Five Star Final

   “Five Star Final” hit me in a way I didn’t fully expect. Even though it’s an older film, its critique of the press feels uncomfortably current, especially if you care about journalism ethics and the power of media. Watching it, I kept thinking: this could easily be a story about a sensationalist tabloid website or a click-chasing news network today, just with different technology and a new logo.

    What struck me first was how clearly the film exposes the gap between “the public’s right to know” and “the public’s curiosity.” The paper doesn’t revive that old scandal because it serves the community; it does it to sell copies. There’s this chilling sense that the people in charge know they’re crossing a line, but they do it anyway because circulation numbers and ad revenue matter more than the truth’s impact on real lives. As someone who studies media, that tension between ethical responsibility and business pressure felt very real—and very depressing.

    The characters make the whole ethical argument feel human instead of abstract. The editor isn’t a cartoon villain; he’s conflicted and occasionally sympathetic, which almost makes his choices more disturbing. It’s easier to condemn a one-dimensional bad guy than someone who knows better and still caves. Watching him rationalize his decisions reminded me how slippery ethical “just this once” thinking can be in a newsroom. One decision for ratings, one extra sensational headline, and suddenly the line has moved without anyone saying when it shifted.
The family at the center of the story is what really stayed with me. They aren’t powerful, they aren’t looking for attention, and they aren’t trying to manipulate the press. They’re just trying to live quietly with something painful in their past. Seeing them dragged back into the spotlight for the sake of sales made me think about how often real people become collateral damage in stories that are framed as “public interest.” The film forces you to sit with the consequences: shame, fear, and emotional destruction that never show up in circulation reports or ratings charts.

    I also found myself paying attention to how the film uses its newsroom as a kind of machine. Phones ringing, people yelling, deadlines looming—everything moves so fast that no one has time to pause and ask, “Should we?” The question is always, “Can we, and will it sell?” That pace feels very similar to today’s 24/7 news cycle and social media pressure. When the goal is to be first and loudest, reflection and empathy are the first things sacrificed.
By the end, my reaction was a mix of frustration and clarity. Frustration, because it’s obvious how preventable the tragedy is if just one person had chosen integrity over ambition. Clarity, because the film underlines a truth that still matters: journalism has real power, and that power can either protect the vulnerable or destroy them. “Five Star Final” may be set in another era, but it functions like a warning label for modern media: if we treat people as headlines instead of human beings, the cost won’t just be measured in subscriptions or views—it will be measured in lives.

EOTO 2 - War Reporting during the Televison/Modern Era

     War reporting has never been static. It has evolved alongside technology, politics, and public expectations, shifting from grainy black-and-white images on television to real-time updates on our phones. Yet despite all these changes, one thing remains constant: without courageous journalists on the ground, we lose our clearest window into the realities of war.​The Vietnam War is often remembered as the first true “living room war.” Television brought raw, unsettling images of combat, civilian suffering, and returning body bags directly into American homes. Nightly broadcasts showed soldiers fighting and dying, while reporters like Walter Cronkite questioned official narratives and highlighted the human cost of conflict. For the first time, a mass audience could witness the violence almost as it unfolded, and that visibility helped fuel public debate and growing opposition to the war. Vietnam proved that media coverage could powerfully shape public opinion about military action.

    In response, governments and militaries learned to manage and restrict that power. During the 1991 Gulf War, coverage was tightly controlled through media “pools,” where access to the front lines was limited and heavily supervised. Instead of chaotic, bloody battlefield footage, many viewers saw sanitized images—precision-guided “smart bombs” and dramatic night-vision shots of distant explosions. By 2003, the U.S. military introduced embedded journalism in Iraq, attaching reporters to specific units. This gave audiences intimate, ground-level perspectives but also narrowed what journalists could see. Critics argued that living, traveling, and depending on soldiers for protection made it harder for reporters to remain fully independent and critical of the forces they were covering.

    The digital revolution has transformed war reporting yet again. Conflicts like the war in Ukraine have been called the first true “social media wars,” where citizens with smartphones capture bombing raids, troop movements, and destroyed neighborhoods in real time. Journalists now spend as much time verifying and geolocating videos as they do interviewing sources on the ground. At the same time, misinformation and propaganda spread rapidly on platforms where content moderation has been weakened, as researchers observed during the Israel–Hamas war. False or misleading posts can go viral long before professional reporters have the chance to confirm what is actually happening, forcing newsrooms into a constant race to correct the record.

    All of this is unfolding as war reporting becomes more dangerous than ever. In 2025, a record 129 journalists were killed worldwide, with more than three-quarters of those deaths occurring in conflict zones. Many were local reporters working without the protections or visibility that major international correspondents sometimes have. At the same time, shrinking foreign bureaus and budget cuts have created “news graveyards”—places where violence continues but few journalists remain to document it. As the Committee to Protect Journalists warns, when reporters are silenced, the world loses independent testimony, and “what is not recorded can be denied.”

    War reporting in the television and modern era is therefore a story of both empowerment and fragility. Technology has given us unprecedented access to the realities of conflict, from the living room screens of the Vietnam era to the endless scroll of social media today. But that access depends on people willing to bear witness in the most dangerous places on earth. Protecting press freedom and the safety of journalists is not just about defending a profession—it is about defending our ability to know what is being done in our name, and to whom.