has caused a mass hysteria and is on an unstoppable run at the box office since its release.
Animal  The Ranbir Kapoor starrer has already crossed the Rs 100 crore mark on its first day and there are high chances that it will surpass the Rs 200 crore mark on its second day. ##JUMPLINK## Animal sequel As Animal continues to rule the box office, fans have already begun asking for its sequel and shooting fan theories in the comment sections of several social media threads.
Even director Sandeep Reddy Vanga said that he would dive deeper into the characters and storytelling of Animal if the film worked, which is definitely happening right now.
I watched the FDFS for Animal and here are my predictions for the plot and continuation of its story and sequel, Animal Park. 1. The park There must be a reason behind the name – Animal Park.
And one of the reasons might be the family and new characters that would get introduced, seeking revenge on one another. (Spoilers ahead; tread with caution) In the film, we saw Aziz the butcher, Ranvijay’s doppelganger, both played by Ranbir Kapoor, killing one of Ranbir’s henchmen and announcing marriage with his elder brother’s wife. Aziz’s elder brother, Abrar (played by Bobby Deol), already had two wives and multiple kids, along with many of his own siblings in the family with their respective kids. They could all declare war against Ranvijay for killing the eldest member of the family, Abrar, causing total chaos and annihilation. 2. The illusion or stealth In the film, we saw Ranvijay’s wife (played by Rashmika) leaving him after all the bloodshed.She might go to an unknown place to spend her life in solitude, where Aziz finds her, apologises, and starts manipulating her slowly, turning her against her own family, which will eventually destroy Ranvijay. 3. The carnage The previous point mentioned Aziz’s stealth mode, but he might decide to wage a full-fledged war against his own bloodline, causing Ranvijay to activate his ‘carnage’ mode. Ranbir’s Ranvijay character has already showcased the limits he could cross to protect his family, but it would be interesting to see how much more ‘savage’ he can get. Author

One of the most brilliant and funniest comedians Ghana can boast of, Emmanuel Nkansah Ansong,  known professionally as Lezky Decomic, has disclosed that affluent people do not laugh at comedy shows.

Lekzy, during a recent interview with Berla Mundi on the Day Show shared an experience he had at an event he was invited to that had affluent people present.

Speaking to Berla Mundi on the Day Show, the award-winning comedian shared an experience he had at an event he was invited to that had wealthy  people present. According to  him, the table with the rich people didn’t pay much attention to what he was doing.

He explained by saying, “Abrantie had a fashion show and invited me and a couple of millionaires. When I got there, I wanted to act like a big boy. So, I got a glass of water and decided to socialize. There was this table with Cheddar and his guys and he was like, ‘Come around. Let’s propose a toast. So he asked if it was champagne or whiskey and I said it’s water and he said, ‘I don’t propose water’. It just brought me down. I started talking and these people were doing their thing.”

 Lekzy divulged  that he encountered some people of his kind that were receptive to what he had to offer. In the words of the comedian, “The whole setup was actually built for comedy so I found one table. I think they are from where I come from. They were responding so well so I was like ‘Today, you are my audience’. I focused on them, did what I had to do and I left,” he stated.

However, due to this experience, Lezky is of the view that rich people do not laugh at comedy shows. “For rich people, they won’t laugh but they still come to you and go like ‘That was really good, you’ll go far’,” he noted

Few metal bands have exploded in popularity across the last decade like Ghost. Be it filling out arenas, winning awards or going viral on TikTok, it’s seemed like Tobias Forge’s spooky party starters are unstoppable right now. Amazingly, in an exclusive interview in the latest issue of Metal Hammer, Forge reveals that the very first Ghost song he wrote wasn’t necessarily meant to be taken entirely seriously.

“Ghost started with a song, Stand By Him, which ultimately came out on our first record,” he explains. “I wrote it spontaneously, as an experiment – almost a joke, if you will, in 2006. When I recorded it the first time, I had no equipment in my home, so I had to go to a friend’s house. We did this very rough demo. He said it was great. He’d been in Subvision, Repugnant and Crashdïet with me, but we’d stopped playing together. He was like, ‘Can we form a new band?’ and I was like, ‘This song is the only thing I have. If I can come up with two more songs and there’s a pattern, then of course.’ But they needed to be as playful and spontaneous, and sure enough they were.”

The rest is, as they say, history. Ghost would go on to become one of the biggest metal bands of their generation – though as Forge reveals, there was another early bump (or should that be bumps?) in the road that threatened to put a halt to his dreams of making it big in the music industry.

“Around 2008, when Ghost were first getting properly started, my girlfriend told me she was pregnant with twins,” he says. “I never said it out loud, but I was preparing for my dream not coming true – maybe I wouldn’t become a rock star, I’d never be successful… So I had to at least have something that I could live with, a hobby that I could feel strongly about and get all my inclinations filtered through. I wanted to play metal, but also write pop music, have this horror rock show with theatre… Still taking inspiration from Venom pictures in 1982 where they looked like bikers surrounded by smoke and red lights. Ghost felt like a combination of all those things. Lo and behold, when I didn’t have all the time in the world, like I had before and gotten nowhere, when I could only put so much effort in, everything changed.”

Ghost are currently midway through their US tour, which wraps up next month. Read more from Tobias in the latest issue of Metal Hammer, out now. 

Supported by Elliott Erwitt, Whose Photos Are Famous, and Often Funny, Dies at 95 His camera could freeze moments in history, but he also had an eye for the humor and absurdity of everyday life. Dogs were a help there. Photographers with a comic outlook on life seldom win the acclaim granted to exalters of nature or chroniclers of war and squalor. Elliott Erwitt, who died at 95 on Wednesday at his home in Manhattan, was an exception. For more than six decades he used his camera to tell visual jokes, finding material wherever he strolled. His sharp eye for silly, sometimes telling conjunctions — a dog lying on its back in a cemetery, a glowing Coca-Cola machine amid a public display of missiles in Alabama, a mangy potted plant in a tacky Miami Beach ballroom — earned him constant assignments as well as the affection of a public that shared his sweet, Chaplin-esque sense of the absurd. He published more than 20 books, and his black-and-white prints are in photography collections throughout the world. His daughter Sasha Erwitt confirmed the death. Most celebrated for his witty snapshots of dogs, published in books with titles like “Son of Bitch,” “To the Dogs,” and “Woof,” Mr. Erwitt captured them as solitary animals with their own obsessions as well as personable interactors with humans. In an essay for Mr. Erwitt’s “Dogs Dogs,” P.G. Wodehouse wrote: “There’s not a sitter in his gallery who does not melt the heart, and no beastly class distinctions, either. Thoroughbreds and mutts, they are all here.” The popularity of Mr. Erwitt’s canine candids obscured the diversity of his work. He never specialized and always freelanced. A lifelong member and one-time president of Magnum, the esteemed collective of independent photographers — a co-founder, Robert Capa, invited him to join in 1953 — Mr. Erwitt took all kinds of assignments, from fashion to politics He photographed celebrities (Humphrey Bogart, Jack Kerouac, Marilyn Monroe, Che Guevara) for Life, Look, and other magazines, and he did travel campaigns for Ireland and France. A number of his images became famous. One of his most well known shows a veiled Jacqueline Kennedy holding a folded American flag during President John F. Kennedy’s burial at Arlington National Cemetery in 1963. Even better-known is one from 1959, of Vice President Richard M. Nixon poking Soviet Premier Nikita S. Krushchev in the chest during the so-called Kitchen Debate in a Moscow exhibition of American products. (The picture was turned into a poster by Republicans in the 1960 campaign, enraging the staunchly anti-Nixon Mr. Erwitt. “It was used without my permission,” he later said. “I was angry, but I couldn’t do anything about it.”) Another memorable photograph, from Edward Steichen’s landmark photo exhibition “The Family of Man” (and subsequent book) at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, was titled “Mother and Child.” Taken in 1953, it shows a woman on a bed looking into her baby’s eyes while a cat coolly surveys the scene. The baby was Mr. Erwitt’s daughter, Ellen, and the woman was his first wife, Lucienne Matthews, who died in 2011. Museums exhibited his work from the 1960s until his death, and over the years he received one-man shows at the Museum of Modern Art, the Art Institute of Chicago, the Museum of Modern Art in Paris and the Barbican in London. In 2002, a comprehensive retrospective was mounted at the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia in Madrid. Elio Romano Ervitz (“Romano, because my father had once attended the University of Rome” and “liked it”) was born on July 26, 1928, in Paris, the son of a Russian Orthodox Jew (there were many Talmudic scholars in his family) and his Russian wife. They had fled to France after the 1917 Revolution. In an autobiographical essay in his book “Personal Exposures” (1988), Mr. Erwitt wrote that his father, Boris, had never lost faith in socialism and had blamed his wife, Eugenia (Trepel) Erwitt (“embarrassingly rich as a young girl”), for the couple’s exodus from “the Promised Land of the Soviet Paradise.” After moving the family to Italy, his father found Mussolini’s regime intolerable and shuttled everyone back to France in 1938. Although Boris and Eugenia had separated in Milan when their son was 4, the three left together on a boat for the United States a year later, a few days before World War II began. Elio Ervitz became Elliott Erwitt in New York but continued his peripatetic life. After two years living with his salesman father on Central Park West in Manhattan, father and son drove across country to Los Angeles in 1941, the two selling wristwatches in small towns en route to pay their way. A few years later, his father was off again, this time selling his wares in New Orleans and leaving his 16-year-old son to fend for himself. Boris later traveled to Japan to be ordained as a Buddhist priest and returned to practice his adopted religion in Manhattan. Mr. Erwitt credited “shyness” — he had arrived in New York speaking no English — with making him a photographer. He began seriously taking pictures in Los Angeles with an antique glass-plate camera when he was 16, then upgraded to a Rolleiflex. “My dentist was my first customer, then people’s houses and children, then the senior prom,” he wrote. Photos of movie stars also sold well. After graduating from Hollywood High School, he studied photography at Los Angeles City College, took a job in a commercial dark room and hustled for work. In 1949, he headed back to New York, where he met Capa and Steichen, studied film at the New School for Social Research and enjoyed a nascent professional career before the Army drafted him during the Korean War. While serving in 1951 with an Army Signal Corps unit in France, he took a picture of soldiers killing time in the barracks. By his account, the photo changed his life. Submitting it to a Life magazine contest, he won a prize, and the photograph was published as “Bed and Boredom.” With the $2,500 check (“an astronomical amount at the time”), Mr. Erwitt bought a car and nicknamed it “Thank you, Henry,” after the Time-Life publisher, Henry Luce. The unheroic and the offbeat had already become signature motifs for Mr. Erwitt. He made his first dog-related pictures in 1946, for a fashion story about women’s shoes for The New York Times Magazine. One image from that assignment, of a panting Chihuahua in a sweater on a sidewalk next to a woman in sandals, was featured in many exhibitions. “I decided to photograph from a dog’s point of view because dogs see more shoes than anybody,” he reasoned. Mr. Erwitt tended to use a view camera for advertising jobs while reserving his 35-millimeter for personal shooting. Henri Cartier-Bresson was one of many who were astonished that his friend was so easily able to do both kinds of work. “Elliott has to my mind achieved a miracle,” Mr. Cartier-Bresson once said, “working on a chain-gang of commercial campaigns and still offering a bouquet of stolen photos with a flavor, a smile from his deeper self.” Speaking four languages, a facility that allowed him to find regular work in Europe during the 1950s, ’60, and ’70s, Mr. Erwitt relished the freelance life. “Some people can’t stand the insecurity, but I’ve never been overly bothered by it,” he wrote in 1988, adding that his unstable income stream was harder on his wives and girlfriends than on him. Mr. Erwitt was married and divorced four times: to Lucienne Van Kan, from 1953 to 1960; to Diana Dann, from 1967 to 1974; to Susan Ringo, from 1977 to 1984; and to Pia Frankenberg, from 1998 to 2012. In addition to his daughter Sasha, from his third marriage, he is survived by another daughter from that marriage, Amelia Erwitt; two daughters from his first marriage, Ellen and Jennifer Erwitt; two sons from his first marriage, Misha and David; 10 grandchildren; and three great-grandchildren. He lived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan for about 60 years. In the 1970s, Mr. Erwitt was among the first to benefit from the art market’s interest in contemporary photographs as an investment. Brokers bought prints in bulk for tax shelters. “That windfall bought my house in East Hampton,” he said. “Photographs and Anti-Photographs,” published in 1972, was the first in a string of Erwitt books. During this time he also produced and directed a series of short film documentaries: “The Many Faces of Dustin Hoffman” (1968), “Beauty Knows No Pain” (1971), “Red, White and Bluegrass” (1973), “The Glassmakers of Herat, Afghanistan” (1977), and “The Magnificent Marching 100” (1980). He continued making films in the 1980s, producing a series of 18 short comedies for HBO. But his goofy and agile still photography will undoubtedly be his best-remembered legacy. Along with dogs, nudity tickled him, and he found as much material on public beaches as on the streets. The human comedy activated his eye, even if he was hard-pressed to explain his process of seeing. “You can take a picture of the most wonderful situation and it’s lifeless, nothing comes through,” he observed. “Then you can take a picture of nothing, of someone scratching his nose, and it turns out to be a great picture.” The gentle humor of his pictures did not prevent him from maintaining a brusquely anti-intellectual stance toward what he did. He was wary of interpretation. “In general, I don’t think too much,” he wrote. “I certainly don’t use those funny words museum people and art critics like.” He believed photography was “a lazy man’s profession” that required only “modest ability.” The mystery of how he did what he did could not be explained, even by himself, and that seemed to please him. He concluded that “ideas, wonderfully entertaining as they can be in conversation and seduction, have little to do with photography.” Richard B. Woodward, a longtime art and photography critic in New York, died in April. Alex Traub contributed reporting.