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Egypt Today
18 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Egypt Today
Cannes winner ONCE UPON A TIME IN GAZA set for release across France
Fresh off winning the Best Director Award at Cannes, Tarzan and Arab Nasser's comedy-drama ONCE UPON A TIME IN GAZA is set to release in theaters across France this month, offering audiences a unique gripping narrative from the heart of Gaza. The screenings, which will be held in the presence of one-half of the director duo Arab Nasser, will be held on the following dates: Thursday, June 19th – Premiere in Marseille at Les Variétés Friday, June 20th – Premiere in Toulouse at American Cosmo Sunday, June 22nd– Premiere in Saint-Ouen-l'Aumône at Utopia Stella Monday, June 23rd – Premiere in Paris at mk2 Gambetta Tuesday, June 24th – Premiere in Orléans Wednesday, June 25th – Premiere in Paris at Majestic Bastille Thursday, June 26th – Premiere in Saint-Denis at L'Ecra ONCE UPON A TIME IN GAZA explores the gripping story of Yahya, a young student who forges a friendship with Osama, a charismatic restaurant owner with a big heart. Together, they begin peddling drugs while delivering falafel sandwiches, but they are soon forced to grapple with a corrupt cop and his oversized ego. An international co-production between France, Palestine, Germany, and Portugal with Qatar and the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, the film boasts a stellar cast that includes Nader Abd Alhay, who is known for his role as Sami in FARAH, which is streaming now on Netflix; Ramzi Maqdisi (GHOST HUNTING, awarded Best Documentary at the Berlinale), Majd Eid (Cannes Winning title HOLY SPIDER); DOP Christophe Graillot (RIDE ABOVE) and editor Sophie Reine, who won the Best Editing Award at the César Awards for her work in THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF YOUR LIFE. Directed by the Nasser Brothers from a screenplay co-written with Amer Nasser and Marie Legrand, ONCE UPON A TIME IN GAZA is produced by Rani Massalha and Marie Legrand from Les Films du Tambour and Muriel Merlin of Lyly Productions. Additionally, the film was co-produced with Rise Studios (Amanda Turnbull and Ziad Srouji), Made in Palestine Project (Rashid Abdelhamid), Red Balloon Film (Dorothe Benemeier), Riva Filmproduktion (Mickael Eckelt and Lena Zimmerhackel), Ukbar Filmes (Pandora Da Cunha Telles and Pablo Iraola), and executive produced by Jordan Pioneers Multi Media & Slate Films Services (Khaled Haddad) in association with A. A. Films (Ahmed Amer), Cocoon Films (Sawsan Asfari), Radio e Televisao De Portugal, and Kometa (Edyta Janczak-Hiriart). Twin brothers Tarzan and Arab Nasser were born in Gaza in 1988. In 2013, their short film CONDOM LEAD was selected for the Main Competition at Cannes. Their first feature film, DÉGRADÉ, also premiered as part of Cannes' Critics' Week. Their second feature, GAZA MON AMOUR, premiered in the Horizons Program of the Venice International Film Festival and was Palestine's submission to the 2021 Academy Awards.
Extra.ie
a day ago
- Entertainment
- Extra.ie
Remembering the original Irish rock star Rory Gallagher
The drive to Cork was a lonely one. Ry Cooder on the deck, that sweet slide guitar shooting off tracers: the memories, stacked up like a vast rack of on-line CDs, kept slipping in and out of the engagement slot. No need ever to press the play button. Now and then I had to hold back the tears as the music of past friendship flooded the car and, with it, a terrible awareness of all the things that might have, but hadn't, been done. Van came on, whispering about the ancient highway and I was hurtling east from Kerry, alive to the rivets and joints of the flimsy piece of metal I was sealed into: the rattle of the steering wheel, the hum of the rubber on tarmac like a rumbling in the distance and all around me the earth, the road and the rough hills scorning the transience of our passing through, passing through, passing through. So many years on this road, that road and the other road. Near death experiences in light planes heading from date to date in the United States. Thrown from the stage by one of the loveliest men you could meet, somewhere in Europe, and the fans howling for more. Duckwalking on the boards in Italy and plunging through a hole near the edge you hanging from a metal bar like Tarzan, the feedback screeching to high heaven for someone to rescue you, rescue you, rescue you, and they howled then too, as you broke the freefall and then hauled yourself back from the abyss scrambling up onto the stage to the sound of five thousand or was it ten thousand? voices screaming their appreciation, one of the most electric, one of the most addictive sounds in the world. Ah, but you could laugh about that later and you did, relishing the craziness of it all, a life lived that no one else would ever truly get the shape and measure of but always lived to the full, lived to the full, lived to the full. The cat had nine lives. He was smart and straight and tough. But sometimes even nine lives just isn't enough. No it isn't. Ancient highway. Macroom almost took me by surprise. In it before I realised how far Id travelled. And then it did take me by surprise, a prettier town than Id remembered. Like some sweet little spot you might find in Brittany, the brightness with which it carried on about its business full of strangeness in the journey I was making back, back to the place where it had all started, and beyond. I had expected to recognise some landmark sooner and a feeling of disorientation set in momentarily. Then the castle walls loomed and the image from the poster for the first ever open-air rock festival in Ireland that Id carried around like a psychic talisman all those years slipped into focus. There they were, the partly ruined stately walls and, inside, what for that fantastic day became a field of dreams. * * * * * * * 1977. The month of June. The Macroom Mountain Dew Festival. Ireland's first ever open-air rock extravaganza. It was right that it should have happened in a town that had the feel of a place of pilgrimage. They came from the four corners of Ireland to be part of something that some of them at least had an intuition was bigger than a rock festival though that in itself was a source of wonder and excitement, enough to make the pulse race. But it was more than that too. It was a watershed, a moment which more than any other marked the changing of the guard. Its no surprise now to hear that a 15-year-old who would later trade under the name of The Edge was there that day, the event sparking his own dream of finding the keys to some future rock n roll kingdom, a gift handed across the great divide from stage to audience, that would echo and resound through thousands of clubs and theatres and halls and stadia spanning the globe during the next 18 years and more. We were there too. Wed come in force, driving down from Dublin in a convoy, me in a rusting Mirafiori, Ry Cooder on the deck the tape deck then too, the boot weighed down with thousands of copies of a baby magazine to sell or to give away, we didn't know which. When we pulled into Macroom we were feeling about half past dead for sure, but the buzz about the place, the sense of palpable excitement was as good as any shot of cocaine whooshing through the central nervous system and telling the brain, hey there's more sweet energy in this bag of bones than you ever imagined. It was a momentous occasion: you could feel it not just in your marrow, but in your blood. Hot Press launched in June of 1977, and he was on the first cover, a lithe figure with a guitar, towering above a Sgt. Pepper-style collage of reprobates from Irish politics and international rock, Liam Cosgrave at the bottom centre of it all and around him a bizarre and motley crew that would run the gamut from Conor Cruise OBrien and Paddy Donegan across to Keef Richards and Patti Smith. That cover was stitched together in a frenzy of all-night activity, the last piece of finished artwork pasted down just as the final touches were being applied to the remaining few pages at 8am on an early summers morning of naked tiredness and blind optimism. It was a black and white cover because the pages had to be with the printers in Cavan at 9 o'clock, and we were too late to get even a reverse print of the flaming Hot Press logo printed to give it a dash of spot colour. But it is luminous in the memory now all the same. Some are mathematicians, others are carpenters wives. We had people on board then who would later become actors, acclaimed writers, TV directors, radio producers, recording artistes and certified crazies but everyone mucked in on the Hot Press stand and, as the support bands blasted through their allotted time, we introduced ourselves and Irelands first ever rock n roll newspaper to the crowd that packed the festival site. The musical build-up was solid rather than spectacular but the place began to shake when Status Quo rolled on to play a friendly, impressive set of their inimitable, happy, poppy rock n boogie. You couldn't help but smile. I remember a brown Aston Martin pulling up on the dirt track that ran over behind the stage and a figure moving swiftly into the recesses of the back stage area. Quo ended their set and there was the customary wait as the gear was shifted around and the stage set for the headlining act. The crowd pushed to the front, amid an electric sense of expectation. He's coming. Here he is. That's him. Maybe not. Over there. Is it? Shadows visible behind the drum risers. The roadies final scurrying movements out front. Freeeeeeph. Wurrrrrrrr. Yaaaaaah. Freeeeeeph. Roar-eeeeee. Roar-eeeeee. Roar-eeeeee. Freeeeeeph. And then another figure darting to the main microphone centre-stage. 'Ladies and Gentlemen. Would you welcome please… Mr Rory Gallagher!' A figure races to the centre of the stage brandishing a guitar like a machine gun. A roar envelopes the audience. And then over it a voice. Did you ever wake up with bullfrogs on your mind? Pandemonium. Sheer fucking pandemonium. * * * * * * * Its all so long ago that I don't ever remember approaching Cork from this angle before. As I pass through Ballincollig and take a roundabout, the hearse is leaving OConnor's funeral parlour, a familiar battered Strat lying like an ineffably poignant still-life behind the polished wood of the coffin. I drive on down Model Farm Road uncertain of my bearings. Eventually I catch sight of a church spire, back from the roadside, in on the right. I pull on up to Dennehy's Cross anyway to be certain and then turn in and watch the Saturday afternoon shoppers go about their mundane business. I execute a U-turn and slip back up to the side entrance into the churchyard where a parking space waits. By the time Ive walked around to the front of the church and scanned the gathering crowd for familiar faces, the hearse is leading the cortege up along Patrick Street, Corks main artery. There, the people of Rory Gallagher's adopted city line the pavement on both sides of the street and as the black vehicles seem to float by, there begins a ripple that turns into the at once staccato and yet solid, solid sound of what must be thousands of people clapping: one final, last tribute to a lost Cork hero. Standing in the crowd, as the spontaneous round of applause breaks out, its almost impossible not to cry at the sad and lovely human warmth reflected in that dignified expression of a deep, collective affection. How then must it feel, sitting in the first solemn limousine, for Donal Gallagher, Rory's brother and manager and minder and friend whos been at his side through thick and thin for over forty years now, twenty-five of them, it must be, working together, sometimes pushing wildly against the grain, in the crazy, upside-down world of rock n roll? And for Tom O'Driscoll, whos been at Rory's side for twenty-five years also, and whos lived through every scrape and close shave the man ever asked for and got a few more besides, and who could never, ever claim that he came through it all unscathed but who loved every minute of it too when you could afford to stand back and laugh, but who loved it mostly because he loved the man he'd dedicated his life's work to (and, yes, thrown off the stage once in Nottingham, in a fit of enthusiasm which had already been written into Irish rock folklore)? And for Donal's wife Cecelia and his children Eoin, Hugh, Katherine and Daniel, who loved Rory not just because he was Donal's brother, but because he was a hero to them as well, a great musician and a star whose legend, they knew, cast a huge and comforting shadow over Irish rock history and over the recent history of the blues. And for Rory's mother, Monica, who had borne him in her womb and brought him into the world in Ballyshannon in Donegal in 1948, all of 47 years ago, and had seen him hit the road at the age of 15 with the Impact Showband who transmutated into the Fontana (or was it the other way around?) and had wondered even then where would it all end, where would it all end, where would it all end? And had watched when he had taken the plunge into the great unknown with Taste, and moved to Belfast, away from her and from the security of home and family to begin life to begin his life properly as a musician? Its a hard life. What it did to Leadbelly and Howlin Wolf and Skip James and Memphis Slim and Muddy Waters. What it did to Hank Williams and Jerry Lee Lewis and Eddie Cochrane and Buddy Holly and Elvis Presley. What it did to Keef Richards and John Lennon and Lowel George and Jimi Hendrix (and later Philip Lynott). The kind of men, most of them, who Rory looked up to and emulated and then, some of them at least, left trailing. Thats the kind of company Rory deserves to be seen in. That's the kind of company he was in when he did the London Sessions with Muddy Waters and with Jerry Lee Lewis and played so good that, at times, it was scary even for established greats like them to contemplate. The kind of company he was seen in also when he spearheaded Rockpalast, the first pan-European televised rock event that was beamed into 190 million homes, alongside the great Little Feat and in the process consolidated the European fan-base that made him one of the biggest live draws bar none on the entire continent over the next ten years at least. And when, way back in 70, he did the Isle of Wight with Jimi Hendrix and later rubbed shoulders, and traded licks and stories whichever with Albert King and Bob Dylan and John Lennon and Van Morrison and Lonnie Donegan and Philip Lynott and people whom he loved and respected like The Dubliners and even, if memory serves me, members of U2 at the Hot Press fifth birthday bash at Punchestown back in 1982. She had always known it would be a hard life that would test his stamina and endurance and his powers of recovery as much as it would his sheer ability as a songwriter and a musician. But it was a good life too as success followed success and his popularity grew and his record sales began to move upwards past one, then two, then three, then five, then ten million. A lot of records. She was a fan through all those years, during which he gave her so much to be proud of. She could see what most women of her age could never see the magnificent electric power and excitement of it all. She was proud of him. Heartbreaking. That final round of applause on Patrick Street that echoed all of the other ovations that hed been given been given, remember by the millions of people who'd been privileged to see him playing live over the 32 years since he first strapped on an electric guitar and stepped out onto a stage semi-professionally. Jesus, if you took all that applause and added it up and replayed it back-to-back one more time with feeling (one more time with feeling), it wouldn't stop for a whole month. Instead, it took just a few minutes for the cortage to pass through Patrick Street, and for that beautiful moving last standing ovation to build, sustain, hold steady and subside. The way in the end everything does. The way in the end everything does. Everything. But everything. Everything does. * * * * * * * They open the doors and step out onto the concrete space in front of the church. Everyone pauses while one of the attendants opens the rear door of the hearse. The battered Strat is taken out and Donal Gallagher hands it to Tom O'Driscoll. A photographer steals around to get a picture as they lift out the coffin. The following day a photograph will appear in the Sunday Tribune with six men bearing the coffin aloft, Tom O'Driscoll on the left of the frame holding the guitar and in the distance created by the wide-angle lens, Cecelia and her children waiting silently for the next step in a ritual that has the capacity to break you up at any time. Inside the church, the prayers have that monotonous, predictable quality that makes it easy to follow the movie clips that are showing inside your head. Re-running conversations with Rory about Russian cinema, about Citizen Kane, about Orson Welles, about Humphrey Bogart, about Raymond Chandler, about Dashiel Hammett. He knew his thriller writers and he particularly liked the hard-boiled school. His knowledge of culture may have been underestimated by those who didnt know him, but he loved talking about books and about writers. And he loved talking about the blues, which had turned him on to music, listening to American Forces Network radio during the late 50s and early 60s and of which he had an encyclopaedic knowledge not just of the music but of the lore. He was a folk fan too and always insisted on paying in to gigs by Martin Carthy when other rock stars would have had themselves put on the guest list a simple but profound mark of respect from one great guitar player to another which encapsulated the most important quality which Rory brought to his life and his work. It was the music that mattered first, last and always. The money and the success, they either came with the territory, like the booze, or they didn't. But what mattered, what truly mattered, was the gorgeous, potent, unforgettable sound that emerged when a player who knew how to, slapped the bottleneck against the strings and slid up to high G and back down again making all sorts of little detours and inflections via F and Bb and other points in-between along the way, the fluid keening movements done with an awareness of the customary 4/4 beat pulsing away underneath even when its not there, or at least you cant hear that its there. The blues comes calling with its calling card. Rory Gallagher intuitively understood. Maybe Irish people have an affinity with the blues, the music of another oppressed people. But Rory had an affinity with Irish music too, that he never lost. On the contrary, the longer he stayed away, the more he loved not just the music but the country itself in all its manifest contradictions. He regularly bought the latest albums by Sharon Shannon, Clannad, Altan and Jimmy MacCarthy, a fellow songwriter from Cork whom he always held in the highest regard. And he kept in touch with what was going on through the Sunday newspapers and through Hot Press. The last time we interviewed Rory, for one of our 15th anniversary special editions in 1992, he talked about moving back to Ireland, maybe taking a place in Donegal to get some space and put some shape on his life in a way that the grind of being on the road for almost 30 years hadnt allowed. I remember reading that at the time and thinking in the middle of feeling that here was a piece that genuinely did justice to the scale of the Gallagher legend that this was what he really should do. And hearing the voice of the maestro say it in his own words too. Thinking about, going back home. Going back home. Going back home. One of the ghosts that haunts me, sitting in the church, confronted by his coffin in the centre aisle there, just in front of the altar is that I'm probably one of a dozen people who were concerned enough to think that they should hop on a plane to London and help to do whatever might have been necessary to get him to take that first crucial step but who, in the way of these feelings, didn't because the grind of your own life goes on and there's a paper to produce and children to get to school, and all the rest of those things that root us to where we are and lock us into the here and now take precedence. * * * * * * * More than most people, I know that there is little point in regret. I am well aware that Donal did as much as any one person can do to change the course of Rorys life in a way that might have ensured that he would do a Muddy Waters and stay alive and play the blues well into his sixties at least. And that, either way, Rory had his own plans, that no one has a right to stand in judgement on. But today, I'm full of regrets anyway. Chiefly, I suppose, that I never took the chance when it was there to tell Rory, face to face, the extent to which I appreciated everything he'd done for Irish rock as a pioneer and an inspiration. And also for his practical generosity and willingness to support the cause when he was asked. In 1982, when we needed people to play a benefit gig for Hot Press to keep the paper from closing down, the first person I called was Donal Gallagher. Within 24 hours, Rory had agreed to play. Within a week we had put an extraordinarily strong bill together that in all the right circumstances might have brought 50,000 people to Punchestown, where the gig was to be held, and assured the future of the paper indefinitely. It wasn't too long before elements of the bill began to unravel. Those whose managers agreed were pulled by their agents. Those who had agreed themselves were pulled by their managers. Some people just didn't turn up on the day. I felt betrayed on half-a-dozen counts because these things are like a house of cards: if one piece goes, the rest tend to follow. Through it all, Rory never wavered and for anyone who was there the gig turned out to be one of the most memorable in Irish rock history with Rory Gallagher and his band, Philip Lynott, members of U2 and Paul Brady ending up on stage together in a spontaneous, celebratory end to a great day's rock n roll that had none of the contrived we-are-the-worldness of the Self Aid finale about it. The gig didn't make money but if it hadn't happened Hot Press wouldn't exist now because it gave us something to focus on over a vital period of two months, and a way of publicising our problems in a positive light. And ultimately it gave us a launching pad for keeping the show on the road and going forward. And, for the most part, we owe that to Rory Gallagher. * * * * * * * Ancient highway. The road goes on forever. Its hard to explain at times to the young bucks coming through, convinced that they're going to kick out the jams, bury the traces and change the world with their first album, but most of what happens grows directly out of what's already been. The space that exists for rock in Ireland and the opportunities and the facilities which allow music to flourish in the way that it does right now, were carved out by people like Rory Gallagher. But time does allow us the distance and objectivity to identify seminal figures, those without whom history might have taken an entirely different course. Without a shadow of doubt, Rory Gallagher was one. The 70s was a time of musical darkness in Ireland but Rory blazed a trail through it, illuminating the possibilities that rock n roll could offer for thousands of young Irish fans who knew in their hearts that what was being offered by showband singers and cabaret artistes was as much a tragedy as it certainly was a farce. Music cant change the world, I've heard it said, but it can and does change our relationship to it. If were lucky it changes it absolutely. As one great writer who made the annual pilgrimage from the midlands to see Rory at the Stadium in the mid 70s said: I would never look at the world in the same way again. The values that Rory espoused too were of the kind that remain crucial: honesty, integrity and a complete commitment to the craft of being a musician, songwriter and performer. A lot of successful 70s stars turned Tory. Rory stayed on the side of the underdog, the outsider, the dispossessed. He stayed true to the music. He stayed true to the blues. He stayed true to himself. True to himself. True to himself. The prayers are over. Walking across the front of the church to offer condolences, its hard to go beyond those old words of comfort but you try. And then circle around to the side to where the coffin now rests. Standing there, paying your last respects, and signing the book of condolences, there is just an aching sense of futility. There is so much to say but this is neither the time nor the place. Ancient highway. The road goes on forever. No one knew that better than Rory Gallagher. His spirit will guide us on our way, guide us on our way, guide us on our way. On our way.
Yahoo
12-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
‘The best job I ever had': ‘From ‘Supernatural' to ‘The Boys,' Eric Kripke talks his biggest hits — and miss (ahem, ‘Tarzan')
Eric Kripke is proof that even the most successful creators in Hollywood still battle impostor syndrome. 'I will let you know when I have that moment,' the Supernatural creator and The Boys showrunner told Gold Derby when asked when he felt he'd finally made it in the cutthroat industry of entertainment. 'It's my honest answer. Every good writer I know is like, 'This is the one that they realize I'm a fraud.' I mean, none of us really know what we're doing.' More from GoldDerby 'The Penguin's' Colin Farrell and Cristin Milioti reveal the secrets behind their transformative performances (being huge Bat-fans helped) How some Emmy categories lost and others gained nomination slots Peter Straughan breaks down the power plays and personal tragedy in 'Wolf Hall: The Mirror and the Light' Even after Supernatural, a show that Kripke conceived and ran for the first five seasons of its 15 (!) seasons, the Toledo, Ohio, native feared he'd never work again. The modest and candid Kripke did finally admit that he's felt a little bit more stability in the wake of The Boys' insanely popular run since it premiered on Prime Video in 2019 (its fourth season bowed this past June, with a fifth and final season expected in 2026). In our latest edition of The Gold Standard, Kripke shares stories from all his various supernatural hits. After developing and writing the WB's ill-fated 2003 one-season wonder Tarzan and writing the 2005 horror movie The Boogeyman, Kripke created Supernatural, which followed the adventures of the monster-hunting brothers Sam () and Dean Winchester (Jensen Ackles). I was hoping to get to five [seasons]. But what I was really hoping for was to correct a lot of the mistakes I made with my show before it, which was Tarzan on the WB. That was just such a flaming sh-tshow. And the vast majority of it was my fault. So I really wanted to build a show that corrected those mistakes. Like, for example, if you're going to make a network TV show, you really need to figure out what your engine is. How are you going to generate story every week, 22 times a year? Tarzan had none of that. Supernatural was basically designed to be a story engine, whereas there's some supernatural mystery every single week, and the guys have to get involved every single week, and it's all like Americana and urban legends. … It was just designed to be an effective network television contraption. And I think it did that well, and I think it's one of the reasons it went as long as it did is it. It's maybe too good of an engine [laughs], it just never, never stopped. And then through the exploration of it, seeing how great Jared and Jensen were and then, Misha [Collins] and all the other amazing characters, it sort of evolved in a very organic way. Because you're just looking at great film and great actors, and you just start saying in the writers room, 'Why aren't we why are we pushing that further?' So all the mythology and all the character stuff, it was always there, but it probably became heavier as the show continued. The [moment] that pops into my mind is when we were shooting the pilot, and it was a scene on a bridge where Sam and Dean are talking about their mom. And it's kind of emotional. And I felt good about who we had cast. They seemed great, but you never know until you know. And watching that scene [on monitors] at video village, that was the minute I knew, and I was like, "Oh, shit. These guys are really good, and you really believe them as brothers." And I turned to Peter Johnson, who is one of the executive producers, and we both gave each other the exact same look at the exact same time, like, "Oh, I think we might have something here." I really remember that very vividly. Though Kripke hardly felt bulletproof after the success of Supernatural, he found some validation when he was able to team up with J.J. Abrams and Jon Favreau for Revolution. The post-apocalyptic series followed the aftermath of a worldwide electrical shutdown and ran on NBC for two season before it was canceled. The idea [came from] hooking up with [Abrams' production company] Bad Robot just out of a general meeting. They had a short story about all the world's power coming off. Meanwhile, I wanted to do a story [that was] dystopian, post-apocalyptic, like deep into civilization ending. I had been reading The Stand at the time. That was what was jazzing me. And so it was a little chocolate and peanut butter because, I'm like, 'Well, why don't we combine both ideas?' Which we did. And then we just started making it. And then we wrote the pilot and got the green light from NBC and Jon came into the office and was like, 'Hey, I would like to [direct] this pilot.' And I'm like, 'What are Jon Favreau and J.J. Abrams doing sitting in front of me in a room?' Like, that would be great. So then it all kind of came together. And that was my memory of that show outside of losing all the sleep in the world because it was such a hard show. The best parts of that show were sitting in a writer's room with J.J. Abrams and Jon Favreau and watching them bounce ideas off each other. That was just a really fun front row seat. Any time a show gets canceled, you shed a tear just because you put so much effort into it. I would say looking back, I feel like my primary emotion was relief. It was such a hard show, and I forgot every lesson I learned with Supernatural. It was completely serialized. There was no engine. There was no clean path. But it was still a network show. Like, had that show been an eight-episode streaming show with a bigger budget? It would have been called The Last of Us [laughs]. It would have been good! Like, people ask me there, "What do you think of The Last of Us? I'm like, 'Oh, it's like if Revolution was good." But trying to do 20 episodes of Revolution was just so, so hard and took two years out of my life. So as much as I love those actors and missed that show, I didn't miss the feeling that I was slowly dying every day. As someone who was making a career out of mining supernatural stories, time travel almost felt like a rite of passage for Kripke. The NBC series starred Abigail Breslin, Matt Lanter, and Malcolm Barrett as a trio of disparate professionals attempting to stop a nefarious organization from altering the course of history through time travel. Like Revolution, however, it only lasted two seasons. I love genre, but I also am really proud of the fact that I really haven't gone to the same genre twice. And I've always thought that time travel was a really great concept for a series. And obviously we didn't invent it. I mean, Quantum Leap probably did it the best, but there was Time Tunnel and there were a bunch of them. … Again, [it's] back to an engine, really. You understand that every week you go to a different historical period and there's some adventure interacting with famous, or not so famous, historical figures. And it gives you a structure when you're in the writers' room. I was calling it 'Bourne Identity through time.' But I didn't want to do it alone because I think I was still shellshocked from Revolution. So I brought the idea — I didn't have much more than that — but I brought the idea to Shawn Ryan, and we really got along, and we started kicking it around together and developing it. And then it became Timeless. I am proud of that one. One it was a genuinely great experience. I'm still close with Shawn and going through that battle with Shawn was really nice. I mean, we ended up getting canceled, but that show did find itself when it started telling stories in history about women or disenfranchised minorities or these amazing stories in history that were true but most people didn't know about, once we got off stuff like the Lincoln assassination and we got into [other factual events]. With pride, I will say that we were the first ones to talk about [legendary slave-turned-lawman] Bass Reeves and Colman Domingo was our Bass Reeves. And the fact that we were able to find and tell those stories, and were a lot of times the first time anyone was telling them, is something that I'm proud of. I think it was a very inclusive show, and it was during the first Trump presidency. And so this notion that history is for everyone was, as I saw it, a really important message. Versus all his other major television shows, The Boys represented a shift for Kripke in multiple ways. One, it was based on existing IP, the adult comic book series created by Garth Ennis and Darick Robertson. And two, the R-rated superhero ensemble costarring Karl Urban, Jack Quaid, Antony Starr, and Erin Moriarty is far darker and more violent than any of Kripke's previous network television work. The series has received eight Emmy nominations to date, including Best Drama Series in 2021, and won for its stunt work in 2023. I was passionate about Garth Ennis comics and was a huge fan of The Boys. I took a meeting with a producer named Ori Marmar, who worked for Neil Moritz, basically just to say to him, "I can't believe you gave Preacher to somebody else." Because Preacher was my all-time favorite comic. And he's like, "Well, we have The Boys." I'm like, "Oh, I'll just take that then." But no, I think anyone who really knows me and even works with me in the writers' room, they know that my humor skews really dark and I have a pretty filthy mouth. And I love profane humor … and so suddenly I was able to make this show that is by far the most like my personality than anything I've been able to do up to this point. So the fact that it hit as big as it did was very gratifying because [with] most everything else I had to pretend to be more innocent than I was. Like, I love Sam Raimi and super gory horror and really profane comedy and emotion and satire, I'm a huge satire nut, and being able mix all that up into one stew was the best. It's the best job I've ever had. We never really worried about ['superhero fatigue']. Just the opposite, actually. We saw that as an opportunity. I mean, when we were pitching the show, we were pitching it almost 10 years ago. I think Deadpool had just come out, and our whole pitch was 'There's a tidal wave that's about to crash, and someone's going to do this for TV, and it might as well be us.' The balloon is gonna be too big and someone has to take the piss out of it because it's a piss balloon. … I'm a comic book nerd, and comics went through the same evolution. There were straight superhero comics, and then guys like Garth Ennis came along and they started subverting the form. And that was overdue in the feature space and television space. So we kind of knew it was coming, and we wanted to be at the head of it. So we never felt like, we've got the counterprogramming that people are going to want. And then as the show continued, I think we stayed fresh by always making sure that it was never about the superheroes. The superheroes are the slick packaging on the outside of the cereal box. But what it's really about is late stage capitalism and politics. And how do you hold on to hope, and the corrosive aspects of revenge. So the superhero thing is just a metaphor to get to a lot of deeper issues that are really going on in the world, both politically and emotionally. I think that's what early Marvel did well. And once your superhero stuff is just about superheros, yeah it's probably pretty boring. But when your superhero stuff is about anything but, I think people see that and appreciate it. We realized it very early, but I don't think we started with just the metaphor of, "It'll be fun to use superheroes to satirize celebrities." That was the idea. But once you dig a little deeper you say, "Well, these aren't just celebrities, these are authoritarians and fascists." And once you realize these are authoritarians who present as celebrities, you realize we're telling a metaphor that is more like the present moment we're living in than almost anybody else right now. … And so we felt an obligation to run with that ball as far as we could. So, very quickly there, I gave the directive in the room that we're all going to be news junkies. We're all going to know every single thing about every single political issue. And then we're going to make a show that's a satire of that. And I take a lot of pride in for as bananas as this show is, we're also one of, if not the most, current show on television. Which, you know, doesn't say great things about the world or reality, but we're able to talk about issues that a lot of shows can't talk about, and even less now that there's this cooling effect of people are scared about being political. But someone's got to be the kid in the back of the classroom throwing spitballs and, and we're proud that that's us, right up until the moment they vanish me. Then I'll be like, "I didn't mean it." Like I won't be brave about. While The Boys has made an art form of subverting the superhero genre, it's also done what every other successful crimefighter inevitably does as well: franchise. In 2022 came the animated series The Boys Presents: Diabolical and the Audible podcast The Boys: Deeper and Deeper. The next-gen streaming series spin-off Gen V launched in 2023, and two more shows are on the way, The Boys: Mexico and Vought Rising. I think it's been really fun and challenging to find that sweet spot where each show has its own reason for existing. And so it's not just like a cash grab sell out, but it's like each one is a story. A you're like, "Oh, that's an interesting story. I would like to hear that story. And I'm interested in those characters." And so how each one becomes its own animal with its own creative vibe and rhythm and look, while still being a part of this sort of larger tone that we're creating. That's a really fun and hard challenge. But I really enjoy that. I'm interested in not just like, "Well, how do they all become one long story you have to f--king watch? And how do I just create more homework for the audience?" It's more like, how do you make each one exist on its own and as great as you possibly can? And I hope the audience somehow senses that in between the lines, that we're not just doing it just because we like money. We're doing it because we actually think those are interesting stories to tell. Like, we have this prequel [Vought Rising] coming up. And it's superheroes in the 1950s, but it's like the grittiest, most real version of the '50s. I've just never seen that before. I've seen it in like six or seven minutes of Watchmen, but that's it. And so to do a whole world that lives there, I'm just really intrigued to see what that looks like. And I would watch that, whether I knew about The Boys or not. Best of GoldDerby Tina Fey on 'The Four Seasons': 'It was a challenge to be restrained about where we put jokes' 'Cross' star Aldis Hodge on building an aspirational hero — who's not a superhero Jonathan Pryce on the 'great responsibility' of playing a character with dementia in 'Slow Horses' Click here to read the full article.
Time Out
05-06-2025
- General
- Time Out
The best place to raise a family in Australia lies just outside our nation's youngest capital city
Having grown up in Australia, I can confirm it's a pretty epic place to be a kid. I was lucky to have countless green spaces to burn off energy, playgrounds to live out my Tarzan dreams and top-notch educational institutions that made learning actually fun. It's no wonder so many Aussie expats move back home to have kids. But which spots offer the best family-friendly lifestyle? To find the answer, we've turned to iSelect's recent study on the best places to start a family in Australia. The health insurance experts analysed government data to compare more than 300 of Australia's largest regions across five key factors, including child development, childcare availability and cost, healthcare and fertility rates. Located just a five-to-ten minute drive from the city centre, South Canberra came out on top as the best place to raise a family in Australia. This leafy locale is surrounded by many of the capital's best nature reserves, from the mountain bike wonderland of Stromlo Forest Park to the wild beauty of Namadgi National Park. But it's not all about greenery – many of the capital's top cultural attractions are just around the corner too, like the Embassy Trail and Royal Australian Mint. Plus, who could forget the Weston Park Railway at Yarralumla Play Station? In terms of actual data, South Canberra ranks second in Australia for both childcare affordability (averaging 20.5 per cent of household income) and childcare availability (with almost three centres per child). The region also scores well on healthcare (6.8 out of ten), and although its child development rate isn't the highest (76.4 per cent), the overall balance puts it in the top spot. Overall, Sydney is home to five of the ten best places in the country to raise kids. The semi-rural suburb of Dural-Wisemans Ferry in Sydney's northwest ranked second, outperforming South Canberra on both healthcare and average child development rates. However, it fell slightly behind in terms of affordability and access to childcare, with higher costs (27.5 per cent of income) and fewer centres (1.74 per child). Leichhardt in Sydney's vibrant Inner West came in third, followed by the seaside city of Bayside in Victoria in fourth, and Ku-ring-gai, another leafy Sydney gem, in fifth. You can check out the full study here or see our round-up below. These are the 10 best places to raise a family in Australia: South Canberra, ACT Dural-Wisemans Ferry, NSW Leichhardt, NSW Bayside, VIC Ku-ring-gai, NSW Kenmore-Brookfield-Moggill, QLD Chatswood-Lane Cove, NSW Cottesloe-Claremont, WA Stonnington-East, VIC Manly, NSW
Perth Now
04-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Perth Now
Ashley Tisdale reveals her long running Phineas and Ferb behind the scenes rule
Ashley Tisdale refuses to do more than "two-hour sessions" for 'Phineas and Ferb'. The 39-year-old actress - who has voiced Phineas' sister Candance since the pilot episode in 2007 - is back for the beloved animated comedy show's revival a decade after the 'Last Day of Summer' finale aired, and she has reflected on the challenges of recording the voiceovers. She told PEOPLE magazine: "That's always been kind of more of my challenge with Candace, is when she starts to kind of build into that episode and she's really high-strung, and it takes a lot out of me. "So, I only do two-hour sessions. But I've been doing only two-hour sessions from the very beginning. "I recognised very soon into Candace that I was like, 'Oh, I cannot do three hours or four hours.' It's a lot!" Ashley - who admitted as she's "gotten older, it's like a workout" - insisted it doesn't feel like 'Phineas and Ferb' has really been away for the last decade. She explained: "I feel like it never ended because we kept on doing 'Candace Against the Universe' [for Disney+ in 2020] and little things here and there. "So, I guess I was sad when we were done with the show, but I never expected to come back, and it's pretty awesome. "I love it. We have so much fun doing it." Meanwhile, Ashley recently admitted she hopes her daughter Jupiter, four, takes inspiration from her 'High School Musical' character Sharpay Evans. The actress - who also has Emerson, eight months, with her husband Christopher French - told People: "I just think that Sharpay is someone who knows what she wants and I think that's always been really exciting. "I love playing a character like that because I've always known what I wanted. So I feel like that is something to look up to." Ashley loves that her daughter has already developed a passion for movies. The actress shared: "I never thought I'd see the day. But, you know, she's obsessed with tons of movies. This is not the first one she's obsessed with." Ashley revealed that Jupiter is a big fan of the 'Wicked' and 'Tarzan' movies. She said: "She was Glinda from 'Wicked' for the longest time. So she does love the pink, but she also loves 'Tarzan'. So I don't know. It changes."
