Eric Ducker

David Fincher has a reputation as Hollywood’s ultimate control freak, a director obsessed with attaining perfection no matter how many takes it needs or whose feelings he hurts. Now, three decades of collaborators demystify what it’s really like to work with one of the most talented directors of his generation.

In 1990, an indie drama about an anti-authoritarian pirate radio DJ obsessed with masturbation jokes signaled a wave of mutilation that was cresting over American culture. Thirty years later, it still feels prescient.

The 1993 song reinvigorated the rap legend’s career — and against all odds became a Hollywood (and police) favorite

Beyond partially inspiring Spike Lee's "Da 5 Bloods," journalist Wallace Terry’ life and work provided a crucial examination of what Black soldiers must endure within the American military and how our society so often fails them when they return to civilian life.

Pop stars and indie artists alike are taking new approaches to music videos—and finding that they may be the most adaptive medium for making creative material in a largely shut down world

Soul Bat filmed its shows in rented apartments, personal homes, and a studio in Oakland’s notorious Eastmont Mall. Its VJs would broadcast live without the protection of a delay, which meant viewers could watch them get prank-called and otherwise harassed by local teenagers. Most of the commercials were for mom-and-pop businesses where the proprietors delivered unpolished pitches for their seafood restaurant or private hot tub rentals. Even the newest music videos Soul Beat showed looked worn down and murky. It wasn’t just lo-fi — it was defiantly homegrown.

In May 2002, El-P delivered his first solo album, Fantastic Damage, to a world toppling over the edge. Pre-millennium tension had given way to new-millennium dread, and the brash New York rapper and producer was here to assure listeners that all their worst fears were legit.

Much in the way that eating the drug is different than taking a bong rip, Cooked With Cannabis differs from most of the glassy-eyed, fully baked exploits in the weed entertainment subgenre. There are flashes of mild pot humor, but ultimately its goal is to showcase some of the science-like intricacy, discipline, and cuisine artistry that can be employed when cooking with marijuana.

The Beastie Boys will always be known as a New York group. The trio came of age in the city during the 1980s, influenced equally by the Lower East Side’s hardcore punk scene and what the DJs were playing on the second floor of Danceteria in the Flatiron District. That said, the group spent most of their twenties in Los Angeles, calling the city their home from the late ’80s and into the mid-’90s. It was here that they recorded arguably their three best albums: Paul’s Boutique, Check Your Head and Ill Communication. L.A. vibes infiltrated their music and their aesthetics.

Movie studios are now trying to figure out what to do with the films they’ve already spent millions of dollars on as their release dates near, while also shutting down productions around the world on future projects. “It’s a meteor aimed right at the industry,” said Richard Rushfield, the editor-in-chief of The Ankler, an email newsletter about the movie business that’s known for its often gloomy disposition but honest analysis. “It comes in the context of an industry that’s really been on its heels and confused and not knowing what it’s doing."

For his new TV show, “Dave,” Dave Burd created a fictional character named … Dave Burd. Their histories are remarkably similar, particularly the fact that both are best known for being the rapper Lil Dicky, even though they both still introduce themselves as Dave. Still following?

“Wait (The Whisper Song)” by the Ying Yang Twins was a ridiculous, unexpected, transformative globule of pop culture freakiness. The no-frills track, composed entirely of vulgar whispering over a sparse instrumental, turned the ATL duo from strip-club anthemers into household names — and had fans and artists alike using their inside voices.

Pop Smoke is blessed with a rough, no-nonsense growl—the type of voice that’s built for intimidation. But like the best villains, he’s not motivated by pure malice. Behind each threat, there’s a cocky, mischievous grin. It’s no surprise that he’s a lifelong fan of 50 Cent. But while lyrically Pop’s a traditionalist, delivering tales of stickups, intimidation and rampant gunplay, his beats are minimalist, futuristic wonders.

Jay R. Ferguson’s ‘Mad Men’ breakout landed him his riskiest role yet in "Briarpatch."

How a 1995 John Singleton film presaged today’s sex, gun and race issues.