Entertainment
Shakespeare's 'The Tempest' illuminates an existential truth revealed by the Los Angeles fires
The sprawling geography of Los Angeles is hard to envision for those who live outside the region. Friends and family members in New York, gripped by apocalyptic images of the fires in 24/7 news reports, have had difficulty accepting that I live far enough away from the hills and the coast to be relatively safe.
“Still OK?” is the text I’ve been answering daily. “Yes, I’m still safe,” I reply, which is truer than I’m still OK, for how can anyone be OK knowing that just a few miles away, people are grieving the loss of their homes, belongings and communities?
The Beverly Hills Flats has become my default home, and it’s here where I’ve been getting reports on the devastating fires. The smoke has been insidious yet manageable with a mask. Facebook posts from acquaintances and former colleagues who have been evacuated or lost homes have brought the situation nearer to me, but it’s hard to imagine the scale of such suffering when you haven’t experienced the destruction firsthand.
Shakespeare helps me envisage the unimaginable, and a speech from “The Tempest” has been running through my mind since images of charred sections of Pacific Palisades and Altadena started circulating. In Act 4, Prospero, the former Duke of Milan who has been exiled to a desert island with daughter Miranda, and his magic book, interrupts his revenge scheme to conjure a supernatural theatrical pageant in honor of the engagement of Miranda and Ferdinand, the son of the king of Naples.
The masque, performed by gentle spirits, enchants the betrothed. But Prospero is jolted into an awareness that Caliban and his confederates are plotting “a foul conspiracy” against his life, and he abruptly ends the show.
“Our revels now are ended,” he tells a dismayed-looking Ferdinand. “These our actors/(As I foretold you) were all spirits, and/Are melted into air, into thin air.”
The lines that Prospero speaks next have been echoing in me with the persistence of an earworm as I have tried to mentally put myself in the place of fellow Angelenos whose homes and neighborhoods have suddenly been erased.
“And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-cappped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And like this insubstantial pageant faded
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.”
Shakespeare was accustomed to making the stage a metaphor for life. “All the world’s a stage,/ and all the men and women merely players,” Jaques declares in “As You Like It,” and his melancholy set piece reflects a standard Elizabethan trope that Shakespeare as a man of the theater couldn’t resist.
But in “The Tempest,” Shakespeare takes this proposition a step further, directly equating the ephemeral conjurations of the theater with the transient reality of the audience. Metaphor become actual. The world offstage is no different from the world onstage, no matter the differences in duration. Impermanence is the common denominator.
Those gorgeous palaces and solemn temples, along with the planet itself and all who inhabit it, shall one day disappear and leave not a rack (or “wisp of cloud,” as “The Riverside Shakespeare” defines the word) behind. Prospero’s mind is understandably vexed, but the losses he’s already endured have sharpened his vision.
“We are such stuff as dreams are made on” is a Shakespearean maxim emblazoned on T-shirts and trotted out in high school yearbooks, but the greeting card sentiment can stand only if the line isn’t quoted in full. The notion of our little lives surrounded by sleep is too death-haunted for Hallmark. But those whose lives have been upended by the fires can attest to the truth of what Shakespeare is describing.
A home is first and foremost a shelter designed to protect from the vicissitudes of nature. We are reminded of this basic function when there’s been a failure during a natural disaster. But the spiritual and symbolic aspects of where we live are as vital as the practical protections these lodgings afford.
A home is, after all, a private stage set, imbued with meaning by those who live there. And a neighborhood is made up of a collection of homes, businesses and civic trusts that extend the private imaginings of individuals to the broader community.
These dwellings and districts are indeed compounded of dreams, and all of us know how destabilizing it can be when we move and box up these hopes and fantasies. I moved five times in my first nine years in L.A., and each move brought intimations of mortality that were more unsettling than the physical work of setting up a new home.
As a renter, I don’t perhaps have the same sense of rootedness that those who have invested a portion of their life savings into home ownership. But a recent dispatch on the Los Angeles fires by the Irish writer Colm Tóibín in the London Review of Books helped me understand more personally how the fires jeopardize not only real estate but also identities.
Writing from Highland Park, Tóibín concludes his report with a sad anecdote on the library of iconoclastic writer Gary Indiana that arrived in Los Angeles from New York on Jan. 7. The books were ultimately headed to an artist residence in Altadena.
If the collection “— the signed editions, the rare art books, the weird books, the books Gary treasured — had come a day later, there would have been no address to deliver them to, so they would have been saved. But on that Tuesday, unfortunately, there was still an address.”
Last year, I inherited a library of books from theater critic Gordon Rogoff, a colleague of Indiana’s at the Village Voice. The welcome addition of my mentor’s library compelled me to add more shelves to my already book-crammed apartment.
If I lost my furniture, clothes and apartment, I’d obviously be thrown into a state of emergency. But if I lost my books, I wouldn’t know who I was. It’s how I’ve defined myself as an adult making my way in the world.
The grief of those bearing witness to the fires is more than sympathy. We’ve all been given a shocking lesson in the “baseless fabric of this vision” we call reality but which Prospero recognizes is no more solid than a dream.
Shakespeare, however, doesn’t leave his audience in despair. The play ends with an epilogue in which the protagonist addresses the audience directly, a not uncommon practice in Shakespearean comedy. But in this late romance, as Shakespeare critic Anne Barton has pointed out, Prospero remains in character, courteously asking the audience for release from the island so that he can return to his dukedom.
By the grace of the audience, the play can continue offstage. The material world may be vulnerable to disaster. But our lives are the product of imagination, and that is a zone no inferno can touch.
Movie Reviews
‘Evil Dead Burn’ Movie Review – Spotlight Report
Sam Raimi‘s Evil Dead films and TV series are a fine example of creativity within constraints, playfulness, self-awareness and outright slapstick comedy. The Evil Dead series after Raimi is very, very different. Starting with 2013’s Evil Dead by Fede Álvarez, followed by Evil Dead Rise by Lee Cronin, the new series takes itself more seriously and emphasises pure horror, violence and gore. Some have considered this praiseworthy as it avoids being a mere retread of the old films, but the reception has been mixed.
In Sébastien Vanicek’s Evil Dead Burn, Alice (Souheila Yacoub) loses her abusive husband (George Pullar) to a motor accident. When she goes home to stay with his family, the consequences of the work of their dead grandfather researching the Necronomicon and the Deadites manifest in terrible ways. One by one, the family are turned into the Evil Dead.
Horror is a genre that depends on you relating to the protagonists so you care what happens to them. In the case of Evil Dead Burn, Yacoub does a decent job with the character she’s given, but the gonzo horror elements manifest so early in the film that she may as well be collateral damage in the onslaught, especially as the film’s early point of view is that of her brother-in-law (Hunter Doohan).
Fans of gory violence will get their money’s worth here, but there’s not a lot going on besides that. The film is a descent into madness and carnage that is so resolutely unpleasant that, after some of the early kills, it becomes numbing. It’s hard to gather what the tone is supposed to be, with lots of callbacks to the early films’ style by setting up inevitable kills with Chekhov’s weed trimmer, Chekhov’s fork and every other potentially dangerous prop the camera lingers on. The family are all deeply unpleasant at some level and so their deaths register as meaningless. Yes, the film has the obligatory something to say about how our tendency to ignore domestic abuse creates demons that destroy families, but then absolutely panders to bloodlust by absolutely revelling in some of the most extreme violence imaginable between family members (and a pet). To say this is not a film for the sensitive is to understate things considerably. This is a film that absolutely earns its content guidance warnings.
Is there any comedy? Some, but it feels out of place given the absolute brutality inflicted on the cast. While most of the other films were self-aware about setting up a ludicrously grisly end for a villain as a payoff, in Evil Dead Burn,the kills have very little flair. It’s also hard to know what the rules for getting rid of a Deadite are, as some of them are still upright and chatty after losing most of the contents of their skull and some are dispatched by the repeated application of a blunt object to the head. Towards the end, a McGuffin is added to make the kills final, but before that, who knows?
Should you watch Evil Dead Burn,? It certainly gets vocal reactions from audiences in a cinema, and if you’re a gorehound you’ll be in for a ride. If you’re a horror fan, it’s certainly a horror film, but violent instead of scary. If you’re just a fan of cinema who likes good films whether or not they’re horror films, then this will be an alienating watch. In Evil Dead Rise the decay of the family was more than background noise and factored into the circumstances of the individual deaths, but not here. It has slight pretences of being a film with Themes and Ideas, but in the end it just feels like an excuse to serve up limbs being mutilated, skulls being crushed and any number of stabbings, slicings and gougings rendered with psychopathic visual fidelity. If that’s what you’re after, that’s what it’s got.
Entertainment
‘Children of Blood and Bone’ author won’t see film after feud with star Amandla Stenberg
Tomi Adeyemi, the author of the bestselling fantasy “Children of Blood and Bone,” isn’t planning to see the forthcoming film adaptation — even though she co-wrote it.
Over the weekend, the Nigerian American author posted a video on TikTok addressing fans who have been asking her the same question, “Why don’t you post about the adaptation of your first film adaptation anymore?”
“There is a reason I will not post anything about the adaptation of my work,” the author wrote in what appear to be screenshots of a group chat. “I have not seen the film, and I will not watch it.”
The adaptation of the first installment of Adeyemi’s “Legacy of Orïsha” fantasy trilogy is slated to hit theaters in January 2027. Gina Prince-Bythewood — who wrote and directed “Love & Basketball” and helmed “The Woman King” — is directing. The film stars Amandla Stenberg, Thuso Mbedu, Tosin Cole, Damson Idris, Cynthia Erivo, Lashana Lynch, Regina King, Idris Elba, Chiwetel Ejiofor and Viola Davis.
Alongside the screenshots of her comments in the group chat, she shared a February 2025 exchange with Stenberg that shows the author severing ties with the actor.
Adeyemi shared only her final message to Stenberg, which reads, “Do not ever use my name in an interview or video again. Do not text me. Do not call me.” That exchange is followed by a notification that she blocked Stenberg, who plays Princess Amari in the upcoming fantasy flick.
The message from Stenberg that preceded Adeyemi’s reply is not shown in full.
Stenberg, who played Rue in “Hunger Games,” Starr Carter in “The Hate U Give” and, recently, Verosha “Osha” Aniseya and Mae-ho “Mae” Aniseya in Disney’s “Star Wars” series “The Acolyte,” had been getting flack from readers of the series, who claimed colorism was an issue while casting the movie.
In February 2025, Stenberg posted a since-deleted nine-minute TikTok addressing the controversy and told followers that Adeyemi had given the actor her blessing when cast as the series’ princess.
“I am four months into training for ‘Children of Blood and Bone’ and I am getting my ass whooped,” Stenberg joked in the video, per BET.
“This year was mostly defined for me, honestly, by contending with what it felt like to receive racist death threats just for existing in the ‘Star Wars’ universe, and that was a really difficult thing for me to move through,” she continued. “But honestly, it feels so much more painful for me to feel like I’m at odds with my own community.”
Stenberg said that she considers her skin tone when navigating her career choices and would “never go after a role” she didn’t feel well suited for. “I know that colorism is an insidious system that relentlessly impacts every facet of entertainment.”
The actor continued that it was actually a meeting with the “Children of Blood and Bone” author that gave her the confidence to pursue the role.
“I had the opportunity to meet Tomi, the novelist, for the first time. … And she goes, ‘Amandla, I want you to know that when you were a little girl and you were cast as Rue in “The Hunger Games,” and people said that Rue’s death wouldn’t be as sad because you’re a Black girl — that inspired me to write this series so that Black girls like you and Black girls of all shades could have a story written about them,’” Stenberg said in the video. “We started crying, and I said to myself, ‘God wants me here.’”
Representatives for Stenberg, Adeyemi and Prince-Bythewood did not immediately respond to The Times’ request for comment.
Movie Reviews
‘Night Nurse’ Review: A Caretaker Explores Her Kink for Elder Abuse in the Year’s Strangest Erotic Thriller
There are any number of erotic thrillers in which rich old men are robbed blind and/or left for dead, but Georgia Bernstein’s admirably bizarre “Night Nurse” might be the first movie of its kind where elder abuse is the source — and possible subject— of its erotic thrills. If there are others, I’m not sure I want to know.
But this woozy debut feature doesn’t rely on its audience being turned on by the relationship between a nubile caretaker and her dementia-addled patient. Their psychosexual bond, meanwhile, hinges on cold-calling vulnerable old people under the guise of a grandchild in financial distress. (“I’m in trouble, nana, send me $10,000 or I’ll be left to rot in jail!” That sort of thing). With its slim wisp of a premise stretched into a Strickland-esque dreamscape that substitutes kink for conflict, the film itself hardly seems convinced by its own wrinkled lust — all desperate kisses and non-touching poses of subservience. More important to Bernstein is what that lust reveals about her characters’ deepest needs, specifically how their need to care and be cared for can be as easily perverted as any other form of desire.
As moody and weightless as the noir-accented score that blows through the movie like a curlicue gust of wind in an old cartoon (credit to musicians Sam Clapp and Steven Jackson), “Night Nurse” lacks the pulse required for its stray feelings to come alive. Still, the film ambiently taps into the latent eroticism of teasing out the distance between how you see yourself and who you really are. Bernstein plays with that distance like a telephone cord wrapped around her fingers, and Eleni — played by the excellent newcomer Cemre Paksoy, powerfully helpless — only frays even more as the receiver is brought near the hook. “Everything I did before today wasn’t me,” the nurse tells co-worker Mona (Eleonore Hendricks) after starting a new job at an Illinois retirement home. “It was somebody else.”
What she did before today remains unexplored (specifically, what she did to get herself fired from her last gig), but I’m guessing she’s probably changed less than she thought. There’s a faraway flicker in her eyes the moment she catches the vibe between Mona and Douglas (a ribald and elusive Bruce McKenzie), a white-haired seventysomething who shows early signs of dementia but still commands an undiminished sexual energy. “I’m not an invalid,” he coos as Mona bathes him in the tub, to which she replies, “yes, you are,” in a supplicant tone that hints at a rich history of power games between them.
Later that same night, Douglas will force Eleni to call a stranger, pretend that she’s their granddaughter, and ask for money — he’ll wrap the phone cord around the nurse’s body as she talks and shove her against the wall as they kiss. She’s into it. So into it that he has to clarify the terms of his whole deal: “If you’re looking for a pogo stick, I’m really not your guy.” But Eleni isn’t looking for anything to bounce on. She just wants to be needed, and maybe to need someone in return. Someone who will see her for who she really is and allow her the fantasy of pretending she isn’t being herself when she cons vulnerable strangers out of their money — when she exploits how enthralled those strangers are by the care they have for their loved ones.
“Night Nurse” doesn’t belabor the psychology, as Bernstein prefers to express her story through heavy-lidded suggestion. Somnambulating from the moment it starts, the film moves through a series of beautifully arranged poses that stretch their latent meaning thin across the surface (Lidia Nikonova’s cinematography lacquers every shot with a seductive dreaminess). We see Douglas smoking in a lawn chair with Mona and Eleni curled around his feet. Eleni riding in the backseat of a convertible as the wind blows through her curls. The full staff of nurses — all of them under Douglas’ sway — stumbling around his condo in a state of zonked out bliss as they roll on the prescription drugs they’ve stolen from the residents.
Once you’ve seen one shot of this movie, you’ve practically seen them all, at least until things escalate during a rushed and unsatisfying third act that forces Eleni into an honest confrontation with herself. People will do just about anything to feel needed — they’ll give whatever degree of care allows them to receive it in return. “Night Nurse” understands that desire, but remains far too numb to treat it.
Grade: C+
The Independent Film Company will relase “Night Nurse” in theaters on Friday, July 10.
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