The Hollywoodland Revue

Originating as industry competition and online speculation nearly a decade ago, this conflict has evolved into one of the most prominent rivalries in contemporary hip-hop culture. The ongoing saga recently resurfaced during Saturday Night Live rehearsals, where Cardi B allegedly responded angrily to a joke referencing her long-standing adversary.

As February draws to a close, theaters offer a surprisingly wide-ranging slate of new releases, from legacy horror and concert spectacle to intimate indie drama, off-beat comedy and anime adventure. Whether audiences are in the mood for Ghostface’s latest rampage, a big-screen immersion into Elvis Presley’s electrifying stage presence, a provocative cross-border romance, or a colorful animated sports fantasy, this weekend’s lineup delivers choices that span genres and sensibilities. In short, it’s a frame that reflects the current theatrical landscape itself — franchise familiarity sharing space with bold independent voices and niche crowd-pleasers.

America was introduced to Lauren Chapin as the youngest of the Anderson children, Kathy – forever “Kitten” – on the hit 1950s sitcom Father Knows Best. Chapin was born May 23, 1945, in Los Angeles and began her entertainment career as a child actress alongside her brothers Billy and Michael Chapin, who were also child actors. Growing up in Hollywood, Chapin’s family knew well the seduction of the camera. On television during this time period the country was sold a weekly dose of hope that all would be okay by the end of the show, and Chapin’s Kathy was pure-hearted adorable. Inquisitive and refreshingly honest she could always be counted on to steal the scene with her childish wisdom and impeccable timing.

In every generation of Hollywood, there is a moment when a young Black actor stops being described as “promising” and begins being discussed as inevitable. The industry rarely announces that shift in advance. It happens quietly—after a run of serious performances, after directors begin circling, after critics start using words like “precision,” “restraint,” and “interiority.” Watching Kelvin Harrison Jr. over the past several years, one senses that the hinge may already be turning.

Few Hollywood myths have been so tenacious—or so false—as the legend of actress Alice Brady’s “stolen” Academy Award. Recounted breathlessly each Oscar season for decades now, the story routinely pops up in trivia volumes and online listicles and catalogs of “stuff you didn’t know” about film history. It plays wonderfully. Intrigue! A stolen Oscar! A glamorous star robbed of her trophy! But like so many Hollywood stories, it’s irresistible because it isn’t true.

Robert Reed Carradine, youngest son of iconic Hollywood family the Carradine’s and an actor for more than five decades, passed away on February 23, 2026, at age 71. Carradine's family announced he had died by suicide due to years-long struggles with bipolar disorder. They decided to be open about the circumstances of his death in hopes that it may help dissipate the stigma surrounding mental illness.

The 2026 BAFTA Film Awards were intended to celebrate cinema. However, an involuntary outburst during the ceremony sparked a national debate concerning disability, race, and broadcast responsibility. While presenters Michael B. Jordan and Delroy Lindo stood onstage, an audience member, identified in multiple reports as Tourette syndrome campaigner John Davidson, shouted a racial slur. The word was audible in the hall and later broadcast on BBC One, remaining accessible on BBC iPlayer before being edited out. The BBC subsequently issued an apology, acknowledging that viewers heard “strong and offensive language” resulting from involuntary verbal tics and conceding that it should have been removed prior to transmission.

There are mornings in Hollywood when the sun still warms the palms, the neon looks almost nostalgic, and the old promises of this place — reinvention, hope, second chances — tug faintly at the edges of memory. And then there are mornings when all of that vanishes beneath the weight of what we now face on our sidewalks, corners, and doorways. Hollywood has always been a city of extremes, but the homeless crisis has pushed it into something more disquieting, more personal, and far more dangerous than the civic leaders who speak about “compassion” and “complexity” seem willing to admit. I know this because I live here. And I no longer always feel safe on the street where I have spent nearly twenty-two years of my life.

At Hollywood Forever Cemetery by sunset, when the gates are closed and sunlight streams down its peaceful pathways, celebrities sleep amongst legends from film, television, music, theater and more. Right there with them should be the memory of Homer Alba. Homer died on May 14, 2025, at age 79. He served Hollywood Forever as Senior Vice President for 38 years, then Vice President Emeritus. After his retirement, Homer continued to contribute in any way possible. He loved Hollywood Forever beyond words.

Emerald Fennell’s Wuthering Heights is a lavish, hot-blooded, frequently arresting piece of gothic showmanship—one that often looks like it cost a fortune to photograph and sometimes feels as if it spent that fortune on sensation rather than the slow poison of Brontë’s tragedy. The film, released by Warner Bros., casts Margot Robbie as Catherine Earnshaw and Jacob Elordi as Heathcliff, with Hong Chau as Nelly Dean, Shazad Latif as Edgar Linton, and Alison Oliver as Isabella Linton.

Illusions have always run deep in Hollywood. During the early decades of the twentieth century séance parlors popped up like popcorn stands at movie theaters, the golden age of spiritualism bringing hope no science could deliver. Dr. Edward Saint—magician, investigator, skeptic, and confidant to Harry Houdini near the end of his life—stood at the uneasy intersection of belief and exposure, a man determined not to destroy wonder, but to protect the living from deception masquerading as hope.

Steve Tracy breezed through Hollywood with starry charisma you don't have to squint to read: He was that kind of actor. Guys like him seem nervous when they're charming and kind when they're strong. He'll probably be remembered best as Percival Dalton, Nellie Oleson's shy bespectacled husband on Little House on the Prairie, a square of decency dropped right into the television show's big sky prairie storms. In Tracy's personal life, however, his journey would wind into another uniquely American narrative: the panic and misinformation of AIDS' early days when hysteria spread faster than understanding and kindness was considered political.