This year’s Oscars nominations are here, and we’re unpacking record-breaking nominations for Sinners, plus nominations for One Battle After Another and Hamnet. And as always, there’s an eclectic mix of heavy favorites, left-field surprises, and the dreaded snubs. We give a broad sense of this year’s major storylines, while also lamenting a few decisions we found baffling.

By the way, you can check out our episodes on the nominees here:

Bugonia

F1

Frankenstein

Hamnet

Marty Supreme

One Battle After Another

The Secret Agent

Sentimental Value

Sinners

Subscribe to Pop Culture Happy Hour Plus at plus.npr.org/happyhour

Today Disneyland is so fully formed that it‘s taken for granted. We debate ticket prices and crowd calendars, strategizing the optimal time to visit.

The new documentary “Disneyland Handcrafted” hits pause on all of that.

Culled from about 200 hours of mostly unseen footage, director Leslie Iwerks’ film takes viewers back to the near beginning, tracing the largely impossible creation of the park from a year before its opening.

“Can you imagine L.A. without Disneyland?” Iwerks asks me during an interview.

To begin to answer that question cuts to the importance of “Disneyland Handcrafted,” which premieres Thursday on Disney+. For while Disneyland is corporately owned and managed, the park has become a cultural institution, a reflection of the stories and myths that have shaped America. Disneyland shifts with the times, but Iwerks’ film shows us the Walt Disney template, one that by the time the park opened on July 17, 1955, was so set in place that it would soon become a place of pilgrimage, a former Anaheim orange grove in which generations of people would visit as a rite of passage.

Iwerks comes from a family of Disney royalty. Her grandfather, Ub, was a legendary animator instrumental in the development of Mickey Mouse. Her father, Don, was a cinematic and special effects wizard who worked on numerous Disney attractions, including the Michael Jackson-starring film “Captain EO.” As a documentarian, Iwerks has explored Disney before as the director of “The Imagineering Story” and has a long career of films that touch on not just Hollywood but also politics and environmental issues.

Here, Iwerks reveals just how fragile the creation of Disneyland was.

Having watched the film now numerous times, there are many small moments that stick with me. A worker, for instance, carefully sculpting the concrete on Sleeping Beauty Castle just months before opening while a narrator speaks of the park’s rising cost. A construction vehicle toppling, with its driver escaping a life-changing accident by jumping out just in the nick of time as Disney himself talks up how there have been very few accidents. And the mistakes, such as frantically learning — and failing — at how to build a river.

That Disneyland is as popular today as it was in 1955 — the film reveals that more than 900 million people have visited the park — is no accident. We live in stressful, divisive times, and Disneyland was not only born of such a moment but built for them, arriving in 1955 in a post-World War II America that was adjusting to more internalized, less-overtly-visible fears. The specter of nuclear annihilation was now forever a reality, and the Cold War heightened the sense of uncertainty.

A fake world inspired by a real one that never existed, don’t mistake Disneyland for nostalgia. Disneyland seeks to reorient, to show a better, more optimistic world that only exists if we continue to dream — to imagine a walkable street, for instance, in which a fairy tale castle sits at its end. Disneyland isn’t so much an escape from our world as it is a place where we go to make sense of it, a work of live theater where we, the guests, are on a stage and can play at idealized versions of ourselves.

“Why do we care? Why does it matter?” asks Iwerks. “I think what matters, for Disneyland, is that Walt set out to create the happiest place on Earth. Right there, putting that stake in the ground. That’s so impressive. That’s so risky. And yet he did it by sheer belief that he wanted families to come together and experience a place they could come back to time and again, a place that would continue to grow and always be evolving through cultures, through time, through generations.”

The front gates of Disneyland under construction.

(Disney+)

What makes the film so poignant is that Iwerks essentially gets out of the way. The footage was initially commissioned by Disney and shot for use in the company’s then weekly ABC series, which was funding the park. Some of the clips have appeared in episodes of “Walt Disney’s Disneyland,” but very few. For that show, Disney was selling the public on the park. With the public having long been sold, Iwerks can show us the park in shambles, a dirt path entering a wood-strewn Frontierland while Harper Goff, then Disneyland’s art director, speaks of a frustrated Disney lamenting that half the park’s money is gone and it remains nothing but a pile of muck.

“This is what worry is,” Goff says in the narration.

“What rose to the surface was how much pressure there was during this one year,” Iwerks says. “It was impossible. It was building what ultimately was a mini city in less than a year, pulling together all those construction workers, all those people who handcrafted this whole park in record time using their own skills, artistry and storytelling.”

Adds Iwerks, “You can’t remodel your kitchen right now in a year.”

Since the film is a light cinéma vérité style, Iwerks doesn’t editorialize as to how it all did get done. But we see workers, for instance, straddling beams in Tomorrowland with no support, making it clear this was an era with fewer regulations. Iwerks herself points to the ABC funding, acknowledging that the arrangement simply necessitated the park being completed in a year. But when it opened, it was far from finished. Disneyland’s struggles on opening day have long been mythologized, be it stories of weak asphalt or plumbing disasters.

A craftsperson works on the yellow decorative trim of King Arthur Carousel in Fantasyland.

(Disney+)

Advertisement

Iwerks is more interested in showing us the race against time, especially for a park that deviated from the light theming and simple rides of amusement parks of the era. Throughout the film’s hour and a half running time, Iwerks is making the argument that Disneyland simply wasn’t practical. Two months before opening we see a concrete-less Main Street while we’re told of a debate as to whether Disneyland should delay its planned July date. The decision was made not to, as the park was running out of money and there was a fear any push would ultimately kill it.

And in some ways it’s a surprise we’re seeing any of this. Iwerks notes the film was completed years ago, but sat on the shelf. She credits Disney executive Jason Recher with pushing it through. “I showed him a link, and he said, ‘This has to be seen.’ It takes someone with a vision to see that this could get out there and be appreciated by audiences,” Iwerks says. “I was thinking this would never see the light of day.”

The end result is a film that will likely be cherished by Disney fans but also admired by anyone interested in the making of an American classic. One of the most striking moments in the film is that of the cars of the Disneyland Railroad being ferried on trucks past downtown’s City Hall, a reminder that Disneyland, no matter its influences, its stewards or its changes, is a Southern California original.

One of the most unusual of the creative treasures to enter the public domain this month is King of Jazz. The plotless, experimental 1930 musical film shot in early Technicolor centers on influential bandleader Paul Whiteman, nicknamed “The King of Jazz.”

In one memorable scene, the portly, mustachioed Whiteman opens a small bag and winks at the camera as miniature musicians file out one after another like a colony of ants and take their places on an ornate, table-top bandstand.

A new video based on clips from King of Jazz has won this year’s Public Domain Film Remix Contest — an annual competition that invites filmmakers from around the world to reimagine often long-forgotten literary classics, films, cartoons, music, and visual art that are now in the public domain. This means creators can use these materials freely, without copyright restrictions. In 2026, works created in 1930 entered the public domain.

Titled Rhapsody, Reimagined, the roughly two-minute video captures the King of Jazz‘s surreal quality: Cookie-cutter rows of musicians, showgirls, office workers and random furniture cascade across the screen as Whiteman’s winking face looks on.

“I wanted to transform the figures and bodies into more dream-like shapes through collage and looping and repetition,” said Seattle-based filmmaker Andrea Hale, who created the piece in collaboration with composer Greg Hardgrave. For video artists, Hale said discovering what’s new in the public domain each January is a thrill. “We’re always looking for things to draw from,” Hale said. “Opening that up to a bigger spread of materials is amazing. That’s the dream.”

A massive repository of content

The Internet Archive, the San Francisco-based nonprofit library behind the contest, digitizes and provides public access to a massive repository of content, including many materials used by contest participants. “These materials have often just been in film canisters for decades,” said digital librarian Brewster Kahle, who founded the Internet Archive in 1996.

This year’s submissions range from a reworking of the 1930 film The Blue Angel starring Betty Boop — another public domain entrant this year — instead of Marlene Dietrich, to an AI-generated take on the 1930 Nancy Drew book The Mystery at Lilac Inn.

Kahle said the Internet Archive received nearly 280 entries this time around, the highest number since the competition launched six years ago. “Things are not just musty, old archival documentation of the past,” Kahle said. “People are bringing them to life in new and different ways, without fear of being sued.”

The public domain in the era of AI

Lawsuits have become a growing concern for artists and copyright holders, especially with the rise of generative AI. Recent years have seen a surge in online video takedowns and copyright infringement disputes.

Media companies are trying to address the problem through deals with tech firms, such as Disney and OpenAI’s plan, announced late last year, to introduce a service allowing users to create short videos based on copyrighted characters, including Cinderella and Darth Vader.

“On the one hand, these licensing agreements seem quite a clean solution to thorny legal questions,” said Jennifer Jenkins, director of the Center for the Study of the Public Domain at Duke Law School. “But what’s exciting about the public domain is that material, after a long, robust 95-year copyright term, is just simply free for anyone — without a team of lawyers, without a licensing agreement, without having to work for Disney or OpenAI — to just put online,” Jenkins said.

Jenkins also pointed out an interesting twist for people who create new works using materials from the public domain. “You actually get a copyright in your remix,” she said. “Just like Disney has copyrights in all of its remakes of wonderful public domain works like Snow White or Cinderella.” (The Brothers Grimm popularized these two characters in their 19th century collection Grimm’s Fairy Tales. But their roots are much deeper, going back to European folklore collections of the 1600s and beyond.)

However, this only applies to works created by humans — U.S. copyright law currently doesn’t recognize works authored by AI. And Jenkins further cautioned that creators only get a copyright in their new creative contributions to the remix, and not the underlying material.

This year’s Public Domain Film Remix Contest winner Andrea Hale said she’s using a Creative Commons license for Rhapsody, Reimagined. This means the filmmaker retains the copyright to her work but grants permissions that allow other people to freely use, share, and build upon it. “I’m keeping with the spirit of the public domain,” Hale said.