Kim Kardashian wants Lyle and Erik Menendez, the brothers convicted in the grisly 1989 murders of their parents, to be freed.

The reality star, daughter of late O.J. Simpson attorney Robert Kardashian, has fashioned herself as an advocate for criminal justice reform. And, in a personal essay for NBC News, she wrote Thursday that she hopes that the brothers, who have already served 35 years in prison, could have their life sentences “reconsidered.”

“We are all products of our experiences. They shape who we were, who we are, and who we will be. Physiologically and psychologically, time changes us, and I doubt anyone would claim to be the same person they were at 18. I know I’m not!,” the Skims co-founder wrote.

Kardashian rehashed widely known facts in the case — that the brothers, then ages 21 and 18, shot and killed their parents, Jose and Kitty Menendez, in their Beverly Hills home — as well as their high-profile 1996 trials. But, she said, “this story is much more complex than it appears on the surface.”

“Both brothers said they had been sexually, physically and emotionally abused for years by their parents. According to Lyle, the abuse started when he was just 6 years old, and Erik said he was raped by his father for more than a decade. Following years of abuse and a real fear for their lives, Erik and Lyle chose what they thought at the time was their only way out — an unimaginable way to escape their living nightmare,” she said.

Listing issues with the trials and other legal missteps, Kardashian argued that “the media turned the brothers into monsters and sensationalized eye candy” and that they “had no chance of a fair trial against this backdrop.”

The beauty mogul has visited the brothers in prison and vouched for their “exemplary disciplinary records,” adding that a warden there told her that “he would feel comfortable having them as neighbors.” She asserted that life in prison is not the right punishment for them and argued that the exclusion of abuse evidence from their second trial denied them a fair go.

“The killings are not excusable. I want to make that clear. Nor is their behavior before, during or after the crime. But we should not deny who they are today in their 50s,” she wrote. “The trial and punishment these brothers received were more befitting a serial killer than two individuals who endured years of sexual abuse by the very people they loved and trusted.”

On Thursday, Los Angeles County Dist. Atty. George Gascón said his office would review what he described as new evidence that the brothers were molested — a move that could lead to revised sentences.

While there was no question the brothers committed the murders, Gascón said, the issue is whether the jury heard evidence that their father molested them. Evidence detailing sexual abuse was presented during the brothers’ first trial, which ended in hung juries, but was largely withheld during their second trial, where they were convicted and sentenced to life in prison.

Lyle Menendez, left, and Erik during a court appearance in Beverly Hills on April 2, 1991.

(Kevork Djansenzian / Associated Press)

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Meanwhile, a series of creative projects over the past year have contributed to renewed interest in the brothers’ case and their highly scrutinized trials. Ryan Murphy’s splashy “Monsters: The Lyle and Erik Menendez Story,” for example, raised questions, much like his past anthology series revived the discourse around the O.J. Simpson trial and the impeachment of former President Clinton. The Menendez brothers were also the focus of the Fox Nation documentary series “Menendez Brothers: Victims or Villains,” which premiered in March, as well as the Peacock docuseries “Menendez + Menudo: Boys Betrayed,” which presented new evidence and included an accusation of rape against patriarch Jose Menendez.

Citing evidence related to molestation claims, attorneys for the brothers filed petitions last year to reopen the case, and family members have rallied to get the men released. Others, like Kardashian, have argued that times have changed, and that the brothers’ allegations of abuse might have been received differently at trial today.

Times staff writers Salvador Hernandez, Hannah Fry and Richard Winton contributed to this report.

When Amazon workers on Staten Island successfully voted to unionize in the spring of 2022, becoming the corporate retailer’s first American workplace to do so, it was hailed as one of the most important labor victories in the United States in nearly 100 years. 

For the Amazon Labor Union (ALU) to organize employees at the JFK8 warehouse to vote in favor of union representation was a David versus Goliath story for the age of globalization — and a rousing reminder that collective grassroots efforts can still succeed despite massive employer concentration, management intimidation, and other hindrances to building worker power. And that an independent, worker-led coalition led the drive at this 8,000-plus-employee facility, rather than an established union, made its victory all the more impressive, even as the vote to unionize brought organizers into uncharted territory and set up a protracted legal battle with Amazon, which has since refused to recognize the ALU or negotiate a contract. 

Telling the story of how the ALU reached this historic moment, “Union,” a new documentary co-directed by Brett Story (“The Hottest August”) and Stephen Maing (“Crime + Punishment”), takes a detail-driven, ground-level approach, following current and former Amazon employees in Staten Island as they mount a grassroots worker-to-worker campaign, standing their ground against one of the world’s powerful corporations all the while. 

No talking-head documentary but a keenly observational chronicle of the unionization push and its aftermath, “Union” often plays like a thriller by virtue of its sharp, smart editing rhythms. Early on, Story and Maing juxtapose Jeff Bezos blasting off into space on a rocket made by his Blue Origin company and Amazon workers trudging wearily into work; it captures the unimaginable scale of the company’s operations while foregrounding the human scale often concealed by breathless (yet inevitably compromised) reporting of Amazon’s designs on empire. 

Made over the course of three years, Story and Maing’s film explores the human cost of the convenience economy and illuminates oppressive working conditions in Amazon’s factories. From constant surveillance to high injury rates and a lack of breaks, the pressures of working in Amazon warehouses compound to create punishing environments for workers, ones Amazon has steadfastly refused to address or even accurately report. And the threat of retaliation against workers who organize is ever-present; in addition to pouring hundreds of millions of dollars into union-busting campaigns that include mandatory “captive audience” meetings (which have since been banned in the state of New York), Amazon issues warnings of possible termination to workers involved with the unionization drive. 

Bookended by footage of vast cargo ships transporting goods, a reminder of the slow, perpetual motion with which the gears of modern capitalism grind on, Story and Maing’s film is smart in how systematically its narrative lays out obstacles to the union’s success. It also insightfully depicts ground-level dialogue between workers as a powerful tool with which to overcome them. Some of the most remarkable footage, inside Amazon headquarters, covertly films one of those captive audience meetings; here, the company’s anti-union propaganda (One reads: “We’re asking you to do three simple things: get the facts, ask questions and vote no to the union”) is disrupted by ALU organizers, who successfully push back on Amazon managers just long enough to make their case to workers. 

One of the ALU organizers, Chris Smalls, takes center stage in “Union,” though the documentary largely sidesteps the temptation to cast him as a conquering hero. (That’d be an easy trap, given that he became the organization’s public face across the period “Union” depicts.) Smalls, fired from Amazon after protesting inadequate PPE provision during the pandemic (and besmirched by the company’s general counsel as “not smart or articulate” in an internal meeting of executive leaders), is a father of three who was moved to activism by the flagrant injustice of the company’s abusive labor practices. As a leader, he’s at once charismatic and hard-charging, dedicated to his fellow “comrades” but ever driven to push forward even in the face of inter-union dissent.

One of the film’s great strengths is its ability to surface the multiplicity of tensions between organizers working toward a shared cause. Take the world of difference separating the experiences of two subjects: Maddie, a white college graduate using her campus activism experience to help the cause, and Natalie, an older Latina woman living out of her car for years. In one charged exchange, Natalie pushes back on the suggestion, made by white male organizers, that Chris intentionally gets himself arrested by New York police officers to draw attention to the unionization drive. Ultimately, Natalie’s dissatisfaction with the ALU—due to her disagreements with leadership as much as her desire to wait for larger union support—leads her to leave the organization. It’s a testament to the complexity of individual motivations and the absence of easy triumph in this type of effort.

“Union” documents the internal debates and disagreements over governance, organizing, and leadership strategies that divided the ALU before its successful unionization vote and were compounded by its subsequent failed attempt to unionize a second warehouse. Though Smalls’ force of personality, passion, and determination fueled the fight to unionize JFK8, the film carefully depicts this as a collective victory. It rarely gives in to the temptation to single out Smalls for praise at the expense of others, and making it clear that his leadership style also contributed to internal rifts in the ALU that at various points may have weakened its ability to further the union’s mission. 

This becomes particularly important in the film’s latter half, after the unionization vote, at which point the sobering realities of the long work ahead come more fully into view. The heroism of the ALU organizers will never be in question. But with only one battle won in the war for workers’ rights, and Amazon continuing to contest or undercut its results by every means available, “Union” concludes on a note of weary fortitude rather than declarative victory. The film captures both the pain and the power of people at the base of a global infrastructure. By not departing from the frontlines of the fight against Amazon’s labor exploitation, Story and Maing bring the true face of their struggle into focus. 

“Union” will be self-distributed theatrically, starting on Oct. 18. This review was filed from the film’s New York premiere at the New York Film Festival. 

In 2017, the film “Wonder” was a surprise critical and commercial hit for Lionsgate. Adapted from a children’s novel by R.J. Palacio, the film starred Jacob Tremblay as young Auggie, a boy with the facial deformities of Treacher Collins syndrome who teaches his family and peers about the importance of kindness. (Julia Roberts and Owen Wilson co-starred as his parents.) Naturally, a sequel, adapted from one of Palacio’s “Wonder” spinoff books, was quickly green-lighted by the studio.

It’s now been seven years since “Wonder” came out, and the long-awaited sequel, “White Bird: A Wonder Story,” which has been plagued by delays both pandemic- and strike-related, is finally hitting theaters. Directed by Marc Forster and written by Mark Bomback, “White Bird” is very loosely connected to the original film, but it takes a more global, historical approach to the same message about the importance of small but high-stakes gestures of kindness.

Bryce Gheisar returns as Julian, Auggie’s bully from “Wonder,” who has been expelled from school for his cruelty. Now himself the new kid at a new school, he struggles to fit in. But Julian has the opportunity to reinvent himself, which is underscored by a surprise visit — and lesson — from his grandmother Sara (Helen Mirren) that completely changes his perspective on how to move through the world.

Thus unfolds the real story of “White Bird,” which isn’t about Julian, who serves merely as a framing device and a tenuous link to the world of “Wonder.” “White Bird” is actually Sara’s story of her childhood in Nazi-occupied France and the harrowing events she experienced as a young Jewish girl there.

If you’ve ever watched (or read) young-adult Holocaust films or fiction, “White Bird” will feel familiar. It takes a similar tack to real-life stories such as Anne Frank’s. Teen Sara (Ariella Glaser) is the adored and privileged daughter of a professor and a doctor (Ishai Golen) living an idyllic life in a small French village. Drawn to the handsome Vincent (Jem Matthews), she and her friends scoff at quiet Julien (Orlando Schwerdt), who is disabled from polio. Insulated from the harsh realities of occupation until laws limiting the freedom of Jews encroach on her town, Sara’s family makes plans to escape, though they are unable to outrun the Nazi roundups.

Sara, though, manages to escape into the snowy woods, and Julien escorts her through the underground sewers away from the school to his family’s barn where he stows her away, and where he and his parents (Gillian Anderson and Jo Stone-Fewings) care for her. She will remain there, in hiding, until the forces of fascism that have infected her community must be reckoned with. But the story is about the connection she forges with Julien, and the circumstances that allow her to learn to evaluate character through shared humanity and bravery, not status and power.

The strength of “White Bird” lies in its performers, especially Glaser and Schwerdt, who deliver complex, nuanced takes on young people experiencing global atrocities on an intimate scale, while also trying to navigate the complications of connecting as teenagers. They are both excellent and keep the film emotionally grounded.

Forster presents a somewhat sanitized view of the Holocaust that is sobering but digestible for younger audiences. The pastoral setting remains picturesque and almost fairy-tale-like. As recounted through Sara’s memories, it has a kind of glowing haze about it, almost too beautiful at times. Computer-generated flowers bloom before our eyes. A cranberry-red coat stands out starkly against a snowy winter background. It’s an interesting stylistic choice (and one you may have seen in another much-celebrated Holocaust movie), but it speaks to the storytelling element of the film, the way our brains craft memories that might be more vivid and lovely, even after decades.

As a “Wonder Story” and a Holocaust story, the messaging of “White Bird” is unsurprising though important: Empathy matters, especially in action, and that often, caring for others can mean putting one’s own self in danger, but we should do it anyway. In the grand tapestry of human existence, we are all connected. It may be a message we’ve heard time and again, but it’s one that bears repeating.

Katie Walsh is a Tribune News Service film critic.