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'Elizabeth Taylor: The Lost Tapes' reveals an intimate portrait of an iconic Hollywood star

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'Elizabeth Taylor: The Lost Tapes' reveals an intimate portrait of an iconic Hollywood star

Why do I find Elizabeth Taylor so fascinating? My admiration for her work comes down, perhaps unusually, to the Zeffirelli-Shakespeare “The Taming of the Shrew” and the Nichols-Albee “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?,” two films in which she starred with then-husband Richard Burton. And I must have seen her in some of the “Father of the Bride” films — the original ones, with Spencer Tracy, not Steve Martin — when they came on television, because I’d watch nearly every comedy that came on television. But the adult dramas she made, like “Butterfield 8,” “Raintree County” and “A Place in the Sun,” were not so much my cup of tea then, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her breakout roles as a kid actor in “Lassie Come Home” and “National Velvet.”

And yet, like any American alive in the latter half of the 20th century, I was conscious of her much-photographed face, her blanket presence in the press, which ranged from respectable and respectful to tabloid and salacious. There were her many marriages — twice to Burton, most famously — her fabulous jewels, the hugeness of “Cleopatra,” the first film for which an actor was paid a million dollars, and whose cost overruns and commercial failure nearly bankrupted the studio. Andy Warhol painted her even before he got around to Marilyn Monroe. Later, there were commercials for her fragrance line and pioneering philanthropy in AIDS research.

Elizabeth Taylor as a child.

(The Elizabeth Taylor Estate / HBO)

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And so we come to “Elizabeth Taylor: The Lost Tapes,” an elegant little documentary by Nanette Burstein (“Hillary,” “The Kid Stays in the Picture”). Premiering Saturday at 8 p.m. on HBO and streaming on Max, it takes off from 40 hours of “newly discovered” interviews taped beginning in 1964 by journalist Richard Meryman for a potential book. Taylor was only 32, but had already been making movies for 22 years, and a star for 20. It’s her voice that drives the narrative, abetted in a small but significant way by those of close friends and associates, including Roddy McDowall, her “Lassie Come Home” co-star and lifelong confidant, and Debbie Reynolds, who became a less close friend after her husband, Eddie Fisher, suddenly became Taylor’s. A wealth of archival film and newsreel footage, home movies and snapshots — and, for context, new footage of tape recorders, ash trays and martini glasses — provide marvelous illustration of Taylor’s work and world.

There is, of course, our abiding interest in the private lives of public personalities — not necessarily the dirty laundry, though careers have been founded on digging it up and publishing it, but in getting a sense of the ordinary life of an extraordinary talent, of finding the human being in figures — I think I can use the word “iconic” here — who seem beyond knowing. Taylor’s early public persona was crafted by studio publicists, who sent her on sham dates simply to make her look like an ordinary teenager, but she was also one of the first celebrities for whom that narrative escaped control. Taylor was labeled a “homewrecker” after “stealing” Fisher from Reynolds — she married him, she says, because she could talk to him about his best friend, her late husband Mike Todd, who was killed in an air crash. But it was when she began an affair with Burton, while they were making “Cleopatra,” that paparazzi culture went into high gear.

Nowadays, under the scrutiny of 10,000 cellphones and the constant pressure to self-promote, celebrities are more likely to display a little dirty laundry themselves, to let you into their homes or sit for “revealing” interviews with interviewers whose celebrity equals their own. But they are revealing only within limits. Because these conversations were taped as deep background over many hours, and not an hour or two of talk to be immediately funneled into a magazine article, there’s a certain expansive, fly-on-the-wall informality to them, especially when McDowall is in the room and participating. One would like to have had something of this sort from Elvis Presley or Marilyn Monroe.

Richard Burton sits next to Elizabeth Taylor in a car as she holds a camera to her face.

Richard Burton with Elizabeth Taylor. They married and divorced twice.

(The Elizabeth Taylor Estate/HBO)

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What is a revelation, watching thematically selected clips from her films — a small sampling of a filmography where the word “substantial” hardly does justice — is just how good an actor, and a reactor, she was. There is Burton’s remark — oft-repeated, by Burton — that when he first acted with her on set he thought she was no good, but when he saw the dailies he was amazed, and it’s true that she is wonderfully, intensely alive on film. If you’re not paying attention, it can be hard to see, through the capital-S Stardom and the distraction of her features — “It was truly like an eclipse of the sun — it blotted out everybody that was in the office,” says MGM producer Sam Marx, for whom a single glimpse was enough to cast her, without testing, in “Lassie Come Home” and the irresistible temptation to play to her looks: “She’s 5 foot 5 and 110 pounds of 16-year-old glorious, cover girl beauty,” as one early promotional clip describes her. And many of her films, it must be said, did not rise to her talent.

That tension between the public and the personal, between the dreck and the art, is the spine of the film. Taylor hated being “a public utility. I didn’t like fame, I don’t like the sense of belonging to the public; I like being an actress or trying to be an actress.” At the same time, she could be insecure about her acting, especially when paired with Method actors (and good friends) like Montgomery Clift and James Dean. Of her own method, she says, “It’s not technique, it’s instinct.” And yet whatever she did, worked.

This is neither a complete accounting of the career, nor a prodding journalistic deep dive — though Taylor herself can dive pretty deep. (She likes a man who can dominate her, we learn; she would annoy Todd simply so she could lose the ensuing argument.) All narrators are, to be sure, at least somewhat unreliable, both as regards historical facts and inner states, and “The Lost Tapes” is of course limited by the fact that the tapes run out in Taylor’s early thirties; the rest of the story, highly compressed, is carried on by others. But all in all, Burstein’s film feels big and perceptive, a love letter to a remarkable, interesting and very human human.

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Review: A kidnapped brute finds the tables turned in ‘Heel’

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Review: A kidnapped brute finds the tables turned in ‘Heel’

The movie is called “Heel” and its frenetic opening — a flash-cut glimpse of young, handsome, swaggeringly cruel Tommy (Anson Boon) in drug-fueled party mode — seems enough to explain the title. The next time we see him, though, he’s neck-shackled in the basement of a remote English estate. What follows in Polish filmmaker Jan Komasa’s blackly comic, unnerving thriller is clearly meant to evoke “Heel’s” more obedience-minded reading.

And who would be harshing this hooligan’s buzz with a case of reform-minded abduction? An eerily isolated, rules-driven nuclear family: mild-mannered, soft-spoken Chris (Stephen Graham), haunted Catherine (Andrea Riseborough) and polite son Jonathan (Kit Rakusen). They all may as well have sprung from the combined neo-gothic conjurings of Edward Gorey and Harold Pinter. Under Komasa’s direction, the mix of fractured fable and terroristic morality play in Bartek Bartosik’s screenplay is absurd but potent, giving “Heel” enough psychologically twisted juju to nearly always feel like more than the sum of its parts.

Our first glimpse of Tommy chained up, pleading to be let go, is through the eyes of a young Macedonian refugee, Katrina (Monika Frajczyk), being given a tour of the large countryside manor where she’s just been hired by Chris for twice-a-week housework. Katrina, like us, is rightly horrified but she’s in her own bind: undocumented, saved by Chris from the streets, with her signature on a confidentiality agreement and a deportation threat hanging over her. She’s hardly in a position to do much more than accept what’s going on as a grimmer version of her own dead-end predicament.

And yet what’s readily apparent is that this weird, fragile, insular family is genuinely keen on folding Tommy into their lives. They’re also convinced of their unorthodox methods, which hinge on reinforcement and reward. Tommy seems receptive, too, with each invitation to participate in his abductors’ togetherness (meals, movie nights, a picnic). This is when “Heel” is at its most alluringly queasy, a dark commentary on all families as institutions inherently built on confinement and emotional blackmail. (It’s no coincidence one of the movie’s executive producers is Jerzy Skolimowski, who made his own pointed kidnapping allegory with “Moonlighting.”)

Everyone’s broken, so the collective strength of the cast in keeping us on our toes about where this is all headed is a huge plus. The wiry Boon doles out his brash character’s reserves of vulnerability to stunning effect — Tommy is a difficult part and Boon knows how to make it revealing and suspenseful. Graham’s tweaked, sensitive patriarch is tantalizingly far from the heartbreaking dad of “Adolescence” and the gloriously oddball Riseborough makes the most of her faint-voiced mom’s severity. Frajczyk and Rakusen are also pitch-perfect.

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Last year Komasa had another family-centered thriller with “Anniversary,” a movie about politics corrupting a happy home. But we know that equation already. “Heel” is Tolstoy’s happy-family maxim cooked in a mad scientist’s lab. While it sometimes shows its seams as an idea movie, its elegant disturbia has a boldness, recalling that great mind-game ’60s era that gave us “TheServant,” “The Collector,” and the early psychological freak-outs of Komasa’s countryman, Roman Polanski.

‘Heel’

Not rated

Running time: 1 hour, 50 minutes

Playing: Opens Friday, March 6 at Laemmle NoHo 7

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‘Hoppers’ movie review: Big ideas and smart emotional beats fuel a great adventure

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‘Hoppers’ movie review: Big ideas and smart emotional beats fuel a great adventure

In cinema logic, sharks, especially great whites, make excellent characters in animation. From Bruce in Finding Nemo to Mr Shark, the master of disguise in The Bad Guys, these apex predators turn their great gummy mouths with many pointy teeth into jolly good fellows.

In Hoppers, the 30th animation film from Pixar, there is a great white called Diane (Vanessa Bayer), who, despite being a scary assassin, has such sweet, shining eyes and a warm smile that one cannot help but grinning back.

Hoppers (English)

Director: Daniel Chong

Voice cast: Piper Curda, Bobby Moynihan, Jon Hamm, Kathy Najimy, Dave Franco

Storyline: A fierce animal lover uses a new technology to converse with animals and save their habitat from greedy, self-serving humans

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Runtime: 104 minutes

We first meet Mabel (Piper Curda) as a little girl trying to set all the animals in school free and being sent home for her pains (and also because she bites one of the teachers trying to stop her). Her busy mother drops Mabel with her grandmother (Karen Huie) who shows her the peace and quiet that can be hers if she only stops to listen.

The glade where grandmother Tanaka teaches her this valuable life lesson becomes a special place for Mabel. Years later, after her grandmother has passed, 19-year-old Mabel is a college student and still fighting for animal rights.

Matters come to a head when the mayor of Beaverton, Jerry Generazzo (Jon Hamm) plans to blow up the glade to build a freeway. Mabel tries to get signatures from the citizenry to stop the freeway plans, but that comes to naught as people quickly turn away from the zealous Mabel.

Frustrated, with no recourse in sight, Mabel chances upon a beaver making its way to her university’s biology lab. First worried that her biology professor Sam (Kathy Najimy) is doing some unspeakable animal experiments, Mabel is nonplussed to find that Sam, with her colleague Nisha (Aparna Nancherla) and graduate student Conner (Sam Richardson), have developed a revolutionary technology to transfer human consciousness to robot animal.

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Mabel uploads her consciousness into a robot beaver and sets off to thwart the mayor. Seeing the world from the animals’ perspective gives Mabel a unique point of view. Hoppers has jokes, chases, largeness of heart and solid science — not consciousness-switching with robot animals or flying shark assassins but the fact that beavers are the environmental engineers of the natural world.

The voice cast is wonderful, from Bobby Moynihan as the beaver king, George to Dave Franco as Titus, the prickly butterfly who becomes the insect king after Mabel accidentally kills his mum — the Insect Queen, played with terrifying grandeur by Meryl Streep.

The animals are delightfully delineated, from the spaced-out beaver, Loaf (Eduardo Franco) to Ellen (Melissa Villaseñor) the grumpy bear. The animation is lovely, with each of the animal and human characteristics clearly outlined. From the mayor’s grasping to Sam’s brilliance, Mabel’s fervour to Loaf’s stillness, and the different animal monarchs’ regality, it is all given marvellous life.

ALSO READ: ‘The Bride!’ movie review: Maggie Gyllenhaal’s glam-goth Frankenstein can’t hold its stitches

The “pond rules” ensure that the animals are not completely anthropomorphised — a sticky point in animation films where carnivores and herbivores hang together without even a sneaky licking of lips!

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Smart, funny, exciting, honest, and touching, Hoppers is the kind of film you can watch with the bachcha party and elders alike, with a happy grin. And then there is Diane of the red, red lips and sparkly white rotating teeth — yes, Hoppers boasts that level of detailing.

Hoppers is currently running in theatres

Published – March 06, 2026 07:08 pm IST

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Commentary: From late-night TV to viral memes, Kristi Noem was the gag that kept on giving. What now?

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Commentary: From late-night TV to viral memes, Kristi Noem was the gag that kept on giving. What now?

A moment of silence for all the comedians, late-night-show writers, political satirists, memers, animators and random influencers who just lost a wealth of inspiration.

Kristi Noem, Homeland Security secretary, was fired Thursday by President Trump, ending the 13-month tenure of a political figure whose bravado, cruelty, incompetence and commando cosplay inspired more wickedly funny material than Dick Cheney, Sarah Palin and Sean Spicer combined.

Social media’s so-called ICE Barbie, the first Cabinet secretary to leave the Trump administration during the president’s second term, was a font of material for “South Park,” “SNL,” late night and thousands more sketch artists, impersonators, musicians and everyday trash posters. She never disappointed, unless you were looking to her for feasible, humane immigration policy enforcement.

Former Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem.

(Julia Demaree Nikhinson / Associated Press)

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Drama and spectacle marked her brief career, from posing in front of a packed holding cell at El Salvador’s maximum security prison CECOT, where the DHS had shipped and detained deportees, to casting herself as an agent of action in multiple ICE raid videos. Donning a big gun and long, flowing locks of hair, she insinuated herself into operations, vamping for the camera in a bulletproof vest while masked agents rounded up fellow humans like cattle.

Grim, to be sure, but at least she contributed a shred of comic relief (unintended, of course) to our new, sad reality of federal agents invading American cities and abducting people off the streets, out of their cars and from their homes.

“South Park” skewered Noem in unprintable ways. “SNL” brought back Tina Fey to play Noem. Dressed in a lavender pantsuit, too much makeup and brandishing a massive firearm, she introduced herself as “the rarest type of person in Washington, D.C.: a brunette that Donald Trump listens to.”

The endless stream of memes across social media date back to 2024, when in her memoir Noem recalled shooting and killing her 14‑month‑old dog, a wirehaired pointer named Cricket, after deciding the dog was “untrainable.” Gov. Gavin Newsom later trolled the DHS and Noem with a meme captioned “Kristi Noem’s Dog Obedience School: She’ll Treat Them As Good As She Treats Brown People.” The mock ad featured a smiling woman holding a gun and kneeling beside a dog.

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If it seems cruel, consider that the DHS posted holiday-themed deportation memes around Christmas, proclaiming that federal agents were stepping up removals “for the holidays,” with a “holiday deal” offering a free flight and $1,000 to those who self-deport. One X post featured an AI-generated image of federal agents in Santa hats with the caption, “YOU’RE GOING HO HO HOME.”

Noem’s dismissal comes on the heels of two congressional hearings this week where she was questioned about her response to the ICE killings of U.S. citizens Renee Good and Alex Pretti in Minneapolis (she incorrectly called Good a domestic terrorist and claimed Pretti was involved in an act of domestic terrorism). She was grilled about the department spending $172 million for the purchase of two jets, the nature of her relationship with top DHS adviser Corey Lewandowski, and her $220-million DHS ad campaign starring none other than Kristi Noem. She testified in the hearings that Trump approved the ads. He said he knew nothing about them.

Her firing triggered an immediate rush of snarky content across social media, and a sharp a comment or two from prominent politicians. “Shouldn’t let the door hit her on the way out,” said Illinois Democratic Gov. JB Pritzker.

But all is not lost for those needing a laugh at Noem’s expense, or at the expense of the DHS, for that matter. The president said Thursday that Noem would take on a new, freshly invented role: Envoy for The Shield of the Americas. He described the position as one that will lead “our new Security Initiative in the Western Hemisphere.” The job title and description already sound like the basis for a villainous political satire, without even trying.

And for the new guy taking the post? He’s Sen. Markwayne Mullin (R-Okla.), a former MMA fighter. Let the memes begin …

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