character

Last year, Isabela Merced was living a double life. By day, she was running around the set of “The Last of Us” in Vancouver — dodging Infected, WLF soldiers and Seraphites alongside co-star Bella Ramsey.

Then, after wrapping what was sometimes a 15-hour workday, she’d be on a flight 4,500 miles away to Atlanta — doing costume fittings and fight training to become Hawkgirl in James Gunn’s “Superman.”

“I didn’t know I could do that,” she tells De Los. “I proved to myself that I’m capable of more than I think.”

The Peruvian American actress has the kind of career that any young actor would aspire to: She made her Broadway debut at 10 years old in “Evita,” earned critical acclaim acting opposite Benicio del Toro in “Sicario: Day of the Soldado” at 17 and starred in the live-action film adaptation of the massively successful “Dora the Explorer” franchise when she was just 18.

In the last year alone, she’s grown into a certified action star, making waves in huge franchise entries like “Alien: Romulus,” “The Last of Us” Season 2 and “Superman.” At 24 years old, her filmography of formidable heroines, scrappy spitfires and multifaceted young women in major blockbusters has put her on a path that’s been largely inaccessible to so many of the Latino actors who came before her. It’s why she also has her sights set on producing, hoping to provide more opportunities for her community in front of and behind the camera.

Yet this month, she’s turning her focus away from the screen and toward her other creative calling: music.

In 2020 she released her debut EP, “The Better Half of Me,” which showcased her bilingual prowess through soulful Latin pop tracks, written and produced alongside her brother, Gyovanni Moner, during quarantine. Now, she’s revisiting the project in a collaboration with the Grammy Award-winning Peruvian artist Tony Succar. Their new single “Apocalipsis,” released Friday, transforms Merced’s 2020 song of the same name from a slow jam to a modernized salsa groove fit for a Miami nightclub.

With “Superman” now out on digital platforms, Merced spoke with De Los about donning Hawkgirl’s helmet, working with Succar on “Apocalipsis,” and what’s coming up next.

It seems like everything is kept pretty under wraps for these massive superhero movies. How much did you know going into your “Superman” audition?
Initially, I had no idea who I was auditioning for because everything had secret names. I think mine said “Cyclone” in the script. I didn’t actually find out who I was until the day of the camera test with the [Justice Gang].

Oh, wow. How did they tell you?
They didn’t want to make it obvious that they were about to tell me, so it was all really mysterious. I’d been doing all the fittings, and the fight training, and then I got pulled into James [Gunn’s] trailer with the producers and everyone, and they were like “Do you want to be Hawkgirl?” As soon as I found out, I was really, really excited because I was like “Oh thank God, it’s someone I know.”

What was your connection to Hawkgirl before this?
I grew up watching [the “Justice League” animated series] and the character is canonically Latina, so I loved that. Her history is really complicated, and it gets even crazier when you get into the comics, but I was a huge fan of her in the show, and I drew a lot on my memories of Maria [Canals-Barrera’s] version of her. I mean, they’re two different characters, but they’re still of the same spirit because they share memories of their past lives.

What made you most excited about this version of the character? Did you connect with her at all?
She’s the only young woman in this group of guys, in an industry that’s mostly headed up by men, and in a movie that’s mostly led by men. It was a really cool opportunity to exercise a different way of being in that kind of environment. She’s kind of the unfiltered and disconnected, doesn’t-care-how-she’s-perceived version of me, and that was really cathartic to play.

Isabela listened to punk music to get in the mindset to play Hawkgirl.

(Jason Roman)

Because you also have a music background, I’m curious about whether you use music as a tool to get into character?
Oh, yeah, definitely. Every character I play, I make a playlist of songs that remind me of them, and I’ll play them before I go to film. With Hawkgirl it was a lot of punk music that I was discovering, with all these really strong singers. Then there were songs that Bella [Ramsey] and I really loved by Adrianne Lenker that informed our experience a lot as Dina and Ellie [in “The Last of Us”]. There was some ‘80s music in there too, maybe some early 2000s, but in general, just really soft, sweet, romantic songs.

You’re releasing a salsa remix of your 2020 single, “Apocalipsis,” with Tony Succar. How did that come about?
I mean, “remix” almost feels like an understatement because it feels like a completely different song. That’s thanks to Tony, who’s the first Peruvian to win a Grammy. He came to me with this opportunity four years ago, and we recorded the song, but I was signed to a label and we weren’t able to release it. Now that I’m free and independent, and he won his Grammy, he wanted to put it on his EP, and I was like, “Hell yeah, let’s do it.” He gave me the freedom to do the video for it, and I’m really happy with how it turned out. I got to dance for it, and I learned all the choreography in an hour and a half. It was crazy, but I’m really excited for people to see it.

How would you describe your music taste? And how does it connect to the type of music you want to make?
It’s hard to pin down. If I’m looking at my most recents, it’s Hermanos Gutiérrez. But it’s also Dick Gaughan, Big Thief, Los Mirlos, which is a Peruvian band, and the Andrew Oldham Orchestra. There’s no through line there other than good music. I already have a lot going on with acting, so if music could stay something fun and light for me, and not so disciplined, I think that would be nice.

Is there a musical or an idea for a musical that would get you excited about returning to Broadway?
Have they done a Selena musical? No, I think I would have remembered that. But that would be cool, getting to dance on stage. It would be like a concert-slash-musical theater experience, kind of like what they did with Gloria Estefan’s “On Your Feet!” If it was made by the right people with respect to her life and her legacy, I think that could be dope.

But honestly, if I were to do something on Broadway, I would love for it to be an original composition. I’m currently working on one right now. I’m producing it, and also going to be in it. Things are moving along really well, and it’s another project with friends. I think we have to take more bold chances when it comes to Broadway, because everyone’s trying to reach a younger audience — but I think the most efficient way of doing that is by allowing the younger audience to bring their stories forward and tell them.

You’ve mentioned that you’re getting into producing. What kind of projects do you have in the works right now?
I’m producing one movie that’s shooting in September called “Psyche.” I’m really excited about it. We have Latina director, and also the project I’m supposed to do next after that is going to be directed by a Peruvian woman. So there’s some really, really cool s— that I’ve been trying to do, where I’ll have more creative control and freedom — but also a lower budget, so, you know, roughing [it] compared to what I’ve been doing the last few years. But I’m excited to get to the root of why I love to do this and feel it fully.

Your career is so interesting because it’s just getting started, and yet, it’s not the kind of career that many Latino actors have historically been able to achieve so early on. How do you process that?
I’m in an interesting position because I think Hollywood is really comfortable picking Latino actors who are sort of white-forward or mixed before they’re willing to cast Indigenous people. And look, I’ll take anything I can get, because, girl, I’m just trying to work in this economy. [Laughs]

But I think being aware of that is really important because when I go off and do my own projects, and have the power, I can hire people that look more like the people that I grew up with, or that look like my family. But it doesn’t always happen that way. Financing is hard to get, and when you’re trying to bring people on, they want someone who’s already known, and Hollywood just hasn’t given many of those opportunities to people of certain skin colors.

Because you’ve grown up in this industry, I’m curious what your experience has been like learning to speak up for and advocate for yourself?
Something I’ve learned is that there’s always a power struggle going on, whether that’s on a personal level, or on a bigger level, or even socially. I think we’re constantly fighting for power. And because of that, we can become very defensive. So I think the biggest challenge for me wasn’t necessarily what I went through, but how I reacted to it: by choosing to keep an open heart and still love freely and trust in people because of how I was raised. I think we all have a choice to make when we’re harmed, and that’s to either close up and harm others, or to keep going. It sucks, but I won’t let that dictate the way I move through life.

Tristan Rogers, the Australian actor behind the magnetic Robert Scorpio on “General Hospital,” died Friday after a battle with lung cancer, according to his manager. He was 79.

In an email to The Times, Rogers’ manager Meryl Soodak said his client was “a family man” who is survived by his wife, two children and a grandson.

“[He was] loyal, kind and loved his role of Scorpio,” Soodak said.

Rogers’ signature commanding voice and poised bravado made Scorpio a fan favorite on the long-running soap opera, and became his most recognizable role. As the enemy-turned-close-friend of star character Luke Spencer (played by Anthony Geary), Rogers appeared in some of the most memorable moments of the show’s run.

In November 1981, Scorpio stood by as Luke and fellow star character Laura wed in front of 30 million viewers, still the highest-rated hour in American soap opera history.

In true soap opera fashion, Scorpio would allegedly die a dramatic and fiery death in an explosion in South America in 1992, only to return alive for a short stint in 2006.

Through every iteration of his “General Hospital” career, Rogers embraced Scorpio’s status as an ‘80s TV icon.

“I think this character will follow me to my grave,” Rogers told the New York Times in 2006.

Rogers was born June 3, 1946, in Melbourne, Australia. Out of high school, he played in a rock band with friends and began taking up modeling roles, he recalled in an interview. For “extra money,” he acted in small TV and soap opera roles in Australia in the late ‘60s and ‘70s, including stints in the shows “Bellbird,” “Number 96” and “The Box.”

Early in his career, his Australian accent deterred casting directors from booking him for American shows, Rogers recalled in a 2022 interview. However, in 1980, he found himself auditioning for what was supposed to be a small, single-episode role on “General Hospital.”

This caught the eye of Gloria Monty, the show’s visionary producer, who asked Rogers to stay on as a recurring character.

Rogers was key to shaping the character of Scorpio, from his name to his risk-taking bravery, on what would eventually become the longest-running daytime soap opera in American television history, according to Guinness World Records.

“I started in earnest, I had a feeling that I had done something right. I had evolved into the character. [Scorpio] took everyone by surprise, he looked different, he sounded different, he conducted himself in a different way and the public latched onto this right away. And so all of a sudden, away we went,” Rogers said in a radio interview earlier this year.

While the show was set in a New York hospital, the late 80s saw it shift focus into an action adventure storyline that heavily featured Scorpio as an agent of the fictional World Security Bureau, or WSB.

Broadcaster ABC notes that the change kept the attention of viewers and contributed to the continuation of the show’s success, as spies and agents created complex and popular mystery storylines within the “General Hospital” universe.

According to the New York Times, the second week after Rogers’ character was revived in 2006, “General Hospital” was the No. 1 daytime drama among young women, drawing larger-than-average audiences back to the show.

Rogers also acted in the series “The Young and the Restless,” “The Bay,” and “Studio City,” as well as voice-acting in the Disney animated film “The Rescuers Down Under.”

Genie Francis, who played Laura Spencer in “General Hospital,” said of Rogers on X, “My heart is heavy. Goodbye my spectacular friend. My deepest condolences to his wife Teresa and their children. Tristan Rogers was a very bright light, as an actor and a person. I was so lucky to have known him.”

Kin Shriner, also an actor on the show, added in a video posted on X, “I met Tristan 44 years ago at the Luke and Laura wedding. We were stashed in a trailer and I was taken by his Australian charm. Over the years we’ve worked together … we always had fun. I will miss Tristan very much.”

In one of his last interviews, Rogers reflected on the joy of his acting career.

“I’ve had a good time of it,” he said.

“And Just Like That,” it’s over.

Earlier this month, showrunner Michael Patrick King informed the world that the long-awaited, highly anticipated and then almost universally hated sequel to HBO’s groundbreaking series “Sex and the City” would end. Mere weeks later, it did just that and rather abruptly, with two Thanksgiving-themed episodes, which felt a bit odd in these dog days of summer. But at least it allowed the writers to box up and tie off all the various storylines as if they were the medley of pies Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) picks up and delivers to all her friends during the show’s finale.

If you think those pies denote happiness, you would be right. The main feast at Miranda’s (Cynthia Nixon) apartment falls far short of perfection — loads of no-shows, the appearance of chef Brady’s (Niall Cunningham) passive-aggressive baby mama, an undercooked turkey and a toilet disaster — but in the end, every character is left wallowing in peace and satisfaction.

Miranda lowers her defenses enough to tell Joy (Dolly Wells) that she is a recovering alcoholic, to which Joy responds with deep understanding. Prostate cancer survivor Harry (Evan Handler) becomes fully, er, functional again and in the afterglow, Charlotte (Kristin Davis) finally surrenders the girly expectations she once had for her nonbinary daughter Rock (Alexa Swinton). After fleeting concern that her crunchy gardener lover Adam (Logan Marshall-Green) doesn’t believe in big weddings or even marriage, Seema (Sarita Choudhury) accepts that true, and committed, love comes in all shapes and sizes. As do Anthony (Mario Cantone) and Giuseppe (Sebastiano Pigazzi). Whether Lisa’s (Nicole Ari Parker) renewed devotion to husband Herbert (Christopher Jackson) counts as a happy ending is open to debate, but at least he seems to be letting go of his “humiliating” loss in the New York City comptroller race.

As for Carrie, well, after her renewed romance with Aidan (John Corbett) became blighted by mistrust, she had a lovely brief affair with Duncan (Jonathan Cake), the British biographer living in the basement of her townhouse. But in the end, she decides, via the novel that served as this season’s voice-over, that life in a fabulous Manhattan apartment with a closet that looks like it was shipped from “The Devil Wears Prada” costume department and a group of fine faithful friends (including a cantankerous baker who allows her to order pies long past the pie-ordering deadline), does not require a man to be complete.

After breaking up with Aidan (John Corbett), right, and a brief affair with Duncan (Jonathan Cake), Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker) realizes she’s better off alone.

(Craig Blankenhorn / HBO Max)

Culture critic Mary McNamara, staff writer Yvonne Villarreal and television editor Maira Garcia compare notes on the end of one of the most discussed, if not beloved, reboots in television history.

Mary McNamara: When I wrote about “And Just Like That” a month ago, I expressed my hope that Season 3 would be the last, so I feel nothing but relief (though had I known the universe was in listening mode, I would have also mentioned wanting to win the lottery and a few other things).

I am not worried, as others appear to be, about the legacy of “Sex and the City,” which is all around us in series as disparate as “Broad City,” “Fleabag” and “Insecure.” Nor do I think that the failure of “And Just Like That” has anything to do with the current political climate or the rise of the trad wife or whatever hot takes seem handy. It was simply and consistently a very bad TV show.

I tuned in initially because, like many, I was excited to see how these characters were coping with late middle-age life — by apparently not experiencing menopause for one thing (an early indication that female authenticity had fallen by the wayside) or developing any sort of interior life.

Real crises — Carrie losing Big and “dealing” with Aidan’s troubled son, Miranda discovering her queerness and alcoholism, Charlotte struggling to cope with her daughter’s gender fluidity and her husband’s cancer — were treated performatively, as plot twists to underline, apparently, the resilience of each character and the core friendship. Not a bad objective, but the hurdles, which increasing felt like a whiteboard checklist (podcasts! pronouns! prostate cancer!), came and went so fast they quickly became laughable (and not in the comedic sense), culminating with Lisa’s father dying twice.

I kept watching, as many did, not because I loved hating it, but because there was a good show in there somewhere and I kept waiting for it to emerge. When it didn’t — well, the Thanksgiving/pie finale was a bit much — I honestly didn’t care how it ended, as long as it did.

Miranda (Cynthia Nixon) confronts her alcoholism and discovering her queerness in the show, but heavy issues were treated performatively as plot twists to reinforce characters’ resilience.

(Craig Blankenhorn / HBO Max)

Maira Garcia: Mary, after you wrote your column, I decided to take a break from the show because it summarized some of my frustrations with the reboot that seemed to come to a head this season — Aidan’s unrealistic expectations for his relationship with Carrie, the perfunctory way it addressed ADHD, the lack of rugs on Carrie’s floors. Of course my break didn’t last long because I caught up and now I’m here wondering what it was all about and what it could have been. While the line from King and Parker is that this season felt like a good place for the show to end, based on the number of developing storylines, like Brady becoming a father, I have a very hard time believing it. But the problem of how to fix this show was too big — it was better that they ended on this chapter (whether or not that decision was made by them).

I think like many viewers, I just wanted to enjoy spending some time with these ladies again at a later stage in life after a couple of decades with them through reruns and the films. But this was something else and while the addition of new characters seemed well-intentioned, they either lacked dimension, meaty storylines or were plain annoying (ahem, Che) — except for Seema. I love Seema. Please get Sarita Choudhury a spinoff.

Yvonne Villarreal: Uh, is it sad that I’m sad? I know, I know. But, look, I feel like the girl who cried “Che?!” too many times and now it’s real and it’s like I’ve been mentally placed in that insane DIY mini foyer of Carrie’s old apartment trying to emotionally find my way out. Like you, Mary, I’ve been frustrated endlessly by the series and have long felt like it needed to be put out of its misery, but I still dutifully watched every episode with a weird mix of enthusiasm and dread — and the community that grew (in my TikTok algorithm and in my group texts) from that shared experience was oddly one of the bright spots. So for HBO Max to call my bluff by actually ending it still feels like a breakup as flabbergasting — albeit, necessary — as Berger’s Post-it note peace-out.

I came in ready to approach this stage of my relationship to these characters the same way I approach the friendships I’ve maintained the longest — excited to catch up once our schedules aligned, trying to fill in the blanks from the long absence caused by life, but still recognizing the foundation of who they are and how they’re choosing to navigate life’s curveballs. But with each passing episode, it always seemed like I was at the wrong table, perplexed and trying not to be rude with all the “But why?” questions. Miranda’s quote from this week’s finale, as she took in the most bizarre Thanksgiving dinner television has ever put onscreen, felt like the epilogue to my experience watching it all: “I’m not sure exactly what’s happening now, but let’s all take a breath.”

The scene where Carrie, left, Seema, Charlotte and Lisa are at the bridal fashion show, expressing their feelings about marriage, is something our writer wanted more of in the series. (Craig Blankenhorn / HBO Max)

I will mourn the potential of what this series could have been. Like Carrie’s playful tiptoe stride through the streets in heels, the show pranced around topics that, had it walked through them with intention, would have given the series traces of its former self. That friend moment between Seema and Carrie outside the hair salon in Season 2 — where the former is reluctantly but bravely expressing that she feels like she’s being dropped now that Aidan is back in the picture — was such a genuine peek at the vulnerability between friends that so many of us valued from the original series. And that moment from this week’s finale, where the women are gathered at a bridal runway show, sharing their varying feelings on marriage at this stage in their life — I just wanted to shout, “MICHAEL PATRICK KING, this is what I wanted more of!” Though, I would have preferred if they were around a table, looking at each other as they shared and unpacked. I wanted an extended scene of that, not Carrie ordering pies! I don’t like to be teased with goodness. And that’s how it often felt.

Also, I know it’s a comedy, although the decision to lean into the sitcom style of humor remains perplexing (Harry and Charlotte, I’m looking at you), but I felt like there was a way to explore grief — the death of Mr. Big and Stanford, plus the strain on the group’s friendship with Samantha — in a way that felt truer to the characters and the style of the show. Heck, even Miranda’s drinking problem was squandered. I feel like the loss of a spouse (through death, divorce or emotional distance), the fading out of friendships and reconsideration of lifestyle habits are the most talked-about topics in my friend group at this stage in my life — sometimes the convos happen while we’re huddled around a Chili’s triple dipper, which is as bleak and real as it gets. And I’m sorry, but if I were to use one of those outings, when I’m in my mid-50s, to tell them an ex wants me to wait five years while he focuses on being a toxic parent before we can really be together, they’d slap me with a fried mozzarella stick — I will never forgive the writers for how lobotomized these characters feel. Mary and Maira, how did you feel about how the show handled its biggest absences? The show began in such a different place than where it ends — did it evolve in the right direction? Where did it go right for you?

McNamara: Oh Yvonne, you are so much kinder than I am. I never felt it was going right — the writers seemed so determined to prove that women in their 50s aren’t boring that they constantly forced them into all manner of absurd situations without much thought for what kind of actual women these characters might have become. Age was represented mostly by bizarre, grannified reactions to younger folk and their strange ways (up until the finale, which gave us that baby mama and her buddy Epcot), as if the women (and the writers) had been kept in a shoe box for 20 years.

Looking back, the lack of Samantha, and Cattrall, feels like a deal-breaker. For all her campy affectations, Samantha was always the most grounded of the characters, able to cut to the heart of things with a witty line, biting comment or just a simple truth. Seema, and Choudhury, did her best to fill that void, but she never got quite enough room to work — her relationship was almost exclusively with Carrie for one thing and Carrie was, even more than in “Sex and the City,” the driving force of the show.

Kim Cattrall made a brief appearance as Samantha Jones at the end of Season 2, but she was sorely missed throughout.

(Max)

I agree that grief was given very short shrift, and the fact that no one seemed to miss Samantha very much, or be in touch with her at all (beyond the few exchanges with Carrie) was both bizarre and a shame — coping with the loss of a dear friend, through misunderstanding or distance, is a rich topic and one that many people deal with.

As for the resurrection of Aidan, well, who thought that was going to work? Especially when it became clear that the writers thought it made perfect sense to keep Carrie and Aidan’s children separate — so unbelievable, and demeaning to both characters. Carrie’s final “revelation” that a woman doesn’t need a man to be happy would have had a much more meaningful resonance if Carrie had been allowed to explore her grief, fear, frustration and hope beyond a few platitude-laden conversations and that god-awful novel. Which, quite honestly, was the funniest thing about this season. When her agent went bananas over it, I literally walked out of the room.

Garcia: Samantha, and Cattrall in turn, were sorely missed. And you’re right, Mary, Seema filled some of that void, and you really need that connection across the different characters. Which leads me to my biggest gripe: Why did some characters feel so distant? Lisa’s storyline this season was so disconnected from the rest — it seemed like she was with the core group only in passing. And it happened with Nya (Karen Pittman), who disappeared after Season 2, though that had to do with scheduling conflicts.

As far as its evolution, I was glad to see the podcast group, with its overbearing members, whittled away — though we had to deal with Che for another season. Those overbearing characters kept getting replaced with other overbearing characters like Giuseppe’s mother, played by Patti LuPone, and Brady’s baby mama and her odd pals (if the writers were trying to get us to scratch our heads at Gen Z, they did it). While I’ll miss being able to turn my brain off for an hour each week, along with the occasional shouts at my TV over some silly line or moment, I can’t say I was satisfied in the end. At least when someone said or did something stupid in previous iterations of the show, it was acknowledged in a way that felt true the characters and there was some growth expressed. After the return of Aidan, I can’t say that’s true here.

But now that we’re at the end, I have to ask you both how this affects the SATC universe? Did this disrupt the canon? Was there something memorable you’ll take away at least? A character, a moment, a ridiculously oversized piece of jewelry, hat or bag?

Villarreal: Oh geez. There’s no question — for me, at least — where this sequel falls in the SATC universe. The original series, even with its moments that didn’t stand the test of time, will always be supreme; the first movie, while hardly perfect, gave us some memorable BFF moments — like Charlotte giving Big eye daggers after he left Carrie at the altar or Samantha feeding a heartbroken Carrie — that keep it in my rewatch rotation. I’d place “And Just Like That …” after that, with the Abu Dhabi getaway movie dead last.

What will I miss? For sure the fashion moments, especially the ones that broke my brain, like Carrie’s Michelin Man snowstorm getup or her recent gingham headwear disaster that my former colleague Meredith Blake described as Strawberry Shortcake … and don’t get me started on Lisa’s jumbo balls of twine necklace.

One thing we’ll miss: The over-the-top fashion like Carrie’s big hat and Lisa’s jumbo ball necklace. (Craig Blankenhorn/HBO Max)

I’m curious, Mary, as someone who has watched your share of series finales, how you felt about this conclusion and whether it served that mission. This season had episodes that felt like wasted filler and didn’t do much to move the plot forward. Last week’s penultimate episode is what convinced me the wrapping up of this series was not planned. It was 28 minutes of huh? And what about Carrie’s book? I would add it to my Kindle just out of curiosity. While I maybe would have seen all that’s transpired as an opportunity for Carrie to write a memoir on love and loss à la Carole Radziwill, I did get a kick out of the excerpts from Carrie’s take on a 19th century woman having an existential crisis. And look, maybe I’m schmaltzy, but I did sort of love the last line she tacked on in her epilogue: “The woman realized, she was not alone — she was on her own.” Mary, are you judging me right now? I promise I didn’t dance to Barry White’s “You’re the First, the Last, My Everything” through the halls of my apartment after watching. But I would have loved more exploration of that thread sooner — I mean, aren’t there studies about women being happier, or at least less stressed, later in life once their spouse dies? I believe it! It doesn’t mean you can’t have companionship in other ways. Anyway, what’s the takeaway from what happened with this show? Hollywood isn’t going to stop trying to find new life in established properties. So, what can be learned from what went wrong here?

McNamara: Yvonne! I would never judge you! And the world would be a far better place if everyone danced around their domiciles more often. I think Carrie realizing that her life is full and happy without a partner is actually a perfect way to end this series. (She will certainly never want for romance — So. Much. Tulle.) I just wish it had felt less rushed and did not involve a weird giant plushie at a robot restaurant. Whatever sequence of events led to the final scene, I have to believe that was going to be Carrie’s journey all along. I even liked the debate over the ending of her book — if only the book had not been so terrible!

I will certainly miss marveling at Parker’s Olympics-worthy ability to navigate nearly any surface in heels (and “sell” outfits that seem more like Halloween costumes than style) as well as those rare conversations, like the one at the bridal show, that allowed a situation to be viewed from multiple points of view.

As for the finale, it felt very much in keeping with the intention, if not the overall execution, of the series. I am not cold-hearted enough to want any of these characters to depart mid-crisis or accept less than a happy life. Sure, it was a bit pat, with everyone’s story neatly boxed up like a Thanksgiving pie. But who doesn’t like pie?

Garcia: I love pie! But let’s not forget, like the toilet that overflowed (with a few logs, to boot) in the final scenes, too much of something isn’t always what we need.

Villarreal: Is this a safe space to share that if the girls make up with Samantha/Cattrall in their 70s, I’ll be ready for their return to my screen? Sorry, not sorry — I don’t have time to set healthy boundaries with friendships that are no longer serving me.

When is a kiss not just a kiss? Season 2 of Netflix’s “Arcane” delivers a long-awaited payoff between two characters with such a deep emotional bond it inspired a “Bennifer”-style portmanteau: CaitVi. Co-executive producer Amanda Overton, who wrote the saga-defining scene, explains that Vi (voiced by Hailee Steinfeld) has “lost everyone she loved,” and it’s during a moment of fear and honesty that she tells Caitlyn (voiced by Katie Leung), “Everyone in my life has changed. Promise me you won’t change.” Caitlyn reacts by inching closer, brushing her finger gently against Vi’s face before their lips meet in a soft, breathless kiss. “I won’t.” The enduring portrait comes at a cost. “We had Vi ask this impossible question at the wrong time, but she’s so vulnerable and desperate,” notes Overton. “Caitlyn lies at this moment because she thinks that’s what Vi needs to hear.” Her bold choice blooms into Vi returning the embrace. “We worked with Christelle [Abgrall], the director, to create the passion and longing they had for each other that was built up over the season. Because it was their first kiss we needed it to be romantic in every way.” See, even lies can be romantic.

“Berta, Berta,” a two-character play by Angelica Chéri, was inspired by a prison work song from Parchman Farm, the notorious Mississippi State Penitentiary whose harsh conditions and history of forced labor extended the nightmare of antebellum slave plantations into the 20th century.

The play, which is receiving its West Coast premiere in an Echo Theater Company production at Atwater Village Theatre directed by Andi Chapman, is set in Mississippi in 1923. The action takes place in the home of Berta (Kacie Rogers), a young widow who’s awakened in the middle of the night by a visitor from her past.

Not just any visitor, mind you, but the love of her life. Leroy (DeJuan Christopher) arrives at the threshold of her small, well-cared for home in a clamorous uproar. He’s filthy, his white shirt is covered in blood, and Berta can’t tell if he’s possessed by the devil or out of his mind.

It turns out that he’s killed a man who claimed, falsely, to have slept with her. Berta is horrified that Leroy has done something so rash and violent. He holds it as proof of the depth of his love for her. But why, Berta wants to know, did he not get in touch with her after he was released from Parchman? The crime he’s committed will only send him back to where, in Leroy’s own pained words, “they take the colored man to kill him from the inside out.”

Berta and Leroy exchange grievances over the futility of their love. He can’t understand how she could have married; she’s bewildered that he could have expected her to wait indefinitely for a ghost. Their passion, however, won’t be denied, no matter how angry they make each other.

The play is pitched for maximum intensity, and Chapman’s direction encourages a mythic scope — a wholly appropriate approach for a drama that leaps over the safety of realism. Amanda Knehans’ beautifully designed set, as snug as it is appealing, grounds the action in a clean and cozy domesticity. But this is just an illusion, as the production makes clear through the expressionistic wildness of the lighting (Andrew Schmedake) and sound design (Jeff Gardner).

The couple has been granted a brief reprieve from their separation. Leroy, observing an old superstition, made an oath to the awakening cicadas that he will turn himself in if he’s given the chance to make peace with Berta. She has made her own pact with the insects, asking them to restore the life of her stillborn baby, whose corpse she has held onto in the hope that the cicadas will answer her prayer.

The pressurized, supernatural stakes in such tight quarters sometimes encourage Christopher to push a little too vociferously. Berta’s home is too small to contain Leroy — and Christopher’s performance never lets us forget it. But the turbulent charge of Leroy’s voice and body language serves another purpose: keeping the character’s history as an oppressed Black man cruelly cut off from his soulmate ever in sight.

Rogers’ Berta, comfortably situated in her domestic nest, scales her performance accordingly. She is our anchor into the world of the play, reacting to Leroy’s tumultuous intrusion with suspicion and alarm. But as the intimacy grows between the characters, the performers become more relaxed and playful with each other. The Wagnerian nature of Berta and Leroy’s love settles down without losing its miraculous mystery.

The Sunday matinee I attended was a Black Out performance — an opportunity for a Black audience to experience the play in community. Playwright Jeremy O. Harris championed this concept during the initial Broadway run of his groundbreaking drama “Slave Play.” There was backlash to the idea in London, where some critics found the practice racially exclusionary. But anything that promotes the communal embrace of art, particularly among historically underrepresented groups, ought to be celebrated.

I wasn’t the only white person in the audience at “Berta, Berta” on Sunday, but I was one of just a few. When I had initially learned from the show’s publicist that the performance was specially designated, I offered to come at another time, not wanting to take a seat from a community member. But I was assured that there was room and that I was most welcome.

Listening to the play in this special environment, I was more alert to the through line of history. Although set in the Deep South during the Jim Crow era, there appeared to be little distance between the characters and the audience. Berta and Leroy’s tempestuous love games were met with amused recognition. And the threats facing the couple, to judge by the audible response to the work, were received with knowing empathy.

At a different performance, I might have been more impatient with some of the strained dramatic turns. But the production’s living bond with the audience opened my eyes to the realism inherent in this folktale romance, laden with history and floating on a song.

The Avengers will soon be assembling for a much younger demographic.

Disney Jr. plans to expand its collaboration with Marvel, announcing a new series launching in 2027 titled “Marvel’s Avengers: Mightiest Friends.” It’s a partnership that began in 2021 when Disney Jr. premiered “Spidey and His Amazing Friends,” the first full-length Marvel preschool series, and has expanded to include the upcoming “Iron Man and His Awesome Friends.”

“Disney Jr. are the pros at this age group,” says Brad Winderbaum, head of Marvel Studios television and animation. “‘Spidey and His Amazing Friends’ was our first shot at giving little kids a front-row seat to the Marvel Universe.”

Currently in its fourth season with two additional seasons already greenlit, “Spidey” has been wildly successful. It’s the first Disney Jr. series to run for more than five seasons and is the second most popular streaming series (after “Bluey”) for children ages 2 to 5, according to Nielsen.

“The success of ‘Spidey’ really confirmed we were onto something and proved the demand for superhero stories designed specifically for this age group,” says Alyssa Sapire, head of original programming and strategy at Disney Jr. “It fueled this broader strategy with Disney Jr. and Marvel.”

There’s the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) and now there will be the Marvel Preschool Universe. “Marvel’s Avengers: Mightiest Friends” will feature kid versions of all the MCU characters including Spidey, Iron Man, Captain America, Hulk, Black Panther, Thor and, for the first time, Black Widow. “Avengers are the ultimate learning to play nice story,” Winderbaum says. “It’s endless fun to watch Thor, Widow, Hulk and Cap learn about teamwork. That’s always a fundamental lesson for that group whether it’s in the features or the animated shows.”

Young viewers will get a sneak peek of what’s to come with two “Marvel’s Spidey and Iron Man: Avengers Team Up!” specials. The first 22-minute special premieres Oct. 16 and finds Spidey, Iron Man and all the Avengers stopping Ultron and Green Goblin from their nefarious plans. Another special, this one Halloween-themed, will debut in fall 2026.

“These characters are so timeless and have appealed to audiences across generations,” says Harrison Wilcox, who executive produces all the Marvel preschool series. “What is most important to us is to tell fun, relatable, positive stories that families can enjoy together.”

To that end, next up for Disney Jr. and Marvel is “Iron Man and His Awesome Friends” which will premiere Aug. 11 on Disney Jr. and stream on Disney+ on Aug. 12. Tony Stark and his alter ego, Iron Man, were the natural choice for the next MCU character to get the preschool treatment. “‘Iron Man’ was the film that launched our studio,” Winderbaum says. “We love the idea that a young audience who wasn’t around in 2008 can be introduced to Marvel through a character at the core of Marvel history.”

This series finds Tony Stark (Iron Man) and his best friends Riri Williams (Ironheart) and Amadeus Cho (Iron Hulk) working together to solve problems, like a villain intent on stealing everyone’s toys.

“Tony Stark is very relatable and aspirational,” says Wilcox. “He didn’t stop until he found a way to protect the entire universe. We wanted three kids that were distinct from each other but also shared some certain qualities. They’re all very intelligent. They’re all tech savvy. They all want to use their brains to make the world better.”

The trio works out of Iron Quarters (IQ) with Vision as their de facto supervisor. “We thought it would be nice to have someone who could sort of act as the caretaker of our kids,” Wilcox says of including the beloved android in the series. “We wanted our audience to know that these characters were loved and supported. Even though they have superpowers, someone’s looking out for them.”

Each superhero also brings something new for the young audience to connect to. One thing that will separate the upcoming “Iron Man” series from “Spidey” is that Iron Man doesn’t have a secret identity. Everyone knows Tony Stark is Iron Man. “We saw there was this differentiation we could really lean into,” Sapire says. “They’re real kids who use their ingenuity and smarts for the good of the community.”

When bringing these characters to the under 5 set, every detail matters. “Even in this Marvel superhero space, we’re always tapping into that preschool experience,” Sapire says. “We take the responsibility to entertain naturally curious preschoolers very seriously. When we have their attention, we want to honor that time with them with stories that inspire their imaginations and bring that sense of joy and optimism.”

They approach the legendary Marvel villains with care as well. “Iron Man” features Ultron (voiced by Tony Hale), Swarm (Vanessa Bayer) and Absorbing Man (Talon Warburton). “You have to make sure the villain is not sympathetic,” Wilcox says. “But also not frightening. We rely heavily on our partners at Disney Jr. for that and their educational resource group, which provides us a lot of feedback to make sure our preschool audience is engaged in the story and they feel the stakes of the story, but they are still watching in a comfortable space.”

While all the series remain true to the overall MCU, they don’t get too tied up in what is and isn’t canon. “These shows are about what makes each character tick, more than the lore that surrounds them,” Winderbaum explains.

And, like in the movies, the superheroes will make mistakes. “Marvel does not put their characters up on a pedestal,” Wilcox says. “We want our characters to reflect real people in the real world. So that’s always been important to us is that there’s a certain level of relatability. Everyone can see a part of themselves in a Marvel hero and learn and grow just like our characters do.”

“7 a.m.,” the pilot episode of “The Pitt,” introduces viewers to the organized chaos of a Pittsburgh hospital emergency room and the doctors and nurses who spend their days going from medical crisis to medical crisis.

“At the center of that wheel with all the spokes” is Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, says Noah Wyle, who plays the caring and beleaguered chief attending physician. “You can identify who is who in the show by how Robby is treating them. Am I being deferential to their expertise and education, or do I assume that they don’t know s— and I have to babysit them?”

The episode, written by series creator and executive producer R. Scott Gemmill and directed by executive producer John Wells, also hints at story arcs that will play out over the 15-episode first season. “There’s all kinds of little Easter eggs in there if you go back and look,” Gemmill says.

The Envelope chatted with Wyle, who also serves as an executive producer on the series, Wells and Gemmill about how the Emmy-nominated “7 a.m.” establishes “The Pitt’s” core characters.

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch (Noah Wyle)
“This is an emergency department. Not a Taco Bell.”

The series begins with Robby walking to work listening to “Baby” by Robert Bradley’s Blackwater Surprise. “One of the things that you’re always trying to do is just tell the audience who you’re going to follow,” Wells says. “Who’s going to be your character that introduces you to this world?”

Robby is the only character viewers see arriving to work. “We really wanted our characters to be learned about through the exposition of their workplace environment,” Wyle says.

“It was a conscious and thoughtful decision to not wake up in his apartment, not get a sense of his home decor, what his diet is, who he sleeps with,” he adds. “Those were all defining things that would immediately take him from being an everyman to being a specific man.”

Nurse Dana Evans (Katherine LaNasa)
“You sure you’re cool being here today?”

The first person Robby checks in with is Dana, the charge nurse, who Gemmill refers to as both the “den mother” and “air traffic controller” of the ER. “Robby’s relationship with Dana is very special,” he says.

Dana and Robby’s first conversation is about Dr. Jack Abbot (Shawn Hatosy), the ER doctor who works the night shift. Dana tells Robby that Abbot has gone to get “some air.” Her choice of words is significant because Abbot is actually standing on the hospital roof on the wrong side of the guardrail. “You know from the look on Robby’s face that he knows what ‘getting some air’ means,” Gemmill says. “There’s a lot of things that are not said but that are understood between these two characters.”

The creative team cut a scene from the pilot that revealed too much about the arc of Dr. Langdon, played by Patrick Ball.

(Warrick Page / HBO Max)

Dr. Frank Langdon (Patrick Ball)
“If you need me, I’ll be saving lives.”

Immediately introduced as the cocky senior resident , Langdon is later revealed to be stealing prescription drugs. But they were cognizant of keeping Langdon’s story arc a secret from viewers. “There was one sequence where we showed him with a slightly shaking hand,” Wyle says. “We felt like it tipped a bit too much. We ended up taking it out.”

Dr. Cassie McKay (Fiona Dourif)
“I’m a 42–year–old R2. So I have my own haters. Trust me.”

In the pilot, McKay, who is older than the other residents, gets involved with two cases. She immediately picks up that something isn’t right between a mother who has come in with her sullen adolescent son. She also instantly knows that the mother who burnt her hand on a Sterno is unhoused. “What she lacks in not having [started] at a younger age, she makes up for with life experience.” Gemmill says.

Isa Briones as Trinity Santos in “The Pitt.”

(Warrick Page / HBO Max)

Dr. Trinity Santos (Isa Briones)
“I got 50 bucks says she doesn’t last through this shift.”

Intern Trinity Santos comes in hot with a palpable ambition. She openly mocks her fellow residents with derogatory nicknames, but her outward bravado belies her backstory. “She has a history of abuse and trauma that has made her want to wear a suit of armor and tell the world to go f— itself before she has a chance to be hurt again,” Wyle says. “And we peel that layer to the very end of the run when you find out about what happened to her. Her compassion and empathy really comes into the fore in the latter half of the season.”

Dr. Melissa King (Taylor Dearden)
“I can’t tell you how excited I am to be here today.”

Nothing seems to get in the way of second-year resident Mel King’s outwardly cheerful demeanor. “She was a tricky one,” Gemmill says. “We walk a fine line with her. She’s fairly obviously neurodivergent, and I just wanted to really introduce a character like that and do it justice and do it properly, and Taylor has done a great job embodying that.”

Shabana Azeez and Gerran Howell in “The Pitt.” The latter’s Dr. Whittaker provides “comic relief” in the early episodes through the indignities he suffers.

(Warrick Page / HBO Max)

Dennis Whitaker (Gerran Howell)
“I’ll be this lady’s age by the time I pay off my student loans.”

Fourth-year medical student Whitaker doesn’t start off well. His phone rings during a moment of silence for a deceased patient and he injures his finger moving a patient off a gurney.

“He’s very much the comic relief in the early episodes,” Wyle says. “He’s the guy that we put through a series of degradations and humiliations, but like the Energizer Bunny, he keeps coming back. By braving all of these things, he becomes extremely endearing.”

Dr. Victoria Javadi (Shabana Azeez)
“I’ve earned the right to be here.”

Twenty-year-old prodigy Dr. Victoria Javadi is the daughter of two doctors. In the pilot, the third-year medical student faints the first time in the exam room and has painfully awkward exchanges with her peers. “You imagine that she was never with anyone her age,” Gemmill says. “Imagine a study group when she was in med school and she’s 14 or 15 years old. No one’s going to want to hang out with her. She becomes like a mascot to them. Her thing is to overcome that mascot image and become a person unto herself.”

I will say this: I should be watching more cartoons. It has been harder to indulge this passion for some of the best, most pleasurable work television has to offer with so many ordinary series fighting for my professional time and attention, but here and now I make a more or less midyear resolution to get back to them. Please hold me to it.

Two great animated series are posting new seasons after long hiatuses (neither on the original platform, both on Hulu). “King of the Hill,” which ran on Fox from 1997 to 2009, lives anew with 10 fresh episodes streaming Monday; “The Amazing World of Gumball” (2011-2019), one of the greatest products of a great age of Cartoon Network, is back as “The Wonderfully Weird World of Gumball,” in a 20-episode season now available. (Earlier seasons of both shows are available on the platform.) Each is under the protection of their original creators; both are their easily recognizable, extremely different old selves.

Visually, there is little to no difference between one multi-camera sitcom and the next, one single-camera mockumentary sitcom and the next, one single-camera non-mockumentary and the next, one CBS police procedural and the next. But every cartoon creates its individual grammar, its dynamic, its world, its synergy between the image and the actors, its level of awkwardness of slickness. (The voice actors, I mean — animators are also actors.) There are trends, of course, in shapes and line and ways to render a mouth or an eyeball, and much drawing is drawn from the history of the medium, because art influences artists. But the spectrum is wide, and novelty counts for a lot.

“The Wonderfully Weird World of Gumball”

(Hulu)

Created by Ben Bocquelet, “Gumball” doesn’t settle for a single style — that is to say, not settling is its style. The characters comprise a hodgepodge, nay, an encyclopedia of visual references, dimensions, materials and degrees of resolution, and include traditional 2-D animation, puppet animation, photo collage and live-action, usually set against a photographic background and knit into a world whose infinite variety seems nothing short of inevitable. (Netflix’s late “The Epic Tales of Captain Underpants” is the only other cartoon with such a range of modes.

Like many modern cartoons (excepting anime, which I would argue is a different, if widely influential, art), its main characters are children. Gumball, currently voiced by Alkaio Thiele, is a blue cat, the son of a cat mother and a rabbit father; he has a pink rabbit little sister, Anais (Kinza Syed Khan), and an adoptive brother, Darwin (Hero Hunter in the new season), a pet goldfish who grew legs and gets around quite easily in the air. Their middle-school classmates include a ghost, a cloud, a banana, an ice cream cone, a daisy, a balloon, a cactus, a T. Rex and a flying eyeball. Gumball’s girlfriend, Penny (Teresa Gallagher) is a shape-shifting yellow fairy. Each is rendered in a different style, and that is just the tip of the animated iceberg.

Like the best cartoons ostensibly made for kids, it doesn’t underestimate its audience, what it might understand or can handle. Many “Gumball” episodes devolve into a sort of authentically disturbing horror movie, including the last episode of the original series, which saw the characters frighteningly transformed into realistic animated children and a void opening just before the closing credits. It also demonstrates an adult skepticism about the world that might profitably infect young minds. There are critiques of capitalism, consumerism and online culture: In the first episode of the new season, an evil talking hamburger controls the corporate universe; in another, mother Nicole (Gallagher again) is seduced into virtual reality by a lonely, jealous chatbot.

The decade and a half since “King of the Hill” went off the air — surreptitiously, if obviously, referenced in a remark about “that cooking show that Fox stupidly canceled 15 years ago” — is not exactly represented in the new season, but time has passed. (The characters did not age 13 years over the original series — but they grew a little.) Hank, voiced by co-creator Mike Judge, and Peggy Hill (Kathy Najimy), returning to Arlen, Texas, from Saudi Arabia, where Hank had been exercising his expertise in all things propane, are drawn older by the addition of a few wrinkles but are substantially unchanged. As a character, Hank, of course, distrusts change, though possibly not as much as the friends who gather, as before, in the alley behind his house; indeed, he worries that the love of soccer he acquired while away will reduce his standing in their eyes. Peggy, on the other hand, was enlarged by her time away; she likes to demonstrate a few words of Arabic. Both Hills are dealing uncomfortably with retirement; he looks for odd jobs, takes a stab at making beer (not that fruit-flavored stuff); she exercises.

In the revived “King of the Hill,” Bobby and Hank compete against each other in a home brew competition, to Peggy’s dismay (but eventual delight).

(Mike Judge/Disney)

The show is set in an awkwardly drawn but highly evocative, extremely ordinary environment that perfectly serves its stories; it feels like an accurate outsider-art rendition of its middle-class Texas suburb. There is little in it that couldn’t be handled as live-action situation comedy; indeed, for long stretches you can close your eyes and let it play in your head like an old-time radio show — “Ozzie and Harriet,” or “Vic and Sade” for the deep cut — which testifies to the quality of the writing and the performances. (Judge’s voice has an unschooled quality that perfectly matches the drawing. I was once almost certain that Hank’s voice was that of my friend Will Ray, a country-music guitar slinger — which would have made sense, given Judge’s interest in the music and his occasional moonlighting as a bass player. That is neither here or there, but I am happy to have found a place to mention it.)

Their son, Bobby (Pamela Adlon), is now an adult; little dots on his chin indicate either that he can grow a beard but neglects to shave or that he can’t quite grow a beard; it doesn’t seem exactly like a choice. A formerly established talent for cooking — the final episode of the original run concerned his ability to judge the quality of a cut of meat — has blossomed into his becoming a restaurateur, offering a fusion of Japanese and Texas cuisine; he is evidently good at this, though for whatever reason — more work to draw them? — his restaurant is devoid of customers. The torch he carries for sometime girlfriend Connie Souphanousinphone (Lauren Tom) occupies the other half of his storyline here.

There are light topical references — a sidelong joke about the names billionaires give their children, for example — but the show happily lives in its world of day-to-day annoyances and victories. Hank is excited by a trip to the George W. Bush presidential library, but one can’t imagine him with any affection for the current Oval Office occupant; he’s too common-sense for that. Extreme views and conspiracy theories are loaded into Hank’s pest exterminator friend Dale Gribble. The late Johnny Hardwick, who voiced him for the first six episodes of the new season, was replaced by Toby Huss. (Jonathan Joss, who played the character John Redcorn, died in a shooting this June.) Cartoons have a way of dealing with death — they don’t have to — and time means no more there than the animators want it to. It’s a comfortable state of being.

“And Just Like That …” it’s over.

The current third season of the “Sex and the City” sequel will be its last, showrunner, writer and director Michael Patrick King said in a statement on social media Friday. And it’ll wrap in an exaggerated fashion that would suit Carrie’s style: a two-part finale on HBO Max, taking the season’s original 10 episodes to 12. Episodes 11 and 12 will air on Aug. 7 and 14, respectively, according to an HBO Max spokesperson.

“While I was writing the last episode of ‘And Just Like That …” Season 3, it became clear to me that this might be a wonderful place to stop,” he wrote on X, formerly Twitter. “SJP [Sarah Jessica Parker] and I held off announcing the news until now because we didn’t want the word ‘final’ to overshadow the fun of watching the season. It’s with great gratitude we thank all the viewers who let these characters into their homes and their hearts over these many years.”

The original “Sex and the City” series, which followed the lives of four friends — Carrie Bradshaw (Parker), Miranda Hobbes (Cynthia Nixon), Charlotte York (Kristin Davis) and Samantha Jones (Kim Cattrall) — premiered on HBO in 1998, ran for six seasons and was the springboard for two subsequent theatrical films. The sequel series reunited Carrie, Miranda and Charlotte and let viewers tag along on their midlife adventures in New York City.

But from its premiere in December 2021, the sequel to the popular HBO series was like a situationship viewers could never fully get a handle on. A crucial member of the friend group was absent (Samantha) and some viewers questioned the cast additions — ahem, Che Diaz — and changes to the characters’ personalities that felt inconsistent to fans who had journeyed alongside them .

Parker, who is also an executive producer of “And Just Like That …,” posted a lengthy, poem-like tribute to Carrie and the show on her Instagram account.

“Carrie Bradshaw has dominated my professional heartbeat for 27 years,” she wrote. “I think I have loved her most of all … MPK and I together recognized, as we have in the past, this chapter complete. AJLT was all joy, adventure, the greatest kind of hard work alongside the most extraordinary talent of 380 that includes all the brilliant actors who joined us. I am better for every single day I spent with you. It will be forever before I forget. The whole thing. Thank you all. I love you so. I hope you love these final two episodes as much as we all do.”

A WOMAN who forked out £80,000 for her dramatic plastic surgery has revealed she has no plans to stop going under the knife.

Pixiee Fox drew inspiration from cartoon characters including Jessica Rabbit and Sleeping Beauty for her transformation, but was told she would end up looking “goofy” by plastic surgeons.

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On an episode of E!’s Botched, Pixiee faced plastic surgeon Terry Dubrow and Paul Nassif as she revealed she wanted to go under the knife yet again to lower her hair line to make her forehead appear smaller.

“I never really felt human, I always felt more like a fantasy creature,” she said on the show.

But when Pixiee met with the surgeons they weren’t convinced by her plans to lower her hairline.

“I am so close to becoming a real life cartoon, I need a small surgery and I’m done,” she said.

After a consultation with the doctors, they determined her previous surgeries had caused too much damage.

“I have never seen anything like this in my entire career,” Doctor Terry said.

The duo broke the news to Pixiee that they wouldn’t operate on her, but she hinted she would still go ahead with the surgery elsewhere, despite their advice.

How has Pixee Fox made herself look like a Barbie doll?

The social media star has had countless plastic surgery ops since her first procedure in 2011, transforming her body.

Pixee, who lives in North Carolina, flew to India to have her eye colour changed in a dangerous operation that is not performed in Europe or America.

She also went to Korea to have her jaw shape changed in another extreme procedure that could have left her paralysed.

She’s had several boob jobs, bringing her up to a colossal 30J, and has pumped up her bum and lips with fat from her legs and belly.

Pixee even admitted she “gave up on love” to share a home with fellow surgery addict Justin Jedlica, so they can live together as a real-life Barbie and Ken.

She’s had 200 ops, including six ribs removed, four boob jobs, two rounds of liposuction, labiaplasty, and butt lift.

And she even had her jaw broken, shaved and reset, to mimic Wonder Woman.

Pixee Fox went through the agonising op to give her a symmetrical V-shaped jawline  in June.

She’s also said to have had her nose and ears altered to make her look more like a Disney princess.

Pixiee shot to fame for her unique looks, but soon the multiple procedures started to take a toll on her health, so she decided to take a break from going under the knife.

Back in 2023 she shared an update with her Instagram followers, as she claimed her obsession with plastic surgery nearly killed her.

She said: “I was a person famous for having plastic surgery, and I have advertised doctors and the procedures they have done on me. I am making this post now because I see other girls advertising this doctor who almost ended my life.”

She added: “I am lucky to still be alive after been in a coma for more than one week. So lucky to have friends and family coming to my aid and getting me home to Sweden.”

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The practice of building a situation comedy around a stand-up comedian is hallowed television practice, going back to Jack Benny and Danny Thomas and running forward through Bob Newhart, Roseanne Barr, Jerry Seinfeld, Ellen DeGeneres, George Lopez and Martin Lawrence, among others. These “based on the comedy” shows are predicated on the not unreasonable and frequently demonstrable idea that the star comes with a built-in audience — the show and the character usually share their name — and that a person who is good at telling stories onstage might be a good fit for the multi-camera TV stage. This hasn’t been true of every comic given a show; even someone as reliably hilarious as John Mulaney was an uneasy fit for the form.

“Leanne,” which premieres Thursday on Netflix, stars Leanne Morgan, a 25-year overnight sensation from Knoxville, Tenn., whose star rose above the cultural horizon when she was already most of her way through her fifties. (She is 59 now.) Co-creator Chuck Lorre (with Morgan and Susan McMartin), the man behind “Cybill,” “Dharma & Greg,” “Two and a Half Men” and “The Big Bang Theory,” earlier built “Grace Under Fire” around another Southern stand-up, Brett Butler. The premise here is essentially: newly single mature woman in a sitcom.

If the people around her are mostly types into which the players pour themselves, Morgan is more a person into which a character has been inserted. TV Leanne is not exactly Real Leanne, who is to all appearances happily married; is on tour through the year (under the title “Just Getting Started”); has starred in a Netflix special, “I’m Every Woman”; published a book, “What in the World?! A Southern Woman’s Guide to Laughing at Life’s Unexpected Curveballs and Beautiful Blessings”; and, obviously, is starring in this situation comedy. Other than living in Knoxville, having children and grandchildren and representing someone more or less her own age, she is not playing herself; yet there’s an honesty to her performance, possibly not unrelated to her being new at this. (Her only previous screen credit is a supporting role in this year’s Will Ferrell and Reese Witherspoon meh Prime Video rom-com “You’re Cordially Invited.”) Even the hackiest jokes sound less hacky in her mouth, perhaps because she doesn’t strain to sell them. Her delivery tends toward the soft and musical, and that she is wearing her own accent, which, to a Californian’s ear, plays charming variations on vowels, is all to the good.

As we begin, Leanne, the character, is primarily defined, like negative space, by the figures around her. There is a husband, Bill (Ryan Stiles) who has just left her for a younger woman, an event so fresh that only her sister, Carol (Kristen Johnston), knows; single, twice-divorced, up for fun, Carol regards herself as sophisticated because she once lived in Chicago. Daughter Josie (Hannah Pilkes) is a little wild, but not particularly troublesome; in any case, no one pays her much attention. Son Tyler (Graham Rogers), upon whom Leanne dotes, works for his father, who owns three RV emporiums — accounting for the nice house that’s the series’ main set — and comes equipped with a mostly off-screen pregnant wife, Nora (Annie Gonzalez); he feels oppressed, but perhaps he’s just tired. Leanne’s parents, John (Blake Clark) and Margaret (Celia Weston) are around for grousing and goofiness, respectively. Across the street lives Mary (Jayma Mays), the embodiment of nosy propriety in a town that can’t keep a secret.

Leanne recalls how back in the ‘80s she was “cute” and desirable “because I had hormones, and hair spray, and a VW bug with a pull-out cassette player.” (This is also a motif in Morgan’s stand-up.) Now she’s careful and proper, and can barely bring herself to chastely kiss the nice FBI agent, Andrew (Tim Daly), who wanders into the show as a potential romance. (Morgan said on the “Today” show that Daly was in fact the first man she’d kissed apart from her husband in 33 years. Art and life.) One hopes he won’t turn out to be a murderer, which would 80% be the case if this were a mystery. But I reckon we’re safe.

Younger viewers who find themselves here may be put off by jokes about hot flashes, pelvic exercises, enlarged prostrates and such and perhaps especially by sex jokes in the mouths of old — well, older — people. (I feel you there, youngsters.) The representative demographic may chuckle knowingly, or not.

Here is Leanne, flirting with Andrew in their first encounter.

Andrew (swallowing some pills): “I had to have a thing and now I have to take these things every four hours or I might have to have … another thing.”

Leanne (sweetly): “I got things. My purse is a little Walgreens with a cute strap.”

Every fourth or fifth joke has the air of having been hammered out on an anvil, and a few might have been better left in the smithery. Yet I like this show, in no small part but not entirely because I like Morgan — the way she says “spaseba, that’s Russian for thank you” to a bartender handing her a vodka, and sings a bit of the Human League’s “Don’t You Want Me” to herself.

The company, which supports the star with veterans of “Third Rock From the Sun,” “The Drew Carey Show” and “Wings,” is generally good company, and I’m happy to see that “Leanne” has a broadcast-style 18 episode season, time being an American sitcom’s best friend. (I would give it a few episodes to make up your mind.)

Apart from the star herself, the show is as conventional as can be. A character embarking on a new chapter is, of course, the starting point of every third sitcom ever made, but given that many of us have either had to start new chapters or wish we could, it’s a suitable way to start.

“The Fantastic Four: First Steps” slots into summer blockbuster season like a square peg in a round popcorn bucket. Prestige TV director Matt Shakman (“WandaVision”) isn’t inclined to pretzel himself like the flexible Reed Richards to please all four quadrants of the multiplex. His staid superhero movie plays like classic sci-fi in which adults wearing sweater vests solemnly brainstorm how to resolve a crisis. Watching it, I felt as snug as being nestled in the backseat of my grandparents’ car at the drive-in.

This reboot of the Fantastic Four franchise — the third in two decades — is lightyears closer to 1951’s “The Day the Earth Stood Still” than it is to the frantic, over-cluttered superhero epics that have come to define modern entertainment. Set on Earth 828, an alternate universe that borrows our own Atomic Age decor, it doesn’t just look old, it moves old. The tone and pace are as sure-footed as globe-gobbling Galactus, this film’s heavy, purposefully marching into alt-world Manhattan. Even its tidy running time is from another epoch. Under two hours? Now that’s vintage chic.

“First Steps” picks up several years after four astronauts — Reed (Pedro Pascal), his wife, Sue (Vanessa Kirby), his brother-in-law Johnny (Joseph Quinn) and his best friend Ben (Ebon Moss-Bachrach) — get themselves blasted by cosmic rays that endow them with special powers. You may know the leads better as, respectively, Mr. Fantastic, the Invisible Woman, the Human Torch and the Thing. For mild comic relief, they also pal around with a robot named H.E.R.B.I.E., voiced by Matthew Wood.

Skipping their origin story keeps things tight while underlining the idea that these are settled-down grown-ups secure in their abilities to lengthen, disappear, ignite and clobber. Fans might argue they should be a bit more neurotic; screenplay structuralists will grumble they have no narrative arc. The mere mortals of Earth 828 respect the squad for their brains and their brawn — they’re celebrities in a genteel pre-paparazzi time — but these citizens are also prone to despair when they aren’t sure Pascal’s workaholic daddy will save them.

Lore has it Stan Lee was a married, middle-aged father aging out of writing comic books when his beloved spouse, Joan, elbowed him to develop characters who felt personal. The graying, slightly boring Reed was a loose-limbed version of himself: the ultimate wife guy with the ultimate wife.

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But Hollywood has aged-down Lee’s “quaint quartet,” as he called them, at its own peril. Make the Fantastic Four cool (as the movies have repeatedly tried and failed to do) and they come across as desperately lame. This time, Shakman and the script’s four-person writing team of Josh Friedman, Eric Pearson, Jeff Kaplan and Ian Springer valorize their lameness and restore their dignity. Pascal’s Mr. Fantastic is so buttoned-down that he tucks his tie into his dress shirt.

The scenario is that Sue is readying to give birth to the Richards’ first child just as the herald Shalla-Bal (Julia Garner), a.k.a. the Silver Surfer, barrels into the atmosphere to politely inform humanity that her boss Galactus (voiced by Ralph Ineson) has RSVP-ed yes to her invitation that he devour their planet. In a biologically credible touch, the animators have added tarnish to her cleavage: “I doubt she was naked,” Reed says evenly. “It was probably a stellar polymer.”

Typically, this threat would trigger a madcap fetch-this-gizmo caper (as it did in the original comic). Shakman’s version doesn’t waste its energy or our time on that. Rather, this a lean showdown between self-control and gluttony, between our modest heroes and a greedy titan. It’s at the Venn diagram of a Saturday morning cartoon and a moralistic Greek myth.

The film is all sleek lines, from its themes to its architecture to its images. The visuals by the cinematographer Jess Hall are crisp and impactful: a translucent hand snatching at a womb, a character falling into the pull of a yawning black hole, a torso stretched like chewing gum, a rocket launch that can’t blast off until we get a close-up of everyone buckling their seatbelts. Even in space, the CG isn’t razzle-dazzle busy. Meanwhile, Michael Giacchino’s score soars between bleats of triumph and barbershop-chorus charm, a combination that can sound like an automobile show unveiling the first convertible with tail fins.

There is little brawling and less snark. No one comes off like an aspiring stand-up comic. These characters barely raise their voices and often use their abilities on the mundane: Kirby’s Sue vanishes to avoid awkward conversations, Moss-Bachrach’s Ben, in a nod to his breakout role as the maître d’ on “The Bear,” uses his mighty fists to mash garlic. Johnny, the youngest and most literally hotheaded of the group, is apt to light himself on fire when he can’t be bothered to find a flashlight. He delivers the meanest quip in a respectful movie when he tells Reed, “I take back every single bad thing I’ve been saying about you … to myself, in private.”

Yes, my audience giggled dutifully at the jiggling Jell-O salads and drooled over the groovy conversation pits in the Richards’ living room, the only super lair I’d ever live in. The color palette emphasizes retro shades of blue, green and gold; even the extras have coordinated their outfits to the trim on the Fantasticar. Delightfully, when Moss-Bachrach’s brawny rock monster strolls to the deli to buy black-and-white cookies, he’s wearing a gargantuan pair of penny loafers.

If you want to feel old, the generation of middle schoolers who saw 2008’s “Iron Man” on opening weekend are now beginning to raise their own children. Thirty-seven films later, the Marvel Cinematic Universe has gotten so insecure about its own mission that it’s pitching movies at every maturity level. The recent “Thunderbolts*” is for surly teenagers, “Deadpool & Wolverine” is the drunk, divorced uncle at a BBQ, and “First Steps” extends a sympathetic hand to young families who identify with Reed’s frustration that he can’t childproof the entire galaxy.

Here, for a mass audience, Kirby gets to reprise her underwatched Oscar-nominated turn in “Pieces of a Woman,” in which she extended out a 24-minute, single-take labor scene. This karaoke snippet is good (and even a little operatic when the pain makes her dematerialize). I was as impressed by the costumer Alexandra Byrne’s awareness that even super moms won’t immediately snap back into wearing tight spandex. (By contrast, when Jessica Alba played Sue in 2007’s “Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer,” the director notoriously asked her to be “prettier” when she cried.)

This reboot’s boldest stride toward progress is that it values emotionally credible performances. Otherwise, Pascal aside, you wouldn’t assemble this cast for any audience besides critics and dweebs (myself included) who keep a running list of their favorite not-quite-brand-name talents who are ready to break through to the next level of their career while yelling, “It’s clobbering time!”

Still, this isn’t anyone’s best role, and it’s a great movie only when compared to similarly budgeted dreck. Yet it’s a worthy exercise in creating something that doesn’t feel nostalgic for an era — it feels of an era. Even if the MCU’s take on slow cinema doesn’t sell tickets in our era, I admire the confidence of a movie that sets its own course instead of chasing the common wisdom that audiences want 2½ hours of chaos. Studio executives continuing to insist on that nonsense deserve Marvel’s first family to give them a disappointed talking-to, and send them to back their boardrooms without supper.

Emmerdale has signed up EastEnders and Slow Horses actor Chris Coghill who will play new character Kev, who has a secret link to another villager paving the way for huge scenes

A new Emmerdale character has been confirmed, with a former EastEnders star signing up for the role.

New mystery character Kev will debut on the ITV soap in September, and it’s soon revealed he is linked to another villager. Not only that, but more than one character will feature in big scenes as Kev’s arrival has “major repercussions”.

Actor Chris Coghill, who played EastEnders villain Tony King, has confirmed he will be playing Kev as he teased what was on the cards. Soap producer Laura Shaw also promised big scenes ahead, as the character first appears to be someone who is lost.

He’ll be shown looking for directions, and soon enough we learn who he is looking for and why he wants to see them. The character, yet to be revealed, is said to have “a strong connection” to Kev in a storyline yet to be detailed.

There’s clearly a past between them, but fans will just have to wait and see who it is and what Kev wants. Fans can expect “shockwaves” to hit the village in another big plot for the ITV soap.

READ MORE: EastEnders schedule shake-up sparks ‘technical error’ as fans spot Jack Branning blunder

Speaking about joining the show, actor Chris teased his mysterious character would “shake things up”. He said: “I am really happy to be joining the cast of Emmerdale. Kev is definitely going to shake things up a bit and I’m looking forward to getting cracking!”

Soap producer Laura spilled: “We are delighted that someone of Chris’ calibre has joined our cast. I think the viewers will be intrigued to see how the character of Kev will cause shockwaves this autumn.

“Kev has a strong connection to one of our characters and it’s safe to say his arrival is going to be a massive surprise that will have major repercussions for some of our villagers.” More will be revealed closer to the time.

As well as his well known stint in EastEnders, actor Chris has also had other big roles in shows including Slow Horses, The Bay and Shameless. He’s now heading to the Dales, and fans can see his debut at the end of September.

He isn’t the only new face in the village, with recent arrivals including new villain Ray played by actor Joe Absolom, and new farmer Celia played by actress Jaye Griffiths. Both characters have brought trouble to the village, and this is set to continue over the next few months.

There’s also a big episode on the way featuring characters Aaron Dingle and Mackenzie Boyd this September. A huge plot will air across a big week of episodes, with it said a special set has been built for filming.

Emmerdale airs weeknights at 7:30pm on ITV1 and ITVX, with an hour-long episode on Thursdays. * Follow Mirror Celebs and TV on TikTok , Snapchat , Instagram , Twitter , Facebook , YouTube and Threads .

An early line from “Salt Bones,” the latest novel from talented poet and novelist Jennifer Givhan, reads, “Daughters disappear here.”

It is a line that haunts the Salton Sea region, where Givhan has set her latest novel and infuses the toxic air upon which her characters must survive. In other words, this warning to keep your daughters close clings to everything. It is in the air, but also — in this thriller that employs elements of magical realism and mystery — it is in the water, buffeting each of these characters with the cadence of windblown waves crashing against the shore.

The Salton Sea is just as much a character here as Givhan’s main protagonists: Mal, a mother of two daughters, and the two daughters themselves — Amaranta, in high school, and Griselda, a science major in college. Through them, we get a sense of this place, what it was, what it is and what it is becoming. A sea that evaporates and pulls back year after year, exposing a lake bed contaminated with agricultural runoff and revealing not just the bones of fish but also a painful history that many would rather remains beneath the water’s surface.

“Salt Bones” by Jennifer Givhan

(Mulholland Books)

El Valle, the fictional town that serves as the primary setting for “Salt Bones,” is haunted by what surrounds it. By the memories of the missing. Daughters like Mal’s own sister, Elena, who disappeared more than 20 years before.

Now with two daughters of her own, Mal is a butcher at the local carnicería. But when one of the workers at the shop, Renata, a young woman the same age as Mal’s eldest daughter, doesn’t show up for work one day, Mal begins to spiral into the past, questioning what she could have done differently, and then what she could do now. And, most of all, why does all of this seem to keep happening here in El Valle?

For Mal and her family, there is no escape. They are followed not just by memories, but also by Mal’s mother’s spite-fueled dementia, which returns all of them again and again to the fissures in time just before and just after the disappearance of Mal’s sister. And now, with Renata gone missing, there is nowhere to hide from the tragedy of this place, not at work, not at home and not even at the edges of the Salton Sea where Mal can sometimes find a tenuous peace.

But it is not just Mal who roams these shores, but La Siguanaba, a shape-shifter often associated with Central American and Mexican folklore, wearing “whatever a man lusts after most. Sequins. Spandex. Fishnet. Nothing at all.” And then after enticing these men to approach, this being — often described as a woman — turns and reveals the “white-boned skull of a horse” beneath her long dark hair.

“By the time they scream,” Givhan writes, “it’s too late.”

La Siguanaba is a cautionary tale and a myth to some in El Valle. She is a ghost story to keep the kids safe and away from danger, but to Mal, she is very real. La Siguanaba comes to her in dreams; in her waking hours, she lurks just beyond the light. Her smell — something like urine and unmucked stables — floats on the wind, acting like a warning, a memory, a message.

But all this — the monster in the shadows, the missing daughters and even a rising tension in El Valle over a lithium plant and a looming ecological disaster — is only part of the story. Mal can only know so much, and it is through the details revealed by Mal’s daughters, Amaranta and Griselda, that we begin to comprehend the depth of this story.

Like all good mysteries, there is a whole world just out of reach: secret lives, secrets kept, secrets used like currency. For us — the readers — the clues are there. Givhan does a wonderful job infusing the early pages with hints and observations from each of the three perspectives, Mal, Amaranta and Griselda, all of whom are hiding things from each other.

To the reader, who benefits from the combined knowledge of these characters, each perspective adds a different lens. Mal, with her mother’s intuition and almost otherworldly connection to La Siguanaba, Amaranta, who is the youngest and still very much a child and who sees what others don’t expect her to, and then Griselda, home from college, who looks on all of this with a fresh, almost outside perspective. All of them come to the same conclusion very early on: Something is very off in this small community.

“Salt Bones” is a worthy read. It’s a book infused with the language and culture of a strong Mexican American and Indigenous community. In some way, like La Siguanaba, it’s a conduit into another world. A complicated, real and very much welcome, if a bit scary, world.

And though the layering of information — of what we know, what remains hidden from us and what has been foreshadowed — does add up (delaying what becomes a propulsive search for the missing in the second half of the novel), Givhan’s talents as a writer of blunt, strong sentences and remarkable poetic passages regarding the landscape and the sea more than make up for any delay.

“Salt Bones” is a triumph. One of the most masterful marriages of horror, mystery, thriller and literary writing that I’ve read in some time. And it is certainly a book that will haunt you (in a good way!) for a very long time after you’ve turned the final page.

Waite is the author of four novels and a book critic for the San Francisco Chronicle.

“It’s 1997 all over again. Isn’t that nostalgic?” Freddie Prinze Jr. says to fellow millennial heartthrob Jennifer Love Hewitt in this fittingly silly resurrection of the B-movie slasher franchise “I Know What You Did Last Summer.” In the ’90s original, based on the young adult novel of the same name by Lois Duncan, Prinze and Hewitt played Ray and Julie, the sole survivors of a teen clique that accidentally runs over a stranger, conceals the crime and then, one year later, needs to flee a hook-wielding avenger over the Fourth of July weekend. Having endured that escapade and a sequel that chased them to the Bahamas, the duo is back for this mildly meta installment to mentor a new generation of manslaughterers. A mysterious raincoat-clad killer has a point when a message in blood is smeared: You can’t evade the past.

The five youngsters fleeing the inevitable are sensible Ava (Chase Sui Wonders) and her bland ex-boyfriend Milo (Jonah Hauer-King), daffy blond Danica (Madelyn Cline) and her rich fiancé Teddy (Tyriq Withers) and hard luck Stevie (Sarah Pidgeon), who just got out of rehab. Slightly older than their forebearers were during their misadventure, they’re all in their early 20s and launching their adult lives when they repeat the same deadly mistake on the same night, on the same stretch of coastal road in Southport, North Carolina. Danica groans, “It’s called Reaper’s Curve for a reason.”

Director Jennifer Kaytin Robinson’s perky update has a few things going for it, including low expectations. Co-written with former journalist Sam Lansky, this horror throwback just wants to get some giggles at the mall, even cracking a joke about Nicole Kidman’s beloved AMC ad. Robinson, who created MTV’s “Sweet/Vicious” and has helped shepherd a handful of other fluffy amusements, is a promising popcorn wit, deftly ensuring the tone is neither too sober nor too snide. You don’t feel that guilty gobbling her empty calories.

Robinson seems to respect the first film as though she was adapting Proust. Perhaps to people of a certain age who grew up watching it on VHS at slumber parties, it is their madeleine. The script works in as many callbacks as possible: spooky mannequins under plastic sheeting, tacky parade floats with giant fiberglass clams, Hewitt hollering her memorable line: “What are you waiting for?” (And there’s a big cameo that deserves to be a surprise.) The gags feel klutzier when they aim for 21st century humor — say, Hewitt sipping tea from a mug that reads “tears of the patriarchy.”

This latest cast was all born around the time of the ’90s massacre and are oblivious to the murder spree yet to come. Callow Teddy even makes fun of the name on one of the dead kids’ graves: “Barry Cox,” he snorts. Powerful land developers like Teddy’s dad (Billy Campbell) also buried information about the previous attacks. The forces of real estate and the local police department have invested heavily in transforming this blue-collar fishing hamlet into a tony beach resort. Even before bodies get strung up on the pier like sharks, you’re thinking that the writers must have also dug out their VHS tapes of “Jaws.”

Pragmatic, good-hearted Ava is the film’s moral center, the one disgusted enough to realize that she, her friends and Southport’s leadership are all cretins. Chase Sui Wonders has been strong in everything I’ve seen her in — I’m watching her career with curiosity — even if here, she mostly expresses her foul mood by changing her wardrobe from slime green to black. Ava’s ex Milo seems like a role that should amount to more than it does. All there is to know about him is that he’s alleged to work in politics and he and Ava have zero heat.

But we come to love Ava’s BFF Danica, who prances into obvious death traps wearing flimsy silver mules. She’s a walking cupcake — in this genre, a disposable-seeming treat — yet the way Madelyn Cline plays her is fabulous. This bohemian is as shallow as they come, fretting that the stress is giving her alopecia and suggesting her professional empath for guidance. (Danica also has a life coach, an energy healer and a psychic.) With her soft cheeks and tearful, raspy baby voice, it’s shocking how much we get attached to her. Gratefully, Robinson clearly loves her characters too and makes their screen time count rather than treating them like grindhouse fodder, that kind of violent vaudeville where you can’t wait for the hook to drag someone off screaming.

The film’s strongest move is that it encourages us to like (and laugh at) our victims. Nearly all of them — Milo excepted — are interesting, especially a true crime podcaster named Tyler (Gabbriette Bechtel, a scenery-chewing delight) who calls Southport’s cover-up a case of “gentrifi-slay-tion.” When this ghoulish fangirl escorts Ava to a historic murder scene and starts to unbutton her top, you’re convinced that she finds all this bloodshed a turn-on. Another target, played by a fratty Joshua Orpin, tries to bribe the killer with crypto.

Let’s be frank: None of these characters, past or present, would have grown up to be rocket scientists. The original got through its gore scenes with grim brutishness, like it was embarrassed that they had to be done. Written by Kevin Williamson, the talent behind the clever slasher “Scream” and the earnest romance “Dawson’s Creek,” it couldn’t quite capture the best elements of both. Robinson has more fun playing executioner. Each death is given a satisfying buildup; she’s a skilled hook-tease. One muscular kid who’s been pumping up to defend himself lets out an excited war whoop when it’s finally time to fight for his life.

The score, camerawork and editing are simply fine. They’re not trying to pull focus from the dialogue, which is genuinely funny. (My favorite design choice was the clodding sound of the killer’s boots when they come tromping in for the coup de grâce.) But the plotting barely keeps pace. Characters wander away for bizarre stretches of time. Just when I thought things were losing steam, someone got menaced in an actual steam room.

Robinson is more interested in pranking us with psych-outs than sinister scares. She’s under palpable pressure to execute a twist, so several scenes feel like a magician flipping over the wrong card to distract you from the right one tucked in their sleeve. You don’t quite buy the big reveal. Yet quibbling would seem as tweedy as arguing that the film is peddling both nostalgia and anemoia — a longing for an era one never knew firsthand. This recycled trash is no treasure, but I’m betting the majority of this redo’s audience will be young enough to find ’90s-style schlock adorably quaint.

Alan Tudyk was nearly 50 when he scored his first starring role in a TV series as the titular extraterrestrial Harry Vanderspeigle in Syfy’s “Resident Alien.” It’s not that he was underemployed or little known — he’s been celebrated in genre circles since “Firefly,” the 2002 single-season western-themed space opera in which he played the sweet, comical pilot of a spaceship captained by smuggler Mal, played by Nathan Fillion, with whom he has since been linked in the interested public mind, like Hope and Crosby, or Fey and Poehler. His own 2015 web series “Con Man” (currently available on Prime Video), based on his experiences at sci-fi conventions, in which he and Fillion play inverted versions of themselves, was funded by an enormously successful crowd-sourced campaign, which raised $3,156,178 from 46,992 backers; clearly the people love him.

You can’t exactly call “Resident Alien” career-making, given how much Tudyk has worked, going back to onscreen roles in the late 20th century and on stage in New York, but it has made him especially visible over a long period in a marvelous show in a part for which he seems to have been fashioned. He has, indeed, often been invisible, with a parallel career as a voice artist, beginning with small parts in “Ice Age” in 2002; since channeling Ed Wynn for King Candy in Disney’s 2012 “Wreck-It Ralph” (which won him an Annie Award), the studio has used him regularly, like a good luck charm. You can hear him in “Frozen” (Duke of Weselton), “Big Hero 6” (Alistair Krei), “Zootopia” (Duke Weaselton), “Moana” (Hei Hei), “Encanto” (Pico) and “Wish” (Valentino). He played the Joker on “Harley Quinn” and voices Optimus Prime in “Transformers: EarthSpark.” Performing motion capture and voice-over, he was Sonny the emotional android in “I, Robot” and the dry droid K-2SO in both “Rogue One: A Star Wars Story,” and again in “Andor.” (He’s a robot again in the new “Superman” film.) This is a partial, one could even say fractional, list. Among animation and sci-fi fans, being the well-informed sorts they are, Tudyk is known and honored for this body of work as well.

Alan Tudyk at his home in Los Angeles last year. The actor has been in a variety of roles onscreen, on stage and as a voice actor.

(Ethan Benavidez / For The Times)

“Resident Alien,” whose fourth season is underway on Syfy, USA and Peacock (earlier seasons are available on Netflix, which has raised the show’s profile considerably), is a small town comedy with apocalyptic overtones. It sees Tudyk’s alien, whose natural form is of a giant, big-eyed, noseless humanoid with octopus DNA, imperfectly disguised as the new local doctor, whom he kills in the first episode. (We will learn that the doctor was, in fact, an assassin, which makes it sort of … all right?) Learning English from reruns of “Law & Order,” the being now called Harry will preposterously succeed in his masquerade, and in doing so, join a community that will ultimately improve him. (By local standards, at least.) It’s a fish way, way out of water story, with the difference that the fish has been sent to kill all the Earth fish — I am being metaphorical, he isn’t actually out to kill fish — although he is now working to save them from a different, nastier race of alien.

Some actors play their first part and suddenly their name is everywhere; others slide into public consciousness slowly, through a side door — which may lead, after all, to a longer, more varied career. Tudyk has the quality of having arrived, despite having been there all along. Like many actors with a long CV, he might surprise you, turning up on old episodes of “Strangers With Candy,” “Frasier,” “Arrested Development” or “CSI: Crime Scene Investigation,” or repeatedly crying “Cramped!” in a scene from “Patch Adams,” or in the movies “Wonder Boys,” “Dodgeball: A True Underdog Tale” or “3:10 to Yuma.” You might say to yourself, or the person you’re watching with, “Hey, that’s Alan Tudyk.” (You might add, “He hasn’t aged a bit.”) It was “Suburgatory,” an underloved ABC sitcom from 2011, though not underloved by me, where he played the confused best friend of star Jeremy Sisto, that, combined with “Firefly,” cemented Tudyk in my mind as someone I would always be happy to see.

He’s handsome in a pleasant, ordinary way. If he’s not exactly Hollywood’s idea of a leading man, it only points up the limitations of that concept. His eyes are maybe a trifle close set, his lips a little thin. There’s a softness to him that feeds into or productively contrasts with his characters, depending on where they fall on the good-bad or calm-hysterical scales. (In the current season of “Resident Alien,” a shape-shifting giant praying mantis has taken over Harry’s human identity, and this evil twin performance, which somehow fools Harry’s friends, is as frightening as the fact that the mantis eats people’s heads.) It makes his robots relatable and roots his more flamboyant characters, like Mr. Nowhere, the villain in the first season of “Doom Patrol” — who comments on the series from outside the fourth wall, inhabiting a white void where he might be discovered sitting on a toilet and reading a review of the show he’s in — in something like naturalism.

Sara Tomko and Alan Tudyk in a scene from Season 4 of “Resident Alien.”

(USA Network / James Dittiger / USA Network)

As Harry, Tudyk is never really calm. Relaxed neither in voice nor body, he tucks his lips inside his mouth and stretches it into a variety of blobby shapes. The actor can seem to be puppeteering his own expressions, which, in a way Harry is, or splitting the difference between a real person and an animated cartoon, in the Chuck Jones/Tex Avery sense of the term, which is not to say Tudyk overplays; he just hits the right note of exaggeration. Harry often has the air of being impatient to leave a scene and get on with whatever business he’s decided is important.

Though he’s given to explosive bursts of speech, as the character has developed, the humor he plays becomes more subtle and quiet, peppered with muttered comments and sotto voce asides he means to be heard. He is, as he likes to point out, the smartest and most powerful being around, but he has the emotional maturity of a child. At one point, having lost his alien powers, Harry was willing to sacrifice the entirety of his species to get them back.

Where once he had no emotions, now he is full of them. Last season, he was given a romance, with Heather (Edi Patterson), a bird person from outer space, which has continued into the current run; he is also a father, with a great affection — anomalous in his species — for his son, Bridget, an adorably fearsome little green creature. And he loves pie.

And that Tudyk himself seems genuinely nice — there are interviews with him up and down YouTube, and my friend David, who worked on “Firefly,” called him “kind, grateful and curious” — makes him easy to like, however likable a person he’s playing. That possibly shouldn’t matter when assessing an actor’s art, but it does anyway.

Emmerdale’s John Sugden came close to confessing to killing Nate Robinson on Thursday night, and as he struggled it seemed one character was onto his dark crimes

One scene on Emmerdale on Thursday could have shown the moment a character was onto John Sugden amid Nate Robinson’s funeral.

The villain was tasked with reading the eulogy of his murder victim in front of Nate’s family who remain unaware of his dark betrayal. But John very nearly cracked, telling them all: “I’m so sorry,” as he struggled through the words written by Nate’s wife Tracy Robinson.

He commented on the fact the death was tearing them all apart and how it had clearly impacted them, as he began to tremble with the guilt becoming too much. So much so, one character in particular looked pretty suspicious.

Another character also seemed concerned when John said he “couldn’t do this” referring to reading the eulogy. Moira Dingle, Nate’s stepmother, seemed visibly shocked and almost suspicious – as did John’s partner Aaron Dingle.

But it was someone else, sat at the back of the room, who repeatedly pulled faced and looked confused if not suspicious of John’s behaviour. DS Walsh attended the funeral, leaving Tracy unnerved given she had become a suspect in her husband’s demise.

READ MORE: Emmerdale comeback leaves villagers speechless as character returns after five years

But she was not the only one rattled by the detective showing up, now doubt wanting to see if any of the funeral guests slipped up and revealed themselves as the killer. John was seen horrified to see her there, and couldn’t stop looking at her as he gave the speech.

As John got up to talk to the mourners, he started reading Tracy’s words to her late husband. He suddenly stopped unable to carry on, before speaking to everyone about their grief.

With his guilt shining through, it seemed he could confess and crack at any moment. As this was happening, DS Walsh was watching on intrigued.

As John quivered and faced breaking down in tears, she began to change her expression. She was seen squinting and turning her head, almost as if to question what was happening.

She was clearly confused over his behaviour and his sudden emotion for a man he barely knew. So was this the moment Walsh realised John, who she’d interrogated weeks earlier, could be a key suspect?

After all, detectives are supposed to spot these things especially when it comes to body language. So might this be the moment John exposed himself as a killer to the lead detective on the case?

Walsh had spoken with John after Nate’s body had been found, as it became apparent John had been one of the last people, if not the last, to see him alive. John was the one telling everyone Nate had fled for Shetland, so if Walsh cracks onto his guilt and puts the pieces together, it could spell the end for John.

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When Eric Bana is not filming, he’s more than likely riding a motorcycle in a remote part of Australia. He’s been doing it since he was a kid, having grown up in a semi-industrial part of the suburbs of Melbourne on the verge of farmland. Now, it’s his solace on days off.

“It’s a vulnerable feeling, it’s an exciting feeling,” he says on a video call. “You have to be self-sufficient. You have to think worst-case scenario. What happens if I get a flat tire when it’s 120 degrees and there’s no water around? It keeps you awake.”

So when, back in 2019, Bana was given the pilot script for the Netflix limited series “Untamed,” he was immediately attracted. He would play the role of Kyle Turner, an agent in the Investigative Services Branch of the National Park Service in Yosemite — essentially a park detective. It’s a murder mystery yet set against the kind of wilderness that Bana loves.

“I just felt a kinship for Kyle immediately,” he remembers. “I don’t know if it was just like the shared love for the outdoors and how that affects our psyche and our well-being, our sense of self, our emotional journey in life — I just immediately felt very strongly for Kyle.”

In “Untamed,” Eric Bana plays Kyle Turner, an agent in the Investigative Services Branch of the National Park Service. The show is set in Yosemite National Park, though it was filmed British Columbia.

(Ricardo Hubbs / Netflix)

Bana stuck with the project through the COVID pandemic and the Hollywood strikes, allowing the series created by Mark L. Smith of “American Primeval” and daughter Elle Smith to finally hit the streaming service on Thursday. The show finds Bana’s character investigating the death of a young woman who plummets off El Capitan and into two rock climbers. The case unexpectedly connects two other traumatic incidents that have happened in the mountainous wilds — at least one of which directly involves the taciturn Kyle, grieving the death of his young son.

“He exudes that kind of sensitivity and strength at the same time,” Elle Smith says. “It allowed him to just really embody Turner. Because he’s been living in this show for so long, so many years and kept it alive and has remained passionate about it, once we got into production, he was Turner.”

“Untamed” also marks the latest in Bana’s unconventional career that has seen him touch nearly every corner of the Hollywood machine, even though he has always chosen to live in Australia when he’s not working. It never made sense for him to move to Los Angeles when many of his shoots were overseas anyway. When we chat, he’s briefly in town for “Untamed” press.

Though he started his career as a comedian in his home country, he was part of the superhero craze before it was a craze, playing the title role in Ang Lee’s “Hulk,” a movie that’s now undergone a critical reassessment. He’s been a “Star Trek” villain and a Steven Spielberg protagonist in the historical drama “Munich.” (Over the past 12 months, more and more people have been bringing up the role of the Mossad agent tasked to respond to the murder of Israeli athletes at the 1972 Summer Olympics: “With the passing of time, you realize how incredible some of the observations were,” he says.)

Though his career has touched nearly every corner of the Hollywood machine, Eric Bana has continued to live in Australia.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

More recently, he ventured into the world of television, playing the sociopathic John Meehan in the first season of the anthology series “Dirty John.” Bana says he tends not to think about specifically playing characters that contradict his previous work, but he understands that coming off that role probably was one of the reasons he gravitated toward Kyle in “Untamed.”

“There was no doubt that the character of John had a level of toxicity to him that was just so high,” he says, adding, “I realized that Kyle was a warmer character for the audience to follow than John.”

Before he actually got to play Kyle, he started a mini-franchise in Australia with producing partner and director Rob Connolly thanks to “The Dry” and its sequel, in which he plays another investigator reeling from a traumatic past.

For creator Mark Smith, Bana was the ideal person to embody Kyle because of his ability to convey a lot with very little dialogue.

“We felt like he was just so expressive in his eyes and his face,” Mark says. “He can do so much without saying anything, and that was crucial to this guy who really doesn’t want to speak — he doesn’t want to talk to people. He just wants to be kind of off on his own, doing his thing in the wilderness.”

Because Bana got on board early, the Smiths could start writing the rest of the scripts with him in mind. One of Bana’s requests: The more he could be on a horse, the better. In the show, Kyle eschews motor vehicles for a trusty steed, which gives him more access to the less traversed areas of the park. Bana ended up loving his horse.

“I desperately wanted to smuggle him on the plane and take him home,” he says.

Eric Bana and Lily Santiago are often seen on horseback in “Untamed.”

(Netflix)

Mark and Elle Smith conceived of the series after being sent articles about the National Park Service’s Investigative Services Branch. They were not familiar with that world but were nonetheless fascinated by this strange profession that is part FBI agent and part park ranger. Bana had visited Yosemite years ago as a solo tourist but didn’t have the chance to go again before the shoot, which took place in British Columbia.

Still, he spoke to rangers and ISB employees to get a sense of “just how crazy” some of their work can be.

“When you mix drugs, when you mix people coming from all kinds of different backgrounds and having different entitlements to the places that they’re in, it’s really interesting,” he says.

Bana understands from personal experience that the attraction to the outdoors is partially based on the fact that danger is almost always lurking around the corner. In Australia, he adds, “there’s always something trying to get you, whether it be two-legged, four-legged, eight-legged or whatever.”

On the set of “Untamed,” he was incredibly eager to see a bear — and was disappointed when it never happened.

“We had a bear guy on set who was responsible for our and the bears’ safety,” he says. “We had very strict rules around food and all that sort of stuff. I was desperate, desperate to have an encounter with a bear of the positive kind, and I never saw one.”

Elle Smith confirms that most everyone else got to see a bear. “He had really bad bear luck,” she adds.

“We felt like he was just so expressive in his eyes and his face,” says “Untamed” creator Mark L. Smith.

(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)

But even with his lack of bear sightings, Bana’s love of being outside was crucial for the entire production. Mark explains he’s not the kind of star who returns to his trailer, instead pulling up a chair to hang out.

“This was a tough landscape that we were shooting in,” Elle Smith adds. “I think it really helps in terms of tone setting if your movie star is willing to get out on the rock and do the climb. It really helps the crew also feel like they’re able to do the climb.”

Bana was intoxicated by his environment — so much so that he wouldn’t want to go back to the sterility of a soundstage.

“Going to work in a studio after doing something like this — the thought of it is just debilitating creatively,” he says. “There’s something about a camera coming out of a box when the sun rises and going back when the sun goes down. There’s an energy, there’s a cadence to that.”

For his follow-up, he went back into the elements for “Apex,” an upcoming film opposite Charlize Theron, where they play a pair of rock climbers. He says he did intense training in the skill or else he would have looked like a “fool.”

And just like how Bana is willing to let the weather dictate his shooting days, he is also patient with his career. It’s one of the reasons he was willing to wait for “Untamed.”

“I’ve been in this business for a period of time now where I realize you really do have to go with the ebbs and flows and you really do have to pace yourself, but at the same time when you find something that you love you just have to try and protect it,” he says.

It’s something you could also say about the natural world, and Bana hopes that “Untamed,” even with all its dark deeds and buried secrets, encourages audiences to go see for themselves.

“I hope people enjoy the feeling of being in that space, and in a perfect world, feel motivated to go and seek them out,” he says.

He certainly will be.

“Untamed,” a quasi-police drama premiering Thursday on Netflix, is a vacation from most crime shows, set not in a big city or cozy village but in the wilds of Yosemite National Park. (Never mind that the series was shot in British Columbia, which has nothing to apologize for when it comes to dramatic scenery, and whose park rangers are not threatened by draconian budget cuts nor their parks by politicians’ desire to sell off public lands.)

The mountains and valleys, the rivers and brooks, the occasional deer or bear are as much a part of the mise-en-scène as the series’ complicated, yet essentially straightforward heroes and villains. Lacking big themes, it’s not so much meat-and-potatoes television as fish and corn grilled over a camp fire, and on the prestige scale it sits somewhere between “Magnum P.I.” and “True Detective,” leaning toward the former.

Created by Mark L. Smith (“American Primeval”) and Elle Smith (“The Marsh King’s Daughter”) and starring Eric Bana and Sam Neill, Antipodean actors wearing American accents once again, it’s a limited series, though, for a while, it has the quality of a pilot, introducing characters that could profitably be reused — with perhaps a little less of the trauma peeking out at every corner. Of course, if the show becomes a fantabulous success, the Netflix engineers may contrive a way to make it live again; it’s happened before.

“Untamed” starts big. Two climbers are making their way up the face of El Capitan when a woman’s body comes flying over the cliff, gets tangled in their ropes and hangs suspended, dead. She is hanging there still — the climbers have been rescued — when Investigative Services Branch special agent Kyle Turner (Bana) rides in on his horse.

“Here comes f—ing Gary Cooper,” mutters grumbling ranger Bruce Milch (William Smillie) to new ranger Naya Vasquez (Lily Santiago), a former police officer (and single mother, with a threatening ex) newly arrived from Los Angeles. (The horse, says Milch, who regards it as a high horse, gives him “a better angle to look down on us lowly rangers.”) What are the odds on Vasquez becoming Turner’s (junior) partner? And on a difficult relationship developing into a learning curve (“This is not L.A. — things happen different out here”) and turning almost … tender?

More heroically proportioned and handsome than anyone else in the show, a man of the forest with superior tracking skills, Turner is also a mess — a taciturn mess, which also makes him seem stoic — barely holding himself together, drinking too much, living in a cabin in the woods filled with unpacked boxes, undone by the unaddressed family tragedy that broke him and his marriage. (The dark side of stoicism.) Sympathetic remarried ex-wife Jill (Rosemarie DeWitt, keeping it real), who herself is only “as happy as I can be, I guess,” and sympathetic boss Paul Souter (Neill), try to keep him straight.

“You’ve locked yourself away in this park, Kyle,” Souter tells Turner. “It’s not healthy.” Turner, however, prefers “most animals to people — especially my horse.” Nevertheless, he has a couple of friends: Shane Maguire (Wilson Bethel), a wildlife manager — that means he shoots things, so be forewarned — also living in the woods, but without the cabin, is the toxic one; Mato Begay (Trevor Carroll), an Indigenous policeman, the nontoxic one. And he’s sleeping with a concierge at the local nice hotel, just so that element is covered; it’s otherwise beside the point.

If the dialogue often has the flavor of coming off a page rather than out of a character, it gets the job done, and if the characters are essentially static, people don’t change overnight, and consistency is a hallmark of detective fiction. The narrative wisely stays close to Turner and/or Vasquez; there are enough twists and tendrils in the main overlapping plots without running off into less related matters. (Keeping the series to six episodes is also a plus, and something to be encouraged, makers of streaming series. Your critic will thank you for it.) Still, between the hot cases and the cold cases, with their collateral damage; hippie squatters from central casting chanting “Our Earth, our land;” a mysterious gold tattoo, indigenous glyphs and old mines — there is an especially tense scene involving a tight tunnel and rising water — the show stays busy. Though last-minute heavy surprises don’t register emotionally — trauma overload, maybe — you will not be left wanting for answers, or closure.

And you will learn quite a bit about vultures and their dining habits — not what you might think.

Emmy nominations arrived Tuesday morning, and if you made the list, it’s a “White Lotus” Full Moon Party vibe, full of celebratory cheers, toasts with your beverage of choice (it’s still early, maybe some of that Thai Red Bull?) and techno music playing loud enough to have Interpol banging on your door.

And if you didn’t hear your name called, well, you’re feeling like poor Pornchai watching Belinda sail away into the sunset. Or maybe you’re like Saxon, compartmentalizing the whole thing, pretending it never happened. We feel you.

With Emmy submissions down this year, there aren’t as many slots available to salute all the worthy work, leading to some sad omissions — which, for the sake of alliteration and search engine optimization, we’ll call “snubs.” There were also some surprises, some worthy, some about as welcome as one of those poison piña coladas Jason Isaacs blended up in the “White Lotus” finale.

Grab something to eat (maybe an item from the Old School Hollywood buffet table) while we run down the morning’s notables.

SURPRISE: The all-encompassing love for “The White Lotus”

Yes, as you could tell from my intro, the third season of Mike White’s deep dive into miserable white people and fabulous brand collaborations gave us much to discuss, even if discourse was often centered on complaining about the show’s slow pace and dearth of plot. I don’t begrudge some recognition for a series that dominated the pop culture landscape for its two-month run, but nominating seven of its regular cast members reveals a lack of imagination among voters. Pity the poor ensemble member not nominated. I’m not even going to name them and put that FOMO out into the universe.

SNUB: Any actor from “The Pitt” who wasn’t nominated

Conversely, just one nomination for the supporting crew at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center — for Katherine LaNasa as charge nurse Dana Evans — is an act of voter negligence. I get it. There were a lot of interns and residents and nurses working that 15-hour shift. And just about every one of them was a more fully realized character than anyone on “The White Lotus.” Maybe voters had a hard time focusing their attention with so many choices. I’ll console myself with the knowledge that it’ll win the Screen Actors Guild drama ensemble award next year.

SURPRISE: “Paradise” (drama series)

The dystopian drama that asked the question, “Would you want to be trapped in an underground bunker with the likes of these people?” I can’t think of anything more frightening and enough Emmy voters agreed.

SNUB: “The Four Seasons” (comedy series)

You kind of hated these wealthy, entitled boneheads, and not in ways that were intended or even fun.

SURPRISE: Colman Domingo “The Four Seasons” (comedy supporting actor)

Because even if the show is mediocre, it’s impossible to ignore Domingo in any season.

SNUB: Natasha Lyonne, “Poker Face” (comedy actress)
To quote Lyonne’s human lie-detector Charlie Cale, that’s “bulls—.”

SNUB: “The Rehearsal” (comedy series)

How could a show about airline safety produce more laugh-out-loud moments than any other comedy series this year? How could a show so funny, insightful and, yes, occasionally terrifying not be nominated for comedy series? (Also, and not completely unrelated: How could it take this long for the TSA to let us keep our shoes on?)

SNUB: Selena Gomez, “Only Murders in the Building” (comedy actress)

Gomez earned her first Emmy acting nomination last year, but with the category trimmed to five nominees from six, something had to give. Detractors fault her flat, monotone delivery, though if you’re acting opposite Martin Short and Steve Martin, you need to find your own lane. Arguably, Gomez has. Look for that debate to continue next year when the show returns for a fifth season.

SNUB: Kate Hudson, “Running Point” (comedy actress)

The Lakers can’t win anywhere, can they?

SNUB: Bridget Everett, “Somebody Somewhere” (comedy actress)

Somebody, somewhere voted for Everett, so tender and vulnerable and utterly charming on this now-ended HBO series, one that seems destined for a long life of cult appreciation along the lines of “Enlightened,” created by (yes) Mike White.

SURPRISE: Kristen Bell, “Nobody Wants This” (comedy actress)

Not a surprise that’s she’s nominated — everyone watched this show in one sitting. But a surprise that this is her first nomination ever. Well-earned, even if I’m not convinced Adam Brody’s rabbi would throw everything away for her character.

SNUB: Steve Martin, “Only Murders in the Building” (comedy actor)

How do you nominate Martin Short and not Steve Martin? Big always wins over subtle. You have to wonder if voters forgot, or didn’t watch, the show’s last season — it has been awhile — which had Martin carrying the plot’s emotional weight as his character grieved the loss of longtime stunt double and friend, Sazz (played by Jane Lynch).

SNUB: Megan Stalter, “Hacks” (comedy supporting actress)

If her star turn in Lena Dunham’s “Too Much” had dropped during the voting window, Stalter might have secured her first Emmy nomination. Or maybe not. (Dunham is polarizing.) At any rate, Stalter might have two shots next year, provided “Hacks” premieres its next (and last) season in time.

SNUB: Meryl Streep, “Only Murders in the Building” (comedy supporting actress)

Only a “snub” because it’s Streep and she’s nominated for everything.

SNUB: “Your Friends and Neighbors” (limited series)

As the Jon Hamm series went along, it felt more like a Patek Philippe ad than any kind of comment on the empty lives of the wealthy. (Are there not any rich people out there leading fulfilling lives?) By the end of its run, we were checking our watches, and voters didn’t give it the time of day. (Sorry.)

SNUB: “Disclaimer” (limited series)

What a disappointment. Alfonso Cuarón’s highly anticipated seven-chapter psychological thriller premiered at the Venice Film Festival last August, screening four episodes over two nights. It then went to Telluride, Toronto and London. It was an event … until people saw it and were left baffled. How could the filmmaker behind “Children of Men,” “Gravity” and “Y tu mamá también” make something so dull that few people could to finish it?

SNUB: Renée Zellweger, “Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy” (limited series/movie actress)

When “Love Island” defines romantic-comedy for a lot of people, she didn’t stand a chance.