Streaming Glory and Saloon Scandals: Gerard Butler, Hugh Jackman, and a Sundance Shock

Olivia Bennett, 1/25/2026 Sundance gives us violence in the saloon, Gerard Butler’s streaming revival, and Hugh Jackman’s robot-boxer nostalgia—proof that in Hollywood, reality and spectacle collide with irresistible messiness. Sequins, scandal, and second acts: entertainment’s truest magic is what unfolds when no one yells “cut.”

Last Friday brought a scene colder than the Utah night: Rep. Maxwell Alejandro Frost, a figure more accustomed to congressional chambers than crowded saloons, became the unwilling protagonist in a real-life encounter that would have felt too on-the-nose, even for a streaming drama. The High West Saloon—usually a haven for bourbon, not brawling—bore witness to something far uglier than a bad box-office run. Frost, poised as ever, posted the next day: a stranger accosted him with what he called “racist” vitriol, served with a helping of Trump-era deportation fantasies and topped off with an actual punch. These are not the festival’s kind of party favors.

Of course, parties rolled on around him. It’s not clear whether most guests at the CAA soirée were genuinely oblivious or simply invested in not letting the outside world trip their limited-edition designer shoes—Variety suggested some folks didn’t even notice the disruption. In Hollywood, after all, there’s no business quite like minding one’s own. Cocktail glasses might have clinked a little more nervously in the wake of the incident, but the machinery of schmoozing barely missed a beat. The show, as ever, will go on, even when reality barges in uninvited and refuses to leave quietly.

Security reacted with the brisk efficiency you’d expect at an awards gala—eyes straight, earpieces gleaming—but information from the local authorities has been sparse. “I’m okay,” Frost assured his public with a gravity more often reserved for a Best Picture acceptance speech. And maybe that’s the real takeaway: beneath all the snow-dusted progressivism of Park City, old habits and prejudices still slip through—unscripted, unwelcome, but always ready for their close-up.

Shifting from unscripted moments to those passed through a screenwriter’s filter, Hollywood’s streaming ecosystem is bustling with its own surprises. Gerard Butler, whose particular brand of battered-yet-buoyant masculinity always seems somehow retro, is having one of those oddly timed career revivals. "Greenland 2: Migration" crashed hard—seriously, Lionsgate must wish they'd invested that $90 million in weather insurance—but Butler’s "Plane" refuses to stay grounded. Not to oversell it, but when a mid-budget genre flick climbs back into the public’s good graces months after release, that’s no small feat.

Maybe it’s the comfort found in formula: “Plane” is exactly what it says on the tin. Critics have filed their typical, faintly bemused dispatches (the Rotten Tomatoes score hovering in the high seventies), but audiences? Their approval is sky-high. The numbers tell their own story: people want cinematic comfort food, served with a little extra turbulence and Butler’s patented squint. "Plane" doesn’t try to reinvent the wheel; rather, it leans in and lets you enjoy the ride—one crash landing at a time.

Not to be left out of the resurgence chronicles, "Real Steel," the 2011 Hugh Jackman vehicle, is set to make a return via Tubi. If the idea of robot boxing now seems more plausible (2025, after all, is only one factory upgrade away from AI headline dominance), the film’s appeal has aged surprisingly well. Jackman, ever the chameleon, throws himself into the role of bruised dad as stoically as any action hero—no small achievement when your co-star is, well, mostly CGI. For those playing the “who directed that?” game at home: Shawn Levy, the same director now helming the next chapter of Deadpool’s irreverent saga, was behind this metallic fairy tale.

What keeps "Real Steel" afloat isn’t technical wizardry, though that certainly adds spice; it’s the sucker-punch of nostalgia and catharsis. Audience reactions, scattered across streaming platforms like so much fan confetti, speak to the film’s hearty, undiluted optimism. A few reviews even wax poetic about the message—resilience over triumph, humanity over hardware. It’s never really about the robots, is it?

Somehow, all these threads—Sundance scandal, Butler’s unexpected victory laps, Jackman’s sentimental comeback—tie themselves into Hollywood’s favorite narrative: redemption, or at the very least, reinvention. Just beneath the festival’s shimmering façade lies a reminder that the industry’s true pulse is equal parts spectacle and chaos.

The coming months will usher in more of these unpredictable plot twists. Awards season approaches, promising another run of speeches, scandals, and the age-old ritual of rubbing shoulders with fate. One never really knows when fiction will tumble into fact—maybe it’s at a saloon, maybe on a streamer’s “Recommended For You” row. The border separating the reel from the real grows fainter every year.

If nothing else, Park City’s headline this year isn’t just about the films debuting under the mountain stars. It’s what happens after the cameras leave, when the festival magic collides with reality and leaves both forever changed.

Park City in January could easily pass for a movie set itself—a blanket of snow softening the edges around sharp elbows and sharper cheekbones, the curtain rising on another round of the Sundance Film Festival. There are sequins on the boots, deal memos slipped half-hidden in glove compartments, and a kind of suspense in every breath of that high mountain air. You’d think nothing could disrupt the show’s rhythm, but then again, nothing in Hollywood (and its annual playgrounds) ever stays on script.Last Friday brought a scene colder than the Utah night: Rep. Maxwell Alejandro Frost, a figure more accustomed to congressional chambers than crowded saloons, became the unwilling protagonist in a real-life encounter that would have felt too on-the-nose, even for a streaming drama. The High West Saloon—usually a haven for bourbon, not brawling—bore witness to something far uglier than a bad box-office run. Frost, poised as ever, posted the next day: a stranger accosted him with what he called “racist” vitriol, served with a helping of Trump-era deportation fantasies and topped off with an actual punch. These are not the festival’s kind of party favors.Of course, parties rolled on around him. It’s not clear whether most guests at the CAA soirée were genuinely oblivious or simply invested in not letting the outside world trip their limited-edition designer shoes—Variety suggested some folks didn’t even notice the disruption. In Hollywood, after all, there’s no business quite like minding one’s own. Cocktail glasses might have clinked a little more nervously in the wake of the incident, but the machinery of schmoozing barely missed a beat. The show, as ever, will go on, even when reality barges in uninvited and refuses to leave quietly.Security reacted with the brisk efficiency you’d expect at an awards gala—eyes straight, earpieces gleaming—but information from the local authorities has been sparse. “I’m okay,” Frost assured his public with a gravity more often reserved for a Best Picture acceptance speech. And maybe that’s the real takeaway: beneath all the snow-dusted progressivism of Park City, old habits and prejudices still slip through—unscripted, unwelcome, but always ready for their close-up.Shifting from unscripted moments to those passed through a screenwriter’s filter, Hollywood’s streaming ecosystem is bustling with its own surprises. Gerard Butler, whose particular brand of battered-yet-buoyant masculinity always seems somehow retro, is having one of those oddly timed career revivals. "Greenland 2: Migration" crashed hard—seriously, Lionsgate must wish they'd invested that $90 million in weather insurance—but Butler’s "Plane" refuses to stay grounded. Not to oversell it, but when a mid-budget genre flick climbs back into the public’s good graces months after release, that’s no small feat.Maybe it’s the comfort found in formula: “Plane” is exactly what it says on the tin. Critics have filed their typical, faintly bemused dispatches (the Rotten Tomatoes score hovering in the high seventies), but audiences? Their approval is sky-high. The numbers tell their own story: people want cinematic comfort food, served with a little extra turbulence and Butler’s patented squint. "Plane" doesn’t try to reinvent the wheel; rather, it leans in and lets you enjoy the ride—one crash landing at a time.Not to be left out of the resurgence chronicles, "Real Steel," the 2011 Hugh Jackman vehicle, is set to make a return via Tubi. If the idea of robot boxing now seems more plausible (2025, after all, is only one factory upgrade away from AI headline dominance), the film’s appeal has aged surprisingly well. Jackman, ever the chameleon, throws himself into the role of bruised dad as stoically as any action hero—no small achievement when your co-star is, well, mostly CGI. For those playing the “who directed that?” game at home: Shawn Levy, the same director now helming the next chapter of Deadpool’s irreverent saga, was behind this metallic fairy tale.What keeps "Real Steel" afloat isn’t technical wizardry, though that certainly adds spice; it’s the sucker-punch of nostalgia and catharsis. Audience reactions, scattered across streaming platforms like so much fan confetti, speak to the film’s hearty, undiluted optimism. A few reviews even wax poetic about the message—resilience over triumph, humanity over hardware. It’s never really about the robots, is it?Somehow, all these threads—Sundance scandal, Butler’s unexpected victory laps, Jackman’s sentimental comeback—tie themselves into Hollywood’s favorite narrative: redemption, or at the very least, reinvention. Just beneath the festival’s shimmering façade lies a reminder that the industry’s true pulse is equal parts spectacle and chaos.The coming months will usher in more of these unpredictable plot twists. Awards season approaches, promising another run of speeches, scandals, and the age-old ritual of rubbing shoulders with fate. One never really knows when fiction will tumble into fact—maybe it’s at a saloon, maybe on a streamer’s “Recommended For You” row. The border separating the reel from the real grows fainter every year.If nothing else, Park City’s headline this year isn’t just about the films debuting under the mountain stars. It’s what happens after the cameras leave, when the festival magic collides with reality and leaves both forever changed.