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June Gloom Repellent—With Brad Pitt, Carrie Coon, Maria Bello, Aussie Country, and More...

Dear Wags,

June is busting out all over—and in the most appalling ways! A small minority of Americans whose memories stretch back more than four years may be experiencing déjà vu: that old feeling like we’ve all been cast, against our will, in a reality show with far too many cliffhangers. Well, you can’t say it’s boring.

Could the smackdown between the president and Elon Musk really have happened only a handful of days ago? Did Los Angeles erupt in anti-ICE protests, quickly followed by the federalization of the National Guard and the deployment of U.S. Marines? Did millions of Americans really take to the streets on the same day as the president’s military parade? Were elected officials actually dragged away in handcuffs this century—the same one that saw the shootings of Minnesota legislators? Did Israel launch air strikes against Iran, upending nuclear negotiations and bringing us uncomfortably close to global cataclysm? And did the president suddenly start saying “we” when referring to those strikes? Did Tucker Carlson, who definitely knows both the population of Iran and the Book of Genesis, just humiliate Ted Cruz by accusing him of implying antisemitism “in a sleazy, feline way”? Is America First imploding in the wake of that sick burn? Is New York poised to elect a socialist mayor who makes John Lindsay look like Pat Buchanan?

This isn’t some microdosing experiment gone awry. It’s all real—and just a taste from the pu-pu platter of agitations served up in less than 30 days. June, which really ought to be about blooming hydrangeas and lazy weekends by the pool, has been one big beautiful… Gaaah!

Thankfully, we have the Bezos–Sánchez nuptials in Venice to look forward to—which local activists are fixing to shut down. They hung a banner from the Bridge of Sighs featuring a Blue Origin rocket that looks, for all the galaxy, like a giant space penis. Elsewhere in vacationland Europe, mobs are attacking tourists with squirt guns. Change: it’s a lot.

Speaking of transformation. A few years ago, a lovely former colleague ran the website for a gigantic legacy magazine. A nerdy guy came into her office to pitch a weird idea about selling books online. She was unimpressed—and definitely not interested in leaping into entrepreneurial misadventure with him. Now that bridegroom is sailing into Venice on a 417-foot-long yacht—the world’s largest—trailed by his 246-foot minder yacht. He’s also transformed himself into a glistening, jacked, real-life iteration of Mr. Clean. A minute ago, he was praised for standing against authoritarianism. Today, he’s unironically referred to as an oligarch. His bride, once a friendly local TV anchor (who once sent this correspondent a bottle of champagne to celebrate a celebrity scoop), has just returned from being jettisoned into the stratosphere on the aforementioned space phallus. All this happened two minutes ago! What next?

We can see how one might be inclined to pessimism at moments like these. So it’s worth remembering: life and history are always a mixed bag. There’s every reason to believe things get better as often as they get worse. The so-called Dark Ages gave us Gothic architecture, the windmill, and the cathedral schools that preserved and propagated knowledge. It wasn’t all plague!

We’re rather determined to see beauty in the world—not just a string of provocations. This weekend, find yourself a quiet spot with a lovely view. Take it in. There’s every reason to believe the future, fraught as it always is, will provide you with delight as well as heartburn. We can see the hydrangeas blooming from here. Put your phone down and go admire them.

Yours ever,

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They may have stopped making movie stars in 1991. Incidentally, that was the year William Bradley Pitt, 27, of Shawnee, Oklahoma, used a bit part as a small-time hustler in Thelma & Louise to rocket to global fame. Brad Pitt, now 61—slightly more beaten-up but eternally pretty—can still command an audience. What powers Joseph Kosinski’s high-octane F1 is a charming hope: that his stardom still compels.

It’s a Big Summer Movie, and a rare one that doesn’t retread existing IP—though let’s not get carried away. You’ve definitely seen this story before. Pitt plays Sonny, a former Formula One champion run off the road by a tragic accident. He’s dragged back into the sport by an old friend (Javier Bardem) who wants him to revive a failing team. Among the drivers: a young hotshot (Damson Idris) who doesn’t yet know how much he needs the grizzled vet’s mentorship.

Off we go around the track, in propulsive scenes laboratory-tested to keep eyes on the screen. Racing movies have a checkered box office history, but F1 is nothing if not eager to win over the listless. The plot is little more than a bridge between moments of burning rubber, but Pitt drives it with laid-back ease. As in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, he shines in a faded-jeans role—the wry, reluctant hero in midlife.

Like the last wave of Tom Cruise pictures, there’s a limp gesture toward passing the torch to a new generation. That handoff doesn’t work quite as well as it did in 1991. But with someone tried and true behind the wheel, you can sit back and enjoy the ride.

(F1 opens June 27.)

— Marcello Rubini

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All That Glitters

The Gilded Age Season 3 (Max). A wave of criticism trails Hollywood’s current fixation on the one percent. Are we here for the social critique—or simply to ogle the real estate? Julian Fellowes is easier company in this regard. He’s made a gilded career chronicling class without too much conflict. His period melodramas are populated with loyal retainers, well-meaning aristos, and just enough bad apples—upstairs and down—to keep things interesting. The result is a very handsome, improbably optimistic view of society, one where even the anarchist may be reconciled with the robber baron by hour’s end.

His leap across the pond is characteristically rosy, with the very rich and the never-too-poor uniting to undo the machinations of the irredeemably rotten (who tend to be arrivistes). Still spelunking her way to the top of New York society is Bertha Russell (Carrie Coon), the new-money matriarch determined to secure the best possible match for her meek heiress daughter, Gladys (Taissa Farmiga). Meanwhile, headstrong Marian (Louisa Jacobson) forges her own path under the watchful eyes of her maiden aunts (Cynthia Nixon and Christine Baranski, in the Maggie Smith part). On the other side of the color line, Peggy Scott (Denée Benton) does pioneering work of her own—for journalism, feminism, and racial uplift.

This is a sprawling ensemble piece, with a long list of familiar faces (Nathan Lane, Phylicia Rashad) populating a soap opera about manners and transgression. Rest assured: the threat of divorce, women’s suffrage, or repressed sexuality never quite sinks this well-appointed schooner. You’ll arrive safely in Newport Harbor for the summer season every time. Along the way, Bertha’s bustle—and her imperious glare—remain the uncontested main attractions.

— Undine Spragg

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Avast Ye, Landlubbers!

The Waterfront (Netflix). Wag Kevin Williamson created Dawson’s Creek, and his return to coastal North Carolina is another addictive soaper—only this one’s long since graduated from high school. The Buckleys are a fishing dynasty in idyllic Havenport, but their business has run aground. Stony but ailing patriarch Harlan (Holt McCallany) has unwisely left failson Cane (Jake Weary) in charge. Cane thinks the way out is smuggling narcotics. This does not go well.