Entertainment
Column: Fire is part of L.A.'s ethos. But this Angeleno is asking, 'Is it time to go?'
“Is it time to go?”
That’s the question my husband and I have been asking ourselves with traumatic regularity over the past seven days. As we watched the Eaton fire erupt in nearby Altadena, we wondered. When we got the evacuation warning alert, we answered: We packed the car, took a few additional minutes to scoop up some photo albums and left.
After the warning and nearby mandatory evacuations were lifted in our area on Saturday, we returned home. Our power went out on Sunday and when neighbors received texts saying it would be out until Wednesday, we asked the question again — we hadn’t bothered to unpack the cars. Then the lights went on and we figured we’d stay. On Monday, we woke again to high winds and a “particularly dangerous situation” alert from the National Weather Service.
Compared with thousands of people living in the Los Angeles area, we are incredibly lucky. And we feel that. But we’re also exhausted and, with the winds blowing hard even as I write, on edge. Now the question has become bigger and more demanding.
Is it time to go … forever? To leave, if not California then the foothills, which we have called home for 21 years?
A year or two after I moved to L.A. the Old Topanga fire of 1993 swept through Malibu, creating scenes of desperate escape and destruction similar to, if more limited than, those we’ve seen from Altadena and the Palisades. I remember at the time people darkly joking that “Malibu” was a Native American term for “Do not live here.”
Altadena also burned that year, once in a brush fire that killed two firefighters, again in a wildfire that destroyed or damaged 40 homes. But it was after Old Topanga that revered California writer, activist and historian Mike Davis wrote his famous essay, “The Case for Letting Malibu Burn,” in which he argued, among other things, that Los Angeles had already paid too high a price for allowing rich people seeking seclusion, beauty and exclusivity to build in places historically prone to fire.
Now I look at the mountains that rear up around my community of La Crescenta, beautiful hills that, depending on the time of year and amount of rainfall, can make you feel like you’re in Ireland or Scotland. And I wonder: Should we be living here?
Just two years ago, they were covered with snow; a few weeks ago, fog crept down, as it often does. On Sunday, while the Eaton fires still raged, they sat serene and seemingly untouchable against a bright blue sky, the air so clear you would never know a horrific fire continued to burn just miles away.
But I know it’s a mirage. The winds can change that in a hour; an arsonist or accidental spark in less than a minute. During the 2009 Station fire, flames were visible on the hills as we evacuated. At more than 160,000 acres, it remains the largest wildfire in Los Angeles County history, claiming the lives of two firefighters and destroying 89 homes.
The January 2025 fires will be remembered for far more widespread destruction of property. With at least 25 people dead and 12,000 structures destroyed, the Eaton and Palisades fires are among the worst in modern history — and they are still burning.
Angelenos take pride in their resilience. For many, fires (like floods or earthquakes) are the price one pays for living in paradise.
But with climate change forcing Southern California into a maddening cycle of deluge and drought, people are beginning to question the wisdom of building, or rebuilding, communities that edge up to the more wilder areas of L.A.’s varied topography. Davis’ essay is once again being quoted, directly and in subtext, as officials, experts, historians and randos on Reddit discuss the sustainability of Southern Californians living so close to hills and mountains where fire regularly breaks out.
Davis wasn’t talking about Altadena, or the foothills, where fire has been far more rare than in Topanga and Malibu. But still, if I step out of my house, I can see hills covered with dried-out brush and the tops of power stations. And I wonder.
Not that we live in an urban wilderness. We live in what is known as a developed tract, dominated by the wide streets and cheek-by-jowl midcentury homes designed by Webster Wiley. There are street lights and sidewalks; a park and a half-dozen schools lie within walking distance.
Neither did we come seeking privacy, exclusivity or even beauty, at least of the wild sort. We bought here because of the fine school district, the ease of commute to The Times, which was then downtown, and the general affordability. Down the hill in Montrose, Honolulu Boulevard is such a lively and classic small-town main street that it shows up in countless TV series and films.
Yes, as we drive up the streets that lead to our home, we dip under bowers of California oaks, see deer, bobcats and the occasional bear, but as in Altadena, there’s nothing exclusive about this part of the world and we still felt part of the metropolis; on a clear day, you can see most of downtown.
My husband and I love our home, where we have experienced most of our marriage and raised our three children. Watching as people, including friends and colleagues, post pictures of the smoldering ruins of equally beloved homes, our hearts break. But they also fill with fear. It could so easily be us. Next time, or even this time.
A house is just a house, compared with human lives. But our house is the only thing of real value that we own. (Mostly; there is still a mortgage.) It is what allowed my husband to (finally) retire at 72 and, barring some unexpected windfall, it is the only inheritance our children will have. We have fire insurance, for now, though given the recent history of that industry, our premiums could be raised to unsustainable levels or our coverage dropped altogether. And then what?
If we are fortunate and the house continues to survive this interminable fire season, we could comfort ourselves with the uniqueness of these ghastly circumstances — the 85-plus-mph “mountain wave” winds, the heavy rains in early spring followed by unusual dryness. This is not Malibu, after all. How often could such a horrific confluence of events occur?
Too often in recent years and no doubt more often in the future. Climate change is real and it is flooding, burning, battering and desiccating California, the country and the world on a daily basis. And not just in places prone to catastrophe.
Scientists warn, too many politicians ignore and the rest of us are forced to evacuate, to mourn friends and family, to gape at the wreckage of where we once lived.
I have railed, and will continue to rail, against those who refuse to quickly and resolutely address the environmental issues that threaten all life on this planet. But right now, as I check in with The Times’ excellent fire coverage and regularly tap into Watch Duty to see if the Eaton fire is on the move again, my husband and I look up at the hills and ask each other: “Is it time to go?”
Are the mountains that have delighted and inspired us for so many years now a threat? Will the eucalyptus in the corner of our yard be our undoing? Or the pine trees that tower around our neighborhood?
We have already gotten rid of our lawn, put in gravel and succulents, taken down two trees that had grown uncomfortably close to our house. But we still have roses and lavender, jasmine and ivy. We felt we had to plant two smaller trees to replace the ones we killed. Now they’ve grown and their drying leaves rattle in the wind. Was that a mistake? Is being here at all a miscalculation?
We are exhausted, we are anxious and the Santa Anas are blowing, which can shred reasonable thought even without extreme fire risk. With so many in real crisis, it’s hardly the time for the existential variety. There are thousands in critical need; contemplating what could happen is a luxury when so many must cope with what already has.
Nevertheless, the city, county and state will have to face tough questions and make hard choices once the fires are out. How do we prevent such a catastrophe from happening again? Can we?
Homes, businesses and lives will be rebuilt, but how and where?
Our car remains packed as we squint out at the hills. For now, we can only pray and await further instruction.
In 1977, a man named Tony Kiritsis fell behind on mortgage payments for an Indianapolis, Indiana, property that he hoped to develop into an affordable shopping center for independent merchants. He asked his mortgage broker for more time, but was denied. This enraged him because he suspected that the broker and his father, who owned the company, were conspiring to defraud him by letting the property go into foreclosure and acquire it for much less than market value. He showed up at the offices of the mortgage company, Meridian, for a scheduled appointment regarding the debt in the broker’s office, where he took the broker, Richard O. Hall, hostage, and demanded $130,000 to settle the debt, plus a public apology from the company. He carried a long cardboard box containing a shotgun with a so-called dead man’s wire, which he affixed to Hall as a precaution against police interference: if either of them were shot, tackled, or even caused to stumble, the wire would pull the trigger, blowing Hall’s head off.
That’s only the beginning of an astonishing story that has inspired many retellings, including a memoir by Hall, a 2018 documentary (whose producers were consultants on this movie) and a podcast drama starring Jon Hamm as Tony Kiritsis. And now it’s the best current movie you likely haven’t heard about—a drama from director Gus Van Sant (“Good Will Hunting”), starring Bill Skarsgård as Tony Kiritsis and Dacre Montgomery as Richard Hall. It’s unabashedly inspired by the best crime dramas from the 1970s, including “Dog Day Afternoon,” “The Sugarland Express,” “Network,” and “Badlands,” and can stand proudly alongside them.
From the opening sequence, which scores the high-strung Tony’s pre-crime prep with Deodato’s immortally groovy disco version of “Thus Spake Zarathustra” played on the radio by one of Tony’s local heroes, the philosophical DJ Fred Temple (Colman Domingo); through the expansive middle section, which establishes Tony as part of a thriving community that will see him as their representative in the one-sided struggle between labor and capital; through the ending and postscript, which leave you unsure how to feel about what you’ve seen but eager to discuss it with others, “Dead Man’s Wire” is a nostalgia trip of the best kind. Rather than superficially imitate the style of a specific type of ’70s drama, Van Sant and his collaborators connect with the essence of what made them powerful and memorable: their connection to issues that weighed on viewers’ minds fifty years ago and that have grown heavier since.
Tony is far from a criminal genius or a potential folk hero, but thinks he’s both. The shotgun box with a weird bulge, barely held together with packing tape, is a correlative of the mentality of the man who carries it. His home is filled with counterculture-adjacent books, but he’s a slob who loudly gripes during a brief car ride that his “shorts have been ridin’ up since Market Street,” and has a vanity license plate that reads “TOPLESS.” His eloquence runs the gamut from Everyman acuity to self-canceling nonsense slathered in profanity . He accurately sums up the mortgage company’s practices as “a private equity trap” (a phrase that looks ahead to the 2008 financial collapse, which was sparked by predatory lending on subprime mortgages) and hopes that his extreme actions will generate some “some goddamn catharsis” for himself and his fellow citizens, and “some genuine guilt” among Indianapolis’ lending class.
He’s also intoxicated by his sudden local fame. The hostage situation migrates from the mortgage company to Tony’s shabby apartment complex, which is quickly surrounded by beat cops, tactical officers, and reporters (including Myha’La as Linda Page, a twenty-something, Black local TV correspondent looking to move up. Tony also forces his way into the life of his idol Temple, who tapes a phone conversation with him, previews it for police, and grudgingly accepts their or-else request to continue the dialog and plays their regular talks on his morning show.
Despite these inroads, Tony is unable to prevent his inner petty schmuck from emerging and undermining his message, such as it is. He vacillates between treating Hall as a useless representative of the financial elite (when the elder Hall finally agrees to speak with Tony via phone from a tropical vacation, Tony sneers to Hall the younger, “Your daddy’s on the line—he wants to know when you’ll be home for supper!”) and connecting with him on a human level. When he’s not bombastic, he’s needy and fawning. “I like you!” he keeps telling people he just met, but Fred most of all—as if a Black man who’d built a comfortable life for himself and his wife in 1977 Indiana could say no when an overwhelmingly white police force asked him to become Tony’s fake-confidant; and as if it matters whether a hostage-taking gunman feels warmly towards him.
Ultimately, though, making perfect sense and effecting lasting change are no higher on Tony’s agenda than they were for the protagonists of “Dog Day Afternoon” and “Network.” Like them, these are unhinged audience surrogates whose media stardom turned them into human megaphones for anger at the miserable state of things, and the indifference of institutions that caused or worsened it. These include local law enforcement, which—to paraphrase hapless bank robber Sonny Wirtzik taunting cops in “Dog Day Afternoon”—wanna kill Tony so bad that they can taste it. The discussions between Indianapolis police and the FBI (represented by Neil Mulac’s Agent Patrick Mullaney, a straight-outta-Quantico robot) are all about how to set up and take the kill shot.
The aforementioned phone call leads to a gut-wrenching moment that echoes the then-recent kidnapping of John Paul Getty III, when hostage-takers called their victim’s wealthy grandfather to arrange ransom payment, and got nickel-and-dimed as if they were trying to sell him a used car. The elder Hall is played by “Dog Day Afternoon” star Al Pacino, inspired casting that not only officially connects Tony with Wirtzik but proves that, at 85, Pacino can still bring the heat. The character’s presence creeps into the rest of the story like a toxic fog, even when he’s not the subject of conversation.
With his frizzy grey toupee, self-satisfied Midwest twang, and punchable smirk, Pacino is skin-crawlingly perfect as an old man who built a fortune on being good at one thing, but thinks that makes him a fountain of wisdom on all things, including the conduct of Real Men in a land of women and sissies. After watching TV coverage of Tony getting emotional while keeping his shotgun on Richard, Jr., he beams with pride that Tony shed tears but his own son didn’t. (Kelly Lynch, who costarred in another classic Van Sant film about American losers, “Drugstore Cowboy,” plays Richard, Sr.’s trophy wife, who is appalled at being confronted with irrefutable evidence of her husband’s monstrousness, but still won’t say a word against him.)
Van Sant was 25 during the real-life incidents that inspired this movie. That may partly account for the physical realism of the production, which doesn’t feel created but merely observed, in the manner of ’70s movies whose authenticity was strengthened by letting the main characters’ dialogue overlap and compete with ambient sounds; shooting in existing locations when possible, and dressing the actors in clothes that looked as if they’d been hanging in regular folks’ closets for years. Peggy Schnitzer did the costumes, Stefan Dechant the production design, and Arnaud Poiter the cinematography, all of which figuratively wear bell-bottom pants and platform shoes; the soundscape was overseen by Leslie Schatz, who keeps the environments believably dense and filled with incidental sounds while making sure the important stuff can be understood. It should also be mentioned that the film’s blueprint is an original script by a first-timer, Adam Kolodny, with a bona-fide working class worldview; he wrote it while working as a custodian at the Los Angeles Zoo.
More impressive than the film’s behind-the-scenes pedigree is its vision of another time that unexpectedly comes to seem not too different from this one. It is both a lovingly constructed time machine highlighting details that now seem as antiquated as lithography and buckboard wagons (the film deserves a special Oscar just for its phones) and a wide-ranging consideration of indestructible realities of life in the United States, which are highlighted in such a way that you notice them without feeling as if the movie pointed at them.
For instance, consider Tony’s infatuation with Fred Temple, which peaks when Tony honors his hero by demonstrating his “soul dancing” for his hostage, is a pre-Internet version of what we would now call a “parasocial relationship.” An awareness of racial dynamics is baked into this, and into the film as a whole. Domingo’s performance as Temple captures the tightrope walk that Black celebrities have to pull off, reassuring their most excitable white fans that they understand and care about them without cosigning condescension or behavior that could escalate into harassment. Consider, too, the matter-of-fact presentation of how easy it is for violence-prone people to buddy up to law enforcement officers, especially when they inhabit the same spaces. When Indianapolis police detective Will Grable (Cary Elwes) approaches Tony on a public street soon after the kidnapping, Tony’s face brightens as he exclaims, “Hi Mike! Nice to see you!”
And then, of course, there’s the economic and political framework, which is built with a firm yet delicate hand, and compassion for the vibrant messiness of life. “Dead Man’s Wire” depicts an analog era in which crises like this one were treated as important local matters that involved local people, businesses, and government agents, rather than fuel for a global agitprop industry posing as a news media, and a parasitic army of self-proclaimed influencers reycling the work of other influencers for clout. Van Sant’s movie continually insists on the uniqueness and value of every life shown onscreen, however briefly glimpsed, from the many unnamed citizens who are shown silently watching news coverage of the crisis while working their day jobs, to Fred’s right hand at the radio station, an Asian-American stoner dude (Vinh Nguyen) with a closet-sized office who talent-scouts unknown bands while exhaling cumulus clouds of pot smoke.
All this is drawn together by Van Sant and editor Saar Klein in pop music-driven montages that show how every member of the community depicted in this story is connected, even if they don’t know it or refuse to admit it. As John Donne put it, “No man is an island/Entire of itself/Each is a piece of the continent/A part of the main.” The struggle of the individual is summed up in one of Fred’s hypnotic radio monologues: “Let’s remember to become the ocean, not disappear into it.”
Entertainment
‘Sinners,’ ‘One Battle After Another’ and ‘Hamnet’ among 2026 Producers Guild of America nominees
The Oscar race for best picture came into clearer focus as the Producers Guild of America announced its annual nominees for the Darryl F. Zanuck Award on Friday morning. The 10 nominees (full list below) represent established Oscar-season contenders like “Sinners,” “One Battle After Another,” “Hamnet” and “Marty Supreme,” as well as a handful of films whose awards footing is less certain, including “Weapons,” “F1” and “Bugonia.”
The Producers Guild Awards are considered one of the most reliable bellwethers in the Oscar race because their preferential ballot closely mirrors the academy’s best picture voting system. The PGA Awards have named the future best picture winner in 17 of the last 22 years. Last year, eight of the 10 PGA nominees went on to receive best picture Oscar nominations, including Sean Baker’s “Anora,” which ultimately won both prizes.
Winners will be announced at the PGA’s awards ceremony on Feb. 28 at the Fairmont Century Plaza in Century City.
See the full list of nominees below:
Darryl F. Zanuck Award for outstanding producer of theatrical motion pictures
“Bugonia”
“F1”
“Frankenstein”
“Hamnet”
“Marty Supreme”
“One Battle After Another”
“Sentimental Value”
“Sinners”
“Train Dreams”
“Weapons”
Award for outstanding producer of animated theatrical motion pictures
“The Bad Guys 2”
“Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba Infinity Castle”
“Elio”
“KPop Demon Hunters”
“Zootopia 2”
Norman Felton Award for outstanding producer of episodic television — drama
“Andor”
“The Diplomat”
“The Pitt”
“Pluribus”
“Severance”
“The White Lotus”
Danny Thomas Award for outstanding producer of episodic television — comedy
“The Bear”
“Hacks”
“Only Murders in the Building”
“South Park”
“The Studio”
David L. Wolper Award for outstanding producer of limited or anthology series television
“Adolescence”
“The Beast in Me”
“Black Mirror”
“Black Rabbit”
“Dying for Sex”
Award for outstanding producer of televised or streamed motion pictures
“Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy”
“The Gorge”
“John Candy: I Like Me”
“Mountainhead”
“Nonnas”
Award for outstanding producer of nonfiction television
“aka Charlie Sheen”
“Billy Joel: And So It Goes”
“Mr. Scorsese”
“Pee-wee as Himself”
“SNL50: Beyond Saturday Night”
Award for outstanding producer of live entertainment, variety, sketch, standup and talk television
“The Daily Show”
“Jimmy Kimmel Live!”
“Last Week Tonight with John Oliver”
“The Late Show with Stephen Colbert”
“SNL50: The Anniversary Special”
Award for outstanding producer of game and competition television
“The Amazing Race”
“Jeopardy!”
“RuPaul’s Drag Race”
“Top Chef”
“The Traitors”
Movie Reviews
Controversy Surrounds ‘The Raja Saab’ as Makers Allegedly Offer Money for Positive Reviews | – The Times of India
Prabhas-starrer ‘The Raja Saab’ is currently running in theaters; the much-awaited film was released today. The early reviews of the Maruthi-directed film have been receiving mixed to negative reviews on social media. However, a netizen has claimed that the makers of the film offered him money to delete his negative review.
Netizen alleges bribe by the makers
On Friday morning, an X user named @BS__unfiltered posted a screenshot online. He said he received a message from the official account of ‘The Raja Saab’ after posting his review. According to him, the film’s team offered him Rs 14,000. They reportedly asked him to post a positive review of the movie instead. Sharing the screenshot, the user wrote, “What the hell mannnnn!!!! They are offering me money to delete this!!! Nahi hoga delete #TheRajaSaab #Prabhas.” However, the screenshot shared by the user is in question for its authenticity and is not verified. At this time, it is not clear if the message was real or AI-generated. The claim is still unconfirmed.See More: The Raja Saab: Movie Review and Release Live Updates: Prabhas’ film to open big at the box office
Fans share their opinions online
Fans and netizens have been active on social media, sharing their opinions about the film. While some enjoyed it, many expressed disappointment. Another internet user wrote, “A horror-fantasy with a good idea but weak execution. Prabhas gives an energetic & comical performance, & the face-off with Sanjay Dutt is the main highlight. The palace setting is interesting at first, but the messy screenplay, dragged 2nd half, uneven VFX, & weak emotional payoff reduce the impact. @MusicThaman’s music & sounding are one of the positives. From the end of the first half, the story becomes slightly interesting. There are 3 songs featuring Prabhas & @AgerwalNidhhi. Nidhhi has performed well. Some scenes feel unintentionally funny, & the climax fails to impress. Overall, a one-time watch at best. This film gives a lead for The Raja Saab Circus—1935 (Part 2), where we may see Prabhas vs. Prabhas.”
About ‘The Raja Saab’
‘The Raja Saab’ is directed and written by Maruthi. The film stars Prabhas in the lead role. The cast also includes Malavika Mohanan, Nidhhi Agerwal, Riddhi Kumar, Sanjay Dutt, and Boman Irani.
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