Oscars 2026: the red carpet, the ceremony, the winners – follow the action live!

Will Sinners beat One Battle After Another to the big prize? Will Timothée Chalamet get pelted with tutus? Can the Academy Awards wrap in under four hours? Join us to find out Felcity Jones has arrived in lemon-coloured Prada proving old Hollywood – sleeveless, a sprinkle of crystals, a little tulle train, hair in a soft side wave – is bomb-proof if you stick to the formula One of the most miraculous aspects of the night is that Conan O’Brien will once again host. His turn last year saved what had the potential to be a very dull evening, and it is very exciting to think about what he’ll do this year, with films that people have actually heard of. And, for that matter, what he’ll do about Train Dreams; a film so lacking in comedic potential that O’Brien tore into it during an appearance on Jimmy Kimmel last week. What makes this even more miraculous is that it’s been reported that O’Brien will earn $15,000 for tonight’s duties, a figure that simultaneously seems quite high and extre...

Golda review – lifeless Meir biopic hides Helen Mirren’s talent in a cloud of cigarette smoke

As a drama about the Yom Kippur war, this film is bafflingly dull. As a portrait of Golda Meir, Israel’s prime minister at the time, it’s even worse

Helen Mirren’s latexed and enhanced portrayal of Golda Meir, Israel’s “Iron Lady” prime minister during the 1973 Yom Kippur war, has been overtaken by a debate about “Jewface” casting because Mirren is not Jewish – addressing why Jews are casually excluded from the otherwise fiercely policed sensibilities about authenticity and identity on screen. (Would they get a white actor, for example, to black up as President Anwar Sadat?) It’s a valid and important question, but not exactly the problem in this stately, stuffy and at times almost comatose TV-movie-type drama about tension in Israel’s corridors of power as the Yom Kippur war exploded and the country faced off against Egypt, Syria and Jordan in a battle for its very existence.

Mirren, normally such a sparkling performer, is lumbered with a grey wig, false nose and jowls, with occasional headscarf and handbag, making her look as if she is playing the Queen doing an impression of Richard Nixon. This Golda Meir impassively chainsmokes her way through wooden potted-history dialogue scenes with her military top brass, while everyone blows cigarette smoke at each other; occasionally she takes a break to lie prostrate on a hospital bed, stoically smoking and dying of cancer. Is she going to die? Why not? The film is flatlining.

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