Oscar-nominated actor was also known for roles in Close Encounters of the Third Kind and Young Frankenstein

Teri Garr, the actor known for roles in Tootsie, Young Frankenstein and Friends, has died at the age of 79.

Garr died of multiple sclerosis, “surrounded by family and friends”, as confirmed to Associated Press by her publicist. She had been diagnosed in 2002 and also had an operation in 2007 after a ruptured brain aneurysm.

Robert Zemeckis reunites with Tom Hanks and Robin Wright for an ugly de-aged nightmare that boringly follows the same house throughout time

A swirl of concern and outright fear has long been following Robert Zemeckis’s unusual big bet Here, a 30-year reunion for his Forrest Gump costars Tom Hanks and Robin Wright. The film, based on Richard McGuire’s comic strip turned graphic novel, was heralded as the most ambitious use of digital de-aging yet, following the pair through the decades, from teenage years to final days, as part of an ensemble of characters who have lived in the same space over time. Early stills, and a trailer, had clued us into the film being plainly terrifying but nothing had quite prepared us for just how unforgivably dull it would also be. Here lies the year’s most eerie and embarrassing misfire.

Zemeckis was once a director who knew exactly how to manipulate a mass audience. He was the guy who made Back to the Future, Death Becomes Her, Romancing the Stone, Cast Away and What Lies Beneath, a conjurer of the kind of transcendent movie magic we just don’t get that much of anymore. We’re certainly not seeing it in his contemporary work, whether it be pointless sub-par remakes like The Witches or Pinocchio or misfiring tech experiments like The Walk or Welcome to Marwen (I will gladly be one of the few defenders of his perfectly fun 2016 second world war thriller Allied). Here exists in the latter category, another baffling folly that plays this time like a museum installation crossed with a 100-minute insurance advert. His latest gimmick traps us in the same fixed spot as he flits back and forth in time, from the dinosaurs all the way through to Covid, an ugly sitcom melange of surreal FX, painful overacting and pat Live Laugh Love lessons.

They promised us an in-person interview – then sent along two decoys. So who are the enigmatic musicians who make it so hard for fans to hear their thrillingly alien music?

Two Shell, a buzzy London duo who make hyperactive yet melancholy bass music, are well known for giving people the runaround. They keep themselves anonymous, and perform with scarves and sunglasses hiding their faces. Fans are sent on digital breadcrumb trails via mysterious websites and social media posts. Their first interview, with the Face, was conducted in a chatroom of their own design, and scrubbed from the internet shortly after publication. Their second, with Mixmag, was done over email and paired with photos of a duo who fans on Reddit are almost certain are not actually Two Shell.

So I am excited and wary when I arrive at their Deptford studio, to talk with them about their self-titled debut album, released last week on the big-budget indie label Young. Two Shell’s music mashes together various kinds of dance music from the past few decades – speed garage, techno, hyperpop, house, dubstep – and runs it all through a cartoon filter, making for a sound that’s fast and dizzyingly heightened. Their studio is crammed with abstract paintings and pieces of outlandish raver gear. Two tables are covered with dozens of hats, each embellished with embroidery and scraps of fabric. Two young women are sitting on a fuzzy green couch, wearing outfits that sit somewhere between avant garde clubber and first-year art student: they introduce themselves as Flat Earther and Ghost Shrimp.

Various venues, Bristol
A striking collection of shows include 60s shop workers turned into icons of glamour, awestruck visions of nature and scenes of female oppression in Afghanistan

At first, it looks like a nature-themed Pinterest board, a constellation of neatly arranged, anodyne squares. Rinko Kawauchi ’s photographs don’t pierce or punch, hers is a quieter gaze. As the 52-year-old Japanese photographer says “people often say that I have a child’s eye”.

Kawauchi is best known for photobooks, and this exhibition at the Arnolfini, At the Edge of the Everyday World , has the pacing of a book. The series AILA moves in clusters of jewel-like images, gently glinting, urging close study. Then the soft focus and natural light Kawauchi prefers gives way to surprises, such two images of birth – labour just after the second stage, the immense moment the head emerges into the world for the first time; another baby mere minutes after birth, umbilical cord still attached. Above the image, a newborn bird raises its neck out of a muddy nest; nearby there’s a confounding closeup of animals suckling – the connections are concise, if a little on-the-nose. Larger images swell and surge with the incomprehensible awe of nature, panning out, taking in waterfalls, waves crashing, night skies, baby reptiles held in the palm of the hand. With its rising and falling cadence, the rhythm also subtly nods to the Bristol photo festival’s overarching title for 2024, The World a Wave.

Stewart Collins says support for the Petworth literary festival in West Sussex is growing, and Kathryn Streatfield suggests local events are the solution for a changing festival world

Laura Barton’s piece paints an understandably downbeat picture of where we are now in the world of the literary festival ( After Baillie Gifford: are literary festivals on their last legs?, 23 October ). But writing on day one of the Petworth literary festival, I feel there is another perspective.

The arts as a whole are, without doubt, struggling and the loss of big sponsors such as Baillie Gifford clearly represents a challenge to festivals that have relied on commercial sponsorships. But being at the heart of a community that backs its cultural offerings with private support, our particular festival seems to be riding on the crest of a wave of interest. This, combined with the continuing and active support of the publishing industry, led to our event doubling in size in 2023, and we continue on this huge growth spurt this autumn.

His old-fashioned painting prowess and explicitly queer subject matter has made the young American artist hot property. So why are some people so shocked?

Next month, the 2024 Venice Biennale will close, and a memorable painting in the main exhibition will come down: I Keep My Treasure in My Ass, by Louis Fratino. With a title taken from a 1977 book called Towards a Gay Communism, the work depicts Fratino giving birth to himself from his rectum. It has been stopping visitors in their tracks. “I had a friend at the biennale,” says the 31-year-old American artist, “who said that people were almost queuing to stand at that painting – then grimacing or having physical reactions. Which to me is hilarious, because it’s so not naturalistic. There’s no implication of pain. It’s like a tarot card, almost.”

An unassuming figure in wire-rimmed specs, flannel shirt and New Balance trainers (who despite not being “super gregarious” is recovering from a celebratory night in a Florentine gay bar called Crisco Club that finished at 4am), Fratino is talking to me at the Centro Pecci in Prato, Italy, where an exhibition of his work has just opened. Promoted on giant banners throughout the city showing a magnified version of his tiny work Blowjob and Moon – one of which is slung over the ramparts of the local castle – the show is called Satura, and it’s his first solo show in a public art institution, rather than a commercial gallery.

A shocking new documentary lays out the many allegations of abuse against the star, from attacking Rihanna to a claim of sexual assault on Diddy’s yacht

On 30 December 2020, Jane Doe, a professional dancer who had just moved to Los Angeles, was invited by a friend to a New Years party on a yacht in Miami. The yacht was owned by the now-disgraced rap mogul Diddy; of course she should attend as someone trying to break into the music industry, she recalls thinking in the new ID documentary Chris Brown: A History of Violence. Once on the yacht, Jane Doe met Chris Brown, the R&B star once considered the next Michael Jackson, and still a successful touring artist. Jane Doe knew that Brown had once, famously, assaulted his girlfriend, Rihanna, on the eve of the 2009 Grammys (in fact, as the documentary reminds, Rihanna later said he assaulted her on several occasions), but that was a long time ago. She had been a kid then. Brown took an interest in her music and dance career, and offered her the first of two drinks.

According to Jane Doe, something immediately felt off. She describes feeling heavy, suddenly very tired and nearly immobilized. Through tears (and anonymizing techniques), she says Brown led her to the back of the yacht, raped her, then put his number in her phone, in order to connect about her career back in LA – a textbook way to stay close to and confuse the victim, as domestic violence expert Dr Carolyn West points out in the film. The two stayed in contact for several months, until Jane Doe was able, through therapy, to come to terms with what had happened to her. “I know it for a fact. Instead of telling myself that it wasn’t. It was. It was rape,” she says in the film. She filed a lawsuit, she says, only because she was advised that it would help another woman who had a similar experience with Brown.

Rapper says asked to join ex-president’s controversial Madison Square Garden event but is ‘afraid about politics’

50 Cent has revealed that he turned down a $3m offer to join Donald Trump at his controversial New York rally.

The rapper, who has previously shown admiration for the former president, spoke about the opportunity during an interview on The Breakfast Club . He confirmed that he “got a call” and had also been asked to perform his song Many Men (Wish Death) during this year’s Republican national convention for a similar sum.

As a new show co-created by an AI performer opens in France, industry leaders including Wayne McGregor, Tamara Rojo and Jonzi D contemplate the technology’s possibilities and perils

‘I think AI’s going to change everything,” Tamara Rojo , artistic director of San Francisco Ballet, told me earlier this year. “We just don’t know quite how.” The impact of artificial intelligence on the creative industries can already be seen across film, television and music, but to some extent dance seems insulated, as a form that so much relies on live bodies performing in front of an audience. But this week choreographers Aoi Nakamura and Esteban Lecoq, collectively known as AΦE , are launching what is billed as the world’s first AI-driven dance production, Lilith.Aeon. Lilith, the performer, is an AI entity, who has co-created the work, with Nakamura and Lecoq. “She” will appear on an LED cube that the audience move around, their motion triggering Lilith’s dance.

Nakamura and Lecoq insist they’re interested not in chasing the latest technology for its own sake but in enhancing their storytelling. Working as dancers with theatre company Punchdrunk turned them on to the idea of immersive experiences, which led to virtual reality (VR), augmented reality (AR) and now AI. Their question is always: “How can we make this tech come alive?” But not in a robots-taking-over-the-world way.