this Kardashian situation for a hot minute. Fresh off her surprisingly compelling turn in last fall’s “American Horror Story: Delicate” and with Netflix’s “The Fifth Wheel” generating serious awards chatter, Kim’s Hollywood evolution is giving us everything we never knew we needed. The woman’s gone from reality TV queen to SKIMS billionaire, and now she’s eyeing that producer’s throne? We simply must stan.

Edgar-Jones shared her Austen news with characteristic charm – a dog-eared copy of the novel and that cheeky little “👀” emoji that sent Literature Twitter into absolute meltdown. “For some people, it’s their favorite film,” she noted, displaying an endearing awareness of the massive shoes she’s stepping into. After her star-making turns in “Normal People” and “Where the Crawdads Sing,” she’s proven she can carry both contemporary drama and period pieces with equal grace.

The timing of these announcements feels particularly pointed as we navigate 2025’s increasingly fractured entertainment landscape. Post-strikes, studios are desperately hunting for that perfect blend of nostalgia and novelty. Bratz, with its built-in social media army (200 million dolls sold and counting), seems primed to capture lightning in a bottle twice.

BAFTA nominee Georgia Oakley’s attachment to the Austen project (paired with Diana Reid’s adaptation) suggests we’re in for something more substantial than your typical bodice-ripper redux. The Bratz creative team remains under wraps, but industry whispers suggest some seriously unexpected names in the mix.

One particularly savvy Instagram commenter dubbed Edgar-Jones “Daisy edgar-employed” – and honestly? The wit. The accuracy. The shade of it all. Meanwhile, Fashion Twitter is already fantasy-casting Kardashian’s villain wardrobe, and the mock-ups are nothing short of iconic.

In this era of endless reboots and remakes, these two projects – though seemingly worlds apart – perfectly exemplify Hollywood’s current strategy: Take something familiar, add a splash of zeitgeist, and pray to the box office gods. Whether it’s plastic dolls or Regency romance, the industry’s betting big on our appetite for reinvention.

And darlings? We’ll be watching every perfectly curated moment.

Netflix’s latest reality show trailer hits differently than expected. “Building the Band” showcases the late Liam Payne in what would become his final television appearance — a bittersweet full-circle moment that feels almost scripted in its poetic timing.

The series drops next month on July 9, and honestly? It’s hard to watch without feeling a complex mix of emotions. There’s Payne, looking healthy and engaged, sitting alongside powerhouse judges Kelly Rowland and Nicole Scherzinger. The footage captures him doing what he loved most: mentoring young artists with that characteristic mix of warmth and straight-talking that defined his later career.

“I need to feel that connection between you guys,” he tells contestants in one clip, his words carrying extra weight now. The show’s premise is properly wild — 50 singers forming six bands without ever seeing each other. Just voices in isolation booths, trying to forge chemistry through sound alone. It’s the kind of high-concept twist that reality TV producers dream about, especially as streaming numbers for traditional talent shows keep sliding in 2025.

The whole thing feels particularly loaded given Scherzinger’s presence. She was there, after all, when One Direction came together on X Factor back in 2010. Now here she was, working alongside Payne in what nobody could have known would be his final months before that tragic fall in Buenos Aires last October.

Netflix has handled the situation with notable grace. They consulted with Payne’s family about including his footage — a gesture that speaks volumes about the platform’s evolving approach to sensitive content. It’s worth noting that reality TV has come a long way since Payne’s own contestant days, though some might argue the industry’s hunger for compelling narratives remains unchanged.

Hosted by Backstreet Boys veteran AJ McLean (who knows a thing or two about group dynamics), the show serves up an unexpectedly powerful document of Payne’s evolution. From nervous teenager to seasoned pro, his journey mirrors the very transformation these contestants hope to achieve. His insights feel particularly valuable now that boy band formation has entered the AI era — yes, that’s actually happening in South Korea right now.

The timing feels especially poignant as former bandmate Harry Styles continues his victory lap after that landmark Grammy win for Album of the Year. Yet “Building the Band” reminds us of Payne’s unique perspective — shaped by years of experiencing both the dizzying highs and challenging lows of global fame.

What emerges isn’t just another singing competition. It’s an unintended testament to an artist who understood the dreams and demands of an industry that’s simultaneously more accessible and more complex than ever. In these final television moments, Payne offers one last masterclass in navigating the path from hopeful contestant to seasoned star — lessons that resonate far beyond the show’s premise.

Music’s Past and Future Collide in Summer’s Hottest Entertainment Events

Sometimes the stars align in peculiar ways. This summer, two major forces in music entertainment are orchestrating a fascinating dance between nostalgia and innovation — proving that great stories, like certain melodies, have a way of sticking around.

HBO’s latest venture into musical storytelling arrives in the form of “Billy Joel: And So It Goes,” a sprawling five-hour documentary split across two evenings. The project, landing on screens July 18 and 25, dives deep into the Piano Man’s remarkable sixty-year adventure through American music — and yeah, it’s about time someone gave Joel’s story the epic treatment it deserves.

What makes this documentary particularly special? Well, besides the obvious draw of Joel himself, the project managed to wrangle an impressive lineup of musical heavyweights. Bruce Springsteen, Paul McCartney, and Sting all show up to share their takes on Joel’s impact — and let’s be honest, when The Boss and a Beatle want to talk about your legacy, you’ve probably done something right.

The timing feels particularly poignant. Joel recently disclosed his diagnosis with normal pressure hydrocephalus (NPH), though director Susan Lacy has been quick to reassure fans about his recovery. True to form, Joel hasn’t lost his signature wit. “Getting old sucks,” he recently quipped at the Tribeca Festival premiere, “but it’s still preferable to getting cremated.” Classic Billy.

Meanwhile, over in the land of music television, MTV is cooking up its own kind of revolution. Van Toffler — the executive who helped transform MTV from music video channel into cultural powerhouse — is making an unexpected return to oversee this year’s Video Music Awards. Talk about a full-circle moment.

But Toffler isn’t just producing another awards show. He’s crafting what amounts to a week-long love letter to music television. Perhaps most intriguingly, MTV2 will temporarily revert to its original format, broadcasting music videos 24/7. Past VMA winners and MTV personalities will share their favorite videos — a programming choice that feels both nostalgic and somehow perfectly timed for 2025’s streaming-saturated landscape.

“We’re launching a celebration of music that spans one week, every screen and every generation,” Toffler explained, his enthusiasm practically jumping off the page. The show’s historic move to CBS suggests something bigger at play — a reimagining of what music television could mean for today’s fractured audience.

There’s something almost poetic about these two events landing simultaneously. The Joel documentary, with its intimate revelations and musical insights, somehow perfectly complements Toffler’s grand vision for the VMAs. Both celebrate music’s enduring power to tell stories that matter, while refusing to get stuck in the past.

In our current entertainment landscape, where everything seems to exist in its own carefully curated bubble, these parallel celebrations of musical legacy — one deeply personal, the other gloriously communal — remind us why we fell for music in the first place. They’re not just smart programming moves; they’re reminders that some stories deserve to be told again and again, each time finding new ears to enchant and new hearts to touch.

And maybe that’s exactly what we need right now — a reminder that great music, like great storytelling, never really goes out of style. It just finds new ways to play on.

Summer nights in Porto have a way of bending reality. Take, for instance, the peculiar scene that unfolds each June when thousands of locals gather to bonk each other on the head with plastic hammers — and nobody bats an eye. Welcome to São João, where the absurd becomes absolutely normal for one enchanted evening.

The cobblestone streets of Portugal’s second-largest city have seen their share of traditions come and go, but none quite capture the spirit of Porto like this ancient-meets-modern celebration. Picture this: as the warm June air settles over the Douro River, dignified professionals and teenagers alike roam the medieval alleyways, armed with toy hammers and grins that would make the Cheshire Cat proud.

“It’s to live and relive what our ancestors have given us,” explains local resident João Sousa, rubbing his head with a laugh after yet another friendly hammer encounter. His words carry the weight of centuries, even as they’re punctuated by the distinctly modern sound of plastic meeting skull.

The festival’s evolution reads like a crash course in cultural adaptation. Those plastic hammers? They’re actually newcomers to the party, dreamed up by some marketing genius in the 1960s. Before that, believe it or not, leeks were the star of the show. Yes, leeks — those long, green vegetables that look like overgrown green onions. Strangers would invite each other to take a whiff, creating moments of intimacy that would probably raise more than a few eyebrows in today’s personal-space-obsessed world.

Porto historian Germano Silva — who’s seen more São João celebrations than he’d probably care to count — puts it perfectly: “It is a pagan celebration. It is the cult of the sun, of fire, of water.” Then, with a knowing smile, he adds, “The saint enters when Christianity begins. The church in a successful marketing operation adds the saint into the solstice celebration.” Talk about medieval influencer marketing.

These days, the festival’s democratic spirit shows no signs of fading. Even Prime Minister Luís Montenegro found himself getting the plastic hammer treatment while wandering through the Fontainhas neighborhood. Power, position, wealth — none of it matters when everyone’s playing the same quirky game under the summer stars.

The city’s shop windows transform into miniature theatrical productions during the festival, with elaborate “Cascatas” (dioramas) depicting scenes from St. John’s life alongside snippets of Porto’s daily bustle. These intricate displays, centered around symbolic waterfalls, serve as artistic bridges between the sacred and secular — though let’s be honest, most visitors are too busy dodging friendly hammer taps to notice the finer details.

For newcomers, the experience can be… jarring. Finnish tourist Helni Turtaea, 21, admits to initial alarm at the hammer-tapping tradition. “At first I got frightened when someone hit me,” she confesses, “but it has been so much fun because I think it kind of unites people when they are hitting strangers.” Only at São João could assault with a toy hammer become a heartwarming tale of cultural connection.

As midnight approaches and fireworks paint Porto’s sky in bursts of color, the aroma of grilled sardines mingles with the sound of laughter and plastic hammer taps. In an age where most social interactions happen through screens (looking at you, TikTok), there’s something remarkably refreshing about a celebration that brings strangers together through such delightfully odd means.

Perhaps that’s the real magic of São João — its ability to remind us that sometimes the best connections happen when we let go of our digital-age dignity and embrace a bit of ancient absurdity. After all, where else can you tap a stranger on the head with a plastic hammer and end up sharing stories over grilled fish and vinho verde?

In Porto, apparently, that’s just another midsummer night’s dream.