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Hollywood's budget addiction is catching up with even its biggest franchises.Two major projects have hit financial speed bumps, proving that even recognizable brands aren't automatic green lights anymore.'This is the match that we needed to, quite frankly, burn it all down and finally build a country for mothers.'First, there’s the last “Fast & Furious” film. The previous installment earned a tepid $146 million stateside in 2023, but more than $500 million from international sales. The film’s massive budget still made getting into the black a chore.Now, the studio is dragging its feet on the last “Fast” feature, hoping to somehow whittle down the big bucks needed to make it happen. Let’s hope the studio doesn't send our heroes into space again.Meanwhile, after a lot of jawboning, “Heat 2” appears ready to go before the cameras. Director Michael Mann wanted a massive shooting budget for his sequel to the beloved 1995 crime caper, and multiple studios flirted with the film but ultimately said no.Now, the deep pockets at Amazon will help make this movie happen, with Leonardo DiCaprio playing the role originally performed by Val Kilmer and Christian Bale standing in for Al Pacino.Pass the hat, folks. If you want to see these bloated IP extensions, someone’s got to pick up the tab.'Man'-handledIt’s a wonder it lasted this long.Disney+’s “Wonder Man” series, based on the obscure MCU character of the same name, supposedly earned a second-season renewal earlier this year. Not so fast. The Mouse House just slammed the door shut on new episodes.The series race-swapped the main character, played on screen by Yahya Abdul-Mateen II, but the show didn’t build on that sweet, sweet MCU synergy.The character could reportedly pop up in future Marvel films, proof that Disney still believes more superheroes — not fewer — are the answer to audience fatigue.RELATED: SUPER FLOP: Sneering ‘Supergirl’ flees multiplex for home streaming David Jon/Getty ImagesHarvey's 'heartbreak'Gossip monger Harvey Levin built a career asking uncomfortable questions. Apparently, Anthony Fauci is the exception.The TMZ boss called it "one of the most heartbreaking things I have seen in government" after Fauci invoked the Fifth Amendment more than 100 times before a Senate committee investigating the government's COVID response.Levin acknowledged he has "problems with the way CDC handled COVID," saying the agency "did damage to children and adults." Even so, he insisted Fauci had been "an amazing public servant" and dismissed the hearing as a Republican "witch hunt."That's an odd conclusion. If the CDC's pandemic response caused real harm — as Levin now concedes — why shouldn't one of its most influential public faces be asked tough questions under oath?Mother of all leftistsIs Reshma Saujani a filmmaker or arsonist?Saujani, an executive producer of the new documentary "No Country for Mothers," used a PBS interview to promote more than just the film.The documentary explores the challenges facing modern motherhood, offering familiar progressive prescriptions — more government intervention, expanded social programs, and a renewed push for the Equal Rights Amendment.But Saujani saved her most provocative remarks for the end, describing the film as the spark for something far bigger than policy reform.And they are staying until midnight, talking, crying, holding each other, hugging each other, talking about the laws are going to change, the policies are going to pass, the neighbor that they're going to help. Like, this is the — this is the match that we needed to, quite frankly, burn it all down and finally build a country for mothers.She also claimed, without offering a lick of evidence, that unseen forces are "suppressing women's content." One suspects those mysterious gatekeepers have an orange complexion.More telling, though, is the revolutionary flourish. A documentary about helping mothers somehow ends with a call to "burn it all down." That's an odd way to pitch a movement built on caring for families.Sleazy does itYour newest OnlyFans creator got her start when Jimmy Carter was president.Donna Mills, 85, is embracing the most 2026 career pivot imaginable. The "Knots Landing" star announced she'll be joining the adult-centered platform, saying it "offers the opportunity for a more personal and direct connection."Good luck with that. A sizable share of the actress' longtime audience may need a grandchild just to download the app.

Birthdays should mark milestones, offer hope for another year, and remind us to cherish the people we love.But on the first anniversary of the Food and Drug Administration’s decision to restrict access to Elevidys, a gene therapy for Duchenne muscular dystrophy, there will be no cake or candles in our home.The only birthdays Duchenne families want to celebrate are the ones our children are still here to have. The FDA should help us light those candles.My 14-year-old son, Ryu, is still fighting to reach another birthday.A year ago, I was exploring Elevidys as a treatment that might help him live a longer, fuller life. Then, almost overnight, that hope disappeared. The FDA first halted use of the therapy entirely before restoring access only for boys who could still walk. Ryu, who already uses a wheelchair, was left behind.By age 14, more than 82% of Duchenne patients use a wheelchair. After age 15, the share exceeds 90%.I have spent my life living with Duchenne muscular dystrophy, a rare, progressive genetic disease that causes muscles to waste away and almost always leads to premature death. It has shaped every chapter of my family’s story. I watched my brothers, Angelo and Antonio, die from Duchenne in their early 20s.I began considering Elevidys because I trusted the science and the physician who brought it to my attention. I believed my son deserved the same opportunity other eligible patients were receiving.Instead, the past year has been heartbreaking.Ryu’s disease has progressed. His breathing is weaker, and he relies on his BiPAP machine more than he did a year ago. Duchenne families measure time differently. Every lost ability is marked by a clock that never turns back.RELATED: The FDA seems to care more about celebrities than sick Americans MarioGuti/iStock/Getty ImagesThe FDA said it restricted Elevidys after reports of three patient deaths. Those boys died from liver complications, not complications caused by wheelchair use. Families like mine struggle to understand why patients with advanced disease lost access to a treatment because of risks that were not unique to them.Safety must remain paramount. We are not asking regulators to approve every experimental therapy or ignore serious adverse events. Elevidys had already passed through years of research and clinical trials and had been administered to Duchenne patients before access was narrowed.We are asking for something more modest and more humane: When a disease is progressive and fatal, families should be allowed to work with their doctors to decide whether the potential benefit justifies the risk for their own children.The anniversary of the Elevidys restriction also marks the moment I turned 40 years of helplessness into action. I learned what an op-ed was and wrote my first one. I entered the intimidating world of social media.On my first trip to Washington, D.C., I learned how to call an Uber and met with senators, staff members, other rare-disease mothers, and patients. I did not go because I wanted to become an activist. I went because I am a mother. I had to speak for my son and honor the memory of my brothers, who never lived to see the possibilities available to patients today.My brother Angelo volunteered for experimental research in the 1990s, when almost no treatment options existed. He wanted future children with Duchenne to benefit from his courage. Years later, one of those children would be his nephew — my son.RELATED: Medicare red tape turned insurers into villains stevegraham/iStock/Getty ImagesThe FDA is entering a period of new leadership. The next commissioner should put patients first, recognize that rare diseases demand urgency, and trust families and physicians to make informed decisions together. Returning to the old approach would cost families the one thing no regulator can restore: time.Hope has a birthday too. We celebrate it whenever a scientist makes a breakthrough, a doctor refuses to give up, a parent fights for one more chance, or the FDA chooses urgency over bureaucracy.I pray this dark anniversary is the last time FDA policy leaves Duchenne families behind — and the beginning of a new era in which boys like Ryu have the chance to live as fully and as long as possible.The only birthdays Duchenne families want to celebrate are the ones our children are still here to have. The FDA should help us light those candles.

What began as two teenage girls holding a sign at a WNBA game has exploded into a much larger controversy over Caitlin Clark, Sophie Cunningham, and the future of the league itself.After Seattle Storm co-owner Celeste Keaton confronted and berated the young fans for thanking Cunningham "for speaking up for girls," the incident quickly became a national story. But BlazeTV host Jason Whitlock argues the real target isn’t the teenagers — and it isn’t even Cunningham, who has spoken up against allowing men in women’s sports.“Two teenage girls sit courtside holding a sign at the Fever-Storm game. ‘Thank you, Sophie, for speaking up for the girls.’ That’s the provocation. That’s the whole crime. And Storm co-owner Celeste Keaton walks up to those children and unloads,” Whitlock explains.“‘I hope Jesus can forgive you for what sin you’ve done. God can save you,’” he mimics. “Points at her own head. Calls them ‘effing insane,’” he says.Whitlock is disturbed, pointing out that “a grown millionaire owner used the name of Jesus as a weapon against those two girls.”And Cunningham spoke out again following the incident, writing in a post on X: “I truly believe there is a safe space and love for EVERYBODY. Biological girls, biological boys, trans women, and trans men. Everyone is welcome at my table! You can disagree and still be kind. Bravo to those girls for standing up for what they believe. You’ll be hearing from me soon. Yay for gifts.”“Truly embarrassing of the co-owner. Unfortunately shows the type of leader she is,” she added.And while Cunningham is taking heat for not denouncing the young girls and their beliefs, so is Indiana Fever star Caitlin Clark.“This was never about a sign. It’s about who that sign represents. Caitlin Clark, Sophie Cunningham, and the millions of normal, heterosexual sports fans they dragged into these arenas. This league resents the audience that legitimized it,” Whitlock explains, before playing a clip of Elle Duncan of Netflix demanding Clark denounce her fans.Duncan called on Clark to say, “Stop that s**t. I don’t want it. I’m tired of it.”“She’s demanding that Caitlin Clark denounce her fans for what other adults did,” Whitlock says.“She’s an idiot,” he adds.Want more from Jason Whitlock?To enjoy more fearless conversations at the crossroads of culture, faith, sports, and comedy with Jason Whitlock, subscribe to BlazeTV — the largest multi-platform network of voices who love America, defend the Constitution, and live the American dream.

Swipe right for eternal love, or swipe left to ensure your primary relationship in old age is with a potted plant. Many choose right, but very few find someone to build a life with.Silicon Valley pitched the online romantic bazaar as the ultimate solution to human isolation. Instead, it engineered a high-tech hellscape that leaves millions broken, bitter, and eating alone over the kitchen sink at two in the morning.The year 2012 marked the release of Tinder, a dating app that effectively converted human pair-bonding into a high-speed slot machine. Instead of buying a drink for someone at a dimly lit tavern, adults began flicking their thumbs across screens, evaluating potential mothers and fathers of their future children with the exact same depth of consideration given to choosing a cheap lunch order. Ten seconds. Three photos. A witty line stolen from an old internet forum. Next.The photogenic narcissist with a rented Lamborghini gets 80 matches before lunch.The financial reality of these companies makes permanent romance a direct threat to corporate profits. A customer who meets a compatible partner, deletes the app, and goes on to celebrate a golden wedding anniversary represents lost revenue. The ideal subscriber isn’t a happily married suburbanite with three kids. Rather, it’s a chronically anxious 30-something who gets dumped every four months, panics, buys a premium tier to see who liked them, and spirals into a weekend of intense self-doubt. The product was never commitment, but continuous, profitable frustration.Researchers at the Institute for Family Studies recently examined male and female users from Keeper, a service built specifically for individuals seeking long-term commitment and children. The findings exposed a hilarious truth about the entire industry: Men and women actually want the exact same things. When you remove the gamified tricks, both sexes rank shared values, clear communication, humor, intelligence, and physical health at the top of their partner wish lists. Men show a slightly higher preference for youth and appearance; women lean harder into ambition and status. These differences are rounding errors, minor details compared with the larger human desire for a trusted co-pilot on life’s unpredictable journey.Swiped awayHumans spent centuries relying on tight-knit networks to filter out total weirdos and freeloaders. In 1950, your grandmother met your grandfather because he lived three blocks over, they went to the same neighborhood gathering, and her brother knew he wasn’t a complete lunatic. Reputation acted as a natural safety net against terrible partners.Swiping erased that protective social structure, dumping millions of unvetted strangers into a giant digital meat market. Devoid of meaningful context, users naturally optimize for short-term visual signals. The guy with a solid work ethic, no criminal record, and a modest savings account gets buried under an avalanche of algorithmic garbage. The photogenic narcissist posing with a rented Lamborghini secures 80 matches before lunch.RELATED: Can this super-humanoid robot ‘solve’ loneliness? imaginima/Getty Images This environment turns dating into an absurd exercise in artificial scarcity and total overload. A tiny percentage of hyper-exaggerated profiles swallow the vast majority of human attention, generating an unmanageable barrage of lazy messages for a small minority of users. Meanwhile, the average guy spends his evenings shouting into a vast, empty canyon, receiving zero matches over weeks of desperate effort. One group gets drowned in a sea of shallow options; the other starves in a desert of complete invisibility.The options we needThe tragic comedy of the whole arrangement lies in our collective willingness to blame our physical flaws instead of correcting our mental ones. Single people embrace profile coaches, professional photoshoots, and premium upgrades, convinced that a slightly improved posture in a photo will finally break the spell. They treat a rigged carnival game like a personal failure of character.Imagine applying this logic to any other crucial human need. Picture an app that promises to help you buy a home, but instead of showing you mortgages or inspection reports, it forces you to look at picture frames for three seconds and charges you five dollars a minute to talk to a real estate agent who has no intention of ever handing over the keys. You would call it a scam. In romance, we call it “having options.”Fixing family formation requires abandoning the destructive delusion that these platforms are helping us settle down. A system actually tuned toward marriage would hide photos behind deep character metrics. It would charge users based on long-term relationship outcomes and aggressively ban anyone looking for a quick distraction on a Friday night. Until the market finds a way to profit off 50-year anniversaries, single adults will remain trapped inside an infinite first-date loop, paying inordinate sums for the privilege of staying entirely alone.