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Atlantic
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- Atlantic
When Mission: Impossible Had No Mission
Every major movie franchise has boxes to check. In Jurassic Park, dinosaurs must run amok; in Planet of the Apes, apes have to meditate on intelligence; in The Fast and the Furious, Vin Diesel absolutely has to evangelize the benefits of family, Corona beers, and tricked-out cars. But Mission: Impossible took four films to fully establish its franchise must-have: the ever more blurred lines between its death-defying, stunt-loving star, Tom Cruise, and the superspy he plays. For more than a decade, the series was defined instead by its lack of definition—at least, beyond having Cruise in the lead role as Ethan Hunt, and Ving Rhames recur as Hunt's ally. Each installment felt made by a director with a specific take on the material, and Cruise was their versatile instrument. But the four Mission: Impossible films that followed—culminating in the eighth and purportedly final installment, now in theaters—have taken a different approach. Instead of relying on a select few characters and story beats to link the films together, the movies have abided by a stricter canon. Mission: Impossible—The Final Reckoning, which earned a record-setting $63 million at the box office over its opening weekend, represents the most aggressive pivot away from the saga's more freewheeling origins: It self-seriously inserts supercuts of footage from its predecessors, reveals the purpose of a long-forgotten plot device, and turns a bit player from 1996's Mission: Impossible into a crucial character. In the process, it streamlines those earlier, delightfully unpredictable stories to the point of overlooking their true appeal. That tactic may be familiar to today's audiences, who are used to cinematic universes and intersecting story threads, but the Mission: Impossible franchise initially distinguished itself by eschewing continuity. New cast members came and went. Hunt lacked signature skills and catchphrases. The movies were messy, and didn't seem interested in building toward an overarching plan. Yet in their inconsistency, they prove the value of ignoring the brand-building pressures that have become the norm for big-budget features today. Like the 1960s television show on which they're loosely based, the early Mission: Impossible s were stand-alone stories. The first two movies in particular stuck out for their bold authorial styles. First came Brian De Palma's film, which he drenched in noir-ish flair while also deploying vivid color and Dutch angles. It arrived at a time when blockbusters such as Independence Day and Twister leveled cities and prioritized world-ending spectacle. Without a formula in place, De Palma got to challenge genre conventions—for instance, by mining tension out of mere silence during the central set piece, which saw Hunt's team staging a tricky heist. The second film, 2000's Mission: Impossible II, went maximalist under the direction of John Woo, who punctuated almost every sequence with slow-motion visuals and dizzying snap zooms. The filmmaker also asserted that Hunt himself was malleable: Whereas in the first film, he fights off his enemies without ever firing a gun, in Woo's version, he's a cocksure Casanova mowing down his targets in hails of bullets. Woo also indulged in the action pageantry that De Palma had avoided— Mission: Impossible II seemed to contain twice the amount of explosions necessary for a popcorn film—but the climactic stunt is perhaps the smallest Cruise has ever had to pull off: When the villain stabs at Hunt with a knife, the point stops just before reaching his eye. The two films that followed conveyed a similar sense of unpredictability. For 2006's Mission: Impossible III and 2011's Mission: Impossible—Ghost Protocol, Cruise, who also served as a producer, picked unconventional choices to direct: J. J. Abrams, then best known for creating twisty TV dramas such as Alias and Lost, took on the third entry, while Brad Bird, who'd cut his teeth in animation, handled Ghost Protocol. Like their more accomplished predecessors, both filmmakers were entrusted by Cruise and company to treat Mission: Impossible as a playground where they could demonstrate their own creative strengths. Where De Palma and Woo focused on visual panache, Abrams and Bird stretched the limits of tone—and in doing so, revealed the adaptability of the franchise. Mission: Impossible III is unnervingly sobering amid its shootouts and double crosses; the film features a memorably chilling Philip Seymour Hoffman as the villain, a character's disturbing death, and a subplot about Hunt getting married. Ghost Protocol, meanwhile, is essentially a screwball comedy: Simon Pegg's character, Benji, provides a humorous button to many of the film's biggest scenes, and Bird treats Hunt like a marble caught in a Rube Goldberg machine packed with goofy gadgets, whether he's pinballing through a prison or being launched out of a car in the middle of a sandstorm. (Hunt even declares 'Mission accomplished,' only for the film to play the line for laughs.) In the years since Ghost Protocol, much of big-budget filmmaking has come to feel made by committee. Studios offer fans remakes, legacy sequels, and spin-offs that connect disparate story threads, bending over backwards to ensure that viewers understand they're being shown something related to preexisting media. (Just look at the title of the upcoming John Wick spin-off.) The new Mission: Impossible suffers by making similar moves. It struggles to make sense of Hunt's story as one long saga, yielding an awkwardly paced, lethargic-in-stretches film. The Final Reckoning insists that every assignment Hunt has ever taken, every ally he's ever made, and every enemy he's ever foiled have been connected, forming a neat line of stepping stones that paved the way for him to save the world one more time. Taken together, the first four Mission: Impossible s were compellingly disorganized, a stark contrast with Hollywood's ever more rigid notion of how to construct a franchise. They didn't build consistent lore. Each new installment didn't try to top the previous one—a popular move that's had diminishing returns. Although some observers critique their varying quality, the lack of consensus emphasizes the singularity of each of these efforts. They remind me of the instances of an individual filmmaker's vision found amid major cinematic properties these days, such as Taika Waititi putting his witty stamp on a Thor sequel, Fede Alvarez turning Alien: Romulus into a soundscape of jump scares, and on television, Tony Gilroy ensuring that the Star Wars prequel Andor never included a single Skywalker. If the older Mission: Impossible movies now feel dated and incongruous—whether within the franchise itself or as part of the cinematic landscape writ large—that's to their benefit. They let creative sensibilities, not commercial ones, take the lead.
Metro
28-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Metro
Amazon Prime Video fans have one demand after bingeing 'adrenaline-filled' show
Amazon Prime Video viewers have been left demanding a season two renewal for a new coming-of-age drama that is climbing up the platform's top 10 ranking of TV. Motorheads is a ten-episode teen petrolhead drama that mixes The Fast and the Furious with The Summer I Turned Pretty, to land a respectful 75 percent rating on Rotten Tomatoes. Set in the hard knocked Pennsylvania rustbelt, the drama follows a set of car builders and racers in high-octane scenes, scored to a presumably pricey soundtrack (Olivia Rodrigo, flipper extraordinaire Benson Boone). Motorheads stars teen drama icon Ryan Phillippe, of Cruel Intentions infamy, playing a former Nascar mechanic turned struggling auto body shop owner. He's joined by Nathalie Kelley, Never Have I Ever's Michael Cimino and Melissa Collazo to make an ensemble cast of grease monkeys. 'Motorheads is about first love, first heartbreak, and turning the key in your first car,' reads the official show synopsis from Prime Video. 'Set in a once-thriving rust-belt town that's now searching for a glimmer of hope, the series is an adrenaline-filled story of a group of outsiders who form an unlikely friendship over a mutual love of street racing, while navigating the hierarchy and rules of high school.' Given that all ten episodes are already available to binge through on the streaming platform, many fans have already finished the whole thing and taken to X (formerly Twitter) to demand a follow-up season. One viewer even went so far as to threaten cancelling her Prime subscription entirely if the show isn't renewed for season two. To view this video please enable JavaScript, and consider upgrading to a web browser that supports HTML5 video @AGeorge43838 tagged Amazon's official MGM Studios account and wrote: I swear you better have a season 2 of Motorheads. Ryan Phillippe and crew have hit GOLD. The show is awesome. 'Also, if there isn't a season 2 I'm cancelling my prime!' More Trending Many said the finale cliffhanger had left them desperate for more of the drama. @JMorgynWhite wrote: 'My god the cliffhanger on Motorheads was unacceptable without a Season 2 on the track – there is a Season 2 coming, right Prime Video?? Repeat after me 100% binge worthy.' @SaishaStar tweeted: 'Please let there be a Season 2 that was a crazy cliffhanger and I need some answers on the backstory of Christian Maddox. So many Questions!' @Riss286 demanded: 'RENEW Motorheads FOR SEASON 2 PLEASE!!!' View More » Motorheads is available to stream on Prime Video. Got a story? If you've got a celebrity story, video or pictures get in touch with the entertainment team by emailing us celebtips@ calling 020 3615 2145 or by visiting our Submit Stuff page – we'd love to hear from you. MORE: Netflix viewers terrified over documentary on 'most chilling' cold case in US history MORE: 13 of the best and most blood-curdling shark movies streaming right now MORE: All 6 episodes of crime drama 'like Gavin and Stacey' available to binge
Bloomberg
15-05-2025
- Business
- Bloomberg
Marc Benioff Buys Stake in Influencer Agency Whalar at $400 Million Valuation
Whalar Group, which helps social-media stars find sponsorship deals, raised money from a group of investors including Salesforce Inc. Chief Executive Officer Marc Benioff at a valuation of $400 million. Other investors include Neal H. Moritz, producer of The Fast and the Furious films, and the e-commerce company Shopify Inc., according to a statement from New York-based Whalar on Thursday. The valuation was provided by a spokesperson.
Los Angeles Times
09-05-2025
- Automotive
- Los Angeles Times
L.A. Affairs: Recovery taught me to embrace scary things. Could I tackle intimacy and L.A. freeways?
The first time I ever drove on the freeway was to tell my girlfriend that I loved her. At this point, I had lived in L.A. for four years. 'You can't not drive in L.A.,' everyone said when I moved here. But I worked from home and lived relatively close to most of my friends. I had Lyft and Uber, a TAP card and a borderline unhinged love of walking. My excuse was that I didn't have a car and couldn't afford to buy one, which wasn't a lie. But the real reason was I was scared of driving and I had decided to succumb to that fear. I wasn't always an anxious driver. Growing up in Massachusetts, I got my license at 16 and cruised around in my grandma's 1979 Peugeot that had one working door and wouldn't have passed a safety inspection. But I felt invincible. Then I grew into a neurotic adult with an ever-growing list of rational and irrational fears — from weird headaches and mold to running into casual acquaintances at the grocery store. In my early 30s, I developed a terrible phobia of flying. 'It's so much safer than driving in a car!' people said to comfort me. So I did some research. This did not assuage my fear of flying, but it did succeed in making me also afraid of driving. I lived in New York City at the time, where being a nondriver was easy. In L.A., it was less easy, but I made it work. When I was single, I appreciated that dating apps let me sort potential matches by location. I set my limit to 'within five miles' from my apartment in West Hollywood and tried to manifest an ideal partner who would live within this perfectly reasonable radius. This proved somewhat complicated. My first boyfriend in L.A. moved from Los Feliz to Eagle Rock six months into our relationship, and we broke up. There were other issues, but the distance was the final straw. I did eventually get a car but was restricted by my intense fear of the massive, sprawling conduits of chaos known as the L.A. freeways. Lanes come and go. Exits appear out of nowhere. And everyone drives like they're auditioning for 'The Fast and the Furious.' So I took surface streets everywhere, even when it doubled my driving time. I became pretty comfortable behind the wheel as long as I remained in my little bubble of safety. Then I fell in love. Spencer and I met 14 years ago through a close mutual friend when we both lived in Brooklyn. Our friend had talked her up so much that I was nervous to meet her as if she were a celebrity, but she immediately made me feel at ease. She's confident and comfortable in her skin but also exudes a warmth that makes people feel secure. At the time, I was newly sober, and feeling comfortable — especially around someone I'd just met — was rare. Not long after we met she moved to Philly, and our lives went in different directions. She was starting med school. I was writing for an addiction website and doing stand-up comedy. She was living with her long-term girlfriend. I was trying to date the most emotionally unavailable people I could find, which my therapist (and every self-help book in Barnes & Noble) attributed to a fear of intimacy. A decade later, we both ended up in Los Angeles. She had broken up with her girlfriend and was a resident at UCLA. I was taking screenwriting classes and walking everywhere. We texted a few times to hang out, but then the COVID-19 pandemic hit, keeping her busy in the hospital and me busy at home spraying my groceries with Clorox. Multiple vaccines later, we finally met up at the AMC theater at the Century City mall. Just as I remembered, she felt like home. Over the next few months, we went to about nine movies together, our hands occasionally touching in a shared bucket of popcorn, before I finally got the courage to tell her I had developed feelings for her. We'd become close friends at this point, and the stakes felt alarmingly high. Also, she was emotionally available. Uncharted territory for me. 'I like like you,' I said one night while we were on my couch watching 'Curb Your Enthusiasm.' My voice was shaking and also muffled, because I was hiding under a blanket. This confession was one of the scariest things I've ever done, and I've done a lot of scary things — gotten sober, did stand-up in front of my entire family (don't recommend this), come out as queer to a bunch of conservative Midwesterners on a study-abroad trip (one girl took a selfie with me and sent it to her mom with the note, 'I met a bisexual and she's really nice!'). But I learned in recovery that sometimes when something is scary, we are meant to run toward it rather than away from it. That night, Spencer pulled the blanket off my head and told me she felt the same. This beautiful, confident 'Curb'-loving doctor did have one red flag. She lived in Santa Monica, at the end of a six-mile stretch on the 10 Freeway. On side streets, getting from my apartment to hers could take up to an hour or longer in traffic. After a few months, we were seeing each other so often that the commute had become unmanageable. Also unmanageable were my feelings. One night, about four months into our relationship, I told two close friends that I loved Spencer but was scared to tell her. The absence of these words had become a weight between us, triggering insecurities and petty fights. My friends urged me to tell her and thought I should do it that night (we'd been watching 'Yellowjackets' and were feeling a little dramatic). I felt emboldened. But it was 10 p.m. on a work night and it would take 45 minutes to get to her house by my usual route. I called her. 'I'm coming over!' I said. Twenty minutes later, I was merging onto the 10. I drove too slowly, got off at the wrong exit and gripped the steering wheel so hard my fingers went numb. But when I got to Spencer's apartment, I was bolstered by adrenaline and the rush of having conquered my fear. I had driven on the 10 — at night. I could survive anything. I told her I loved her. She said it back. I didn't even hide under a blanket. This was two years ago. Since then, I've driven on the 10 hundreds of times between Spencer's apartment and mine. Now we live together, which significantly cuts down on the commute. I still prefer a side street, but I'll take the freeway if I have to. Since mastering the 10, I've also braved the 5 Freeway, the 101 Freeway and even the 405 Freeway. Spencer always tells me I'm 'brave.' I'm starting to believe her. The author is an L.A.-based writer, editor and comedian and co-host of the podcast 'All My Only Children.' She's on Instagram and Threads: @maywilkerson L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@ You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
South China Morning Post
31-03-2025
- Entertainment
- South China Morning Post
A Working Man director David Ayer on its star Jason Statham, Brad Pitt and action movies
When David Ayer yells 'action' on the set, he means it. The 57-year-old filmmaker has become one of the successful players in the thriller genre, with screenwriting credentials that include Training Day and The Fast and the Furious, the first instalment in the 'Fast & Furious' franchise. Advertisement As a director, he is responsible for 2016's Suicide Squad, which grossed nearly US$350 million at the box office in the US and Canada, and 2024's The Beekeeper. A Working Man reunites him with The Beekeeper star Jason Statham, who plays a construction worker who becomes a one-man wrecking crew after human traffickers kidnap a friend's daughter. Ayer spoke about his career and the action genre via Zoom recently from New Zealand, where he was preparing to shoot Heart of the Beast with Brad Pitt As a kid, what kind of films did you watch?
