The 78th Primetime Emmy Awards saw a number of firsts: A first-time host, a first-time Emmy winner and the first to win two lead acting Emmys in a night. These notable achievements were coupled with moments of remembrance for legendary actors and creators, like Dolly Parton, Rob Reiner and Catherine O’Hara, among many others.
With Mariska Hargitay at the helm, the show ran at a quick pace without feeling rushed, giving room to winners to say their thanks in acceptance speeches while still having moments of fun in between. Here, our writers discuss some of the best moments of the ceremony. — Maira Garcia
Best moment of overdue recognition: Rhea Seehorn
Rhea Seehorn finally won an acting Emmy, an accolade that was long overdue.
(Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)
If you appreciate Rhea Seehorn’s complex, subtle acting, her dynamic range and her deadpan humor, then you’ve probably found the Emmys to be maddening over the years. She famously wasn’t nominated for playing poker-faced attorney Kim Wexler on “Better Call Saul” until the show’s two-part final season. And she never won, not even for the raw, heartbreaking work she did in those last episodes. So seeing her win, finally, for her lead turn on “Pluribus” was thrilling, long overdue recognition that, given her history, made you wonder if it would ever come. Awards voters typically don’t appreciate nuanced acting, too often equating “best” with “most.” But Seehorn’s work on “Pluribus” was undeniable. Playing Carol Sturka, a sad woman forced to save the world from happiness and hive mind, Seehorn had the role of a lifetime and ran with it. This Emmy was a long time coming, and you could feel that when she choked up on stage accepting it. Her palpable joy thanking “Pluribus” creator Vince Gilligan, wiping away tears, is one reason why we keep watching the ceremony. — Glenn Whipp
Best double Emmy haul: Matthew Rhys
Matthew Rhys with his double Emmy haul for “The Beast in Me” and “Widow’s Bay.”
(Ronaldo Bolanos/Los Angeles Times)
It was the sort of epic night that might make life vest-wearing mayor Tom Loftis jolt from his boat seat in shock or compel the villainous real estate heir Nile Jarvis to scarf down a whole rotisserie chicken with a glint in his eye — Matthew Rhys, the actor who brought both characters to life on screen, won two Emmys during Monday’s ceremony.
In doing so, he achieved a feat no actor has accomplished in 78 editions of the Emmy Awards: he won two lead acting Emmys in the same night. He was recognized for lead actor in a limited series for his turn in Netflix’s psychological thriller “The Beast in Me,” where he played Nile equal parts charming and terrifying. Later, he took the stage to accept the lead comedy actor prize for his optimistic but skeptical take on a mayor of a small, haunted island town in Apple TV’s horror comedy “Widow’s Bay.”
Rhys didn’t react like his characters might have — instead, he thanked his homeland: “To the great and good people of Wales… we are a small but mighty nation!”) And he took in the moment being feted by his partner, Keri Russell, who hung on him with pride as he made his way back to the main seating area after his first win.
The double wins add to Rhys’s collection of gold across the acting categories. In 2018, he took home the prize for lead drama actor for “The Americans.” — Yvonne Villarreal
Best reaction to someone else winning: Martin Short
Martin Short, left, with his “Only Murders in the Building” co-star Steve Martin on the red carpet at the Emmys.
(Christina House/Los Angeles Times)
Rhys may have taken home lead actor Emmys for limited series and comedy series, but the award for best reaction belongs to Martin Short.
During Rhys’ acceptance speech for lead actor in a comedy, the camera briefly panned to Short, who was nominated for “Only Murders in the Building,” just in time to catch him ripping paper into pieces — presumably his speech — and throwing it on the floor in anger and disbelief.
It lasted only a few seconds, but Short took advantage of the moment.
The timing. The commitment. The expressive performance. Short’s full comedic arsenal was on display before the camera moved on. It was the kind of quick visual gag that was easy to miss, and plenty of people probably did. But for those who caught it, I hope it was worth the spit-take. I am certainly glad I had a napkin at hand.
Short may have lost the Emmy, but his comedic timing remains undefeated. Stay funny, Short. — Anthony Solorzano
Best emotional moment that emptied our tissue box: Michael J. Fox
Michael J. Fox received the Bob Hope Humanitarian Award for his work and advocacy on Parkinson’s disease.
(Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)
In an Emmys telecast full of genuine emotion — Reba McEntire’s musical celebration of Dolly Parton, a heartbreaking In Memoriam segment that ended with Jamie Lee Curtis’ personal tribute to Rob Reiner — the most moving moments were claimed by Michael J. Fox, receiving the Bob Hope Humanitarian award.
Fox’s decades-long battle with Parkinson‘s disease, and for those who suffer from it, is well known, as is his refusal to let it define him or his career — he received his 19th Emmy nomination this year, for guest actor in “Shrinking.” But when he first came out on stage, in a wheelchair and classic black, he spoke first about his admiration for Bob Hope, a man whose tireless support of soldiers “and military families like mine” illuminated, for Fox, the necessity of showing up for others. “When it starts to get tough, you show up, you help, and if you add a little joy while you’re doing it, that’s so you know it’s even better.”
The utter silence of that room as he spoke, the admiration on all those famous faces said it all. Fox remains as he has long been — funny, sincere, wildly talented and one of the most courageous people many of us will ever know. — Mary McNamara
Best self-depricating host: Mariska Hargitay
Mariska Hargitay didn’t take herself too seriously as host, cracking a number of silly jokes throughout the night.
(Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)
Host Mariska Hargitay was refreshingly lewd and charmingly self-deprecating as the first female host of the Emmys in 15 years.
By not taking herself too seriously, she set a laid-back tone for a high pressure show that for many nominees feels like a life or death moment.
Winning is not everything, Hargitay regularly reminded the crowd, with bits that grounded actors’ experience, like a clip from a 1984 B-horror film she starred in called, “Ghoulies,” which, as she explained to everyone, is a film, “where a monster pops out of a toilet.”
“Jamie Lee Curtis isn’t the only scream queen around here,” Hargitay quipped.
That joke came after an ongoing series of goofy, blue wisecracks, including one about “Law & Order” producer Dick Wolf, saying his real name was “Richard Penis;” that her “SVU” character, Olivia Benson, was “America’s sweetheart sex cop;” that aging fans who once loved and watched “Hannah Montana” would soon need “Hannah Mammogramas;” and an aside about her packed work schedule, noting that “Margo may have money troubles, but Mariska’s doing just fine.”
She ended the night with a mic drop by introducing Woody Harrelson and Matthew McConaughey as “my two favorite flavors of vape.” — Jessica Gelt
Best changes to a host’s hair: Hargitay and her hairstylist
A sampling of Mariska Hargitay’s hairstyles at the Emmy Awards.
(Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)
Beach waves, bombshell, Targaryen-inspired twists, luscious locks and a tousled bob. Mariska Hargitay changed her hairstyle so many times throughout the Emmy Awards it was hard to keep track. One can only imagine the quick work happening backstage to get her hair coiffed amid costume changes. And one can only hope there was a wig wall somewhere inspired by Catherine O’Hara’s Moira Rose. The bombshell blowout was reportedly a tribute to her late mother, ‘50s starlet Jayne Mansfield — Hargitay took home two Emmys earlier this month for a documentary she directed about her. Her quick-turn tresses were yet another example of the first-time host’s infectious enthusiasm. — Brittany Levine Beckman
Best presenter who should host the next awards show: John Mulaney
John Mulaney introduced the award for lead actor in a drama series, but not before sending up men.
(Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)
I’ll say it: I’m not sure how I feel about John Mulaney. I’ve waffled over the years. I used to love his work, then I found it tired, then I fell off the bandwagon altogether. So believe me when I tell you: I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about him presenting lead actor in a drama series. I wasn’t primed to like his speech. And yet.
He won me — I’m not necessarily a certified Mulaney hater, but certainly not a full-blooded Mulaney lover — over with a truly funny arpeggio of riffs about the mediocrity we accept from men and male actors. I was trepidatious, as was the live audience. (“This award is for the guys. Just men being men,” is a scary start.)
But then Mulaney rounded the curve with a tongue-in-cheek reference to the “Bluey” dad controversy and I sat up straighter. If the line, “some of the men in this category do method acting, and some do regular, less annoying acting” didn’t get me, then “they can play anything, these nominees, not just doctors — they can play a cop or an FBI agent or a secret agent, and then that’s it, no other examples,” certainly did. Don’t get me started on the DJ Khaled quote (I loved it).
Let this man host an awards show, as he is clearly trying to do. I recognize the game, and I respect it.
Also: a very honorable mention to Meg Stalter dressed as a literal Emmy statue. Meg, you are the only method actor I respect. — Laura Zornosa
Best Targaryen family reunion: Emma D’Arcy and Emilia Clarke
Emma D’Arcy and Emilia Clarke nodded to “Game of Thrones” before presenting the award for lead actress in a limited series or television movie .
(Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)
One of the last things I ever expected to see on an awards show in 2026 is the Mother of Dragons speaking in High Valyrian on stage. So “Game of Thrones” star Emilia Clarke hitting the stage with “House of the Dragon’s” Emma D’Arcy to present the award for lead actress in a limited series or television movie was a pleasant surprise.
“In the ‘Game of Thrones’ universe, Emilia is my great-great-great-great-really-great granddaughter,” D’Arcy said. “And in honor of our shared Targaryen lineage, Emilia is going to address you in High Valyrian — our mother tongue — and I will translate.”
Clarke earned four Emmy nominations during “Game of Thrones’” run for portraying Daenerys Targaryen, one of the last surviving members of the family that long reigned over Westeros. D’Arcy, meanwhile, plays Rhaenyra Targaryen in “House of the Dragons,” which is set at a time when there are so many Targaryens that a war of succession became inevitable.
The Targaryen team-up was my favorite but it wasn’t the only name-based collaboration of the night. An earlier segment saw Olivia Benson, the fan-favorite “Law & Order: SVU” character played by Hargitay, share the screen with another Olivia Benson — Taylor Swift’s cat that is named after her. The cat made a surprise cameo along with the mega pop star in a pre-recorded segment about the likelihood of Swift appearing at the Emmys. — Tracy Brown
Best invitation to dinner at their house: Marcello Hernández
Marcello Hernández presented an award, but not before presenting some dinner invitations to a few people in the crowd.
(Robert Gauthier/Los Angeles Times)
When I saw “SNL’s” Marcello Hernández would be presenting at the Emmys, I knew it would be a special moment, and he didn’t let me down. The actor, who presented the award for directing for a comedy series, promptly made himself at home, shouting out, “Donde ‘tan los Latinos?” He then took the opportunity to say hello to a few fellow actors in the room.
“Very quickly, I would like to say hello to Harrison Ford,” he said, looking at the actor sitting in the audience, who gave an exasperated look and waved. “You are a legend and a real inspiration to me and I would like to invite you to have dinner at my house.”
The room erupted in laughter, but he wasn’t finished. He then extended an invitation to Zendaya and her partner, Tom Holland: “I want to say hi to Zendaya, you’re a beast and you’re amazing. And I saw you and I wanted to play it cool, and I decided I can’t do that. So I would like to invite you and Spider-Man to have dinner at my house.”
Then he proceeded to invite Oscar Isaac, the Guatemalan actor who utilizes his given name professionally, suggesting they might be related. “You are so good in ‘Beef’ and you are also Hernández, like I am. So we could be cousins, you never know. And I will see you at Christmas, I will cook you whatever you want.”
Lastly, he said a hello to Matthew McConaughey, and quoted his Cuban tía, who told him if he works very hard, he can hang out with “Matthew McCon-i-purse.” It was a light-hearted speech that spoke to anyone who suddenly finds themselves in a room wondering how they got there. — M.G.
Poorna Jagannathan has played everything from a ruthless gangster (“Deli Boys”) to an overbearing immigrant mom (“Never Have I Ever”). Now with HBO’s “Lanterns,” she adds an all-powerful galactic android to her acting resume.
Her character’s identity was a secret for much of HBO’s DC Comics series until a reveal in Episode 4 that a rancher’s trophy wife, Zoe Macon (Jagannathan), was, in fact, the deadly Manhunter. Then another great surprise rocked the “Lanterns” universe Sunday when in Episode 5, she is killed by Lantern trainee, John Stewart (Aaron Pierre).
“She is dead, for sure. Maybe …” teases Jagannathan, who had to take a crash course in Green Lantern lore before assuming the role in the eight-episode series from showrunner and co-creator Chris Mundy (“Hell on Wheels,” “True Detective,” “Ozark”).
Jagannathan’s character belongs to an ancient, shape-shifting race created by the Guardians of the Universe as the galaxy’s first police force, but they’ve since gone rogue and are now out to eliminate the human race. Green lanterns are interstellar peacekeepers who wear rings that give them extraordinary powers. When veteran Lantern Hal Jordan (Kyle Chandler) and his mentee Stewart are tasked with solving a murder in rural Nebraska, they trip upon a great mystery that included ferreting out which resident in the small town of Rushville is the Manhunter.
The series has been lauded for elevating the superhero genre while presenting as a gritty crime drama. In this edited conversation, Jagannathan explains the demise of the Manhunter, how she morphed into a comic book villain for the role and what it’s like to feel all powerful at this stage in her career.
John Stewart (Aaron Pierre) and Zoe Macon (Poorna Jagannathan) in a scene from Episode 5 of “Lanterns.”
(HBO)
How much did you know about the DC universe before taking on this role?
I didn’t understand a lot of this world, but I did grow up on Wonder Woman. I twirled my way into my teens. So at least there’s that. It’s such a huge property, so there’s a lot to learn. But I realized that there’s a lot of similarities between Lucky (the gangster she played in “Deli Boys”) and Zoe. Lucky was originally written for a man. So with “Lanterns,” when I was first reading the script, I just kept looking at the cast of characters and thinking who might it be? I just expected a man would be playing the Maneater.
Maneater?
I mean Manhunter. I kept messing up and saying that when we started working on the show, too. It’s the name of an old Hall & Oates song. [Jagannathan hums, “She’s a man eater… .”]
Explain who or what a Manhunter is.
Manhunters were created by the galaxy as part of a police force, and then they went rogue. They were created to enforce justice, but it was a very particular kind of justice. There was no gray in the Manhunter. No emotion. It was either right or wrong, and they would eliminate what was wrong. But then they started feeling things.
The guardians saw it was an operation that went wrong so they closed it down. She [Zoe] is a sole survivor. She runs away to a place where she adapts quickly to the creatures around her, and learns how to feel. So she’s this feeling machine that battles against her own programming, but at the end of the day she can’t help her programming. When there’s a conflict, she resolves it by killing half the population.
Jagannathan on her character in “Lanterns”: “She’s a sole survivor. She runs away to a place where she adapts quickly to the creatures around her, and learns how to feel.”
(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)
Manhunters morph to fit in with the population around them, but the skin your character chooses is that of a brown Indian woman. She does not look like anyone else in the small, predominantly white town of Rushville. Her explanation of why she made that decision — to essentially not fit in — is really powerful. Can you recall what she said?
I remember that monologue. [John Stewart] asks, “Why did you choose this skin?” I say, “Power.” “How do you conquer a civilization and a people?” You come to it from the outside. “How do you learn about things from the outside?” In your world, you don’t want obstacles, but in my world, I need those obstacles to get a higher vantage point, to see a deeper purpose.
The absolute outsiderness is a relatable point. I did ask Chris about it and he basically said that as an Indian woman in Nebraska, you’re an outsider. You’re already alien. People are not going to ask you a lot of questions. You’re not going to be part of any power structure. So she just is an anomaly, and there’s no more questions around it.
Did you know Zoe would turn out to be the Manhunter when you first auditioned for the role?
No. The scenes that I got were the one at the bar where I’m picking up Stewart, and the scene right before I die, which is [when we’re] in bed and I’m trying to get him to leave. Like “You gotta go or you’ll die!” They didn’t indicate she was extraterrestrial in anyway. There was no E.T. flair to [the dialogue]. It was so grounded that it was easy to inhabit this character. I’m happy because if I had had even an inkling she was the Manhunter, I might have brought an alien touch to the scene. But I couldn’t quite figure out her place in the story. Definitely not during the audition, and definitely not till I read the last [scene].
Your first big breakthrough on American television was in 2016’s “The Night Of.” That was 10 years ago. Now you’re landing all these powerful, commanding and sometimes villainous roles.
I’m telling you, it’s like I couldn’t have imagined a future like this. If you’d asked me back then what kind of role do you want, I’d have no idea. Between Zoe and Lucky, they’re my two favorite TV baddies. Then Nalini (the overbearing mom in “Never Have I Ever”) and Salma (who has an affair with the title character in “Ramy”). All these characters are very strong women.
What is it that you channel to embrace these powerful roles?
The second I turned 50, I just felt an inexplicable comfort in my own skin that I never felt before. A belonging in my own skin. That translates into belonging in different spaces where I could have been uncomfortable in before, so it’s a great time to inhabit these characters. Before I would have really s— myself with a character like Lucky or Zoe, but now it feels a lot more accessible.
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1.Jagannathan as Aunt Lucky in Hulu’s “Deli Boys.”(James Washington/Disney)2.Maitreyi Ramakrishnan as Devi, left, and Jagannathan as Nalini in Netflix’s “Never Have I Ever.”(Isabella B. Vosmikova/Netflix)
Do you see similarities between the characters you’ve played over the past few years?
They’re untethered, powerful women. They will do anything to keep their power. Their north star is power over anything else. Usually with female characters, everything always hearkens back to the family. Zoe is older. She is confident. She weaponizes her femininity right away, and she’s unafraid. She does it with nonchalance. She appears to not give a [damn].
All villains and warriors have an Achilles’ heel, and for female roles in particular, it’s usually sacrificing themselves to protect their family. Family is their kryptonite.
But a character like Zoe is willing to destroy everything, including her family, to keep power. She’s untethered from love and responsibility. You always expect a very masculine force to come in with this kind of power, and the fact that it never does with “Lanterns” is so unique.
You spoke on a “Lanterns” panel at San Diego Comic–Con? Describe the experience.
The [people who come in costume] are better humans than I am. To go somewhere and have your entire family dressed in Spider-Man regalia, roaming the streets of San Diego. It’s a manifestation of pure, unbridled passion from youth then passed down through generations. I wish I too had a passion like that.
“The second I turned 50, I just felt an inexplicable comfort in my own skin that I never felt before,” Jagannathan says. “That translates into belonging in different spaces where I could have been uncomfortable in before, so it’s a great time to inhabit these characters.”
(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)
Were you terrified somebody would ask you a complicated question …
… about Green Lantern?
Yes.
I had to be really upfront and honest and explain that I know so little. It’s Aaron [Pierre] who is really into comic books. He really got into this world. I did speak to a Green Lantern expert as part of the preparation for the role. I do remember him telling me how special John Stewart was in the universe. One of the first introductions of a Black superhero [in mainstream comics] was in Green Lantern, so it holds a very sacred space in comic book history.
Can you talk about your forthcoming Apple TV drama series, “Nocturne.”
It comes out Oct. 30, and it’s basically like if “Silence of the Lambs” was a documentary on Florence Nightingale. That makes it seem so tame, but it’s so, so frightening. The serial killer genre is new for me. I read the book [it’s based on] and had to install a security system in my home. I couldn’t sleep anymore! It’s with Stephen Graham, Liev Schreiber and Zazie Beetz. I play an overworked FBI agent who was brought in to help solve a crime that [law enforcement] initially tried to deal with internally and they messed it up. So they decided they decided to bring in the big guns.
You said earlier that Zoe is an outsider. Did you consider yourself an outsider, too?
Growing up, we moved around a lot. I was literally changing languages every three years. I needed to adapt quickly to whoever was around me, and it often came at the expense of never really knowing myself. You just had to quickly read the society. The language. The gestures. You had to decode quickly in order to fit in.
Even as an adult, I was not fully settled into a point of view until my 40s. That was maybe the allure of acting — getting to show a little bit of my insides through acting. It’s finding out who you might be.
It’s never too late to go back to school. But after years of deferred admission, can a new generation of students at Hillman College score high at delivering a compelling, modern take on the groundbreaking sitcom “A Different World”?
The foundation for an updated version of the popular sitcom set at a historically Black college was set three decades ago. In the 1993 series finale, the show’s central couple — smart, bespeckled math whiz Dwayne Wayne (Kadeem Hardison) and high-maintenance Southern belle Whitley Gilbert-Wayne (Jasmine Guy) — were embarking on their next chapter as newlyweds, relocating to Japan and expecting their first child. Before their departure, a professor jokingly quips to Dwayne: “I can’t wait to have your child in my class in the year 2014.”
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But plans for a revival — the original series itself was a spinoff of “The Cosby Show,” centered on the Huxtables’ free-spirited daughter Denise (Lisa Bonet) — to suit that time frame were in limbo for years. Producer and director Debbie Allen, who joined the original series in its second season to help it better reflect the HBCU experience, actively pitched and tried to relaunch “A Different World” in the early 2010s, but those efforts were derailed by the highly publicized sexual assault allegations against the show’s creator, Bill Cosby.
“It’s very difficult,” Allen told The Times. “The biggest difficulty, just being totally transparent, was people’s hesitation to work with Mr. Cosby; to have anything to do with him. [But] we were so independent. He kind of put us on a boat and said, ‘Go.’ And that’s what we did. And he was happy to know that we were going on our way.”
In early 2023, another push began to revive the series while also distancing itself from Cosby. Now, its decades-long gap year finally complete, a new incarnation of “A Different World” is starting up classes this fall at Netflix. And it hopes to carry on the legacy of its predecessor, which was celebrated for its depiction of Black culture and life in a higher education setting during its six-season run on NBC, from 1987 to 1993, bringing HBCUs into the mainstream.
Rashida (Alijah Kai), left, Deborah (Maleah Joi Moon) and Hazel (Kennedi Reece) in Netflix’s “A Different World.” After years of trying to tell the story of a new class at fictional Hillman College, Debbie Allen, who returns as an executive producer and director, says the sequel arrives at the right moment: “If there’s any voice we need to hear from right now, it’s young people.”
(Daniel Delgado Jr. / Netflix)
Billed as a sequel series premiering Sept. 24, a Wayne offspring is our anchor for the freshman class at Hillman College, the show’s fictional historically Black college based in Virginia. Deborah Wayne (Maleah Joi Moon) is an aspiring artist forced to attend her parents’ alma mater on academic probation after her NYU acceptance is rescinded. As the youngest Wayne child, she continues the family’s legacy at the school: her older sister — the child Whitley was pregnant with at the end of the original series — and an older brother are both alums.
She’s joined by a mix of first-gen and legacy students: star quarterback Shaquille Johnson (Cornell Young IV), who is the only child of original character Ron Johnson (Darryl M. Bell); criminal justice major Rashida Duvall (Alijah Kai); psych major Amir Rodale (Jordan Aaron Hall); Ghanaian-Nigerian fashion merchandising student Kojo Achebe (Chibuikem Uche); and small-town pastor’s daughter Hazel Henry (Kennedi Reece).
Some of the show’s original creative team join Allen as executive producers, including Tom Werner, and original series writers Reggie Rock Bythewood and Gina Prince-Bythewood. (Mandy Summers of “That ’90s Show” is also an executive producer.) To shepherd this reimagined version of the sitcom, Allen enlisted her former “Grey’s Anatomy” colleague Felicia Pride, who was most recently part of the writing staff on “Bel-Air,” the dramatic reboot of ’90s comedy “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.” It was a dream call for Pride, who as a kid living in Baltimore recorded and rewatched episodes — namely, the one involving a step competition that she obsessively watched after school to learn the routine. But she was reluctant.
“I love the show so much,” Pride said, seated next to Allen inside a Netflix conference room in Los Angeles on a recent day. “I was like, ‘I don’t want to be the one to mess it up.’ But she [Debbie] was so adamant that the time was now to hear from young Black America — and that, I could get with.”
Allen remembers it this way: “I don’t have an ego. I begged her. It’s the truth. To get this show back up, we’ve tried for years. But this is the time that’s right … We had inspired all these kids, not just Black kids, all young people to go to college. This was a peep into college that had never happened before, where you saw young people being responsible and living their lives and being crazy, but still dealing with what is happening in this world. If the young people in the country don’t have a voice, that country is dead. And if there’s any voice we need to hear from right now, it’s young people.”
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1.The original “A Different World”: Dwayne (Kadeem Hardison), left, and Ron (Darryl M. Bell).2.Jaleesa (Dawnn Lewis), left, Freddie (Cree Summer) and Whitley (Jasmine Guy). With Netflix’s modern take, showrunner Felicia Pride wanted the series to be intergenerational: “That’s why I’m so glad that we were able to have the legacy cast in the show — I wanted it to have the heart.”(NBCUniversal via Getty Images)
The show has been credited with boosting enrollment at HBCUs. While overall HBCU enrollment rose by 26% between 1976 and 1994, according to the National Center for Education Statistics, much of that increase occurred during the stretch of the show’s run.
Pride said she rewatched the original series, paying particular attention to the shift that materialized in Season 2 when Allen was brought on to overhaul it, as a starting point. Allen had a document of ideas detailing the types of characters she wanted to see depicted, including a star athlete, the first out queer character in the show’s universe and an African student. One major detail was a nonnegotiable: Allen wanted the show to revolve around Dwayne and Whitley’s daughter. (How they arrived at the character’s name — Deborah (pronounced Deb-OR-ah), which also happens to be Allen’s first name — is fuzzy. Pride remembers the name already being set by Allen; Allen recalls being amused upon seeing it on the page, thinking Pride had chosen the name.)
And just as in college, legacy matters on TV.
“I wanted the show to feel of now,” Pride said. “I also wanted it to be intergenerational. That was important to me, and that’s why I’m so glad that we were able to have the legacy cast in the show — I wanted it to have the heart … These [characters] were like my friends. I felt comfort in them. I felt like I could be them. It was also culture in a way that I hadn’t seen before, represented by people who look like me.”
Several familiar faces from the original make their way into the sequel, some taking on the mentor role of the older characters from the original, others representing how one gives back to the community that shaped them. Hardison and Guy lead the cast from the original series who reprise their characters, along with Bell, Cree Summer as Freddie Brooks, Charnele Brown as Kimberly Reese Boyer, Ajai Sanders as Gina Deveaux, Karen Malina White as Charmaine Brown, Jada Pinkett Smith as Lena James, Jenifer Lewis as Dorothy Dandridge Davenport and Allen as Dr. Langhorne.
Several original “A Different World” cast members reprise their roles in the new version of the series, including Charnele Brown, left, Jasmine Guy, Kadeem Hardison, Darryl M. Bell and Cree Summer.
(Quantrell Colbert / Netflix)
“They were so happy to be back,” Allen said. “There was a day they were all together —”
“That was the day where I felt like, ‘Oh, this is history,’” Pride added.
“In between takes, it was just chaos,” Allen continued. “They just laughed and acted up. It was just wonderful.”
To make the new characters and their stories resonate in a deeper, more contemporary way required as large a commitment to reflecting HBCU life as the original had under Allen’s guidance. The creative team assembled two paid student councils from various HBCUs — one to advise the writers’ room on storylines and campus issues; the other worked on the show’s Atlanta set, with students hired as production assistants that had working schedules tailored to their classes. The background performers filling up scenes in the quads, classrooms and parties feature 59% HBCU students and grads. And some key characters are portrayed by HBCU alumni who bring their lived experience to the screen, including Reece, who went to Howard University.
The freshman season will explore issues that Gen Z is grappling with such as financial insecurity, learning struggles, activism in the age of social media and matters of mental health, as well as bigger systemic issues like uncertainty around funding for HBCUs and immigration enforcement. The series also doesn’t shy away from its real-world backdrop — while it doesn’t explicitly mention President Trump by name, there is reference to the state of affairs under his administration.
Actors Jordan Aaron Hall, left, Cornell Young IV, Chibuikem Uche and Dasan Frazier are part of the new class of students at Hillman College in “A Different World.”
(Eli Joshua Ade / Netflix)
But this version of “A Different World” departs from its source material in its narrative format and tone. The original series was a multi-camera sitcom taped in front of a studio audience — and Allen initially thought any sequel of it would follow that same blueprint. But when the new series found its home at Netflix, it became a 10-episode single-camera dramedy. (Allen directed three episodes in the season, including the premiere, which set the cinematic style of the series.) As if to signal this iteration hasn’t completely deviated from its roots, in the show’s opening moments, Deborah Wayne coolly flicks the iconic flip-up frames made famous by Hardison’s Dwayne. And its memorable theme song that had versions from Phoebe Snow, Aretha Franklin and Boyz II Men hasn’t gone anywhere: Brandy was tapped to give a fresh spin on it that helps straddle the line between generations.
Now, Allen and Pride are on the cusp of seeing how this long-gestating idea will fare in the streaming world.
“You play the cards you’re dealt,” Allen said. “It took a while, but it was right for it not to happen until now. Right now is when we need it. Young people are struggling to find hope and inspiration and guidance, connection …”
Allen’s hope is that the show will have enough seasons to let the characters evolve: “On Netflix, not too many shows go past three, maybe four [seasons],” Allen said. What’s the goal? “At least three.”
Pride isn’t thinking ahead to graduation just yet. She’s still thinking about surviving the first day of school with this different (but familiar) show made for a different world.
“I came to understand we can never re-create the original show, and … even trying to pursue that is just not the thing to do,” Pride said. “It was a different time. It was a different everything, and it should stand on its own. What I wanted to do, personally, was just [focus on]: How can we capture that spirit and hopefully have a show that young people today can see themselves in, and that people [who watched the original] can also enjoy and be proud of?”
TELLURIDE, Colo. — Standing ovations at film festivals are a rite: part appreciation, part obligation, part a need to stretch your legs after sitting for a couple of hours.
But for an audience to explode and roar their approval in the middle of a movie? That rarely, if ever, happens.
Except it did, midway through the Telluride Film Festival world premiere of Jesse Eisenberg‘s delightful comedy “The Debut.” The applause followed a scene between Julianne Moore and Paul Giamatti that took its audience on such an exhilarating journey that there was almost no choice but to cheer in admiration, as if to say: What did we just see?
Sitting in the theater, Eisenberg, producer Emma Stone and Paul Giamatti looked at each other and asked themselves the same question but for a different reason.
“It was hard to process and, at the same time, just so affirming,” Eisenberg told me a couple of hours after the premiere.
The next day, sitting down to grab a quick bite with Moore and Giamatti, that giddy feeling had not dissipated, though, truth be told, they knew this scene was an all-timer from the moment they read it.
Let’s set the stage for you in a way that won’t spoil this constantly surprising film when it arrives in theaters in December and starts piling up acclaim and awards for all concerned.
Moore plays Mona, a meek, thoroughly unseen wife and mother who impulsively decides to audition for a community theater production of a musical titled “Nosy Neighbors,” despite having no experience apart from singing in the church choir when she was 13. The director Jerry (Giamatti) cuts her tryout short, sending her home, only to relent when the woman he’d already cast (Bernadette Peters!) drops out and he has nowhere else to turn.
Mona is, as Moore puts it, a “nice lady.” But she’s not a natural performer. She can’t get into character playing Miss Danielle, the show’s tough, toolbelt-wearing building super. So Jerry takes Mona aside because that’s what he does. As her cast mates note, “He’s going to drag you through the s— and the mud and you have to be ready for the s— and the mud.”
It turns out, though, that Jerry is the one who isn’t ready for what’s about to happen. Sitting in a chair on the theater stage, Jerry holds an envelope containing cash, telling Mona that it’s her job to make him hand over the rent. It’s an acting-class exercise designed to make you listen, react and dig into your character’s truth. Moore begins with a whisper and builds to a roar as Mona improvises a manic rant that involves rats and the plague.
Suffice to say, Jerry hands over the rent.
“When I read that scene, I stood up, put my iPad down and started doing laps around my dining room table,” Moore remembers. “I couldn’t believe how beautiful it was. I was just like, ‘Oh my God!Aaaaaaagh!‘”
“It was five pages long,” Giamatti marvels. “Jerry just needs Mona to be better. And then he sees that maybe she could actually be kind of great. He cracks her open and he’s like, ‘Oh wow, who is this lady? Who the hell is this?’ The funny thing about that scene is s— like that happens in classes.” He turns to Moore. “Did that ever happen to you?”
“I had an audition for a university, actually, where they threw chairs in front of me while I did the monologue and made me climb over the chairs,” Moore says, laughing. “I look back on that now. I was 18 years old and I was like, “What?’ Yeah. It was really strange. They’re trying to get you to react authentically and be alive.”
She smiles at Giamatti. “Hopefully when you get to be our age, you don’t need that.”
Though the scene has Mona improvising, it was performed as written, down to every last pause.
“Everyone keeps asking if we improvised and I’m like, ‘Hell, no,’” Moore says. “Jesse’s like the Coens. Everything’s there on the page.”
Adds Giamatti, “It’s incredibly specific. You follow his punctuation. The commas matter in his writing.”
“What’s so f—ing delightful about about working with Paul is that his sense of timing and rhythm is so tight,” Moore continues. “That scene is a set piece that requires you to work in tandem and you need somebody to hit it back with the same intensity and the same speed.”
When Eisenberg first met Moore, he told her flat-out, “I don’t want you to worry about this scene.” He knew it was a bear, with pages and pages of lines, so he told her he’d have a teleprompter on set.
“That section, all that crazy s— she goes off on, that would be really hard,” Giamatti says.
“And I was like, ‘Phew, that’s fantastic,’ because I knew all I would do would be to worry about all those lines and be so scared,” Moore says. “But because he said that to me, I never worried. And I didn’t need the teleprompter.”
They shot the scene in one morning, just Moore and Giamatti alone on the stage with the rest of the crew downstairs in the video village. There was an energy on set, spiked by an unusual number of visitors (“People knew,” Giamatti says) and then they went to work.
“I remember the first time you really hit that speech and they called cut, I just couldn’t stop grinning,” Giamatti tells Moore. “And I reached out and just kind of held you for a second because I was like, ‘That was amazing.’ I wanted to convey just how great it was, what you were doing.”
Moore beams. “I just love him. Just love him, love him, love him. I have so much gratitude for Paul.”
“To watch you be a bad actor was so hilarious and then you would you would modulate it and change it,” Giamatti continues. “Watching her was the experience that Jerry was having. It was such a joy.”
The scene is the beginning of a simpatico relationship between Jerry and Mona, mentor and protege, predicated on the power of imagination and how it can make outcasts feel seen and heard.
“Everyone wants to be known as who we are, even though it’s so scary for us to really reveal it,” Moore says. “There’s a real mind-altering power in just being yourself.”
VENICE, Italy — “My actual personality is not very friendly, I’m afraid,” claims Korean actor Jeon Do-yeon. “Myself and actor Sul Kyung-gu, we can be a little bit brusque. We don’t really have the talent to make the set fun.”
As she says it, though, Jeon and co-star Cho Yeo-jeong are laughing — making the assertion rather harder to believe when it arrives in English from Korean via an interpreter. Throughout our conversation, in fact, the pair chuckles, nods along to each other’s answers, interjects sounds of assent. Enough for me to understand that their chemistry comes naturally, whatever Jeon’s protestations.
“In the film I play a character that chases [Jeon’s character] and it really suited me, almost to the point where I didn’t really need to try and act this role,” as Cho puts it. “I was almost like a sunflower, constantly facing and chasing actor Jeon.”
The actors needed every ounce of the sublime chemistry they forged to portray the magnetic but fatally flawed relationship at the heart of auteur Lee Chang-dong’s first film in eight years, “Possible Love,” which premiered Sunday at the Venice Film Festival. South Korea’s international feature submission for the 2027 Oscars, the Netflix film sees Ye-ji (Cho), a documentarian married to a wealthy businessman (Zo In-sung), cozy up to Mi-ok (Jeon), whose husband (Sul) has been seriously injured in a brutal crackdown on striking factory workers, in order to secure an interview with him — only for divisions of class and professional ambition to expose the fault lines in their relationship, and in turn their marriages.
“It seems like they want to be friends with each other, but then there seems to be a line that just cannot be crossed between them,” says Lee, also through an interpreter, of the actors’ accomplished double act, referring to a scene in which Ye-ji bristles at Mi-ok’s suggestion that her high-end clothes are out of place interviewing unemployed laborers. “[Jeon and Cho] knew of that and they went into shooting that scene knowing that it was quite challenging to express. There were, of course, some things that were up to the camera in bringing that about, but I think that was a scene where the two were able to express just how nuanced and quite strange the relationship can be.”
The film itself is just as slippery and multi-layered, down to Lee’s heady admixture of documentary and dramatic aesthetics. Inspired by real-life labor conflict in South Korea, “Possible Love” uses Ye-ji’s nonfiction study of laid-off workers as a window into the lives of ordinary people swept up in large-scale social change, against the backdrop of which the two women’s competing priorities are thrown into stark relief. Can a filmmaker who totes a $4,000 Lora Piana backpack, however well-intentioned, truly understand the plight of the working class? Is a subject eager to publicize a political struggle prepared for the risk that her personal privacy will be invaded in the process?
To choreograph the film within the film — so compelling that I almost missed seeing its conclusion when “Possible Love” shifts the focus to interpersonal fireworks in the third hour — Lee cast a real-life documentary director and cinematographer as Ye-ji’s crew, lending what Cho calls their “natural energy” to the movements of the camera. Cho herself prepared by consulting the late master of the form, Frederick Wiseman, who was unabashed about the tension between documentary filmaking’s often radical politics and the privilege required to turn it into a profession.
“[Wiseman] was posed the question by some students studying film and documentary: ‘How can I pursue this work in reality?’” she recalls. “And he replied with the immortal words, ‘Marry a rich man.’ And you know, I was preparing for the role of Ye-ji, so it was such an apt response for her situation.”
Jeon, left, and Cho in “Possible Love.”
(Joo Jae-bum/Netflix)
The potential for conflict bursts into the open at a seaside home that has been in Ye-ji’s husband’s family for years, where the group has decamped for a supposedly restorative holiday. Reminded of the setting by the location of our conversation — a set of green-curtained, pink-carpeted suites at the Hotel Excelsior, overlooking the northern shores of the Adriatic — I ask the actors what’s going through their characters’ minds when Mi-ok and Ye-ji’s promising connection ultimately severs.
Mi-ok “doesn’t really want to reveal to anyone else what’s going on in the family … She only wants to show the good side that they are trying to live their best life and trying to improve and move forward with hopefulness,” Jeon says, citing an early scene in which Mi-ok asks the crew not to film her son’s awkward taekwondo at a school field day. When the camera’s prying eye becomes more intrusive, though, she “feels a great sense of betrayal, that her family is being used and exploited.”
For Cho, who says Ye-ji is “constantly balancing the ethical dilemma” between documenting the truth and treating her subjects with care, the break was always inevitable, and no amount of Ye-ji’s remorse or guilt can repair the damage.
Against this microcosm of the class war Lee sets the emergence of artificial intelligence, which threatens to further destabilize labor across a range of industries — including his own. Although he’s uncertain if, when or how AI will “intrude” on the “entirely creative” filmmaking process, the “Poetry” and “Burning” director is already using it for everyday tasks.
“Before going to see the doctor, I like to ask AI all the symptoms that I have, ask what’s wrong with me. Or I would ask, you know, ‘What’s the weather like in Venice?’” he says. “AI gives us instant answers, and it goes even beyond that to where it gives you advice these days. And in that sense, AI has indeed really gotten deeply intertwined in my daily life.”
Similarly, Jeon is open to using AI for more “trivial” matters, such as simultaneous translation from English to Korean and vice versa. But she admits to more “extreme thoughts” than Lee about the technology’s role in the future of screen acting.
“I’m going to be starring in a [Korean-language adaptation] of Anton Chekov’s “The Cherry Orchard” upcoming in New York. And I was wondering, actually, is the stage the last place that cannot be conquered by AI, and will not be replaced by AI?”
Perhaps. But the scene in “Possible Love” that best captures the finely honed chemistry of its female leads, in which Mi-ok and Ye-ji drunkenly bond over soju and Korean barbecue as their bemused husbands look on, seems to me beyond the capabilities of AI — it’s too warm, too meticulously rendered to be anything other than fully human, the sort of acting one hopes the Venice jury will remember when it hands out the Volpi Cup for best actress on Saturday.
“It is quite difficult technically and practically — it was a scene that we shot all night long,” Cho says. “But I remember shooting it with a lot of pleasure.”
Actor and playwright Ellen McLaughlin, who originated the role of the Angel in Tony Kushner’s “Angels in America,” has put her own modern spin on ancient Greek dramas. Her “Helen,” a satirical reworking of Euripides’ tragicomedy and the eternal beauty myth, ought to be better known.
McLaughlin’s modern verse “translation” of Shakespeare’s “Pericles” is now receiving its West Coast premiere at Boston Court Pasadena. I’m traditionally more resistant to playwrights fiddling around with Shakespeare than I am with them updating Greek tragedy. Making Shakespeare’s plays accessible is a noble goal, but there are other ways to go about this beyond modernizing the text and diluting its lyrical beauty and nuance.
When actors understand what they’re saying, audiences tend to catch their characters’ drift while absorbing poetry that’s still at the root of the English language. But “Pericles” isn’t a play that should raise purist hackles. There is an authorship question. The first two acts and the final three may have been written by different writers. There’s an assumption that the second half is Shakespeare’s, but scholars continue to quarrel over attribution.
Julanne Chidi Hill, Desiree Mee Jung, Adam J. Smith, Joel Swetow (center), Rio Rasch, Nicole Javier and Alexander Matos in “Pericles” at Boston Court Pasadena.
(Brian Hashimoto)
Whatever the scholarly truth, it’s safe to say that “Pericles, Prince of Tyre,” to give this late romance its full title, is a patchwork. A strange epic yarn ignited by incest and attempted murder, the play is crammed with shipwrecks and miraculous rescues, devastating suffering and last-minute recoveries. I don’t think I’ve ever read the final act without shedding tears. That said, the play requires an extra-strength dose of willing suspension of disbelief.
McLaughlin’s most notable change concerns the frame of the play, which now unfolds in a disaster relief center. The conceit is that the worried and impatient evacuees amuse themselves with an impromptu performance of “Pericles,” of all unlikely theatrical works.
Outside, a monstrous storm rages. Inside, under flickering lights, a group of reluctant strangers is coaxed into acting out, in a converted gymnasium, a wild tale promising redemption from agonizing tragedy.
Randolph Thompson, Nicole Javier, Joel Swetow Adam J. Smith, Desiree Mee Jung and Rio Rasch in “Pericles” at Boston Court Pasadena.
(Brian Hashimoto)
The production, directed by Margaret Shigeko Starbuck, runs with the makeshift energy and comical freedom that this contextual shift allows. The characters aren’t professional actors, so it’s fine for them to wear their masks loosely. Flashlights illuminate darkened spaces. And props are improvised so that pool noodles are used for jousting and an earbud case serves as an engagement ring.
Joel Swetow, in the role of Gower, smoothly marshals the narrative, advancing the story from one delightful implausibility to the next, recapping what’s happened in the meantime and, when necessary, urging some of the more reluctant characters to stay with the performance. He also takes on the role of malevolent and benevolent kings, whom Pericles (an excellent Randolph Thompson) encounters on his tumultuous odyssey.
Most of the lead players lock into their roles once the performance of “Pericles,” the play within the adaptation, is underway. Thompson is particularly skilled at emotionally investing in his character’s plight even as the spontaneous production refuses to take itself too seriously.
Randolph Thompson, Joel Swetow and Nicole Javier in “Pericles” at Boston Court Pasadena.
(Brian Hashimoto)
A little meta-theatrical hamminess goes a long way, and actors in general have a tendency to overdo the joke. I appreciated the restraint that the cast imposes on itself without spoiling the fun. Nicole Javier who plays Thaisa, Pericles’ seemingly doomed wife, and Troy Leigh-Anne Johnson, who plays Marina, Pericles’ transcendentally good daughter born into sorrow, ensure that we care about the fate of a man who trails disaster behind him.
Julanne Chidi Hill, Desiree Mee Jung, Adam J. Smith and Alexander Matos adroitly flesh out the world of a play that sets virtue and vice in neon opposition. Their sporting way of differentiating their roles keep the staging brisk and lighthearted, qualities that are cleverly maintained by a design team that conjures ocean swells with a metallic-looking sheet, royal garb out of contemporary casual wear and a deadly threat from a pocket umbrella.
I missed the rhythms of Shakespeare’s music, though the most compelling poetic imagery in the adaptation is from the original. But the biggest sacrifice, one that is never fully restored unlike Pericles’ grievous losses, is the emotional weight of the play’s climax. It’s hard to allow yourself to fully believe in the incredible turn of events when the prevailing attitude is so emphatically tongue-in-cheek.
Adam J. Smith, Joel Swetow, Nicole Javier, Julanne Chidi Hill, Jamie Gallo, Randolph Thompson and Rio Rasch in “Pericles” at Boston Court Pasadena.
(Brian Hashimoto)
Johnson’s Marina performs with lovely gravitas, as do Javier’s Thaisa and Thompson’s Pericles. But the rollicking jollity that accompanies the final two acts, which includes the entrance of pirates and the abduction of Marina to a brothel, robs the ending of some of its pathos. A touch more solemnity would not have been amiss.
My eyes for once failed to moisten. But I was nonetheless relieved that Pericles’ happy ending is intact — a reassuring sight in our age of successive disasters.
‘Pericles’
Where: Boston Court Pasadena, 70 N. Mentor Ave., Pasadena
When: Check theater website for schedule. Ends Sept. 27
August Wilson’s “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom,” the first of his plays to reach Broadway, catapulted the author’s playwriting career.
It’s the only drama in Wilson’s 10-play American Century Cycle not set in Pittsburgh’s Hill District. But the series might never have come to fruition were it not for the way “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom” heralded the emergence of a major new American dramatist.
Although it’s still one of his most produced works, “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom” has the hallmarks of an early piece. Wilson discovers his playwriting voice in this play, but he’s still working out his approach to dramatic structure.
I wasn’t champing at the bit to see another production of “Ma Rainey’s,” but I’m glad I didn’t miss this latest Wilson revival at A Noise Within, directed by Gregg T. Daniel. Acted with breathtaking ensemble naturalness, the play seems lived in rather than performed.
Francis C. Edemobi, from left, Amber Liekhus and CJ Obilom in August Wilson’s “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom” at A Noise Within.
(Craig Schwartz)
The voices of the characters come through as though we’re eavesdropping from a discreet distance on their banter and squabbles. There’s nothing more riveting on stage than the truth, and here we have human beings in all their flagrant, unadorned and seemingly irreconcilable complications.
Set in a Chicago recording studio in 1927, the play splits its focus between the title character, a fictitious re-creation of the great blues singer Ma Rainey engaged in a power struggle with her white industry overlords, and the exchanges of her sidemen, a quartet of Black men with markedly different ambitions and sensibilities.
Levee, the role magnificently played by Chadwick Boseman in George C. Wolfe‘s 2020 film adaptation, may have more of a claim on the protagonist role than even Ma Rainey, who’s the play’s thematic center. As she throws her diva weight around in defense of a talent born out of Black suffering, she crystallizes the racial politics that Wilson powerfully illuminates.
But Levee’s role is the most dynamic in the play. A trumpeter who wants to move the band in a more musically sophisticated direction, he’s written his own arrangement of the song “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom” that they’ve come to the studio to record. But Ma Rainey insists on doing it her way, even if Levee’s version is more interesting from a jazz perspective.
Overcome with anger from a traumatic childhood in which he witnessed his mother being raped by a mob of white men, he can’t tolerate slights, big or small. And his fiery temper, igniting at every possible moment with his older and more accommodating bandmates, turns this snapshot of history into genuine tragedy.
Kai A. Ealy, from left, Alex Morris, Gerald C. Rivers and Jamar Gilbert in August Wilson’s “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom” at A Noise Within.
(Craig Schwartz)
The bedraggled studio has been visually renovated with the wood-slatted elegance of Tesshi Nakagawa’s scenic design. Daniel’s production demands that we experience the play in a fresh light. The period is respected but never allowed to become stiff or artificial. This isn’t a waxwork staging.
Standing microphones, placed on different tiers of the set, never let us forget that Wilson was first and foremost a conductor of voices. He bestows on his characters arias, and Daniel’s cast delivers them as though the words were expressly made for these particular actors.
Jamar Gilbert’s Levee moves through the world as if it’s a battle zone, which of course for him it has been. Conflict has dogged him his entire life, and injustice is what he’s come to expect. His focus is on himself, his music, his sensual pleasures and his determination not to be anyone’s victim. He takes as much pride in the shine of his new shoes as he does in the flirtatious giggle of a pretty woman.
Toledo (Gerald C. Rivers), the philosopher and historian of the group, tries to broaden Levee’s perspective, but the two men have a knack for getting under each other’s skin. Their antagonism is fueled in part by Levee’s immaturity, but there’s also a divide in their worldview: Levee wants society to change in time for him to make good while Toledo is more concerned with the collective spirit of his people.
Meanwhile, Slow Drag (Alex Morris) mostly wants to get on with the session, collect his money and enjoy life as it was meant to be enjoyed, with whiskey, a little reefer and good-looking women. Cutler (Kai A. Ealy) tries to be a moderating influence, but he winds up as exasperated by Levee as Toledo.
Alex Morris, from left, Amber Liekhus and Jamar Gilbert in August Wilson’s “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom” at A Noise Within.
(Craig Schwartz)
The authenticity of the production encompasses the music. These actors don’t mime making music, as is often the case in revivals. They jam together, modestly but effectively enough to make their recording session real to us.
There’s nothing at all modest about Amber Liekhus’ musical talent. Indeed, Liekhus is the first actor who was able to convince me that the character of Ma Rainey really is a professional, jobbing singer. She doesn’t imitate being the mother of the blues, as her character is known. She earns the distinction through the wondrous depths of her soulful singing.
She refuses to be bulldozed by either Irvin (Bert Emmett), her manager, or Sturdyvant (Matt Foyer), the owner of the recording studio, knowing full well that they depend on her gift for their pile of money. Her insistence that Sylvester (Francis C. Edemobi), her nephew with a pronounced stutter, speaks the intro to her new record, is her way of asserting human control over corporate greed.
Liekhus’ Ma Rainey isn’t merely being temperamental, as Sturdyvant and Irvin assume. She’s using her limited leverage in whatever ways she can. There’s something touching about her imperiousness, a regal vulnerability that shines through even in her romantic interaction with Dussie Mae (CJ Obilom), whom Levee has his predatory eye on.
The honesty of the acting is so enlivening that I’m tempted to rank this production among the very best Wilson revivals I’ve seen. If there’s one slight misstep, it happens at the play’s violent climax. The moment makes perfect psychological and dramatic sense, but the confrontation needs a few more beats than Daniel allows.
But this encounter with “Ma Rainey” reveals that even early Wilson can, in the right hands, offer unadulterated playwriting greatness.
‘Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom’
Where: A Noise Within, 3352 E. Foothill Blvd., Pasadena
When it comes to romantic comedies, it’s not where it’s going — that’s a foregone conclusion — but how it gets there. The way the central couple navigates the twists, turns, roadblocks and unforced errors that entangle their budding relationship is the beating heart of these films. It’s what sets each one apart and delivers its entertainment value. That’s the test: pass or fail.
Which brings us to “Finding Emily,” a sweet new entry from Working Title Films, the producer of such gold-standard rom-coms as “Four Weddings and a Funeral,” “Notting Hill” and “Love Actually.” It may not be destined for a place alongside those favorites, but “Emily” has a wonky charisma all its own that just might satisfy fans of those British charmers.
Or not.
That’s because the film’s journey, which follows Owen, a struggling musician (Spike Fearn) searching for his vanished dream girl with a hand from a cynical psychology student (Angourie Rice), may not feel quite captivating or propulsive enough to carry its pie-in-the-sky story to its inevitable finale. As someone behind me at the end of the film’s screening said, “Well, that plane took a while to land.” I can’t fully disagree.
Fortunately, the movie, inventively directed by first-time feature helmer Alicia MacDonald, is anchored by a pair of winning performances by Fearn (“Alien: Romulus,”“Ella McCay”) and Rice (2024’s “Mean Girls” musical). Their quirky, endearing moments and oddball chemistry often patch over — or at least divert us from — the contrivances and bits of filler in Rachel Hirons’ busy script.
Owen, who works as a sound engineer at the Manchester City University student union, falls headfirst for an enchanting redhead (wearing fairy wings, no less) named Emily (Sadie Soverall), whom he meets at a party. But when he tries to text her the next day, he realizes the number she gave him is missing a digit. Was that on purpose or an accident?
No matter, Owen is obsessed with finding her, even if he doesn’t know her last name and there are 318 Emilys in the campus directory. A false lead misdirects him to one of those women, Emily Raine (Rice), a psych major writing her thesis on the “self-sabotaging madness” of romance. It’s a theory clearly waiting to be blown to smithereens.
Their meet-cute develops into an offbeat friendship when the “wrong Emily” (is she really?) offers to help lovestruck Owen track down the “right Emily” (is she really?), secretly using him as a real-life case study to nail her dissertation. If she succeeds, the Iowa transplant will be able to secure the work visa she needs to stay in her adopted England.
It’s a device that adds to the character’s urgency, if not her likability. Though in true rom-com fashion, this Emily is appealing in other required ways — and is also adorable. The plot kicks into high gear when, again to fuel her thesis, she deviously provides Owen with a contact list of every Emily in the college database and suggests he mass-email them to locate the elusive, fairy-winged Emily.
This goes all kinds of wrong, setting off a viral brouhaha and turning the hapless Owen into an unwitting pariah. The loud-and-proud gang of Emilys brands him a stalker and a “toxic incel” (as well as the jauntier “Email Guy”). The mania is compounded by Owen’s stab at damage control when he appears on a campus podcast hosted by a savvy button-pusher (Nadia Parkes, pitch-perfect), unaware the show is going out live on video. Oh, and none of this results in a response from his desired Emily.
Amusing and brightly satirical as this turn of events is, it begins to feel more like a tempest in a teapot than the sustainable story engine Hirons was aiming for.
The film hits its predictable highs and lows as the mismatched Owen and Emily get closer and romantic complications mount. The search for “Fairy Emily” yields some anticlimactic results.
Still, there’s a kind of hip, comfort food aspect to the entire enterprise that keeps it an easy, if slightly cluttered and overlong watch. (See plane-landing comment.) MacDonald makes superb use of the story’s Manchester backdrop. The city’s vibrant neighborhoods and residents, along with its dynamic music scene, practically form their own character.
The vivid, at times overly kinetic supporting cast includes Prasanna Puwanarajah as Emily’s egotistical psych professor, Timothy Innes as her oblivious crush and Cora Kirk as her supportive, strong-willed flatmate; Jack Riddiford and Isabella Laughland as Owen’s brother and his better half; and Kat Ronney as a take-no-prisoners student body president — also named Emily. Minnie Driver is sadly underused as the school’s detached dean.
So does “Finding Emily” pass the aforementioned rom-com test? Flaws aside, it’s ultimately a pleasant enough way to beat the heat, grab a few laughs, take in a fine soundtrack and find yourself in some good company. But even if your name happens to be Emily, you won’t be fully swept away.
‘Finding Emily’
Rated: PG-13, for sexual references, language, some crude material and drug references
Hig (Jacob Elordi) may be the most perfect guy alive, not that he’s got much competition. In Ridley Scott’s simple-minded sociological study “The Dog Stars,” an influenza epidemic wiped out the majority of our squabblesome species sometime during the last decade. The LCD screens outside the Denver Nuggets basketball arena continue to flicker, although weeds and wolves have overrun the fast-food joints in a bit of postapocalyptic product placement.
A former mechanic and construction worker, Hig lives 25 miles north of the city on what appears to be a combination high school football field/rural airport. Periodically, the soft-spoken and generous man flies his Cessna into town to scavenge soda pop for a dozen or so cherubic Mennonite children on a nearby homestead. Those wholesome visits seem to cheer him up a little, what with the kids’ minder (Benedict Wong) striding around in a straw hat and overalls like something out of Norman Rockwell, and the youngsters thanking Hig with crayoned portraits of his doting German shepard, Jasper. Still, he’s bummed out about his dead wife (Sai Bennett), who, like most dead movie wives, appears in flashbacks as beatific, mute and adoring.
The script by Mark L. Smith (“The Revenant”) wants us to fret that Hig may succumb to suicide but whiffs that idea by trying to get it across in a scene where Hig shuts off the Cessna’s engine mid-flight with Jasper happily riding shotgun. Even if we were willing to accept that Hig might deliberately crash his plane, we can’t buy for a second that he’d hurt his sweet pup. Nevertheless, the film’s dystopian beats are so familiar, you’ve probably guessed by now that you shouldn’t get too attached to the dog.
Hig has bunkered down with a grouchy companion, Bangley (Josh Brolin), who thrives in this harsh world. To Bangley, the four essentials of life are “power, food, water and weapons.” Their armory is formidable; their cash supply, a source of comic relief. At night, Hig and Bangley play poker with stacks of $5,000 bills that they throw around as casually as nickels. Patrolling their two-man compound, Bangley insists on killing all outsiders before they might cause any trouble. Adding insult to headshot, he calls his casualties “cockroaches.”
Soon, Hig will meet a freckled widow named Cima (Margaret Qualley) and her suspicious father, Pops (Guy Pearce). The young pair make eyes at each other. Yet these survivors are so hard-wired to be fearful of their neighbors that Hig and Cima’s rusty, tentative flirtation takes place under the gaze of her daddy’s gun, a heck of a chaperone. The most they get up to is heavy spooning.
This is an uncomplicated yarn about a man prying open his heart and nudging other hard nuts to do the same. There’s little tension or drive, just shaggy scenes about paranoia, trust and hope. The characters seem to endure only to get to their next traumatic memory reveal.
At once plain-spoken and vague, the story lacks a firm grip on facts like the distance between places and how long this mess has been going on. It snatches at our attention with no more finesse than a losing fighter fumbling for a weapon. Hig’s Cessna works fine until it’s narratively convenient that it doesn’t. Then when needed, it works again. Meanwhile, Brolin’s Bangley oscillates in personality from miserable bastard to laugh factory.
At 88, Scott remains the cinema’s uneasy philosopher, continually fretting about the technological and societal tools we’ve developed to destroy ourselves. He’s made one genuinely optimistic film, 2015’s “The Martian,” which also happens to be his biggest box office success. Other than that, he’s never seemed confident that the future will turn out all right, although he’s kept on working out his worries onscreen, forever hunting for flakes of hope in the rubble. (If you take Scott’s IMDb as gospel, he’s got seven upcoming features in various stages of preproduction, more than George Lucas has ever made.)
“The Dog Stars” is based on Peter Heller’s 2012 novel of the same name, which, in those naive, pre-COVID times, was received as a rosier take on Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road.” Scott’s version of“The Dog Stars” borrows its title, premise and a handful of proper names. Otherwise, it’s loud where the book was quiet and subtle where the book got sweaty. A barrage of newly concocted action sequences in the second half makes the pacing so off-balance that the film feels like a heron trying to fly with one blinged-out wing.
I’m only half-complaining — those giddy, bloody scenes are the best parts of the movie. But we in the audience could have used some of that pizzazz at the beginning, too, before we spent nearly an hour settling into the idea that we’ve seen all of this before.
The attackers to come are a bizarre grab bag of baddies. One gang wears football pads as armor and comes galloping in on horses, whooping like the Apaches in a John Ford movie. Another horde, the Reapers, runs around shirtless to show off their thick black tattoos. The Reapers look awesome through cinematographer Erik Messerschmidt’s night-vision binoculars that make their skin glow an alien shade of green. Neither group comes across like human beings. The film handles them more like zombies or rabid raccoons, and since these extras are the only characters of color, I won’t fault anyone who finds their treatment morally queasy.
Late in the film, we also meet a third group headed by Allison Janney doing a cap-tip to Nurse Ratched as the soundtrack cues the mind-numbing waltz from “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” Otherwise, Harry Gregson-Williams’ meddlesome score tells us everything that’s about to happen 30 seconds before it does. Besides Janney and Qualley’s plucky Cima (what in the made-up name is that?), few grown women seem to be left alive for reasons probably better left unsaid. (A goon in the book wears a necklace made of dried labia. Scott sagely omits that detail.)
Elordi nearly shoulders the running time but plays his Hig a bit too humbly. I’ve rarely seen Elordi wearing his lanky, handsome screen presence comfortably; something about the actor usually seems to be apologizing for his own existence. His recessive Hig needs more charisma so we can care about him as a character, not just an idealized hero. But you like him anyway. How can you not when Hig is giving his dog a good scratch?
Having lived through a seismic pandemic himself, it makes sense that Scott would be drawn to the original novel’s blend of patience and poetry. Yet, it’s odd how little of it he’s kept. To hold my own interest, I imagined myself as a hunter-explorer trying to figure out why Scott had bothered to adapt it at all, and turned up a line where Brolin’s Bangley looks back on his old life and admits that he couldn’t understand what he had until it was gone. A lovely moment, although I don’t believe it’s in the book either.
That’s the theme of this rote exercise. But I preferred a minor beat a few minutes later when a character puts down their gun and picks up a guitar. Bad as this world feels, there’s still pleasure in making art. Which is why Scott keeps at it, too — and while I don’t think much of this one, I’m awful glad he does.
Peter Cullen, the voice actor whose regal timbre as the heroic Optimus Prime in the “Transformers” franchise and deep tone as the gloomy Eeyore in “Winnie the Pooh” projects who was beloved by generations, has died. He was 85.
Cullen died Wednesday in his Los Angeles home, his agent Kevin Motley confirmed to The Times on Thursday. A cause of death was not given.
He “passed away peacefully, surrounded by his loving family — and held in the hearts of his many friends and countless fans worldwide,” his family said in a statement. They ask “that you honor his remarkable legacy by serving your communities and leading others with compassion, integrity, and loyalty and always remember ‘be strong enough to be gentle.’ ”
A prolific voice actor whose work spanned television shows, movies, video games and even theme park rides, Cullen amassed more than 200 credits over his career. This includes the eponymous giant ape in the 1976 remake of “King Kong,” the villainous vehicle KARR (Knight Automated Roving Robot) in the “Knight Rider” TV series and the clicks and trills of the deadly alien hunter in the original “Predator” film.
But Cullen is best known for his work in animation and children’s cartoons in the 1980s and ‘90s.
His signature role was Optimus Prime, the leader of a heroic faction of sentient alien robots known as Autobots who battle the villainous Decepticons in the “Transformers” franchise. Cullen often spoke about how his voice for the leader — who transforms into a truck — was inspired by his older brother, Larry, a Marine who had served in Vietnam.
On the day of his “Transformers” audition, Cullen had mentioned to Larry, his roommate at the time, that he was on his way to try out to be the voice of “a hero truck.”
Larry responded, “Well, if you’re gonna be a hero, be a real hero. Don’t be a jerk … Be strong enough to be gentle. Be understanding. Be compassionate, and be able to kick ass — in a good way,” Cullen previously told The Times.
“He said it in a voice that was subdued and calm,” Cullen continued. “He’s 13 months older and 6 inches taller. Made of steel. He was my hero. [His words] weighed heavily on me. So I’m at the audition reading the breakdown of the character and what I have to say in the audition. I can just feel Larry’s words coming out of my mouth. So, I took his sound — my first words were, ‘My name is Optimus Prime.’ ”
“Transformers” voice actors Peter Cullen, left, and Frank Welker at the 2024 Comic-Con Fan Expo in Rosemont, Ill.
(Rob Grabowski / Invision/Associated Press)
Cullen originated the role in the 1980s animated “Transformers” series, referred to by fans as “G1” or “Generation 1.” The era also includes the big-screen “The Transformers: The Movie” (1986), which featured the beloved character’s controversial death, but the character eventually returned after fan outcry.
He told NPR that returning to play Optimus Prime in these films was “like slipping into an old pair of shoes that you hid in the back of your closet.”
Cullen was nominated for a Daytime Emmy for his work as Optimus Prime in the TV series “Transformers: Prime” in 2011 and won a Lifetime Achievement Award at the Children’s and Family Emmy Awards in 2023.
Peter Claver Cullen was born on July 28, 1941, in Montreal, to American parents Henry and Muriel Cullen. One of four children, he graduated from the National Theatre School of Canada in 1963. He later did Shakespeare for a summer in Stratford, Ontario, before working for a year at the Crest Theatre in Toronto as a member of the repertory company, according to the Hollywood Reporter.
He told NPR he discovered his talent for doing different voices while working on a farm as a child and imitating animals.
Besides Optimus Prime, one of Cullen’s favorite roles was Eeyore, the endearing but pessimistic donkey from “Winnie the Pooh.” Cullen first voiced the character in “The New Adventures of Winnie the Pooh” series, which aired from 1988–1991. He continued his work as Eeyore through numerous franchise installments, including “The Tigger Movie” (2000), “Piglet’s Big Movie” (2003) and “The Book of Pooh” series.
“I enjoyed doing Eeyore because he was simply charming,” Cullen said to NPR. “And I get an awful lot of reactions from, especially, young kids, when I go up and just say [in Eeyore’s voice], ‘Hello. Thanks for noticing me.’ And to see their faces light up, that to me is one of the great joys.”
Cullen is survived by his four children, Angus, Claire, Pilar and Clay, according to the Associated Press.
“It Ends,” a microbudget marvel by 20-something writer-director Alexander Ullom, has a straightforward premise that expands in your imagination.
Four school pals — go-getter James (Phinehas Yoon), drop-out Tyler (Mitchell Cole), anxious Fisher (Noah Toth) and creative Day (Akira Jackson) — pile into a Jeep just after college graduation. The car turns onto a dark road that, to the youngsters’ growing unease, appears to stretch on forever through an infinite forest. There’s no safe place to pull over, no signs pointing toward escape, no assurance that their lives have a destination. Stop moving and a horde of desperate, violent strangers sprint from the woods to try to steal their car. Keep going … forhow long? Is this hell, purgatory or just a cosmic punchline?
“It Ends” premiered at SXSW in the spring of 2025, over a year before audiences stormed Kane Parsons’ “Backrooms,” yet the two breakout filmmakers share a suspicion that our seemingly ordinary existence hides something very, very wrong. The scale of the peril is hard to comprehend and harder to articulate; they’re more curious to explore the crisis than find a fix. What matters is that humanity feels lost.
Everyone in the car already seems to sense it even before this particular ride goes awry. Yoon’s dour James has impressively (and depressingly) mapped out his next few money-making decades down to his eventual diminished sperm count. To him, the future “seems like it sucks ass.” Weary Tyler has resigned himself to blue-collar work. Fisher and Day can’t even secure jobs, stuck literally and metaphorically frittering away their youth in the back seat.
The first act has a visceral, terrifying sequence with panicky close-ups of extras sprinting pell-mell toward the car. (The credits list as many background actors as crew members.) Matthew Robert Cooper’s unnerving ambient score bleeds into the relentless dink-dink-dink of the Jeep’s strobing hazard lights.
For several minutes afterward, the images are so disorienting that we can’t even make out where anyone in the car is sitting. Then cinematographers Evan Draper and Jazleana Jones along with Ullom, who also edits, take a steadier hand with evocative montages that emphasize the passage of time.
With rare exception, the camera stays tethered to the vehicle. The blur outside becomes enveloping and unfathomable; the universe inside the car evolves as the friends invent tension-defusing rituals to keep from screaming at one another. The mood toggles between cozily habituated and heavy. How long have they been driving now?
Early on, I kept a running tally of the hours until that began to feel naive. The days blend together with no time stamps, although Ullom occasionally reveals how many miles the car has gone. I did some back-of-my-notepad math and realized you can drive massive distances faster than I would have guessed. Then I pictured myself in their seats. Excruciating.
Evading plot holes, “It Ends” paves over the obvious biological needs. The foursome discover they no longer need to eat or drink. Likewise, the car no longer needs gas. The characters check off every idea you want them to try in the small space of the car, plus other brilliant brainstorms. Bursting through the confinements of movie logic, “It Ends” untrains audiences out of their certainty that every crisis has a solution. Does it even matter what they do?
Dread runs through “It Ends,” yet I’m hesitant to frame it as a horror movie. Scares fall by the wayside when it shifts into a more philosophical gear, vibrating with questions about how to live a meaningful life: Should these victims accept their fate or keep struggling? At least one will leave the car, never to be seen again as Ullom shrewdly refuses to reveal whether that choice was right. I think the filmmaker has an answer for himself, but he’d rather ask how we feel about it. Keep an open mind. Your opinion may change more than once.
This car setting taps into our cultural belief that speeding ahead is progress, an opinion shared by films as varied as “The Fast and the Furious,”“Mad Max: Fury Road,”“Two-Lane Blacktop,” and “Thelma & Louise.” Like actual religion, to continue on versus stopping becomes a question of faith. Some find comfort deciding on an answer, any answer. Others are driven by the spiritual quest itself.
The cast of unknowns is fantastic. It’s a major feat to shoulder a movie sitting still. Yoon’s prickly, unlikable James is the character many will align with, to their chagrin. Cole’s Tyler acts practically while collapsing into a black hole of cynicism. You’ve met a dozen guys like him who all claim “So what?” is the only sensible reaction. The jokers Toth and Jackson, bless them, keep things endearing and funny.
I’m bored of studios and indie financiers forcing filmmakers to stick to so-called bankable names. From “Heated Rivalry” to “Obsession,” this has been a phenomenal year for discovering fresh faces. Hopefully Hollywood won’t misunderstand the lesson in those projects’ success. It’s not to add Connor Storrie and Inde Navarrette to that stifling shortlist — it’s how much more talent there is waiting for a shot. (And it’s worth mentioning that Yoon and Cole also direct their own movies.)
Some of Ullom’s richest themes need only a casual mention, like Fisher muttering that he has fewer photos of his family on his phone than stupid memes. The friends are passingly concerned that they’ve outsourced too much of their mental stimulation to the internet. Now that they don’t have Wi-Fi, will they run out of topics to discuss? In these murmurs, Ullom wonders how much modern technology has led us astray. Obeying GPS has trapped them on this road in the first place, and may have done the same to those wretches in the woods, each so individually fixated on carjacking the Jeep that it never occurs to them to team up. A material goal devolves people into savages. At least Ullom has a slight optimism that society can turn things around.
Climbing into my car after “It Ends” felt like a sick joke. Was I really steering straight back to work? When was the last time I pulled over for an ice cream? But I kept on driving until I made it to my desk to start this review. That’s how excited I was to share the news of Ullom’s staggering debut. It’s a thrill to see his generation of filmmakers take the wheel.
The show’s co-creator says it turned out to be one of his ‘great joys’ in life
Trodd Frankensteip was the name of a local reporter on Parks and Recreation(Image: NBC)
The beloved show’s creator shared there are two main reasons behind the decisions.
Fans of Parks and Recreation are still discovering some behind the scenes secrets. This includes the reason behind some of the names used for both key characters on the show, as well as some who only appear briefly in an episode.
For those unaware, the series follows the parks department in the fictional Indiana town of Pawnee. They are lead by the overly enthusiastic Leslie Knope, who rallies her colleagues and friends to do the best for their community, including their attempts at creating a new park.
Co-created by former writers of The Office, Mikes Schur and Dan Goor it is described by some fans as one of the best comedy series ever made. Despite it being more than 10 years since it finished airing, its dedicated fan base are still learning secrets of the show.
Schur appeared on Amy Poehler’s podcast Good Hang where he revealed some of his own. At one point during their conversation, Amy notes that Schur enjoyed coming up with character and names. He even had a long list of alternate choices for her role of Leslie Knope.
Asked why he put so much thought into names of every character, he explained it was for two reasons. One was that he was heavily inspired by Monthy Python, who would often utilise silly names in their sketches.
He decided that the fictional town of Pawnee would also be a place that contains almost limitless people who happen to have ridiculous sounding names.
However, he also explained another meaningful reason. He said: “The actual thing that’s going on here is different. I would go to actors’ IMDb pages to see what they had been in when we were casting them in the early days of the show and you would see like woman number two or like man in crowd or guy with sandwich and it really bummed me out.
“Because I love actors. I love them so much. I think that they have the hardest job when it comes to making a show. It is so hard. Anyone who doesn’t believe this should try it, by the way. Try acting.”
Schur continued: “That person auditioned for this and booked this gig and drove all the way cross town and like put on fake clothes and put on makeup and whatever and had to stand in a certain place, follow a million instructions, say a line or two, and then they yelled cut and that person went home and they got paid like $600 for like a week’s worth of work.
“They should be something better than man number two or man and crowd. So I decided early in season one of Parks that every character who appeared on the show was going to have a first and last name. So instead of man in crowd, you’re like, ‘Oh, well that it doesn’t really count as an acting gig’. But if you see Marv Vavma, which is a name I gave a character once, you’re like, who the hell is Marv Vavma? What was Marvma up to?'”
The writer described the decision as one of ‘great joys’ in his life to give every actor a character name. He added that there is also a legal issue, with names used on the show needing to be cleared in case they used the name of a real person. As a result he would opt for the ‘weirdest names’ as there would be a chance that no one else has that name.
Some of Schur’s favourite names they created for the show include Mona-Lisa Saperstein, who was played by Jenny Slate and Trodd Frankensteip who was a reporter who only appeared briefly.
There was also a Tyrion Fonzarelli, which was a combination of Tyrion Lannister in Game of Thrones and Arthur ‘Fonzie’ Fonzarelli from Happy Days. Coincidentally, Henry Winkler, who played Fonzie, also starred in Parks as Dr. Lu Saperstein.
One fan discovering for the first time commented: “I never knew about this and I love it!” Another added: “These names are just incredible.”
Parks and Recreation is streaming on Paramount+, Channel 4 and U.
In 2007, the actor Felicia Day debuted “The Guild,” one of the first works, maybe the first, to demonstrate that the web could be a legitimate platform for full-blown, character-driven, narrative comedy. (YouTube was only two years old at the time.)
Online since there was a line to be on, Day — also known also for “Supernatural,” “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” “Eureka,” “Mystery Science Theater 3000” and as the female lead in Joss Whedon’s “Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog” alongside Neil Patrick Harris and Nathan Fillion — played Cyd, a.k.a. Codex, a young woman at loose ends who finds community with a group of gamers whose quirkiness puts her own into perspective. The series, which she created and wrote, from experience, grew more ambitious and technically impressive across its six seasons, with cameos by the likes of Fillion, Zachary Levi, Stan Lee, Brent Spiner, late Mythbuster Grant Imahara and Wil Wheaton. There was a cultural specificity to the setting and storytelling — lots of gaming jargon and jokes — but the humor in the characters was universal, and the show, for all its well-proportioned silliness, felt very alive.
Now, as the series’ 20th anniversary approaches, Day is reviving “The Guild” as a feature, “The Guild: Ren Faire’d,” through a Kickstarter campaign due to end Friday. By the time I pledged, early on the first day of fundraising, the campaign had already met its initial $1.5-million goal — the minimum required, Day calculated, to pull off a version of her script. As of this writing, with just a few days to go, the campaign has raised more than $5 million. Everything over $4.5 million will go to making the film even better, but also support “Conludo,” a new game-playing series with Wheaton along the lines of their “Table Top,” created in 2012 for the Day-founded YouTube channel Geek & Sundry.
Day is also the author of a charming memoir, “You’re Never Weird on the Internet,” and a mental exercise book, “Embrace Your Weird: Face Your Fears and Unleash Creativity.” Earlier this year, Simon & Schuster published “The Lost Daughter of Sparta,” her graphic novel (with illustrator Rowan MacColl) about Philonoe, Helen of Troy’s lesser-known fourth sister, an on-brand tale of self-determination and embrace of one’s difference.
I interviewed Day by email as she traveled the convention circuit.
Day’s Kickstarter surpassed $5 million, allowing her to make not only “The Guild: Ren Faire’d” but also a new game-playing series.(Parker Burr / For The Times)
How does it feel to be back wearing, or about to wear, the character of Codex?
It’s so empowering to go back to this world that I crafted and this character that means so much to me and my fans. She and I have diverged a lot over the years, but her voice is still strong and clear in my ear, and I’ve had so much fun writing for her again. I haven’t been in charge of my own stories on this scale in a long time, so this all definitely feels like coming home.
It was an offer to turn “The Guild” into a television show that prompted you to get the film going. Had you thought of the possibility of bringing it back before then?
Early in 2025, I’d been thinking about the 20th anniversary of the show and how to celebrate it, but a movie is a huge project, one I was wary of committing to. A phone call with a very nice Hollywood executive wanting me to reboot the show with younger actors was the kick in the pants I needed. The business has been so hard on me, and a lot of people, especially these last five or so years. To even think about having the one project I held dear taken away from me? That got my fire lit.
How did you know to hang on to your IP?
I had met a few people in the early web days who’d sold their show to producers and networks, only to have them buried in development hell and never be seen again. My audience meant, and still means, so much to me, that I didn’t see the point in losing control of the show when it felt like we were doing all the right things on our own. The fans’ support gave me that confidence, and thank goodness for it, or I wouldn’t be able to make a movie today.
How did you cast the original show? Were any of the actors already gamers?
I wrote two of the main parts for improv friends, Zaboo (Sandeep Parikh) and Vork (Jeff Lewis), and I found the rest of the actors from a Backstage casting call. Several of them were already gamers, but a few were anything but (namely, Amy Okuda, who played Tinkerballa — she took some arm twisting). Over the years, though, they’ve all turned into gamers. We’ve enjoyed many a Fortnite session together, especially during COVID times.
Felicia Day as Codex. Other characters returning for “The Guild: Ren Faire’d” are Zaboo (Sandeep Parikh) and Vork (Jeff Lewis).
How has your reunion been going?
I had to make sure the script was good enough before I asked my fans to support it, so in February I had a table read with the main cast. Truly, it felt like no time had passed. We were all laughing so hard, ribbing each other on any little mistakes. It was so much fun to rediscover our characters together again. What we have together as a group is magic, and I can’t wait to get the band back together on set again.
You have a “no AI” sign on the Kickstarter page. What are your thoughts about artificial intelligence versus human creativity?
I look at AI as a great robber of humanity. Not only in the sheer existence of the AI itself, which is comprised of literal stolen material, but in robbing creators of their process. Because process is everything. It’s the whole point, in my opinion. That challenging struggle to write a first draft is how you discover who you are as an artist. But if you don’t do the work, you’ll never truly find out what you want to say to the world. You can’t create anything truly unique to yourself. It just makes me sad. To use a tool filled with other people’s stolen ideas in order to fast forward to an end result for attention, well, that isn’t art. That’s a cheap dopamine hit. And you’re no better a creator for having done it. Please don’t rob yourself like that.
The movie will be set at a Renaissance Faire. What’s your own history with them? Do you go in costume?
I’ve gone to Ren Faires for over a decade. We have a few great ones in SoCal I encourage everyone to explore. The costumes, the vendors, the food — all of it transports you to another world in such a magical way. I want to celebrate everything I love about the setting in our movie. I often go in costume, now with my 9-year-old daughter. It’s actually our Mother’s Day tradition and very dear to my heart.
Day on her work and motherhood: “I’ve learned that, especially as an artist, you have to be your own protector, own advocate, and give yourself unconditional love to be able to tap into what makes your art your own.”
(Parker Burr / For The Times)
Has motherhood changed how you work?
Absolutely. I had no idea how to parent myself before I parented another person. I’ve learned that, especially as an artist, you have to be your own protector, own advocate, and give yourself unconditional love to be able to tap into what makes your art your own. My experience writing this movie has been entirely different from in the past, when I let fear and outside pressure take the fun out of creating. This time, I allowed myself room to play and to make mistakes, just like I encourage my daughter to do. I think my work has benefited greatly from that gentle parenting.
The original “Guild” and the way you’ve mounted this campaign feels like the work of friends, like Mickey and Judy getting the gang together in a someone’s uncle’s barn to put on a show. (Which isn’t to say “amateur.”)
The heart of everything I do is this: I just want to play with my friends and my fans. I want to delight them with new ideas. I want to surprise them with laughs. The industry often divorces us from what got us into the business in the first place: making believe. Creating together. I like my work to embody the kind of spirit you can’t have in more mainstream media where there are levels of approvals over everything and the budgets are so high that the pressure takes the fun out of it. Yes, it’s challenging to make anything with fewer resources, but the community can see the ins and outs of my process and I hope that empowers them, in turn, to create their own things with their own friends one day.
What inspired your new graphic novel?
Being cut off from Hollywood over COVID made me brave enough to write a story I knew wouldn’t be anything an executive would care about if I pitched it. For many years, I didn’t allow myself to develop ideas like that. What was the use if they didn’t find it useful? But in allowing myself the space to write this story set in the world of Greek mythology, I’ve found new confidence as a writer. I want to keep telling stories only I can tell, in whatever format I can. I never want to discard them again because other people won’t find them useful. I hope that anyone reading the book feels the same encouragement to follow their inner muse. Because everyone deserves to be loved for exactly who they are, even our stories.
Earlier this year, Colman Domingo devoted a portion of his monologue on “Saturday Night Live” to a few things he is famous for. One example? “When you come to my house, the vibes are spectacular.”
Those vibes must have transitive properties: On a recent morning in a borrowed backyard in Santa Monica, the vibes were as impeccable as one of the actor’s famously natty red-carpet looks. Posing for photos poolside, Domingo was the picture of laid-back charm, chatting with the crew in that commanding leather-and-gravel voice and flashing a toothsome smile.
With four projects in 2026 alone and more than 100 credits across film, television and the stage dating back to 1994, you definitely know Domingo from something. Increasingly, people recognize him from several things. Or, as the case may be with a performer of his caliber, they don’t — and that has been the highest compliment of all for the 56-year-old Philly native.
“It is the wildest thing,” says Domingo, stretched out on a sectional in the shade. He recounts how people have approached him about his role as Danny, the elegantly snarky architect on the Netflix comedy “The Four Seasons,” and were flummoxed to discover that he also plays the tightly wound Ali, he of shaken faith and sawed-off shotgun, on the recently concluded HBO drama “Euphoria.” “I’ve had so many people who saw me as one character, but they didn’t know I played the other character, even if they watched both. They’re like, ‘Wait a minute, that’s the same guy?’”
Domingo in “Euphoria.”
(Patrick Wymore / HBO)
That’s the same guy. Familiarity has bred respect as Domingo nabbed Emmy nominations for both roles for the second time — supporting actor in a comedy for “The Four Seasons” and guest actor in a drama for “Euphoria,” a trophy he took home in 2022.
“I get the yin and yang,” he says of the pleasure and challenge of inhabiting men from such different worlds.
Domingo credits “Euphoria” creator Sam Levinson with the complexities of Ali’s journey, which were showcased in the finale in breathtaking extremes of violence and grace and included a poignant monologue about the limits of empathy as he grieved the loss of his sponsee Rue (Zendaya). “It was so beautiful,” says Domingo of the conclusion of his arc. “Sam gave me words that are not just for Rue. They’re like a prayer for the world, sitting down at tables and having the hard conversations and trying to get people to come to their personal truths. To have a breakthrough in their lives. That’s how he’s been utilizing me for the series.”
(Evan Mulling / For The Times)
Conversely, Tina Fey and the writing staff of “The Four Seasons” have been using Domingo’s Danny as, among other things, a brutally effective vehicle to deploy acidic one-liners. (A favorite: “This the town Tracy Chapman sped away from.”)
“He is fictitious, but in many ways there’s a lot more of me in him than I personally have seen [in my previous characters],” he says of the man whose bravado masks an unsettled energy as he encounters the challenges of midlife. “Even in my notes to Tina and the showrunners, I started to craft a character that was closer to myself. I’m like, ‘I don’t see the mes in the world, queer men who are mostly in heteronormative worlds and how we activate and how we love and our friendships that are not just based on the fact that we are queer.’”
Domingo’s own midlife — conversations about fiber and the proliferation of readers in every room aside — is enviable. In addition to the two series, he appeared in two of the most talked-about films of the year, the blockbuster Michael Jackson biopic “Michael” and Steven Spielberg’s sci-fi thriller “Disclosure Day.” In another instance of playing a set of disparate characters, he was the imperious patriarch Joe Jackson in the former and the rebellious, empathetic whistleblower Hugo Wakefield in the latter.
“I wanted to challenge myself in different spaces,” says Domingo with gratitude for those roles as well as other 2026 opportunities, like his “SNL” appearance — which brought him back to his “Big Gay Sketch Show” days — and his recent guest-hosting stint on “Jimmy Kimmel Live!” “I never want to get caught up just doing the same thing.” He recalls a time when he played a couple of villains in a row and similar offers poured in. “I thought, ‘Oh no, I’ve done that.’ I knew it was time to move on to something else. And even ‘The Four Seasons,’ when that came along, I had been going back to back with dramatic roles — ‘Sing Sing,’ ‘The Color Purple,’ ‘Rustin.’ It takes a little toll on you.”
Domingo with Marco Calvani in “The Four Seasons.”
(Emily V. Aragones / Netflix)
Fortunately, all of that work has helped Domingo amass a very comfy set of laurels (upon which he refuses to rest). While his success has been a slow burn, including years of work on Broadway as an actor and playwright — Domingo co-wrote the book for “Summer: The Donna Summer Musical” as well as several straight plays — and his stint as a series regular on “Fear the Walking Dead” the last five years lighted the fuse on the rocket.
In that time, Domingo has won four NAACP Image Awards, been nominated for back-to-back lead actor Oscars, Golden Globes and BAFTA awards, and received a second Tony Award nomination, this one for best play as a co-producer of the “Hamlet” adaptation “Fat Ham.” (His previous Tony nod came in 2011 for featured actor in a musical for “The Scottsboro Boys.”)
Colman Domingo.
(Evan Mulling / For The Times)
“I’m very happy that this has happened the way it has,” he says of this golden period of work and creativity in his 50s. It’s not that he wouldn’t have appreciated or been ready for it in his youth, he says, but he has seen the pitfalls of success that happens too young. “At this age, I know myself. I know what I need. I have boundaries. I know how to still be a person in the world. And that’s the part that’s important to me, which is not being so isolated.”
There’s little danger of that given how often he is now stopped on the street. But he is cheered by the interactions because, whether fans love him as a good guy, a bad guy or a character in between, they all want the same thing. “Whatever I’ve done, people always ask, ‘Can I have a hug?’” Maybe the vibes are not about the house, but Domingo himself.
We’d have to say the most challenging thing about us writing “The Comeback” was coming back from the dead after the show was canceled following its first season way back in 2005. Talk about a hiatus.
There are always nerves when you return to do the next season of a series, but when the hiatus lasts 10 years between Season 1 and Season 2, and then another 10 years between the second and this third, final season — that’s a whole other level of “When we last left Valerie …”
But, gratefully, when we get together to write Valerie Cherish and her world again, it’s somehow more exciting than daunting. The nerves fade and the fun starts. The fun along with — of course — the doubts, the surprises, the deadlines, the page count. The comedy and the tragedy (see page count again). We improvise dialogue so much in the writing room that our notes tend to reach into hundreds and hundreds of pages — per episode. That’s a joke … kind of. And on top of all that, this season and this script that we’ve been nominated for writing had a particular challenge.
(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)
Between the second and third seasons, one of our most beloved cast members, Robert Michael Morris, died. Robert played the beloved, significant, audience-favorite character Mickey, Valerie’s hairdresser. At first, we couldn’t imagine doing a season without this important person and character … but when we decided to go forward with this season’s story, which deals with the TV industry’s fear of an AI takeover, we knew we had to find a way to deal with Mickey’s absence. We decided that since Robert Michael’s death happened during that second 10-year hiatus, we had to find a way to incorporate that history into the Valerie and Mickey storyline. And because it had never been dealt with by the show on camera, we decided that maybe Valerie hadn’t fully dealt with it as well. That way, the viewers wouldn’t feel like they missed a significant turn in Valerie’s journey. We decided if we could create a story where Valerie hadn’t really grieved Mickey’s passing and had to face it in the episode, then she and (hopefully) the viewers could share the sadness and the love together. And together, they could find a way to accept and release him with respect for the actor and the character and with a bit of triumph for all he meant to Valerie and to all of us on our series.
So, we created a character named Tommy Tomlin — another hairdresser and longtime friend of Mickey’s who Valerie hires to step in and take Mickey’s place and be the hairdresser on her new AI-written sitcom. Well, Tommy can do her hair but, by design, can never replace Mickey, and that conflict between Valerie and Tommy underlines her loss and her denial of Mickey’s passing. Tommy’s presence helps push Valerie to acknowledge Mickey’s absence and moves her to gently face it, finally scatter his ashes and let him go.
It was an emotional story to write and even more emotional to film. Lisa was standing on top of a Warner Bros. soundstage ready to open the box of prop ashes, to allow them to float over “Old Hollywood,” a lure that Mickey loved. But we were filming this scene at sunset, and what comes with the light at that picturesque time of day in Burbank is a strong wind from the surrounding mountains that gets trapped in an impromptu kind of wind tunnel between the soundstages. If Lisa opened the box at the wrong moment, the ashes would fly right back into her face — and in this moment, we were not going for comedy.
I was directing from down on the ground, and I looked up to the heavens and said to Robert Michael Morris, “This is your big moment — please quiet the wind so it can be beautiful and touching and an appropriate goodbye to you and your character.” And — I swear — the wind died down. I called “Action!” and on top of the soundstage, Lisa said her goodbye as Valerie, opened the box and the ashes lifted out, almost magically, and floated out and away into the sunset over the Warner Bros. Studio back lot — just as we imagined in the writing room all those months earlier.
When David Lynch moved from Philadelphia to Los Angeles in the summer of 1970, he was stunned by the sunshine that radiated onto the city — the “most beautiful light I’d ever seen in my life,” he wrote with Kristine McKenna in his 2018 memoir “Room to Dream.” In that book, he described his first morning walking out of an apartment on San Vicente Boulevard.
David Lynch in 2016.
(Wally Skalij / Los Angeles Times)
“I kept kind of moving around with my arms outstretched and I almost got hit by a car wandering into the street,” he wrote.
That light — and Los Angeles itself — continued to inspire and energize the filmmaker and artist throughout his five-plus decades of calling L.A. home, until his death last year at the age of 78. In “Room to Dream,” he wrote about the “magical street” of Mulholland Drive and all its twists and turns: “It’s really got a history, and if you’re in Los Angeles long enough you start hearing stories about things that have happened on it that get your mind going.” In an interview with the Filmographers, he told the story of how his character in “Twin Peaks” was a name plucked from Billy Wilder’s “Sunset Boulevard,” which very well may have been inspired by Wilder’s commute to Paramount that passed the Hollywood streets Gordon and Cole. And the dissolve from Naomi Watts’ face in “Mulholland Drive” to rows of palm trees has become a classic shot for representing his work and his love for the city, hopeful and drenched in his beloved sunlight.
Much like L.A., the artistic legacy of Lynch is difficult to encapsulate — trying to describe his work is like attempting to explain a dream. His films so strongly defied categorization that they necessitated an eponymous term: Lynchian.
The Hollywood Sign, as seen from Beachwood Drive. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)
Palm trees, which Lynch often used as a symbol in his films, tower above the city. (David McNew / Getty Images)
Unsettling to many, beloved by more, he refused to explain his work, allowing and challenging his audience to parse through it and imbue their own meanings and discoveries. The reward, for him, was in the doing, in taking a daydream and forming it into an idea that he could shape into something real in the world, blending the mundane and the macabre.
Here are some places around L.A. that offer a glimpse into Lynch’s world.
Note: the Lynch compound and all other residential locations mentioned are all private residences, and not to be disturbed.
Classic diners, especially Bob’s Big Boy Burbank
Lynch would often to go to Bob’s Big Boy in Burbank to meet with creative collaborators, or simply sit and think
(Jill Connelly / For The Times)
Lynch was fond of the straightforwardness of a diner, and he considered them to be ideal for creative thinking and work meetings. In his book “Catching the Big Fish,” he said: “I’d have a milkshake and sit and think. There’s a safety in thinking in a diner. You can have your coffee or your milkshake, and you can go off into strange dark areas, and always come back to the safety of the diner.”
One of the most viscerally terrifying scenes of “Mulholland Drive” takes place behind the dumpster at the abandoned Caesar’s diner in Gardena. And he liked having meals with his family at what is now the Denny’s in Gower Gulch, a place where aspiring cowboy actors once congregated. But the most significant diner in Lynch’s legacy is Bob’s Big Boy in Burbank. He spoke of going to Bob’s almost every day from the mid-’70s until the early ’80s. In an interview with Charlie Rose, Lynch claimed he saw a man at the counter who inspired the Frank Booth character in “Blue Velvet.”
Signs of Lynch at Bob’s Big Boy: His headshot displayed alongside actors Kyle MacLachlan and Laura Dern; a milkshake at the counter.(Stephanie Breijo / Los Angeles Times)
Lynch’s order included a chocolate milkshake and coffee, the cold sugar and caffeine fueling his ideas. He believed 2:30 p.m. was the perfect time to order the milkshake, specifically ”after the lunch rush when the machine had enough time to chill, the silver goblet would be frosted when it arrives at the table, and the ice cream is almost like butter, like cold butter, it’s almost solid, and it has specks of chocolate in it, and it almost gets a frost on it when it arrives,” he said in a conversation with the Filmosophers.
Today there is a framed photo of Lynch over the door of the Burbank location, indicating that his love for the restaurant was mutual. After his death, Bob’s became the de facto location for fans needing to pay homage to the beloved director, piled high with tributes of cigarettes, cans of Coke, donuts, slices of pie and tear-stained letters of gratitude.
Franklin Canyon Park
Leaves illuminated by sunlight under a canopy of trees in Franklin Canyon.
(Blake Fagan / For The Times)
Franklin Canyon Park was once a summer retreat for the Doheny family, who built a Spanish-style home at the base of the canyon in the 1930s. The 605 acres were purchased by the National Park Service in 1981.
A frame overlooks the water in Franklin Canyon, which stood in for many interstitial woodsy scenes in “Twin Peaks.”
(Blake Fagan / For The Times)
The mysterious woods are an essential element in Lynch’s world of “Twin Peaks.” While the pilot for the TV drama and the film prequel “Fire Walk With Me” were filmed in Washington (and there’s lots of scenic footage from the Pacific Northwest throughout the series), much of the show was filmed on Southern California soundstages. And for the many interstitial scenes in the woods, Franklin Canyon and its lush forest stood in. Lynch and co-creator Mark Frost opened an esoteric window to prime-time viewers with the concept of the Black Lodge. The filming location of its entrance, known as Glastonbury Grove in the show, is in Franklin Canyon Park.
Doheny landmarks
In an interview with Charlie Rose, Lynch stated that “everybody is a detective and the unknown is a magnet.” He invited his audiences to look at a door and investigate what lurks behind it. This philosophy ties to his connections with an L.A. legacy, one that contains its own mysteries and contrasts: the Doheny family and its historic properties:
The Doheny Mansion
Glimpses of the Doheny Mansion, clockwise from left: the music room; a stained glass sky light; a sculpture adorns a table in the Pompeian Room.(Blake Fagan / For The Times)
The sprawling and opulent Doheny Mansion, now part of the Mt. St. Mary’s campus, was built in 1899 by architects Theodore Eisen and Sumner Hunt. Patriarch and oil baron Ed Doheny and wife Estelle acquired the home in 1901 and the Doheny family made it their home for nearly 60 years. Lynch used the mansion as the home for Laura Dern’s character in his 2006 film “Inland Empire,” and also filmed an Armani commercial there in the 1990s.
Greystone Mansion
The central courtyard at the Greystone Mansion.
(Blake Fagan / For The Times)
In the 1970s, Lynch was a fellow at the newly founded American Film Institute, based at Greystone Mansion at the time. He eventually took over the mansion’s stables, converting them into a production studio and occasionally (and illegally) living there while he filmed his debut feature, “Eraserhead.” He slept in the room that became the bedroom for the character Henry. “I’d lock myself in there in such a way that from the outside it looked as if no one could possibly be inside,” Lynch said in Mark Altman’s 1990 book “Twin Peaks: Behind The Scenes.” “We’d put these special blankets up on the walls to deaden the sound for shooting and it was quiet.”
Scenes from the Greystone Mansion.(Blake Fagan / For The Times)
Greystone Mansion carried an air of secrecy in itself. Built in 1928 by Gordon Kaufmann, and a gift from Edward Doheny to his son Ned and his family, the stately Tudor Revival was home to a horrific tragedy. Months after moving in, Ned and his lifelong friend and personal secretary, Hugh Plunkett, were found in a guest bedroom, victims of a murder-suicide. While their motives were never defined for certain, the accepted belief was the tragedy was tied to their involvement in the Teapot Dome political corruption scandal and Plunkett’s looming testimony that could’ve implicated the Dohenys.
The city of Beverly Hills purchased the grand manor in 1965 and installed an underground reservoir, and leased the property to the newly formed American Film Institute in 1969 for $1 a year, with the agreement that the school would maintain the property. Greystone was dedicated as a public park in 1971 and is now listed on the National Register of Historic Places.
L.A.’s Transcendental Meditation centers
After moving to Los Angeles, Lynch started visiting the Spiritual Regeneration Movement Center in Santa Monica and it altered his life. Here he learned the methods of Transcendental Meditation, developed by Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, with the focus of seeking enlightenment. His first meditation session was July 1, 1973, and from there, he practiced twice a day, every single day.
“Before I started meditating I worried that doing it would make me lose my edge, and I didn’t want to lose the fire to make stuff,” Lynch wrote in “Room to Dream.” “I found out it gives you more fire to make stuff and more happiness in the doing and way more of an edge. People think anger is an edge, but anger is a weakness that poisons you and the environment around you.”
Lynch became a staunch devotee of Transcendental Meditation and spoke about the positive effects he believed it could have for everyone, particularly veterans, those suffering from PTSD and women who have survived violence. He started the David Lynch Foundation for Consciousness-Based Education and World Peace in 2005 to offer children throughout the world the opportunity to learn to meditate. The foundation recommends several Transcendental Meditation centers in Los Angeles, including the center on Hillhurst Avenue in Los Feliz.
The Pink House, David Lynch’s compound in Hollywood Hills and his final resting place at Hollywood Forever
The historic Tower Theater, built in 1927, was converted into the Apple Tower Theatre.
(Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times)
On screen, Lynch loved the old glamour of Los Angeles — the majestic Tower Theater in downtown Los Angeles was used in “Mulholland Drive,” “Inland Empire” and “Twin Peaks: The Return.” His characters lived in equally memorable spaces, with the women of “Mulholland Drive” going from the grandeur of the Il Borghese apartments (architect Charles Gault, 1929) to meet tragic endings in the fairy-tale-esque “Snow White” apartments (architect Ben Sherwood, 1931) that are believed to have also inspired Walt Disney. (It’s worth noting that this theater has been refurbished into an Apple store. A beautiful achievement of preservation work, but it’s hard not to see the consumer-driven sleekness and think about a theme in Lynch’s work: the terrors lurking inside a changing America.)
Personally, Lynch loved modern architecture, and experienced love at first sight with the home he purchased in the mid-’80s in the Hollywood Hills. The Pink House, as Lynch referred to it, was designed by Lloyd Wright Jr. for writer Beverly Johnson in 1963. Lynch commissioned Eric Wright (Lloyd’s son and Frank Lloyd Wright’s grandson) to add a pool and pool house in 1991. He told the Wall Street Journal that he preferred Lloyd Wright’s work over his father’s, explaining, “Lloyd Wright is more minimal. More pure. But just as beautiful.”
The house is semi-secluded against a lush hill, beneath the actual Mulholland Drive, and has a subtle chevron pattern detail that runs throughout the house, similar to the floor of the “Twin Peaks” red room. Lynch loved this house and spent much of his time in Los Angeles here, particularly in his later years. He gradually added two neighboring properties to form what would become the Lynch compound.
A “Twin Peaks” coffee cup that was gifted to David Lynch by a fan.
(Chris Pizzello / Invision / AP)
When filming began on “Lost Highway,” he struggled to find the right location for the home of the lead characters, Fred and Renee Madison. This set piece would be crucial to building their sense of dread. Lynch then had an idea: He would use the Brutalist structure in his compound. He transformed the interior and altered the exterior windows, making it difficult for the characters to see the dangers circling outside. “Some people open windows of houses, but I like interiors and don’t care about windows,” Lynch wrote in “Room to Dream.” “I like to go deeper into a house and find things underneath things.”
For the next two decades, the compound was Lynch’s dream space where he could create anything he imagined, including his 2000s-era daily weather reports for local radio stations and his website, a hobby he revived during 2020. Homebound the last few years because of emphysema, he was forced to relocate during the Sunset fire in January 2025, and died shortly after. David Lynch’s final resting place is at Hollywood Forever, across from the Fairbanks Lawn where movies are shown, under the stars.
Hayden Panettiere spent much of her life in front of a camera, beginning her acting career before she was even a year old, starring in commercials. At the tender age of 4, she landed her big break with a recurring role on the ABC soap opera “One Life to Live,” which led to a role on another soap opera, CBS’ “Guiding Light.” Over the years, she performed in a number of films and TV series, landing notable roles that made her a staple of network television. In addition to her onscreen work, she did voice acting for animated films like “A Bug’s Life” and “Dinosaur,” as well as the video game franchises “Kingdom Hearts” and “Until Dawn.”
The actor, who died Sunday at 36, was a versatile performer whose no-nonsense attitude and vocal range added depth to roles. Here is a guide to some of her notable work.
‘Remember the Titans’
Disney’s 2000 sports drama was based on the real story of Herman Boone, a Black football coach who was installed as head coach at the desegregated T.C. Williams High School in Arlington, Va., and led the team to a perfect season and state championship. In the film, Panettiere plays Sheryl Yoast, the young daughter of coach Bill Yoast (Will Patton), whose job Boone is given by the school district to placate Black community members as racial tensions rise. Panettiere’s Sheryl makes an impression right away, with a fiery speech directed at an official who comes to tell Yoast that Boone will now be head football coach of T.C. Williams. “You can’t just walk in here and take my daddy’s job away,” she cries as she stomps away, but not before kicking said official in the back of the leg. Later, she understands the implications of the decision, even if it comes at the cost of her father’s selection into the high school football hall of fame, preferring to put the team and their teamwork first: “Bunch of old rednecks … Let’s knock ‘em dead at state, coach.” (Watch on Hulu and Disney+.) — Maira Garcia
‘Ice Princess’
In Disney’s 2005 film, Panettiere was a little too good at playing the popular mean girl. She was even better at playing the popular mean girl who lets her icy walls melt away to welcome in the new girl. As talented figure skater Gennifer Harwood, Panettiere faithfully portrayed the evolution of friendships — especially for young women — in highly competitive sports and the tension between young athletes and their well-intended, but overbearing parents. While Panettiere could stand on her own talents, her performance was even more memorable for the dynamic she shared with screen partner Michelle Trachtenberg. The latter played Casey, a student with Ivy League ambitions whose interest in physics brings her to the figure skating world. Trachtenberg died in 2025 at 39. (Watch on Disney+.) — Alexandra Del Rosario
‘Heroes’
Claire Bennet (Hayden Panettiere) with her father Noah (Jack Coleman), also known as H.R.G., in NBC’s “Heroes.”
(Chris Haston / NBC)
This superhero series was a hit from the moment it debuted in 2006. An international cast fueled a show that featured people gifted with superpowers around the world that had a mysteriously ominous connection. At its heart was Panettiere’s Claire Bennet. An unbreakable high school cheerleader, she embraced the role of hero, facing pushback from a shadowy government group, serial killers and a twisted family dynamic. Panettiere became the face of NBC’s freshman ensemble success story, and despite an industry work stoppage and dwindling fan support afterward, the show’s viral campaign — “Save the cheerleader, save the world” — centered her, and her character’s courage, on a bona fide fandom-generating ride that ended way too soon in 2010, after four seasons. (Watch on Netflix and Tubi.) — Jevon Phillips
‘Scream’ franchise
Hayden Panettiere at the premiere of “Scream VI” in New York City in 2023.
(Nina Westervelt / Variety via Getty Images)
The actor joined the hit horror franchise in 2011’s “Scream 4” as Kirby Reed, a Woodsboro High student who is a horror film buff. One of that film’s memorable scenes featured Kirby in a tense trivia telephone showdown with the Ghostface killer, rushing through the titles of several slasher films while attempting to save one of her friends.
Although Kirby was seemingly killed off, she returned as an FBI agent in 2023‘s “Scream VI” when the franchise continued with younger characters and moved its setting to New York. “Scream” fans cheered during an early screening when Panettiere’s character appeared — she and Courtney Cox were one of the few “Scream” veterans to return for the new film.
Panettiere’s hair was longer and her role was expanded in the new “Scream.” Kirby explained that she had survived the Ghostface attack: “I was technically dead for four minutes. When I was revived, I got mad … I wanted the monsters to be afraid of me.”
Kirby also engaged in another trivia back-and-forth with Mindy Meeks-Martin (Jasmin Savoy Brown) where they agreed on the best “Nightmare on Elm Street” (“the original”) and that “Psycho 2” was “underrated,” but disagreed on the best “Friday the 13th” sequel. Although she is investigating a new set of Ghostface killings, Kirby later becomes a prime suspect. (Watch all on Paramount+.) — Greg Braxton
‘Nashville’
In ABC’s “Nashville,” Juliette Barnes’ storyline was infused with personal struggles similar to Panettiere’s.
(Katherine Bomboy-Thornton / ABC)
Panettiere was noticeably more mature when she became a co-lead role in ABC’s “Nashville” as Juliette Barnes, a crossover singer with more than a few similarities to Taylor Swift. The music-flavored drama, which premiered in 2012, starred Connie Britton as country star Rayna Jaymes, whose career was on the downturn at the same time Barnes was climbing the charts.
The actor injects her “Nashville” character with a mix of sexiness, snark and edge as Barnes becomes rivals with Jaymes. When the two first meet in a dressing room during the pilot, Jaymes is gracious while Barnes is condescending.
Panettiere said in an interview that she was tense during that scene. particularly since it was the first time the two actors had met. She said she apologized to Britton repeatedly saying, “‘I am so sorry!’ Because it was our first experience together, and I didn’t want to step on toes. Sometimes it gets real, very real, you know?”
While filming the series, Panetierre gave birth to her daughter in 2014. She detailed her struggles with postpartum depression in interviews, saying the condition was “scary and needed to be talked about.” In the series, Barnes also suffered from postpartum depression during the show’s third and fourth seasons. (Watch on Pluto TV and Netflix.) — G.B.
‘Kingdom Hearts’
Square Enix’s beloved video game series was my personal introduction to Panettiere and her acting abilities. In the first two installments, Panettiere voiced the kind island kid turned princess Kairi for the games’ English dub. Before protagonist Sora’s (voiced by a young Haley Joel Osment) world descends into darkness, Panettiere’s Kairi is playful and tender early in “Kingdom Hearts 1.” In the slightly more complicated “Kingdom Hearts 2” Panettiere’s older Kairi is contemplative, defiant and desperate to help all her friends. Kairi’s scenes are often accompanied by the powerful score from composer Yoko Shimomura, amplifying the emotion that has driven the games’ fanbase for more than two decades.
“Don’t ever forget. Wherever you go, I’m always with you,” Panettiere’s Kairi says in a memorable cut scene. — A.D.R.
