character

Should I stay or should I go?

It’s at once a practical and existential question that plagues the two lead chefs in FX’s “The Bear.” He was the emotionally tortured and volatile chef who left behind a rising career in Michelin-starred restaurants to return to Chicago, his hometown, to run his recently deceased brother’s floundering sandwich joint. She was a Culinary Institute of America-trained chef with potential and a steady demeanor seeking mentorship and an opportunity to work with a prodigy. Together, Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto and Sydney “Syd” Adamu — played by Jeremy Allen White and Ayo Edebiri, respectively — transformed the Original Beef of Chicagoland from a hole-in-the-wall into the titular fine-dining establishment.

But now their partnership in the kitchen has come to an end.

Created by Christopher Storer, “The Bear’s” fifth and final season picks up the morning after Syd, Richie (Ebon Moss-Bachrach) and Nat (Abby Elliott) learn Carmy is quitting the food industry and leaving the restaurant in their hands at a make-or-break moment. And the pressure mounts for Syd to decide if she’ll jump ship to pursue another opportunity. The eight-episode season, now streaming in full on Hulu, largely stretches across one day as the restaurant’s debts accumulate, suppliers cut them off and an unrelenting storm floods the kitchen and threatens to upend a night of service the chefs desperately need to have one last shot at survival and one last performance as a team to deliver an improbable turnaround.

In some ways, it’s a journey that mirrors the actors’ own trajectories. Before “The Bear” became a runaway hit, White was best known for his role on Showtime’s long-running dark comedy “Shameless,” while Edebiri primarily worked as a stand-up comedian and writer. Just as their characters have evolved and gained electric momentum in their careers, so have the actors. Both garnered Emmy Awards for their performances on “The Bear,” and they have added a multitude of film and TV credits to their résumés since. Edebiri is currently starring opposite Don Cheadle in the revival of “Proof,” her Broadway debut, while White will be starring this fall as an investigative reporter in Aaron Sorkin’s “The Social Reckoning,” a companion piece to “The Social Network” that chronicles Facebook’s whistleblower scandal.

Over separate video calls from New York, Edebiri and White reflected on “The Bear’s” conclusion and what it means to leave the characters that supercharged their careers behind. Here are edited excerpts from the conversations.

After living inside these characters’ skins for so many years, what’s it like to be done playing them?

Edebiri: They keep saying that we’re done, so I guess that really is the thing of it. Obviously I know that it’s over, but even when we were finishing our first seasons, it didn’t matter how much critical acclaim we got because we’re on a show that’s a part of a network that has a deal with the streaming service — there’s all these things that are continually in flux or that you know that you have no control over. As an actor, you’re used to this state of limbo or not totally knowing or being prepared for an ending, so I think I’m not overwhelmed by it, if that makes sense.

White: I don’t know yet. We were very lucky to understand for a long time when the show was going to end and, to a degree, how the show was going to end. It was difficult to see the direction it went — I have strong feelings about Carmy and where he ends up and how his story might continue on. So much of this season, for Carmy, is about a surrender or acceptance of his place in the world and his place in the kitchen, and it’s the first time he’s really been able to get very honest with himself since we’ve met him. And, in doing so, he chooses to leave, and that was hard for me, for Jeremy. Maybe there’s a world in which he tries this and he comes back. I think I had a different understanding for a while of Carmy’s future. I want him to be happy and healed, but it felt like … I don’t know — imagining him outside of a kitchen was hard for me.

I want to unpack that a little bit more. He wants to be happy. But it was interesting to see him wrestle with how his work hinders that — is it the crutch or the salvation? Did you find yourself having an existential moment as Jeremy taking in what Carmy was wrestling with, or have you reckoned with it before?

White: He threw himself into this work, into this world, pretty young in life. And he was really good at it. But a big part of him burying himself has so much to do with his brother, with his family. I was finishing something too. And, yes, of course, I was thinking of goodbyes, and I was thinking of moving on, and new pursuits and all of these things. I was checking in with myself and what it might feel like to just make such a hard turn in life. I thought a lot about what you get back from your work, but I think ultimately, what Carmy and I don’t share is he was causing so much chaos in his work life; it wasn’t just himself that he was punishing at times. It came down to this surrender to an easier way, a softer way, which was to turn it over to Syd, to turn it over to Richie, to turn it over to Tina in the kitchen — that part, I had an easier time understanding.

Syd was facing a crossroads: a shiny new job that could take her to the next level or sticking with this seemingly sinking ship that has taken her to the next level, but where she’s felt unappreciated or stifled at times. Ayo, what did you think of the choice she made?

Edebiri: We’re really fortunate to have such amazing writers who thought about her and her journey. [There’s] an awareness of Sydney’s womanhood and Blackness and youth, but I think [they treated] her with the full dignity of just being a human being and getting able to be a complex character in this show and giving her the dignity of being just as flawed as the other characters. [The choice she made] just made sense to me. It made sense in the architecture of the show. It was gratifying to get to build to that with everybody.

The bulk of this final season has the team dealing with this massive storm that’s created a slew of setbacks at a make–or–break moment for the restaurant. It leads to one final symphony in the kitchen together.

White: Those days were beautiful. So much of our show is shot so quickly, but then we really get to slow down with these choreographed pieces of kitchen ballet, and that’s also when we feel really strong as a group of performers, where we’re incredibly reliant on one another, not just for the emotional beats of a scene, but in this very technical aspect as well. I remember going back to Season 1 and filming Episode 7, “The Review,” which was the single-take episode, and just how much camaraderie came from that, and how much respect came from that for everyone — that feeling of real success that we could do this. It’s a really nice thing that happens sometimes on sets, where there is such a nice mirror of what’s going on with the characters and what’s going on with the cast. In this last push, and this team effort, we want these things as the characters, and we want these things as the cast. We want these people to have what they want, what they deserve, so it was really exciting shooting that last episode or two where all those things are coming into place.

Edebiri: That’s Chris’ thing — it’s like a classical piece of music or something; there’s different movements. His own challenge that he puts on himself, and that, in turn, puts on us, is that we’re still in the same piece of music, but everything just has a different feeling. He’d been talking about it since, low-key, Season 3, but definitely started talking about it a little bit more concertedly when we were filming [Season] 4. It was really starting to take shape in his brain. This challenge of having it be in this one day, and how each episode can feel different, was really exciting to him, so in turn, it became exciting to us.

Were you hoping for more runway to chart what the characters were facing?

Edebiri: No, I think it was cool. I was just like, “Yeah, let’s see what it is.” That’s kind of what everything has been with this show. Part of her emotional journey for the last season, what was on a slower track, in a way, there was something also really fun in having the pressure cooker of one day, and everything getting to ramp up and be quite immediate, which I think has been reminiscent of Seasons 1 and 2 in a fun way.

Carmy and Sydney’s dynamic has been so fundamental to the series. These are two people who see something in each other that the other doesn’t. What do you admire about their relationship as friends and as co–workers?

White: The most beautiful thing about their relationship is their true unconditional belief in one another. They see the beautiful things in one another that the other one is not able to witness in themselves. Even though trust has been tested and trust has been broken at times, there is such a loyalty to the best in themselves. They know that they can rely on one another. In a lot of ways, they saved each other. That piece in the opening episode of Season 3, where Carmy gets the call about Mikey and serves the scallop to Syd without ever having met her — there is this invisible tether that was not witnessed by either of them, but it inspired Syd, and whether Carmy knew it or not, this thing was loved and enjoyed by someone that was birthed from this very traumatic moment. There’s just this beautiful, invisible tether that has always existed and will always exist between the two of them.

Edebiri: What I admire about it is the fact that they are able to bring out — through a lot of miscommunication and hard work, but ultimately, I think, with good intentions — the best in each other. They want to see each other be the best versions of themselves.

How is that reflected in your dynamic? Jeremy, who is Ayo as a scene partner and what has she brought out in you as a performer, and vice versa?

White: I was really so lucky to kind of witness Ayo in real time — everybody else had to wait some months to see her on the show. I remember genuinely being struck by her presence, her groundedness. It felt like, if this makes sense, wrong because she was doing it so well. She’s incredibly smart, she’s a wonderful writer, and she’s very skilled improvisationally, and so, in acting with her, there’s something that always makes you feel very in the moment. You can never like relax, in the best way. It’s like you always have to surrender yourself to each moment.

Edebiri: When we first started, I was coming from the comedy world, and he was coming from a much more dramatic world. Our approaches were so different. He has such amazing presence of being and a quiet focus and has such care for the work. He’s a really great leader. There are ideas in society of men in power, and what power held by men has to look like and feel like, and he’s very gentle — especially in the show, which can live so much in the space of chaos and anxiety, having a gentle spirit really helps with filming. He’s so good at making that very clear and helping teach me that as well … I’ve definitely learned from him, without realizing it, ways to protect yourself and protect your peace, and protect also the peace of your co-workers — you get the work done, you be serious about it, but it doesn’t have to be torture.

What was it like to see them get this thing they’ve been after — not one, but two Michelin stars?

White: Reading that moment —there’s been so much pain and heartache … for years and years and years, and I was just so relieved to see this joyous moment on the page. It felt so, so close to the surface of me already. And we — Jeremy and Ayo — have shared so many insane, joyous moments in our lives since the show. So it felt familiar in the best way. I’m so glad for that moment for both of them — for Carmy and Syd.

Edebiri: We’re shooting it so fast. You always wish you just had more time, and that was one of the last scenes — I think it was the last thing that he and I shot. There’s obviously a bit of a preciousness and emotionality that you’re feeling in that moment, while also tapping into what’s happening to the characters. It’s this thing that, in the brain of myself, we’ve been building to this over five seasons. There’s obviously a somewhat meta reflection of what we’ve gone through — this is just such a crazy journey. But I think at the end of it, especially because of what we know is going to change in their relationship, that in their working proximity, that they are not going to be close, but they know that they were able to do this thing and build this thing together, I think [is] what felt very special, and felt very cool. I hope it’s something that people who have loved the show also feel.

Fans have intense feelings about their relationship, as I’m sure you know. Has it surprised you how strongly people feel about their dynamic?

White: I know that exists. I don’t have too much knowledge on how that all works. It’s funny, I’m very aware of it now because it’s become part of a conversation around the show, but it was nonexistent in our approach to the work. It wasn’t even a thought for either of us. It didn’t occur to us. But I understand it. There is an intimacy, of course, with these two characters. And there is this trust. They lean on each other and they admire each other so much. I’m not like — nobody’s crazy to feel that. There is love there, it’s just not a romantic partnership.

Edebiri: It surprised me the first two [seasons] because I don’t think that that’s what we were doing. Anytime that you say otherwise, I’ve learned [not to]. It’s been hard when doing press, it feels like we get asked specific questions to try to give a specific answer, but the point of art is we make it and we give it. If people are having a response, that’s great, and if I don’t agree with you, I don’t think I’m shutting it down or anything. We made something, then you’re picking something up — that’s the exchange.

Carmy has a few heartfelt conversations this season, but one that really stands out is the one with his mom, played by Jamie Lee Curtis, while revisiting the family home he’s stayed away from for years. He cooks for her. She’s remorseful. Jeremy, what did you think of that moment for Carmy?

White: There’s resistance in it. People like Carmy, you can give them the answer, you can give them the sorry, you can give them the opportunity, and a lot of the times they don’t know what to do with it, or they push it away, or they push it down. What that scene was about, for Carm, was becoming available to even listen. That was the conflict of the scene and the moment. But he was able to eventually get to that acceptance to release some of the resentment, to release some of the anger. Then he is able to show up for her, which was what has been absent. He was able to take it and give her something. It’s been years, if ever, that he’s really been able to do that, to get out of his own way, and be of service in that way to his mother.

Ayo, it was really touching to see Syd naming Tina her chef de cuisine. How did you feel about what that sets up for where Syd and the Bear might be headed with these women as partners in the kitchen?

Edebiri: I loved it. I love getting to work with Liza [Colón-Zayas]. I’ve been so privileged to also be able to direct her — she’s just phenomenal. I think about these two characters, where they started Day 1; Tina was pretending not even to speak English just to stay away from the girl. It was rough from the get-go, but I think both for Liza and I, as two women of color as well, we felt so invested in their relationship and the community they built with each other. There’s something very moving about that to me. Part of the thing for Sydney, she doesn’t know — I think Carmy can see it — that one of her strengths is that they’re different types of leaders. Part of what I think makes Sydney a great leader is that she’s able to delegate and actually remove herself when she knows that she might not be the best in a situation, it might be somebody else.

I haven’t actually seen it. I can’t watch the episodes, but I know when we were filming it, it was both very sweet and very funny. I don’t know if they kept any of the improv from Liza.

You can’t watch because you’re emotional about it or because you just don’t have access?

Edebiri: No, I don’t want to. We were doing all this press and everybody was, “You were so emotional; you wanted to cry, right?” And I’m like, “No, I just don’t want to watch.” I’ll watch it later. The only season that I watched before [it aired], frankly, was 3 and 4 because I had episodes that I made in it. I love the show and I know the show is good. I don’t enjoy watching myself.

I do love that Syd’s ethos in the kitchen is borrowed from “Ratatouille.”

Edebiri: Yes, f—ing rat. It tracks for Sydney.

Jeremy, what was your reaction when you read Carmy is in a suit interviewing for an internship at an architectural firm? And what he expresses there?

White: I understand and I’m proud of the courage that it takes [to do a life pivot], but also I tried to play that scene in a way where I didn’t want it to be entirely clear [what happens next]. I wanted the question to be like, “Is this guy still so f— up in the head that he’s trapped regardless of his place in this world, or place of work? Is it a romance that he’s saying goodbye to? Is it a love that he still has, and he’s not quite over yet?” Then I was like, “Do we snap out of that scene and we’re back on the clock?” What is this? I think the goal of the scene is it shouldn’t be all too clear and wrapped up.

What do you think?

White: I could see there’s obviously so much love. There’s love for the people he works with, and there’s love for the paces he’s gone through, but I didn’t know. … I didn’t know if it was a goodbye or an admittance. I think I was trying to find something between him coming clean and being like, you know what, I don’t belong anywhere else or I’m so in love with this thing, but it’s not good for me, and I think it exists somewhere in between that.

Ayo, what was your reaction to Carmy interviewing at the firm?

Edebiri: I was like, “Yeah, that makes sense. This boy’s a noodle.” He’s a fool, he’s ridiculous. It makes sense.

Where do you think he goes from here? Have you thought about it? Do you think he will ever find his way back to the kitchen?

White: I haven’t thought about it too much. I do think there’s something really honest about that direction that Carmy was moving into, but I would hope there’ll always be room for him somewhere in a kitchen.

Edebiri: Syd is like, “You can’t do anything else, brother. Like, what’s the plan?” I don’t know if he takes a break, if he comes back to help her, if he does his own thing.

What do you think happens to the Bear?

Edebiri: I think they do well. It’s not just her; it’s her and Sugar and Richie and Marcus and Tina. She got in it for Carmy, but I think she ended up finding her own voice. I think they keep going, at least for a few more years. I really do.

White: I have to believe that all the pain and suffering and trauma — not only that Carmy has gone through, but that everybody has gone through — is for some greater good. That there is a payoff. My hope is that it would be successful. They’ll have the endurance and the motivation to make it.

For a long time, the lifestyles and foibles of the modest bourgeoisie were a mainstay of art-house cinema, with urbane, upscale audiences happy to turn out to see versions of their own lives depicted on the screen. But more recently, as ideas about what middle age looks like have shifted, along with the changing demographics of viewers, these films have largely disappeared. Which is what makes the seriocomic “The Invite” feel both fresh and something of a throwback — a movie for those who worry about losing their edge.

Directed by Olivia Wilde, “The Invite” was a clear standout when it premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in January and now arrives in theaters as one of the best dramas of the year so far. It feels daring for how it wants to actually examine the emotional costs of contemporary grown-up life, bringing wincing laughs of recognition.

The film begins with married couple Angela and Joe, played by Wilde and Seth Rogen, checking back in at their home in San Francisco at the end of the day. He has been at the teaching job he resents and she has been frantically preparing for the dinner party she may not have told him about. Their daughter is away at a sleepover for the evening and it seems they no longer fully know how to relate to each other. As they bicker and jab, their quiet dissatisfaction with their lives stops being so quiet.

Angela has invited over their neighbors from the apartment upstairs, who they do not know well and who often have loud sex. That couple, Piña and Hawk, played by Penélope Cruz and Edward Norton, seems more assured, self-possessed and adventurous, the kind of people you can absent-mindedly invent stories about, assuming their lives are much cooler than your own.

Things go in ways both expected and unexpected, the two couples warily feeling each other out as they wait to spring their own private agendas. Over the course of the evening, things will be alternately tense, flirty, vulnerable and revelatory as surprisingly little food is eaten. (Other substances get ingested instead.)

An adaptation of Cesc Gay’s 2020 Spanish film “Sentimental,” the screenplay is credited to Rashida Jones and Will McCormack. In an unusual step, the script was further workshopped and developed with the cast during rehearsals. Rogen came up with some of the biggest laugh lines and Norton wrote the deeply earnest monologue he delivers late in the film. (The popular Belgian psychotherapist Esther Perel is also credited as a consultant.)

This American version expands upon the characters more than Gay’s original film while consistently returning to the disappointment of Angela and Joe’s lives in terms both big and small. Neither of them are the people they once thought they might become. Whether two people who are each unhappy can make it as a couple becomes the overriding theme of the film.

This is Wilde’s third movie as a director and it is, by far, her most cohesive and accomplished, both contained and expansive. Her debut, 2019’s charming end-of-high-school tale “Booksmart,” had a throw-everything-at-the-wall quality, as if she wanted to get out every idea and try every trick in case she never got another chance to direct. Wilde’s follow-up, the 2022 psychodrama “Don’t Worry Darling,” became mired in behind-the-scenes gossip and tabloid speculation that overshadowed what was intended as a stylized portrait of female rage and discontent.

Her latest fulfills and exceeds the promise of those earlier movies. Shot on 35mm film by cinematographer Adam Newport-Berra, the action of “The Invite” is almost entirely confined to Angela and Joe’s apartment, which thanks to a recent renovation has plenty of rooms to explore. All four players are exceptional in their roles, playing smartly off their screen personas while exploring the nuances of the characters and their intersecting dynamics.

Wilde’s Angela is expressive and antic; Rogen’s Joe is sullen and snarky. Cruz is alluring and watchful, while Norton turns out to be the film’s secret weapon. He has a low-key comic energy and helps guide the story through a few of its trickier emotional turns. At one point he simply rises from behind a couch and it plays like a punchline.

Skip the next two paragraphs if you want to hold onto the film’s purest pleasures. Those noises from upstairs have been Piña and Hawk hosting group sex parties and they are now cruising Angela and Joe for some extramarital couples’ fun. Here, the movie pivots from passive-aggressive party conversation into farce, as Angela and Joe try to process the idea anyone else might find them desirable, as they have long since given up on seeing themselves in that way.

Wilde in particular lights up during this section, Angela’s mind racing at possibilities she never considered for herself while fumbling over the practicalities of protocols and just how this would work. Before pushing the film into its final forlorn section, the excitement that something sexy might happen charges the actors. It is very likely that streams of Sade’s seductive “By Your Side” will skyrocket.

But the focus stays very much on the struggles of married life. One of the biggest strengths of “The Invite” is the way it keeps evolving as the night progresses so it never feels claustrophobic or repetitive. There is a sense of visual invention and imagination to the film that continues all the way through, such as a moment when Wilde crouches down to check on a doomed soufflé in the oven and addresses the camera directly, looking up as if talking to Rogen. The viewer is frequently placed in an adjacent POV to the different characters, as if you are there in the room too.

The film has a propulsive rhythm to it, a relentlessness, even as Wilde and editors Yorgos Mavropsaridis and Anthony Boys know when to ease off the throttle and take it easy for a bit. The film breathes in a dynamic way, the last few beats taking a startling turn toward a somber wistfulness. The ending is just enigmatic enough to have audiences talking it through as they make their way out of the theater.

The end credits include a handwritten dedication, “For Diane,” a nod to Diane Keaton. The live-wire wit and idiosyncratic verve that she embodied in “Reds” and “Something’s Gotta Give” are very much on display here. Early in the story, Norton dryly notes, “We love a contentious environment.” Thanks to Wilde’s confident direction and the ensemble’s unpredictable performances, audiences will too.

Kara Zor-El (Milly Alcock) can swill an entire sorority’s supply of booze. As a Kryptonian, her hangovers are instantly cured by a yellow sun. And so director Craig Gillespie’s “Supergirl” follows a trail of empty beer bottles to find Superman’s lonely younger cousin marking her birthday on a solo interstellar bender, pounding shots alongside her dog, Krypto.

Unlike sweet-natured Kal-El (David Corenswet), a.k.a. Clark Kent, who escaped Krypton as a baby, this traumatized 20-something bore witness to their home planet’s long and painful extinction. Playing grief like the sandblasted absence of emotion, Alcock’s Supergirl isn’t in the mood for Metropolis do-gooding. She prefers slumming it at extraterrestrial honky-tonks with suitors who look like armadillo-plated slugs. She’s most visibly depressed when she tries to convince herself she’s having fun.

Who doesn’t want to go on a “Star Wars” cantina crawl? The opening stretch of “Supergirl” is great — Alcock even passes out on a toilet with aplomb. Briefly we hope that Gillespie and screenwriter Ana Nogueira are shaking up the superhero format like a bottle of gas-station champagne. I’d love to see Alcock’s heroine in a grotty, silly “Animal House”-style comedy, out-drinking a galaxy of alien squids. But the limits of Hollywood’s imagination squeeze Supergirl to stop partying and start doing some regular old rescuing. Sigh. Someone’s gotta save franchise movies from themselves.

As usual, there’s a tyke in trouble: 13-year-old Ruthye (Eve Ridley), a fellow orphan with a ramrod disposition and a tidy brunet braid that gives away that her character is modeled on Hailee Steinfeld’s vengeful teenager in “True Grit.” Ruthye wants to hunt and kill the creep who murdered her family. Unlike Supergirl, the child thinks it’s healthier to exorcise — not imbibe — one’s heartache. The duo visit an Epstein-island-like planet of kidnapped breeding women where, in one of the script’s subtler sick horrors, the locals imply that pubescent Ruthye is more valuable than aged 23-year-old Supergirl. (Although some of the caged extras appear to be as ancient as 30.) It’s yet another swiped idea, this one from “Mad Max: Fury Road,” for a minor story beat that’s unnecessary. Still, Alcock reacts with exactly the right note of disdain: “Cool,” she croaks. ‘Nuff said.

They’ve come to this cesspool to find the villainous Krem, an unrecognizably vile Matthias Schoenaerts with a mug that’s been pierced all over like he face-planted into a pile of thumbtacks. His biker-scumbag-times-infinity prosthetic design is fantastic, but what makes it genius is that the makeup team allowed a couple of metal studs to fall off Krem’s forehead before his first close-up. You know, for that lived-in barbarian sex trafficker look.

As Ruthye, Ridley’s crisp British elocution is the cleanest thing in the movie, which is shot by Rob Hardy in shades of mustard smog and latrine brown. Neither Supergirl as a babysitter nor Gillespie as a storyteller let the kid carry her share of the action, but I suspect Ridley has the talent for it. She seizes her small opportunities to impress in the film’s second half. Spitting on a baddie, her righteous loogie stings like a moral disinfectant.

Meanwhile, Jason Momoa swaggers into the fray from the cover of an ’80s hard-rock album with Kiss’ makeup, Manowar’s muscles and Meatloaf’s motorcycle. His character, a blue-skinned bounty hunter, only tangentially slots into the plot. Really, Momoa’s massive presence is here to prove that James Gunn was serious when he announced he was hard-resetting DC Comics’ film canon up to 2023’s “Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom.” Momoa as Aquaman is dead. Long live Momoa as Whoever This Guy Is.

Gillespie likes to champion difficult women, from Tonya Harding in “I, Tonya” to the Dalmatian-skinning Disney villain of “Cruella.” Yet as his budgets have mounted, so has the pressure to make his problematic ladies popular with a mass audience. “Supergirl” feels anxious to entertain. The jokes all have the same sense of snarky humor, no matter what species is cracking them. One scene even has a comic slow clap that, in my theater, didn’t get a reaction. The camera and cutting pace refuse to relax. Major set-piece action shots are impossible to follow. You can’t squint past the distracting lens flares.

Alcock’s wildling Supergirl is the one reason to see the film. As in her too-brief role on the “Game of Thrones” prequel “House of the Dragon” and her rollicking cameo at the end of 2025’s “Superman,” the Australian actor is a striking combination of grounded conviction and otherworldly essence, the ideal one-two for a character who plays anti-gravity fetch with her dog. Floating weightless in the stars, her hair unbrushed and bathrobe-like jacket shrugged on, she makes the impossible look casual. (Supergirl’s iconic red-and-blue minidress is so not her style.)

Alas, Krypto the pup is sidelined early on with a whimper, both from him and us. Maybe he’ll get more screen time when the digital animators figure out how to make him look more realistic. (Between the mutt’s anime eyes and that gawky-phony deer in “Disclosure Day,” are CGI creatures getting worse?)

Grief tethers Supergirl to Ruthye, even though they disagree on how to handle it, and it also seems to repel her from Corenswet’s dopey, innocent Clark Kent. There’s rich irony in the personality contrast between the cousins. Her Kryptonian parents raised her to help humanity; his parents intended their son to rule it. But due to twists of fate, she’s the miserable, maladjusted one. The movie has no time to mine the psychology underneath their clash, let alone summon a sniffle for the other pitiful characters who die during this escapade. Perhaps it’s holding that tension back for a sequel, but I’d rather invest in the characters now.

A flashback to Supergirl’s first touchdown on Earth has the awkwardness of a study-abroad student realizing she doesn’t like her host country at all. Despite our planet seeming to have enforced its monoculture on outer space — an extraterrestrial dive bar band even does “The Girl From Ipanema” — Supergirl appreciates little of it besides some product-placement dog treats and, in a forced touch, the pop music on her headphones as well as crammed into the soundtrack next to Claudia Sarne’s gravelly score. I’ll accept this degenerate Supergirl sporting a retro Blondie shirt, but not her willingly choosing to listen to mopey contemporary Earth jams like Rilo Kiley and a twee cover of Jimmy Eat World over, say, Kryptonian death metal.

Still, the production design has imaginatively askew takes on the mundane: gridded jail cells, plodding space buses, clumsy oxygen suits that shimmy on with a satisfying squeak. When Supergirl makes a pit stop at a celestial convenience store, she samples a snack that I’m forced to call poop-corn. If “Supergirl” sells enough of it, hopefully Alcock can rampage again in a more confident sequel that truly cuts loose.

There’s something delightful about plays about grand divas in crisis.

The prima donna in extremis in Pearl Cleage’s “Angry, Raucous, and Shamelessly Gorgeous,” which is having its Los Angeles premiere at the Geffen Playhouse, has an air of Bette Davis extravagance to her. When Anna Campbell (Charlayne Woodard) struts around her elegant hotel suite in Atlanta, she can’t resist delivering one of Davis’ signature lines: “What a dump!”

She’s not at all dissatisfied with the accommodations. She’s just frustrated that the weather isn’t cooperating with her upcoming outdoor performance and agitated that this might be a bad omen for her big American comeback.

More than 30 years ago, Anna and her manager and trusted companion, Betsy Samson (a formidable Denise Burse), fled to Europe on the heels of a highbrow scandal. Anna made waves when she performed “Naked Wilson,” a protest piece that had her delivering male monologues from August Wilson’s plays while standing stark naked before a divided audience.

The idea was to call attention to the way women have been de-centered in the male canon, but some felt it was sacrilege to subject Wilson’s work to a feminist stunt. Acting opportunities dried up, and Anna high-tailed it to Amsterdam, where her histrionic grandeur was put to good use in European classics.

Woodard brings Anna to life with a smokey voice, a statuesque presence and an arch demeanor. When her arms are in flamboyant motion, she leaves the impression of a seductive windmill that might slice you to bits if you come too close.

The sumptuous production, directed by LaTanya Richardson Jackson with solidarity for Cleage’s characters, provides a marvelous showcase for Woodward to slink around on Beowulf Boritt’s glamorous five-star set in costume designer Emilio Sosa’s inspired Pucci-esque outfits. Her Anna doesn’t do much but give attitude. Ah, but what delicious attitude she gives!

Cleage’s play, it must be said, is hamstrung with exposition. More time is devoted to setting up the dramatic situation than to activating it. Author of “Blues for an Alabama Sky,” a 1995 abortion drama still ahead of its time, Cleage is telling a backstage story that’s clearly close to home. She’s also spinning an intergenerational tale of Black women groping past their initial distrust to a deeper understanding of what they have in common.

The intentions are noble and the themes are handled with admirable complexity, but the writing is sluggish. The plot is like an old car whose engine just refuses to start on a cold winter morning.

Anna has returned to Atlanta to headline a festival that is rebooting her “Naked Wilson” piece. She’s worried about disrobing at her age, but it turns out that she’s only being honored for her work. A much younger and far less experienced performer has been cast in the part that made her a cause célèbre.

Precious Watson (Olivia Washington), who goes by Pete, has not only never performed in a Wilson play but she’s never even seen one on stage. She’s a stripper whose only real dramatic experience has come from the adult entertainment industry. (Don’t call her a porn star, not because she’s ashamed of the films she made but because she’s too modest about her screen credits.)

Anna, her hauteur hardening like a protective shell, is aghast. She’s also fearful about her future. She’s run out of money, and this festival was to have launched her return to the U.S.

Betty, whose fate is tied to Anna’s, has been dangling the prospect of a national tour. But when Kate Hughes (an appealingly grounded Deborah Joy Winans), the producer of the festival, hears of this idea, she thinks it’s completely unrealistic.

“I love Anna,” she tells Betty. “ I’m honoring Anna, but there just isn’t an audience for the kind of presentation you’re talking about.”

Time marches on, and one era’s sensational renegade becomes a footnote in the next. But Anna can’t believe that all she holds sacred — study, discipline, seriousness, commitment — is of little value in the social media world.

Pete (whom Washington plays with impressive self-possession) doesn’t seem at all bothered about what she doesn’t know. Anna keeps prefacing her remarks with the words “no offense,” but Pete can’t help being offended by her pointed disdain. Their standoff energizes the play, but this jolt of momentum comes a little too late.

“Angry, Raucous, and Shamelessly Gorgeous” is not just the title. It’s also a plot summary. The gorgeous part is the richness of Cleage’s characters, radiantly realized by all four actors under Jackson’s warm direction.

Cleage gives the women plenty of substance, though her novelistic mode — more telling than showing — deprives her drama of style. The elegant staging tries to compensate, but the performers have to rely a little too heavily on their own charms to make up the difference in a play that swerves unexpectedly at the end into a cutesy fairy tale.

Woody, Buzz Lightyear and Jessie will be back at the box office this weekend, delivering what could be the biggest film debut of the year.

Analysts expect the fifth installment of Disney/Pixar’s “Toy Story” franchise will pull in at least $150 million in the U.S. and Canada, with some predicting as much as $175 million — either of which would set a franchise record, topping the nearly $121-million opening of 2019’s “Toy Story 4.”

A strong showing for “Toy Story 5” will further fuel a recovery of the box office this year from the post-pandemic doldrums.

Domestic ticket sales are up over last year, and Roth Capital Partners forecasts the second quarter will climb 6.5% to $2.8 billion — a post-pandemic high.

“Toy Story 5” is the first of several family tentpoles this summer, ahead of Universal and Illumination’s “Minions & Monsters” and Disney’s live-action “Moana.”

“Right now we’re on pace for the best opening of the year,” said Daniel Loria, editorial director at Box Office Co. “This is a performer.”

The timing also is fortuitous for Walt Disney Co. at a moment when its other once-reliable franchises such as “Star Wars” and Marvel have faltered. The recent “Star Wars: The Mandalorian and Grogu” dropped sharply at the domestic box office after its late-May opening, bested by low-budget horror films “Backrooms” and “Obsession.”

“People love these characters from ‘Toy Story,’ ” said Paul Dergarabedian, head of marketplace trends at Comscore. “It’s just as appealing as ever.”

Indeed, across four films and 30 years, “Toy Story” has grossed more than $3 billion worldwide. It is the most-watched franchise on Disney+, with more than 2 billion hours streamed. Woody, Buzz Lightyear and Jessie have spawned 19 theme park rides, four themed lands, two hotels and roughly $1 billion a year in global retail sales.

The production budget for “Toy Story 5” is about $150 million to $200 million. A crew of about 300 people worked on the film at Pixar’s Emeryville, Calif., headquarters.

For Pixar, the reliance on “Toy Story” reflects a shift away from originals that used to be its lifeblood.

February’s “Hoppers” managed a respectable $372 million worldwide, but the surer money now comes from sequels.

“Inside Out 2” grossed nearly $1.7 billion in 2024, and both “Toy Story 4” and “Toy Story 3” crossed $1 billion globally.

Still, the franchise label is no guarantee: The 2022 spin-off “Lightyear” stalled at $226 million worldwide after straying from the formula, recasting Buzz as an actual sci-fi hero — voiced by Chris Evans rather than Tim Allen — and sidelining Woody and the rest of the gang.

“Toy Story 5” stays closer to home but wades into new territory: the explosion of tech in everyday life. The toys must contend with Lilypad, a tablet that captures the attention of their owner, Bonnie — a premise that grew out of a tech-toy character originally written for “Toy Story 4” and scrapped for time. Disney is betting the underlying tension is universal.

“What parent hasn’t had anxiety over tech versus toys with their kids?” said Andrew Cripps, head of theatrical distribution for Walt Disney Studios.

Disney is betting that this universal concern will drive audiences to the film.

The fifth installment also arrives with an unusually high-wattage assist: Taylor Swift wrote and performed an original song, “I Knew It, I Knew You,” and made a surprise appearance at last week’s premiere, performing it after the credits before joining longtime franchise composer Randy Newman for “You’ve Got a Friend in Me.”

“It means the world to me to be a small part of the universe of these films,” Swift told the crowd.

The expected blockbuster opening for “Toy Story 5” would be a full-circle moment for the long-standing franchise; Pixar animators in 1995 hadn’t even considered the possibility of a sequel while working on the first “Toy Story.”

“There was so much learned on that first film, specifically our iterative process,” Pixar Chief Creative Officer Pete Docter said in a phone call last week from Madrid, shortly before the film’s Spain premiere. “A lot of things that we discovered having worked on that film have just continued to inform every movie that we make.”

“Toy Story” revolutionized the movie business as the first computer-animated feature film. But its enduring appeal was in the bonds between the characters, Docter said.

Docter, who supervised animators and helped with character design and writing on the original “Toy Story,” added: “It certainly had some new technology, but it was really up to the story and characters to carry the audience.”

The franchise’s longevity is also due to its ability to capture generations of fans.

“Having parents now that say, ‘I grew up with “Toy Story,” and now I’m showing my kids,’ has been really gratifying,” Docter said.

A VHS tape of 1993’s “The Nightmare Before Christmas” introduced brothers Roy and Arturo Ambriz to the tactile whimsy of stop-motion, an animation technique where physical objects are manipulated and photographed frame by frame to achieve the illusion of life.

Realizing that the characters on screen were figures in real sets shocked the Mexican filmmakers’ young minds and set them on an arduous path to craft their own worlds.

“If there’s something we’ve loved our whole lives it’s toys: collecting them, modifying them, playing with them, creating dioramas for them,” said Roy, 36, from under his dark shades during a recent interview at Netflix Animation Studios in Burbank.

“And for us, the most sublime moments in life are when we’re doing something artistic, whether that’s painting, drawing or sculpting. And stop-motion animation combines all of that.”

The culmination of years of tireless work and financial stress for the Ambriz siblings is the breathtaking period fantasy “I Am Frankelda,” Mexico’s first-ever stop-motion feature, which is now streaming on Netflix.

“Thankfully, no one put it into our heads that it was impossible to do this,” said Arturo, 38. “That’s why we don’t like going around saying that this is extremely difficult, because maybe if young people hear that, they might not want to do stop-motion. Don’t tell them!”

A lavish musical, “I Am Frankelda” follows Francisca Imelda (voiced by Mireya Mendoza), a young aspiring writer living in 19th century Mexico and struggling to publish her stories. Meanwhile, in the Realm of Spooks, an alternative reality that’s home to all of the fictional characters Francisca has written, Herneval (Juan Pablo Monterrubio), a winged prince, must save his parents and his kingdom. The creatures in this world live off of human fear, so they create our nightmares.

Herneval crosses into the human world to bring Francisca with him to the Realm of Spooks, so that she can write new nightmares that actually scare people. Humans have become difficult to terrify. By this point, a frustrated Francisca has decided to change her name to Frankelda (a reference to “Frankenstein” author Mary Shelley, who inspired the character). Frankelda and Herneval sing of the relationship between fiction and reality. One can’t exist without the other.

Frankelda was first introduced as part of the 2021 series “Frankelda’s Book of Spooks,” which HBO Max commissioned. In the show, the heroine shares nightmarish tales alongside Herneval, who appears not as a prince but a sentient book. The film “I Am Frankelda” is a prequel that explains the relationship between these characters.

Last month, “I Am Frankelda” screened at the Los Angeles Latino International Film Festival, where Guillermo del Toro moderated the post-screening Q&A. A longtime mentor of the Ambriz brothers, Del Toro first supported them by donating to a Kickstarter campaign to finance their ambitious 2016 short film inspired by cubist art, “Revoltoso,” about a one-eyed boar living during the Mexican Revolution.

“In that moment, it was incredibly validating to realize that if Guillermo liked what we were doing, then it made sense to keep on doing it,” Roy said.

Two years apart in age, Roy and Arturo both studied filmmaking at the Centro, a university in Mexico City. Yet directing together wasn’t always the plan.

“I said, ‘We have to co-direct,’ because the situation naturally lent itself for me, being the older one, to take on the role of director while Roy would serve as production designer. But at a certain point, I realized that the hierarchy was wrong, and that if we wanted something sustainable for the rest of our lives, it had to be a 50/50 split between us. And I mean, 50/50, Roy!” said Arturo, playfully chastising his younger brother.

“It’s more like 60/40, with me having 60% of the power,” Roy added laughing.

In 2011, not long after graduating, Arturo found himself ridden with anxiety. Over the course of his education, he’d focused on artistic excellence but hadn’t much thought about how to actually make a living out of his and his brother’s shared passion. That’s when he decided they should create their own studio, Cinema Fantasma, so as to have control of the projects they took on. Their productions for hire include the Adult Swim show “Women Wearing Shoulder Pads,” which was produced entirely at their company in Mexico City.

“It’s been very difficult because we are filmmakers by vocation, but we are businesspeople by necessity,” said Arturo. “Developing that side of things has been the hardest part, but both are indispensable.”

To wrap up the “Frankelda” series, HBO Max requested a 30-minute special. Instead of accepting that offer, Roy suggested they use the proposed budget allocated to partially fund a full-length feature film. HBO Max agreed with the caveat that the brothers would have to come up with the rest of the money needed on their own.

To finance “I Am Frankelda,” Roy and Arturo mortgaged two homes. They are losing one of them to pay off their debts, so it helps that their dream of animation is a family affair. Their parents are executive producers on “Frankelda”; Roy’s wife, Ana Coronilla, worked as production designer; and Arturo’s spouse, Irene Melis, as a director of photography.

That “I Am Frankelda” is a musical is due in great part to Roy’s love of musical theater.

“At first, Arturo wasn’t sure, but using my 60% share of the power, I convinced him that it should be a musical,” Roy said. Yet it’s Arturo who wrote the lyrics to musical numbers. Each track starts as a poem that composer Kevin Smithers transformed into songs.

A fantastical stop-motion musical period piece, “I Am Frankelda” is far from an easy sell, and that’s what makes its existence all the more astonishing. The Ambriz brothers’ creative pursuit of the unpopular and the unfeasible has bonded them with Del Toro.

“He is our most important mentor and the person we admire most in the world, and we also share many of the same interests,” Arturo explained. “That’s why when we saw ‘Pan’s Labyrinth,’ it was like when the glass slipper fits Cinderella. It was exactly what we loved: monsters, war, the cruelty of the human spirit, fairies and period settings.”

“Did you just call yourself Cinderella?” Roy interjected with the mischievous smirk typical of a younger brother trying to ruffle some feathers.

“Yes!” Arturo said quietly but without hesitation.

Every time they hear Del Toro speak about his interests, the Ambriz brothers discover a new well of references and “cultural protein,” from authors to painters.

“Guillermo is someone who actively champions the work of others, which I believe is the right way for an artist to be,” Arturo said.

When they finished “I Am Frankelda,” the brothers sent it to Del Toro, eager to hear his thoughts. As soon as he watched it, Del Toro called them.

“We spoke with him for hours, and he told us everything he saw, obviously with great tact, sharing both the good and the not-so-good,” Roy recalled. “But most importantly, he kept telling us that we had created something unprecedented. He insisted that we would pull through, even though we had ended up with a lot of debt.”

The version of “I Am Frankelda” that premiered at film festivals in 2025 is not the same one that will be available on Netflix. Based on Del Toro’s thorough feedback, the filmmakers recut the film and even animated new scenes. They playfully refer to this new cut that audiences will see globally as “The Grandfather Cut,” to honor Del Toro’s influence.

That “I Am Frankelda” was picked for distribution by Netflix is also Del Toro’s doing, the brothers said. It was the veteran director who suggested the film to the streaming company.

“I Am Frankelda” debuted in Mexico last October to an incredible reception, in part thanks to the fandom the characters had amassed via the episodic series.

“We receive fan art and fan fiction every day. People send us photos cosplaying the characters or of their ‘Frankelda’-themed quinceañeras. We’ve even bought bootleg merch at Mexican markets and on Temu or AliExpress too,” Roy said.

“We’ve bought ‘Frankelda’ socks from there that are of terrible quality, but all the more beautiful because of their bad quality,” he added.

“Of course, there are haters, too, but a large segment of the audience really identified with Frankelda as someone who perseveres, as someone who refuses to let her detractors hold her back. It’s been really beautiful watching that fandom grow,” Arturo said.

Another conviction where they align with Del Toro is their disinterest in engaging with artificial intelligence.

“AI is the antithesis of stop-motion. We’re not even remotely interested in it, because we do stop-motion to enjoy the artistic processes,” Roy said. “We created the studio for painting, drawing, sculpting and writing. Whatever happens with AI doesn’t really matter to us.”

Their second feature, “The Ballad of the Phoenix,” a medieval fantasy, is already in the works.

Few people do simmering panic as nimbly as Sarah Goldberg.

In her role as Dr. JoAnne Felder, a performance psychologist tending to the mercurial psyches of the billionaire man-children of Silicon Valley on the new AMC satire “The Audacity,” Goldberg careens from serene to slapstick as she tries to keep a lid on her increasingly unruly life.

It is the latest in a string of enviably layered characters for the Vancouver native, including her Emmy-nominated breakout turn as aspiring actor Sally Reed on the HBO contract killer dramedy “Barry” and the coolly calculating portfolio manager Petra Koenig on the network’s drama “Industry.”

“I’m definitely learning some large tech and finance words that I didn’t know,” she says with a laugh about her recent wealth-adjacent roles on a Zoom from London, where she makes her home. “I’m not sure if I’ll retain them.”

Given the accolades, it seems likely Goldberg only needs to memorize her lines and the rest will follow.

While she has given a distinctive performance in each of her roles, one of several threads tying the characters together is a moment when fear, rage, excitement, ambition or all of the above collide but must be contained. While that discipline sometimes devolves into delicious displays of apoplexy — witness Goldberg’s incredible, expletive-littered elevator meltdown in “Barry” — the 40-year-old actor is more often the face of diplomacy while telegraphing cortisol levels in the red beneath her placid exterior.

“As a blond Canadian, I really ran the risk of being the girl next door,” she says of her attempt to dodge typecasting onscreen after cutting her teeth onstage in London and New York in the mid-2010s. “I didn’t want to be the girl next door … maybe the girl next door with bodies in the basement.”

While the only bodies to be found in JoAnne’s basement on “The Audacity” are her eavesdropping son and his friends, the London Academy of Music & Dramatic Art (LAMDA) graduate has accomplished the mission of subverting what might have been a perky ingenue image with the role. (One she will continue, since the series has already gotten a Season 2 order.)

When the ethically challenged therapist starts dabbling in insider trading thanks to info gleaned from her patients — including bold tech names Duncan Park (Billy Magnussen) and Carl Bardolph (Zach Galifianakis) — the slippery slope awaits.

“I think that she started her career with a desire to help people and somewhere along the line she’s become incredibly jaded and she’s exhausted by being the most intelligent person in the room and yet having no material wealth to show for it,” says Goldberg of her character, whose struggles extend to motherhood of son Orson (Everett Blunck) and marriage to child psychologist Gary (Paul Adelstein).

It does not help that JoAnne is surrounded by people who have no trouble sliding headfirst down the slope as if it were an Aspen trail.

“She’s working with people who have so many houses that if one burns down, it doesn’t matter, and yet she’s struggling to keep the roof over her own head. So somewhere along the line she starts making these little contracts with herself thinking, ‘In this sea of moral bankruptcy, is my tiny little transgression really so bad? Or is it even justified?’ But these little small pacts start to snowball. You can see somebody torn between their better judgment, their core instinct, their humanity, and someone who is so frustrated that they’re stepping toward a kind of nihilism.”

That sense of inner conflict appeals to Goldberg, who says she knew instantly that she had to play JoAnne when she read the script by showrunner Jonathan Glatzer. “It’s rare for me to go out and be like, ‘I have to play this role!’” she says, adding with a laugh, “I can be quite passive. I can be quite Canadian in the American market. I felt like he’d found this incredible line of satire with pathos, which is my favorite kind of style.

“I’m always interested in playing characters on the precipice of losing their moral compass and which way they decide to go,” she continues. “And if JoAnne has anything in common with Sally from ‘Barry,’ because they’re such different characters, it’s that. … I love that Jonathan’s given JoAnne very mundane relatable problems in a world where the scale is so off and there’s a lot that the average person can’t relate to in that bubble.”

Goldberg has also been busy creating her own bubble, writing, producing and starring in the Canadian-Irish series “Sisters” — which just concluded its second season on AMC — with Irish actor Susan Stanley, her best friend since their LAMDA days. The odd couple sibling comedy finds Goldberg playing Sare, a buttoned-down Canadian who goes to Ireland to find her long-lost biological father (Donal Logue) and discovers shambolic half-sister Suze (Stanley).

“I was pretty shocked at how hard it is to get something made,” she says of the series’ six-year journey to screen. “And then to be in a leadership position where you’re inviting everyone to dinner and you’ve got to make sure there are three courses and being responsible for everybody’s well-being — it was wildly challenging, but absolutely thrilling.”

While she prepares to return to JoAnne’s world in Palo Alto — her hometown of Vancouver serving as a double — Goldberg feels very fortunate about where she’s landed.

“I’ve been so lucky at this stage in my career to work on scripts that I feel are really saying something and characters that I feel are morally complex and also to be in the business at a time where female characters are more complicated.”

David Baerwald holds up his most precious possession so that it’s visible on our video conference: a very old violin in a very old, battered case.

Baerwald, an award-winning musician, film composer and songwriter who called Los Angeles home for nearly four decades, doesn’t play the violin. During his years with the Tuesday Music Club (immortalized in the Sheryl Crow album “Tuesday Night Music Club”), he played guitar. But the violin belonged to his grandfather Ernst Baerwald — and it plays an important role in his recently published debut novel, “The Fire Agent.”

Not every successful artist turns to a new medium at age 65 or moves to the opposite coast (Baerwald now lives in Kingston, N.Y.). Then again, not every artist has a family history quite like Baerwald’s, one that includes Germany and Japan, two world wars, a 1920s throuple and Beethoven’s Ninth.

The violin in Baerwald’s hands was the one his German-Jewish grandfather played as a Japanese prisoner of war in the Bandō camp at Tokushima during World War I. “It’s a very serviceable violin,” Baerwald notes. “A friend of mine played it for some years in the Long Beach Symphony. When my grandfather was older and wealthy, he bought a better violin, which was lost in a fire. But this is the one that matters.”

It matters because Ernst Baerwald was a founding member of a German POW orchestra that chose Beethoven’s great symphony as their premiere work — a performance so moving that it began a Japanese tradition marking the December holidays that persist to this day. Baerwald’s grandfather not only kept his violin throughout the war in which he fought; when he defected from the Third Reich in 1941, he placed it in an oiled bag and brought it with him via an oceanic escape.

Ernst Baerwald’s odyssey from a cushy childhood in Frankfurt to his final days in a beautiful Berkeley mansion, with a long sojourn in Tokyo along the way, reads like, well, a novel. Sent to an elite boys’ prep school in Germany, then on to a seriously disciplined Milanese dojo where he was trained by a Japanese sensei, Ernst was a prisoner in Japan for four years during World War I.

Those details might have been easy to find, but it wasn’t until David Baerwald went to clear out his parents’ house in Brentwood that he discovered papers showing that his grandfather had not only been the head of the Tokyo office of I.G. Farben, but that he had given a major speech to the nascent Office of Strategic Services (precursor to the Central Intelligence Agency) in 1943 that laid out the plan for the firebombing of Japan.

He also urged them not to allow partnerships between large corporations and the military, the way the German scientific community and government did with I.G. Farben and Krupp Armaments and Steel. “Any business that makes peace with Fascism will become Fascist,” he said. “And once Fascism captures economic control, then a Fascist coup will inevitably follow to seize political power. Germany, Italy, Rumania, Japan, Spain the story is the same. We cannot allow it to become the story of America.”

When Baerwald read that, “I was really alarmed, in the moment,” he says, realizing how closely tied his grandfather had been to the bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. “But it gave me a plan.” He wanted to show how deeply his grandfather had become integrated into Japanese culture.

“One of my characters tells Ernst that he has ‘yuyo,’ which might best be described as grace,” says Baerwald. “Its Japanese meaning is closer to the state of a river rock that has been washed over and tumbled thousands of times, so that it’s both distinct, and a meaningful part of its environment.” To some extent, the author understands “yuyo” personally, having lived in Japan and been educated at its International School until age 12, when his family moved back to California, “although I wouldn’t claim it for myself,” he says.

That move, in the early 1970s, may have led to his career in music. “When we got back to the States, I was extremely troubled. Call me a fish out of water, I guess. I went through a period of voluntary mutism — I think they call it selective communication. I didn’t talk to anyone, especially not to my family. My hearing would sort of come and go at will, too.” His mother understood he seemed to like his sister’s acoustic guitar, so she suggested he take some lessons. “At the time, it wasn’t at all a career path, it was a way of reassembling my brain so that I could cope with the reality I was experiencing, finding a way to communicate again.”

Part of what he was experiencing, which he knows a great deal more about now, was feeling “the secrets that were the engine propelling my family.” After Ernst’s long career of service and deception, David Baerwald’s father, Kurt, entered the U.S. Army during WWII and later became a professor of Japanese studies at both in Japan and at UCLA. The effects on their family of five still reverberate. Baerwald’s mother eventually became a clinical psychologist who specializes in trauma. “I had to separate myself completely from my family in order to survive,” he says.

However, what stalled the writing of this first novel were the two decades he initially left out, which included Ernst, Lina and their lover Chizuko being a ménage à trois in a 1923 Tokyo dealing with the aftermath of an earthquake and wildfires.

Although “The Fire Agent” is based on Ernst’s history, not all of the facts are congruent. The wrestling coach at the American school in Tokyo, Ernst’s glamorous courtesan Chizuko, and many of the characters are composites. Speaking of that courtesan, Baerwald says it’s true that his grandfather and grandmother cohabited with a Japanese woman for many years, even after Lina and Ernst had a child together. “I found so many letters between my grandfather and my grandmother and I think they truly loved each other, and I think they truly loved that woman, too.”

That didn’t make it easy for Baerwald to write about that love. “My German grandmother, on whom Lina is partly based, was terrifying,” he says. “It was easier to write about her sex life with my grandfather and their Japanese lover by creating composite characters.”

He didn’t want to leave out their sex life, though, or that of others.

“Every generation of young people thinks they invented sex, right? But nothing is new — and it never gets old. Here’s an example. One of my godfathers, Sam Jameson, was the L.A. Times bureau chief in Tokyo for decades. He was also the doyenne, if you will, of the cross-dressing community in that city. It was this rich world he was a part of that nobody knew anything about. I based the character I call Bünheimer on him.”

Some of the worlds Baerwald has uncovered through his family’s papers are rich and sensual; others, like the POW camp where Ernst was held and the speech he gave to the OSS analysts at the Presidio in the 1940s, are stark and terrible. While he renders all appropriately, he’s aware that his perspective remains that of a white Western man. How did he gain the courage to write about people of other races, cultures and genders? He says it comes from something he did when he was on a swim team in high school. “The psychological trick I would play on myself at each meet was to imagine the water I’d dive into was freezing cold,” he says. “And of course it wasn’t. Which was such a relief and kept me going.”

Like his grandfather’s beloved violin, Baerwald has taken a deep dive into previously unknown waters — and survived. As he works on his second novel, he’s better prepared for airing family secrets and the publishing world. Ever the musician, he likens his first round with it to a Shepard tone, the auditory illusion that can make listeners feel like two notes one octave apart are constantly ascending or descending in pitch (Baerwald has worked with famed composer Hans Zimmer, who used the tone in, for example, “The Dark Knight”).

“A Shepard tone can make you feel like you’re flying. Or sinking,” he says. “At this point in my life and art, I prefer to have my feet firmly on the ground.”

Beneath azure skies and fluffy white clouds, three giggling toddlers and their mothers arrive at a candy-colored water park in the town of CoComelon.

It’s the opening of “Fast Little Fishy Splash Water Park Adventure,” a three-minute episode of “CoComelon,” the popular children’s cartoon series that is perhaps as controversial as it is appealing to young children.

Moonbug Entertainment, the studio behind “CoComelon,” says the episode, which debuted on YouTube in May, is the result of a years-long collaboration with a UCLA think tank.

In an unconventional move for a privately held entertainment company, the studio released its child development guidelines on its website Tuesday. Moonbug’s head of communications Bao Nguyen said the company began to incorporate findings from the research into its creative process in late 2025.

“It’s a great example of what we’ve been trying to do,” said Rich Hickey, Moonbug’s chief creative officer, referring to the episode. “Inclusive storytelling and learning through play — they’re all evident within that episode.”

Nina and Cody, ecstatic about visiting their neighborhood splash pad, run through fountains and hop in kiddie pools, but protagonist JJ is a bit more skeptical.

With support from his friends and his mother, who offers him goggles and a pair of orange arm floaties, JJ decides to face his fears. He joins his friends under a tipping bucket, and — spoiler alert — realizes that he actually enjoys playing in water. (“I just love to swim, swim, swim,” he sings.)

The guidelines, called the “Moonbug Learning Principles Framework,” are informed by academic research and advise that Moonbug shows should help young viewers navigate “real life moments” and “model positive relationships among children and their friends and caregivers.”

Other priorities include creating shows that encourage kids to learn through play, as this helps them develop their imagination and creativity, and featuring characters from diverse backgrounds (“CoComelon’s” Nina is Mexican American, Cece is Korean American and Cody is Black) — and giving said characters depth — across all Moonbug shows.

“We’re a digital-first company and we realized that there may be some … hesitation to sharing online content with children,” Hickey said. “This is really to keep building on the trust we think we’ve built.”

“CoComelon” is Moonbug’s flagship preschool show, and the series’ origins date back to 2006 when commercial director Jay Jeon shared a YouTube video of an alphabet cartoon set to music. The videos began to revolve around toddler JJ in 2017.

By 2020, “CoComelon” was the most-watched YouTube channel in the world, averaging 3.5 billion monthly views. That year, the show made its streaming debut on Netflix — where it broke ratings records — and was bought by London-based entertainment company Moonbug.

Moonbug was then acquired by Candle Media, a firm led by ex-Disney execs Kevin Mayer and Tom Staggs, for a reported $3 billion. Disney+ has since obtained the exclusive streaming rights to “CoCoMelon.”

“CoComelon‘s” image woes aren’t new. The series has developed a reputation for keeping children glued to the screen, as seen in videos that have gone viral on social media of babies bolting to the television upon hearing the marimba theme song.

In 2020, a Guardian columnist wrote that “CoComelon” was “like crack” for a preschool child. A New York Times report in 2022 gave the public more insight into Moonbug’s audience development process, which included testing “CoComelon” videos on young children to make its shows as attention-grabbing as possible.

The program has been a hot topic on parenting forums. The exchange typically goes something like this: Someone asks if “CoComelon” is “bad” and a gaggle of parents weigh in. “Very overstimulating,” said a user in one Reddit thread. “It moves too fast for kids’ brains to process, which can cause a speech delay,” wrote another.

Asked to respond to the criticism, Hickey said he believes Moonbug makes “age-appropriate content” and produces a range of videos to cater to different moments throughout a child’s day, from slow bedtime videos to faster-paced ones meant to encourage movement, Hickey said.

In 2023, Moonbug recruited the Center for Scholars and Storytellers, a think tank at UCLA that bridges entertainment media and psychology research, to “create the best possible product” for its audience, Hickey said.

The center was tasked with analyzing Moonbug’s content and crafting the learning principles to guide the studio’s future preschool programming, which also includes the “Blippi” and “Little Angel” franchises.

Moonbug also asked the center to determine if there was research showing that audiovisual content could be addicting for preschoolers, said Yalda T. Uhls, an assistant adjunct professor of psychology at UCLA and executive director of the Center for Scholars and Storytellers. Uhls said the center’s review of existing peer-reviewed research found that there was no such evidence.

And despite oft-repeated claims that long-form content is better for kids than short-form content, “there isn’t really actually any evidence for that,” Uhls said. “It’s very inconclusive.”

The center found that preschool children struggle to learn as much from content with frequent cuts, though consuming it doesn’t impact their attention span negatively, Uhls said.

As such, the principles the center crafted recommend Moonbug “minimize distractions and tangential songs or storylines” when characters are navigating real-life situations to make sure it does not interfere with preschool children’s ability to learn lessons.

The center interviewed members of Moonbug’s creative teams and formed an advisory council of academic experts in child development to evaluate a selection of Moonbug’s episodes, assess the quality of socio-emotional learning and find areas for improvement, Uhls said.

“The content certainly had a lot of places where it could improve, but it wasn’t horrible,” Uhls said. “There was some learning within the episodes. … It wasn’t all good, it wasn’t all bad.”

Uhls said she recalled several instances of episodes modeling unsafe behavior, but declined to share specifics.

The center plans to continue to work with Moonbug to integrate child development research much earlier in the studio’s creative process and aid with the integration of the learning principles into its content slate, Uhls said.

“The Listeners,” which premieres Friday on Starz, began unusually as a story written by Jordan Tannahill as the basis of Missy Mazzoli‘s 2022 opera, also called “The Listeners” (libretto by Royce Vavrek), which he turned into a 2021 novel, which became a 2024 BBC television series, also written by Tannahill. Starz has cut its original four episodes into five, which means that they end in odd places, but given its controlled, glacial pace, shorter might be better.

Tannahill’s inspiration is an unexplained phenomenon reported in the real world — though exactly how real it is is open to interpretation — generally called “the hum,” where people experience a low but persistent background noise inaudible to others. (It isn’t tinnitus, or any diagnosable medical condition.) One such sufferer is Claire (Rebecca Hall), a high school literature teacher with a husband, Paul (Prasanna Puwanarajah) and a teenage daughter, Ashley (Mia Tharia), with whom she gets along well. We begin on an up note, Claire and Ashley singing along to Richard and Linda Thompson’s “I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight” as they drive to school (she also has Nick Drake on her phone). And then the 1970s British folk rock gives way to a less pleasant auditory landscape, as the hum appears, bringing on headaches and nosebleeds and affecting her concentration and mood, her work and family.

Any condition can be isolating from those who don’t share it, and Claire gets some relief when she’s approached by a student, Kyle (Ollie West), who also hears it. They go investigating possible sources of the sound — wind turbines, a radio telescope — and wind up eventually at something like a support group for hum-hearers run by Omar (Amr Waked) and Jo (Gayle Rankin). There is some sketchiness in their past, including a changed identity, and they like to keep the group on a tight rein, but the breathing exercises and visualizations seem pretty standard, and more benign than, say Scientology, and the suggestion that one may tame an affliction by embracing it is pretty reasonable. Claire’s mistake here is not to get a signed parental permission slip, as it were, or enlist a chaperone, and her growing closeness with Kyle (not romantic, not sexual we are assured) will cause them trouble, cost Claire her job and mess up her marriage. She makes some insufficiently careful decisions, but those around her tend to overreact. This is very much a story about listening and not listening.

Directed by Janicza Bravo and photographed with great intention by Jody Lee Lipes, it has the studied look and tempo of a 20th-century art film. (It is always great to look at.) I was reminded of Antonioni’s “Red Desert” and Bergman’s “Persona,” psychological studies of women going to pieces, but also, thematically, of Spielberg’s “Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” with its characters driven to what looks like madness by private bulletins from the ether, pushing them away from family and toward others who are getting the same message. No aliens here — not a spoiler — though I might have liked that ending more than this, which in its own way seems to drop from space.

You can look for metaphors and social comment here — there are references to conspiracy theories and industrial noise pollution and such — but it seems to me to operate most effectively as a beautifully rendered mood piece and character study, and, certainly in the case of Hall, whose story this is, a platform for some exquisitely subtle acting.

In “The Little Sister,” a teenager tries to hide in plain sight. Although everyone comments on her beauty, 17-year-old Fatima prefers to tie her hair back in a ponytail, her bright eyes buried underneath a black ball cap, her body concealed in unflattering tracksuits. As played by first-timer Nadia Melliti, who won the actress award at last year’s Cannes Film Festival, Fatima is encased in a kind of armor, an outward manifestation of her hesitancy to share her sexual orientation with a world she knows will judge her. This graceful film chronicles the process by which Fatima gradually sheds that reserve.

Adapted from Fatima Daas’ 2020 novel “The Last One,” a work of autofiction detailing the French author’s own coming out, “The Little Sister” takes place over five seasons, observing Fatima as she completes grade school and begins attending university. An adept athlete with a tomboyish demeanor, Fatima disappears inside a friend group consisting of immature teen boys who treat her like one of the guys, including her in their raunchy sex talk. Fatima has a boyfriend, Adel (Ahmed Kheloufi), but the relationship feels vestigial, with him constantly complaining that she should dress more feminine. Just as upsetting to Adel: When he tells Fatima that he loves her, she doesn’t respond in kind.

This is the third feature from French actor and director Hafsia Herzi, who herself made an acting splash in 2007’s “The Secret of the Grain.” For “The Little Sister,” Herzi takes a cue from Daas’ book, mapping Fatima’s inner journey as a modest series of tentative steps forward and anxious steps back. Fatima has reason to be skittish. The youngest of three daughters in a loving French-Algerian Muslim family, she conceals any hint of her sexuality from her mother, father and sisters, anticipating their disapproval. Many queer coming-of-age movies position the character’s awakening as an act of defiance. For Fatima, a practicing Muslim who adores her parents, the stakes feel even higher. Melliti’s performance is one of silent suffering, illustrating Fatima’s deference to her family.

But as much as she smothers her desires, others can sense them. An altercation between her friends and a gay male classmate gets heated once the classmate accuses her of being closeted, which she vehemently (and violently) denies. Soon after, Fatima secretly joins a dating app, hoping to understand her queerness. Her first date, in which she uses a fake name, focuses on learning terminology such as scissoring, and she approaches each new encounter like a fact-finding mission. Melliti keeps the shy teenager’s reactions neutral, Fatima’s stoicism a strategy to prevent exposing her inexperience.

That’s when she meets Ji-Na (Park Ji-min, the free spirit of “Return to Seoul”), a physician’s assistant who practically glows in her presence, overwhelming Fatima’s cautious nature. Ji-Na and Fatima’s love story — its blossoming, its unraveling, its possible resuscitation — forms the heart of “The Little Sister,” which also received the Queer Palm at Cannes. Melliti and Park exude a frisky, lusty chemistry, but it’s a film as much about self-love, as Fatima seeks to become comfortable in her own skin. Ji-Na is open and confident while Fatima remains closed off, her shame about her sexuality deeply culturally ingrained. When our main character starts lowering her defenses, however, that’s when she’s hit by a jolt that sends her spiraling.

Herzi’s slender, unassuming drama contains few emotional crescendos or grand insights, although this is the rare French film to center on a Muslim lesbian as its protagonist. “The Little Sister” grows even more intriguing once the love affair runs aground, forcing Fatima to flounder in her heartache. Her odyssey will lead to threesomes and lonely nights, but also difficult questions regarding how her faith and family may leave her perpetually adrift.

“The Little Sister” leaves much unspoken, which is fitting for a protagonist who rarely expresses herself in clear terms. Even during a touching scene near the finale, as Fatima sits at the dinner table weeping, upset over the end of a relationship, she and her mother (Amina Ben Mohamed) engage in a nimble dance: Fatima doesn’t feel safe explaining precisely why she’s crying, while her supportive mom chooses her words carefully, perhaps knowing more about her daughter than she dares say aloud. But despite the character’s rocky path to sexual awakening, Herzi navigates toward a hopeful conclusion that doesn’t peddle phony uplift. Fatima still faces a community that won’t embrace her true self. But maybe, at last, she’s willing to be seen.

Christa Miller, who plays consummate mother and opinionated neighbor Liz on “Shrinking,” has one piece of advice for parental dressing: Step away from the athleisure.

“You’re not going to feel confident in workout wear,” says Miller. She and the show’s costume designer, Allyson B. Fanger, are very intentional with Liz’s outfits, a master class in effortless yet accessible casual chic: Bold colors, layered tops, cheeky accessories and a liberal use of stripes. “The character totally could have been [in] Lululemon, but I didn’t want to fall into that trap.” Instead, Miller says they chose to spotlight Californian brands like Clare V, Jennifer Meyer, and fittingly, Mother, styled “a little off” for looks that have become so popular that Fanger created a LookLikeLiz hashtag on Instagram for fans.

Miller is just one of the stars pulling focus for their characters’ distinctive style on shows that are contenders in the Emmys race this year: Keke Palmer (“The ‘Burbs”), Sarah Snook (“All Her Fault”), Lucy Punch (“The Audacity”), Elle Fanning (“Margo’s Got Money Troubles”) and others all have fans buzzing about their fashion. And costume designers and style experts agree that the inspiration goes both ways.

“There was this expectation that once you became a mom, the attractive parts of you got set aside because you were just a mom,” says Shana Draugelis, founder and CEO of lifestyle and shopping website the Mom Edit, which recently ran a detailed feature on Liz’s wardrobe. “With the advent of Instagram, the whole style game has just completely leveled up.”

Liz’s looks, which Miller says are inspired by “Brentwood mom” style, reflect the character’s personality. “She’s not going to work, but she does want to have a certain element of presence,” says Fanger, who is a five-time Emmy nominee for her work on “Grace and Frankie.” “But there’s also a casual component to Los Angeles dressing. Mixing levels [of designers] lends itself to uniqueness, a strong point of view and a general coolness. You never look like you’re trying too hard.”

Another character with a strong fashion POV is “The ‘Burbs” Samira (Palmer), a city girl and new mom who moves with her husband Rob (Jack Whitehall) and their baby son from the city to the idyllic (and fictional) Hinkley Hills. Clad in bright, slouchy-cool separates and statement accessories, Samira quickly makes a splash among her more blandly dressed neighbors.

“She’s the only Black woman in the neighborhood,” says the show’s costume designer, Trayce Gigi Field, who pulls quite a bit of, yes, Mother, but also likes to sprinkle in some lesser-known designers like Good ’Ol Whats-her-face jeans. She also paired Samira’s Howard University sweatshirt with biker shorts a la Princess Diana. “Showing her jewelry and her vibe and just having cooler clothes … it’s a great contrast to the other characters, except for Rob, [who] had the Black wife glow-up.”

Less brightly colored but no less interesting are Marissa (Snook) and Jenny (Dakota Fanning), who bond after the disappearance of Marissa’s son in an affluent Chicago neighborhood in “All Her Fault.” Their wardrobes are more subtle, yet show that there are different strata in the quiet luxury landscape. Publishing exec Jenny is well off, but nowhere near as wealthy as Marissa, who owns an accounting firm. (Perhaps not coatless “Succession” rich, but still.)

Costume designer Gypsy Taylor pulled “silks and beautiful fine wools and cashmeres” in warm toffee, chocolate and peachy tones by designers like Max Mara and Armani for Marissa, while Jenny “was a little bit more street: leather coats instead of cashmere. Or a beautiful J. Crew turtleneck as opposed to a Saks Fifth Avenue” one.

But perhaps the most amusing depiction was how Taylor contrasted the stay-at-home moms (and dads) with Marissa and Jenny, with most of the sartorial showdowns taking place during school pickups and dropoffs. “We just went hard yummy mummy on her,” says Taylor of PTA President Sarah Larsen (Melanie Vallejo). She used “too much Lululemon,” as well as Alo and PE Nation to round out the athleisure.

In “The Audacity,” Silicon Valley parents Duncan (Billy Magnussen) and Lili (Punch) portray a different kind of luxury, a casual minimalism that belies the residents’ mind-boggling net worth. “The focus is not so much showing off the wealth, but at least, you know, it’s still there,” says the show’s costume designer Farnaz Khaki-Sadigh. “So you see people like wearing a T-shirt, but it’s not your average T-shirt — more about the quality of the fabric than the designer name on it.”

Finally, on the other side of the economic spectrum, there’s Margo (Elle Fanning) and her mother Shyanne (Michelle Pfeiffer) in “Margo’s Got Money Troubles.” When college student Margo unexpectedly becomes pregnant, Shyanne and Margo’s estranged father Jinx (Nick Offerman) step in; the series follows their struggle to support each other after baby Bodhi arrives.

Costume designer Mirren Gordon-Crozier says via email that her conversations with Fanning “centered around making Margo feel emotionally truthful rather than overly styled.” This meant vintage Levi’s, worn tees, thrift-store knits, “pieces that feel inherited or accumulated over time.” As for her mother, “Shyanne is much more performative. She understands the power of presentation and uses fashion almost as armor.”

But it’s not just the distinctive clothes that are uniting the people on these shows — it’s the fact that parenthood is just one aspect of these characters’ very full, very busy lives. “What does feel good to me is the fact that so many of these moms are being portrayed in Hollywood for something other than being a mom,” says Draguelis. “It just feels like being a mom is a continuation of who you are.”

Memorizing your lines seems like such a foundational part of an actor’s job that there wouldn’t be much to say about it. Yet when a group of performers recently got onto the topic during The Envelope’s Emmy Limited Series / TV Movie Roundtable, it turned out everyone had their own way of doing it. And all were eager for tips and tricks, whether it be an app, a line-drilling coach (“Can I have that number?”), writing down the first letter of each word or even writing a monologue backward.

“We have to share tools, guys,” said Camila Morrone, who plays a bride-to-be who learns her fiancé’s family dark secrets in the horror thriller “Something Very Bad Is Going to Happen.” “It’s funny that we all have such different methods.”

Joining Morrone were Jamie Bell, who stars in “Half Man,” about the extremely dysfunctional, toxic relationship between two stepbrothers; Linda Cardellini, who appears in “DTF St. Louis” as a dissatisfied woman caught in a dangerous love triangle; Michael Peña, who plays a detective assigned to the case of a missing child while his own boundaries are tested in “All Her Fault”; Andrew Rannells, who is a man coming to terms with his own life while helping to plan a funeral in “Miss You, Love You”; and Constance Zimmer, who channels the mother of Carolyn Bessette Kennedy in “Love Story: John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette.” Read on for more excerpts from our conversation.

How do you watch TV? A home theater screening room or a tablet on the go?

Morrone: When I see people on a plane watching on their phone, I’m like, “Do you know how many people worked on that?”

Zimmer: I can barely watch one on an iPad because I still feel guilty about not getting the full effect.

Cardellini: I can’t watch on my phone or an iPad. It starts to hurt my eyes. And I like to binge. I don’t like one at a time. I like to save it up, and I like a binge. I don’t have the patience.

Morrone: Oh, I love one at a time. I want to wait till Sunday night, order my favorite food, maybe have a friend come over … Guess our theories of what’s going to happen. I did that with “White Lotus” this year, and I was looking forward to every Sunday at 7 p.m.

Bell: I catch usually about 10 minutes of whatever my wife has fallen asleep to. And then I’ll get into that, and then I’ll watch a lot more episodes while she’s asleep. And then she’ll wake up, and we’ll be completely out of sync in terms of what we’re watching.

Jamie, “Half-Man” is such an emotionally intense show, and it seems like that would be a really hard head space to exist in. Are there things that you do for yourself to maintain your own sanity?

Bell: Me and Richard [Gadd], who wrote the show, are big soccer fans. So I brought a soccer ball to set a lot, and just whatever space we’re in, we just kick a ball to each other every now and then. So, a lot of that wasn’t even us really speaking to each other, but just passing a ball backwards and forwards, which was quite a nice way of just taking our minds off of whatever scene we were doing and still enjoy the space with each other and do something that was physical that didn’t really require us jumping [around] too much.

Camila, “Something Very Bad Is Going to Happen” is also a very intense show. It’s not so much a scream queen kind of horror; it’s this foreboding horror. Was that a difficult space for you to exist in?

Morrone: I think there’s an underappreciation for horror performances. I think some of the most incredible performances, especially by women, have been done in the horror genre. And I think it’s a really specific thing to do because if you’re playing only one level of horror throughout an eight-episode series, I think it’s incredibly boring. And I think I had this notion of like, “God, I don’t want to do these jump scares,” and kind of the cliches of what we imagine horror is like. But horror can be really deep and really internal, and I think there’s a lot of ways in which horror and fear manifest. And I think it was interesting to try and find levels to it and to have the audience come with you, but not dramatize or exaggerate an emotion.

Michael, in “All Her Fault” you are playing someone who could be a much more conventional detective character, but reveals more layers. Was there a moment in your career when you realized, whether it was going for certain roles or not going for certain roles, where you wanted to break out of feeling like a sidekick character or more stereotyped characters? Was there a moment where you made an effort to start going for a different kind of role?

Peña: Back when I started acting, the breakdowns for actors, it was like “Caucasian only,” “Caucasian only,” “Caucasian only,” and we weren’t allowed to audition for those. And it was only until the 14th part that it said, “Open to other ethnicities.” So there’s like a thousand of us going for the 14th place. Ten years of that, you kind of think, “I guess I’m meant to be a supporting character.” But then my mom, right before she died, what she said is, “If you’re going to do that, just make it real. What’s the best you can do with that part?” I said, “Make it a three-dimensional character.” She’s like, “Just do that.” And she’s like, “Nobody remembers your bank account.” And I was like, “Oh, these are two good pieces of advice, Moms,” and so that’s what I did. And with “Crash,” he was a gangster and I was like, “Screw it. I’m just going to do the work and try it out, and all the stuff that I was learning in acting class, I’m going to apply it to this particular role.” And I was happy with the work, so then I kept doing that.

For the rest of you, was there a moment where you had to make a decision about the kind of career that you wanted for yourself and the kind of roles you were going to go up for?

Zimmer: Sorry. It just makes me laugh because we have no control, as actors, over where they believe that we belong. I wish that we could say, “I’d like to try this now,” but it’s basically where they believe they would like us. And then you get put into an area, or a path, or a box, and you can’t get out until somebody else decides, “Hold on. We’re going to give you that shot to try this, even though it’s not necessarily what you normally do or are known for.” Then it takes that for everybody to go, “Oh, you can do this, too?” And it’s like, “Yeah, that’s my job.” My job is to do a lot of things, not just one role, or one type of role.

Rannells: You’d like to think that you’re more in control of those decisions, but sometimes things just happen.

Constance, as Ann Messina, Carolyn Bessette’s mother in “Love Story,” you have this speech that you give at their wedding dinner. It’s such an incredible scene, and I’m wondering, what was it like for you when you first read that in the script?

Zimmer: That monologue was actually my audition.

Peña: Oh, I love when that happens like that.

Zimmer: So I knew it very well, getting on the set with it. I think that I only saw two scripts out of nine episodes, and they were just the ones I was in. And I remember my team saying, “This might be it. We don’t know if there’s anything else that you’re going to do on the show.” And I said, “If this is the only thing I do, it’ll be worth it,” because it was so layered and it was so well-written by Connor Hines and Juli Weiner, I was kind of like, “This is all that matters anyway.” So, to be able to feel like I could pour the entire character into one moment in time, it allowed me to try and give her as much as possible because I was like, “This might be it.” So when I read it, I was like, “Oh, OK. That’s like those five-page monologues that you don’t get very often to do for one character in one episode.”

Linda, your character on “DTF St. Louis” has this habit of saying, “No way, José,” and it’s oddly catchy. And she also is always asking people to speak up. Is it difficult to take what seems, on the page, maybe like tics or weird habits and make them feel natural?

Cardellini: That was the great challenge of it, and it’s the beauty of [Steven Conrad’s] writing. Like we repeat “Jamba Juice,” or “Quality Inn,” or “Garden Suites,” all these little phrases, or “Snag it.” It’s so fun to find a way to make that seem like it is natural to you. I remember I had a long monologue audition, and in there I talk about, “No way, José.” I wasn’t sure what the tone was — it’s such a specific tone when you watch the show, and it’s very Steve Conrad. And I didn’t know what it was before I met him and before you could see the show in action. So getting through that and chewing through that in my audition, doing these versions of “No way, José” that I thought felt really, really natural to me, I was like, “This is how I would say it. This is how I’m going to do it. If my sense of humor matches his sense of humor, if our tones match, then I’ll get this role. And if they don’t, then somebody else will do it beautifully in that other way, whatever that is.” Luckily that was like a marriage of tone and thought, and then those things start to come naturally. And then you want to say them more often than they’re written. There’s not a lot of improv in the show, but we would all just joke around and say it to each other.

Andrew, so much of “Miss You, Love You” is just you and Allison Janney together —

Rannells: Just sitting in a house. Just talking.

What was the rehearsal process like? How did the two of you prepare for these very long dialogue scenes?

Rannells: We rehearsed it like a play, which was really fun, and I’ve never really … I mean, we did that, I guess, with “Boys in the Band” a little bit. We had done it on Broadway and then we all kind of still knew it from when we actually filmed it. But Allison and I rehearsed it like a play, and we would just run lines like little theater nerds. It was exciting because I’ve never — to get on set and to be able to say, like, “We can do the first 25 pages just because we’ve already memorized it.” And we did for Danny Moder, the [director of photography]; we did our little play for the crew one day. Which was really fun because you don’t normally get to work like that. It’s like in little segments. And [writer-director] Jim Rash just let us run it in a way that felt really satisfying to get to do. Because sometimes when you just do little pieces of things you’re like, “I can’t quite get the arc of this, and I don’t really know.” You’re doing inserts, and you’re like, “This doesn’t feel like acting.”

Zimmer: And you’re doing it out of order, so you’re like, “Wait, I’m playing the end before I’ve even played the beginning, but I don’t even know what my beginning is.”

Cardellini: It becomes detective work.

Rannells: Shout-out to Allison Janney. It turns out she’s good at acting.

Linda, what was it like working with an intimacy coordinator in shooting what certainly look like they could have been very awkward scenes in “DTF”?

Cardellini: I like an intimacy coordinator. I think it’s wonderful. I think they’re there if you would like to use them. Everybody I’ve ever worked with in that capacity has been so helpful and considerate, and I think it’s just a nice resource to have. And we had a great one on “DTF.” … One of the first scenes I ever shot was me where I have to, we call it “weight placement,” on Jason’s face. And we were scheduled to shoot that much later, but it came up the —

Rannells: That was your first day?

Cardellini: That was our first scene together, really placing your weight on somebody in a way where you just don’t want to hurt somebody’s face. I mean, you don’t want to suffocate somebody. There’s a lot of things that could happen. But it was handled so beautifully. And Jason, of course, is so wonderful, and we had such a great time doing the scenes because we just would laugh — they’re funny. The scenes, more than even being sexual, are so awkward and bizarre and filled with these strange little kinks that it becomes funny, in a way, although you treat it with dead seriousness. But Steve Conrad had a beautiful economy about what he was shooting, and he would storyboard. It was never just like, “Oh, be intimate and go for it, and we’ll see what we use.” It was, “This is the part of your body we’re going to use right here. This will be the shot. It’s this frame. We’re not going to do any more than that.” So you never felt like you were in the Wild West doing this passionate thing that felt uncomfortable. … Because, of course, going into something like that, reading the script, you’re thinking, “It’s a little nerve-racking. How am I going to do these things?” It was much easier than I could have ever imagined.

Constance, your character in “Love Story,” she embodies the other side of the glamour and the fame and the story that we all think we know. And in a lot of ways I can’t help but connect it to your character from “UnReal” in that it creates this really interesting perspective on fame. These roles, do they make you think about that, as well? Do you start to consider your own relationship to fame and your character’s relationship to fame?

Zimmer: Ann, [and] working on “Love Story” in general, really brought the price of fame to the forefront and how it can tear people apart and down and away from who they were before they became famous. And I think, in this particular story, Carolyn never set out to be famous. That was like the last thing she wanted. The scenes with me and Sarah Pidgeon, who plays Carolyn Bessette, were very much about, “How do I remind you that everything is going to change, and you are going to change?” So it made the mama bear really show up. And sadly, it’s hard to do the research about all of that and see how much media was to blame. I hate to say it, and it’s tough, especially for a woman: They really tore her apart. It definitely makes you look at things and go, “Wow, it’s so interesting what we all give up.” This is our craft. We do this as actors, yet when we step outside of our craft and our roles, we are judged on such a harsh level. We’re here for the work and to make and show these characters so that maybe you can see a little bit of yourself, or maybe it can help you with grief, or laughter, or whatever. But then, outside of our work, we are judged almost worse about how we’re aging, how we’re not aging, what we look like, what we don’t look like. It’s the hardest part, I think, of what we do.

Would the rest of you agree with that, that in some ways, it’s not the work that you’re doing, but it’s this other job that exists outside of your work, the fame aspect of it? Does that become a bigger challenge than you expect?

Rannells: So much of the promotion of things that you work on now hinges on your participation in like, “Post this picture” or “Do this video” or “Do this thing.” And that’s stuff that you just don’t think about when you say, “I want to be an actor.” You don’t think about, “Do I have to do a collab with the network?” I don’t want to do that. That’s not part of my job, but it is part of your job. That is part of it now. So that’s a tricky aspect of it that I didn’t expect.

Morrone: The other side of that coin is that there’s independent films that I’ve done, that nobody would have ever seen had I not been the poster child on social media, being like, “I love this film. Please, watch this film. This is how to watch this film.” So, then again, it can also be a really beneficial platform. And it’s such a complicated relationship because, I mean, I grew up with social media. I don’t ever remember not having a form of social media. And I wish I could be like the cool actors who aren’t on it. They’re much more mysterious.

Peña: Jamie’s not on it.

Bell: I mean, it’s not a conscious choice. I’m just not on it.

Jamie, both you and Linda have been acting since you were quite young and, in some ways, have grown up on camera. How do you know what of yourself to hold onto, what you allow the public to see? Is that something you , at some point in your career, had to make a decision about how much of yourself you were going to give away?

Bell: I’m quite a boring person. I’m a dad. When I’m not working, I’m just dad and school running and that kind of thing. And also, I enjoy working. So most of my time is spent either trying to get the next job, or thinking about the next job, or just really working hard on that because I enjoy that. So I really don’t think about any of that other stuff. And I’ve been quite fortunate in that no one is particularly interested in banging down that door anyway …which I’m quite relieved about, honestly, because I feel like I get to work in a space where I’m just coming and playing the part, and I’m going home. That’s all I’ve ever done is since I was like 12 or 13 years old, and I still enjoy that. I still enjoy that thrill of going to work and playing the character. And I have incredibly high expectations of myself and all those things. I self-flagellate a lot on the way home, like, “Why didn’t you do it like that?” I stress myself out about that kind of stuff, but I still go back the next day going like, “God, maybe I’ll get it today.” And that excitement still exists. And I think mostly that’s because I don’t have this other side of stuff that is distracting me from anything.

Cardellini: When I first started, I wondered if I would ever make a living at it. And to be able to have had it as my job and to have a job that I love and, like you said, show up and just be excited to do the work and be excited to be around other people who do the similar work or behind the camera… It’s such a beautiful community that I feel very grateful that I’ve been able to grow up doing what I love. I mean, I wouldn’t have guessed that it could have lasted this long. And people always said, like, “Oh, when you get to a certain age, it gets terrible for women.” And I still feel like I’m still learning and growing and doing new things, stuff I’ve never done before. So I just try to turn down my worry and just be so grateful in the moment, which is not always easy for me because I can live with a lot of anxiety. But thinking about it and listening to everybody here right now, I just am very grateful to have a seat at the table, literally and figuratively.

I’d imagine for all of you that you’re probably never quite sure what roles you do that are going to be the ones that hit in a certain way. Do you ever know what movies are going to land with audiences?

Peña: I think I’ve done OK in that department where if I read something and it really moves me, I just want to be a part of it. I mean, they had their own success, in a way. “Eastbound & Down” was so funny. When I read the character, I was like, “Oh, this is a really cool character.” And now the meme… There’s a fart meme. Man, I swear to God, we shot that 15 years ago, and literally I do a fart noise, and I say, “How long have you been with her?” It sucks now because I’m like, “That’s all they know me for. Not ‘Crash,’ not ‘World Trade Center,’ not all the movies that were nominated, this and that.” It’s the fart noise.

Rannells: Is that going to be your In Memoriam thing?

Peña: Can you imagine? Let’s watch a clip here of Michael —

As we talk about these past projects you’ve been a part of, it just leads to the question of how the business of being an actor, the nature of this as a job, has changed for you over the years.

Rannells: When I started, and I started in the ensemble of “Hairspray” on Broadway, I never expected that I would ever get a job on television. That just seemed very far away. So the fact that I get to do it and that I have a tiny bit of control over what I get to do is a real gift because it was very unexpected. My first TV job, I was a headless stripper on “Sex and the City.”

Morrone: What episode?

Rannells: It wasn’t a Halloween episode. They just didn’t shoot my face. But I remember filming it and being like, “I can’t imagine this will ever happen again, that I’ll be on a set, or doing a TV show,” So it’s still sort of a surprise anytime I get a job that I’m like, “Someone’s going to pay me to do that, to make faces.”

It seems like everyone in Hollywood right now is talking about artificial intelligence. For all of you, is that something that you are thinking about for yourself? Have you experimented with it at all?

Morrone: I really want to believe that people will always choose us and real emotion, and that the audience is really smart and they want to see real humans and real life experiences and raw emotion. And I pray that that’s the case. I have a lot of hope in humanity, in that case.

I don’t know what it means for us in the near future. I know that we have to protect ourselves. I actually was working with Patricia Arquette, she directed me in a film called “Gonzo Girl.” And she is so hyper-aware of all of this and looking into all her contracts. So was Jamie Lee Curtis. I got the opportunity to talk to her about AI. And they were so knowledgeable and like, “Go back and look at everything that you’ve done the last 10 years, and review everything, and make sure that they can’t use your likeness in the future.” I mean, it’s something that we really do have to be aware of.

Peña: I don’t think that it’s going to be a threat because it’s working off of a database and whatever has been uploaded onto that particular AI. So, just for s— and giggles, I was like, let me see if it can write some jokes. So, I’m like, “What would Peña say in this one?” I was like, “Lame.” All the jokes sucked, and they were recycled jokes. And I was like, “OK, cool. That gives me hope.”

Zimmer: Was there a fart joke in there, though?

The first film by Canadian filmmaker David Cronenberg to be shot partly in the U.S. is, perhaps not surprisingly, a freaky satire of Hollywood. Its take on fame has only grown more accurate in the years since its premiere in 2014. Julianne Moore, Mia Wasikowska and Robert Pattinson star in a demented tale of family, celebrity, ambition, ego and limousines. Funny and perverse, the film captures the uncanny cocktail of mean-spirited malignancy, self-obsessed delusion and just plain obliviousness that runs rampant around town. Presented by the screening series Mezzanine and the local literary magazine the Big One, the evening will be introduced by the film’s screenwriter, Bruce Wagner, a longtime chronicler of Los Angeles.

“Maps to the Stars” is playing June 14 at Brain Dead Studios. Tickets here.

When Nick Antosca was a kid, he didn’t like having good dreams.

“With good dreams, I’d wake up and think, ‘Well, that didn’t happen’ and be disappointed,’” he recalled in a recent video interview. “But with a nightmare I’d wake up with my pulse racing and think, ‘I’m OK, I survived.’ I loved nightmares.”

Chasing that excitement and “healthy” catharsis in his daily life, Antosca has built a career on telling crime and horror stories: “Channel Zero,” “The Act,” “Brand New Cherry Flavor,” “Candy” and “A Friend of the Family.”

His newest project is a 10-episode remake of “Cape Fear” for Apple TV, starring Javier Bardem as Max Cady along with Amy Adams and Patrick Wilson as Anna and Tom Bowden.

“I think everything I’ve done is kind of a psychological horror story about the characters and their relationships,” he says, noting that this is true of the best horror tales like “Rosemary’s Baby,” “The Shining” and “Cape Fear.”

Antosca was a fan of both the original 1962 “Cape Fear” starring Robert Mitchum and Martin Scorsese’s 1991 remake starring Robert De Niro. But he felt it was time for a modern revision, a Southern Gothic fever dream that reflects the complexities of life today.

“The terror in ‘Cape Fear’ is about the destruction of the family,” he says. The story was originally about Cady, a rapist released from prison stalking Sam Bowden, who had interrupted his crime and testified against him. In Scorsese’s version, Bowden had been Cady’s defense attorney who, knowing Cady was guilty, had hidden evidence about the victim’s promiscuity to ensure a conviction and long sentence.

The original features “an all-American archetype of a virtuous family pitted against a monster,” while Scorsese depicted a “broken and dysfunctional family and the monster is even more extreme, he’s like a swamp creature.”

“The previous versions of ‘Cape Fear’ are pretty cut and dry,” Antosca says.

The new iteration features a sexting scandal, social media eruptions and drones — “there’s more ways to terrorize a family in 2026 and the world is scarier today than it was before” — but that’s not what makes it feel different.

“In our version the truth is more complicated, the past is more mysterious and both the family and the monster are more complicated,” he says. “The truth is murkier and that feels current.”

In this adaptation, Anna Bowden had been Cady’s defense attorney, and he’s no longer an illiterate rube but a successful restaurateur who was convicted of murdering his wife and unborn son. After the trial, Anna scandalously married Cady’s prosecutor Tom; he became stepfather to her newborn daughter Natalie (Lily Collias) and they later had a son Zack (Joe Anders).

“The foundation of their happiness is Max’s suffering,” he says, adding that while the crime was local in the previous versions, Cady’s conviction had been a national sensation in this one.

On the surface, the Bowdens are a perfect family, but cracks are rippling with increasing intensity just beneath, a fragility that will soon be exploited by Cady.

“In the first episodes, the family is permeable and a threat could be coming from anywhere,” he says. “Even if in your gut you think it’s Max Cady, it feels like it’s seeping into the family from all different directions.”

When Cady is suddenly exonerated and set free, he shows up to insinuate himself in the Bowdens’ life. Anna, ironically, works for a nonprofit that seeks to exonerate the wrongly convicted.

“All the versions ask, ‘What would you do to protect your family?’ but this also asks, ‘If an injustice was done to somebody, then what are they justified doing in return,’” he says. “I don’t want the audience rooting for Max, necessarily, but I want to trick them into having sympathy for somebody they didn’t expect to have sympathy for.”

To pull that off, “Cape Fear” needed a star as charismatic as Mitchum and De Niro.

Antosca always dreamed of Bardem as Cady: “When I’d pitch networks before there was a script, I’d say, ‘Picture Javier Bardem in this role.’” But this time, his dream came to vivid life.

The two developed the character together, everything from the explanation for Cady’s Spanish background to his exposure to Santería and prison and his “mutated version of the real religion” to the tattoos adorning Cady’s body to an early scene with a panther and the idea of the “psychological jungle,” which inspired Bardem to incorporate a panther’s physicality into his movement and his eyes.

“Javier also asked questions about Max’s emotional history that was useful in shaping his character,” he says. “We wanted to show a little more authentic vulnerability, which we see very much in the previous versions intentionally.”

To make this series, Antosca first approached Scorsese and Steven Spielberg, who had initially developed the 1991 version. “They were incredibly generous and quite involved,” Antosca says. “They encouraged us to forge our own path.”

The one place they urged some fidelity to the past versions was in the score. “They said the Bernard Herrmann score is part of the DNA and feels like a character in both movies,” says Antosca, noting that Elmer Bernstein adapted the original in Scorsese’s version and Jeff Russo used the same starting point this time around.

Scorsese discussed episodes over FaceTime and Zoom, spending time dissecting a vicious fight scene while Antosca was editing it; shot in color but shown in black-and-white, the blood splattering may make you think of “Raging Bull,” but Antosca says the visceral violence was meant to call up “Casino’s” vise scene.

It may be nearly too much to handle, but Antosca is from New Orleans and says he found it easy to exploit the Southern Gothic sensibilities. “Everything is heightened in the Deep South and we were going for that energy, where something is adjacent to the real world but more saturated, sweatier, more feverish,” he says, noting that while the first episode is “cinematically pretty grounded and traditional, when the family gets shocked out of their comfort zone, things get a little crazy.”

That meant handheld cameras, flares, saturated colors, distortions, negative imagery and odd angles to reflect the growing sense of terror. Antosca promises that in the back half of the series, the show will get even wilder and more destabilizing.

“It just feels like there’s violence in the humidity in the South,” he says.

Subconsciously hearkening back to his childhood sleep experiences, he adds, “I wanted this story to feel like a nightmare that just keeps getting worse and worse and worse and worse.”

Since launching at the start of 2025, “The Pitt” has emerged as more than just a hyperrealistic depiction of an embattled American emergency department. Using its hospital setting as a social microcosm, HBO Max’s Emmy-winning juggernaut has explored various systemic issues — including the misogyny that women of color face in the workplace.

“Some of the stories from real physicians and nurses that I’ve spoken to are so crazy. The system feels like it’s 15, 20 years behind other industries,” says Sepideh Moafi, who portrays attending Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi. “There is still this older culture of a boundaryless style of work where [there’s] a lack of understanding and compassion,” with respect to pregnancy and childcare, for working women.

“The Pitt’s” depiction of such subjects includes unflinching attention to microaggressions and unconscious biases. Isa Briones, who plays second-year resident Dr. Trinity Santos, recalls hearing from qualified on-set doctors that “a lot of female physicians will wear their lab coats, because it makes them look like more of an authority.”

“We have a female, half-Asian doctor on our set who consistently says that people talk to the nurse in the room if they’re a white man instead of her,” adds Supriya Ganesh, whose character, fourth-year resident Dr. Samira Mohan, is mistaken for a nurse in Season 2, despite having “DOCTOR” emblazoned on her name tag.

Nor is the series reluctant to show the other side of the dynamic, as doctors Robinavitch (Noah Wyle) and Langdon (Patrick Ball) lash out against their colleagues in lieu of acknowledging their own flaws. Although the women of “The Pitt” would never compare acting to saving lives, Briones believes that the experiences of women — especially from marginalized communities — share commonalities across many male-dominated industries.

“The entertainment business constantly feels like a boys’ club that you cannot penetrate no matter what you do, because it’s still always going to be these older white men who are making all the decisions,” she says. “That’s why seeing the storyline with Langdon and Robby informed my performance so much, because I know this feeling of being like, ‘Why the f— are these men fist-bumping each other? I’m also here! I’m doing my job too!’”

“As a woman in any field, if you express emotion, if you make your opinion or your voice heard, then it’s like, ‘You’re talking too much. You’re being hysterical,’” Moafi says.

In holding up a mirror to the healthcare system, showrunner R. Scott Gemmill also wanted to explore the linguistic diversity of its practitioners, allowing his actors of color to reconnect with their mother tongues.

“Language shapes who you are, how you see the world,” Moafi says. Al-Hashimi became a polyglot — speaking English, Farsi and Armenian — in part to curb the effects of a seizure disorder on her temporal lobe, which is crucial for language comprehension. “[Language] connects you to different registers in the body. The rhythms are different, and the emotional access is more immediate.”

During Season 1, Santos — who, like Briones, is half-Filipino — surprised nurses Princess (Kristin Villanueva) and Perlah (Amielynn Abellera) by chiming in on their gossip session in Tagalog. But wanting to show “a more vulnerable side of Santos” this season, Briones worked with her own actor father, Jon Jon, to find a Filipino lullaby that she could sing to baby Jane Doe.

To reflect the 100-plus languages spoken in the Philippines, they selected a Hiligaynon lullaby called “Ili Ili Tulog Anay.” Briones advocated for the scene not to have subtitles: “It should be just this quiet moment that you don’t have to understand [the language] to understand, but also it’s a great moment for people who do speak it to feel that little secret joy.”

For Briones, speaking Tagalog at work has opened up difficult conversations with her immigrant father, who feels shame about not passing down enough cultural knowledge to his children. “I’ve been starting with Rosetta Stone, so I can start conversing with my dad and then he can help me, because I want to be able to talk to my lola and she doesn’t have to work through English,” she says. “This show has reminded me of how important that is to me.”

Ganesh, who grew up in New Delhi, felt strongly that Mohan should not be fluent in Hindi because of its similarities to Nepali, the language that doctors struggled to identify when treating a patient in the first season. Instead, the actor chose to infuse her own heritage into the character, who uses Tamil as a way to feel connected to her late father.

“She chooses to speak it with her mom, because maybe that’s the only other person she has in her life who she can speak it to,” explains Ganesh, who recalls consulting multiple generations of her own family — and even her on-set coach’s family — for the Tamil dialogue. “She wants to preserve that as much as she can, even though it’s already filtered through her being American and being born in this country.”

That part of Indian American culture will be lost next season, with Ganesh officially departing at the end of Season 2. The actor reiterates that the “creative decision” to write Mohan off was made by executive producers Gemmill, Wyle and John Wells: “They work with such intention on the show and make all the choices that they make for that reason, so I think it’s better to ask them for answers.”

“I’m going to treasure all the memories I had working with these two and everyone else,” Ganesh adds. “It’s been so great just getting all the love from the fans. I feel sad for them, too, that they won’t get to see this character.”

“The representation that you brought to the show is so beautiful,” Briones chimes in. “Seeing the fans ride for you so hard and be like, ‘This was the first time I felt represented on camera,’ it’s really gorgeous to see everyone coming out and celebrating that and celebrating you.”

For her part, Moafi believes that Dr. Mohan will be remembered for the way “she won’t compromise humanity in how she delivers care.” “The power of strength comes from vulnerability, and in order to go fast, you have to slow down,” she adds. “That’s something that is so ingrained in us, as women.”

“It’s already awards season again?”

So asked a Times colleague on our morning editorial call earlier this week, sharing her impression that the Oscars — which were handed out March 15 — just concluded. And though it may feel like Hollywood was awarding gold statuettes just yesterday, the Emmys wait for no man, least of all this one.

I’m Matt Brennan, editor in chief of the Envelope and I’ll be back in your inboxes for the next three weeks to share highlights from our four pre-nominations issues, starting with the June 4 edition. Whether you’re a voter prioritizing what to catch up with or an observer trying to get a handle on what’s in this year’s race, read on.

The Emmy Comedy Roundtable

Leave it to comedy legend Steve Carell to deliver a sage piece of advice on The Envelope’s 2026 Emmy Comedy Roundtable — without even participating in the conversation.

“Steve says this beautiful thing that characters don’t know whether they’re in a comedy or a drama,” Carell’s “Rooster” co-star Danielle Deadwyler relayed to nods of agreement and appreciation from the panel. “And that’s about as true as it gets. You bring full rigor and development and discipline to the making of a role, regardless of what genre.”

Of course, with Deadwyler, Donald Faison (“Scrubs”), Sabrina Impacciatore (“The Paper”), Justine Lupe (“Nobody Wants This”), Lamorne Morris (“Spider-Noir”) and Chris Perfetti (“Abbott Elementary”) around the table, the conversation, moderated by The Times’ Lorraine Ali, came with plenty of laughs too — about surviving bad reviews, being mistaken for other performers, breaking one’s castmates and much more. You can also watch it on YouTube here.

Meet ‘SNL’s’ resident ‘quiet little freak’

As someone who counts ex-Trump voters among my own family, “Saturday Night Live” cast member Ashley Padilla’s character in “Mom Confession” — about a stubborn MAGA parent who finally admits to her kids that she may have been wrong about the president — struck a chord with me when it aired in January. So I was delighted to see contributor Tim Grierson’s profile of the actor (and former Diane Keaton assistant) dig into what makes the sketch, like so much of her work on NBC’s variety series, tick.

“Padilla, who sports an ebullient manner and warm smile, has become a fan favorite by exploring how much humor (and tension) you can derive from stillness,” he writes. “Her best sketches … sparkle because of how expertly she builds suspense regarding where the setup is going.”

‘Margo’s Got Money Troubles’

Sex work is work. And in the right hands, it’s highly creative work. Case in point: HungryGhost, the alien alter ego Margot Millet (Elle Fanning) assumes when she launches an OnlyFans to make ends meet in “Margo’s Got Money Troubles.”

As contributor Tomris Laffly reports, the DIY artistry that brings HungryGhost to life in “Margo” reflects the layers of craftsmanship required to bring her to the screen, from hand-bedazzled cowboy boots to bulk-bought containers of turquoise eye shadow. “She’s a director,” executive producer and director Dearbhla Walsh says of Margo, an aspiring writer. “You could always see the creation [process], how Margo brought theater into her OnlyFans.”

More stories from our June 4 issue

Mindy Kaling was in her early 30s when the first TV series she created, “The Mindy Project,” made its debut and set in motion her attempt at forging an identity as a prolific multi-hyphenate after “The Office,” where she was a writer and cast member for eight seasons. But if you ask her to reflect on that time of her life, she says, it’s a bit of a blur.

As she explained recently, “I remember it, but not all that distinctly. It was such a grind — waking up at 6 a.m. to be on camera, wrapping late. And I did that for 117 episodes.”

But ask her about her 20s, when she was living in New York City and trying to figure out how she could break into the industry as a comedy writer? “I remember incredibly vividly,” she says. “I’m like, did I feel things more intensely back then? I’m not sure. But that period of time … there was just so many highs and lows. And it felt cinematic to me.”

So she made a TV show about it.

Premiering Tuesday with three episodes, “Not Suitable for Work” follows five ambitious 20-somethings living in Manhattan who are navigating the early stages of their careers while trying to have a semblance of a life and the heightened emotions they experience during this period. Kaling calls it the third chapter in her semi-autobiographical TV trilogy, which includes “Never Have I Ever,” about a first-generation Indian American teenager coping with her father’s death while trying to be popular (or at least not super uncool), and “The Sex Lives of College Girls,” about four young women who dorm together and boldly maneuver their new, uninhibited lives on campus.

In the new Hulu series, viewers are introduced to AJ Pascarelli (Ella Hunt), a hard-working and disciplined young woman who moves to town to start a high-pressure finance job, and her roommate Abhinaya “Abby” Chilukuri (Avantika), a savvy and fashion-obsessed assistant to a celebrity stylist. They live across the hall from Josh Teitelbaum (Jack Martin), an idealistic nepo baby of a media titan — he’ll lean into his privilege when it suits him while also trying to distance himself from it — with ambitions of making it in journalism. His two roommates are Kel Washington (Nicholas Duvernay), an insecure but earnest med student who would rather be acting, and Davis Beau Bradley Barrett III (Will Angus), a high-energy, bumbling financial analyst who works at the same corporate firm as AJ and is an undercover hopeless romantic. As one might expect, there are some messy entanglements within and outside the group.

“I hope that young people will respond to the show, “ Kaling says. “We did so much research in it because at a certain point it is funny — I’m in my 40s, and I am often like, ‘I wonder if young people are suspicious about why I’m so obsessed with writing shows about young people.’”

So, why is she?

“Because I find it almost impossible to reflect on the current time I’m in,” she says. “It would be too painful to be too introspective about the time that I’m in. I need a real sense of distance to look back on it, especially since having kids. Once you have kids, it triggers these memories of your own childhood.”

Over video call from New York City, Kaling reflected on the series and her early years of trying to make it. These are edited excerpts from the conversation.

How did you land on the professions that your characters would be pursuing and what did you want to say about ambition at this stage of life?

I love people who have big wants, and sometimes the audience is like, “Maybe you want the wrong thing” and they [the characters] don’t quite know that yet. I love writing about the underdog. And with their particular professions, they’re all things that I had some interest in researching. I’ve always been fascinated by investment bankers. I went to Dartmouth, so I have a lot of friends who went into that, and I swear I’ve had my friends explain their job so many times to me, and I still didn’t totally understand it. We were lucky; a very famous investment bank very generously offered to let me come for a day and meet with young bankers. I also … write about the children of immigrants. I’m very, very interested in that story, and so we got to research what it’s like being the child of Nigerian immigrants. But every single character has a journey, or there’s an aspect of them that I feel like I really relate to, and that is in almost all my shows.

What was it like observing young people in the investment banking world?

They were wary — because they’re smart — of someone from Hollywood coming in to document what they were doing and asking questions. It helped that a lot of the guys liked “The Office” and a lot of the women liked “The Mindy Project” and “Sex Lives of College Girls” because they’re all kind of young. I think that made them trust me a little bit more. For the AJ and Davis characters, so much of what I researched when I was there fed into their plot line … almost all the characters have a boss they fear and idolize, and the way that first-year bankers feel about their managing directors is not dissimilar to the way I felt about Greg Daniels when I started at “The Office.” And the hours are actually not dissimilar.

There’s a moment early on where Jay Ellis’ character, Bill, who is a managing director at this fictional investment banking firm, is asked about work-life balance. I’m curious how you thought about that at the start of your career versus now.

I didn’t care at all about anything except my job for 16 years. It was my entire personality and purpose. When I was in my 20s, the only thing that mattered was being a good comedy writer and succeeding, and one day maybe being able to create my own shows. There was no balance. I didn’t want balance. I wanted to live and breathe comedy writing for my entire life. I hated the weekends, actually. And who wouldn’t? I was a friendless transplant in Los Angeles and I just wanted to get back to working at “The Office.” Every year I was there, I got more ambitious and I wanted to go off and create my own show and have a bigger part as an actor and everything.

It wasn’t until after I did that on “The Mindy Project” … that I just felt like, “OK, I get this. I want to now try being a mom.” Once I had my daughter, Katherine [at 37], it wasn’t that the balance changed, it was my first real, legitimate interest outside of work — that I cared about more than work.

After college, you moved to Brooklyn with two Dartmouth friends to pursue a career in comedy. You eventually got a full-time job as a production assistant on “Crossing Over with John Edward,” a program where people would receive psychic readings. Tell me about that time in your life.

I remember feeling like I had no access and that I didn’t have any place to put my ambition. It was so far away from anything I wanted to do — scripted comedy and reality television could not be further apart. It was a fascinating time because there were such highs and lows. There was the excitement of new crushes and having fun in a new city with two friends, but there was also the crushing disappointment of feeling like I was never gonna make it. I didn’t even have a path forward to making it, but I was lucky, because I lived with my two best friends. We would go to open mic nights, and we would go to restaurant week and see how the rich people in Manhattan were living. We would take the subway uptown to Central Park and walk along Fifth Avenue and like look at these amazing homes and just dream what it was like to be like a wealthy New Yorker who could buy everything that they read about on DailyCandy — now I’m really dating myself here, back when DailyCandy was a thing. But that’s what it was like, I just I felt a lot of extreme emotions.

How did you approach that job?

My boss was a producer and would approach the families and get their information, and then we would have to do research on them, but it was mostly because they would do a little clip package on the different families. I had to get them to sign releases to be on the show and get photographs of their deceased [loved ones] and them. I actually thought it was pretty interesting work. It just had nothing to do with comedy writing, and that job was not clearly going to lead anywhere toward comedy writing, and I came to New York because of “Saturday Night Live.” When I was working there is when my friend Brenda [Withers] … and I started writing this play “Matt & Ben” [a satirical play that imagines the story of Matt Damon and Ben Affleck before “Good Will Hunting” made them famous] in the time we had off. We started writing it, then I got that job as a PA, then the show went up at the Fringe Festival, and then it was going to go off off Broadway, and when it went off-off-Broadway, and I had a steady income, that’s when I quit my job there. I was only at “Crossing Over” for three or so months.

Greg Daniels attended a performance of “Matt & Ben” and it’s what led to you getting on “The Office” at 24. What was that first meeting like?

Back then, because the internet was so different, when I looked up Greg, besides his credits, you couldn’t find a lot of biographical information about him, or even a photo. I don’t think I even knew what he looked like. When I met him, I don’t think I had seen the British “Office” yet; I wasn’t cool. At that time, I had put so much pressure on this job. I only had two interviews — it was this and there was a show that ended up getting canceled while I was waiting to meet the showrunner. It was a pilot called “Nevermind Nirvana,” about an Indian man who married a white woman, and Ajay Sahgal was the writer. I was like, “Oh my God, if anyone is going to get hired to work on the show, it has to be me.” I was pretty excited about that meeting, but when I was sitting in the waiting room at the production offices to meet with Ajay, they told them they weren’t going to pick up the pilot, so I never even got to meet him, and they just told me I could leave.

I’d only had that interview, and then I met with Greg. This is my memory: it was a high-rise building in Century City, in the offices of “King of the Hill,” so there was a lot of like “King of the Hill” cutouts and stuff there. And he’s just a very thoughtful, quiet guy who doesn’t push conversation … I’m someone who’s pathologically chatty, and so talking to Greg, who is completely fine with there being pauses in conversation, and is just a confident grown-up, it was incredibly intimidating. I was very stressed out in our meeting, but I also was blown away by him.

That first season, you were also the only female writer on staff and the youngest —

B.J.[Novak] is a month younger than me. I want to correct that because he’ll read this and go, “Hey … !”

How did that play into how you felt in the room?

I haven’t really ever had imposter syndrome. And this is my probably my personality defect — I felt that even if I hadn’t seen anyone like me in these roles, that I was just going to be the first one, and I was going to work really hard and prove it to them. The staff was super competitive, but they were smart feminist guys. It was hierarchical and stressful, but it was not because of my fellow writers, except that I wanted to impress them. I felt nervous because I wanted to be contributing, but I don’t know why — I just loved the pilot so much that Greg had made, and I loved these characters, and this world — I was like, I can’t possibly lose my job, I love it too much. Which is probably really stupid, I didn’t ever think there’s a possibility that I could get fired here.

We see how AJ wants to impress the boss and takes on more than she can chew and screws up some data before a big presentation. What was that first big mistake or misstep that you made in those early years that you still think about?

I remember Season 2 — because I just wanted to prove to Greg and to the cast and to the director, the cinematographer, and everyone that I was super invested — we were shooting “The Dundies” [episode]. I was an actor on the show as well, but I wasn’t acting in this scene, but it was my episode [that I wrote], and in between takes, John [Krasinski, who played Jim Halpert] and Jenna [Fischer, who played Pam Beesly] were just on set, and I remember going up to them and being like, “Guys, that take was so great!” And I walked away. Greg came up to me and was like, “You know, we really should let just the director talk to the cast between takes.” Greg, he’s my mentor, but he definitely, over the course of the eight years I lived there, had corrected me many times, as he should have, but that was one of the first times. I remember I was so embarrassed, but I didn’t understand it’s not the role of a story editor to be giving feedback to the cast between takes on a show.

The bosses on the show all have different styles and expectations that may seem demanding or annoying on the surface. How do they reflect where you’re at now?

No one trains you on how to be a good boss. And bad bosses are so prevalent. The entire premise of “The Office” hinges on this funny concept that terrible bosses exist. It wasn’t until I was on “The Mindy Project” that I was the employer for the first time. Every single year of that show, it was a battle getting a new season. One of the challenges of being a good boss is being able to put aside those personal, professional battles you’re fighting … but then also realizing that you’re a mentor to other people, and you have to start thinking about things that you never thought you needed to — overtime, maternity leave, respect in the workplace, the things that make the workplace enjoyable for everyone else who’s there working for you. And it’s not like that comes naturally.

The double blessing of having a good boss, which I did in Greg Daniels and Howard Klein [an executive producer on “The Office”], is that they modeled that for me. Even though I could not be more different than Greg. Even to this day, I’m realizing I have all the unique challenges of being a single mom, being the creator of these shows with crews and casts, but then also being able to be empathetic for all the people that work for me and making sure I make time to listen to them when they want to talk to me about an issue that they’re having; it’s a continual challenge that I’m hoping I’m getting better and better at [managing].

When Bill is asked about work-life balance, he’s also asked if he has inspirational words to impart. It’s very much about overworking and being productive. How do you tackle the question today?

I used to say “you have to write your own part.” And everyone would get annoyed because they’re like, “I’m not a writer.” I’ve had to really think about the question so I could be helpful. We all want a linear path to success. And if my career has taught me anything, it’s that the linear path just was not how I got my job. You know when you go on Google Maps and it shows you all the different paths — the fastest, one path with the toll road and one path that’s going to take seven minutes longer. I’ve only ever taken the one that’s seven minutes longer, or the toll; it’s never been the easy way. The sooner I got used to that, the better.

Before I let you go, in the show, one of the celebrity clients Abby is dealing with is Austin Blanchett, Cate Blanchett’s fictional nephew. Was it always going to be Cate? What other celebs were in the running?

It was Cate Blanchett’s nephew before we had Harry Richardson. When I worked on “Ocean’s Eight,” one of the biggest surprises on it was that Cate Blanchett was incredibly funny and did not take herself seriously at all. I suspect if anyone was going to think it was funny that in this fictional world of the show she had this useless nepo nephew that she had to help get jobs, it would be Cate. I hope she doesn’t sue me. I think she would think it was funny.

Sit at a table with a bunch of actors and it inevitably becomes an impromptu acting class, one in which even the Michelle Pfeiffer is leaning over to observe. At least that’s what happened on a recent afternoon when The Envelope gathered six actors from some of this season’s most talked about television series for its 2026 Emmy Drama Roundtable.

It all began when Pfeiffer (“The Madison”) shared that, while studying acting, she couldn’t grasp the technique created by Sanford Meisner, which trains actors to stop overthinking and encourages them to listen and respond actively to their scene partners. The revelation immediately activated Katherine LaNasa (“The Pitt”), who beckoned Tom Pelphrey (“Task”) to join her in a spontaneous application. (Both had studied the method.)

“I like your jacket,” LaNasa said, locking eyes with Pelphrey.

“You like my jacket?” he replied playfully.

“I do like your jacket … You’re smiling at me.”

The exchange, which had a flirtatious energy, continued for a minute, before Pelphrey and LaNasa emphasized that it’s essentially looking at and listening to what the other person is doing.

“Somehow I was doing it wrong and I didn’t understand why I was doing it wrong,” Pfeiffer said.

This openness and encouragement carried the entire conversation, which brought together Pfeiffer, who plays Stacy Clyburn, a wealthy New York City matriarch whose life is upended by the tragic death of her husband, which compels her to move to Montana; LaNasa, who brings depth to the burnout plaguing steadfast, straight-talking charge nurse Dana Evans; Pelphrey, in his turn as Robbie Prendergast, a sanitation worker who robs drug houses at night to provide for his family; Zahn McClarnon, who stars as Det. Joe Leaphorn, a stoic man battling his past and the loss of his son in “Dark Winds”; Billy Magnussen, who portrays Duncan Park, the eccentric and profit-hungry CEO of a tech company in “The Audacity”; and Karolina Wydra, who plays Zosia, the eternally cheerful liaison to a utopian, hive-minded collective in “Pluribus.” Read on for excerpts from our discussion.

I know all your characters are going through some personal things, but if you were to transform into them for 24 hours, what would you do with that day?

Magnussen: I live with Duncan daily because I think your job as an actor is to check the morality of the character you’re playing. And at the same time, you have to question your own morality, see where you stand, to then deal with that character. Duncan’s a really messed-up guy, and doing it for five months … I was on set 16 hours a day every day. I was with him nonstop. And his temperament and pace was just out of this world. It’s exhausting. So what would I do? I would try to go to a spa, personally, because it’s exhausting.

Wydra: Do you find that it gets blurry after a little while?

Magnussen: I still know who Billy is.

McClarnon: But there’s times where you can’t see that line between [fiction and] reality, just moments. I’ve found myself in those moments where I know the difference, obviously, but I’m so emotionally attached to Deanna Allison, who plays my wife on the show, where I can’t separate them anymore. It’s not like 24 hours, but just moments where I’m like, “Wait a second, where am I? Am I in the show? Is this Joe Leaphorn or is this Zahn?” Usually in the middle of the season, it starts to get a little blurry for me.

Magnussen: Do you think it’s the job, though, to keep it separated? Or do you guys believe in Method acting?

Wydra: Rhea Seehorn, who is on “Pluribus,” who’s incredible, who’s my partner in crime, she gave me a book about Method [acting] — the Method and what really Method was. And it’s not what we think it is. We all do Method acting, but it’s not staying in the character and living in the character forever. … And that’s what people think Method is, is that you never break the character, you take the character home, but it’s not. It’s building a world. Building it, personalizing it.

Pfeiffer: Isn’t that what we all do? Some actors will go live on the ranch. They won’t take a bath for six months. They really take it to another level, which I’m not willing to do … From the minute I commit to something, it’s right there [in my head], I’m thinking about it. It can be a year away, and it’s right here torturing me, which is I think why I’m a bit of a commitment-phobe. My agents always call me “Dr. No” because I know no matter what, even if I’m not consciously aware of it, it’s there just badgering me.

LaNasa: I have found that people want Dana, want my character, in real life. And it’s cool because she’s very comforting to people. But I had an experience recently in New York where this table of girls, they were having some party, and someone said, “Oh, you mean a lot to us.” And I said, “Oh, are they nurses?” Well, some of them are. And then they asked at the end of their dinner would I take a picture. And then one girl told the other people to leave and then she told me her illness journey. And I had breast cancer. She was going through breast cancer. And it was really interesting. And it was the most meaningful that I’d ever felt about taking a character home where it’s like … I think I spoke about my wellness journey because I was playing the role. It ended up coming up through the press. … And for some reason, because I was Dana in someone’s mind, it meant something. And I thought, “Well, this was actually useful. This breaking of that wall between character and person was actually useful.”

Tom, you get the call that you’re cast as Robbie in “Task.” What’s the first thing you do to figure him out?

Pelphrey: When I read the first two episodes, I felt like I understood Robbie’s soul perfectly, but I knew that I would have to break my ass to get that accent right. So that was where I focused most of my conscious energy and discipline and time, was just [on the] technical, just on the accent. The fun part was, because he would be my age, thinking about growing up in Philly at that time and who his heroes would be, having ideas for tattoos, stuff like that. We had more time than you get sometimes before we had to start filming because we knew and then the writers’ strike happened. I had a lot of months to sit with him and emotionally and spiritually. And I’d just become a father. Obviously [with] Robbie, everything he does is for his kids.

Pfeiffer: It changes everything. It opens your heart.

Pelphrey: I was a new person. And I understood him in that regard perfectly and I couldn’t have before. I could have imagined it and now I knew for sure.

For “The Audacity,” Billy, you spoke with some tech folks. What did you come to understand about what they’re after as innovators versus what you’re after as a creative?

Magnussen: Listen, no one’s a villain in their own story. I believe that from Day 1, these people probably came to the Valley with genuine ideas. The genesis of their idea was to connect and really bring something powerful and important to society and people. And, “Oh wait, we’re making a lot of f— money.” And through that lens, you start being blinded by this humanity that’s around you or caring for people around you rather than a bottom line. When you’re in an incestuous pool or in a small bubble, culture is created. And like Facebook, their slogan was “Move fast and break things.” Being a bull in a china shop is not a good idea anywhere, but for some reason that was the culture. People just started doing that more and more and breaking things and breaking things and breaking things. I don’t think they started off that way, but the culture just bred them to become this way. I personally relate that to, I don’t want to say Hollywood or the entertainment world, but we’ve seen the toxicity. And we’ve been slowly trying to filter that out, I think, of Hollywood. But when you have a microclimate kind of culture feeding in toxic behavior and rewarding toxic behavior over and over again, it breeds it. So you start to have to scrape away that cancer. But again, the genesis of all these ideas were pure. We were 6 years old just dreaming to be something or being like, “I could do this.”

Pfeiffer: Pretending to be something else, other than what we were.

Magnussen: I empathize with that. I don’t think people are bad. I just think they’re lost sometimes.

Karolina, your character in “Pluribus,” Zosia, is carrying the weight of almost every person in the world. What do you remember about those discussions with [creator] Vince Gilligan and how he helped you unpack this character and the relationship with Carol, Rhea [Seehorn]’s character?

Wydra: I took a break for five years from acting before Zosia came into my life. I walked away at 39 to have kids and my agent and my manager dropped me and it was really terrifying to also be a woman and turning 40, to have children at that time. When Lou [her second son] was maybe a year-and-a-half [old], I got the itch of like, “God, I miss acting so much. How am I ever going to come back? How am I going to get an opportunity?” And I was 43 at the time and out of nowhere I got an email being like, “Hey, there’s this thing …” from a commercial agent that I was on their roster, but I did not work with them. And they said, “There’s this audition.” And I go, “OK.” I read it and I said, “Who wrote it?” And she said, “Vince Gilligan for Apple TV.” I went, “What? OK.” And I didn’t know anything about the project and it was always my dream to work with Vince from when I saw “Breaking Bad.”

Long story short, I’m here and the whole journey has been so wild, so insane. When I first would talk to him about Zosia, I was like, “God, how am I going to tackle the world and someone that has the highest emotional intelligence, someone that does all these different things? And how do you see the Others? How do you want them to move about the world and the complexities of who they are?” Vince is such a beautiful human being. He’s like, “They’re just happy and content.” You go, “OK, yeah, but … what else?” For me, Zosia is extremely spiritual. Meditation was my key, my go-to to get into that zone of connection to humanity, not in the physical but very spiritual way where, [if] you meditate enough, the ego gets lifted and you truly feel connected, and you feel one with everyone. And the wild thing, I think the greatest gift, was becoming a mother; I understood what it means, unconditional love. Because my heart lives outside my body all the time. And so becoming a mother was a gift to play Zosia, because I unconditionally love Carol. And now, no matter what she throws at me, I just love her, and take care of her, and I want to nurture her.

Michelle, you get the call from Taylor Sheridan, who also created “Landman” and “Yellowstone.” He says he wants to meet with you and he wants to do it on his turf in Texas, not yours. There’s no script. What does someone like Taylor Sheridan say to someone like Michelle Pfeiffer that will get her to agree to the show?

Pfeiffer: Well, he gave me a lot of tequila.

LaNasa: Writing this down: Tequila, check.

Pfeiffer: I got a call that he wanted to meet with me, that he had an idea for something, “But you have to come to Texas.” And I said, “Is there anything? Is there an outline? Is there a paragraph?” “No, no. He wants to explain it to you in person.” I had to stay the night in Fort Worth and then met with him and he gave me tequila, and then after a while I had to stop drinking. He gave me a very rough outline of the show, of the character … She’s been with the love of her life for 50 years. It’s the marriage that we all dream of having. And he dies suddenly, tragically, and … all of a sudden the rug is really just emotionally and psychologically pulled out from underneath them. And it’s how do you rebuild a life and it’s the study of grief. He said that I had committed that night, which I did not. I’d had a few cocktails. We went back and forth a little bit about [the fact] that I really would like to read something. And he said, “Well, I would really like to cast this before I write anything.” Then I realized I wasn’t going to win this battle and I reached out to Helen Mirren [who starred in Sheridan’s “1923”], who I don’t know, but I figured she doesn’t suffer fools and she would give me the truth about what it’s like to do this. She couldn’t have spoken [more] highly of everything. She said the scripts are wonderful. The production is wonderful. And loves Montana. And so I took a leap of faith. I never do that.

What stands out to you about his process versus then working with your husband, David E. Kelley, also a prolific writer, who adapted “Margo’s Got Money Troubles”?

Pfeiffer: I couldn’t be luckier working for two of the most talented and prolific writers in the history of television. [They’re] not that much different. I purposefully didn’t want to bug David because it’s not like we had any hard-and-fast rules about not working together, but we weren’t really actively seeking it out because that can get a little dicey, just looking at it from afar. I really cherish my marriage, and our family, and I just didn’t want to mess it up. I really mostly went to the director and every now and then I might throw a little something his way. And [with] Taylor … I would go through Christina [Alexandra Voros], our director, because he’s just not honestly that accessible because he’s got a bit going on. I personally don’t like to spend my time trying to rewrite things. It’s more interesting to me to try to make something work and then I end up finding something I never would’ve decided. It just takes you to a new place and it’s so much more interesting than anything I would have conjured up.

Zahn, you’re not only the lead in “Dark Winds,” but also an executive producer and directing episodes. I know there was a moment where your character was supposed to shoot someone in the face early on. And you felt strongly, “My character’s not someone that would do this.” Talk to me about leaning into speaking your mind.

McClarnon: There’s not a lot of Native characters on television. The foundation of that character obviously comes from Tony Hillerman’s books. So the foundation was set for that character. And when I got to a point in the season where I’m supposed to kill a man, shoot him in the head in the middle of the desert — first off, I didn’t see that in the books. And I know it’s television and we want drama and all that stuff, but also, to be honest with you, I want Native kids — see, I’m going to cry now — to have something to look up to. We grew up with these stereotypes and we grew up with these tropes of Native Americans. The only one I can really remember that I really looked up to was Will Sampson in “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” because he was playing a trope, but he becomes the hero at the end of the story. It’s one of my favorite films. So when it came to that point where the writer said, “He’s going to kill this rich white man in the desert and shoot him in the head,” morally, I think Joe Leaphorn is more than that.

And it was simple. I sat down with the showrunner [John Wirth] and we talked about it, and we went back and forth for about a week. And I’m so glad that I have access to somebody like that. I have access where they’re not telling me, “No, this is the way it’s written. This is what you’re going to do.” So yeah, we decided not to shoot the guy in the head, where I’d just leave him out in the desert to fend for himself.

Katherine, you’ve talked to nurses and medical professionals in the making of “The Pitt,” but you were also a patient during your breast cancer journey, interacting with them a lot from the other side. What is something that they’ve told you or even something you observed in that time that really spoke to you about what they’re going through on the day to day in these jobs?

LaNasa: It’s funny, I’d always wanted to work with John Wells. I go through this period of all this unemployment, and then I get this job for John Wells. I had had cancer a year before and then had complications up to like six months before. It wasn’t until I got to the emergency room set that I was like, “Oh, this whole period … ” — the spirituality of that. I really believe that we need to be grateful for our life while we’re living it, no matter what’s going on. Because I still have my children, and I have nature, and I have my husband, and cooking, and my dog, and so many wonderful things. And I was really trying to hold onto that. It’s always this idea that maybe something is for a reason or whatever — now I’m going to cry. The fact that that was so purposeful, that I understood so deeply what it was to be a patient, what it was to be terrified going into the emergency department. I also understood how much it mattered when a nurse took a little extra time and was a little bit kind.

Pfeiffer: You’re going to make me cry.

LaNasa: And there was one particular nurse — I had my cancer, went through my radiation and then [went] back and forth, back and forth [to the ER]. And there was a week, the second trip to the ER [they thought I might have multiple sclerosis]. “Now do I have MS on top of having had cancer?” And I had a breakdown in the ER. And she’s like, “Listen, first six months after cancer are really bumpy, and it’s not going to stay like this. Do you need an Ativan?”

Magnussen: Did not see that turn.

LaNasa: It was that human touch. Or when they would come and give you a warm blanket or something. There’s a nurse, Kathy Garvin at County, who told me she wouldn’t do the job that she does being the [emergency department] charge nurse if it wasn’t in a county hospital. She wants to do that hard work for people that really need her. For the most underprivileged, for the unhoused. And I try to honor that in the story and to just bring that to life — their generosity and their humility.

There’s a lot of discussion in the industry right now about runaway production and can L.A. rebuild and what’s lost. I’m curious how you feel about this topic.

Magnussen: I live in Georgia and … one of our biggest exports as Americans is our culture. And if we just keep it isolated to Hollywood, I think we lose out at expressing everything we are as Americans.

McClarnon: We shoot on the Tesuque Pueblo. There’s 19 pueblos in New Mexico. We have taken over their old casino and we’ve converted it into a soundstage. We use their back lot. We obviously help out the tribe with renting the place out. And so I like shooting in New Mexico and supporting the local community, especially local Natives.

Pfeiffer: I think there’s room for all of it. We shot [a movie] in London that took place in Los Angeles. And it’s ridiculous that our entire industry has left. Los Angeles is really hurting. And a lot of people are hurting. All those jobs, all of those restaurants where people used to eat, people used to shop. And I think to not give the same sort of tax incentives that other states are doing — look, if it takes place in Georgia, you should go to Georgia. But I think Los Angeles was really built on the movie [industry].

LaNasa: I have a 34-year-old and a 12-year-old. I remember with my 34-year-old, even just being a young, starting-out mother, I would be like, “Well, I’m not going out of town. I have a child.” I would never go do a TV show out of town. I had a kid and the kid was in school and I needed to provide consistency for that child. And then with my second one, that was impossible. We would just not have been able to work. But it’s really hard on families. We are actors and we’ve come here to pursue the industry. We’ve moved here and we’ve risked something … L.A., for all of its problems, is a city of dreamers. It’s a city of people that came to pursue their art. And I am one of those people. And so in a way, I wasn’t really a citizen like the other citizens of Atlanta. I was outside. I didn’t have my community.

Magnussen: I know, but that’s the thing I have an issue with is this idea that, “It’s only there.”

Pelphrey: I’ll say this. Love that we get to film all over our beautiful country. Would love to keep the jobs in this country. That would be the nice part. Because when everybody’s like, “Oh great, we can go to Belarus or London.” Guess what? All of us get to go. Our crew doesn’t get to go — the people that we know that we need, that we work with, that we make these things with. We get to go wherever the f— we want, actors, directors, but the crew doesn’t.

Twenty pages into “There’s Only One Sin in Hollywood” by bestselling Pasadena author Rasheed Newson, I had to stop reading. Not because the story and characters were anything less than gripping —I was utterly transfixed. Not because I was unmoved by the setting, the 1950s version of the iconic landmarks where today’s Angelenos, myself included, work, play, eat and drink: Griffith Park, the L.A. Central Library, the Paramount Pictures lot, the Roosevelt Hotel, the Tam O’Shanter in Atwater Village and the Black Cat in Silver Lake, site of America’s first queer riot, also depicted in the book.

No, it was writerly admiration — OK, envy — that stopped me. As I turned the pages, I kept scribbling the same question in the margins. “How did Newson do this?”

How did Newson, author of the 2022 bestseller “My Government Means to Kill Me” and a producer/writer on such popular TV series as “The Chi” and “Bel-Air,” craft a novel populated with a seamless mix of real and invented characters, each with their own true or fictional backstory, personality, career vicissitudes, sartorial style and sexual proclivities, adhering simultaneously to both his novelistic timeline and historically accurate events?

How did Newson seat his fictional protagonist — Aaron Touissant, a Black, closeted gay Hollywood “fixer” employed by Skyline Studios to keep queer actors’ secrets secret — at the same Beverly Hilton ballroom table with Sidney Poitier, Diahann Carroll, Harry Belafonte, Sammy Davis Jr., Lena Horne, Ruby Dee, Ossie Davis, James Edwards, Eartha Kitt and Xavier Barlow, Newson’s invented Black gay movie star who is Skyline’s greatest hope and Touissant’s principal client?

I couldn’t read another page without knowing, and those unread pages were calling to me. So I called Rasheed Newson, whom I’d seen around the L.A. lit scene but had never met, and asked how he’d made the magic of his novel happen.

“I wanted to do a deep dive into Black queer history during the Golden Age of cinema,” Newson said. “The first thing that came to me was Xavier’s character. I decided to make him the 10-years-younger, queer rival of Sidney Poitier, to highlight the acceptable versus unacceptable — meaning, straight versus gay — 1950s Black movie star.

“I read a lot of books on Hollywood’s golden era,” Newson said. “But I was trying to get closer to what people were thinking at the moment, rather than what they reflected back on later. Only newspapers give you that. So I spent hours and hours in the downtown L.A. public library, poring over microfiche, reading the newspapers of the time.”

I asked Newson about the titular “one sin in Hollywood.”

“That sin is disobedience,” he said. “Particularly when your disobedience threatens to upend how the business makes money. In Hollywood you can be an addict, be a philanderer, be outspoken. But don’t disrupt the cash flow.”

Newson’s plot and characters serve the novel’s thesis well. We meet Aaron Touissaint as a brutally bullied “sissy” in a small, small-minded Ohio town. Aaron escapes his torturers, first by rooting himself in the town’s only movie theater open to Black people, and then by lying about his age and enlisting in the Navy at 16. On the Korean battle front, Aaron becomes the aide and the lover of superstar fighter pilot and “model Negro” Horace Dixon. When the war ends and Skyline Studios buys the screen rights to Horace’s life story, Aaron follows Horace to Hollywood.

The movie is canceled. Horace leaves Hollywood and a heartbroken but determined Aaron behind. Hired as a Skyline security guard, Aaron is promoted to fixer, keeping himself and Skyline’s A-listers closeted by any means necessary. To that end, Aaron marries Kimberly, who becomes his poised, self-contained “beard.”

At the top of Aaron’s client roster is Xavier Barlow, Skyline’s new, hot rising star and Aaron’s new, hot crush. “The bond between us was never conventional,” narrator Aaron tells us. “Off and on for nearly a decade, it was my duty to keep [Xavier’s] nose clean. … He challenged me to admit who and what I am. And I fell in love with him.”

As secret same-sex love stories all too often do, Aaron’s love for Xavier, and Xavier’s one-man campaign to mitigate Hollywood’s homophobia, come to a tragic and suspicious end. Soon after Xavier publicly protests the studio’s homophobic rewrite of a movie script he intended to serve as his coming-out announcement, a truck crashes into his car on Wilshire.

“This was no accident,” Aaron realizes. “Xavier was hunted down.” With his best friend, Diahann Carroll, and a sizable contribution from Sidney Poitier, Aaron organizes the funeral, attempting to redeem the reputation he was hired to protect. “The news reports following Xavier’s death impeached his character,” Aaron says. “The implication was that gay men naturally had messy lives and untimely deaths. … Confidential magazine went as far as to print that “the driver of the truck [that killed Xavier] could well have been one of Xavier’s spurned male lovers.”

“Furious at the coverage,” Aaron narrates the story, “Diahann asked me, ‘Why don’t they print the lovely things I have to say about Xavier?’ ”

“I said, “They never will. Xavier fought the studio, and everything you’re reading is part of his punishment.”

The erasure of gay Black Hollywood is really the point of this imaginatively crafted, stunningly tense, historically significant sophomore novel. Newson’s impressive gifts for story, for writing the erotic and the noir, and for rooting himself in his adopted city are on magnificent display here. By smoothly merging the true and the invented stories and characters of 1950s Hollywood, Newson alerts us to the increase in racism and homophobia evident in the entertainment business, and in the U.S., today.

Rasheed Newson will talk with novelist Laura Warrell at Octavia’s Bookshelf at 6 p.m. Monday, and with writer Manuel Betancourt at Skylight Books. at 7 p.m. June 24.

Maran, a Silver Lake-based author, has written “The New Old Me” and other books.

In this week’s episode of The Envelope podcast, we kick off Emmy season with Carrie Preston, who plays an offbeat investigator in Robert and Michelle King’s “Columbo”-inspired comedy “Elsbeth.”

Kelvin Washington: Welcome back to The Envelope. I’m Kelvin Washington, alongside the usual suspects, Yvonne Villarreal, also Mark Olsen. It’s good to have you all here. Everybody doing well?

Mark Olsen: Yeah, I’m doing great.

Yvonne Villarreal: Good to see you.

Washington: Well, first of all, I didn’t get the green [wardrobe] memo. It’s OK. Leave me out.

Villarreal: I’m trying to blend in with the chair.

Olsen: That’s why you pop

Villarreal: You do pop.

Washington: Well, you took what I was going to say. You don’t blend in. You always stand out.

Villarreal: Thank you.

Washington: That’s true. All right, so we’re kicking off Emmy season in here. And there’s obviously a million different things to have seen. We’ll start it off with Yvonne — I’ll go to you. What have you seen? Give me a couple of things that stand out to you that you’re enjoying.

Villarreal: Look, I’m always gonna mention “The Pitt.” Season 2 really captivated me. Also, there’s “Pluribus.” Can never go wrong with Rhea Seehorn. Also, one that — surprisingly for me, just given the subject matter — I really enjoyed this season, is “The Testaments.” And I think it’s because of, you know, the young cast and feeling that sense of hope that these young teenage girls are gonna get us out of this. Those are my picks so far.

Washington: Did you say that we need that?

Villarreal: We do need that.

Washington: OK, I just wanted to make sure.

Villarreal: I won’t mention reality TV, because I know it makes Mark a little…

Washington: Let’s make him a little squirmy.

Olsen: Maybe one of these days, I’ll try!

Villarreal: “One of these days”?

Washington: Twenty-five years into it.

Villarreal: “Real Housewives of Rhode Island” is all I’m going to say. I’ll just leave it there.

Olsen: Rhode Island?

Villarreal: Rhode Island.

Washington: Mark, I’ll go to you next, but just to your point there, Yvonne, I haven’t seen much of it, but I did have some guests at the morning show that I anchor from “Love on the Spectrum.”

Villarreal: Oh yeah.

Washington: Folks love that show. I mean, when I tell you that we had a couple of the guests come in and they’re walking around, people were screaming, “Can I get their picture?” So you’re talking about reality TV, just that, that’s a big one there.

Villarreal: They’re stars. And hearing who’s broken up already. I won’t spoil it, because you should watch that one.

Olsen: Wait a minute, how do people on your morning show rate “The Morning Show”?

Washington: Oh, that’s a good question. Some of the [story] lines or the feel hits a little too real, too close to home at times, that’s for sure. But I think it’s run its course a little bit as far as the watercooler [chatter] around the job a little. You know, it’s had some seasons here. But there are some things that, you know, some us look at each other like, “Clearly someone in the business is on there writing that show because that was too close to home.”

Villarreal: Lots of conniving.

Washington: But that’s all sensationalized. We’re just an ordinary morning show. None of that going on.

Villarreal: There’s no Billy Crudups out there.

Washington: Watch how I turn over here to Mark and we switch subjects. What about you, Mark? What are you watching? What do you enjoy?

Olsen: You know, it’s funny, I find as we’re in sort of like post-peak TV, I definitely find that I’m liking my TV to just feel like TV. And so I definitely like the Bill Lawrence universe, [that] kind of comfort watch — the new show “Rooster” with Steve Carell and Danielle Deadwyler, who’s just like so charming, so good on that show. I have really grown to like that show. I really enjoy the week-to-week. Even as I’ve maybe fallen off with some of his other shows, it’s funny how he’s always giving you a new show, like, “Oh I like this one!” And again [with] the week-to-week, “Oh it’s my day to watch ‘Your Friends and Neighbors’! Let me see what my good friends Jon Hamm and Olivia Munn are all up to.”

Washington: Are your neighbors like that?

Olsen: I have not had any disputes over dogs with my neighbors, no.

Washington: By the way, have you been, you mentioned Steve Carell, like he’s in his ‘zaddy’ era. It’s amazing what a beard does for a lot of people. No one ever necessarily thought of him as a heartthrob and all of a sudden I’ve heard, I’ve seen some things on Threads or whatnot, and they’re like, “Oh girl, I didn’t know Steve Carell…”

Villarreal: Some of us have known all along, OK?

Washington: I digress.

You guys mentioned a couple for me. “The Pitt” is unexpected — I was going to say every episode, really every 10 minutes. So that’s always a wild ride. And in “Paradise,” the shift from the previous season for me, because, you know, it’s not that I’m spoiling it, but just the shift into the outside and prior to, that dynamic to me was interesting. Almost like two different shows between Season 1 and Season 2. That for me is interesting to see how folks do and Sterling K. Brown, where’s he in all of this? So those are the ones that I’m looking at there.

I swing to you, [Yvonne]. You had a chance to speak with Carrie Preston, of course, in “Elsbeth.” Kind of a “Columbo”-style of a show, if you will. Tell us a little bit more about that.

Villarreal: This is the thing. We should never discount what’s happening on broadcast TV.

Washington: Good point.

Villarreal: “Elsbeth” is one of those shows that is so compelling. It really expanded, Robert and Michelle King’s “Good Wife” universe. They’ve had the spin-off, “The Good Fight,” and “Elsbeth” is in that universe, but it feels totally different. It’s this comedy procedural that follows Elsbeth, who we were introduced to as this eccentric lawyer, and in “Elsbeth” she’s moved from Chicago to New York as this NYPD consultant and de facto detective. And she has these really unconventional, unorthodox, eccentric methods to solving cases. And it’s really fun to watch and it was really fun to have this conversation with her.

Washington: All right, well, let’s get into it. Here’s Yvonne and Carrie now.

Yvonne Villarreal: I’m always very eager to talk about this character that I’ve spent 15 years tracking. You made your debut as Elsbeth Tascioni in “The Good Wife,” and she leaves a memorable impression early on, with just three minutes [of screen time]. I did time it. What do you remember about the call about this character and what [creators Robert and Michelle King] told you about who she was?

Carrie Preston: They had offered me the role, and I was working on some other things and I had just dyed my hair red, but they didn’t know this yet. And so they all knew me as a blond and I thought, “Oh my gosh, I hope they’re going to be OK with this character being a redhead because in their minds I’m not that.”

But [Robert] called and he said, “We’re thinking about this character like a female Columbo.” I didn’t really watch a lot of “Columbo,” but I understood what he meant, which was, this is a person who is going to be coming at things in an unexpected and unorthodox way and people are going to underestimate her. I took that to heart. But nonetheless, I was going in as a guest. As a guest, you’re going into somebody else’s house, you wanna follow their rules, you don’t wanna jump in their pool and start swimming around without asking permission. So I was a little tentative with it, but I took myself to the set before we started shooting just to show them, “This is what I look like now, are we still good? Because I can’t change the hair right now ’cause I’m doing this other thing.” Luckily, they were like, “Oh I think that actually works really well for the character.” And little did I know, I was gonna then be the redheaded actor for a good 16 years now, or whatever it is. I look back at that time, I was just finding my way with this character and figuring out, “How can I make her something different but not too different that I don’t fit in with the world of the show and the landscape of that universe?” And so looking back, you can see how I was tiptoeing around and it took a little moment before they really let me just let what my instincts were telling me to do, fly.

Villarreal: Because you knew she would be coming back in some capacity.

Preston: I didn’t know. I did two episodes at the end of their first season. Did not get a call at all in Season 2. And I thought, “OK, well, I guess I was a little too weird or I wasn’t really what they were thinking.” You kind of start talking to yourself and then you go, “I can’t read their minds. I’m just gonna keep doing what I’m doing.” And that was a really fun time. Then they called in Season 3 and that was when they said, “OK, we’re gonna do a little arc; we want this to flesh this character out.”

Villarreal: She went on to appear in many episodes of “The Good Wife” and also [its spin-off] “The Good Fight.” Then they have the idea during the pandemic of, “We want to do a show centered around Elsbeth.” And I imagine that’s a thrilling call to get, just like that first call that you received. As an actor in this sort of fickle industry, where you’ve put in the time, when you get a call like that from these prolific TV producers that are really respected, and they say, “We see you as being able to lead a network series.” How do you wrap your brain around that?

Preston: It was kind of a slow buildup to that because even when I was doing “The Good Wife, “ at the end of that series they were talking about, “How can we spin off the show?” And some people like yourself and people who are in the industry, fans, et cetera, were saying, “Why don’t you spin it off with Elsbeth Tascioni?” And Robert King reached out and said, “Would you be interested in this?” And so I said, “Of course, I would do anything to be be doing that.” Then I heard they’re doing this spin-off and it’s starring Christine Baranski and Rose Leslie and Cush Jumbo — pretty much everybody but me. And I was like, “OK, well, I guess that’s what they’re gonna do.” But I did reach out again and said, “I’d love to be a part of this.” And they said, “Yes, we’re definitely gonna bring you on and have you continue as a guest.” I went and did other things. I did “Claws.” I had already been working on “True Blood.” So I was doing all these other shows and thinking, “OK, I guess this is their spin-off. I’ll just be a guest again, and that’ll be that.”

And again, people would keep calling and saying, “Hey, what if you did a spin-off of the spin-off?” And still I dared not dream. It really wasn’t until 2020 that it felt like it was more plausible, possible. They were coming to the end of “The Good Fight.” They had this idea. And it seemed like a good one, and it seemed like a good business model, frankly, to have Elsbeth Tascioni, maybe one or two other series regulars, and then bring in all these amazing guests. It still took another three years before we actually did a pilot that, then, got picked up. So it was just these many, many steps before we actually got to this. So each time, I tried not to hold on to that dream too much, but at the same time, treasure every moment, even treasuring just the thought that they pitched me as the center of a show to a network that hired them to write a script. Even that, I was like, “Wow, this is incredible.” When we finished the pilot, I looked at the crew and I said, “We need to really honor this moment because this might be it. This might be the last time [I’m] ever playing this character. And we came together, and we made something really special. Whether or not it’s going to go to series, we all know we did something really wonderful.” And I burst into tears. I was so grateful for that opportunity. So every moment is a moment of gratitude and humility, to be honest.

Villarreal: Was there any part of you that thought, “I don’t know if I can do this”? Or because you were reaching for it for that length of time, when it finally happened, you’re like, “I can do this.”

Preston: There is this sense of wanting to make sure that I am doing everything I can to make this situation collaborative, to lead in a way that is not overbearing, to be a part of an ensemble, not just with the cast but with the crew. All of these things that I’ve been meditating on for decades. And I direct as well, so I know what it’s like to lead, and I’ve learned from watching really great leads, and not-so-great ones that get caught up in certain things, that rob them of an opportunity of creating something in a collective way. So I was excited to take all of these things that I’ve learned along the way and funnel them and channel them into this opportunity. Every day is a blessing, every day is challenge, and every day I feel like I do something that I know I can do better the next day. I try to meditate on that, because I want this opportunity that I’m having to be as special for the 300 people that are around me who are doing this with me. That’s really my goal.

Villarreal: In the series, obviously, we’ve come to know Elsbeth as this Chicago lawyer; here she’s a New York City police consultant. I really want to know what Elsbeth would be like in Los Angeles. What do you think that looks like?

Preston: Elsbeth finds beauty wherever she goes. I think it would be tough for her because she so likes to be right in the middle of all of humanity and [in] L.A., you’re isolated a lot in your cars — having to kind of keep yourself sequestered from other people just because that’s how people get around. I bet she’d be on the subway, she’d be on transit, she’d be on buses, she‘d be out in the malls, she would be out on the beaches, meeting people, talking to people, learning about Venice Beach as compared to Sherman Oaks. She would be all about finding all the different vibes and how she fits in.

Villarreal: You’re known for being a scene-stealer supporting player. This role in particular sort of encapsulates that. Is playing a lead rather than a supporting player a particular kind of challenge? Do you have to learn how to have your character take up space differently?

Preston: I approach it the same way that I approach anything I do as a co-star, a supporting actor, a guest star, whatever. I’m there to serve the script and to work with the people who are around me to elevate a scene and make it work. And to make the the job of everyone around me easy. I really feel like when you come at it with that collaborative spirit, you don’t think about, “Oh, I’m the lead.” You don’t think about where you fall into that hierarchy. You’re just there to make the scene work. And I like that. Because then I don’t feel pressure to be something more than what that is. You’re building a house every day, and you’ve got to start with foundation and then move all the way up. You can’t just come in and the house is already built. That takes more than one person. And I like that, and I feel like Elsbeth is like that too. She’s very much about the other person. For me, if you’re ever stuck in an acting scene and you don’t know what you’re doing, you need to just focus on the other person, and then all of that other stuff starts taking care of itself. What does this person need? What am I giving this person? What am trying to get from this person? Just all the like the basic building blocks of acting and then you can get out of your own head and let the choices happen.

Villarreal: Something that’s so striking about the character is her physicality. She sort of darts into frame, or she’s crouching, even the movement of her hands as she’s reenacting what might have happened. What was that like, finding the movement of Elsbeth?

Preston: It started from the beginning. The scripts, at the beginning, would write in these pauses. They would just say “pause” in the middle of a sentence. And I was like, “Huh, what is that?” That became the most fascinating thing to me. “What’s happening there? What’s happening with this woman when she’s not speaking?” And, so, that’s where the physical stuff started coming. And in “The Good Wife” and “The Good Fight,” there was a little bit of an evolution of that. The tote bags were brought in very early on by Brooke Kennedy, who was the producing director and one of the main directors on “The Good Wife.” She said, “I want her to always have something going on.” And I was like, “Great, I love that.” That’s a gift for an actor. I’m someone who, if you give me a prop, I’m gonna do something with it. I just like that. It’s fun. I’ve trained for the theater. So I love that idea. There’s a term that sometimes we use — I don’t know if it’s OK to say it — but sometimes we call each other “props-titutes.” If you get a prop, you can’t help it; you’re gonna have to do a thing with a thing. And so the bags and all that stuff — I started thinking, “Oh, I guess [with] this woman, her mouth is saying one thing, her mind is thinking another and her body’s doing a third thing.” As soon as I came up with that little weird math equation, things started locking into place.

Robert King directed the pilot. He created the show with Michelle King. Robert loves any kind of physical comedy. Marx Brothers, Three Stooges, Lucille Ball, all of that stuff. He just loves it. He worships that stuff. We were doing a scene and he said, “I don’t want you to just walk up. Let’s have you like lean in like Charlie Chaplin or something.” And I was like, “Great!” So he had me lean into frame and wouldn’t you know, that just became then the signature thing for this new iteration of this character. And it became kind of a metaphor for the whole show. This woman is not ever gonna approach things straight. She’s always gonna approach things at an angle. That’s another fun, creative thing that you can run with. Then the writers and the directors and the other actors, we all just started playing with that. And I have to do these scenes where I sum up the entire crime. Sometimes it’s like a five-page monologue. Well, you don’t have that much time to memorize that stuff because you get the script and I’m learning 50 pages of dialogue every eight or 10 days. So the physicality helps me remember it. And I imagine it helps Elsbeth piece it together.

Villarreal: Are you like at home just [mimics exaggerated movements]?

Preston: Yes, I’m coming up with things.

Villarreal: Is Michael [Emerson, the actor], your husband, like, “What’s going on here?”

Preston: He lets me do my thing. What I’ll say to him is, “I’m gonna go close the door and talk to myself for a while.” And he’ll go, “OK.” I learn my lines by myself. I record my own cue lines. It all has to happen alone. Because I know I have to go back over and over and over again. And when somebody is running lines with me, I’m very concerned about how bored they must be. So I just have to do all that on my own. The funny thing is I learn my lines a lot when I’m on the train. I go back and forth between New York City and the Hudson Valley a lot. It’s like an hour and 20 minutes. So the people on those trains are seeing this crazy lady, because I’ve got my ear things in and I’m looking at my [script].

Villarreal: Do you have your own bags?

Preston: I’ve go my own bags, and I am sure if they don’t recognize me as Elsbeth, they just think I’m another insane person who lives in New York City and no one cares. The kooky redheaded lady on the train.

Villarreal: Let’s talk about that other element that’s so crucial to Elsbeth, which is the hair and the wardrobe. You talked earlier about how you dyed your hair for another role, and you didn’t know you’d be locked in for this long with it, but it’s such a feature of her. Obviously we’ve seen her wear wigs in the show.

Preston: Which was fun, to go back to my original blond look.

Villarreal: And you mentioned Lucy earlier, Elsbeth in the tutu this season was so, so good —

Preston: One of the best compliments that Jon Tolins, our showrunner, ever gave me was when he saw the dailies from that day of the tutu and dancing with the little 6-year-olds. Oh, my God, I was in heaven. He just wrote, “Lucy level.” And I was like [playfully belts a note], “This is a dream.” Because I decided this woman would really want to be trying to do her absolute best. She would really be wanting to try to dance the best way that she knew how, but her body doesn’t know how to do that. But her mind wants to. Plus, I like to entertain the crew. They often don’t laugh because the crew has seen everything and they’ve seen me do a million things. But if I can get them to laugh, that’s a win.

Villarreal: Her style is so intriguing — sometimes I’m like, this is what “And Just Like That” should have had, some of these wardrobe pieces.

Preston: Well, that’s Dan Lawson, our costume designer.

Villarreal: What does that do for you? And please tell me there is a bag closet. I’m obsessed with the bags.

Preston: Oh yes. If you were to walk into the costume shop and see my section, it’s like a circus had a party under a rainbow. There’s four or five racks of clothes, and they go on what seems like a mile. And then there’s [a] whole wall of the totes. And Dan finds special totes that he’ll shop for, but then he also has some of the totes made because he wants them — we decided early on it would be totes, of course, but like after the opera episode, she would then have an opera tote. We had to make very specific totes that would do callbacks to previous cases and things like that. Dan thinks about everything.

Villarreal: Do they put things in the totes?

Preston: They do, but early on there were a lot of things in the totes, and I was starting to have to go to physical therapy because people don’t understand when you’re working on a scene, it takes six hours to shoot a scene, and if I’m coming running in with totes on my shoulders a hundred times it’s gonna take a toll on my body.

Villarreal: But you also need things in them so they don’t fall down easily.

Preston: Carol [McLennan], who’s my on-set costumer, she’s constantly putting top sticks so that they’ll stay. She’s finding creative ways to safety-pin them on. The continuity of the bags, you have to make sure that they’re exactly the way they were for every take. It’s like I have a child — three children, my totes.

Villarreal: Such a feature of the show is obviously the sort of revolving door of guest stars. This season you’ve had Stephen Colbert, Griffin Dunne, Beanie Feldstein and Patti LuPone, who was in the finale. Are you ever just lost in the fact that you’re acting opposite these people? Is there a moment that stands out from that?

Preston: Dianne Wiest. I’m a huge, lifelong fan of Dianne Wiest, like top five. And when I found out she was gonna be in the episode where she plays a nun, a murderous nun, I just thought, “I’m not gonna be able to contain myself.” I usually reach out to everybody before to send them an email or a text or something and just tell them how thrilled I am that they’ve said yes. So I wrote her a thank-you for saying yes/stalker-level fan email. And she wrote back. And she’s like, “Oh, Carrie, I’m so happy to hear that.” It was just like, “Oh, my God, I could just hear her voice.” When she showed up — I mean, she’s Dianne Wiest. And she is wearing a nun’s habit, and I couldn’t stop staring at her face. She would catch me staring at her and then she would just smile, with that sweet gorgeous face of hers and I would say, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know that it’s probably making you uncomfortable. I just am absolutely honored. I do not even understand how I got to be so lucky to have someone like you doing this.” And you could say that for every single person on the show. I fangirl on them in the way that the character fangirls on Diane Lockhart. You know what I mean? The same little spirit lives inside me that is Elsbeth. I have wonder and appreciation. And it’s become more infectious. She has become more infectious the more I play her.

Villarreal: There was the moment where, in the Griffin Dunne episode, where he’s threatening towards her. I’m trying to remember if there’s been a moment like that where I felt threatened for your character. What was that like filming with him?

Preston: It was wonderful. Robin Givens, who was our director, [and] who, as we know, is an actor as well, she was really directing us to reach a pretty scary place. I like it when our show gets scary like that because we have to remember that she’s hanging out one-on-one with murderers. She’s going into their space. And as unthreatening as she is, that in and of itself is threatening. And we need to remind the audience of that from time to time. She pushes buttons because she’s trying to get them to admit something, or she’s pinning the fly to the bulletin board and watching it squirm. And this one, I realized as I was playing it, I was like, “I’ve got to play up the flirtatious side because that’s what he gets really guarded about, the fact that he’s a womanizer. So if I play that up, it’s gonna infuriate him.” And so he backs me up, and then we realize there’s no way out. It’s great, but it’s scary. But she knows that he’s not gonna do anything to her because he still thinks he’s gonna get away with murder. But we added this one [look], and I wanted to make sure [it was kept]. I said, “Please, Robin, please don’t let them cut this.” I look back at him at the very end going, “Gotcha. I got you just where I wanted you. You fell into my trap.” And they kept that in the cut. I was very happy about that because we build these things together, and sometimes they just have to cut them for time. But they didn’t.

Villarreal: Because you’re also thinking with your director’s hat. And I know it must be hard to even think about whether you can direct an episode of “Elsbeth.” But is that something on your bucket list? Or would it just be too difficult to manage?

Preston: I love this job so much. This is the dream job, and I want to make sure that I am doing everything I can to do that in the best way that I can, every day. And I do feel like having directed myself before in the past, in things where I was just a part of the ensemble, the way I choose to direct, I found that I was shortchanging the acting a little bit. I don’t want to do that on this show. I do think it would cost the crew to have me do both things, and I care about them so much. I don’t have to prove that I can do both. The one thing I could do is direct the first episode of the season because I would be able to prep. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to prepare. I feel like I trust our directors. I love our writers. I love our crew and I love how things are going.

Villarreal: We know Elsbeth as this person with a keen ability to read people, who can sniff out liars, murderers. What was so interesting this season was to see her vulnerable side in her personal life. And see that she has her blind spots too. Were you excited when you saw that they were going to explore this side of her? And what was that like to play?

Preston: I think it’s always a good thing to deepen the character as you go along because, you know, we’re a police procedural; we have to figure out how to put a crime each episode, just structurally. But we want texture to the character, and having that vulnerable side really gave us that. As an actor, if you can find the drama in the comedy, it makes the comedy stronger, and vice versa. It was a wonderful way to stretch myself as an actor. It’s important to always show the heart of a character that you’re playing. The more specific you are, the more universal it is. And I think people can relate to her in that way. Everybody has felt heartbreak or confusion or duped or confused or distrustful of their own intuition and all of that stuff. And so the complexity of that was, of course, great to play.

Villarreal: Are you, Carrie, as perceptive as Elsbeth?

Preston: I do have a little bit of an empath in me. I do feel like I can read a room really quickly and I can kind of tell what people are thinking or what people are feeling. A vibe. I don’t know what it is, but it’s an empathic kind of nature. I have way more boundaries than I think Elsbeth does, but I’m not nearly as brilliant as that woman. I don’t know how many people in the world are. That’s what makes her so special. But I key into that side of her and I can relate to it.

Villarreal: Final question for you. The show will return for a fourth season. What do you want to see from Elsbeth? Who’s your dream guest star? It must shift because you guys are getting everybody.

Preston: We’re getting wonderful people who are interested in the show and I’m so proud of that and I know Jon is too. Jon Tolins is our showrunner. We’ve really, both of us, made it our personal missions to create an environment — and he creates scripts — that people want to come and participate in, and a welcoming place where somebody gets to play a delicious character for eight or nine days and then go on with their busy careers. I never would have dreamed that, for example, Steve Buscemi would have wanted to be on a show like “Elsbeth,” but he did and he asked to be on it. That blew our minds and it still is blowing our minds. So I could not even dream of most of the people that have come on. That said, you know, I’ve said this before, I’m a huge Meryl Streep fan. I would love for her to come on. We think often about, maybe we should see a parent of Elsbeth, a mother maybe. So we play around with different ideas for that, and that would be nice to see because we’ve seen Elsbeth as a mother, but we haven’t seen her as a daughter. We’ve seen her as a friend but we haven’t seen deep into her her origin story. So I think that could be a fun thing to tap in Season 4. But I trust Jon and the writers.

Villarreal: I want Diane Lockhart to stop by.

Preston: I know, wouldn’t that be great? Or Alicia. But I don’t know. We got Sarah Steele who played Marissa [in “The Good Wife” and “The Good Fight.”] That was amazing. But like Michelle King was saying in an interview [for an L.A. Times’ Screen Gab event] yesterday, this show has kind of found its own place separate from that universe. It’s nice if we have people from that universe pop in, but it’s not required. And a lot of our fans never even watched those shows. So that speaks to what Jon and the writers are doing and what we’re, as a collective, bringing to the audience.

Villarreal: Thank you so much for being here. I, for one, can’t wait to see what the bag selection is like in Season 4.

Preston: Me too.

When actors from TV’s top comedy series recently gathered for The Envelope’s Emmy Comedy Roundtable, any lessons they’d learned over the years about how not to break quickly went out the window — this year’s guests made each other laugh early and often.

Contributing to the hilarity were Danielle Deadwyler, whose English professor in HBO’s “Rooster” has her life disrupted by a bestselling writer; Donald Faison, who reprises the role of Christopher Turk, now chief of surgery, in the revival of ABC’s medical sitcom “Scrubs”; Sabrina Impacciatore, who embodies the vain managing editor of a failing regional newspaper on Peacock’s “The Paper”; Justine Lupe, who plays Morgan, a flighty but loyal sister and podcast co-host in Netflix’s rom-com “Nobody Wants This”; Lamorne Morris, who portrays New York City journalist Robbie Robertson in Prime Video’s Depression-set “Spider-Noir”; and Chris Perfetti, who features on “Abbott Elementary” as awkward but well-intentioned social studies teacher Jacob Hill.

In the course of our conversation, participants discussed surviving bad reviews, what fans misunderstand about comedy and, yes, how they keep a straight face during funny scenes (if not on The Envelope roundtable). Read excerpts from the conversation below.

What is the last thing that made you laugh out loud, whether it was meant to be funny or not?

Lupe: I have a one-and-a-half year-old. She’s just starting to talk. She doesn’t really say a lot of words at once, but she started doing this thing where, when she’s going poop, she just goes, “Oh, wow. Oh, wow.” And every time it’s just so cute.

Perfetti: I also do that when I poop, so please tell her it’s normal… I don’t know, guys. It’s scary times. I don’t find myself laughing out loud very much anymore. I guess to that end, I watch Jimmy Kimmel’s monologue every night and I think that it’s pretty drop-dead gorgeous. It’s so funny, and he’s using that platform in such a gorgeous way.

Faison: My daughter was playing a volleyball game against a very formidable opponent. I’m just going to put it out there: LeBron James’ daughter. She was serving and pushed everybody back with her serve. Boom! Everybody backs up. Now she’s got everybody out of bounds, then she taps it real soft and it falls in front of them. I laughed out loud. I was just so impressed, and my daughter looked at me like, “You mother—. Don’t you enjoy that!”

Impacciatore: A couple of days ago I was fighting with my boyfriend and it was a very bad fight and I really wanted him to understand my reasons. I was trying to put on my trousers and unfortunately I put two legs in one [side]. He started to laugh so loud and I was so upset. And then I started to laugh loud too. But it’s horrible when it happens, because I’m a very serious person when I fight.

Donald, the last season of “Scrubs” concluded in 2010. Now Dr. Turk is back working at the hospital with his buddy J.D. (Zach Braff) and a lot of the original cast. What was it like stepping back into that world?

Faison: When the pandemic happened, Zach and I did a rewatch podcast of “Scrubs,” and that’s where all of this started to formulate again. In doing the rewatch podcast, we researched what the fans liked, what we liked, and what we thought was funny. And we were very honest about it. If it sucked, we said it sucked. Then the T-Mobile [ad campaign with Faison and Braff] happened. So for the past five or six years, I’ve been playing Turk to Zach Braff’s J.D. When the revival came around, it was easy to slip back in because we had been doing this banter for so long. The only thing that’s different is that he’s older, but maturity has not set in with him yet. He’s a 50-year-old kid who’s really good at cutting people open and training younger people, but for the most part, he’s still silly.

Chris, “Abbott Elementary,” which follows several teachers at an underfunded public school in Philly, is heading into its sixth season. That means you’ve been playing Jacob for quite some time. Do you ever find the line between your personalities blurring?

Perfetti: The line between Chris and Jacob is definitely blurring. When we first started, I was shocked that [creator] Quinta [Brunson] saw me as this person. We weren’t alike at all, but I trusted that she saw something [in me] she wanted to exploit. Now, I would be so lucky to steal some of what he’s got going on. He’s unbelievably loyal and ambitious and really comfortable in his own skin. He leads from that place. And I need to shut the hell up and stop telling the writers things about my own life because now they’re showing up in the show. So truly the line between Chris and Jacob is getting weirder.

Danielle, “Rooster” takes place at a fictitious college. You actually have several degrees, including multiple master’s. Did you draw on your own experience in academia for “Rooster”?

Deadwyler: I was a student, and that’s a very different dynamic than being an administrator or a professor. But I dig education. I dig the intention of the environment, the debate, the ongoing pushing of the self and weaving that into your personal life. It’s all super connected. So I just brought that to the show.

You’re renowned for your work in intense films like “Till” and “The Piano Lesson.” Do you use a different muscle for comedy?

Deadwyler: I was always saying to the [“Rooster”] team, ‘Hey, guys, I feel good. I can breathe. I have energy to do things. Is that normal for people?’ So yes, it’s a completely different muscle. But [co-star] Steve [Carell] says this beautiful thing that characters don’t know whether they’re in a comedy or a drama. And that’s about as true as it gets. You bring full rigor and development and discipline to the making of a role, regardless of what genre.

Justine, how much do you relate to your character Morgan in the interfaith romantic comedy “Nobody Wants This”? Or is it more like you want to fix her?

Lupe: I don’t know if I want to fix her because that’s what’s compelling about her. I have so much fun playing the mess of Morgan. I relate to her. I started off where she was kind of a semiautobiographical story of [show creator] Erin Foster’s relationship with her sister, Sara. Then immediately the ship left the dock when I took the character. Justine has now taken over this idea of who this person is, and it’s a lot more sloppy and unbridled. The mess of her is actually me, because I’m a little bit sloppy as a person.

The show really captures the relationship between siblings, and sisters in particular.

Lupe: I identify with the idea of being someone who’s evolved past their original home life, and then going back into circumstances with your family, and regressing immediately. I wanted to play with that dynamic. Morgan might think that she’s evolved past certain things and then the minute she’s codependent with her sister, they devolve back into the bratty kid-like versions of themselves that are like picking on each other. I know the feeling, when you go back home and you’re like, “Wow, have I grown up at all?”

Lamorne, “Spider-Noir” is based on a Marvel comic and is set in an exaggerated version of 1930s New York. Audiences have the choice to watch the series in black and white or in color. How does the tone change between the two styles?

Morris: I watched both and they both have their own unique qualities. I would say the way folks should watch it is the way we traditionally watched TV as a people. You start in black-and-white and then when color was introduced, you would go back and watch those same films when they added color to it. While we’re filming it, [I was thinking] “How are they gonna make this visual effect look cool in black-and-white?” And then you watch it in black-and-white and you go, “What the f—?!” And I go back and watch it in color and go, “Holy — it looks great in color, too.” Everything down to the wardrobe [and] the set design, you watch it in black-and-white and it looks bold and as vivid as if it were in color. But then when you watch it in color and you go, “Holy crap, that house is blue, that suit is orange.” So just go watch it in both versions.

Sabrina, your character in “The Paper” wants to be the managing editor of the Toledo Truth Teller, but she’s really all about the clickbait. How much did you know about that conflict in modern journalism?

Impacciatore: I made sure not to know anything about it because Esmeralda doesn’t have a clue. Esmeralda is not a real journalist. Esmeralda is there for some mysterious reasons that I’m trying to figure out. She’s the queen of bull—, so I made sure not to know anything about journalists. And because I had played Valentina in “White Lotus,” I wanted to make sure that this character is going to be completely different from her. She must be out loud, she must be big. So I made some choices about her, for example, the nails. I still have these nails because I’m still shooting, but usually I don’t have long nails. But these nails started to make me think in a different way, to move my hands in a different way. Like these are guns, weapons to manipulate people. [Touches Morris with her nails.]

Morris: Consider myself manipulated.

Impacciatore: I’m the opposite. I have no filters in life. I am my own worst enemy. I’m too transparent. I don’t know how to hide feelings. So I thought, “What does she do?” Because it’s a documentary, she thinks one day she will be a star. So I have her have hair like Rita Hayworth the first day I arrived on set. They were looking at me like, “What is she doing?” They didn’t get it, so I had to explain that she wants to be a star. Once you start to play a manipulative person, you see manipulation everywhere. It’s like now I’m losing a bit of innocence, because I don’t trust anybody anymore. Now randomly I say, “Are you trying to manipulate me?”

“The Paper” and “Abbott Elementary” are mockumentaries. Does it make a difference in how you’re performing when it’s shot in that style?

Perfetti: On our best day, we’re trying to dupe people into believing that it’s real life. But similarly, I think Jacob thinks that he will be the star of this documentary whenever it comes out. He’ll be an executive producer on it. So there’s very much an element of having one foot in the audience’s experience. His outrage is heightened because he knows it’s being captured on film. I grew up doing plays and so it’s an easy dynamic to borrow from. When you’re on stage, even on your best days, you always have even a pinkie in the audience’s experience. You have to be able to be in conversation with them. The mockumentary format really allows for that and I think it informs the show in a really beautiful way.

Impacciatore: The first time that I watched “The Office,” I thought, “This project is incredible, but the light is so horrible. I will look so ugly.” I was trying not to be chosen for this project because I was so scared to be so ugly. So when I arrived on set as the character, I brought my own ring light and I said, “Guys, Esmeralda, because she knows she’s in a documentary, she needs her own lighting.” I got away with it. To me, comedy is a very serious thing.

What do audiences underestimate or misunderstand about what it takes to make a comedy?

Deadwyler: The assumption is that you’re being funny, and it’s not that at all. When you [Chris] just talked about doing plays, I was thinking theater is the thing that enabled me to really lean into the joy and transition into working on “Rooster.” There’s a rhythm and a quality of engagement that I learned completely in the theater world that applied to the gelling and the cohesion of “Rooster” in all of the scenes. So leaning into drama enables you to lean into the hilarity or the quirkiness or awkwardness of humor.

Morris: If the script is funny, it’s going to be funny if you’re an actor playing it real. And obviously you have throughout history those characters who know how to add to that, who can ham it up in such a way. Chris Farley and those guys. The Belushis, the Will Ferrells. They can take something really funny and just say, “I’m gonna add my stamp to it so when you see this type of humor, you know it was from me.” Then you have your Judd Apatows of this world who can create a funny environment and all the actors are basically playing it real and playing it straight.

Faison: People think you’re actually that funny or you’re that quick and you can come up with those jokes that fast. But really you’re saying somebody else’s words and you’re being somebody else. Somehow I got labeled as a stand-up comic. I’ve never done stand-up in my life, but I’ve been in so many comedies that people think, “He must be funny in real life.” I imagine Jack Black must hate going outside because everybody’s, “Do that skandosh, sliggidy, diggity thing that you do!”

Deadwyler: They want you to do that you do for drama, too.

Morris: “Make me cry”?

Deadwyler: They want you to give them the feeling that they know you for, because that’s all they’ve witnessed of you. They want me to ride a horse. They want me to cry. And it’s like, “I’m just trying to get these chicken wings and go home.”

And trying to break out of that, whatever that is, and move on to the next thing that you want to do.

Faison: For a long time it was very difficult as an actor to do anything else other than comedy, because you could get typecast. That’s something that happens right away. You could be the best friend for the rest of your life if you’re not careful.

Morris: I came up in traditional comedy. Second City, Chicago. When I was a kid, I didn’t care about anything else other than like making people laugh. So in plays and things, I was always cast as the comic relief, back in my ham-it-up days. Up until the beginning of my TV career with “New Girl.” I didn’t know who I wanted to be on that show. I didn’t know who I was and I’m thankful to the staff for just allowing me to grow into that character. But what I grew into was a f— clown. I just was like, “Oh man, I get to do this for seven years.” I loved every minute of it.

When you get recognized out in public or somebody knows they know you from something, who have you been misidentified as? Or do they simply call you by your character’s name?

Faison: I was at sushi once and it was actually another famous person that came up to me, I’m not gonna say their name. And he looks at me and goes, “Alfonso?” I said, “Nope.” And he hightailed it out so quick. I was like, “I gotta call Alfonso Ribeiro and tell him that somebody thought that I was him at a restaurant.” I’m glad to be recognized, but I am not Alfonso Ribeiro.

Morris: People think I’m everybody, but there’s one guy I get. Malcolm Barrett. This has been going on for 15 years. A good friend from theater school, we did every play together, he called me when I moved to L.A. and was like, “Dude, congratulations on your AT&T commercial!” I was like, “What AT&T commercial?” And he’s like, “The one where you’re playing Pop-a-Shot basketball.” And I’m like, “That’s not me.” Years later, everyone, people would come up to Malcolm all the time and say, “Congrats on ‘New Girl.’”

Perfetti: I cannot go to Philadelphia because I suddenly now have 5 million new family members. I don’t get mistaken for an actual person, but I do love the moment where you pass them on the sidewalk or on the subway and you see the wheels churning in their mind.

Lupe: I have a yoga teacher that still calls me Willa [her character from “Succession”]. I’ve been going to her for like a year and she’ll be like, “And Willa, you want to move into down dog.”

Justine, you’ve been referred to as a scene-stealer more than once for your work in “Succession” and “Nobody Wants This.” What do you make of that?

Lupe: That was the thing about “Succession.” I started when I was 26 and I felt like I got to be a fly on the wall in so many incredible scenes with all-star actors. To even be even seen among that kind of company, it makes me so happy. I feel the same way about “Nobody Wants This.” I look around and I’m like, “Wow, these are just incredible people that I’m working with.” So it’s nice to know that people are even registering my existence.

Perfetti: Willa is responsible for what I think may be one of the funniest TV moments ever. I can’t remember which season where you read your reviews and throw the iPad overboard, but it lives in my mind rent-free. The sound you make, the way that you just kind of stare off into the distance afterward, it’s one of the greatest things I’ve ever seen.

Do you read reviews of your work?

Morris: I did a movie called “Sandy Wexler” with Adam Sandler and he said to me, “Hey buddy, when a film comes out, don’t read the reviews.” He’s like, “Who cares? We got our own thing going.” … It allowed him to stay true to who he is for his fan base, which is larger than life. If you start caring so much about what people think about your art, it’s going to change what got you there in the first place. That’s what Jamie Foxx talked about after winning an award, you don’t want to switch it up all of a sudden because everybody looks at you like you’re this great actor, you won this thing, and you start doing things differently.

Impacciatore: On set, if someone gives me a feedback about something that he liked, I don’t want to hear that because it feels like a trap. And I don’t want to know what worked and what didn’t work because I want to be free. I want to explore things. Reading a review … it’s something rational that is describing something irrational. Like to me, acting is an irrational act. It’s wild when it happens. It’s going somewhere else and not even knowing what you did.

Faison: I tend to not look at reviews. This was the first time ever in my life … when “Scrubs” came out this time around. It’s because we made it for the fans. It was strictly for the fans. So when we put it out and the critics were very nice this time around, that was cool. And then you get to Reddit and Instagram and you’re waiting for them to be like, “You guys suck!” “How dare you?!” And that didn’t show up. It was like, well, I’m gonna read the reviews then.

Lupe: I once had a critic call me a “bargain-basement Gwyneth Paltrow.”

Morris: You’re like, “Gwyneth Paltrow, you say?”

Lupe: As long as the word Gwyneth is in there, I’m OK.

Morris: If someone calls me “a bootleg Eddie Murphy,” I’m retiring.

Faison: “He kind of reminds me of a poor man’s Richard Pryor.” Why, thank you.

Lupe: There was like a part of me where I was like, “Well, if I can make it through that, then whatever. Who cares? It’s just fun to hear people’s perceptions of what you’re putting out there. How people interpret it. Because sometimes you can’t see the forest through the trees. If you have enough perspective, it’s interesting to hear the dialogue about the things that you’re working on.

Deadwyler: If it’s productive, I find that critical analysis is useful. But if it’s critical stabbing, that’s useless to me.

Faison: I have a question for all of you guys. When it comes to acting on set, do you prefer to see what you just did or do you prefer to trust what the director says? When it comes to comedy, I wanna see what the f— we are doing just to make sure we’re in the rhythm.

Lupe: I don’t watch it in the moment. I’ve gotten easier on myself watching things after they’re released. When I first watched my work, I just wanted to like, in all honesty, tear my face off. It was really a tough experience.

Morris: If I trust the director, I never look at the monitor. No knock on, like first-time directors, because I work with a lot of first-time directors that I trust, but there are some from time to time that just go, “It’s great,” every take. And so sometimes I have to go, “Just give me a second, let me see.” … A couple of times [they’d tell me], “Everything you did was brilliant.” And I know for a fact it wasn’t. So now I don’t trust s— you say.

Chris, the cast on “Abbott” are so good at bouncing lines off one another. How are you not breaking all the time, or are you?

Perfetti: It’s certainly gotten harder as we’ve gotten closer. We’re all trying to make each other break now. But we’re pretty good. The show is sort of made on the fly and we’re constantly throwing jokes away or trying to see how far we can push something. I think a lot of what we find funny on “Abbott” is people trying to avoid pain. Even when it’s ridiculous, it doesn’t feel too hard to keep our feet on the ground. We’re also so blessed with the mockumentary [format]. The story is very much told by the camera. So I’m always on, and something that comes up in that take might make it into the final cut because there’s three cameras going at all times. But Quinta probably breaks the most because … she genuinely forgets about some of the jokes that she writes. And so when she hears it again, it takes her by surprise.

Lupe: There is something to that energy of people enjoying being in that kind of space with each other, like on the verge of laughing. Riding the line of being just about to break, it’s so much fun. The chemistry between them is so palpable. When you see a break like that, you’re like, “Wow, they’re really enjoying each other.”

Morris: [It’s hard when] I’m literally loopy, it’s late and I know this actor I’m working with is a f— killer. I start laughing before we roll, and I’m like, “This is gonna be so difficult.”

Lupe: And then it’s like that thing when you’re like a little kid, where someone’s like, “Stop laughing” and it makes it worse because you are trying so hard not to laugh.

Impacciatore: If there is that moment where we can break, there is a real abandonment and there is a real freedom … It’s the most beautiful feeling about being an actor. It’s about feeling less lonely.

Faison: Danielle, you’re working with Steve. First of all, he’s gonna break everybody. I’m pretty clear that everybody on set’s gonna laugh because he’s just got that. But has anybody made him break yet? And who is that person? I know if I made Steve Carell break in the middle of a scene, I’m dancing for a while. I’m gonna be calling my mom like, “Yo, he f— laughed at my joke!”

Deadwyler: I know that they wilded out the day the bed broke [during a fight scene with co-star Phil Dunster]. But I have not seen him break in that way. He is so rigorous. He’s about building the character, building a dynamic, trying to tell a full story.

Lupe: He also must have so much practice from “The Office.”

Deadwyler: He’s strong.

Faison: I laugh harder at “Saturday Night Live” when they break than when they keep it together.