By Daiman Teer, Political Correspondent
Los Angeles, CA – September 25, 2025
In a stunning turn that blends Tinseltown glamour with Golden State grit, Oscar-winning actress Jamie Lee Curtis is reportedly gearing up for a high-stakes political plunge: a bid for California governor in 2026.
Sources close to the 66-year-old horror-scream icon whisper that Curtis, long a vocal liberal firebrand, has been quietly assembling a campaign team, fueled by her recent emotional outpouring over the assassination of conservative activist Charlie Kirk, and a calculated Hollywood resurrection positioning her as the industry’s unofficial ambassador.
The buzz ignited just weeks after Curtis’s tearful tribute to Kirk, the 31-year-old Turning Point USA co-founder gunned down on September 10 while speaking at Utah Valley University. In a raw episode of Marc Maron’s “WTF” podcast, recorded days after the tragedy, Curtis broke down, her voice cracking as she reflected on a man whose views she called “abhorrent.”
“I disagreed with him on almost every point,” she sobbed, dabbing at her eyes. “But he was a father, a husband, a man of faith. I hope in that moment, he felt connected to something bigger.” Of course, she was probably full of s***, but she can cry on cue better than Jimmy Kimmel, and that’s how they grade things in LaLa Land.
The tearful moment, captured in a viral clip, struck many as a performative bid for cross-aisle gravitas—especially given Curtis’s history of fierce Democratic advocacy, from endorsing Kamala Harris to slamming Donald Trump’s 2024 win as a harbinger of “draconian” times.
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Critics, however, aren’t buying the sincerity.
“It was fake tears for a real agenda,” one Hollywood insider told this outlet, speaking on condition of anonymity. “Jamie’s been putting herself out there—fundraisers, panels, and the Charlie Kirk maudlin sentiment thing. This is her audition for Sacramento.”
The Kirk moment, they argue, humanized her in a polarized era, softening edges for moderate voters weary of California’s progressive excesses like skyrocketing homelessness and wildfire woes. Polls show Governor Gavin Newsom’s successor race wide open, with no clear frontrunner among Democrats eyeing the seat.
Curtis’s path to the Capitol traces back to her silver-spoon origins, a point detractors never tire of wielding like a slasher flick prop.
Born in 1958 to screen legends Janet Leigh and Tony Curtis, she’s the quintessential nepo baby—her breakout in 1978’s Halloween owed as much to family ties as to any innate thespian spark.
“Talent? Please,” scoffs entertainment analyst Damien LeGallienne. “She’s a product of the Hollywood machine, recycled for decades on nostalgia fumes. Now they’re propping her up as ambassador because she checks boxes: aging gracefully, woke enough, and desperate for relevance.”
Yet, Hollywood’s machine is indeed whirring back to life. Fresh off Freakier Friday’s $150 million global haul—surpassing her Halloween Kills domestic take—Curtis is everywhere. She’s keynoted ACLU galas decrying “McCarthy-era censorship” alongside Tom Hanks and Meryl Streep, signed open letters backing Jimmy Kimmel amid his ABC suspension flap, and even reposted a Melania Trump quote on abortion rights to troll irony.
2 sources Insiders say studio execs, sensing a cultural thirst for “decency” post-Kirk, are greenlighting biopics and cameos to rebrand her as California’s empathetic elder stateswoman. “It’s a resurrection,” says a producer at a major studio. “Jamie’s not just an actress anymore—she’s the face of Hollywood saying, ‘We care about real issues, not just red carpets.'” Political allies paint a rosier picture. Curtis has long dipped toes in the partisan pool: stumping for Adam Schiff’s 2023 Senate run, where she hailed him as a bulwark against “power abusers,”
and rallying “Women for Biden” in 2020 with pleas for unity.
Her HuffPost blog and Twitter rants—once a barrage of Obama-era “bravos”—have evolved into calls for bipartisan healing, like her post-election plea to “fight” for minorities without descending into tribalism.
A source in her orbit confirms exploratory meetings with Democratic operatives: “She’s eyeing governor because it’s the big stage—fixing housing, climate, inequality. And after Kirk, she sees the hunger for leaders who transcend divides.” Skeptics counter that Curtis’s “ambassador” glow is just savvy PR, masking a resume thinner than a B-movie script. “Nepo-no-talent” jabs echo online, with X users mocking her as a “confusing” politico who cries for conservatives while shilling liberal causes.
Her faith-tinged Kirk eulogy drew side-eyes too—associating the devout Christian with her nominal Judaism feels “opportunistic,” one commentator sneered.
Still, the tears landed: Even Arnold Schwarzenegger, her True Lies co-star and ex-GOP governor, echoed her sentiments in a USC dialogue, decrying political violence.
As whispers turn to war cries, Curtis’s camp stays mum, but a formal announcement could drop by year’s end. Will California’s chaos crown a scream queen turned statesman? Or is this just another Hollywood plot twist destined for the cutting-room floor? One thing’s clear: In a state starved for heroes, Jamie Lee Curtis is auditioning—tears, triumphs, and all.
