Idea

Tom Stoppard, dead?

Surely, someone has made a hash of the plot. Yes, he was 88, but the Czech-born, British playwright, the true 20th century heir to Oscar Wilde, would never have arranged things so banally.

“A severe blow to Logic” is how a character describes the death of a philosophy professor in Stoppard’s 1972 play “Jumpers.” But then, as this polymath wag continues, “The truth to us philosophers, Mr. Crouch, is always an interim judgment … Unlike mystery novels, life does not guarantee a denouement; and if it came, how would one know whether to believe it?”

Few people were more agnostically alive than Stoppard, who loved the finer things in life and handsomely earned them with his inexhaustible wit. A man of consummate urbanity who lived like a country squire, he was a sportsman (cricket was his game) and a connoisseur of ideas, which he treated with a cricketer’s agility and vigor.

Stoppard announced himself with “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead,” an absurdist lark that views “Hamlet” from the keyhole perspective of two courtiers jockeying for position in the new regime. The influence of Samuel Beckett was unmistakable in the combination of music hall zaniness and existential ruthlessness that characterized the succession of early plays that merged the Theatre of the Absurd with a souped-up version of Shavian farce.

Simple wasn’t Stoppard‘s style. The Fellini-esque profusion of “Jumpers” includes warring philosophy professors, a retired chanteuse and a chorus of acrobats, set within the frame of murder mystery that owes a debt to the gimlet-eyed social satire of Joe Orton. “Travesties,” Stoppard’s 1974 play, is built on the coincidence that James Joyce, Dadaist Tristan Tzara, and Vladimir Lenin all happened to be in Zurich during World War I — a cultural happenstance that paved the way for a dizzying alternative history, in which art faces off against politics. (Art, no surprise, wins.)

Wordplay, aphorisms and bon mots were Stoppard’s signature. Not since “The Importance of Being Earnest,” a play that Stoppard revered the way a mathematician would regard the world’s most elegant proof, has the English stage experienced such high-flying chat. Yet he acquired a reputation as a dandy, a clever humorist and an intellectual showman, distinctly apolitical and seemingly a man of no convictions.

The latter charge he no doubt would have taken as a compliment. He prided himself on having a mind unstained by certainties. But he was aware of the criticism of his work as intellectually brilliant but emotionally brittle. Virtuosity, in language and dramatic structure, was his great strength. But also perhaps his weakness — a weakness for which many lesser writers would no doubt sell their souls.

“Rosencrantz and Guildenstern” and “Travesties were indeed master manipulations of plot and language. They were also breaths of fresh air that won Tony Awards for best play and established Stoppard as a transatlantic force. It would have been perfectly natural for him to continue in this vein, but his writing took a more personal turn in “The Real Thing,” a play about a playwright learning both to write about love and to take in and appreciate its complex reality.

New York Times theater critic Frank Rich called “The Real Thing” “not only Mr. Stoppard’s most moving play, but also the most bracing play that anyone has written about love and marriage in years.” The 1984 Broadway premiere, starring Jeremy Irons and Glenn Close under the direction of Mike Nichols, won Tony Awards for its leads, Nichols’ direction, Christine Baranski’s featured performance and best play. It was Stoppard’s third such honor, and it would not be his last.

But the criticism didn’t end there. (Is it any surprise that in “The Real Inspector Hound,” his 1968 one-act, Stoppard imagined a scenario in which a critic is killed by the play he’s reviewing?) Stoppard’s cleverness, while the source of his fame and prestige, was intimidating to some and off-putting to others. Not everyone goes to the theater to be wowed by verbal pyrotechnics or daredevil plot high jinks. The blinding brilliance of his plays left theatergoers still squinting to see whether his work had much of a heart.

Stoppard ranged freely over a variety of dramatic modes. (It was this ability that made him such a valuable screenwriter and script doctor, earning him not only wealth but also a shared Oscar for the screenplay “Shakespeare in Love.”) But he had no interest in writing character studies. Domestic drama, with its psychological epiphanies and sentimental resolutions, repelled him. But neither was he drawn to the issue-laden work of his more politically minded postwar British playwriting peers, that new breed of dramatist unleashed by John Osborne’s “Look Back in Anger.”

A born entertainer who had no ideology to sell or bourgeois morality to promote, he gravitated to theater as the most exhilarating form of debate. What he called “the felicitous expression of ideas” mattered more to him than academic point-scoring. Language was a theatrical resource that could do more than win arguments.

The comedy of ideas had become self-serious over time. Stoppard was determined to restore its fun without diminishing its substance.

His astonishing erudition encouraged him to tread where few playwrights before him had dared to go. But he was too much of a sensualist to cloister himself in the archives of the British Museum.

When I interviewed Stoppard at San Francisco’s American Conservatory Theater during rehearsals for his play “The Hard Problem,” he told me that he didn’t think he ever spent more than half an hour on research. He did concede, however, “I’ve spent many, many days of my life reading for pleasure in order to inform myself about something.

How else could he have pulled off “The Coast of Utopia,” a three-play creation centered on 19th century Russian intellectuals, romantics and revolutionaries against decades of geopolitical tumult? This marathon epic earned Stoppard his fourth Tony Award for best play.

“Arcadia,” perhaps his crowning achievement, may not be as sprawling but it’s just as intellectually ambitious. It’s also perhaps his most lyrically affecting.

A literary and biographical mystery play set in an English country estate in two different time zones (one in the age of Lord Byron, the other in the era of contemporary academic sleuths), “Arcadia” owes a debt to A.S. Byatt’s “Possession.” (In her mammoth biography “Tom Stoppard: A Life,” Hermione Lee reports that “Byatt has said that Stoppard told her he ‘pinched’ the plot from her.”) But the way Stoppard incorporates mathematical concepts as rarefied as fractal geometry to explore concepts of order and chaos as the characters hypothesize on the patterns of time is Stoppardian through and through.

Stoppard’s late works are his most personal. “Rock ’N’ Roll,” which he dedicated to Vaclav Havel, explores the rebellious, Dionysian force of popular music, an eternal source of inspiration for him, in a play set partly in Prague during the Communist era. “Leopoldstadt,” which won Stoppard his fifth and last Tony for best play, is the work in which the playwright grapples, from an artistic remove, with the history he was late to discover about what happened to his Jewish family during and after the rise of Hitler.

“The Invention of Love” is one of those Stoppard plays that leaves a critic feeling both rapturous and unsatisfied, a paradoxical state but then what can anyone expect from a play that makes the poet, classicist and closet homosexual A.E. Housman a theatrical protagonist?

No play by Stoppard can be fully appreciated in a single theatrical outing. The dramaturgy is too complex, the intelligence too quick-footed and the language too dazzling for instant assessment. My fear is that the plays are too expansive for the diminished scale of dramatic production today. But Stoppard has left theatrical riches that will entice audiences for generations through their intellectual exuberance, preternatural eloquence and omnivorous delight.

Rams defensive end Kobie Turner, a 294-pound man strong enough to carry a piano on his back, can also tap out a tune.

The country saw that Sunday night when, on two occasions, NBC aired video footage of Turner expertly playing a complex version of the “Sunday Night Football” theme song. He learned it by ear, then set up his phone to capture the clip.

The song was written by legendary composer John Williams and originally was called “Wide Receiver,” although NBC never adopted that name.

“He listened to it a couple of times and was able to play it and add his own flair,” NBC coordinating producer Rob Hyland said of Turner, who majored in music theory and composition at University of Richmond.

“I was completely blown away. Kobie has so much talent on the football field and just as much with musical instruments. His nickname, `The Conductor,’ is very fitting.”

Turner had two sacks in the 34-7 trouncing of Tampa Bay. He was instrumental in the Rams assembling their best defensive performance of the year, giving up 70 yards passing and 193 total.

The idea to show Turner’s musical talents was hatched earlier this year, and for “Thursday Night Football” on Amazon Prime. There’s a lot of crossover between those two production crews.

Reid Esocoff, whose father, Drew, directs the Sunday night show, pitched the idea to Prime to have Turner play that song for the Oct. 2 game against San Francisco. The segment got the green light, and Amazon sent the Rams star the sheet music.

“It was like five minutes long,” Turner recalled. “I was like, OK, I’m going to have to rearrange this. There’s like trumpets and strings, and I’m like, ‘I’m only doing piano.’”

Turner did his part, but the video wound up on the cutting-room floor.

Enter NBC, which made the same ask and ensured the Rams it would air the video. This time, Turner didn’t want the sheet music, just a recording of the familiar theme song.

“I picked it up by ear and I rearranged it too,” he said, “Because it was another three-minute-long song.’ I was like, how can I emulate this with just the keys and me in a solo take? It was a lot of fun.”

He nailed it, and the video ran twice, when NBC was going to a commercial and after Turner made a big play.

“Anytime I can learn something new, and anytime I can flex the music muscle it’s a lot of fun,” he said.

After playing the song — on his first take, mind you — Turner paused, then popped up and did a strongman flex in triumph.

Tackled it.

Democrats’ caterwauling this week after a few of their senators caved to end the government shutdown couldn’t completely drown out another noise: the sound of President Trump pinballing dumb “policy” ideas as he flails to respond to voters’ unhappiness that his promised Golden Age is proving golden only for him, his family and his donors.

On social media (of course) and in interviews, the president has been blurting out proposals that are news even to the advisors who should be vetting them first. Rebates of $2,000 for most Americans and pay-downs of federal debt, all from supposed tariff windfalls. (Don’t count on either payoff; more below.) New 50-year mortgages to make home-buying more affordable (not). Docked pay for air traffic controllers who didn’t show up to work during the shutdown, without pay, and $10,000 bonuses for those who did. (He doesn’t have that power; the government isn’t his family business.) Most mind-boggling of all, Trump has resurrected his and Republicans’ long-buried promise to “repeal and replace” Obamacare.

It’s been five years since he promised a healthcare plan “in two weeks.” It’s been a year since he said he had “concepts of a plan” during the 2024 campaign. What he now calls “Trumpcare” (natch) apparently amounts to paying people to buy insurance. Details to come, he says, again.

With all this seat-of-the-pants policymaking, Trump only underscores the policy ignorance that’s been a defining trait since he first ran for office. No other president in memory put out such knee-jerk junk that’s easily discounted and mocked.

In his first term, Trump didn’t learn how to navigate the legislative process, and thus steer well-debated ideas into law. He didn’t want to. Even more in his second term, Trump avoids that deliberative democratic process, preferring rule by fiat and executive order (even if the results don’t outlast your presidency, or they fizzle in court). For Trump, ideas don’t percolate, infused with expertise and data. They pop into his head.

But diktats are not always possible, as the shutdown dramatized when Republicans couldn’t agree with Democrats on the must-pass legislation to keep the government funded.

With Republicans controlling the White House and Congress (and arguably the Supreme Court: see recent decisions siding with the Trump administration to block SNAP benefits), the Democrats were never going to actually win the shutdown showdown — not if winning meant forcing Republicans to agree to extend health insurance tax credits for millions of Americans. Expanding healthcare coverage has never been Republicans’ priority. Tax cuts are, mainly for the wealthy and corporations, and Republicans pocketed that win months ago with Trump’s big, ugly bill, paid for mainly by cuts to Medicaid.

Yet Democrats won something: They shoved the issue of spiraling healthcare costs back onto politics’ center stage, where it joins the broader question of affordability in an economy that doesn’t work for the working class. Drawing attention to the cruel priorities of Trump 2.0 is a big reason that I and many others supported Democrats forcing a shutdown, despite the unlikelihood of a policy “W.” (I did not support the Senate Democrats’ caving just yet, not so soon after Democrats won bigger-than-expected victories in last week’s off-year elections on the strength of their fight for affordability, including health insurance.)

The fight isn’t over. The Senate will debate and vote next month on extending tax credits for Obamacare that otherwise expire at year’s end, making coverage unaffordable for millions of people. Even if the Democrats win that vote — unlikely — the subsidies would be DOA in the House, a MAGA stronghold. What’s not dead, however, is the issue of rising insurance premiums for all Americans. It’s teed up for the midterm election campaigns.

Such pocketbook issues have thrown Trump on the defensive. The result is his string of politically tone-deaf remarks and unvetted, out-of-right-field initiatives.

On Monday night, having invited Fox News host Laura Ingraham into the White House for an interview and a tour of his gilt-and-marble renovations, he pooh-poohed her question about Americans’ anxiety about the costs of living with this unpolitic rejoinder: “More than anything else, it’s a con job by the Democrats.” When Ingraham, to her credit, reminded Trump that he’d slammed President Biden for “saying things were great, and things weren’t great,” Trump stood his shaky ground, sniping: “Polls are fake. We have the greatest economy we’ve ever had.” (False.)

On Saturday, Trump had posted that Republicans should take money “from the BIG, BAD Insurance Companies, give it to the people, and terminate” Obamacare. He told Ingraham, “Call it Trumpcare … anything but Obamacare.” Healthcare industry experts pounced: Such direct payments could allow younger, healthy people to get cheaper, no-frills coverage, but would leave the insurance pools with disproportionately more ailing people and, in turn, higher costs.

As for Trump’s promised $2,000 rebates and reductions in the $37 trillion federal debt, he posted early Sunday and again on Monday that “trillions of dollars” from tariffs would make both things possible soon. On Tuesday night, he sent a fundraising email: “Would you take a TARIFF rebate check signed by yours truly?”

Maybe if he’d talked to Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent, who professed ignorance about the idea on ABC News’ “This Week” on Sunday, Trump would have learned that tariffs in the past year raised not trillions but $195 billion, significantly less than $2,000 rebates would cost. Not only would there be nothing to put toward the debt, but rebates would add $6 trillion in red ink over 10 years. That would put Trump just $2 trillion short of the amount of debt he added in his first term.

When Ingraham asked where he’d get the money to pay bonuses to air traffic controllers, Trump was quick with a nonanswer: “I don’t know. I’ll get it from someplace.” And when she told him the 50-year mortgage idea “has enraged your MAGA friends,” given the potential windfall of interest payment for banks, Trump was equally dismissive: “It’s not even a big deal.”

Not a big deal: That’s policymaking, Trump-style.

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It was going to make California count, make it a contender after decades spent watching all those other pipsqueak states decide who among the legions of presidential candidates got to move into the Oval Office.

When California legislators–and Gov. Pete Wilson–agreed two years ago to move the state’s 1996 presidential primary forward from June to March, you could almost hear the silent chortles: Take that, New Hampshire! Back to the farm, Iowa!

And now that the state’s early presidential primary is a mere six months away, the nation’s most delegate-rich state can witness the result:

Nothing.

Sure, the candidates still plumb the state for money, just as they did in the old days. But apart from President Clinton’s trips, there are precious few actual campaign visits and little attention given to the issues peculiar to California. Even Wilson spent more than twice as much time out of state last month than he did tending to matters in Sacramento.

Some candidates still believe that California could ultimately play a big role in selecting the Republican nominee, even given the current dearth of activity. The state, after all, controls about 16%–or 163 of the 991–delegates needed to win the Republican nomination.

Scenarios abound, with California either putting a runaway victor over the top or deciding between two strong candidates. Then again, it could also add to a muddle of results that would force the nomination to be decided weeks later.

“California is going to play a significant role,” said Mark Helmke, communications director for Indiana Sen. Richard Lugar, who announced his candidacy in April. “It’s just that none of us could speculate on what that role is.”

Others in the perennially optimistic corps of campaign activists insist that California won’t matter because the front-runner (their candidate, of course) will have it all sewn up beforehand.

“The problem is that California is too late. This thing is going to end in the industrial Midwest,” said Mike Murphy, a senior aide in the campaign of former Tennessee Gov. Lamar Alexander. Murphy was referring to a ring of primaries to be held the week before California’s.

This underwhelming outcome was utterly predictable, according to campaign seers. And there are both logical and logistic reasons.

California moved its primary up, but only to March 26, six weeks after the campaign-opening Iowa caucuses. Not eager to be left in the dust, a host of other states began to clamor.

New York, with the third-largest delegate pool, moved from early April to early March. Pennsylvania and Ohio moved from late spring to March 19, where they will join Illinois, Michigan and Wisconsin in the massive Rust Belt regional primary.

The New England states of Connecticut, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Vermont and Maine similarly coalesced into a Yankee primary on March 5–three weeks before California’s primary.

All the movement left California in 32nd place in the 1996 campaign chronology, only slightly better positioned than if it had left the primary in June.

“We were dead last, along with New Jersey and a few other states,” said state Sen. Jim Costa (D-Fresno), who lobbied for an early primary for 14 long years. “We’re better off than we were then. We’re just not significantly better off.”

Because the early primary is a one-year experiment, legislators will have to take up its fate after next year. Costa said that he may propose moving it up even further for the 2000 election.

The state senator initially wanted to set this year’s primary for March 5, which would have made California the first big state on the election calendar. But he compromised with others in the Legislature, who argued that the state is so big that it would swallow up all but the richest candidates. Give the poorer candidates a chance to make their mark in earlier, smaller states, the argument went, and then their momentum could offset their lack of funds in California.

The upshot is this: Candidates are still cozying up to Iowa, whose caucuses are scheduled for Feb. 12, and New Hampshire, whose first-in-the-nation primary will be held eight days later.

They are patting backs and kissing babies in South Carolina, whose primary will be held March 2, on the grounds that it will serve either as a fire wall to block a surging campaign or will redouble the momentum of an earlier winner.

They are courting voters elsewhere in the South, where the Super Tuesday primary will be held March 12 and where voters will decide the fates of at least two of their own, Texas’ Phil Gramm and Tennessee’s Alexander.

All of this makes compelling strategic sense.

“The first focus has to be the first caucus and primaries,” said Charles Robbins, a spokesman for Pennsylvania Sen. Arlen Specter. “They come first and if you don’t perform, you’re out of the game.”

Put another way, it would be political malpractice for a candidate to hang out in California when his time is better spent in the earlier states. Compounding matters is California’s status as a winner-take-all primary. That means a candidate who put all his marbles into the state and pulled, say, 48% of the vote would walk away without a delegate. Many other states dispense their delegates proportionally.

“No candidate is going to make a serious commitment to resources in a March primary simply because there’s no guarantee you’re going to get that far,” said an adviser to one of the campaigns. “It’s a huge gamble to put up that money and risk walking away with nothing.”

Another hindrance to actively campaigning in California is the fact that the state is so far from Washington, where no less than six of the nine Republican candidates are based.

One recent Thursday, for example, Specter jetted from Washington to Boston, held two campaign events and was back in the Capitol for Senate business by lunchtime.

“You can’t do that to California,” said his aide Robbins. “Just because of the geography, all the way on the other side of the country, it’s a real project.”

While the Republican candidates have not spent much time in California, their campaigns are starting to lay the foundations of an effort here.

Wilson’s campaign is rebuilding his longstanding organization, despite prominent defections to other camps and surveys that show the governor losing the state to front-runner Bob Dole of Kansas.

Besides having the only full-fledged campaign office in the state, Wilson’s operation has staffers specifically working to buoy his standing here, said spokesman Dan Schnur.

“For all their talk, none of the other campaigns are putting any time or energy into California at all,” he said. “They file in and out for fund-raisers, but beyond that there’s no indication of any serious organizational effort on the part of any of them.”

Wilson does have a leg up, but his opponents argue that his campaign may have folded by late March or, even if he stays in the race, they may be able to build enthusiasm here from the momentum of earlier victories.

Gramm has made the biggest splash, garnering the support of Republican legislative leaders Curt Pringle and Rob Hurtt, both of Orange County, and a host of activists. U.S. Rep. Christopher Cox of Newport Beach, who is heading Gramm’s California campaign, said the effort so far is a “very well-organized, low dollar” effort.

It will remain entirely a volunteer effort through the end of the year, he said.

“When you’re running statewide in California, it’s important to have money when it counts, not lavishly throw it around months in advance,” Cox said.

Dole has been here infrequently, but has tried to make a big splash when he has come. He salted one Los Angeles fund-raising trip with a high-profile assault on the entertainment industry.

Overall, the Dole campaign said, it has raised $1.5 million in its visits to California.

“Some analysts are suggesting that it will all be over before California,” said Dole spokesman Nelson Warfield. “Our attitude is that we are contesting every state very vigorously. We’re proceeding on the assumption that it is up for grabs.”

Former television commentator Patrick J. Buchanan has made three multi-day fund-raising trips to California since March–the same time frame in which he has visited Iowa 11 times and New Hampshire eight times. His aides say they are putting together networks of volunteers who will fan out in support of Buchanan.

Lugar and Alexander have raised money in California, and Lugar aides said they had particular luck with a direct mail drive that touted his proposal to abolish the Internal Revenue Service and replace income taxes with a national sales tax. Like the latter two, Specter has had a low profile here.

At some point, the Republican nominee will begin fighting the general election war here–one that President Clinton is already waging. Mindful that he needs to win the state in order to be reelected, Clinton has visited California 19 times in less than three years, more than any other state.

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A mutant killer baby. Lampshades and pickle jars that come alive. Sinister sewers. A demonic clown that preys on children.

HBO Max’s “It: Welcome to Derry,” the latest adaptation of Stephen King’s epic 1986 novel about a deadly clown named Pennywise, has already scared up a lot of buzz since its Oct. 26 premiere with its mix of evil events and nightmarish images.

The first episode featuring Robert Preston warning “Ya Got Trouble” via the classic musical “The Music Man” is an ominous introduction to the subsequent terrors. Gruesome sequences revolving around birth in the first two episodes will likely make several viewers cover their eyes. (The second episode drops Friday on HBO Max in time for Halloween, and it will air in its usual 9 p.m. PT Sunday slot on HBO.)

A prequel to 2017’s “It” and 2019’s “It: Chapter Two” — both directed by Andy Muschietti — the new drama is set in 1962 in the fictional small town of Derry, Maine. Bill Skarsgård, who played Pennywise in the films, will reprise his role during the season.

The large ensemble of child actors and adults features several Black characters, including Air Force Maj. Leroy Hanlon (Jovan Adepo); his wife Charlotte (Taylour Paige), a civil rights activist in a Jackie Kennedy pillbox hat; and son Will (Blake Cameron James). Also featured is Hank Grogan (Stephen Rider), the town’s theater projectionist, and his teen daughter Ronnie (Amanda Christine).

Developed by Muschietti, his sister Barbara Muschietti and Jason Fuchs, the creators have prioritized increasing the intensity of the films. But the Muschietti siblings add that they are also incorporating certain messages into the mayhem. Many of the Black characters face bigotry and resistance in the predominantly white town that echo challenges that people of color currently face.

“Stephen is a master of weaving these issues into his stories, and it’s impossible to think of doing one of his stories without having that texture front and center,” Barbara Muschietti said.

The Muschiettis, in a video call, discussed diving deeper into the story of Pennywise, getting their young cast to act like kids from the 1960s, and what gives them nightmares. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Siblings Barbara Muschietti and Andy Muschietti on the set of HBO’s “It: Welcome to Derry.”

(Brooke Palmer / HBO)

How soon after the two “It” movies did the idea of a deeper dive into the world of Pennywise come about?

Andy Muschietti: The novel was the inspiration. There are all these enigmas still lingering, enigmas intentionally left unresolved in the book. Part of the greatness of the novel is that you finish 1,200 pages and at the end, you still have no idea what “It” is and what it wants. It’s all speculation. We had conversations with Bill about how great it would be to do an origin story of Bob Gray, this cryptic character, and give him the opportunity to play the human side, the man behind the clown. It’s about completing the puzzle and uniting the stories that lead one to another, creating a story with the final purpose of getting to this conclusive event, which is the creation of Pennywise, the incarnation of evil.

Barbara Muschietti: Once the idea start percolating, we got in touch with Mr. King and he loved the idea. At the beginning of the pandemic we went to (then-Warner Bros. TV chief) Peter Roth. He bought it in the room and we’ve been on it ever since. Not a day of rest.

“The Music Man” plays a prominent role in the first episode, and it gets dark pretty quickly. I’m a huge fan of that movie, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at that joyful musical the same way again.

Andy Muschietti: I actually wanted us to create a musical ourselves that would pretend to be a movie from 1962. But we would have spent so much money and energy. So we started a quest for the right musical. “The Music Man” was made by Warner Bros. in 1962, and it’s about someone coming to a small town not unlike Derry, talking about trouble, trouble. And it just seemed to fit.

Barbara Muschietti: We also hope a lot of younger people will be curious and go see “The Music Man.”

What is the superpower of “It” that makes it a story that keeps giving and giving?

Andy Muschietti: There are a lot of things people connect to. One of them is childhood. Most of us cherish those years as being full of magic and imagination. We’ve all been children and we’ve all been afraid of something. The novel is a testament to the virtues of childhood, and those virtues normally disappear when you become an adult. Arguably the adults are always the enemy in the world of ‘It.’”

Apart from the clown, there’s a whole mythology that has yet to be connected. My purpose in this series is to reveal the iceberg under the water.

Black characters, including Hank (Stephen Rider), Ronnie (Amanda Christine), Leroy (Jovan Adepo) and Charlotte (Taylour Paige) play central roles in HBO’s “It: Welcome to Derry.” (Brooke Palmer / HBO)

You could not have planned the timing of the show coming on, but it seems like the topical issues addressed in this show, like bigotry, have a relevance to what’s going on in the country today.

Andy Muschietti: What’s going on is not new. It’s just found a new expression. It has been going on and on in cycles. We have this illusion that things are good, but around the corner is another dictator trying to come. We came from Argentina, and we don’t have the kind of racial tension that America has had for hundreds of years. Most of Stephen’s books are a song to empathy in general, and denouncing injustice everywhere. It is important to show, especially in an era where some people in the country are trying to delete history.

Barbara Muschietti: Sadly, these horrors keep haunting us, and racism, antisemitism, Islamophobia is still sadly a human condition, needing to find someone below you that you can punch. Yes, our history makes us a little more sensitive. We live in the United States, it’s a country we love, but it is surprising …

Andy Muschietti: Alarming.

Barbara Muschietti: … that more people are not more concerned.

Andy Muschietti: It’s the fog that Stephen King was talking about. People, basically out of fear, look the other way, trying to suppress things they see, and forget. It’s all part of the same reflection.

It’s immediately obvious that some horrific things will be happening in this show, even more so than the films. The imagery is really nightmarish.

Andy Muschietti: Being a shape-shifter is the thing which keeps giving and giving, and there was a clear intention for us to raise the volume of intensity. You need to meet the expectations of the audience — they don’t want to see more of the same. And we are also dealing with a different time when the collective fears were different because of the social and political situation of that era — the Cold War, the Cuban Missile Crisis — was just around the corner. Then there’s social unrest and segregation.

Barbara Muschietti: I’d like to say it’s all very cathartic. We’re very nice people. I swear.

A demon baby birthed in Episode 1 is among the monsters seen in “Welcome to Derry.”

(HBO)

The show also has a great feel and look to it when it comes to depicting the 1960s.

Andy Muschietti: There was a lot of instinctive respect and attention to accuracy, aesthetically and spiritually. It was the true work of a team in every department, the same folks who had worked on the movies. There was also the research from the writers.

Most of the cast members are kids who did not live in that era. How do you communicate that era and feel to a young cast?

Andy Muschietti: There is a lot of talking. Stephen King knows a lot about this because he was a kid in the 1950s. The book is so rich in detail. We have Ben Perkins, who is a child actor coach. And there is imagination. These kids like to play and at this age, they thrive when you don’t put a lot of restrictions on them. The only thing that went overboard was the cursing.

Barbara Muschietti: That’s one thing that Stephen came back to us with. “There’s too many f—.” We also send the kids with Ben who basically sets up a camp — a bicycle riding camp, a swimming camp, stuff like that which kids in 2024 did not have access to. We’ve been doing that since 2016 very successfully. Because of all of this, all these kids have an incredible bond. They’re friends for life. They get to say goodbye to adolescence on our sets in the most beautiful way.

How long will you keep expanding the ”It” universe?

Andy Muschietti: It’s Derry, Derry, Derry all day. “Welcome” is an arc that expands over three seasons. Why is “It’” Derry, and why is Derry “It”? We will eventually reveal a bigger story revolving around the existence of Pennywise.

I have to ask — what gives you two nightmares? What is scary to you?

Barbara Muschietti: Fascism. Guns.

Andy Muschietti: Violence in general. We’ve come so far as a civilization, and it seems like we haven’t learned anything. What happened to empathy, and seeing what makes us similar, instead of things that divide us?

Barbara Muschietti: And love and respect.