“Obsession” fell just short. It debuted with $17 million. They were still thrilled. Barker made the horror film with just $750,000. It was enormously successful. But then something unexpected happened. The following weekend, “Obsession” easily cleared $20 million. And then it did again and again and almost a fourth time — an almost unheard-of staying power.

“It was just like: Holy cow. I didn’t think that was an option,” Barker says. “Now we’ve said if it hits $300 million, we’ll all get the tattoo. We had to make a new milestone. And I think we’ll reach it.”

Over the last month, “Obsession” has sent shock waves through Hollywood. Barker’s microbudget thriller has grossed $286 million worldwide, and it’s still going. On its fifth weekend in theaters, it was second only to Steven Spielberg’s “Disclosure Day,” with $19 million. In North America, it has outgrossed “Star Wars: The Mandalorian and Grogu.” It’s the biggest hit in the 24-year existence of Focus Features, which has had to postpone the video-on-demand release. It ranks among the most profitable movies ever made.

Barker, who built a following making sketches and short films on YouTube, is living out the dream of every aspiring filmmaker. Life, he granted in a recent interview, is different now.

“My day to day is pretty much the same. It’s just that when I go out in public, it’s a lot different,” he says, laughing. “I actually feel a little unsafe sometimes.”

That’s an ironic development for someone whose twist on an old Monkey Paw story has frightened moviegoers. In “Obsession,” Bear Bailey (Michael Johnston) wishes on an antique toy called a One Wish Willow that his crush, Nikki (Inde Navarrette), loved him. The spell — loosely inspired by an old “Simpsons” Halloween episode — works disturbingly well.

The astonishing success of “Obsession” has been hotly debated throughout the industry. Coupled with the A24 hit “Backrooms,” by 20-year-old Kane Parsons, it’s been a coming-out party for YouTube as a breeding ground for the next generation of filmmakers.

It’s also brought waves of Gen Z moviegoers — who already make up a promisingly robust percentage of frequent ticket buyers — into theaters. Summer has historically been dominated by legacy franchises, but “Obsession” may represent a sea change.

“If there’s a lesson from ‘Obsession,’ I think it’s about audiences,” says Peter Kujawski, chairman of Focus Features. “We have a generation that grew up online, approaches culture with enormous curiosity and playfulness, and is far less concerned with where a filmmaker comes from than whether the story connects. They’re engaged, incredibly film-literate and eager to champion new voices and original stories.”

From YouTube to the multiplex

Barker, who grew up in Mobile, Alabama, before moving to Los Angeles at 18, says he feels as though he’s writing for his generation. The response to “Obsession,” he says, taps into a collective need.

“I get it because I think we’re a little tired of being at home. Our generation is the COVID generation,” says Barker. “I was fortunate enough to have all four years of high school experience. My brother, Riley, lost two years of that. We’re sick of the phones.”

Barker wanted to be an actor before he wanted to be a filmmaker. And while his early exposure to “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre,” at age 11, helped set him on a horror path, he didn’t begin that way.

“I was a huge Harry Potter fan growing up. Huge. I was obsessed,” Barker says, smiling. “I had all the wands. I would dress up.”

Barker attended film school in Los Angeles for a year, where he met Cooper Tomlinson, a co-star and producer on “Obsession.” The two soon forged their own path, though, on YouTube and TikTok. Their comedy sketch series, “That’s a Bad Idea,” found a footing online.

Barker wrote and directed the 2023 short “The Chair,” which attracted the interest of Tea Shop Productions. Producer James Harris approached Barker about a feature of “The Chair,” but he instead wanted to make a film — “Obsession” — that drew on many of the same ideas. Meanwhile, Barker also made an $800 found-footage horror film, “Milk & Serial.” After failing to secure distribution, he simply uploaded to YouTube. It went viral and landed him an agent.

“Obsession” was selected to premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival last year, giving it an enviable platform. After a bidding war, Kujawski and Focus acquired it for $15 million.

“What stands out about Curry is that he isn’t working from an inherited playbook,” says Kujawski. “Whether you look at his earlier work or ‘Obsession,’ there’s a consistency of vision and a confidence in his storytelling that immediately sets him apart. He knows exactly what he wants to say while being absolutely committed to making every minute of his work as entertaining as possible, and he’s willing to take real risks in service of that vision.”

More ‘Obsession,’ but other projects first

Barker’s swift but hard-earned rise has made him the poster boy for a new brand of filmmaker, one who has honed his craft as a digital creator and arrives with an established fan base. Jason Blum, the chief executive of Blumhouse Productions, has compared Barker and company to the 1970s wave of American auteurs, “making edgy movies that are connecting in theaters in a crazy way.”

“When you really step back, my journey is not really that different than Christopher Nolan or David Fincher or Steven Spielberg,” Barker says. “You can watch their early short films and see their work before they were given a chance. I think YouTube is just a path, a platform we can use now to show the industry what we’ve got.”

Now, Barker is one of the most in-demand filmmakers in Hollywood. He has already shot his next feature, “Anything But Ghosts,” starring Aaron Paul and Bryce Dallas Howard, for Blumhouse. Two months ago, A24 announced that he will write and direct a reboot of “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”

All the attention has taken some getting used to. Filmmakers like Ari Aster and Zach Cregger and even Spielberg have reached out to compliment Barker on his film.

“That’s when you start to feel this impostor syndrome of like: What? It’s not that good,” Barker says, laughing. “All I see when I watch ‘Obsession’ is the problems.”

An “Obsession” sequel is, naturally, a certainty. “A sequel isn’t hard for this movie,” grants Barker. He sketches out how new wishes by other characters on One Wish Willows could lead to entirely different stories, all revolving around some new vice: greed, fame, whatever.

But as much as it’s tempting to see “Obsession” as the product of Barker's own wish, it’s more like the opposite. In the film, Bear’s profound mistake is putting off confessing his feelings to Nikki, thinking there’s plenty of time to do it. (The movie immediately cuts to a dead cat.) Barker, on the other hand, had no timidity about realizing his dreams. He wanted to make movies, so he did.

“Anyone that asks what advice you have for young filmmakers, I always say the same thing,” says Barker. “I went to a film school for a year out in L.A. and I watched people paralyze themselves with the pressure of: I’ve told people I’m a director so now I have to direct something that has to be good. If it’s not good, everyone’s going to judge me. The result of that thinking is two years on one short film.”

“You can’t put too much pressure on an idea,” adds Barker. “You just got to make it.”

According to coverage of the complaint, Banks contends that she sat for a roughly three‑and‑a‑half‑hour interview that was ultimately reduced to approximately 16 minutes across the docuseries, a condensation she argues stripped out key moments where she accepted accountability for past decisions. Her legal team has reportedly cited breach of contract, “false light,” and defamation‑by‑implication claims, arguing that the edit exaggerates her callousness toward former contestants and minimizes her attempts to respond to their criticisms.

The suit names Netflix alongside docuseries co‑directors and related production entities, and Banks is said to be seeking a jury trial and unspecified punitive damages, though the exact monetary amount has not been made public. As of mid‑June, Netflix and the producers had not issued detailed public responses to the legal filing, leaving much of the public narrative to be shaped by former contestants and online reaction.

Adrianne Curry’s Sharp Response: ‘Welcome to the Party’

Adrianne Curry, who won Cycle 1 of America’s Next Top Model in 2003, has emerged as one of the most prominent voices reacting to Banks’ lawsuit, using social media videos to question the former host’s stance on editing. In an Instagram video, Curry said she had “read that Tyra Banks is suing Netflix because she didn’t like being edited,” before breaking into laughter and adding, “Bitch, for real, girl?” and the line “Welcome to the party, pal,” a reference to Bruce Willis’ character in Die Hard.

Curry’s remarks explicitly link Banks’ frustration over being “edited” to the long‑standing grievances of contestants who say their own words and actions were reshaped by producers for dramatic effect. She has previously explained that she declined to participate in the Netflix docuseries at all because she feared her comments would be cut and rearranged into a narrative she could not control, describing a lack of trust in reality‑TV editing practices after her experience on the show and other programs.

In January, Curry said on X that she found it “absurd” to analyze the series “over 20 years later with a woke lens,” even as she acknowledged experiencing hunger, financial instability, and intense pressure during production, underscoring the complicated relationship many alumni have with the franchise. Her current reaction to the lawsuit builds on that history: Curry positions Banks’ complaint as a case of a powerful producer encountering the same editing tactics that contestants—some of them queer, gender‑nonconforming, or otherwise marginalized—say shaped how they were seen by millions of viewers.

A History of Skepticism Toward the Docuseries

Curry’s latest comments come after months of mixed messaging from her about the Netflix project, which she has alternately criticized and used as a springboard to reflect on her time on ANTM. In late January, she confirmed she had “no intention” of joining the docuseries, titled Reality Check: Inside America’s Next Top Model, saying she worried that her remarks would be molded into a pre‑set narrative and that she preferred to avoid the intense public judgment that often follows outspoken reality‑TV alumni.

At the same time, she has repeatedly described the conditions of filming as harsh, saying in one Spanish‑language interview that contestants “were starving every day” and speculating that the new documentary might serve as “damage control and a launch platform” for Banks and the franchise. She has also recounted feeling misled about what winning the series would mean for her modeling career, telling one outlet that she had been promised mentoring from supermodels like Gisele Bündchen and Banks and a major career path that never materialized after cameras stopped rolling.

Curry’s commentary extends to other figures from the show, including judges and creative staff who, she argues, were equally involved in decisions now being framed as solely Banks’ responsibility. In various posts, she has criticized what she calls a “festival of cover‑ups” around the franchise, while still saying she forgives those involved and remains grateful for the opportunities the show provided—an ambivalence that reflects wider tensions for many reality‑TV alumni who are also navigating ongoing careers, families, and, for some, queer and trans community ties shaped by that early visibility.

Other Alumni Say Banks Is Getting ‘A Taste of Her Own Medicine’

Curry is not alone in her reaction to Banks’ lawsuit. Angelea Preston, a former contestant whose win was controversially rescinded years ago after producers discovered she had previously done escort work, told Entertainment Weekly that if Banks truly believes the documentary created a “false narrative” through editing, then “now she knows how we feel.” Preston described the situation as “karma,” arguing that many contestants felt misrepresented by the original series’ editing choices, including how their anger, vulnerability, or queerness were framed for maximum drama.

Preston has a long history of challenging the franchise; she previously attempted to sue Banks and the show’s producers for damages after losing her title, alleging that the handling of her past work and the narrative constructed around it harmed her career and personal life. In her latest comments, she rhetorically asked if Banks wants Netflix to release the full footage of the docuseries interview and pressed the host about whether any potential legal win could translate into compensation for former contestants who say they were harmed.

The voices of Curry, Preston, and others are resonating with audiences who have long questioned the ethics of reality television, especially formats that prominently feature young women, queer contestants, and people of color navigating high‑stakes competitions under constant surveillance. The docuseries includes allegations of racism, fat‑shaming, and other forms of discrimination, and it has prompted fresh discussions about the responsibility of producers, networks, and streamers to safeguard participants’ mental health and avoid exploitative portrayals.

Curry’s Complex Defense of Banks and the Larger Conversation on Accountability

Even as she mocks Banks’ lawsuit, Curry has also, at times, defended the former host against what she views as disproportionate “cancel culture” backlash in the wake of Reality Check. Earlier this year, she published a lengthy statement arguing that “being a d***head isn’t illegal” and saying she does not believe Banks deserves to be “canceled,” stressing that she has chosen to forgive Banks and other producers for how they treated her and for effectively erasing her from the show’s official legacy.

Curry has also said she respects Banks for not issuing what she sees as a performative apology in response to public pressure, telling followers in one video that Banks “isn’t sorry” and “owes you nothing,” and arguing that forcing people to publicly express remorse they do not feel amounts to a “struggle session.” That framing has drawn criticism and support; some viewers interpret it as minimizing the harm alleged by contestants, while others see it as a call to distinguish between genuinely abusive behavior and the often‑harsh realities of the fashion and television industries two decades ago.

For LGBTQ+ fans and former contestants, the conversation around Banks’ lawsuit and Curry’s reaction is layered onto memories of how queer and gender‑nonconforming people were depicted on early‑2000s reality TV—often as stereotypes, “villains,” or emotional cautionary tales. While recent reality series have made strides in centering contestants’ self‑described identities and boundaries, the docuseries and subsequent lawsuit underscore how editing power and contractual control still largely rest with producers and platforms, not with the people whose lives and identities are being televised.

As Banks pursues her claims in court and Netflix weighs its response, Curry’s pointed “Welcome to the party, pal” encapsulates a broader sentiment among alumni: that reality‑TV participants—whether aspiring models, queer creatives, or young people seeking visibility—have long lived with the consequences of editing choices they did not control. The lawsuit ensures that, for now, the questions raised by Reality Check—about accountability, consent, and who gets to shape the final story—will continue to play out not just on screen, but in court and across social media.

The Emmy-winning performer, now 32, used the conversation to revisit the emotional impact of becoming a household name as a tween and teen, framing her experience as part of a broader pattern of how child entertainers are treated as “products” rather than as developing young people with complex emotional needs. Her comments add new detail to concerns she has raised in recent years about the mental health toll of childhood stardom and the pressures that come with being a young Black woman navigating a highly visible career.

‘The darkest’ time of her life

During the Tribeca discussion, Palmer told Goldberg that the “darkest” period of her life dated back to her teen years, when she was working steadily and gaining widespread recognition through projects such as “True Jackson, VP” and other high-profile roles. She described a time when her external image sharply diverged from her internal reality, recalling that people wanted her to appear “happy and smiling” while she was privately overwhelmed and struggling.

Palmer said she felt that those around her were mainly interested in her upbeat persona, not in how she truly felt, which intensified her sense of isolation. She recalled being “so sad” that the pain eventually turned into numbness, describing sitting alone in her room as a teenager and realizing that people seemed more invested in her public image than in her emotional well-being.

‘We were all being traumatized by fame’

In the Tribeca conversation, Palmer emphasized that the pressures of celebrity affected her entire family, not just her as the person in front of the camera. She said there was a period when “we were all being traumatized by fame,” but noted that her relatives had “a more relatable experience to the trauma of the fame” than she did, because she was the star and they were “in the star shadow.”

While Palmer has previously praised her family as “awesome,” she explained that the dynamics of sudden success created stress and confusion for everyone, and that no one in the household fully understood the unique pressures she faced as the one constantly in the public eye. Her comments are consistent with earlier interviews in which she described fame as a shock to her family’s system, citing experiences like being suddenly surrounded by large crowds in public spaces and realizing that her income at a young age carried enormous expectations.

Building a ‘protective’ persona

Palmer told the Tribeca audience that, in response to these pressures, she developed a kind of protective persona to shield herself from the emotional strain of being constantly watched and evaluated. She suggested that this persona helped her function within the entertainment industry but also led her to lock away parts of herself, creating distance between her authentic emotions and the version of herself that others expected to see.

In previous conversations, Palmer has likened child stardom to being treated as a commodity, saying that systems around children on networks like Disney and Nickelodeon can be “dehumanizing” because they are designed to maximize output rather than support young people’s holistic development. These reflections connect her current comments about a constructed persona to a longer-running critique of an industry that often encourages young entertainers to prioritize performance and productivity over their own mental health.

Earlier disclosures of trauma and mental health struggles

Palmer’s latest remarks at Tribeca echo earlier disclosures she has made about trauma, depression, and anxiety rooted in her childhood and teen years, including experiences unrelated to but intensified by her fame. In a 2024 People cover story tied to her upcoming book “Master of Me: The Secret to Controlling Your Narrative,” she revealed that she survived child-on-child sexual abuse at around age 5 and that the impact of that experience became clearer to her around age 12.

She linked that early trauma, combined with the pressure of being a child entertainer and family breadwinner, to “a lot of anxiety, a lot of stress, a lot of depression” throughout her youth. Palmer has also spoken about how the financial and emotional weight of supporting her family at a young age complicated her ability to process her feelings, contributing to periods when she felt out of control and unsure how to advocate for herself.

Industry pressures, exploitation, and relationships

Beyond the general stress of fame, Palmer has described specific situations that intensified the difficulties of her teenage years, including a relationship with an adult man while she was still a minor. In that 2024 interview, she recounted dating a 20-year-old when she was 15 during the period she was starring in “True Jackson, VP,” later writing in her book that the power imbalance “put me in a place that harmed me in ways I couldn’t have known.”

More recently, she has said that reaching the age her older partner was at the time allowed her to see the relationship as exploitative, framing it as part of a broader pattern of adults failing to fully protect or advocate for young performers in the industry. In discussions about her past, she has tied that dynamic to concerns that child stars, including girls and gender-diverse young people, can be especially vulnerable to manipulation because they are treated as professionals long before they have the power or knowledge to set boundaries.

The mental health toll of being a ‘product’

Palmer has repeatedly connected her personal story to the wider mental health toll experienced by many former child stars, noting that what she went through is not unique. In earlier interviews, she has described the systems surrounding child entertainers as “no machinery more dehumanizing,” stressing that children in such environments are often treated as “a product” rather than as whole, developing people who need support, privacy, and room to make mistakes.

She has also spoken about periods of significant depression and anxiety that she traces in part to having “so much responsibility at a young age” and lacking the tools to process her emotions amid constant work and public scrutiny. These reflections align with her description at Tribeca of feeling alone and numb as a teen, even while maintaining a polished public image as a charismatic television star and vocalist.

Public narrative, identity, and reclaiming control

In recent years, Palmer has focused on reclaiming control over her narrative, including through memoir, interviews, and her own media platforms. Her upcoming book “Master of Me” centers on what she calls “controlling your narrative,” and her press appearances surrounding the project have highlighted her efforts to speak openly about trauma, healing, and boundaries without allowing those experiences to define her entire identity.

Palmer has also addressed how public fascination with her personal life, including a highly scrutinized past relationship and legal actions she has taken, has at times overshadowed her artistry, something she has said she “hated” because it placed her “personal junk” at the center of coverage of her career. By framing her teenage years as a dark period marked by trauma and dehumanizing pressures, she is now foregrounding her own perspective, situating her story within broader conversations about safety, consent, and mental health for young people in entertainment.

A broader conversation about child stardom and care

Palmer’s comments arrive amid renewed public discussion about how child entertainers are treated, including calls for stronger legal protections, mental health support, and accountability for adults and institutions that profit from their labor. While Palmer did not frame her Tribeca remarks as a policy argument, her account of feeling alone, overburdened, and “traumatized by fame” reinforces concerns raised by other former child stars who say their early careers left lasting psychological scars.

Her narrative also intersects with ongoing cultural conversations about supporting young people — including LGBTQ+ youth and other marginalized communities within entertainment — whose experiences of visibility, pressure, and scrutiny can be particularly intense. Palmer’s willingness to speak candidly about her past contributes to a growing body of testimony from artists challenging the idea that early fame is purely glamorous, and calling for systems that center the well-being and autonomy of children rather than their marketability.

Looking ahead

As Palmer continues to expand her career as an actor, musician, producer, and author, her reflections on the “darkest” years of her life function as both a personal reckoning and a public record of the costs behind her success. She has credited therapy and self-reflection with helping her process what she endured and with giving her language to describe experiences that once left her feeling powerless or misunderstood.

By naming fame itself as a source of trauma and underscoring that her teenage years were far more painful than they may have appeared to observers, Palmer adds new depth to public understanding of her journey from child star to adult multi-hyphenate. Her latest comments at Tribeca, combined with her ongoing work and forthcoming book, suggest that revisiting that darkness is part of an ongoing effort to define her story on her own terms — and to invite more transparent, compassionate conversations about what young performers need to thrive.

According to court filings, Netflix and its music arm are named in connection with alleged false endorsement related to the use of Banks’ image on album art for the docuseries’ soundtrack, while EverWonder Studio and the directors are also accused of contractual breaches and defamatory editing choices. Banks is seeking unspecified damages, including alleged loss of future business opportunities and income, and has requested a jury trial to determine any financial award.

Background and context

“Reality Check: Inside America’s Next Top Model” is a three-part documentary released on Netflix earlier this year that revisits the long‑running reality competition “America’s Next Top Model,” which Banks created, produced, and hosted for much of its run. The docuseries examines both the global influence of the show and its controversies, including episodes that LGBTQ+ viewers and advocates have criticized in recent years for reinforcing narrow beauty standards and occasionally framing queer and gender‑nonconforming contestants through a sensationalized lens.

Banks participated in the project by sitting for what she describes as a three‑and‑a‑half‑hour interview about the series’ legacy, including criticism of past creative and production choices. In court documents, she says she used that time to acknowledge missteps, to reflect on decisions she would change, and to discuss how reality television norms have evolved around issues such as body image, race, and representation of LGBTQ+ contestants and judges.

Banks’ claims about ‘selective editing’ and assault narrative

Central to Banks’ lawsuit is the allegation that only about 16 minutes of her multi‑hour interview ultimately appeared in the final cut of “Reality Check,” and that this material was “stripped of context and reassembled” to support a narrative very different from what she intended to communicate. The lawsuit contends that producers used “selective editing, deliberate omission, and surgical manipulation of continuous footage” to imply that Banks knowingly allowed a contestant to be sexually assaulted during filming, exploited that trauma to boost ratings, and later could not recall the incident when asked.

The contested storyline centers on former Cycle 2 contestant Shandi Sullivan, whose experience during a 2003 trip to Milan is framed in the docuseries as a sexual assault, according to descriptions referenced in the complaint. Banks asserts in her filing that she was unaware Sullivan categorized what happened as sexual assault and that, during her interview, she was not told that the documentary would depict the incident in those terms or suggest she had knowingly allowed harm to occur.

In the lawsuit, Banks argues that the editing choices wrongly convey to viewers that she prioritized ratings over the safety and well‑being of a contestant, a portrayal she describes as a “complete fabrication.” The complaint also states that segments of Banks’ interview were “decontextualized and rearranged” to make it appear as if she was directly responding to questions about the alleged assault when, she claims, she had not been informed of Sullivan’s characterization of the incident as sexual violence.

Alleged impact on Banks’ career and business ventures

Banks states that the fallout from the docuseries has harmed not only her public reputation but also her current businesses, including SMiZE & DREAM, an ice‑cream venture based in Sydney, Australia. According to the lawsuit, online ratings for SMiZE & DREAM have “deteriorated” since the documentary’s release, which Banks links to the renewed scrutiny and criticism sparked by the series’ portrayal of her decisions on “America’s Next Top Model.”

The suit claims that this alleged misrepresentation has caused “serious harm and damage” to Banks’ personal brand, which has evolved over decades to encompass modeling, television production, entrepreneurship, and mentorship, including work with emerging talent from diverse racial, cultural, and LGBTQ+ backgrounds. In addition to financial losses, Banks says she has experienced significant mental anguish from what she characterizes as a misleading depiction broadcast to a global Netflix audience.

Contract and false endorsement allegations

Beyond defamation, Banks alleges the filmmakers violated specific clauses in a rights agreement designed to limit how her participation and likeness could be used in the project. The complaint references what it describes as a “no‑defamation” clause and a “no‑word‑placement” clause, arguing that these were “essential obligations” of the parties’ agreement and that they were breached before and at the time the Netflix series was released.

Banks also accuses Netflix and EverWonder of false endorsement, saying her image was used in promotional materials and on the soundtrack album cover in a way that could lead audiences to believe she fully approved of and endorsed the documentary as released. The suit seeks an injunction barring Netflix from using her likeness in connection with the soundtrack and, more broadly, aims to prevent what she characterizes as misleading associations between her brand and the contested narrative.

Silence so far from Netflix and filmmakers

As of mid‑June, major outlets reporting on the lawsuit have not published any detailed public response from Netflix, EverWonder Studio, or directors Mor Loushy and Daniel Sivan to Banks’ allegations. Coverage notes that Netflix declined or did not immediately respond to requests for comment when contacted about the filing, leaving Banks’ complaint as the primary publicly available account of the dispute at this stage.

Legal experts quoted in broader industry reporting about defamation litigation involving entertainment projects say such cases often turn on what a “reasonable viewer” would infer from the editing and context of a film or series, though specific expert commentary on Banks’ case has not yet been widely published. At present, there is no trial date publicly set in the court documents cited by outlets, and the defendants’ formal legal responses are expected to further clarify their position on editorial choices in the documentary.

Implications for reality TV, consent, and survivor narratives

The lawsuit arrives amid ongoing public debate about how reality television portrays power dynamics, consent, and survivor narratives, including those involving women, LGBTQ+ contestants, and other marginalized participants in high‑pressure formats. In recent years, “America’s Next Top Model” has been re‑examined by fans, former contestants, and critics who have raised concerns about how episodes handled topics such as race, body size, queerness, and gender expression, often in ways that now draw scrutiny for reinforcing stereotypes or glamorizing distress.

While Banks’ complaint focuses on the alleged misrepresentation of her own words and knowledge, the underlying incident involving Shandi Sullivan underscores broader questions about how productions document, frame, and respond to experiences that participants later describe as sexual assault or boundary violations. Advocates for survivors and for safer working conditions in entertainment have long urged producers and networks to adopt trauma‑informed standards, including clear reporting pathways, consent protocols for intimate scenarios, and careful collaboration with participants when their stories involve sexual violence, regardless of the participants’ gender or sexual orientation.

Editing ethics, docuseries, and public perception

Banks’ allegations also speak to a broader conversation about ethics in documentary storytelling and docuseries editing practices, especially when projects revisit older reality shows that included queer contestants, gender‑nonconforming people, and other communities now demanding more accountable representation. The lawsuit argues that, because viewers were told they were watching a documentary, they approached the series expecting a level of completeness and context that, in Banks’ view, was not honored in how her interview was presented.

If the case proceeds, it may test how U.S. courts balance filmmakers’ editorial discretion and the First Amendment against claims that editing choices can cross into actionable defamation when they allegedly convey a false implication about someone’s knowledge, intent, or complicity in harm. For audiences, including LGBTQ+ viewers who have grappled with both the influence and the harms of “America’s Next Top Model,” the lawsuit underscores how much power editing holds over how histories of fashion, gender, and reality television are remembered.

Grande responded in the comments on TikTok on June 11, writing, “Please do not ever use my music in relation to this barbaric, inhumane, heinous nonsense. f— ice,” making clear she did not consent to her work being associated with immigration raids. News outlets report that her comment later appeared to be deleted or hidden from the video’s replies, while the sound on the TikTok was disabled after her team moved to have the music removed.

In a statement reported by multiple outlets, a White House spokesperson defended the video and criticized Grande’s remarks, arguing that what is “barbaric, inhumane, and heinous” are crimes committed by “criminal illegal aliens,” while framing the enforcement clip as a public safety message. The dispute places Grande among a list of artists, including other pop and rock performers, who have objected to their music being used at Trump campaign events or in official administration media without their approval.

Launching Brighter Days Ahead Foundation

One day after her public objection gained widespread coverage, Grande formally unveiled the Brighter Days Ahead Foundation, a new philanthropic vehicle intended to support several marginalized and vulnerable communities. According to the foundation and multiple entertainment outlets, the organization aims to “uplift and directly fund small organizations that provide protection, support, and vital resources” across areas including immigrant justice, LGBTQ+ rights, mental health, reproductive rights, and emergency relief.

The foundation’s official website states that Brighter Days Ahead is “founded by Ariana Grande” and highlights a mission to channel resources into community-based organizations through several targeted funds. Coverage in People and Entertainment Weekly notes that Grande described the initiative as a way to expand her longstanding philanthropic support into a more structured framework capable of providing sustained backing to groups working “on the front lines” of civil rights, mental health, and emergency support.

In a press release quoted by multiple outlets, Grande said she was “thrilled” to announce the Brighter Days Ahead Foundation and emphasized that its funds would help “protect, support, and provide resources” to “vulnerable friends in need.” She also framed the foundation as an extension of years of individual giving, expressing gratitude for the opportunity to “broaden that impact and enhance the life-saving efforts” of the organizations involved.

Four funds, with immigrants at the center

The Brighter Days Ahead Foundation channels its support through four main funds: Protect & Defend, Heal & Dream, Seen & Celebrated, and an Emergency Support Fund. People reports that the Protect & Defend Fund will support organizations advocating for LGBTQ+ rights, civil rights, and reproductive rights, while also including groups that provide legal support and bond assistance to immigrants facing detention and deportation.

The foundation’s site describes a Defending Our Neighbors Fund within its portfolio, aiming to “raise and deploy funds for organizations that provide legal representation and bond assistance to immigrants facing detention and deportation,” directly linking the initiative to immigrant support. People notes that Defending Our Neighbors and similar grantees “financially support immigrant families who are being targeted unjustly,” positioning immigrant communities as a key focus of the Protect & Defend resources.

Other Protect & Defend grantees include organizations such as G.L.I.T.S., Lambda Legal, Transgender Law Center, and the Trans Youth Emergency Project, which advocate for civil rights and provide services to LGBTQ+ people, including transgender people and queer youth. The Independent further reports that Brighter Days Ahead has also provided support to international organizations such as the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund, reflecting a broader human rights scope that intersects with displacement and conflict.

The Heal & Dream Fund focuses on expanding access to mental health resources and community-based care, including support for Trans Lifeline, Backline, the National Queer & Trans Therapists of Color Network, and youth mental health charity Jack.org. The Seen & Celebrated Fund is designed to amplify LGBTQ+ narratives and stories, while the Emergency Support Fund is intended to “meet urgent moments with aid and resources, providing rapid support and relief during times of collective need,” covering crises that may include displacement, violence, and other emergencies affecting marginalized communities.

Clashing narratives on immigration and rights

The timing of the Brighter Days Ahead announcement, coming just days after the viral TikTok dispute, has drawn attention to how celebrities use their platforms to respond to government messaging on immigration enforcement. Entertainment Weekly notes that Grande’s move “clearly” distances her from the administration’s immigration policies while embracing charitable efforts that give material support to immigrants and other communities disproportionately affected by enforcement and exclusion.

Coverage from CiberCuba and other outlets emphasizes that the White House video showed people being detained in immigration raids, set against celebratory captions about border security, which critics say dehumanize immigrants and people in mixed‑status families. By contrast, the Defending Our Neighbors Fund and related grantees seek to ensure immigrants facing detention or deportation can access legal representation and financial support for bond, which advocates describe as essential for keeping families together and avoiding prolonged detention while cases proceed.

The Independent points out that Brighter Days Ahead specifically foregrounds LGBTQ+ rights, mental health care, and reproductive justice, recognizing that many immigrants, including LGBTQ+ immigrants and asylum seekers, navigate overlapping barriers related to status, safety, and access to affirming services. This intersectional design situates immigrant support within a wider landscape of civil rights and health equity, focusing on people who face multiple forms of marginalization, from anti-immigrant rhetoric to anti-LGBTQ+ policies and gaps in mental health care.

Music, consent, and political messaging

Grande’s confrontation with the White House adds another high-profile example to a pattern of artists objecting to the political use of their music without explicit consent. CiberCuba notes that other performers, including Sabrina Carpenter, Olivia Rodrigo, SZA, Billie Eilish, Lady Gaga, and MGMT, have publicly protested their music being used in immigration or enforcement-related content by the Trump administration or its agencies without approval.

Reports from Reuters and BBC explain that while political entities may sometimes rely on blanket licenses for public performance, artists frequently argue that such uses can imply endorsement and conflict with their ethical or political positions on issues such as immigration, policing, and LGBTQ+ rights. In Grande’s case, her team reportedly sought to use copyright tools to have the audio removed from the White House TikTok, resulting in the clip being muted and, in some instances, taken down or reposted without sound.

Online, discussion has also highlighted that the same song, “Bye,” has been used by Brighter Days Ahead Foundation content in posts about emergency support funds for immigrant families, underscoring the contrast between the artist’s charitable messaging and the administration’s enforcement-focused video. That juxtaposition has become a focal point in debates about narrative control, with Grande’s foundation emphasizing care, safety, and legal support for immigrants, while the White House’s original TikTok emphasized the spectacle of arrests in the name of border security.

What comes next for Brighter Days Ahead

The Brighter Days Ahead Foundation is currently accepting donations through its official website, including proceeds from a branded black hoodie with a slogan about “funding efforts to support our friends in need,” which directs merchandise revenue toward the foundation’s funds. Entertainment Weekly notes that three of the four primary funds have already begun distributing grants to partner organizations, with the Emergency Support Fund available to respond quickly to emergent crises that impact communities the foundation aims to serve.

People’s coverage underscores that Grande has previously supported many of the beneficiary organizations, and that the foundation formalizes those relationships while potentially increasing the scale and consistency of financial support for immigrant rights groups, LGBTQ+ advocates, and mental health providers. The Independent adds that early grantees span both U.S.-based and international nonprofits, suggesting an ongoing emphasis on cross-border solidarity and community resilience in the face of displacement, discrimination, and violence.

As legal and political debates continue over how music is used in government and campaign media, the launch of Brighter Days Ahead foregrounds a different set of questions about responsibility, consent, and support for people directly affected by immigration enforcement. By pairing a public rebuke of the administration’s TikTok with a structured philanthropic initiative centered on immigrants, LGBTQ+ communities, and mental health access, Grande has turned a dispute about unauthorized music use into a high-visibility moment for funding organizations that provide legal aid, crisis support, and affirming care to people most affected by the policies featured in the video.

In the segment, Reynolds explains that he had been out at a bar in Vancouver and had consumed a beer, then paused at his car before opting to leave it parked and walk home rather than risk driving the short distance. He characterizes the choice as a “wise decision” for a teenager and underscores the bitter irony that, moments later, he was struck by a driver who was under the influence of alcohol.

“Broke every bone in my left side”

Reynolds tells McElhenney that as he started to cross the street, a drunk driver ran into him with such force that the car was rendered inoperable by the impact. He says the crash “broke every bone in my left side” and required a lengthy hospitalization while he recovered from extensive injuries, a description that aligns with earlier accounts he has given in other interviews about the same incident.

In Spanish coverage of the interview, Reynolds is reported as saying that all the bones on his left side were broken and that he spent more than four weeks in the hospital, describing ongoing physical consequences and jokingly calling himself “a walking disaster.” Separate reporting on his past comments indicates he has previously said he was unconscious for around three days following the accident, waking to find his father at his bedside.

Four weeks in hospital and Canada’s health system

Reynolds states in the GQ conversation that he spent about four weeks in the hospital recovering from the crash, emphasizing the scale of his injuries and the length of his stay. He locates the incident at Vancouver General Hospital and uses the story to praise both a specific physician, identified as Dr. Meek, and Canada’s publicly funded healthcare system.

In interviews cited by Spanish and lifestyle outlets, Reynolds is quoted thanking Dr. Meek “for putting me back together so kindly,” adding in a joking aside that under socialized medicine the doctor “couldn’t say no,” a reference to Canada’s publicly funded system. These remarks echo earlier comments he made in Canadian media, where he described waking up in the hospital after days of unconsciousness, finding his father nearby, and sharing a darkly humorous anecdote about having vomited on him while still unconscious.

A long-running theme in Reynolds’s public narrative

Reynolds has discussed the crash in previous interviews, including a conversation in which he recalled being 19 in Vancouver, deciding not to drive after drinking and then being struck by a drunk driver while walking home, realizing the next day “every bone in my left side was broken.” Those earlier accounts underscore that the story he shares in 2026 is a continuation of a long-standing narrative about a formative traumatic event rather than a new revelation, even as the recent GQ segment has given it fresh visibility.

Coverage of the new interview notes that the video, framed playfully around a “furniture-building challenge” with McElhenney, shifts in tone when Reynolds brings up the crash, contrasting the light format with the gravity of his memories. Entertainment outlets highlight that the story offers a rare look behind the actor’s often comedic public persona, revealing how a near-fatal event shaped his relationship to risk, health, and the unpredictability of life.

A cautionary tale about impaired driving

Although Reynolds does not position the GQ anecdote as part of a formal campaign, the core of his story is about the consequences of impaired driving and the limits of individual caution when others choose to drive under the influence. He notes that he had attempted to act responsibly by leaving his car behind after drinking, yet still suffered severe injury because another driver did not make a similar choice.

The story arrives in a broader context in which public health agencies and road safety advocates continue to stress that alcohol and other substances can significantly impair driving ability and increase the risk of severe crashes, although Reynolds himself does not cite specific statistics or campaigns in the interview. Coverage of his remarks emphasizes the message that avoiding impaired driving protects not only the person behind the wheel but also people walking, cycling, or sharing the road.

Life after trauma and Reynolds’s outlook

In addition to talking about the crash itself, Reynolds reflects on how the experience informs his outlook, referencing an old proverb: “Who knows what is good or bad?” to illustrate his belief that events often defy simple labels in the moment. He ties that reflection to a broader sense that plans rarely unfold exactly as expected, and that surviving such an incident has shaped his perspective on unpredictability and resilience.

Spanish media note that Reynolds continues to maintain an active lifestyle, including regular physical activity and work commitments, while also describing lingering effects from the injuries and the sense that his relationship with his body changed after the crash. Lifestyle outlets describe him as balancing a demanding career with family life alongside his wife, actor Blake Lively, and their children, portraying a recovery that encompasses both physical healing and longer-term adjustment.

Public response and renewed attention

News of Reynolds’s latest retelling has circulated across international entertainment and news outlets, from India-based publications to Spanish-language media, underscoring his global profile and the cross-border resonance of stories about road safety and survival. Coverage consistently centers his account of choosing not to drive after drinking and the subsequent crash, amplifying a narrative in which a well-known figure uses his platform to highlight the far-reaching impact of impaired driving.

While Reynolds has not formally linked this story to a specific organization or campaign in the latest interview, public reaction online often situates his remarks within ongoing conversations about road safety, substance use, and how celebrities publicly engage with themes of trauma and recovery. In this context, his detailed account of the crash, his gratitude toward healthcare workers, and his reflections on unpredictability collectively form a narrative that underscores the stakes of choices made by drivers and the support systems that help survivors rebuild.

The photos reportedly re‑emerged over the weekend of June 7–8, 2026, after being posted in at least two separate threads on platforms including X and Instagram, prompting widespread outrage, calls for accountability, and debates over whether the images should affect the actor’s career. Many commenters highlighted the historic weight of Nazi imagery and the harm caused by jokes referencing AIDS, especially for Jewish communities and LGBTQ+ people who have been directly targeted by both antisemitic violence and the HIV/AIDS epidemic.

Explanations from friends and unnamed sources

Williams has not yet released a direct, personal public statement on the controversy, but multiple outlets report that friends and sources close to the actor have tried to provide context for the photos. According to those sources, the images date back to a high school “campout” or annual tradition where teenagers allegedly wrote on each other’s shirts, faces, and bodies with markers, often while drinking, as a form of prank and initiation.

Friends quoted by outlets including TMZ, People and Us Weekly say Williams “had no idea” at the time that a swastika or other hateful markings were being drawn on him and that he did not author any of the offensive text himself. One friend told TMZ, in comments repeated across several reports, that “the markings do not and have never reflected Hudson’s beliefs, values, or character,” describing the group as “underage kids doing dumb things” while stressed that the behavior was “completely inexcusable.”

Sources cited by outlets including International Business Times and The Express Tribune say the actor “deeply regrets” the incident, understands why the resurfaced photos have caused hurt and disappointment, and does not condone or support any of the symbols or language visible in the images. Reporting also notes that, as of mid‑June, there has been no independent verification of when and where the photos were taken beyond these anonymous accounts, nor confirmation that the image was not altered, something some outlets explicitly flag.

Simu Liu’s defense and criticism of media coverage

As criticism of Williams surged, Marvel star Simu Liu used the social platform Threads to defend the younger actor and criticize what he called a “massive hate campaign” targeting actors of color when they reach new levels of visibility. Liu wrote that he has a “very specific trauma” from experiencing fabricated claims and “twisting things into a massive hate campaign” when he first became widely known through *Shang‑Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings*, saying he has since noticed a recurring pattern whenever people of color experience a breakout moment.

In the same thread, Liu warned followers that “the internet is insane” and that “bad actors are everywhere,” advising people who participate in online discourse to “be careful” and “be smart.” He also directly criticized the coverage of the story by a digital outlet widely reported to be BuzzFeed, calling the piece “vile sensationalist” content and accusing the publication of targeting “people of colour for absolutely nothing” instead of evolving beyond clickbait.

Entertainment Weekly reports that Liu framed the intense focus on the teen photo as fitting into a broader online pattern of “massive hate campaign” that he believes disproportionately target actors of color when they gain popularity or take on high‑profile roles. In one post, translated and summarized by Croatian outlet Index.hr, Liu said he began to “recognise patterns” in how public figures who are not white are treated when they become a focus of attention, suggesting that Williams’ situation follows that pattern and emphasizing that the online environment can be hostile and distorting.

Divided reaction among fans and communities

Coverage from several outlets notes that online reactions to Williams’ resurfaced photos have been sharply divided, with some people arguing that the incident reflects serious harm and others contending that the behavior, while offensive, was the result of teenage recklessness. Critics quoted by news round‑ups say that “no amount of ‘he was young & immature’” can excuse what they see as an overt display of bigotry in using Nazi symbols and AIDS jokes, especially given the historic persecution of Jewish people and the disproportionate impact of HIV/AIDS on LGBTQ+ communities.

Supportive voices, including those amplified in TMZ‑cited accounts, describe the situation as “drunk kids doing dumb things” during an unsupervised teen event, while acknowledging in the same breath that the markings were “completely inexcusable” and that the hurt caused is real. Some reports mention that social media users have debated whether searching for and circulating private, years‑old images of public figures crosses ethical lines and risks weaponizing incomplete context against individuals, especially marginalized or racialized performers.

Within fan spaces for Heated Rivalry, reporting indicates that some followers have condemned the imagery and called for accountability, while others have emphasized Williams’ reported remorse and the statements from friends asserting that the markings do not align with his current values. Earlier this year, before the photos resurfaced, Williams and co‑star François Arnaud had jointly urged fans of the series not to share racist, homophobic, biphobic, misogynist, ageist, ableist, or otherwise bigoted comments, saying “none of us need your hateful ‘love,’” a stance that has now been revisited by observers in light of the current controversy.

Context of representation, accountability, and harm

The controversy comes at a time when Heated Rivalry and its cast have been widely discussed for their role in bringing LGBTQ+ relationships—and particularly queer romance narratives centered on men—to mainstream streaming audiences. Coverage notes that the resurfaced photos and Liu’s intervention land in an ongoing public conversation about how to balance accountability for harmful imagery and language with recognition of age, context, and the role of social media “pile‑ons,” especially when the subject is a person of color in a queer‑inclusive show.

Reports emphasize that none of the outlets quoting friends and unnamed sources suggest that the swastika or AIDS references are acceptable; instead, they describe Williams as now understanding the seriousness of the imagery, recognizing the pain it has caused, and “deeply regretting” the episode from his teenage years. For Jewish and LGBTQ+ communities, advocacy groups and commentators have long stressed that Nazi symbols and jokes about AIDS are tied to real histories of dehumanization and death, making their use—whether in jest or not—profoundly harmful, a point that is echoed by critics reacting to the Williams photos.

As of June 11, 2026, outlets including People, Entertainment Weekly, and The Express Tribune report that Williams’ representatives have not issued a formal, on‑the‑record statement or interview about the resurfaced photos, leaving the public narrative largely shaped by friends, anonymous sources, and the reactions of other public figures such as Simu Liu. Reporting also notes that there has not yet been independent authentication of the original source of the images beyond social media posts and the accounts of those close to the actor, which continues to be a point of discussion in media literacy and digital ethics conversations.

The controversy erupted after a user on X shared promotional material of Alcock as Kara Zor‑El and questioned how Supergirl could have pierced ears if her skin is bulletproof, prompting Cain to quote‑tweet the post with a thinking‑face emoji. When another user followed up with a side‑by‑side comparison image likening Alcock to Cha‑Ka, an ape‑like character from the 1970s series Land of the Lost, Cain replied, “Dang it… I laughed,” accompanied by a laughing or smiling emoji.

How the exchange unfolded on X

According to screenshots and embedded posts reproduced by multiple outlets, the first relevant post featured a promotional image of Alcock’s Supergirl costume, with the caption: “Wait… if Supergirl’s skin is bulletproof, how does she have ear piercings?” Cain responded by reposting the message with a single thinking emoji, which some readers interpreted as him amplifying or endorsing the critique.

The exchange escalated when another X user added a second post that juxtaposed Alcock’s character with Cha‑Ka from Land of the Lost and asked, “And why does she look like this guy?” Cain replied, “Dang it… I laughed,” a remark that was captured in screenshots and quickly circulated by fan accounts and pop‑culture commentators.

Several reports note that the Cha‑Ka character has been used in certain political meme spaces as a way to mock people’s faces or perceived features, which added another layer to how Cain’s engagement was read by online audiences. In the days that followed, commentators documented Cain continuing to reply within the same thread and addressing criticism from users who questioned why a veteran actor would participate in mocking a younger colleague’s appearance.

Fan reactions and criticism

Reaction from fans of both the Superman and Supergirl franchises was swift, with many social media users accusing Cain of “appearance shaming” and expressing disappointment that someone associated with a beloved superhero would appear to join in on deriding another performer. One headline described Cain as being “under fire” for “making fun” of Alcock, while others framed the incident as a “cruel comment” that overshadowed promotional buzz for the upcoming film.

Some commentators emphasized the age and status gap between Cain, who is 59, and Alcock, who is in her mid‑20s, arguing that his decision to publicly laugh at a comparison meme created an uncomfortable power dynamic. Online forums and entertainment sites catalogued responses from users calling the behavior “disgusting,” “mean‑spirited,” or “unnecessary,” while others urged a more tempered view, stating that piling on with insults toward Cain would not improve the overall tone of the discourse.

Media coverage also highlighted the reaction from some DC fans who felt Cain’s comments clashed with the aspirational image associated with Superman and related characters. Several posts shared widely on X and Reddit argued that high‑profile performers, particularly those tied to franchises with large LGBTQ+ and youth fanbases, have a responsibility to avoid amplifying appearance‑based mockery.

Dean Cain’s subsequent responses and framing

As criticism mounted, Cain addressed the backlash in follow‑up posts, asserting that he “never said she was ugly” and suggesting that some users were mischaracterizing his intent. Reports indicate he continued to interact with supporters and detractors in the thread, reiterating his position while simultaneously engaging in unrelated political commentary.

Several outlets contextualized Cain’s online presence as consistently outspoken, noting previous controversies including his support for conservative political causes and, more recently, his announcement that he would train as an agent with U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement . In this latest incident, coverage suggests that the criticism is less about Cain’s political positions and more about the specific act of amplifying a meme that targets a younger colleague’s physical appearance.

Some commentary pieces connected this episode to a broader wave of discourse around female‑led superhero projects, where actors and creatives have frequently been subjected to coordinated online criticism, including appearance‑based commentary, harassment, and calls for boycotts. Within that context, some fans argue that established performers have an opportunity to model respectful engagement, particularly when new actors join a franchise that has long attracted LGBTQ+ fans, women, and gender‑diverse audiences who often experience appearance‑based targeting themselves.

Milly Alcock’s role, fandom stakes, and wider implications

Milly Alcock’s casting as Supergirl places her at the center of a highly visible transition in DC’s on‑screen universe, with her standalone film expected to follow her brief introduction alongside David Corenswet’s Superman in an earlier franchise installment. The new film, which centers on Kara Zor‑El, has been marketed as a major pillar in DC Studios’ refreshed lineup and is slated to arrive in cinemas on 26 June 2026.

Entertainment reporters point out that Supergirl, as a character, has long held significance for many women, queer fans, and gender‑diverse viewers who see in her story a narrative about self‑definition, resilience, and carving out identity separate from more established heroes like Superman. In this light, the online treatment of the actor embodying the role is read by some fans as a bellwether for how inclusive and respectful the broader conversation around the film will be, including whether young women and LGBTQ+ audiences feel welcomed into that space.

A separate thread of coverage has focused on earlier remarks attributed to Alcock about facing online abuse, including comments from people she described as “Christian dads,” which sparked debate about how actors respond to hostile messages and how their words are later taken up in culture‑war narratives. Some critics have attempted to link Cain’s latest comments to these prior tensions, while others emphasize that regardless of earlier disputes, targeting a colleague’s appearance in front of millions of potential viewers risks normalizing personal attacks rather than focusing on performance or storytelling.

For fans looking ahead to the film’s release, the incident has become one more example of how online discourse can overshadow creative work, especially when the target is a younger performer stepping into a legacy role. Comment sections and social media threads reflect a mix of frustration, fatigue with culture‑war framing, and renewed calls for more respectful engagement with actors of all genders and backgrounds, including those in franchises with substantial queer and trans audiences.

Across 13 tracks, Rodrigo telegraphs the story of a romance — from a first date to its dissolution, with a lot of self-realization along the way. It's a concept album about a first big love — one that dares to dive into the revelation that sometimes the greatest mirror is revealing yourself to another.

The world's introduction to Rodrigo arrived with the power ballad heard ‘round the world: 2021’s smash “drivers license,” leading to her spirited power pop-punk debut, “SOUR.” Then came “GUTS,” a musical maturation from an artist entering her 20s, and an acute reminder that there are few forces more potent than a young creative woman’s dissatisfaction — if she so chooses to wield it.

And she did, like on the Babes In Toyland-esq. “All-American Bitch,” inspired by Joan Didion’s “The White Album,” or “Pretty Isn’t Pretty,” with its dreamy guitar tones that recalled The Cure. That song might've been the best indication of what was to come. The first single from her latest album, “Drop Dead,” name-checks the ‘80s band’s best-known love song, “Just Like Heaven.” The second was titled “The Cure,” with its orchestral strings and an explosive bridge. And the third song, revealed onstage at Barcelona's Primavera Festival just ahead of the album's release? Her first-ever collaboration, “What's Wrong with Me,” a duet with The Cure mastermind Robert Smith. The Cure's lush guitar tones are also heard on the standout “Maggots for Brains” — gothic love songs, Rodrigo's got a few.

On “You seem pretty sad for a girl so in love,” she once again teamed up with principal collaborator Dan Nigro, and their partnership has been further refined. Their productions, now more complicated, nuanced and vibrant with the addition of elements like string arrangements, have a sort of ease of presentation: His emo guitars are still heard on “Purple,” now delivered with multi-track harmonics. Her playful expressions of girlhood crushing remain intact; now through ‘90s jangly guitar pop influences (“u + me = 3,” an easy contender for one of the best songs she’s ever written.)

But there's a lot of exciting new territory here. The cheerleading cadence of the synth-y “My Way” evokes the punk sounds of Kathleen Hanna’s Le Tigre project. By the time Rodrigo reaches her “Expectations” on track 12, she's pulling from the New Romantics movement's ebullient synths and robotic vocals in a cheeky tune about hooking up with Mr. Wrong to realize it's time for Mr. Right.

At every corner, there's something to celebrate. When Rodrigo cheers “Nobody’s wanted somebody more” in the Swiftian refrain on the ballad fake out “Stupid Song,” she ascends. Those wanting her delicate moments will want to zoom to the piano-forward “Honeybee,” which features choirlike background vocals, partially courtesy her friend Conan Gray — or the acoustic “Begged,” with its overdubbed vocal harmonies. Or even the broken “Less,” with its clever devastation. But it's the big feeling up-tempo moments listeners will want to live within.

There are no unimpeachable formulas in music, but there is a widely held belief that a first album is an introduction — the one an artist has their whole life to work on — the second builds off the first and the third is a moment of catharsis. Ideally, on that record, they've arrived at a more evolved version of who they've worked to become. Nothing is so simple, of course, but Rodrigo seems to be a shining example. She seems pretty self-actualized, for a girl so open to falling hard.

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“You seem pretty sad for a girl so in love” by Olivia Rodrigo

Four and a half stars out of five.

On repeat: “u + me = 3,” “Maggots for Brains,” “The Cure”

Skip it: “Honeybee”

For fans of: Guitar pop, big hooks, bigger heart