The Hollywoodland Revue

Hollywood has always been good at hiding its bodies. Long before the neon sins of Sunset Strip hardened into cliché, men drank too much, stayed up too late, and settled arguments with their fists—or worse—behind respectable doors. One such door closed forever on the morning of July 31, 1944, when Harry Lucenay, a thick-shouldered, middle-aged gambler and dog owner, fell dead on the floor of the Hollywood American Legion Post 43, shot down after an all-night poker game curdled into accusation, fear, and gunfire.

When Neil Sedaka died on February 27, 2026, at the age of 86, the world lost one of its most gifted and enduring musical storytellers — a pop auteur whose melodies became the emotional currency of teen life, heartache, celebration and nostalgia across more than half a century. Tributes poured in almost instantly from fans, fellow musicians, and those whose personal soundtracks had been fashioned by his piano-driven hooks and sunny vocal style. “Our family is devastated by the sudden passing of our beloved husband, father and grandfather,” his family said in a statement. “A true rock and roll legend, an inspiration to millions, but most importantly … an incredible human being who will be deeply missed.”

Lauren Bacall has been written about so frequently— mythologized, quoted, imitated—that any new biography presents itself almost as an implicit dare: prove you can tell us something true about the woman underneath the lacquer of “cool.” In Lauren Bacall: The Queen of Cool, film historian Anthony Uzarowski (following his excellent biographies of Ava Gardner and Jessica Lange) rises to meet that challenge head on with a brisk, photo-rich portrait of Bacall as both icon and working actress: ambitious, watchful, sometimes insecure, and above all else, keenly aware of how an adopted persona can become a prison. Published by the University Press of Mississippi as part of its ongoing Hollywood Legends Series, this compact 192-page hardcover packs in an impressive amount of substance along with its sleek style—substantial supporting apparatus like source notes and an index, plus a treasure trove of black-and-white illustrations that give the book the satisfying heft and layout of a well-curated exhibit as much as a straight narrative life.

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.