Jeff Bezos and Lauren Sánchez are officially husband and wife.

The Amazon founder, who’s been linked to Sánchez since 2019, hosted an extravagant, reportedly $50-million celebration in Venice, Italy, stretching three days. From the lavish location to the celebrity guest list, the event has attracted a media frenzy, but also experienced its fair share of hiccups — including a last-minute venue change to the island of San Giorgio Maggiore.

Here’s what we know about the wedding so far.

The wedding dress

Sánchez opted for a custom Dolce & Gabbana wedding gown inspired by Sophia Loren’s gown in the 1958 film “Houseboat.” This marks the first time Sánchez has worn such a high-necked formal dress, she told Vogue.

“It is a departure from what people expect,” she said, “from what I expect — but it’s very much me.”

The bride shared two images of her dress Friday on Instagram, where she also updated her handle to @laurensanchezbezos.

Other ensembles planned for the big day were a corseted gown inspired by the Rita Hayworth film “Gilda” and an Oscar de la Renta cocktail dress with 175,000 crystals, according to Vogue.

Something Blue Origin

Sánchez’s “something borrowed” was a pair of Dolce & Gabbana Alta Gioielleria Miracolo earrings, according to Vogue. And her “something blue,” she revealed, was a souvenir she brought on her controversial 11-minute Blue Origin spaceflight.

“It was literally one of the most profound experiences I’ve ever had in my life,” she told Vogue. “Jeff said, ‘It’s gonna change you more than you think,’ and it completely has, visually, spiritually.”

Kim and Khloé Kardashian were among the celebrities who attended Jeff Bezos and Lauren Sánchez’s wedding.

(Luigi Costantini / AP)

A star-studded guest list

As expected, several A-listers made the 200-person guest list.

Notably, Orlando Bloom arrived solo after reportedly ending his engagement with Katy Perry. Sánchez seemed to acknowledge Perry’s absence, commenting, “We miss you Katy,” Friday on the pop star’s Instagram. Perry famously joined Sánchez on the Blue Origin space flight and has received a disproportionate amount of the criticism.

Though President Trump was not present (despite reports that he received an invitation), his daughter Ivanka Trump and Ivanka’s husband, Jared Kushner, were in attendance, along with in-laws Karlie Kloss and Joshua Kushner.

Other celebrities in attendance were Kim and Khloé Kardashian; Kris, Kylie and Kendall Jenner; Bill Gates and Paula Hurd; Sydney Sweeney; Tom Brady; Leonardo DiCaprio; Usher; Eva Longoria and José Bastón; Diane von Furstenberg and Barry Diller; Oprah Winfrey; and Gayle King, who was also aboard the Blue Origin spaceflight.

Though President Trump wasn’t present, his daughter Ivanka Trump and her husband, Jared Kushner, attended the wedding.

(Luigi Costantini / AP)

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Protests and criticism

The lavish celebration was not without its critics. The No Space for Bezos movement — a combination of anti-cruise ship campaigners, university groups and housing advocates — staged protests throughout Venice leading up to the event, even planning to obstruct canal access to prevent wedding guests from reaching the venue, according to the Associated Press. The newlyweds reportedly had to make an eleventh hour venue change, opting for the more secluded and secure Arsenale for the Saturday reception, according to local media.

At first glance, a sequel to the 2023 killer-teenage-girl-android flick M3gan would seem like an easy layup, a chance to re-exploit the knowingly goofy mix of horror and comedy that turned that film into a refreshing January hit. In reality, such self-aware lightning rarely strikes twice. M3gan played its absurd premise with a largely straight face, but watching that film’s single and reluctant maternal figure, ambitious and overworked roboticist Gemma (Allison Williams), conjure a cyborg best pal for her traumatized and orphaned niece, Cady (Violet McGraw), we grasped the ironic ruse. Just about everybody in the movie was serious. Its surfaces were serious. Its gestalt, however, was pure howling derangement, and that dancing robot cut through it all like a knife in a pussy-bow minidress.

With M3gan 2.0, writer-director Gerard Johnstone opts for action instead of horror, and the film feels like it wants to be a frothy spy flick. M3gan herself (played by Amie Donald and voiced by Jenna Davis) was defeated in the previous film, but now there’s a new, more powerful cyborg menace, Amelia (short for Autonomous Military Engagement Logistics and Infiltration Android, and played by the Ukrainian actress Ivanna Sakhno), “the next evolution in military engagement,” whom we first see in an opening scene on the Turkish-Iranian border as she slices and shoots her way through a gaggle of goons in an attempt to save a kidnapped chemical scientist. Trouble is, she turns out to be something of a double agent and turns on her U.S. military overlords. Gradually, it falls to Gemma, Cady, and their pals to revive M3gan in an attempt to stop the seemingly indestructible Amelia, who is hell-bent on becoming all-powerful and conquering civilization.

So it’s Good Robot versus Bad Robot, a Terminator 2: Judgment Day–style expansion into mainstream mayhem — superficially understandable, since the first Terminator was also something of a horror film that was subsequently franchised into an action series. And yet M3gan 2.0 is a baffling movie, relying less on the conceptual humor of its predecessor and more on occasional quips and a few genuinely silly gags. (When M3gan is first brought back, she’s given the body of a small, plastic, Teletubby-like robot to keep her from committing any violence. Later, she sings Kate Bush’s “This Woman’s Work” in an attempt to praise Gemma’s parenting skills.) But by and large, M3gan 2.0 feels like it just wants to be a generic action movie. There’s also enough blather here about the perils of artificial intelligence that one wonders if the filmmakers actually expect us to pay attention to the details of the plot.

More tragically, M3gan 2.0 abandons its characters, who had been the secret of the original’s success. The first film’s tonal tightrope only worked because Williams in particular walked it so well, with her dry delivery perfectly capturing the obliviousness of Gemma’s disastrous attempts to hack her own life. And McGraw, just 11 at the time, ably managed her character’s traumatized-child horror-speak. The contrast between their sincerity and M3gan’s homicidal sassiness lent real power to the picture’s parodic swings.

But this time, all these characters are largely reduced to running and cowering and breathlessly scheming to find ways to take down Amelia; they’ve become mere action protagonists, and not particularly interesting ones at that. One wonders if Johnstone is simply trying to set a kind of template he can return to over and over again as these films presumably generate more sequels. In so doing, however, he’s ironed out the idiosyncrasies that made his original work so well. The results are thoroughly middling — not funny enough to qualify as comedy, not exciting enough to qualify as action, not smart enough to qualify as a cautionary tale, and certainly not weird enough to keep the M3gan ethos alive.

This article contains many spoilers for Season 3 of Netflix’s “Squid Game.”

“Squid Game” is a twisty, twisted thriller, with ordinary, financially stressed people playing children’s games to the death for the amusement of the hidden wealthy. Beneath that surface, creator, writer and director Hwang Dong-hyuk has been embedding sociopolitical commentary amid the shock and awe of protagonist Gi-hun’s (Lee Jung-jae) personal roller-coaster ride; the characters’ desperation as the saga ends forces those messages to poke through the slick, candy-colored exterior.

“It was a result of elevation of the themes and stories,” said Hwang of those ideas becoming more clearly voiced. They “became more upfront and intense just as a natural course of the story unfolding.”

The global phenomenon, still Netflix’s most-watched non-English show ever (its first two seasons are No. 1 and 2 on the streamer’s all-time list, with nearly 600 million views to date, according to Netflix), ends on its own terms with the release of its third and final season Friday. And what an arc everyman Gi-hun will have completed. How better to represent Hwang’s themes of end-stage, winners-and-losers capitalism, with its warping, destructive power, and how the ill-intentioned can exploit democracy’s flaws, than to depict an ordinary person buffeted by the unseen hand of pain for profit?

“You can say this is a story of those who have become losers of the game, and also those of us who are shaken to our core because of the chaotic political landscape,” said Hwang, who with Lee, spoke via an interpreter on a video call earlier this month from New York. “I wanted to focus in Season 3 on how in this world, where incessant greed is always fueled, it’s like a jungle — the strong eating the weak, where people climb higher by stepping on other people’s heads.”

Gi-hun’s hands become bloodied in the competition in Season 3, Hwang said. “That’s the first time he kills someone [in the games]. This person who symbolized goodness, the original sin is now on him because of what society has done to him,” he said. “How does he pick himself up from that? That’s the heart of Season 3. In a way, we’re all put in this situation due to the capitalist society and chaotic political situation. Gi-hun symbolizes what all of us go through these days.”

When we meet him in Season 1, Gi-hun is down and out, an inveterate gambler. Through Season 1’s horrific gantlet of murderous kids’ games, his exterior is scraped away with a rusty edge until all that’s left is a flawed but good man. Gi-hun is someone who sees what he believes with clarity, while becoming the suddenly rich champion of the games.

But after he reaches that peak, Season 2 plunges him back down the roller coaster as he becomes obsessed with vengeance against the elite voyeurs who fund the game and the Front Man (Lee Byung-hun), who oversees it. Righteous anger carries Gi-hun to the brink of his goal of destroying the games, only to see it all brutally dashed. Season 3 finds him a broken man, near catatonic with guilt. Without him to guide the less bloodthirsty players, the games will enter a fearsome phase of all-out mayhem, from which unexpectedly emerges a chance at redemption for the battered protagonist.

“All of those changes within Gi-hun are depicted in such minute detail” in Hwang’s writing, said Lee, “so nuanced and with so many layers. You’ll see Gi-hun have a change of heart. Sometimes his beliefs will be shaken. But despite all of that, he will continue to struggle to find hope and his will.

“All of those changes within Gi-hun are depicted in such minute detail, so nuanced and with so many layers,” Lee Jung-jae said of his character and Hwang Dong-hyuk’s writing.

(Justin Jun Lee / For The Times)

“All I can say is, I’m a very lucky man. You don’t come by characters like Gi-hun every day. It’s been a true honor,” he adds.

Lee’s public appearances in support of “Squid Game” have provided an almost comic contrast with Gi-hun. He’s movie-star handsome, elegant, always sharply dressed. On the show, especially as Gi-hun deteriorates in Season 3, he’s wrecked.

“Jung-jae went on this extremely harsh diet for over a year so he could really portray, externally, the pain and the brokenness, to really express how famished and barren he is, both mentally and physically,” Hwang said.

Gi-hun isn’t the only person the games destroy. Another hallmark of the show is its deft development of characters into fan favorites, coupled with its “Game of Thrones”-like willingness to unceremoniously kill them. Viewers will be sharpening their pitchforks when trans commando Hyun-ju (Park Sung-hoon), a.k.a. Player 120, dies ignominiously in Season 3. Hwang is already braced for the backlash.

“It’s not me who did it! It was 333,” he exclaimed, blaming the murderer.

Hwang said when he watched the first assembly edit of that death, “I wrote and directed and everything, I knew it’s coming, but it was still painful. It was like, ‘Oh, come on, come on.’ ”

“For some characters, I would see them go and I’d feel really sad … I would think, ‘Director Hwang is such a cruel man,’” Lee said.

When Hwang asks what death in particular made him feel that way, Lee doesn’t hesitate to cite another beloved character, pregnant contestant Jun-hee (Jo Yu-ri), calling that Season 3 death “heartbreaking.”

Lee’s sensitive, evolving turn as Gi-hun — deeply human amid the madness, paranoia and murder set in bright green and pink surroundings — has made the character the ideal litmus test for Hwang’s critique of an economic system designed to produce titanic winners and losers who face annihilation. He’s a living symbol of Hwang’s themes.

“I feel like Director Hwang is truly an artist,” Lee said. “I mean something akin to a concept artist. Because when he creates his visuals, not only are they extremely pleasing to the eye; he focuses on the meaning behind them. He [stacks] images on top of one another, almost as if building a Lego castle. Each little block has meaning: each dialogue, each editing flow and [each use of] the musical score.”

As Season 3 reaches a boil, some of Hwang’s symbolism becomes less subtle. In one game, contestants clutch keys suspiciously resembling crucifixes as one player leads others with fervor, for better or worse. One character’s moment of triumph occurs before a painted rainbow (rainbow flags are also associated with the LGBTQ+ community in Korea). And Hwang’s nuanced critique of democracy comes to the fore.

“I feel like Director Hwang is truly an artist,” said Lee Jung-jae of the show’s creator. “I mean something akin to a concept artist. Because when he creates his visuals, not only are they extremely pleasing to the eye; he focuses on the meaning behind them.

(Justin Jun Lee / For The Times)

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Unlike Season 1, in which contestants had one chance to vote to end the games, in Seasons 2 and 3, votes are taken after each contest; as more players die, the pot swells larger and larger. With only a score or so of participants left, a vote to quit means all would leave alive, and with substantial cash. Voting to continue means, explicitly, they will kill to become obscenely wealthy.

“In the past, at the time of elections, despite our differences, we all came together; there was more tolerance through the process of conflict,” Hwang said. “I don’t think that is anymore the case. Rather, elections [have only driven] societies into greater divides. I wanted to explore those themes in Seasons 2 and 3; that’s why I included the voting in each round.”

Hwang loudly calls out the flaw of democracy that allows the barest of majorities to subject all to nightmarish policies — even more nightmarish for those who voted against them. The ruthless winners keep reminding the others in Season 3 it was a “free and democratic vote.”

“That is not to say that I have a different answer,” he said. “I wanted to raise the question because I believe it is time for us to try to find the answer. In Season 1, I looked at the flaws of the economic system that creates so many losers due to this unlimited competition. In Season 2, I depicted the failure of the political system.

“Coming into Season 3, because the economic system has failed us, politics have failed us, it seems like we have no hope,” Hwang added. “What hope do we have as a human race when we can no longer control our own greed? I wanted to explore that. And in particular, I wanted to [pose] that question to myself.”

And what has he found? Does he still believe in humanity?

“Well, I don’t have the answer,” Hwang said. “But I have to admit, honestly, I think I’ve become more cynical, working on ‘Squid Game.’”