Lana Del Rey has never done anything the simple way, and this week she proved it again. After years of speculation, false starts and no fewer than three title changes, fans expected one album. Instead, they got two.

There is a very specific feeling Katie Dippold has been chasing her whole career. She traces it back to a haunted house on the Long Branch boardwalk in New Jersey—one she was far too young to be inside. She remembers screaming. She remembers laughing so hard she could barely breathe. She remembers those two things happening at exactly the same time.

Some break-ups stay contained to the people involved. This one has implications for the next Taylor Swift album, whatever Sabrina Carpenter does next, and possibly the entire emotional register of mainstream pop for the next few years. That is not an exaggeration. It is just what happens when the man who has shaped the sound of a decade’s worth of heartbreak anthems ends up living through one himself.

When the new cinematic DC Universe officially launched its flagship hero back into the sky, the world looked up in awe. Superman was exactly what audiences and critics had been begging for over the last decade: a pitch-perfect execution of the classic superhero mythos. It deserved every single ounce of the hype it received. It was a triumph of modern blockbuster filmmaking that knew precisely what it was. But less than a year later, the skies have darkened over Metropolis.

You know the feeling. Endless fluorescent-lit corridors. Carpet that smells faintly of damp. A room that should have an exit but somehow doesn’t.

There was a brief, glorious window, roughly 1995 to 2004, when Hollywood decided the Middle Ages didn’t need to be grim. No mud-caked realism, no muted colour palettes, no dragons brooding in the rain. Instead we got glitter eyeshadow under coronets, jousting tournaments soundtracked by classic rock, and castles that looked like they’d been decorated by a teenager with a Claire’s Accessories card.

Christopher Nolan’s three-hour, IMAX-only, star-stuffed adaptation is finally in cinemas, and there’s a good chance you’re going in having last thought about Homer during a English lesson you mostly slept through. Good news: the actual plot of The Odyssey is somehow both messier and more entertaining than anything a school syllabus let on. Here’s what happens, minus the ancient Greek and minus three years of your life reading it properly (I did so I’m here to explain it to yo

i’m intrigued by the clean girl aesthetic and its prominence over the past few years. that is, i can’t stop thinking about how it strips away any semblance of individuality.

Kane Parsons' Backrooms is undeniably impressive. It satisfies that craving for nostalgic dread that got my friends and I hooked on the movie and the lore in the first place. What once only existed on our computer screens was finally recreated on the big screen. And there's no arguing it. Parsons, indeed, has displayed a commendable talent in manipulating atmosphere for a first-time feature director. Unfortunately, atmosphere can only carry a film so far before it gets dragge

On 3 July 2026, Taylor Swift married Travis Kelce at Madison Square Garden in front of roughly a thousand guests. Adam Sandler officiated, and Paul McCartney performed a Beatles song he reportedly hadn’t sung live since 1964. It was, by any measure, an extraordinary event. Whether it succeeded as a wedding rather than a production is a different question entirely.