Robin Thicke Ties the Knot With April Love Geary Six Years After Engagement: Check Out Their Relationship Timeline
April shared glimpses of the celebration on her Instagram Story. She wore an elegant all-white dress while the singer donned a suit with a white flower on his lapel. One guest posted a video of Thicke walking down the aisle to Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah.
Just days before the wedding, Thicke proposed to April again during a romantic trip to Cannes. He gave her a new custom ring.
"Robin surprised me during our trip to Cannes by proposing to me again with a new ring that one of my best friends @nikkiwhatnikkiwho @establishedjewelry made, I'm so obsessed with it, thank you!!! This trip was such a dream. I love you so much @robinthicke. Also, a huge thank you to @alilasky for clearing out the whole area and making sure there wasn't a single person getting in the way," Geary shared on Instagram.
The couple began dating in 2014, shortly after Thicke's split from ex-wife Paula Patton. They now share three children together: daughters Mia Love, 6, Lola Alain, 4, and son Luca Patrick, 2. Thicke also has a 14-year-old son, Julian Fuego, from his previous marriage.
Thicke first proposed in December 2018, and the pair often shared updates about their relationship over the years, including matching tattoos and sweet family moments.
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The Hindu
5 days ago
- The Hindu
Ctrl+Alt+Cinema: Takopi's Original Sin and April
Whether you're an old hand at arthouse or just dipping a toe into the rising otaku subculture of anime aficionados around the world, this column lists curated titles that challenge, comfort, and occasionally combust your expectations. This week's picks for Ctrl+Alt+Cinema couldn't be more different on the surface — one's a six-episode anime about a pink alien octopus trying to spread joy, the other is a stark Georgian drama about a rural doctor under scrutiny for her role in a botched delivery — but both are crushing portraits of what happens when the structures meant to care for people fail them. From the drawing board Takopi's Original Sin sounds like the kind of show you'd expect to cheer you up after a long day. It's got a smiling alien octopus from Happy Planet, here to help a little girl with magical gadgets and good intentions. But before the end of the first episode, it's quite clear that this isn't that kind of story. The show follows the titular tentacled alien, whose naivety and earnestness bump up against a world far more complicated than it can afford to understand. Shizuka, the girl he wants to help, lives with a sadness that no gadget can erase, and Takopi will not stop at trying to make her smile once more. Streaming now on Crunchyroll and already breaking viewing records, Takopi is the surprise anime triumph of 2025. Adapted from Taizan 5's manga and helmed by Made in Abyss director Shinya Iino, this six-episode gem weaponises its cute camouflage, only to peel it back towards something deeply, disturbingly human. Like Hirokazu Kore-eda's Monster (2023), Takopi explores the ways children are shaped and sometimes shattered by the choices of adults. Fans of Wonder Egg Priority, BoJack Horseman, or even Requiem for a Dream will also feel right at home (or rather, right on edge). What makes Takopi remarkable is how deftly it binds character, form, and feeling. The gorgeous art shifts from childlike sketches and chiaroscuro dread, while the writing threads together multiple perspectives into a tightly wound gut-punch. If you've ever loved something like A Silent Voice, or found yourself undone by the emotional honesty of Look Back, this is the anime to sit with. Foreign affairs While most films about abortion tend to frame the issue as a binary of choice and consequence, Dea Kulumbegashvili's April is after the emotional weather of female agency under siege. It also begins with one of the creepiest, most unsettling opening shots you're likely to see this year. Currently streaming on MUBI, the film follows Nina, an obstetrician-gynecologist in rural Georgia, who performs abortions in secret and who comes under malpractice investigation after a botched delivery. Dea, whose 2020-film Beginning announced her as a major voice in Georgian cinema, now returns with greater maturity and restraint. It's a slow, unsettling portrait of a woman pushed to the edges and Dea's direction is exacting and spare. What makes April especially important right now is when and where it arrived. The film openly portrays abortion and the desperation of women seeking it, which is a rarity in Georgian cinema. Even though abortion is still legal in Georgia, the film has been inexplicably banned there, likely because it dares to speak openly about a subject that the majorly orthodox population still wants to keep hidden. It also comes at a time when reproductive rights are under a global siege, and sits with the weight of what it means to be a woman trying to make choices in a world that keeps trying to restrict them. If you appreciated the slow, painful revelations of Eliza Hittman's Never Rarely Sometimes Always or the moral complexity of Cristian Mungiu's 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days, April belongs on your list. It's not easy to watch, but in this moment, few films feel more necessary. Ctrl+Alt+Cinema is a fortnightly column that brings you handpicked gems from the boundless offerings of world cinema and anime
Scroll.in
06-08-2025
- Scroll.in
‘Beginning' and ‘April' director interview: ‘I make films to grasp the true beauty of human nature'
Dea Kulumbegashvili is just two films old but already she has been added to the ranks of the most sensational directors in world cinema. The Georgian filmmaker's mastery in creating intense sensorial narratives that are felt as much as they are seen is evident in her feature debut Beginning (2020) as well as her second movie April (2024). Both films star Ia Sukhitashvili. Cinematographer Arseni Khachaturan has shot the movies on 35mm film stock, creating mesmerising visual landscapes that throb with colour, texture, light and feeling. In Beginning, Sukhitashvili plays Yana, the wife of a Jehovah's Witness preacher who is deeply affected when extremists torch the group's church. Yana's growing distance from her husband, her attitude towards their son, and her retreat into herself are portrayed through lengthy takes, several silences and startling ellipses. April is even more ambitious and transgressive than Beginning. The film follows Nina, an obstetrician who conducts illegal abortions, and who is accused of causing the death of one of her patients. An early graphic sequence of an actual birth is the first indication of April 's bold atmospherics. Nina's experience is interspersed with sightings of a spectral figure – a woman with a withered body and heavy breathing. Sound is as vital to Kulumbegashvili's rigorous formalism as the images, she told Scroll. Kulumbegashvili trained in filmmaking at the Columbia University School of the Arts. Before directing features, Kulumbegashvili made two well-received short films. The film company MUBI is showing Beginning and April on its streaming platform. Kulumbegashvili spoke to Scroll about her writing process, her philosophy behind the long take, and her equation with Arseni Khachaturan. Here are edited excerpts from the conversation. What is your writing process like? It's strange. I always call my writing process very messy. It's kind of like going in circles and detouring a lot because I hate to invent things, but I'm also very good at that sometimes. I want to be able to grasp what is real, and what is really happening in front of me. I am very curious to see small things, invisible tragedies almost. A very good friend once told me that unimportant things are really difficult to write about. I believe that. It's easy to create a three-act structure and grand narratives. There are people who do it really well, and it's not necessary for me to be part of that group. I can maybe do something that fewer people are interested in, which looks at more intimate, smaller things. How do you communicate your ideas to your producers? Reading the script is a different experience. There's a lot of struggle to keep the faith that what I wrote is going to be a film. When I give the script to producers, it's not immediately recognised as something that is happening. When I was making Beginning, I remember that not even one film institution outside of Georgia at that point gave us financing. We received many questions from established, renowned institutions that support art – what is this script about, what's happening in this script? Because it was believed that nothing is happening. I was asked to change the ending because there is no hope, I told that I need to show women in the places where there is oppression. That's something that really bothers me. I don't make films to put out a false idea of hope. I make films to grasp the true beauty of human nature, the tragedy. I believe in humans and humanism. I can't lie and look away when something is ugly or not pleasant to look at. Those things are usually in my script, and it's usually not easy to read. Beginning has a fantastic sequence of Ia Sukhitashvili lying on the ground for several minutes with her eyes closed. What was the starting point of that film, and of April? In Beginning, the first image I wrote was the final scene, when she sits at the table with her back to her husband, when she says I killed him [her son]. People asked me, doesn't she love him? Yes, she does, and that's the problem. Because if you don't love somebody, you just get up and leave, right? But this is more tragic for me. It's not that easy to just get out. It's easier maybe to detach somehow. But when love is involved, it's more painful. When I was writing April, there were these very tangible, physical experiences of Nina standing in a field. The wind hits her face and the wind is coming from flowers. I used to say, this is the sound of flowers in the wind. And everybody was like, what do you mean? It's just wind. I was really annoying people with that. I have so many hours of sound recorded for April. I was convinced that we needed to invent the entire method of vertically and horizontally separating the spaces and recording all of it. That's usually part of my writing process – what we hear is part of the narrative. Play What conversations do you have with Arseni Khachaturan, who has shot both your films? Right now, we're working on something. We are talking about a script that doesn't exist so far. I know how I want to shoot it and Arsene knows that it's in my head, but I'm not very coherent in this regard. The film we are working on has a really visual process. I have been telling him that I don't want the film to be glamorous, because this specific method [that she is pursuing] could be associated with glamorous. Can we go totally different? It irritates me, the perfection of the image that a technical approach allows. I just can't stand it. want to use it for seeing imperfections. He's like, okay. What is your dynamic with Khachaturan on the set? Sometimes I annoy Arseni because I like to use heavy cameras. It's important for me that the camera feels heavy. 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It's important to accumulate cinema. It's an accumulative process. Sometimes I need more time for this to happen. Play
Hindustan Times
06-08-2025
- Hindustan Times
April movie review: Bleak and hypnotic abortion drama from Dea Kulumbegashvili refuses to leave the mind
April movie review Cast: Ia Sukhitashvili, Kakha Kintsurashvili, Merab Ninidze Director: Dea Kulumbegashvili Star rating: ★★★★★ A tense, ominous foreboding grips the frames of April, Georgian writer-director Dea Kulumbegashvili's sophomore feature, one that unravels over the course of the 134 minutes of this visceral, unforgettable film. It opens within a dark space where a humanoid creature walks crouched- who is it? What does it represent? Ia Sukhitashvili in a still from April, now available to watch on Mubi. This interrogative spirit is not particularly eluded as Dea sets up the harrowing character study of an obstetrician, Nina (Ia Sukhitashvili, terrific), whose undercover job as an abortion provider in rural Georgia makes her the target of vicious attacks and an imminent investigation. The premise April discovers a world that is elusive in its mix of beauty and capacity for violence. Both exist simultaneously. Here in the countryside, it is all hushed. The reproductive rights of women are limited, and Nina has no answer to the question as to why she has to be the one to get embroiled in this conundrum. What can she do now? The inquiry begins when Nina takes the lead in delivering the child of a young woman from Lagodekhi. The shot of the delivery is real, and shockingly important in the subtext of the film- Dea establishes the realities of the procedure with zero chance for dramatic detail. It is how it is. The child is stillborn, and Nina realises that the pregnancy was not registered earlier. The father is furious, and the scene plays out in a breathtaking single shot as Nina is spat upon, confronted for her other job of performing illicit home abortions. There will be an investigation. She makes for a rather easy target. What works Produced by Luca Guadagnino, April is ambitious and arresting. It draws out the specifics of this one case and places the inquiry into the misogyny and orthodox socio-political systems at play. The context here is necessary, with the Ministry of Health in Georgia having introduced the law in 2023 that abortion is available on request up to 12 weeks of pregnancy, but even then, the decision is made by the clinic under discretion. The hostility that Nina has to face is ungovernable; it makes her an anomaly in the midst of conformists. Working with cinematographer Arseni Khachaturan, Dea confronts Nina's subjectivity with a keen eye, but thankfully, from a reserve. We observe along with her less than we observe her, standing in the corridors of the hospital, all by herself, or seeking casual sex from strangers on the highway. The empathy is not extracted for Nina, she does not want any of it in the first place. What she wants is to be left alone, from the overwhelming anxieties of her work and find some respite from the desperation at times. Almost Michael Haneke-esque in its austerity, April still finds few moments of unrequited beauty in a giant field filled with red blossoms, or in an interaction with a child- so innocent and happy. The sublime exists somewhere in the midst of the rot of oppression. What can we do about it? This is a film that cements Dea Kulumbegashvili as a major voice, a singular filmmaker who wants to lead with ferocity as well as mystery, whose voice demands to be heard. April is a hypnotic and strikingly important piece of work, and very much a modern masterpiece in its own right.
