Netflix just announced its next animated children’s film, “Steps,” a Cinderella inversion in which the evil stepsisters are the real heroes. Shocking, I know. The platform is also releasing “Queen of Coal,” a film about a “transgender woman” overcoming the patriarchy in his small Argentinian town.

Reports of the demise of wokeness were premature. Its adherents remain committed to pushing it across every domain of society. What’s notable is how boring it has all become. Deconstruction has been the default mode of modern culture, but it is running out of things to deconstruct. The transgression has lost its power as the taboo fades, and in that exhaustion, something new — perhaps something true — stirs.

The revolution brought destruction, but its exhaustion brings new possibilities.

Some call Friedrich Nietzsche the first postmodernist for announcing that “God is dead.” Whether he was a precursor or ground zero, the genealogy of the movement clearly flows from his work. You can argue about whether he unleashed several horrors into the world or merely acknowledged their arrival, but Nietzsche at least understood the seriousness of his claim. He understood that having the blood of God on your hands was not a clever academic parlor trick — it was monstrous.

With the creator of the universe declared dead, modern man felt free to dismantle the order that once bound him. The sacred bonds of hierarchy were shattered. Postmodernism launched its assault on the good, the beautiful, and the true. And breaking sacred bonds releases immense energy. The leftist revolution that consumed the West drank deeply from it.

The church, the community, the family, marriage, gender roles, gender itself — each time the left destroyed one of these natural structures, it seized the power trapped inside and wielded it against its enemies.

Deconstruction reaches its natural end

But deconstruction has a natural end point. Transgression requires something sacred to violate. As I have written before, you eventually reach the point where there is nothing left to transgress.

When every movie, show, novel, game, and song “subverts” the traditional Christian norm, the subversion becomes the norm. That’s why these Netflix offerings feel so lifeless: They all follow the same trajectory toward the same inversion.

Fifty years ago, critics complained that stories were predictable because the squeaky-clean hero always triumphed. Today they are predictable because the villain is always a misunderstood victim of bigotry who deserves to win. The inversion isn’t clever or subversive. It’s the boring status quo.

The death of who?

So what happens when postmodernism has inverted every hierarchy, mocked every sacred symbol, and squeezed the last drop of power out of attacking Christianity?

The philosopher Alexander Dugin offers a compelling answer. If modernity was the death of God, the end of postmodernism is the exhaustion of subversive secular culture. At that point, new possibilities appear. Instead of proclaiming that “God is dead,” people start asking, “The death of who?” The old order fades so completely that secular man forgets what he was rebelling against.

Meanwhile, the promise of becoming like gods and remaking the world in our own image begins to sour. We see the consequences of rejecting the good, the beautiful, and the true — and find them unbearable.

A postmodern moral wasteland

Postmodern man has lived his entire life in a world re-engineered from the top down by “experts.” When he cast God from His throne, man imagined he would shape the world through his own individual will. But the modern secular man discovers instead a moral wasteland. He finds that he is captive not to his own liberated self, but to darker forces once held at bay by the divine order he dismantled.

He no longer remembers what that order looked like — or why he rebelled against it. And in that moment, the opportunity to rediscover the spiritual returns.

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The revolution brought destruction, but its exhaustion brings new possibilities. People have forgotten the object of their rebellion, and now they look at the miserable world secular man has made. They crave something more.

Order, duty, faith, meaning. These begin to look far more promising than the ugly, pointless chaos modern man created for himself. People once again thirst for a world where the good guy wins and God reigns.

God never died — modernity did

The truth is that God never died. Christ died and rose again. Modern man tried to replace the divine with science and reason, but the Lord is the source of reason itself. He cannot be dethroned by His own creations.

As deconstruction loses its revolutionary energy and becomes stale, the desire to re-embrace sacred order returns. J.R.R. Tolkien captured this when he wrote: “Evil cannot create anything new. It can only spoil and destroy what good forces invented or created.” Eventually evil runs out of things to spoil. A barren, thirsty culture begins searching for the living water only divine truth can provide.

Ready for revival

Modern culture is bankrupt, and everyone feels it. The attempts at transgression now read as hollow conformity to a corrupted system. We are not the masters of our own world or our own truth — and thank God for that.

We do not have to live in the nihilistic abyss we created. The natural order waits just beneath the surface, ready to re-emerge in a cultural revival.

The creative future will not come from a relativistic Hollywood clinging to the corpse of deconstruction. It will come from those willing to embrace the transcendent — from those who understand that the world is held together not by our will to power, but by the truth and beauty of our Creator.

'Kevin Costner Presents: The First Christmas' brings scriptural authenticity to Nativity story

Director David L. Cunningham brought some old-school Disney magic to his latest project.

The Hollywood veteran recalled how Walt Disney often appeared on camera to personally introduce the projects closest to his heart, putting his unmistakable stamp on them.

'By taking out the hardship and the risk, you diminish the courage that Mary and Joseph had, their faith, and so much of the sacrifice.'

So when Cunningham envisioned a fresh, authentic take on the Christmas story, he wondered if another icon could do the honors. And, as fate would have it, his producing partner knew Kevin Costner personally.

The busy film legend agreed to join the project, with one caveat.

“He insisted on bringing his story into it … and the pieces fell together,” Cunningham tells Align.

'Unifying celebration'

“Kevin Costner Presents: The First Christmas,” debuting Dec. 9 at 8 p.m. ET on ABC before hitting Hulu the following day, does more than put the Christ back in Christmas.

The special lets Costner share some personal anecdotes regarding the earliest days of his acting career, including how he participated in a Christmas story production with less than Hollywood-style results.

He improved over time, of course.

“The First Christmas” introduces us to Mary and Joseph, a young couple facing incredible hardships along with the most important pregnancy … ever.

“The intent was to try and find a unifying celebration of the story,” Cunningham says. “Let’s all get behind what matters the most. Jesus was brought into this world in this amazing way. … The goal wasn’t to put a spin on something but to revisit the ancient texts and try to honor it as much as possible.”

Not too 'cozy'

“The First Christmas” pushes past misconceptions about the holiday, blending polished dramatic beats with commentary bringing critical context each step of the way. That approach worked well with the material, the director says, comparing the expert commentary to “miniature podcasts” that pop in between dramatic elements.

“We didn’t want a theological, wag-your-finger thing,” he notes, but he also wanted to remove the “cozy interpretations” many have of the Nativity.

“By taking out the hardship and the risk, you diminish the courage that Mary and Joseph had, their faith, and so much of the sacrifice,” he says.

“There’s nothing wrong with having the cozy little Nativity, with the angels looking on, but let’s go back and revisit this and say, ‘Hey, what does the Scripture say and why?’”

The special features “talking head” interstitials from voices stateside and beyond, echoing Christianity’s global reach and impact.

“The West doesn’t have the corner on the [Christian] market,” Cunningham says, noting a spiritual rise in Brazil and other nations in recent years.

Sticking to the text

Cunningham is no stranger to faith-based productions, starting with one of his earliest projects: 2001’s “To End All Wars.” The film recalled the fact-based story of Japanese POW camp captives who embraced God to both endure and forgive their captors.

Those experiences have given him insight into Christian projects that connect with the masses and, more importantly, ring true.

“When a biblical movie works, it sticks to the text,” he says with a chuckle. “It also helps to have people who are leading the charge who believe in it.”

Cunningham studied faith-based films in film school, noting how the industry “lost the plot” over the years regarding Christian projects.

“We felt as Christians that somehow entertainment and Hollywood was of the devil. We didn’t want anything to do with it,” he says. “We just walked away from one of the most influential platforms there is.”

Russell Moccasin

Cinematic revolution

That, of course, has changed dramatically over the past 20-odd years, from “The Passion of the Christ” to 2023’s “Sound of Freedom.” The clunky, low-budget stories of the recent past have been replaced by slick, soulful projects that reflect both faith and a dramatic upgrade in craftsmanship.

He name-checks “The Chosen” creator Dallas Jenkins and Jon and Andrew Erwin for being part of this cinematic revolution.

Cunningham also used his personal experiences to help inspire and shape “The First Christmas,” echoing what Costner brought to the project. He recalls his own days as a young father, with all the fear and uncertainty that came along with it.

“I’m walking out the door with this child. ... We had a car seat ready to go,” he says of his earliest hours as a parent. “Can you imagine a young couple in a cave when infant mortality was through the roof? Now you’re being born into this world that’s incredibly brutal and cruel. You’re a young couple, and by the way, that’s the Son of God.

“No pressure,” he says.

'The American Revolution' keeps founders at arm's length

If America had an official "documentarian laureate," Ken Burns would be a shoo-in for the job.

Over the last four decades, the filmmaker has devoted his career to capturing the country's history and culture, in works ranging from "Baseball," "Jazz," and "The National Parks: America's Best Idea" to his groundbreaking 1990 masterpiece "The Civil War." And despite his avowed "yellow-dog Democrat" tendencies, he has done so with remarkable nuance.

Those rallying around the American cause are portrayed as a loose collection of criminals, anarchists, slavers, and exiled aristocrats united by high Enlightenment ideals.

Now, just in time for America’s 250th anniversary, Burns has returned with a new six-part PBS series exploring how it all got started.

Fanfare and apprehension

"The American Revolution" arrives with suitable fanfare — and an almost absurdly star-studded cast of voice-over artists. Tom Hanks, Morgan Freeman, Samuel L. Jackson, Paul Giamatti, Josh Brolin, Meryl Streep, Ethan Hawke, Edward Norton, and Michael Keaton are among the luminaries who provide narration.

Even so, there has been a level of apprehension surrounding the show, particularly among conservatives. Could a commemoration of America's founding even work in our current moment — when even mild appeals to patriotism and national unity seem to stir up bitter partisan disputes?

Burns seems to have a found a way around this by making his retelling as clinical and unromantic as possible. He is clearly passionate about the American project, but he is unwilling to embrace the mythological or nationalistic sides of that passion.

Whose revolution?

“It’s our creation story,” historian Rick Atkinson says as he discusses the importance of the Revolution. But most of the experts Burns showcases prefer to focus on the negative, puncturing what one calls the “unreal and detached" romanticization of the founders.

Instead, we're invited to ponder the role that slavery and the theft of Native American land played in the fight for independence — not to mention a fair amount of unsavory violence perpetrated by the revolutionaries.

While the series does a good job of covering the conflicts between 1774 and 1783, it takes frequent detours to discuss the issues surrounding the revolution: the role of women contributing to the war, the perspectives of English Loyalists as they became refugees fleeing the conflict, the madness of the Sons of Liberty’s antics, and the perspectives of slaves trying to survive and find liberty too.

Interim Archives/Boston Globe/Getty Images

Living in the tension

A pronounced classical liberalism pervades the storytelling, one reflecting the secular Enlightenment idealism that a “new and radical” vision for mankind could be found through self-determination and freedom, apart from the aristocratic and theocratic haze of Europe.

This vision acknowledges progressive criticism of the era’s slavery and classism, but tries to integrate those faults rather than use them as grounds to discard the entire experiment. It attempts to live within the tension of history and sift out what is still valuable, rather than abandon the project altogether.

Indeed, Burns is generally good about avoiding any sort of score-settling or modern politicking, shy of a few buzzwords. He constantly uses the word “resistance” and ends with a reflection on the potential ruination of the republic by “unprincipled demagogues,” proudly quoting Alexander Hamilton that “nobody is above the law.”

The show’s consensus is overwhelmingly that the values of the Revolution were greater than the severely flawed men who fought it. To Burns, it was not merely a war, but a radical ongoing experiment in human liberty that escaped the colonies like a virus and changed the world forever. He certainly doesn’t want to throw out the liberal project, and so he constantly circles back on defending the war’s idealism.

Idealism and discomfort

This accounts for the show’s title, focusing on its revolutionary implications. It wasn’t just a war, but a change in the way people thought. The show argues that “to believe in America … is to believe in possibility,” and that studying the Revolution is important to understanding “why we are where we are now.”

Unfortunately, the intervening 12 hours require the viewer to swallow a fair share of dubious and rather inflammatory claims, including that George Washington was primarily driven by his class interests as a landowner, that popular retellings often “paper over” the violent actions of the revolutionaries, and that the founders were, on balance, hypocrites.

Its overall perspective is that it is impossible to tell the nation’s origin story in a way that is “clean” and “neat,” with clear heroes and villains. Those rallying around the American cause are portrayed as a loose collection of criminals, anarchists, slavers, and exiled aristocrats united by high Enlightenment ideals.

"The Revolution" wants both this idealism and discomfort to sit equally in your mind, as you ponder how morally compromised men could change the world. As one of the historians asks, “How can you know something is wrong and still do it? That is the human question for all of us.”

Overall, Ken Burns’ latest proves a very bittersweet watch, hardly the sentimental reflection on Americanism that the country’s approaching 250th anniversary demands, but also too idealistic and classically liberal to comfortably fit anyone’s agenda. It wants to lionize the founding’s aspirational values of democracy, equality, and revolution, while assiduously avoiding praising the people involved.

It's a remarkably watchable and entertaining work of sober disillusionment.

'Landman': Is Taylor Sheridan's gritty oil drama the last honest show about America?

The days of "The Wire," "The Sopranos," "Boardwalk Empire," "Breaking Bad," and "Better Call Saul" are gone. And they're never coming back.

Instead of quality TV, we get a stream of shallow muck that insults our intelligence and wastes our time. Seth Rogen peddling the same stale stoner humor for the thousandth time. Pedro Pascal starring in a dystopian video-game adaptation so obsessed with gay "representation" that it might as well list Grindr as a co-producer.

Sheridan shows a country held together by early mornings, long shifts, and people who take pride in work most citizens rarely notice.

Then, just as you’re about to suffocate in the hothouse atmosphere of algorithm-driven fake-prestige TV, one show comes stomping in with a pair of steel-toed boots and kicks the door off its hinges. Fresh air floods the place — enough that something real might actually grow again. That show is "Landman."

Drill, baby, drill

Forget "shame"; it's time to drill, baby, drill. Taylor Sheridan's hit is back for season 2, with the TV auteur once again proving that he is one of the few people in Hollywood who actually understands the America he is depicting. Many viewers know him from "Yellowstone," the rare modern hit that refused to treat ranchers the way Hollywood treats anyone who still works with their hands. Where executive elites see deplorables, he sees Americans with stories worth telling.

Sheridan brings that same respect to "Landman." He writes ordinary Americans with dignity rather than derision. He shows them as they are: hardworking, flawed, loyal, funny, and strong enough to carry a story on their backs. "Landman" is no cheap cousin of "Yellowstone." It stands tall: lean, mean, focused, and built with the same skill that made Sheridan’s early work impossible to ignore.

The show moves effortlessly between blue-collar reality and white-collar brutality, revealing the canyon between those who pull the oil from the ground and those who profit from it. There’s a real honesty to that contrast. Sheridan knows this world, and it shows. You feel it in every shot of the Permian Basin. You hear it in the blunt, believable way his characters speak.

Billy Bob at his best

And then there’s Billy Bob Thornton. One of America’s finest actors, doing his best work since he stole "Fargo" as a soft-spoken psychopath who could change the temperature of a room with a single line. As Tommy Norris, a ruthless oilman, he brings back that same menace, just a little more restrained. He’s the perfect Sheridan creation: bruised, stubborn, quick to size people up, and capable of cruelty when pushed.

Season 1 worked best when it put Norris at the center and let everything else orbit around him. The very first scene of the very first episode sets the tone. Norris, blindfolded in a room with a cartel heavy, cracks a dry line about how they both traffic in addictive products. His just happens to make more money. It’s a joke with teeth. Sheridan doesn’t shy away from the darker corners of the oil world, the places where danger, deceit, and obscene wealth share the same bed.

Norris once ran his own outfit. Now he’s a fixer for M-Tex Oil, answering to Monty Miller, a billionaire played by Jon Hamm of "Mad Men" fame. Hamm leans into one of the last great “man’s man” roles on TV. He moves through marble corridors and executive suites with the relaxed confidence of a man who has never had to fight for a parking space or a paycheck.

Norris gets the other Texas. The asylum-adjacent McMansion he shares with co-workers. The long, unforgiving drives that eat up whole days. And the late-night waffle joints where truckers, rig hands, and the down-and-outs swallow bad coffee and brood over worse decisions.

Recognizably real

Sheridan shows a country held together by early mornings, long shifts, and people who take pride in work most citizens rarely notice. He zooms in on communities where faith still shapes daily life, where people curse when they have to, where men bow their heads before a meal and chew tobacco like there’s no tomorrow.

For conservatives, and especially for Christians who are tired of being reduced to stereotypes, "Landman" feels recognizably real. Season 1 had its flaws, including a few moments that leaned too hard into climate panic, but it never lost sight of what matters: good storytelling built on real characters and real consequences.

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Men at work

And yes, the progressive pearl-clutchers will claim "Landman" has a “woman problem,” the same complaint they threw at "Yellowstone." They insist that Sheridan sidelines women or turns them into cardboard cutouts.

The truth is far less dramatic. Both ranching and the oil fields are worlds dominated by men, and Sheridan writes them as they actually are, not as activists wish them to be. That’s not misogyny, but an accurate reflection of the reality millions of Americans live every day. Sure, some female characters could use more lines, but that hardly damages the show. It simply acknowledges that in these worlds, the danger, the decisions, and the dirty work fall mostly on men.

"Landman" also has something most modern shows forget: a genuine sense of place. Not the packaged Americana you see on postcards, but the West Texas that actually exists, where the heat melts your mind and vacation time is something you hear about, not something you get.

Season 2 promises to go deeper — underground for the oil and under the skin of the people who pull it out. More tension between the barons and the boys in the mud. More of Thornton’s world-weary wit. And more of what Sheridan does better than anyone around: crafting TV that wouldn’t look out of place beside the giants of the late 1990s and early 2000s.

If "Yellowstone" was Sheridan’s hymn to the American ranch, "Landman" is his sermon on the American worker. In an age of narrative nothingness, something on TV finally feels worth watching.

'Cosby Show' actress on disgraced former boss: 'Separate the creator from the creation'

A co-star from "The Cosby Show" says there should be nuance when talking about Bill Cosby's career.

Cosby's iconic family sitcom aired from September 1984 to April 1992 and is frequently mentioned among the greatest shows of all time, including in TV Guide's top 50 shows list of 2002.

With Cosby since being accused of a plethora of sex crimes, networks pulled his show from the air and seemingly kept it off following an overturned conviction and release from prison in 2021.

Now, one of his former castmates is saying it's time to separate Cosby's personal life from his creative works.

'Black people pushed through the door, and now we're getting all colors.'

Appearing on an episode of actor Jamie Kennedy's "Hate to Break It to Ya" podcast, a former child actor and Disney star came to the defense of the 88-year-old's show, on which she starred.

"Separate the creator from the creation," Raven-Symoné said. The actress played Olivia Kendall on "The Cosby Show."

"That's just where I live because the creation changed America, changed television," she said of Cosby's family-oriented program.

Quoth the Raven

The 39-year-old, whose full name is Raven-Symoné Christina Pearman-Maday, has had a long and successful career appearing in countless sitcoms, while shining as a young adult in the Disney kid classic "That's So Raven," which had 100 episodes in the mid-2000s.

At the same time, Symoné did not excuse Cosby's alleged crimes on the podcast.

RELATED: Disney star gives bizarre take on Florida's parental rights bill: 'Should be a Don't Say Straight bill'

Photo By: Art Murphy/NBC) via Getty Images

After host Kennedy noted how many black people Cosby had provided jobs to, Symoné jumped in:

"He also has been accused of some horrific things," she added, before reiterating, "And that does not excuse, but that's his personal [life]. So personally, keep that there, and then business-wise, know what he did there as well. Like you said, both can live, and I think our culture is right to — don't do wrong. Don't do wrong personally. You just can't do wrong."

Color commentary

Kennedy and Symoné went back and forth on how great diversity is, with Symoné saying "thank goodness" to the idea of diversity being "protected" in the entertainment industry.

"Black people pushed through the door, and now we're getting all colors, all types, all backgrounds, and it's protected — thank goodness — now. So, it's mandatory in a way," she explained.

Kennedy agreed that diversity is a strength, pulling from his own experience living near "the hood" in Philadelphia.

Photo by Anna Webber/Getty Images for Teen Vogue

You don't say

The former "View" pundit has never been shy about broadcasting her opinions.

Before the 2016 election, Symoné said she would leave the country if Donald Trump became president.

"I'm going to move to Canada with my entire family. I already have my ticket," she said to then-cohost Whoopi Goldberg.

In 2022, she colloquially called for a "Don't Say Straight" bill to be drafted in Florida in response to a law that Democrats dubbed the "Don't Say Gay" bill. The term was born out of a misunderstanding of Florida law that barred teachers in the state from teaching about gender and sexuality with certain age groups.

Symoné is a lesbian and hosts a podcast with her wife, Miranda Maday. This is where Symoné reflected on commentary she made in 2014 when she said she was sick of being labeled.

"I don't want to be labeled gay," she said at the time, per ABC News. "I want to be labeled a human who loves humans."

She added, "I'm tired of being labeled — I'm an American. I'm not an African-American. I'm an American."

Symoné clarified in 2024 that she obviously knows where her ancestry lies and said that people had accused her of not considering herself black.

"When I am in another country, they don't say, 'Hey, look at that African-American over there.' They say, 'That's an American,' plain and simple."

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Red, white, and boo: Almost two-thirds of Americans now believe in ghosts

"I ain't afraid of no ghost."

Easy enough to say 40 years ago, when audiences delighted to the spectral pest control antics of Bill Murray, Harold Ramis, and Dan Aykroyd. You can't fear what isn't real, after all.

The show pioneered a tactic known as 'provocation.' This is when an investigator attempts to goad a spirit into manifesting by insulting it.

Things have changed. Since then, the proportion of Americans who believe in ghosts has surged 400%. Surveys indicate that nearly two-thirds of the population now hold supernatural beliefs, and 20% have reported seeing a ghost.

Entrepreneurial spirits

With roughly 50 million Americans purportedly having encountered a haunting, the business of ghost hunting has evolved into a profitable enterprise. It would appear that the invisible hand of the market really does exist.

As proof that even the ethereal cannot escape the iron law of supply and demand, paranormal tourism is booming. Millions of Americans now spend over $300 million on haunted attractions each year. You can satiate your gruesome desires by visiting Iowa’s Villisca Axe Murder House, where eight people, including six children, were murdered in 1912. For $430, anyone brave enough to take a whack at it can try to spend the night.

Ghost-hunting shows are scaring up unprecedented interest as well. YouTube, for example, has hundreds of paranormal-themed channels. One of the biggest is "Sam and Colby." With an average of 10 million views per video, the kids are among the most popular ghost hunters online. The two film themselves while visiting haunted locales across the United States. Freed from the limitations of conventional television, the videos are lengthy and typically unedited, offering a more immersive experience for their audience of 15 million subscribers.

There are compilation channels for those who don’t want to endure the deferred gratification of 90 minutes of shaky handheld videos and constant cries of, "What was that?"

Then there are channels like "Mind Junkie" and "Nuke’s Top 5," which brazenly monetize our endless appetite for not-so-carefully-vetted supernatural slop. One wonders if these shrewd content creators are also behind the "debunking videos" they attract. Nice business model, if so.

Tales from the clip

"Paranormal Caught on Camera," now in its ninth season on Discovery+ and the Travel Channel, can best be described as a reality show. From poltergeist activity to mysterious shadows roaming the woods, a panel of experts weighs in on supposed paranormal footage from around the world. Imagine "Ghostbusters" meets "America’s Funniest Home Videos" — with the approximate scientific rigor of both.

Psychologists say a prior belief in ghosts makes a person more inclined to perceive unexplained sounds and events as paranormal. The show’s presenters are clearly familiar with the research. They frequently use the term "energy" (which appears to function as a noun, verb, and adjective) and attribute every sound or camera jiggle to the spirit realm.

Ghost roast

"Ghost Adventures" is one of the longest-running and best-known of these types of shows. While the experts on "Paranormal Caught on Camera" are content to remain armchair investigators, aging goth heartthrob Zak Bagans and his crew actually go out into the field. Since 2008, they have traveled around the United States looking for paranormal phenomena. The format is simple: They arrive at an alleged haunted location, turn off the lights, hit record, and explore the building. What we get is a well-curated, finely edited spectacle.

The show pioneered a tactic known as "provocation." This is when an investigator attempts to goad a spirit into manifesting by insulting it. While this demonstrates a fortitude worthy of Ray Parker Jr. himself, it has never once worked over 300 episodes. The only scary thing that appears to be happening is a group of middle-aged men screaming in the dark about nothing in particular.

The truckload of pseudoscientific equipment these guys bring to the task separates them from your average amateur. A truckload of pseudoscientific instruments is used to add an element of objectivity. Particularly prized is the EMF meter, used to detect the electromagnetic fields ghosts apparently emit. This essential prop emits clicks and pings reminiscent of the motion trackers used to detect xenomorphs in the movie "Aliens." Unsurprisingly, there is no James Cameron-level tension here. Ninety-nine times out of 100, they’ve probably just found the fuse box.

Matt Himes

Phantom itch

Slick, polished, and carefully choreographed. It’s all very Hollywood. It comes as no surprise that the massive increase in belief in ghosts over the last 50 years coincides with the golden era of horror. Art imitates life. Many of these shows use the same strategies as your typical Hollywood special effects department.

So why are we watching these shows? "Ghost Adventures," now in its 28th season, has perfected the art of selling us fear. These shows give us what we want. We love to be afraid. A horror movie grants us the chance to live vicariously through the characters on the screen. A way to experience and navigate terror from the comfort of our couch.

Then there's another, more poignant, explanation. We believe in ghosts for the same reason that we believe in God. In the end, both ghost hunters and Christians are motivated by the same persistent yearning that has dogged us since the dawn of humanity: There's got to be something more than this.

Silicon Valley’s new gold rush is built on stolen work

Lawmakers and the public have long grown tired of Silicon Valley’s "move fast and break things" ethos. But Big Tech hasn’t learned its lesson.

In the mad rush to roll out artificial intelligence, companies have cast aside basic corporate responsibility. Meta’s chatbots allowed children to engage in sexual conversations. OpenAI’s ChatGPT helped a child plan and commit suicide. And mounting evidence shows AI chatbots harming mental health, particularly for children.

OpenAI has created a copyright infringement factory.

The latest example of Silicon Valley’s negligence? Mass copyright infringement.

The wild digital west

When AI products like ChatGPT were new, copyright infringement — while potentially common in AI training — was more opaque. The early versions of today’s large language models weren't really capable of producing realistic copies of original copyrighted works that could compete with the originals. Moreover, training data was hidden from public view.

But new releases, particularly OpenAI’s Sora 2, have smashed that paradigm. This past week, X and other social media platforms have been flooded with Sora 2 users’ reproductions of TV shows like “Family Guy,” “South Park,” “SpongeBob,” and more. While these clips are not yet perfect replicas, they are extremely close, and it is likely a matter of years — if not months — before users can produce copyright-infringing content that is essentially indistinguishable from the originals.

Flipping the script

OpenAI initially put the onus on copyright holders to “opt out” of their creations from being used in Sora 2. But this simply is not how copyright law works. In fact, it violates the express purpose of copyright law: to ensure that your work stays yours. Others have to ask you for permission to opt in to using your work; reversing that would render copyright law toothless.

After the understandable outcry from copyright holders and actors’ guilds, OpenAI changed its copyright policies, switching from the opt-out model to opt-in. Rights holders now choose whether to have their creations included in Sora 2.

CEO Sam Altman seemed to imply that he was surprised at the backlash. “I think the theory of what it was going to feel like to people, and then actually seeing the thing, people had different responses,” he told the Verge. “It felt more different to images than people expected.”

This dubious claim is not an excuse to violate copyright laws wantonly. In waiting days to change course, Altman has also opened a Pandora’s box: the idea that AI can create entire seasons of your favorite shows. Altman knows that users will want it and may hope that the pressure will force copyright holders to take a deal that doesn’t fully represent the value of their intellectual property.

Altman has said as much. “We are going to try sharing some of this revenue with rights holders who want their characters generated by users,” he wrote recently. His questionable usage of “try” notwithstanding, the game he is playing is clear: Audiences are going to want this. You either give us permission — after which we will “try” to compensate you — or people will likely use AI to violate your copyright anyway.

Mininyx Doodle via iStock/Getty Images

Congress must act

None of this will eliminate AI’s chilling ability to generate lifelike images of people. While the Trump administration cracked down on some of the worst offenders with the Take It Down Act — which bans involuntarily created AI porn — you can still easily create false images of people doing all sorts of things.

For now, the predominant use case may be “funny” videos of SpongeBob fleeing from police. But it would be a simple task, for example, to replace SpongeBob with realistic videos of innocent people committing crimes.

OpenAI and other AI companies have, in essence, created a copyright infringement factory that puts the onus on copyright holders to vindicate their rights, while signaling that they may leverage a rabid user base if copyright holders don’t get in line. This isn’t right, and it shouldn’t be how the law works. Given how flippantly OpenAI and other Big Tech companies have treated the law, Congress needs to consider legal clarifications that force these firms to change their behavior.

NBC News drops gay and race-specific DEI teams in attempt to 'streamline editorial efforts'

NBC News has released several identity-based news teams that cover sexuality- and race-focused stories.

Not only were dozens of employees laid off, but the cuts seemingly came as a surprise.

'Not their first gay rodeo.'

NBC News reportedly made the announcement early on Wednesday, and according to insiders, the bomb was dropped by Executive Vice President of Editorial Catherine Kim. At around 10 a.m., about 150 NBC News staffers were told they were no longer employed during a brief meeting that was described by one source as a "difficult day for a lot of us."

LGB-free

The Wrap reported that the cuts completely eliminated teams who superficially covered news for black, Asian, Latino, and various gay identities. This includes NBC BLK, NBC Asian America, NBC Latino, and NBC OUT.

NBC OUT, for example, describes itself as content driven toward "the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer community."

Recent coverage included, "Queer art faces widespread museum censorship," and "Not their first gay rodeo: Celebrating 50 years of queer cowfolks."

NBC BLK recently published a piece on how a "new exhibit highlights LGBTQ legacy of Harlem Renaissance."

The bizarre content will still live on, but in a less dedicated format.

Photographer: Michael Nagle/Bloomberg via Getty Images

The Wrap noted that the specific pages will still have stories published regarding the identity groups, but the content will come from a group of just five news team members who will contribute to the pages across the board. Another alleged inside source said the cuts were not meant to target the diversity teams, but rather were driven by budget concerns and a desire to "streamline its editorial efforts."

Ruffled feathers

The shift in personnel comes after Comcast announced a realignment of its networks in August. As reported by Reuters, USA Network, CNBC, and MSNBC will branch off into a new company called Versant. MSNBC will also change its name to "MS NOW" and lose its peacock logo.

The new name is an acronym for "My Source News Opinion World."

MSNBC was launched in 1996 and represented a partnership between Microsoft and the National Broadcasting Company. Microsoft left the venture in 2012, however.

CNBC will keep the same name, which stands for Consumer News and Business Channel.

Photographer: Michael Nagle/Bloomberg via Getty Images

Divesting diversity

NBC News' total reductions make up about 7% of its 2,000 staffers. The move comes as several companies shift away from their divisive verticals, which haven't always been amicable departures.

In April, Paramount agreed to terminate its diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives, which included racial quotas for staff and writers, after it was sued by a white writer who said he was discriminated against.

Then-president and CEO of CBS George Cheeks had said publicly that he set a goal for CBS writing rooms to have 40% non-white staff members, with 17 of 21 networks allegedly meeting or exceeding that target.

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