International
MPI Pictures launched
MUMBAI: Chicago-based MPI Media Group is launching a new theatrical distribution division, MPI Pictures, to handle six to eight theatrical releases per year – focusing on foreign-language films, indies and high-end genre fare.
While Greg Newman, executive vice president of MPI Media Group, will oversee the new division, Marie Therese Guirgis has come aboard as head of theatrical distribution. Additionally, Emily Woodburne and marketing executive Dan Goldberg have been hired to help oversee the initial slate.
“The mission is to buy films and release films theatrically that appeal to at least a broad niche demographically,” Guirgis has reportedly said.
The new entity is kicking off with an initial slate of seven films, which it has been assembling since last fall, and Newman and Guirgis will be heading to the upcoming Cannes Film Market to scout additional titles.
While MPI is primarily a home entertainment company, it has also begun producing and releasing genre movies, through its Dark Sky Films, such as Ti West‘s horror tale The Innkeepers, released through Magnolia, and Jim Mickle’s Stake Land, released by IFC. By creating its own distribution company, it will be able to release its own future productions itself.
MPI’s initial slate has films from Petra Eopperlein and Michael Tucker’s mixed martial arts documentary Fightville, which received a limited theatrical release April 20, since it is primarily intended for the VOD and digital markets, to the French feature Little White Lies, directed by Guillame Canet, which is scheduled to open Aug. 24 as a traditional platform New York/Los Angeles release before expanding to the top 20 markets or more.
The slate also includes: A Bag of Hammers, starring Jason Ritter and Rebecca Hall and directed by Brian Crano, May 11; Americano, directed by Mathieu Demy and starring Demy and Salma Hayek, June 15; The Big Picture, directed by Eric Lartigau and starring Romain Durais and Catherine Deneuve, October; Yelling to the Sky, directed by Victoria Mahoney and starring Zoe Kravitz and Jason Clark, January, 2013; and The Heineken Kidnapping, directed by Maarten Treurniet and starring Rutger Hauer.
LOS ANGELES: Acting has never been an easy profession, but in recent years, it has acquired a new existential anxiety. Artificial intelligence can now mimic faces, clone voices and, in theory at least, speak any language it is fed. The fear that actors may soon be replaced by algorithms no longer belongs exclusively to science fiction. And yet, despite the rise of digital inauthenticity, some performers remain stubbornly resistant to replacement. The reason is not celebrity, nor even talent. It is language.
On paper, this should not be a problem. AI can translate. It can imitate accents. It can string together grammatically correct sentences in dozens of languages. But acting, inconveniently, is not about grammatical correctness. It is about meaning, and meaning is where AI still falters.
Machine translation offers a cautionary tale. Google Translate, now powered by neural AI, has improved markedly since its debut in 2006. It can manage menus, emails and airport signage with impressive efficiency. What it struggles with, however, are the moments that matter most: idioms, metaphors, irony, and cultural shorthand. Ask it to translate a joke, a threat disguised as politeness, or a line heavy with emotional subtext, and it begins to unravel. Acting lives precisely in those gaps.
This matters because film language is rarely literal. Scripts, particularly in independent cinema, rely on figurative speech and symbolism to convey what characters cannot say outright. Pedro Almodóvar’s Volver is a useful example. The film’s recurring use of red operates on multiple levels: grief, desire, repression, liberation, and memory. These meanings are inseparable from the Spanish cultural context and emotional cadence. A translation may convey the words, but not the weight they carry. An AI-generated performance might replicate the sound, but not the sense.
This is where multilingual actors gain their edge. Performers such as Penélope Cruz and Sofía Vergara do not simply switch between languages; they move between cultural logics. Their fluency allows them to inhabit characters without flattening them for international consumption. Language, for them, is not an accessory but a structuring force.
Beyond European cinema, this becomes even more pronounced. Languages such as Hindi, Arabic and Mandarin are spoken by hundreds of millions of people and underpin vast cinematic traditions. As global audiences grow more interconnected, the demand for authenticity increases rather than diminishes. Viewers can tell when a performance has been filtered through approximation. Subtle errors, misplaced emphasis, and an unnatural rhythm break the illusion.
There is also a practical dimension. Multilingualism expands opportunity. Sofía Vergara has spoken openly about how learning English enabled her to work beyond Colombia and access Hollywood roles. But this movement is not a one-way export of talent into English-speaking cinema. Multilingual actors carry stories, styles and sensibilities back with them, enriching multiple industries at once.
Cinema has always thrived on such hybridity. Denzel Washington’s performances, for instance, draw on the cultural realities of growing up African American in the United States, while also reflecting stylistic influences from classic Hollywood and Westerns. His work demonstrates how identity and influence intersect on screen. Multilingual actors extend this intersection further, embodying multiple cultural frameworks simultaneously.
At times, linguistic authenticity is not merely artistic but ethical. Films that confront historical trauma, such as Schindler’s List, rely on language to anchor their moral seriousness. When Jewish actors perform in German, the choice is not incidental. Language becomes a site of memory and confrontation. It is difficult to imagine an automated voice carrying that responsibility without hollowing it out.
This is why claims that AI heralds the death of language miss the point. Language is not just a delivery system for information. It is a repository of history, humour, power and pain. Fluency is not only about knowing what to say, but when to hesitate, when to understate, and when to let silence do the work. These are not technical problems waiting to be solved; they are human instincts shaped by lived experience.
AI may one day improve its grasp of metaphor and nuance. It may even learn to sound convincing. But acting is not about sounding convincing; it is about being convincing. Until algorithms can acquire memory, cultural inheritance and emotional intuition, multilingual actors will remain irreplaceable. AI may learn to speak. But it cannot yet learn to mean.
In an industry increasingly tempted by shortcuts, language remains stubbornly resistant to automation. And for actors who can move between worlds, linguistic, cultural, and emotional, that resistance is not a weakness, but a quiet, enduring advantage.
