Category: Hollywood
No Mommie Dearest, She
Joan Crawford: A Woman’s Face By Scott Eyman Simon and Schuster, 468 pages, $30 It’s not certain when Joan Crawford…
’Trey didn’t have a car’: ‘Airplane!’ director David Zucker on humble origins of ‘South Park’ empire
The creators of “South Park” didn’t always know it would become a hit — let alone one of the longest-running shows in the history of television.
Just ask Hollywood veteran David Zucker, who hired Trey Parker and Matt Stone shortly before the duo — and the foul-mouthed kids they created — became household names.
‘They were also unsure of if “South Park” would ever work.’
Zucker — who directed seminal spoof comedy “Airplane!” along with his brother Jerry and the late Jim Abrahams — recalled that when he first met the University of Colorado grads in the mid-1990s, they were still very much struggling filmmakers.
Ride share
“They came to my office and I met with these guys, and Trey didn’t have a car,” Zucker said.
Despite their precarious finances, the duo already had a feature film under their belt — 1993’s “Cannibal! The Musical” — as well as animated short “The Spirit of Christmas,” which would soon land them a deal for “South Park.”
Impressed with their talents, Zucker hired Parker and Stone to do a video for Universal executives commemorating the studio’s recent purchase by Canadian beverage giant Seagram.
The duo turned in “Your Studio and You,” a side-splitting send-up of 1950s industrial videos crammed with cameos by the likes of Steven Spielberg, Sylvester Stallone, and Michael J. Fox.
Hedging their bets
Zucker remembered the young newcomers in 1997 when casting the leads for his longtime passion project, “BASEketball.” By then Parker and Stone had made a second film, “Orgazmo,” a comedy about a Mormon missionary (Parker) turned porn star turned superhero. With a $25 million budget and major studio backing, Zucker’s project represented a major step up.
And while the two were then deep in production on the show that would launch their careers, they assumed it would die a quick death once it aired. So they agreed to star in “BASEketball.”
“They were also unsure of if ‘South Park’ would ever work,” said Zucker. “This was a hedge against, you know, Trey having to get his car fixed.”
Upon premiering in August 1997, “South Park” was an instant hit, requiring Parker and Stone to shoot “BASEketball” while simultaneously maintaining their grueling TV schedule.
RELATED: ‘Naked Gun’ creator David Zucker offers ‘Crash’ course in comedy
Rookie year
While Zucker had already written a script for “BASEketball” — inspired by an actual sport he and some friends “invented on my driveway” during the 1980s — he relied on his Gen X collaborators to punch it up for the younger “South Park” fan base.
“They probably wrote about a third of it, and you know, a lot of that stuff, because I didn’t know what kind of language went on between … 20-somethings,” Zucker explained. Both the actors were in their late 20s at the time.
One of Parker and Stone’s most significant additions to the script was helping with the “psych-outs” — tasteless insults “baseketball” players hurl at an opponent in hopes of making him miss a shot.
All-star lineup
Such tactics were never used by the real-life players, whom Zucker described as “all these guys who later became, you know, heads of studios and heads of agencies” — a roster including director Peter Farrelly (“There’s Something About Mary” and “Dumb and Dumber”), former CAA head David “Doc” O’Connor, and former Fox Television Group chair Gary Newman.
RELATED: ‘South Park’ roasted Trump — and the White House is not happy
1998: “South Park” creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone star in the movie “BASEketball.” Getty Images
Zucker noted that he is emphasizing the “psych-out” element in a new “BASEketball” pitch: a reality show featuring teams of comedians playing the sport while tearing each other down.
As for his old “BASEketball” buddies, Zucker said he recently visited their office to get a 10-minute preview of their new movie, “Whitney Springs,” a live-action comedy musical starring rapper Kendrick Lamar as a black man working as a slave re-enactor at a living history museum who discovers his white girlfriend’s ancestors “owned” his ancestors.
“They showed me 10 minutes of it, and it looks great,” said Zucker.
Video: Woman pulls male intruder out of her car, throws him to the ground with ease — while her amazed husband watches
Astonishing surveillance video from a Hollywood gas station shows the moment when a woman pulled a male intruder out of her car and threw him to the ground with ease.
The woman, Star Carter, was sitting in the driver’s seat of her red Alfa Romeo at the gas station Tuesday when a male stranger walked up and tried to open her passenger door, KCBS-TV reported.
‘It was just like that Kendrick Lamar verse [from “Peekaboo”] was playing in my head, you know like, “Bing bop boom bop boom bop bam!”‘
Her husband, Michael Carter, was pumping gas at the time and was on the other side of car.
“I stood up and was like ‘Get outta here!’ and then I walked around this way,” Michael told KCBS, motioning toward the passenger side of the car.
But after Michael got back in the passenger seat, the crook sneaked back and opened the driver-side rear door closest to the gas pump and actually got into the back seat, video shows.
“I’m wrestling with him inside the car,” Michael told the station, “and I’m kinda pushing him and pushing him, and all I know is he just disappeared.”
With that, Star’s husband smiled and told KCBS that “I’m looking over the back, and I said, ‘Oh … ohhh!'”
Michael’s, shall we say, starstruck reaction was due to the fact that his wife got out of her driver’s seat, got to the back door, ripped the intruder right out the car, and tossed him to the ground.
“I don’t condone violence, but I do condone self-defense,” Star told KCBS in the aftermath.
Star described what song was on her brain’s playlist in that moment, telling the station that “it was just like that Kendrick Lamar verse [from ‘Peekaboo’] was playing in my head, you know like, ‘Bing bop boom bop boom bop bam!'”
With a laugh, she added to KCBS, “That’s all I remember. I’m so embarrassed.”
Wisely, the intruder ran off after Star introduced him to the concrete.
But she also had some parting advice for him: “I just said, ‘Don’t you ever do no stupid [word redacted in KCBS video] like this again!'”
The station said the Carters actually continued their night out, going to a comedy show at the Hollywood Improv.
The couple’s unsurprised daughter later told KCBS that “my mommy, she was in like fight or flight — but she definitely fought, and he definitely took flight.”
Star added to the station that she believes the intruder was on drugs at the time of the incident: “I don’t know what this dude is capable of doing at all.”
In the end, her husband was grateful that Star stood up to the crook.
“She is indeed my hero,” Michael noted to KCBS with a laugh in the aftermath. “Thank you, Star!”
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The Spectacle Ep. 294: Hollywood’s Low Box Office Turnout Was Not So Spooky
Hollywood had nothing but cobwebs in the theaters this Halloween, as the box office reportedly received its lowest earnings for…
AI can fake a face — but not a soul
The New York Times recently profiled Scott Jacqmein, an actor from Dallas who sold his likeness to TikTok for $750 and a free trip to the Bay Area. He hasn’t landed any TV shows, movies, or commercials, but his AI-generated likeness has — a virtual version of Jacqmein is now “acting” in countless ads on TikTok. As the Times put it, Jacqmein “fields one or two texts a week from acquaintances and friends who are pretty sure they have seen him pitching a peculiar range of businesses on TikTok.”
Now, Jacqmein “has regrets.” But why? He consented to sell his likeness. His image isn’t being used illegally. He wanted to act, and now — at least digitally — he’s acting. His regrets seem less about ethics and more about economics.
The more perfect the imitation, the greater the lie. What people crave isn’t flawless illusion — it’s authenticity.
Times reporter Sapna Maheshwari suggests as much. Her story centers on the lack of royalties and legal protections for people like Jacqmein.
She also raises moral concerns, citing examples where digital avatars were used to promote objectionable products or deliver offensive messages. In one case, Jacqmein’s AI double pitched a “male performance supplement.” In another, a TikTok employee allegedly unleashed AI avatars reciting passages from Hitler’s “Mein Kampf.” TikTok removed the tool that made the videos possible after CNN brought the story to light.
When faces become property
These incidents blur into a larger problem — the same one raised by deepfakes. In recent months, digital impostors have mimicked public figures from Bishop Robert Barron to the pope. The Vatican itself has had to denounce fake homilies generated in the likeness of Leo XIV. Such fabrications can mislead, defame, or humiliate.
But the deepest problem with digital avatars isn’t that they deceive. It’s that they aren’t real.
Even if Jacqmein were paid handsomely and religious figures embraced synthetic preaching as legitimate evangelism, something about the whole enterprise would remain wrong. Selling one’s likeness is a transaction of the soul. It’s unsettling because it treats what’s uniquely human — voice, gesture, and presence — as property to be cloned and sold.
When a person licenses his “digital twin,” he doesn’t just part with data. He commodifies identity itself. The actor’s expressions, tone, and mannerisms become a bundle of intellectual property. Someone else owns them now.
That’s why audiences instinctively recoil at watching AI puppets masquerade and mimic people. Even if the illusion is technically impressive, it feels hollow. A digital replica can’t evoke the same moral or emotional response as a real human being.
Selling the soul
This isn’t a new theme in art or philosophy. In a classic “Simpsons” episode, Bart sells his soul to his pal Milhouse for $5 and soon feels hollow, haunted by nightmares, convinced he’s lost something essential. The joke carries a metaphysical truth: When we surrender what defines us as human — even symbolically — we suffer a real loss.
For those who believe in an immortal soul, as Jesuit philosopher Robert Spitzer argues in “Science at the Doorstep to God,” this loss is more than psychological. To sell one’s likeness is to treat the image of the divine within as a market commodity. The transaction might seem trivial — a harmless digital contract — but the symbolism runs deep.
Oscar Wilde captured this inversion of morality in “The Picture of Dorian Gray.” His protagonist stays eternally young while his portrait, the mirror of his soul, decays. In our digital age, the roles are reversed: The AI avatar remains young and flawless while the human model ages, forgotten and spiritually diminished.
Jacqmein can’t destroy his portrait. It’s contractually owned by someone else. If he wants to stop his digital self from hawking supplements or energy drinks, he’ll need lawyers — and he’ll probably lose. He’s condemned to watch his AI double enjoy a flourishing career while he struggles to pay rent. The scenario reads like a lost episode of “Black Mirror” — a man trapped in a parody of his own success. (In fact, “The Waldo Moment” and “Hang the DJ” come close to this.)
RELATED: Cybernetics promised a merger of human and computer. Then why do we feel so out of the loop?
Photo by imaginima via Getty Images
The moral exit
The conventional answer to this dilemma is regulation: copyright reforms, consent standards, watermarking requirements. But the real solution begins with refusal. Actors shouldn’t sell their avatars. Consumers shouldn’t support platforms that replace people with synthetic ghosts.
If TikTok and other media giants populate their feeds with digital clones, users should boycott them and demand “fair-trade human content.” Just as conscientious shoppers insist on buying ethically sourced goods, viewers should insist on art and advertising made by living, breathing humans.
Tech evangelists argue that AI avatars will soon become indistinguishable from the people they’re modeled on. But that misses the point. The more perfect the imitation, the greater the lie. What people crave isn’t flawless illusion — it’s authenticity. They want to see imperfection, effort, and presence. They want to see life.
If we surrender that, we’ll lose something far more valuable than any acting career or TikTok deal. We’ll lose the very thing that makes us human.
‘Farmer’ George Clooney wouldn’t last a minute with my family’s sheep
George Clooney has it all. The villa on Lake Como, the Hollywood halo, the tequila fortune.
And now — apparently — a farm. He grows olives, you see. Presses them into artisanal oil. Talks lovingly about “the land.”
In Ireland, farmer suicide rates are among the highest in the country. In America, it’s even worse. Farming isn’t just lonely — it’s a daily battle against debt, drought, and despair.
It’s the sort of thing the lifestyle press laps up. The movie star who’s “gone back to nature,” barefoot among the groves, a rake in both senses of the word. But as someone raised on an actual farm in Ireland, I can’t help but laugh. Calling Clooney a farmer is like calling yourself a surgeon because you once removed a splinter with tweezers.
Knee-deep in muck
My father’s a real farmer. He’s the kind of man who measures days in chores, not hours. He’s out there in rain, shine, or two feet of snow, wrangling 100 cattle and 300 sheep with saintly patience. Starting at age 7, I spent 10 years doing the same thing. The man’s hands could sand a doorframe just by clapping. His back has carried more than hay bales. It’s borne the heavy burden of being taken for granted. Farmers feed everyone, yet everyone forgets them. They’re the engine of every economy and the punchline of every town.
The romantic idea of farming — what I call the “Clooney complex” — is built on Instagram filters and feckless fantasy. A celebrity buys a few acres, plants some lavender, adopts a goat named Aristotle, and suddenly it’s “sustainable living.” They wear linen shirts and wax lyrical about the “spiritual rhythm” of rural life, just before jetting back to L.A. in a jet that could single-handedly melt a glacier.
Meanwhile, the real farmer down the road is up at five, knee-deep in muck, coaxing a calf into the world in sideways sleet. The rhythm of real rural life sounds less like “peaceful simplicity” and more like an industrial power washer.
We don’t name our sheep. That’s something people who’ve never farmed don’t understand. When you’ve got 300 of the woolly little delinquents, sentimentality is a luxury you can’t afford. I’ve seen enough lambs die in winter to know why farmers are wary of names. We remember numbers. The birth tags. The weight. The cost of feed. The constant arithmetic of survival. Romanticizing farming is like romanticizing trench warfare — fine for those who’ve never experienced it firsthand.
Debt, drought, and despair
And yet, people love the image. The noble tiller of soil, weathered but wise, standing in a sunset, surrounded by his empire. They never show the invoices, broken fences, silage bills, oppressive environmental regulations, or the bank statements.
They don’t show the nights you lie awake wondering whether the mart price will rise or fall. They don’t show the hours spent alone, the silence broken only by the rattle of a gate or the cough of an animal on the way out. Farming is isolation dressed as independence. You’re your own boss, yes — but your employees are cows, and they never take a day off.
In Ireland, farmer suicide rates are among the highest in the country. In America, it’s even worse. Farming isn’t just lonely — it’s a daily battle against debt, drought, and despair.
Each season, costs climb higher: cement for sheds, grain for feed, diesel for tractors, even medicine for the herd. Profits shrink, pressure builds, and hope thins out like soil after too many harvests. American farmers are now three and a half times more likely to die by suicide than the average worker. The farm devours what it earns. It’s less a business than a benevolent parasite — you feed it in the hope it feeds you back.
RELATED: AI isn’t feeding you
Photo by Nikada via Getty Images
Learning from the land
But to the celebrity farmer, it’s a lovely way of life. Clooney can pose with his olives, Chris Pratt with his chickens, or “Top Gear” legend Jeremy Clarkson with his camera crew and call it “a return to roots.” Fine, let them have their fun. But real farming isn’t less a return than a sentence. It’s 70-hour weeks, constant pressure, and the faint but familiar panic of wondering what happens if you get sick. No stand-in. No understudy. Just you and the land, locked in an ancient marriage of necessity.
Don’t get me wrong — I love the land. There’s a holiness to it that city life can’t touch. I understand why people are drawn to it, even why they imitate it. But farming isn’t a hobby. It’s not therapy. It’s work in its rawest form — bone-deep, back-breaking, Sisyphus-like labor. And while actors can play at being farmers, farmers can’t play at being actors. When a calf’s stuck halfway out, the only thing rolling is your sleeves. There are no retakes.
If George Clooney wants to plant crops, fine. Let him. But I’ll believe he’s a farmer when he’s up at dawn to dig a drain, when his hands smell permanently of disinfectant. I’ll believe it when his holidays depend on the lambing schedule and not the film schedule. Until then, he’s just a gardener with glorious lighting.
Farming is a philosophy in itself. It teaches humility, patience, and a genuine appreciation for the good times. You learn to solve problems with what’s at hand — wire, hope, and plenty of profanity. It’s not glamorous, but it’s brutally honest.
So when I read about Clooney’s olives, I smile. Until he has scraped muck from his boots with a stick, yelled at a stubborn sheepdog that won’t listen, and worked from first light to last, I’ll save my applause for the real ones: the men and women who work the land not for show, but for the soil itself. Owning a field doesn’t make you a farmer any more than starring in “The Perfect Storm” makes you a fisherman.
