review

Without a doubt, it is important to capture the reflections of a vice president who found herself in an unprecedented situation after the president was pressured to withdraw from the 2024 election. And “107 Days,” a taut, often eye-opening account — written with the help of Geraldine Brooks — takes you inside the rooms where it happened, as well as what led up to Kamala Harris’ remarkable run.

For one, apparently MSNBC’s Lawrence O’Donnell first gave Harris the idea she should seek the presidency in 2020. Harris and her husband, Doug Emhoff, were having breakfast at a restaurant near their Brentwood home when O’Donnell “wandered up to our table to talk about the dire consequences of a second Trump term.” Harris, then in her first term as a U.S. senator, recounts that O’Donnell bluntly suggested: “‘You should run for president.’ I honestly had not thought about it until that moment,” she writes in “107 Days.”

Later, Harris also reveals that Tim Walz was not her first choice for running mate: Pete Buttigieg was, though she ultimately concluded the country wasn’t ready for a gay man in the role.

“We were already asking a lot of America: to accept a woman, a Black woman, a Black woman married to a Jewish man,” she writes. She assumes Buttigieg felt similarly, but they never discussed it.

We do not glean much more than we already knew or assumed about President Biden’s life-changing 2024 phone call that set Harris on this path. Pleas for Biden to step aside had been building following his disastrous debate performance less than five months before the election, but by that time Harris had given up on the idea that he would withdraw from the race. But on Sunday, July 21, Harris had just finished making pancakes for her grandnieces at the vice president’s residence and was settling in to watch a cooking show with them when “No Caller ID” came up on her secure phone.

“I need to talk to you,” Biden rasps, then battling COVID-19. Without fanfare, he told her: “I’ve decided I’m dropping out.” “Are you sure?” Harris replies, to which Biden responds: “I’m sure. I’m going to announce in a few minutes.” In italics, we are made privy to what Harris is thinking during their brief phone call: “Really?” Give me a bit more time. The whole world is about to change. I’m here in sweatpants.”

If we wanted in on the powerful feelings that must have been swirling within each of them during such an exchange, or a nod to the momentousness of the moment — no dice. The conversation shifted to the timing of Biden’s endorsement of Harris, which Biden’s staff wanted to delay and which she wanted immediately. Politics, not sentiment, reigned.

The Atlantic book excerpt published earlier this month, it turns out, accurately represents the overall tone of “107 Days.” A thread running throughout is one of bitterness toward Biden’s inner circle, whom Harris felt had been poisoning the well since she first took office: “The public statements, the whispering campaigns, and the speculation had done a world of damage,” she recounts, and perhaps laid the groundwork for her defeat. While she had a warm relationship with the president himself, Harris believes she was never trusted by the first lady or the president’s closest advisors, nor did they throw their full weight behind her as the Democratic nominee.

At the same time, she never doubted that she was the right person for the job. She writes, “I knew I was the candidate in the strongest position to win. … The most qualified and ready. The highest name recognition.” She also calculates that the president and his team thought she was the least bad option to replace him because “I was the only person who would preserve his legacy.” “At this point,” she adds, “anyone else was bound to throw him — and all the good he had achieved — right under the bus.”

For those who are cynical about politics, “107 Days” will not alter your view. After Biden announces his withdrawal, First Lady Jill Biden welcomes Second Gentleman Emhoff into the fray, advising: “Be careful what you wish for. You’re about to see how horrible the world is.” Her senior adviser David Plouffe encourages Harris to distance herself from the president on the campaign trail, because “People hate Joe Biden.” Again and again, Harris provides examples of being left out of the loop or not robustly supported by his inner circle. She writes that her feelings for the president “were grounded in warmth and loyalty” but had become “more complicated over time.” She claims never to have doubted Biden’s competence, even while she worried about how he appeared to the public.

“On his worst day,” she writes, “he was more deeply knowledgeable, more capable of exercising judgment, and far more compassionate than Donald Trump at his best.” Still, his decision about seeking a second term shouldn’t “have been left to an individual’s ego, an individual’s ambition,” she concludes in an observation that grabbed headlines upon its publication in the Atlantic excerpt.

The exhilaration that Harris’ campaign frequently exuded in those early rallies is summarized here, but those accounts don’t capture the joy. Some of the details she chooses to highlight tamp down the excitement. For example, at their first rally together after picking Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz to be her running mate, Walz, Harris and their families greet an audience of 10,000 people in Philadelphia. Though Harris writes, “We rode the high of the crowd that night,” she also notes, “When Tim clasped my hand to thrust it high in an enthusiastic victory gesture, he was so tall that the entire front of my jacket rose up.” She makes “a mental note to tell him: From now on, when we do that, you gotta bend your elbow.”

The Kamala Harris I saw on the campaign trail and enthusiastically voted for is often in evidence on the page. She is smart, savvy, funny and tough. As in many of her stump speeches and media interviews, she tends to recite her accomplishments as if reading from a resume, which sometimes reads as defensive. But she is also indefatigable: She believes that she must win to save democracy, yet she seems to shoulder that formidable burden without breaking a sweat.

“107 Days” does an excellent job of conveying the difficulty of seeking — and occupying — high office, and suggests that if she’d won, Harris’ resilience and ambition would have served her well as the leader of the free world. Many of her insights are astute, though occasionally tinged with rancor. She does accept responsibility for certain missteps, such as when she was asked on “The View” if she would have done anything differently than Biden had she been in charge. She reflects that her response — “There is nothing that comes to mind” — landed as if she’d “pulled the pin on a hand grenade.” But she doesn’t attribute her eventual loss to that or any other miscalculation: She simply needed more time to make her case.

I craved a soaring moment, a rallying cry. I didn’t find hope or inspiration within these pages — the book felt more like an obligatory postmortem with an already established conclusion. If an aim of this memoir was to rally the troops for a Harris run in 2028, “107 Days” falls short of lighting a fire. The brilliant, charismatic woman who came close to breaking the ultimate glass ceiling has given us an essential portrait of an unforgettable turning point in her journey, but “107 Days” is mainly absent the perspective and blueprint for going forward that so many of us hunger for. A few years out, that wisdom may come.

Haber is a writer, editor and publishing strategist. She was director of Oprah’s Book Club and books editor for O, the Oprah Magazine.

Insolent schoolkids and educators with the stamina and sensitivity to reach them is a sentimental formula so familiar, it could stand a pantsing in the hallway between classes.

Which makes it a good thing that “Steve,” starring Cillian Murphy as a dedicated, troubled head teacher at a struggling reform school for chaos-inclined teenage boys, brings a raucously corrective attitude to bear.

Teachers are sorely undervalued in this world, and a more thorny, realistic view of the profession’s challenges has made its way into the culture of late, between the Oscar-nominated German film “The Teachers’ Lounge,” Hirokazu Kore-ada’s “Monster” and Netflix’s Emmys-gobbling hit “Adolescence.” And while “Steve,” which takes place over a day, is ultimately too messy itself to measure up to those more tightly coiled efforts, its energy makes a statement, as if the legacy of the late, system-smashing British director Alan Clarke were close at hand.

“Steve” marks the second feature collaboration between Murphy and Belgian director Tim Mielants, following their excellent 2024 adaptation of Claire Keegan’s story “Small Things Like These.” This one, too, derives from a book — “Shy” by Max Porter. In adapting his own work, Porter shifts focus from his novella’s title adolescent, a disturbed soul in mid-tumble, who in the film is still a central figure (vividly rendered by Jay Lycurgo), to the teacher character for whom the movie is named, which the Oscar-winning Murphy turns into another immersive portrayal of dark-hued, guilt-flecked intensity.

Steve’s compassion is the beating heart of Stanton Wood, a privately bankrolled school in an old manor in the English countryside, whose core staff — including Steve’s plain-talking deputy, Amanda (Tracey Ullman), and unflappable therapist Jenny (Emily Watson) — are committed to its last-chance ethos of pulling unhappy delinquents from the brink. But this is Britain in 1996 and these hot-headed young men (played by a lively mix of first-timers and experienced actors) prefer the numbing tempo of drum and bass or a well-timed punch or thrown object.

Stopping fights is a full-time a job, and Steve’s chummy de-escalation style attests to how much he cares. But on top of the day’s regular behavior management, there’s also a prying documentary crew, a visit from a local MP (a perfectly pompous Roger Allam) that goes south and what turns out to be a bad-news report from the school’s wealthy backers. When Steve explodes on them, one senses his volatile students have been teaching him something too.

And yet “Steve,” sincere in its hardcore concern, believably acted, is too scattered and schematically plotted to fully pull us into the emotional toll and scruffy joys of this work. Its social realist roots are kept from growing the more it relies on visual/sonic turbulence (hallucinatory images, a flashy drone shot) and narrative shorthands (the overdone documentary framing).

But when “Steve” zeroes in on its characters — Shy on a disturbing call with his fed-up mum, Steve fighting his own demons or in the zone — the movie captures the electric hum of unpredictability and vulnerability. At its best, we understand why these people want to keep the lights on in a dark, unforgiving world.

Disasters are real — also, these days, frighteningly common, be they epic confluences of nature and negligence or the murderous and preventable kind. And when it comes to disaster movies, it’s hard to know what the acceptable level of exploitation is.

Of course, director Paul Greengrass could never be confused with the unseriousness of producer Irwin Allen (“The Towering Inferno”) or filmmaker Roland Emmerich (“The Day After Tomorrow”), ringmasters who preferred heaping helpings of A-listers on slick, expensive calamities. Rather, when Greengrass, coming from documentaries, tackles dark days of mass casualty, they tend to be true stories like “United 93” and “Bloody Sunday.” His stripped-down, jagged style, absent marquee names and focused on such issues as terrorism and community, brings intelligent urgency to the unfathomable.

With his new film “The Lost Bus,” however, starring Matthew McConaughey and America Ferrera, about the real-life effort to save a busload of schoolchildren from the 2018 Camp fire, a wildfire that would destroy most of Paradise, Calif., Greengrass is trying to merge the two sensibilities. This time he mixes star heroism with you-are-there spectacle and the results can be galvanizing if awkwardly framed.

“The Lost Bus” is not as potent as Greengrass’ “Captain Phillips,” in which Tom Hanks anchored a re-created reality no less pulse-pounding than any action blockbuster. Instead the director seems to be in a programmatic mode. There are scenes of nerve-jangling terror that weld you to your seat, but they’re sandwiched in between a lot that feels very much sculpted for three-act character arc effect by Greengrass and co-writer Brad Ingelsby.

McConaughey plays Paradise bus driver Kevin McKay, whose life is almost comically scripted to come off as especially challenged before one lick of flame gets near it: strapped for cash, dying dog, recently dead father (no love lost), sullen teenage son (love lost), ex-wife (also unhappy) and a memory-ailing mother. But on the afternoon of Nov. 18 as the fires reach eastern Paradise, Kevin’s is the only bus that can meet a request from his dispatcher (Ashlie Atkinson): Pick up stranded elementary schoolkids and evacuate them to safety.

A failed dad feeling the weight of sudden responsibility, Kevin corrals as co-chaperone a schoolteacher (America Ferrera). Though Mary is a mother eager to get to her own child, she’s willing to help. The occasional cut to Yul Vazquez as the fire chief spearheading rescue efforts, however, is this movie’s barometer of increasingly bad news. As smoke quickly darkens the day and the unstoppable, town-hopping fire hems in the bus, cutting off routes, the journey takes a dystopian turn, raising the stakes and alarm levels to unimaginable heights. (Eaton and Palisades survivors, fair warning — you were never going to watch this anyway.)

McConaughey is solid casting, his unshowy working-class fortitude slightly tinged with fear. In his and Ferrera’s sturdy presence and in the serrated frenzy of Greengrass’ editing style, a shorter, tighter “The Lost Bus” would still hold plenty of dread and dramatic resilience. The fire sequences alone, captured in the hellish fuzz of Pål Ulvik Rokseth’s cinematography, are pinnacles of this practical-meets-digital-effects discipline. But Kevin’s dippy redemption arc, doled out midperil in tortured glances and forced dialogue, drags us out of the intensity.

It’s also odd that the activist-minded Greengrass didn’t do more with so corporate a villain: legally responsible utility PG&E, represented in the movie by an ineffectual suit who is briefly yelled at. Forget that redemption story — Greengrass could have leaned even more into those action tropes and, as a final touch, had McConaughey punch PG&E in the jaw.

Far be it from me to tell anyone how to direct their career, but can I just say how glad I am to learn that Jason Bateman, who spent four seasons in the darkness of “Ozark,” is making a comedy again. (A “dark comedy,” but still.) That’s not the series he’s starring in at the moment for Netflix, however, but something called “DTF St. Louis,” for HBO, from “Patriot” creator Steve Conrad, which isn’t arriving until next year. Fingers crossed, we’ll all be around to see it.

In the eight-episode miniseries “Black Rabbit,” which premieres Thursday, Bateman and Jude Law play brothers Vince and Jake Friedkin, respectively, who long before the story begins were partners in a rock band, the Black Rabbits — successful enough that Vince is recognized in a bar (but not so successful that the fans can remember his name, or the name of the band). More recently, they had been partners in a far downtown Manhattan restaurant, also called Black Rabbit, though Vince’s level of current participation is muddy. (At one time, he ran the upstairs bar.) It isn’t a comedy, in spite of Vince’s Michael Bluth-like habit of dropping ironic quips into stressful situations.

The setting brings to mind “The Bear” — which is a comedy — as does its young genius chef, Roxie (Amaka Okafor); the New York Times is planning a review and New York magazine is putting her on the cover. We see that the restaurant, which has a VIP floor upstairs for horrible rich jerks, is a hit because the place is packed, and because there’s a lot of shouting in the barely pictured kitchen, but food, barely shown or talked about, is not really on the menu here. Jake is more interested in property and expansion — he has an inside track to lease the Pool Room, a real-life space in New York’s fabled Four Seasons Hotel, and he wants Roxie to run the kitchen and Estelle (Cleopatra Coleman), who is in a relationship with his old friend Wes (Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù) — now a mega successful musician, a co-owner of the Black Rabbit and a jealous guy — to design it. From camera angles and cutting, it’s clear that Vince and Estelle are attracted to one another, but as Law and Coleman have no particular chemistry, it feels more stated than felt. But it’s important.

Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù as Wes, a co-owner of the Black Rabbit, and Amaka Okafor as Roxie, the head chef.

(Netflix)

Vince, meanwhile, is living out west, looking like he’s ready to audition for a late-life Dennis Wilson biopic and trying to sell some valuable old coins. When he’s set up and robbed in his car, he winds up running over one of the thieves — twice. Whether by writerly intention or inattention, this will be no more of an emotional issue for Vince than it will have anything to do with the rest of the story, apart from sending him back to NYC, where he is $140,000 in the hole over gambling debts. Whenever he’s not in actual danger (which is a lot of the time), he’s weirdly happy-go-lucky.

Jake has a well-to-do ex-wife, Val (Dagmara Dominczyk), who seems nice, and a son, Hunter (Michael Cash), taking dancing lessons. They all get along fine, though Jake battles that most common of TV paternal ailments, Busy Dad Syndrome. (He does better than most.) Vince has an adult daughter, tattoo artist Gen (Odessa Young), who is not especially glad to see him back in town. Their safety will become a chip in the series’ central business, which sets Vince, and ultimately Jake, against vaguely defined mobster Joe Mancuso (Oscar-winning deaf actor Troy Kotsur, from the film “CODA,” in one of the series’ more layered performances); his sweaty idiot caricature of a wannabe tough guy son, Junior (Forrest Weber); and Junior’s less-than-efficient minder, Babbitt (Chris Coy), who is occasionally sort of likable, albeit one feels bad for sort of liking him. In the small world these characters inhabit, Mancuso was close to the brothers’ dysfunctional family back in Coney Island. But business is business.

Like most every streaming drama nowadays, “Black Rabbit” opens with a flash forward to a more exciting part of the story — here, a robbery and shooting at a crowded party — before dialing back to a calmer chronological beginning. This lets the viewer know that, though there is going to be exposition for a while, things will get crazy eventually. And they very much do, including sexual assault, murder and bad management.

Junior (Forrest Weber), Babbitt (Chris Coy) and Vince (Jason Bateman), who owes them lots of money.

(Netflix)

Jake, chasing his Pool Room dream, has his own money troubles, and the brothers’ needs will clash as one scheme after another to set things right goes wrong and their relationship rockets between heated arguments and brotherly reminiscence. It’s too easy to stop listening to the arguments, which tend to go long and not lead anywhere, but there is some relief (and nice writing) as regards the reminiscence. Still, though later episodes will reveal an early event that might explain something about Vince, it’s not enough to make one care especially what happens to them, except to worry which innocent bystanders, including the Black Rabbit staff, will be hit by shrapnel when things go boom.

A large secondary and sometimes confusing cast comes in and out to propel and complicate matters, but it’s really all about the brothers. As Vince, Bateman — who also directed the first two episodes, efficiently, with “Ozark” co-star Laura Linney helming the second two — leavens an exasperating character with his innate likability. He’s a fine actor, but he’s also Jason Bateman, America’s sweetheart. By contrast, as the tense, excitable Jake, Law doesn’t generate much warmth, or make you believe he’s actually capable of opening a high-class midtown restaurant. (The funky but chic Black Rabbit was Vince’s vision.) That may be the idea, of course. And he does love his brother.

There are only so many ways this story can go, and it does indeed go to one of them, though it’s so likely by the time we get there that it doesn’t deliver much of an emotional charge. An epilogical montage, in a complete tonal turnaround, plays like an homage to the opening of Woody Allen’s “Manhattan,” cut to Rodgers and Hart’s “I’ll Take Manhattan”; its only purpose seems to be to make you less bad than you might have otherwise felt. (Hey, Katz’s Delicatessen!) So … thanks?

Meanwhile — “DTF St. Louis!” See you next year! Knock wood.

“Eureka Day,” a comedy by Jonathan Spector that wades into the debate on vaccine mandates, has only become more explosively topical since its 2018 premiere at Aurora Theatre Company, in Berkeley, Calif.

The play, which is having its Los Angeles premiere at Pasadena Playhouse, seems like it could have been commissioned to skewer this destructive, benighted and completely mortifying anti-science moment. But Spector wrote the work before the COVID-19 pandemic unleashed our political demons and made stupid great again.

“Eureka Day” takes its name from the fictional private elementary school in Berkeley that is the setting for what is both a satire of anti-vaccine culture and a comedy of woke manners. Held in a determinedly cheerful Bay Area classroom (brightly summoned with all the necessary social justice touches by set designer Wilson Chin), the play unfolds as a series of meetings of the school’s executive committee.

Don (Rick Holmes), the head of school, is ostensibly in charge, though his duck-and-cover strategy for dealing with conflict has a way of protracting problems. Four parents, one a newcomer still acclimating to the school’s strenuously progressive rules, are part of the executive brain trust.

The first discussion of the new school year is relatively innocuous though no less testing for being so. Eli (Nate Corddry), a stay-at-home dad who made a fortune at Facebook, has proposed adding “Transracial Adoptee” to a drop-down menu on an admissions form already burgeoning with identity subcategories.

Suzanne (Mia Barron), a mother who has sent so many children through Eureka Day that she has a proprietary attitude about the place, doesn’t think this additional category is necessary. She’s sensitive — self-consciously so — to Eli’s good intentions, but she persuades the group that no changes are necessary at this time.

“Persuades” might be a euphemism. Suzanne has an iron will that she thinly veils with a solicitous smile.

One of the quirks of the executive committee is that it operates by consensus rather than a majority vote. This can lead to some “very long meetings,” Suzanne informs Carina (Cherise Boothe), the new Black lesbian mom who recently moved from Maryland.

Suzanne claims to want everyone to feel “empowered,” though her controlling temperament pokes through her welcoming facade. Meiko (Camille Chen), who knits during meetings with a subtle air of annoyance, has to loudly ask Suzanne to please stop speaking on her behalf.

Cherise Boothe in “Eureka Day” at Pasadena Playhouse.

(Jeff Lorch)

These blind spots, a standard ingredient of comic characters, are particularly glaring in Suzanne’s case. When Carina tells her that she didn’t homeschool her son for kindergarten but sent him to public school, Suzanne is mildly horrified. She also makes the assumption that Carina is not a “full pay” family.

There’s even something passive-aggressive about Suzanne’s show of concern for all viewpoints, a trait that becomes all the more conspicuous after a crisis erupts at the school. A mumps outbreak forces Eureka Day to temporarily close its doors.

Don informs the executive committee that the health department has issued a letter stipulating what parents must do for their child to return to school. The subject isn’t open for debate, but Suzanne is uneasy about how this letter is being “framed.”

She’s an advocate of parental choice when it comes to vaccines, not trusting the experts who have determined that only children who are vaccinated can return to school when there’s a risk of infection. She believes vaccines stand in the way of natural herd immunity.

Mia Barron, left, Rick Holmes, Cherise Boothe, and Camille Chen in “Eureka Day” at Pasadena Playhouse.

(Jeff Lorch)

Meiko is less vociferous in her anti-vaccine stance than Suzanne, but she has her own skepticism about modern medicine and doesn’t want to be told what to do. When her daughter develops mumps, it becomes an emergency for Eli, who’s been having an affair with Meiko. The two arrange their assignations around playdates, and their kids were recently in contact.

Eli, who’s married but in a complicated open relationship situation with his increasingly resentful wife, would rather not have to choose sides in the vaccine mandate debate. But when his son gets sick after spending time with Meiko’s unvaccinated daughter, he finds he can no longer stay on the fence.

The well-programmed comedy hilariously runs its course in the leadership vacuum created by the school’s over-accommodating culture. Don is so worried about seeming to favor one parental faction over another that he allows Suzanne to become the dominant voice in the room.

The production, directed by Teddy Bergman, has a field day with the woke-run-amok ethos of Eureka Day, where kids at the school cheer the other team’s goals at soccer games. But Bergman’s approach is more schematic than Anna D. Shapiro’s Tony-winning Broadway revival.

Perhaps the urgency of the moment calls for a clearer moral stand, but the comedy has lost some nuance. On Broadway, Jessica Hecht made Suzanne seem totally oblivious to her own rage. She really believed that she was seeking consensus, tolerant of all perspectives as long as they didn’t impinge on her beliefs, the origins of which are poignantly related later in the play.

The fury of Barron’s Suzanne is much more on the surface. The humor is more direct — Barron can be very funny — but the debate is less trenchant. Bergman’s production, marred by blasts of jarring folk music between scene transitions, is a little too on the nose.

Boothe’s Carina, by far the strongest performance in the cast, is our rational surrogate in the play — a parent trying to fit in without betraying her intelligence or child’s welfare. I appreciated the way Holmes lets us come to our own conclusions about Don’s go-along-to-get-along style of running the ship.

Meiko is woefully underwritten, and Chen’s performance, while amusing when Meiko erupts, sometimes seems disconnected. Corddry refuses to play a tech industry cliché, but Eli, a bland creep, comes off as unnecessarily vague.

Bergman has trouble locating that sweet spot between jokey exaggeration and multidimensional authenticity. Comedy trades in types, but the cast could have benefited from more fine-tuning.

Perhaps that’s why the funniest scene in the play involves the live chat portion of a virtual meeting that’s organized for Eureka Day parents alarmed about the quarantine situation. Avatars square off against one another in a vaccine debate free-for-all that puts the lie to the school’s “community of respect” motto with uncensored savagery punctuated by missile-like emoticons.

“Eureka Day” will make you laugh, but how much this production will make you think is an open question.

There were two questions the 77th Emmy Awards, held Sunday night at the Peacock Theater in downtown Los Angeles, had to answer, other than who would win what. (It’s an honor just to be nominated.)

One was how the show, a glittery evening devoted to the most popular of popular arts, would play against a world gone mad. The other, not distinct from the first, was how first-time host Nate Bargatze would do.

The ceremony is hosted by a round robin of the major networks, and this year the honor fell to CBS, whose corporate overlord, Paramount, has come to represent capitulation to the Trump administration, settling a baseless lawsuit in what is widely viewed as a payoff to grease the wheels of its merger with Skydance and promising to eliminate its DEI protocols. Executive interference in the news department amid an apparent rightward turn has led to the resignations of “60 Minutes” producer Bill Owens and CBS News President and CEO Wendy McMahon. And there’s the cancellation of Stephen Colbert’s “Late Show,” the timing of which some have found suspicious.

But if your goal was to avoid insulted celebrities, social media outrage or petulant notes from the White House, you could have done no better than to hire Bargatze, a clean, calm, classical, noncontroversial, nonpolitical, very funny, very successful comedian. Bargatze, who has been in comedy since 2002, saw his career explode over the last few years; his appeal is not so much mainstream, which is to say soft-edged, as it is broad — something for everybody.

The show opened quite brilliantly — perhaps confusingly, if you had missed Bargatze’s “Washington’s Dream” sketches on “Saturday Night Live” on which the routine was closely modeled, including the presence of Mikey Day, Bowen Yang and James Austin Johnson — with the host as Philo T. Farnsworth, “the inventor of television,” foreseeing the medium’s less than sensible future. First presenter Stephen Colbert followed immediately to a standing ovation and chants of his name. “While I have your attention, is anyone hiring? I have 200 very qualified candidates with me tonight who will be available in June.”

Emmys host Nate Bargatze, right, and Bowen Yang appear in an opening sketch at the 77th Primetime Emmy Awards at the Peacock Theater in Los Angeles on Sunday.

(Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)

Then the host introduced his much publicized, one would say quintessentially Bargatzean, gimmick. To keep acceptance speeches short, he would donate $100,000 to the Boys & Girls Clubs of America; $1,000 per second would be deducted for anyone going over the allotted 45 seconds. Money would be added to the pot for anyone running short. (J.B. Smoove, a former Boys Club member, was a sort of co-sponsor, in the audience with a young boy and girl.) This efficiency made professional sense, though it had the potential to put a lid on what is usually the most interesting, unruly, moving, unpredictable part of the show. (If anyone had thought for a second, it also spelled trouble: Try talking for what you imagine is 45 seconds. You will be wrong.)

As it happened, the state of the world was addressed, sidelong and directly. Presenter Julianne Nicholson said of living in a post-apocalyptic bunker in “Paradise,” “compared to headlines that’s positively feel-good TV.” Jeff Hiller, winning supporting actor in a comedy series for “Somebody Somewhere,” thanked the Duplass brothers “for writing a show of connection and love in this time when compassion is seen as a weakness.” “Last Week Tonight” senior writer Daniel O’Brien dedicated their second award to “all writers of political comedy while that is still a type of show that is allowed to exist.” And in a generational echo of their “Hacks” characters, fourth-time winner Jean Smart (who has won seven Emmys overall) ended her acceptance speech saying, “Let’s be good to each other, just be good to each other,” while co-star and first-time winner Hannah Einbinder, finished with, “I just want to say: Go Birds, f— ICE, and free Palestine.” Going way over the 45-second limit, she promised to pay the difference on the tote board.

Hannah Einbinder accepts the award for supporting actress in a comedy series for “Hacks” during the show at the 77th Primetime Emmy Awards at the Peacock Theater in Los Angeles on Sunday.

(Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)

After Einbeinder, the most direct acknowledgment of current bad events came from Academy Chair and CEO Cris Abrego, speaking of the Governors Award given the week before to the Corp. for Public Broadcasting. In a highly quotable speech, he noted how “Congress had voted to defund it and silence yet another cultural institution.” He continued, “In a time when division dominates the headlines, storytelling still has the power to unite us … In times of cultural regression [it reminds] us what’s at stake and what can still be achieved,” and he rattled off a number of much loved shows that challenged the status quo. “In a moment like this, neutrality is not enough. … Culture does not come from the top down, it rises from the bottom up. … Let’s make sure that culture is not a platform for the privileged but a public good for all.” The stars in the audience nodded approvingly.

There were also some pure delights among the bedrock of desultory scripted banter and unimpressive tributes to old shows (“Law & Order: SUV,” “The Golden Girls”). Reunited “Everybody Loves Raymond” co-stars Ray Romano and Brad Garrett, presenting the award for comedy series, recaptured the essence of their television brotherhood. Jennifer Coolidge, presenting the award for lead supporting actress in a comedy, sounded like she’d walked in from a Christopher Guest film. “Between us, I was actually hoping to be nominated for you tonight for my work on this season of ‘The Pitt.’ I played a horny grandmother having a colonoscopy during a power outage and I had to play a lot of levels. I even had to do my own prep.” She went on, after a while, to tell the nominees that winning “is not all it’s cracked up to be. It’s really not… I thought I had gotten really close with my fellow nominees especially after I won but I’m pretty sure they removed me from the group chat.”

The inevitable losses incurred by Bargatze’s charity gimmick provided a sort of running joke at the host’s expense, which he managed quite well, while some winners made a game of trying to put money back on the board. But the longer it went on, the more pressure it put on the winners to be short. Eventually, the show found its natural level, as winners said what they needed to, or much of it, and the count dropped tens of thousands of dollars past zero. For everyone but the bean counters, the least important thing about an awards show is it running on time; in any case, it was only a few minutes over.

And, as one might have expected, Bargatze — who made it through the three hours in a way that served the event and his own down-home ethos — paid the originally promised $100,000 and added a $250,000 tip.

In “Am I Roxie?,” a world premiere one-woman-show at the Geffen Playhouse, Roxana Ortega, a working actress and alum of the Groundlings Theatre’s Sunday Company, revisits the period in her life when she was the caregiver for her mother, whose memory was unraveling.

When Ortega’s father died of a sudden heart attack outside the post office, she was unprepared for the consequences. He had been protecting the family from her mother’s decline.

An immigrant from Peru who had relinquished her dreams of acting to raise a family, Carmen had a special bond with Ortega. When little Roxana was growing up in Fullerton, her mother would improvise operas while fixing breakfast. Together, they dreamed theatrical dreams.

Carmen has many sisters — “Picture the Housewives of Beverly Hills, but in Canoga Park” — but none were able to take her in. Ortega’s siblings, married with children, were similarly unable.

Not having kids of her own deprived Ortega of the one excuse her family would have recognized. Yet she still wanted to have kids, though not before she found the right husband and made some headway in a career marked by small triumphs, such as booking commercials and webisodes. Was she really going to put her life on hold for a few years?

Finding a painful compromise, she decides to move her mother to an assisted-living facility near her in L.A. Taking this step requires her to go to war with her “inner Latina critic,” who reminds her of the code of her blood: “We take care of our own.” She adds an expletive to the end of this pronouncement, but no emphasis is needed for a daughter who has already indicted herself for selfishness, the one unpardonable sin for a Latina.

“Am I Roxie?,” performed by Ortega with unflagging ebullience in an athletic-wear jumpsuit designed for comfort rather than style, brings to the exhausting, guilt-inducing grind of eldercare her own cultural spin. The subject is relatable, as lifespans have extended while health insurance only seems to contract. Ortega is an agreeable guide through the thicket of problems, such as choosing between senior facilities that resemble “sad Marriotts” or “sad La Quinta Inns.”

The show is more of a personal essay composed for the stage than a deeply imagined performance work. Ortega’s approach is friendly and wryly conversational. She’s bearing witness to a human dilemma our culture would prefer to keep under wraps, but Ortega might just as easily be doing an audio essay or podcast. The one character who comes vividly to life is her own.

There’s a rich tradition of performance artists bringing difficult personal stories to public light. “Am I Roxie?” seems disconnected from the work of Lisa Kron, Deb Margolin and Marga Gomez. Soloists who can populate the stage with uncurtailed ambition.

Thematically, “Am I Roxie?” is structured around the “Circle of Life” song from “The Lion King.” Ortega knows this reference is corny, but it’s also inescapably apt. The person who gave her life now needs her help as she nears the end.

Roxana Ortega in “Am I Roxie?” at Geffen Playhouse.

(Jeff Lorch)

Birth and death weigh heavy on Ortega’s mind, as she ponders her own lifespan, the diminishing window for motherhood and the confused and sometimes angry helplessness of Carmen, who comes to believe that her daughter is her sister. Eventually, Carmen will wonder if she herself is Roxie, an existential dilemma that Ortega refuses to understand as a mere symptom of Alzheimer’s disease.

She’s reluctant at the start to name her mother’s condition. How can she reduce a loved one to a medical diagnosis? Even at Carmen’s most exasperating, she could still surprise Ortega with a simple, poignant question: “How are you doing in your life, Roxie?”

Ortega begins to understand that, though her mother has been transformed, she can still connect with her if she accepts her as she is. By speaking to her mother in the nonsense language she falls into and by playing games of pretend as if they were back in her childhood home, Ortega reaches her mother, if only for fleeting moments.

The production, directed by Bernardo Cubría, seems to have adopted a medical oath of first doing no harm. A set piece is every now and again mechanically (and somewhat quizzically) moved in or out, and there are projections offering illustrations of Fullerton and Ortega’s mental health adventure scaling the peak of Mt. Kilimanjaro.

But “Am I Roxie?” doesn’t depend on scenic frills. Ortega is the show — not just her story but her rapport with the theatergoers, with whom she confides as if to old friends. She shares her fears that she might have occasionally failed her mother, but this confession is just another example of her generous humanity.

’

The cultural legacy of the 1984 rock-mock-doc “This Is Spinal Tap” is of sufficient amplitude that, to give the band’s guitarist Nigel Tufnel (Christopher Guest) his knob-twiddling due, it’s gone way past 11.

Perennially quotable, ad-libbed to Brit-accented perfection by co-creators Guest, Michael McKean and Harry Shearer and finessed into an iconic spoof by director Rob Reiner, “Spinal Tap” was born. The movie both ridiculed (and, slyly, furthered the cause for) the metal world’s idiotic excesses, but also an industry’s love of a satisfying comeback saga.

When your fake movie becomes gospel truth to admiring music legends and a pretend forgotten band goes on to play Wembley in real life, the fine line between clever and stupid (again, so quotable) suddenly looks like a rarefied space for a sequel to exploit.

Yet when the key comic minds behind that singular sendup of past-prime glory-seekers aim to rekindle their magic, “Spinal Tap II: The End Continues” leaves one thinking some classics are better left in their original, endlessly re-playable states.

Not that the sight, 40 years on, of the sweetly clueless Tufnel, McKean’s prickly frontman David St. Hubbins and Shearer’s man-of-few-blurts Derek Smalls reuniting for one last concert won’t trigger a low-wattage 83-minute-long smile. But the concept of Tap being revered (by legend cameos Paul McCartney and Elton John, no less) saps the comedy of outsider tension, making for something closer to a feature-length outtake reel than a fresh take on clownish notoriety.

There’s agreeable silliness early on in seeing where the trio has landed in their solo lives, from acknowledged retail dreamer Nigel’s cheese-and-guitar shop to the fringes of the recording world, where California-transplanted David finds himself composing phone-hold music. In these moments, you get a glimpse of the special sauce of personality delusion that Guest, as a director, turned into a mini-genre (“Waiting for Guffman,” “Best in Show,” “A Mighty Wind”). But when dead Tap manager Ian Faith’s daughter, Hope (Kerry Godliman), having inherited daddy’s contract, forces the members to gather in New Orleans for an arena show, the whole thing loses an essential oddball energy, trying to coast on a masterpiece’s fumes.

Gag encores are pitfalls. The famous drummer mortality problem is a case in point, wearing out its understandable reviving with star cameos (Questlove, Lars Ulrich) and a lackluster tryout montage. Then, after the hiring of an energetic young replacement (Valerie Franco), a humor opportunity is missed when we wonder why she isn’t pushing back on having to play songs like “Bitch School.” Even the band’s second chance at a Stonehenge showstopper is more like a joke in name only.

The three leads can still, when given room, generate an anything-can-happen vibe, even if the improvisatory pearls are in short supply. But there are quite a few instances when the promise of comedic friction is undercooked or ignored and the new strains of hinted lunacy (as when Guest regulars John Michael Higgins and Don Lake show up) never quite soar.

The funniest addition, because it feels genuinely pointed about the milieu, is Chris Addison as the band’s aggressive promoter Simon, who prides himself on being impervious to enjoying music, and tells our septuagenarian rockers that for posterity’s sake, ideally, two of them should die during the show. Thankfully, nothing in “Spinal Tap II” will kill off the original’s legacy. It’s just a nostalgia lap you wish had more 11.

Our writer discovered that there’s plenty to do at this spectacular Bahamas resort, a destination that’s been visited by celebrities and royalty alike

If you’re a James Bond fan, Paradise Island in the Bahamas should definitely be on your travel wish list — it was a location in 1965’s Thunderball starring Sean Connery and Daniel Craig’s Casino Royale, where he famously emerged from the sea in his swimming trunks. It’s also home to the ocean-themed Atlantis resort, a stunning waterscape, casino and hotel that has been visited by the likes of Beyoncé, Cameron Diaz and Taylor Swift, as well as the Prince and Princess of Wales.

READ MORE: Kate Middleton’s go-to wellies just launched an unexpected autumn collaboration

READ MORE: Kate Middleton debuts her new high street suede ballet flats and they’re perfect for autumn

The rooms at Atlantis Paradise Island

After landing at Lynden Pindling International Airport, it’s a 30-minute drive along the coast of New Providence island to the Sir Sidney Poitier Bridge that takes you to Paradise Island.

Atlantis Paradise Island has more than 3,800 rooms spread over five hotels, each of which offers a different experience. The Cove, where Prince William and Kate stayed in the penthouse suite in 2022, is an all-suite, ultra- modern and achingly chic five-star tower that has a separate pool and beach for its residents.

There’s also The Reef, Harborside Resort and family-oriented The Coral, but we stayed at The Royal, the iconic pink-coloured pair of buildings closest to the casino, pools, water park and the restaurant and shopping area known as Marina Village. Our 15th-floor room was an oasis of calm, with a balcony and a view of the sea, palm trees and pools.

Atlantis’s Aquaventure water park

The jewel in the Atlantis crown has to be the Aquaventure water park and the surrounding marine life exhibits. We spent hours wandering through the caverns of the Dig, a themed aquarium featuring coral, jellyfish and tropical fish, and watching the sharks swimming above the Predator Tunnel. There’s also a dolphin habitat and a turtle hatching programme, part of Atlantis’s Blue Project to protect marine life.

Thrill-seekers will love the eight slides at the water park, entry to which is free for hotel guests. The Rapids River ride was a blast as we navigated the waters around the tropical gardens while trying not to fall out of inflatable tubes, while the Serpent Slide sent me on a corkscrew descent in the dark before taking me through a lagoon as bemused sharks swam past.

Those feeling extra brave can try out slides with names like The Abyss and The Surge, and there are also gentler options for younger kids, as well as 14 swimming pools.

The grounds include walking paths, a rope bridge and six beaches, where we dipped our toes in the clear warm water and watched the sun set behind a lone pine tree on the sand – the location for many a marriage proposal.

The food at Atlantis Paradise Island

There’s something for everyone at Atlantis, from foodies to fussy kids, but eating here isn’t cheap. The resort features celebrity chef restaurants including Fish by José Andrés, Nobu (William and Kate had sushi delivered to their suite from here) and Paranza by Michael White, but there are some cheaper options for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

As Atlantis is extremely popular with Americans (it’s less than an hour’s flight from Miami), the portions are American-sized at all of the 40-plus snack bars, cafés and restaurants dotted around the resort.

Most days we skipped lunch as we were still full from our breakfast from grab-and-go café Plato’s. In the evening, we enjoyed jerk chicken with fried plantains at Bahamian restaurant Bimini Road, indulged in delicious rib eye steaks at Seafire Steakhouse, and visited the prettiest Shake Shack you’ll ever see, with windows looking into the aquarium so you can watch the fish go by while you eat your cheeseburgers and fries.

Best of all, however, was Carmine’s, a budget-friendly Italian restaurant that serves food ‘family size’, with each dish suitable for three to four people to share. The friendly staff reassure newcomers that one plate of spaghetti bolognese really will feed their whole party (trust me, it will).

What to do in the Bahamas

If you can drag yourself away from Atlantis, it’s worth taking a quick trip by taxi over the bridge from Paradise Island to Nassau. Here, there’s plenty to explore, including 18th-century Fort Fincastle, which was built to protect the town from pirates and can be accessed from Queen’s Staircase, a walkway of 66 limestone steps named after Queen Victoria.

You’ll also find Ardastra Gardens – a small zoo and conservation centre that’s home to the national bird of the Bahamas, the flamingo. Then, head to the busy straw market and port, where you can sit and marvel at the huge cruise ships that dock for the day or take your own boat trip to Rose Island, where you can swim with the pigs.

How much does it cost to stay at Atlantis Paradise Island Bahamas?

Rooms at Atlantis Paradise Island’s The Coral start from approx £190 per night for a room that sleeps up to four adults. A luxury suite in The Cove costs from approx £340 per night. Prices vary depending on the time of year – November to March is the most expensive; June to late October tends to be cheaper. Follow Atlantis Paradise Island Bahamas on social media for the latest offers.

For other hotels on Paradise Island in the Bahamas, check out Expedia and Booking.com’s selections.

Tell someone about “The Cortège,” and it may inspire as much apprehension as it does curiosity.

A theatrical procession running this month at the Los Angeles Equestrian Center, “The Cortège” promises to explore grief, loss, mourning and our collective disconnection from one another. It’s a dramatic interpretation of a funeral, albeit one with jubilant street-inspired dance and a Sasquatch-like creature. And robots and drones.

I arrived at “The Cortège” just weeks removed from attending a very real, deeply personal funeral for my mother. Did I want to revisit that space as part of my weekend’s entertainment, and would the show inspire a new round of tears? The answer to both turned out to be yes.

“The Cortège” is alternately playful and serious as it explores the cycle of life.

(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)

For “The Cortège” approaches a difficult subject matter with an imaginative question: What if we explore grief not with isolation or solemness, but with wonder? It’s a prompt that’s ripe for an era of divisive politics, financial stress and often isolating technology.

Beginning at twilight and extending into the evening, “The Cortège” starts with an overture, a six-piece band performing in the center of the field. We’re seated either on the grass on portable pads with backs or in folding chairs on an elevated platform.

Soon, a mist erupts on a far end of the field; a lone figure emerges who crawls and then walks to the center. He’ll move in place for much of the show, remaining silent as a fantastical life transpires around him — dancers, ornately costumed characters and larger-than-life puppets will surreally reflect the journey of life.

• Share via Close extra sharing options

Inspired as much by Walt Disney’s approach to fairy tales as, say, Carl Jung’s theories of collective consciousness, “The Cortège” is a revival of an ancient art — the procession — that aims to be a modern rite of passage. A ritual, “The Cortège” is a communal experience, one that seeks to erase borders between audience and performer while imagining a more optimistic world.

Think of it as theater as a healing exercise, or simply an abstracted evening with elaborate, vibrant costumes and choreographed drones creating new constellations in the sky. It’s also a bit of a dance party, with original music composed by Tokimonsta, El Búho and Boreta.

““The Cortège” builds to a final that invites audience participation — and maybe a little dancing.

(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)

“The Cortège” comes from Jeff Hull, a Bay Area artist best known for devising participatory and mysterious experiences that have used real-world settings as a game board — some may recall the beloved underground experiment “The Jejune Institute.” This, however, is a more personal show. It’s informed as much by the struggles and challenges of adulthood as it is the awe and playfulness that Hull experienced when he was younger, specifically his time working as a teen at Oakland’s Children’s Fairyland, a theme park-like playground for young kids.

“Every day I would follow the yellow brick road and have a magic key and slide down a rabbit hole, and I would wonder why the rest of the world wasn’t like that,” Hull says. “I’ve been trying to make it like that ever since. Why can’t we play? Why does it all have to be barriers? That’s the motivation from a childlike place, but now I also have motivation from a wise elder space.”

In turn, “The Cortège” is part festive renewal and part philosophical recollection. At the start, music is mournful but not quite sorrowful, a lightly contemplative jazz-inspired feel anchored by a steel hang drum. The music shifts through reggae stylings and Eastern rhythms. Performers are robed and instruments are carried on ramshackle wheelbarrows, setting up the transitory mood of the night.

What follows will touch on religious and mystical iconography — we’ll meet three lantern-carrying masked figures, for instance, with exaggerated, regal adornments as they herald a birth. Expect a mixture of old and new technologies. Drones will form to mark a passage of eras, a marching band will conjure New Orleans revelry, and towering, furry creatures may invite youthful spiritedness while militant, robotic canines will represent clashing images of human ingenuity and violence.

Think of “The Cortège” as a ceremonial rite of passage — a show that wants audiences to find healing via community.

(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)

For much of the show, we are asked to wear glowing headphones. Their luminescence highlights the crowd while also creating a more intimate, reflective atmosphere. It’s not quite a sound bath and it’s not quite a play, but as more figures enter the field — some haunting and dreamlike with their bodies shaped like arrowheads, and others sillier bursts of feathered color — “The Cortège” takes on a ceremonial, meditative feel.

While some may indeed come for the outsized costumes and extended dance sequences, Hull says the show is the entertainment equivalent of “shadow work,” that is the therapeutic uncovering of suppressed, forgotten or hidden memories.

“Shadow work is something we need to do as individuals, but it’s also something we need to do as a culture,” Hull says. “Let’s look at ourselves. Let’s look at what we don’t want to admit about ourselves. How can we bring that to life? When you do it as an individual, we’re actually partly doing something for the collective. That’s a big aspect of ‘The Cortège.’ Let’s do shadow work as a cultural moment. It’s not all just meant to be entertainment.”

Audiences are asked to wear headphones during “The Cortège,” creating an intimate relationship with the music.

(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)

Ultimately, however, “The Cortège” is an invitation, a hand extended to the audience asking us to consider and reimagine our own journey through life. Emerging from both the traumatic end of a relationship and the death of my mother, I appreciated the way in which “The Cortège” sought to put our existence in perspective, to reinterpret, essentially, the individual as the communal for a celebratory reminder that we’ve all struggled as much as we’ve dreamed.

Hull says “The Cortège” was born from a time of strife.

“What you mentioned, losing a loved one and going through a separation, my version of that is I had Guillain-Barre Syndrome and was walking with a cane. My wife was diagnosed with cancer and then she lost her father. And this was all during a time when the sun didn’t come out. It was dark out, all day, because of the California wildfires. It was a shift between taking everything personally and realizing that all the things I mentioned were things we all have to go through.”

The show is purposefully abstracted, says Hull, to allow audience members to attach their own narratives. It’s a work of pageantry, inspired in part by Hull’s fascination with medieval morality plays, specifically the story of “Everyman,” an examination of self and of our relationship to a higher power.

“The tale of ‘Everyman’ was one in which a universal protagonist met with all of the challenges of life and a reckoning with himself and with God,” Hull says. “That’s literally what we’re doing here. It is a revival of ancient European pageantry.”

Drones will form constellations in the sky during “The Cortège.”

(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)

Hull’s name is well-known among those who follow what is the still-emerging niche of so-called immersive entertainment, media that, broadly speaking, asks participants to take on an interactive role. Those who went deep into “The Jejune Institute,” which ran in the late 2000s in San Francisco and inspired a documentary as well as the AMC series “Dispatches from Elsewhere,” could discover a narrative that examined the fragility — or the allure — of human belief systems. It was often, for instance, compared to a cult.

“The Cortège” is clearly a departure. And Hull today is skeptical of the word “immersive.” Though “The Cortege” invites audiences onto the field in its final act and then asks participants to join in a reception (the afterlife), Hull finds much of what is classified today as immersive to be lacking, emphasizing spectacle and imagery over human emotion.

“The Cortège,” says Hull, is “not a metafiction.” Or don’t think of it as a show about a rite of passage. It’s intended to be a rite of passage itself. “That’s kind of the thesis of this piece,” Hull, 56, says, before expanding on his evolved take on the immersive field.

“There’s this world of immersive entertainment, but what are we immersing ourselves in?” he says. “Is this just sensory stimulation? Is this gesturing at the numinous? Is this referencing the mystical? There’s no meta-narrative here.”

Hull’s hope is “The Cortège” will erase the line between the performative and the restorative. “We all want to have a pretend metafictional relationship to transformative experiences rather than genuine transformative experiences,” he says.

Not quite a play and not quite a dance show, “The Cortège” incorporates elements of both during its procession.

(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)

We can get there, Hull believes, by engaging with an art form that has largely been discarded by the Western world.

“We are reconnecting a lost lineage to that which is ancient and to that which is eternal,” Hull says. “A procession is people walking together; that is simply what a procession is. Where are they walking from? They’re walking from their past. Where are they walking to? They’re walking toward the future. That’s what we’re doing.”

I won’t spoil the moment that made me tear up other than to say it was not due to the jolting of any memories. For “The Cortège” is also exultant — a procession, yes, but a walk into an imagined world.

WHEN I was doing the research for this SURI review, I came across some alarming stats.

Every year, over four billion toothbrushes end up either in landfill or, more worryingly, in the ocean.

And it takes so long for a single toothbrush to decompose that almost every plastic toothbrush produced since the 1930s is still languishing somewhere on the planet.

If you’re an electric toothbrush user, you might think you’re exempt from this, but — I hate to break it to you — you’re not. In fact, you’re probably worse.

SURI 2.0 Electric Toothbrush, £105

Happily, there’s now an ingeniously designed, decently affordable alternative.

Last week, SURI — a brand favoured by celebs including Gwyneth Paltrow — unveiled its second-generation SURI 2.0 toothbrush, and I was lucky enough to get my hands on one prior to its release date.

I’ve used the original SURI 1.0 toothbrush for years, but for the last month I’ve been getting to grips with the new model.

Pros

• One of the most thoughtfully-designed products I think I’ve ever come across — the attention to detail is astounding
• MUCH more sustainable than alternatives
• Brilliant battery life
• Pretty affordable, depending on which generation you go for
• Perfect for travel
• If you take care of it, it’ll last forever
• Dentist-approved (it’s approved by the dentist I spoke to, at least)

Cons

• The first generation doesn’t have pressure sensing, which can lead to overbrushing
• The second generation is significantly more expensive than the first
• There’s no bells and whistles like app connectivity — but do you really need them?

Rating: 9.5/10

How I tested the SURI toothbrush

I first met the co-founder of SURI, Mark, at a press event almost three years ago.

His knowledge and passion blew me away, and he was kind enough to give me one of the brand’s toothbrushes to try myself.

It’s tackled my gnashers daily ever since — it’s moved house twice with me, and gone on several holidays.

This summer, I was one of several lucky journalists to be sent the brand’s new and upgraded toothbrush, the SURI 2.0.

As the Sun’s reviews manager, it’s my job to hold it to account, ensuring that it delivers on its promises, provides value for money, and handles day-to-day operations.

SURI toothbrush review: The Nitty Gritty

First impressions

SURI 1.0 Electric Toothbrush, £75

Before I encountered SURI in 2022, I’d happily been using a middle-of-the-road electric toothbrush, without thinking too much about its environmental impact.

If you’d put a gun to my head, I’d probably have told you that electric toothbrushes are better for the environment than manual ones, as they don’t have to be thrown away every couple of months.

I’d have been wrong.

In fact, they’re a nightmare combo of hard-to-mine rare earth metals, carbon-dioxide-heavy manufacturing processes and “planned obsolescence” — they’re only designed to last three to five years or so, so that you routinely come back and buy a new one.

That means that they, too, end up in landfills, where their toxic components can leech into soil and water supplies.

SURI (short for “Sustainable Rituals”), by comparison, has put a LOT of thought into how to end the environmental nightmare caused by billions of humans brushing their teeth.

The handle is made from aluminium, rather than the hard plastic preferred by other brands. This is a very conscious choice — 75% of all aluminium ever created is still in circulation today, because it’s such an easy-to-recycle material.

Other parts of the toothbrush are made from clever materials like cornstarch (the head), castor oil (the bristles), and steel (the internal components).

These are all designed to have as small an environmental impact as possible — when you buy replacement heads, SURI sends you a mail bag so that you can return your used heads to be industrially composted.

Does it deliver?

1

SURI 2.0 Electric Toothbrush, £105

So we’ve established that SURI is more sustainable than its competitors — but does it make a better toothbrush?

When I’ve spoken to the company’s co-founder, Mark, he has emphasised the company’s decision not to include the app-powered, Bluetooth-compatible bells and whistles you get in other toothbrushes.

After all, what percentage of people really want to link their toothbrush to an app? Most people I’ve encountered want to get the chore over and done with so they can go to bed.

Instead, the SURI is pretty utilitarian — it includes all the things that you’d need in a modern toothbrush, without adding any unnecessary marketing fluff.

It’s a sonic toothbrush, which is a type of electric toothbrush — they’re defined by their very, very quick vibration, which produces their signature “sonic” humming sound.

The SURI vibrates 33,000 times per minute, which actually puts it at the gentler end of the spectrum — and unlike some competitors, it doesn’t have multiple power settings.

Personally, day-to-day, I’m fine with that — I like a gentler clean, and relatively low vibrations work with the softer castor oil bristles to create a sensation that feels much kinder to my gums than other brushes I’ve used.

However, it would be nice to have a pedal-to-the-metal setting for those days when I’ve had a few glasses of red wine, or accidentally made my way through a large bag of Skittles while watching telly.

The thing about the OG SURI brush that concerned some dentists was its lack of pressure sensor, a feature that notifies you if you’re brushing too hard.

Thankfully, the new SURI 2.0 has added that feature.

There are a host of other features that make this brush extremely practical.

The first that comes to mind is the UV-C Travel Case, which comes as standard with the SURI 2.0 but is an added cost for the 1.0.

As well as protecting your toothbrush from whatever else you throw in your suitcase with it, it comes with a UV light that removes 99.9% of the bacteria on your bristles.

There’s also the month-long battery life — my partner’s electric toothbrush only lasts for a week, if she’s lucky.

Last, but certainly not least, is a tiny thing that I love — each SURI brush comes with a magnetic mount, which you can put on your bathroom mirror or wall.

That might sound pointless, but it stops your toothbrush from amassing that gross toothpaste residue at the bottom, which always makes me feel slightly nauseous.

How much is the SURI toothbrush?

The new SURI 2.0 costs £105.

That’s quite a steep increase from the original brush, which retails for just £75.

However, the 2.0 comes with a travel case as standard, which wasn’t the case for the original brush — if you wanted one, you’d have to fork out another £25.

While it’s not exactly a bargain in a world where you can pick up an electric toothbrush for £40 or £50 on Amazon, SURI markets its device as “the last toothbrush you’ll ever buy” — the toothbrush is designed to be repaired, and SURI will replace the battery for a “reasonable” fee.

The toothbrush head needs to be replaced every couple of months; you can buy a pack of three heads for £14.99, or set up a subscription to have two heads delivered every six months for £8.98 each time.

Where to buy the SURI toothbrush

The best place to get the SURI is probably the brand’s own website, where you can find both generations of the toothbrush as well as all the accessories you might want, including the travel case, chargers, magnetic mounts and toothpaste.

However, it’s also available at selected retailers, including Boots.

SURI alternatives

In terms of its environmental attributes, SURI is in a class of its own.

A few companies are attempting to make Oral care more environmental — for example, Georganics makes a sonic toothbrush with a “Zero to Landfill” scheme, through which the brand promises to responsibly dispose of your toothbrush.

However, it doesn’t have the same stylish mass appeal — it feels a bit granola and tree-hugging than SURI’s chic, Gwyneth Paltrow-friendly version of sustainability.

Plus, SURI puts a bigger emphasis on ensuring that its toothbrushes are made from environmentally friendly materials.

And, of course, if you’re not bothered about eco-credentials, there are tons of options available from normal high-street brands.

Nearly two decades after the fact, Anna Wintour is finally giving her review of “The Devil Wears Prada,” the 2006 Anne Hathaway comedy built around the onetime Vogue editor in chief’s notorious style of leadership.

And although Wintour is more than fashionably late, she’s showing up in time for the sequel.

The film “had a lot of humor to it, it had a lot of wit, it had Meryl Streep,” Wintour said recently on the New Yorker Radio Hour. “[The cast] were all amazing. And in the end, I thought it was a fair shot.”

The famed editor, who stepped down from the Vogue gig this summer, said she went into the premiere of the original film wearing Prada but not knowing what the movie was about. Wintour said people in the fashion industry had expressed concerns about the Miranda Priestly character, worrying she would be played as a caricature of Wintour. But those fears were unfounded.

“First of all, it was Meryl Streep, [who is] fantastic.”

“The Devil Wears Prada” is based on the 2003 bestselling novel of the same name by Lauren Weisberger, who worked as a personal assistant to Wintour. The film follows a writer played by Hathaway who gets a job at a fashion magazine managed by a highly demanding boss, played by Streep.

The actor who played the no-nonsense editor in chief earned an Academy Award nomination for her performance.

Wintour announced in June that she would step down as editor in chief of the magazine after 37 years at the helm. She will continue to oversee Condé Nast, the global media company that publishes Vogue among other publications including the New Yorker, GQ, Vanity Fair and Wired.

“The Devil Wears Prada 2” is in production with a release date set for May 2026. Streep, Hathaway, Emily Blunt and Stanley Tucci will all reprise their roles; Adrian Grenier, who played Hathaway’s boyfriend in the original film, will not appear. New cast members include Kenneth Branagh, Justin Theroux and Lucy Liu.

Sept. 10 (UPI) — The Supreme Court on Tuesday said it would review a challenge to President Donald Trump‘s sweeping tariffs, expediting the case to be heard in two months.

The high court justices issued the one-page order that set the schedule for the case, with the arguments session to take place during the first week of November.

Trump asked the justices to intervene last week, seeking an early November review by the conservative-leaning high court to make a speedy decision on his controversial tariffs, after twice being told by the courts they are illegal.

“It is gratifying to see the Supreme Court accept these cases on an unusually fast track,” Andrew Morris, senior litigator with the New Civil Liberties Alliance, which filed amicus briefs against Trump’s tariffs in both cases challenging them, told UPI in an emailed statement.

“The court should act promptly to strike down the tariffs. It should hold that the president cannot invoke emergency powers — and national security — to impose tariffs on the American people.”

Since returning to the White House in January, Trump has turned to tariffs as a key tool of his economic policy to right what he sees as unfair trading relationships that the United States has with other nations.

In April, he imposed a 10% tariff on nearly all goods imported from nearly all countries, followed by so-called reciprocal tariffs slapped on specific countries and at specific rates in order to redress those perceived negative trade imbalances.

Trump has argued he has the power to impose the tariffs under the International Emergency Economic Powers Act, which permits the president to implement asset freezes, trade embargoes and other similar economic sanctions during a national emergency.

On April 22, the educational toy manufacturer Learning Resources Inc. sued the Trump administration, arguing the president did not have the power to impose sweeping tariffs, only Congress does.

“The Constitution vests the power to impose tariffs in Congress,” the company said in its complaint, while arguing Trump was misusing the IEEPA, which was intended to impose sanctions on foreign terrorist and hostile nations representing an unusual and extraordinary threat to U.S. society.

“The statute does not mention tariffs or duties, and in the five decades and eight administrations since its enactment, no president besides President Trump has ever invoked IEEPA to impose a tariff or a duty.”

Several other lawsuits followed, and in May, the U.S. Court of International Trade in New York ruled against the Trump administration, finding the tariffs were illegal and that the IEEPA did not give the president import tax powers.

Late last month, a divided appeals court agreed. However, the tariffs remain in place, at least for now.

While Trump and his administration have boasted that the tariffs will raise billions in revenue, critics say it is the American public, and not the foreign companies, that are footing the bill.

THE SLOTS section of any online casino is always the busiest area of the platform, and that highlights the popularity of these games. There is always a vast choice, and although there are new releases regularly, some established titles continue to attract interest.

Released in 2006, Mega Moolah remains hugely popular, and that’s largely due to its jackpot potential. This Mega Moolah slot review will look at possible payouts along with all the other aspects of this game in closer detail.

Mega Moolah slot quick overview

Here’s a quick summary of what Mega Moolah offers:

Mega Moolah slot features overview

4

Since its release in 2006, Mega Moolah has captured more media attention than most slot games. It has provided some of the biggest wins, and while it should be remembered that the big prizes are extremely rare, this is clearly a big part of its appeal.

Despite its low RTP, Mega Moolah has a medium variance, so wins can be more frequent than in other jackpot games. It can suit all players, but it’s largely one of the best online slots for experienced players whose main goal is to target jackpots.

👍 Pros

• Four progressive jackpots
• Free spins round
• Medium variance

👎 Cons:

• Low RTP
• High minimum stake

Mega Moolah slot graphics, sound & gameplay mechanics

4

This game was released in 2006, so we shouldn’t expect to see state-of-the-art graphics. The game reflects the type of design that was in place back then, but it’s a colourful game, and the cartoon animals offer charming imagery.

The soundtrack aims to conjure the feel of an African safari, and it certainly hits the mark. It has been updated to work on mobile, so there should be no loss of functionality if you switch from a static device to playing on the go.

How to play Mega Moolah slot

Follow these steps if you want to play Mega Moolah at the best online slots sites in the UK:

1. Find a casino that hosts the game: All of the best online slots sites host this title, so it shouldn’t take long to find an outlet.
2. Set your preferred stake: The game may default to a high stake, so use the tool to change it if you prefer.
3. Press spin to play: The spin button will be clearly marked.
4. Look for high-paying combinations: Check our Mega Moolah slot review and follow the paytable for high-paying combos.
5. Bonus rounds: These will activate automatically when triggered.
6. Monitor your bankroll: Play responsibly and don’t use all your bankroll in one session. Ideally, play with up to a maximum of 10% of your balance.

Mega Moolah slot symbols

4

Mega Moolah features a range of themed symbols split into high- and low-paying categories. The high-paying symbols include safari animals such as elephant, buffalo, giraffe, zebra, and antelope, each offering bigger rewards when landing in combinations. The low-paying symbols are the classic playing cards from A to 10, which appear more frequently but offer smaller payouts.

The lion is the wild symbol – it substitutes for all regular symbols and doubles the payout when part of a winning combination. The monkey serves as the scatter, and landing three or more triggers 15 free spins, where all wins are boosted by a 3x multiplier. These special symbols bring extra value to the base game and create opportunities for bigger wins during regular spins.

Mega Moolah slot RTP, payout & volatility

The RTP of 88.12% is low and means that, on average, £88.12 will be paid out for every £100 wagered, over time. Results between players will vary, but those independently verified stats are worth keeping in mind.

For players who get involved with Mega Moolah, it’s all about aiming for the jackpot. It’s rare to land the truly big payouts, but it’s that possibility that keeps players engaged. The slot has a medium volatility, and in general, payouts will be less frequent but they may be higher when they come in.

Mega Moolah bonus features & free spins

4

We’ve already seen that the lion is the wild symbol and the monkey is the scatter in Mega Moolah. The lion is a conventional wild icon that replicates all others as it looks to find a matching combination. If it does find a winning match, it will double any payout.

To activate the free spins section, at least three of the monkey scatters must fall into view. When this happens, players are rewarded with 15 additional spins.

The progressive jackpots can be triggered at random at any point. There are no special symbols to look out for, and the four jackpots in question are labelled Mini, Minor, Major and Mega. Any of these can be activated randomly during the base game.

Where to play Mega Moolah slot in the UK

As one of the most popular games online, the best UK online casinos all host Mega Moolah. Use the search bar at your favourite casino to check, but it’s almost certain that it will be on the listing.

Two recommended options for players in the UK are Dream Vegas and bet365. Both are well-known brands, but more importantly, they are licensed by the UK Gambling Commission, they promote responsible gambling, and both offer a good choice of secure funding providers.

If you are looking for one of the best online slots sites, you need to find a platform that covers all of those points.

Another trusted option is Casumo. This has customer support around the clock, as well as secure payment options and a mobile-friendly casino interface.

Key takeaway

Undoubtedly, it’s those progressive jackpots that have made Mega Moolah so popular with slots players over the years. The game is among the titles with the biggest payouts in history, and it continues to attract attention for that reason alone.

That said, those wins are rare, and it’s always important to play responsibly. With its straightforward gameplay, familiar safari theme and the chance to land life-changing prizes, Mega Moolah is a solid pick for UK players who enjoy classic slots with big potential. Try it out at a trusted, UK-licensed online casino.

🔎 More slot reviews

About the author

James Anderson

James Anderson is a Betting & Gaming Writer at The Sun. He is an expert in sports betting and online casinos, and joined the company in November 2020 to work closely with leading bookmakers and online gaming companies to curate content in all areas of sports betting. He previously worked as a Digital Sports Reporter and Head of Live Blogs/Events at the Daily Express and Daily Star, covering football, cricket, snooker, F1 and horse racing.

Find James on LinkedIn

Remember to gamble responsibly

A responsible gambler is someone who:

• Establishes time and monetary limits before playing
• Only gambles with money they can afford to lose
• Never chase their losses
• Doesn’t gamble if they’re upset, angry or depressed
• Gamcare – gamcare.org.uk
• GambleAware – GambleAware.org

Read our guide on responsible gambling practices.

For help with a gambling problem, call the National Gambling Helpline on 0808 8020 133 or go to gamstop.co.uk to be excluded from all UK-regulated gambling websites.

‘Relieved’ BBC Breakfast editor Richard Frediani has reportedly been ‘cleared’ after a review into his behaviour and will be continuing his duties

BBC Breakfast’s editor, Richard Frediani, has reportedly been ‘cleared’ of bad behaviour by bosses amid a ‘feud’ with presenter Naga Munchetty. During the summer, it was claimed that show boss Richard went on extended leave on the flagship show after complaints about his behaviour.

Host Naga was said to not get on with the editor. However, many staff members came out in defence of Richard. One even told the Mirror that some staff were disappointed with Naga who it’s claimed raised concerns about his management style with BBC managers.

One source told the Mirror: “He is not a bully at all and the truth will come out. He’s a great boss and was – and is still – overwhelmingly loved by the team, who respect his drive, expertise, and journalistic ambition. He has delivered great audiences and the first ever Bafta for breakfast TV.

READ MORE: BBC chaos as popular radio presenters’ shows suddenly axed in major shake-upREAD MORE: Zoe Ball admits ‘worry’ as she addresses list of highest paid BBC stars

“He can be brash and opinionated but works so hard for his team and allows people to flourish.”

Three months on, it was reported that the BBC conducted an interview review of the bullying allegations, with the broadcaster conducting 70 sessions and a ‘listening exercise’ with staff.

Richard, who is said to be ‘relieved’ with the outcome, reportedly told staff he was in the clear and would be continuing with his duties as editor.

“He’s in a significantly more secure place than he was. And I think he’s had a lot of support from people on the team who have come out and said he’s a great editor,” a support told The Times.

“Not everyone on the team because there are divided loyalties, but he is in a much better place.”

A spokesperson for the BBC told the Mirror: “While we do not comment on individual HR matters, we take all complaints about conduct at work extremely seriously.”

A source claimed Naga and co-host Charlie Stayt were ‘furious’ about Richard being ‘cleared’ to return to his duties.

“Naga and Charlie are furious and feel like the BBC have backed him over them,” they told The Sun. “No one would be surprised if they ended up leaving.”

In July, an insider told the publication that Naga was looking for a new job. While the presenter ‘loves the BBC’, her team reportedly ‘renewed talks’ with other companies.

They said: “Her team last week renewed talks with LBC. The Global Radio station would suit her as there’s far less of the fluffy nonsense that’s involved in working at the BBC.”

Meanwhile, the BBC’s annual salary was previously published and Naga was revealed to be earning almost double her co-host Charlie’s pay.

Charlie has stayed within the £190,000 salary band, whereas Naga enjoyed a £10,000 increase to her earnings, moving from £345,000 to £355,000.

The Mirror have reached out to the BBC and the representatives of Charlie and Naga for comment.

Follow Mirror Celebs on TikTok, Snapchat, Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, YouTube and Threads.

READ MORE: Cheapest place to buy Amazon kid’s tablet that’s perfect for interactive learningREAD MORE: ‘Excellent’ smartwatch with ‘long-lasting’ battery on sale in Amazon offer

In “Task,” premiering Sunday on HBO, Brad Ingelsby, creator of the 2021 miniseries “Mare of Easttown,” which introduced the wider world to Wawa and the Delco accent, returns with another tale of crime and family in the rural-suburban wilds west of Philadelphia. Where women were at the center of “Mare,” men are the subject here — a cop and a criminal, symmetrically arranged — messed-up middle-aged single fathers who care about their kids.

Both have been loaded with tragedy. Robbie (Tom Pelphrey), whose wife took off a year before, has a much-missed dead brother in whose house he’s living with his two kids and young adult niece (Emilia Jones as Maeve, a secret hero); he’s a garbage collector with a sideline in robbing drug houses, which he identifies through their trash. This routine has been successful enough that he and his partner, fellow trashman Cliff (Raúl Castillo), have drawn the attention of the authorities.

FBI agent Tom (Mark Ruffalo) has a dead wife (Mireille Enos, seen briefly in flashback), a son in jail he can’t bring himself to visit and a semi-estranged adult daughter (Phoebe Fox); on leave from field work, he’s been manning the agency table at job fairs. That changes when his boss (Martha Plimpton), much to his displeasure, calls him back as a substitute to lead a task force into the drug house robberies, already assembled by his predecessor from other branches of law enforcement. There’s Lizzie (Alison Oliver), young and distractable; Aleah (Thuso Mbedu), terse and focused; and Anthony (Fabien Frankel), loose and Italian.

It’s clear from the guns that both sides pack, and the fact that Robbie has been stealing from criminals — notably a drug-dealing motorcycle gang, the Dark Hearts, which has its own explosive internal business — that something is going to go fatally wrong sooner or later. (If that’s a spoiler, you are blessed with a special brand of naivete.) The bikers, who are not at all nice, though painted with some recognizably human qualities — represented primarily by Jamie McShane as Perry and Sam Keeley as Jayson — are the usual screen collection of exclusively good-looking men and women, though to be fair, this is true of Tom’s team too — Tom perhaps excepted. (Ruffalo put on weight for the role, and wants you to notice.)

In “Task,” Robbie (Tom Pelphrey) is a single father who steals from other criminals.

(Peter Kramer / HBO)

Indeed, the predominant experience of watching “Task” is waiting for the next terrible thing to happen, which may be called suspense or dramatic tension, but in the event makes for an often depressing watch, especially since the safety (physical, psychological) of young children is involved. (That can feel a little cheap, dramaturgically, like endangering a kitten, but it works.) One is grateful for anything relatively ordinary — Lizzie and Anthony dancing in a bar, Tom’s younger daughter, Emily (Silvia Dionicio) connecting with a co-worker at the custard ice stand. (Another item for the regional reference bucket.)

In the compare-and-contrast structure of the series, we learn that Robbie, though he is a fount of bad decisions, is the more optimistic, proactive of the two characters — he has a dream, in the form of a brochure, regarding a Canadian island, where he would like to spirit his family away. (He’s doing the crime to afford it.) He’s interested enough in finding “a life companion” to open a dating app. Tom, who had been a priest for eight years before losing the spirit and joining the FBI, still in mourning for his wife, drinks too much, is packing a paunch and can’t connect with Emily, the only family member left in the house.

Both have connections to nature. Tom, who grows vegetables, is a birdwatcher; Robbie keeps chickens. Both are essentially tenderhearted, which is perhaps not the most practical quality for their professions, but necessary for the story — we need to like them. They’re like one and a half sides of the same coin.

In among the criminal antics and police work is a lot of talk about life and death and God, guilt and forgiveness. Ingelsby thinks big. The title to one episode, “Out Beyond Ideas of Wrongdoing and Rightdoing There Is a River,” paraphrases the 13th century Persian poet Rumi, and water is a motif — diving into it, swimming in it, hanging around by it. Birds, too, which show up in random shots and, like the lakes and rivers, function as a sort of psychic relief for the viewer and metaphors for the story. When Tom, speaking to Robbie, identifies a certain bird as a “vagrant … a bird that strayed outside its normal range, strayed so far that it’s forgotten how to find its way home,” that is not really about birds. The writing can be a little on the nose, but better a violent story with ideas than one with none.

For all my reservations when it comes to this sort of drama, it’s very well made and very well acted, and, where many crime stories settle for sensational nihilism, “Task” does want to leave you feeling … pretty good. Not horrible. Hopeful. I trust that hasn’t spoiled it for you.

New York Yankees manager Aaron Boone questioned the legality of a bat used by Houston Astros outfielder Taylor Trammell during Thursday’s series finale.

Down by five runs in the bottom of the ninth inning, Houston mounted a comeback by starting off the inning with a single by catcher Victor Caratini and a double off the wall by Trammell. After the at-bat, Boone asked the umpires to check the bat used by the 27-year-old because of its “discoloration.”

Rule 3.02(c) by Major League Baseball bans the usage of a “colored bat in a professional game” unless approved by the league.

The crew chief, Adrian Johnson, took the bat and called a review to verify the legality of the discoloration on barrel.

After the review, the bat was confiscated by the umpires, authenticated and sent to the league office to be inspected, according to Astros manager Joe Espada.

“The bat was worn down a little bit,” Espada said. “He uses that bat all the time and I guess they thought it was an illegal bat.

“I thought it was … whatever,” he added.

Boone said they noticed the color of the bat earlier in the series and brought it up to the league officials on Thursday.

“You’re not allowed to do anything to your bat,” Boone said after the game. “I’m not saying he was … we noticed it and the league thought it maybe it was illegal too.”

After the game, the outfielder remained confused.

“I feel kind of defensive right now, more so a test of my character, like I’m going to willingly do that,” Trammell said. “Just kind of lost on that thing, and if anyone knows me, knows I’m never going to cheat or anything like that.”

Trammell, who played a couple of games for the Yankees last season, stayed on second base. The Astros later scored a run on a single by designated hitter Yordan Alvarez but the Yankees held on to win the game 8-4.

During a dark moment in Bing Liu’s “Preparation for the Next Life,” our protagonist, Aishe (Sebiye Behtiyar), seeks guidance in a place she did not think she’d return to: a mosque. An undocumented Uyghur immigrant from China, Aishe has left behind the religion in which she was raised. But feeling alone and stuck in New York City, she turns toward this place of cultural familiarity, where the imam counsels her that she’ll be rewarded for her obedience in her next life. But what about this life, the one she’s living now?

Aishe has been preparing for her next life since she arrived in New York, getting stronger, smarter, faster, so that she can make the leap to an existence that’s more comfortable, safer, more abundant. Like most young girls with big dreams, there’s only one thing that can slow her forward momentum and that is, of course, a boy.

“Preparation for the Next Life” is the narrative feature debut of Academy Award-nominated documentary filmmaker Liu. His much-lauded film “Minding the Gap” is a searing and searching project about his childhood friends, a group of skateboarders he followed over the course of a heady transition period, often turning the camera on himself and his own family.

In “Preparation for the Next Life,” Liu once again trains his lens on the delicate coming-of-age that is the early 20s. As the title of this adaptation of Atticus Lish’s 2014 PEN/Faulkner Award-winning debut novel suggests, it captures a liminal time in which Aishe, in reflecting on her past while getting ready for her future, is surprised by the arrival of a new person who enters her life and asks her to stay in the moment, at least for a little while.

Aishe locks eyes with Brad Skinner (Fred Hechinger) on the street in Queens and they share an immediate intrigue. He’s recently been discharged from the Army, arriving in New York with some cash and a desire to do anything but go home. The young couple fall into lust, then love, over beers in a Latin American cowboy bar, Uyghur street food and then in a shabby basement apartment. Skinner is a reprieve from Aishe’s life working in brutal restaurant kitchens for under-the-table wages; Aishe is a grounding force for Skinner, grieving the loss of his best friend and managing his PTSD symptoms with a cocktail of meds and plenty of booze. They are both utterly alone in the world until they have each other.

Liu transports us into this small but affecting love story with stunning, saturated, fluid cinematography by Ante Cheng and a swooning score by Emile Mosseri. The filmmaker deploys this lush aesthetic to make us fall in love with Aishe and Skinner’s impossible, head-over-heels romance.

He weaves in Aishe’s childhood memories of her father, with her Uyghur language narration addressed to him, as she asks imploring questions of a man who will never be able to answer. Skinner’s military background inspires her own physical training, jogging miles and lifting weights. She’s always seeking her father, not just in Skinner the soldier but in herself too, the remnants of his presence thrumming through her memory.

Ambitious, driven and desperate to change her station in life, Aishe contemplates marriage, hoping for a path to legal status, though the only free advice she can get from an immigration lawyer is to be careful about whom she marries. She heeds this warning, starting to realize that this boyfriend might not bring her freedom but deadweight, as much as she tries to help him help himself. The scenario is high stakes given both Aishe’s status (she’s at one point arrested and detained) and Skinner’s mental health struggles, but this is a classic tale of a first love that curdles from sweet to sour.

The compelling performances and Liu’s artful direction elevate the script. Behtiyar, in her debut feature, is spectacular, eyes fiery, her expression often inscrutable, body in constant motion as Cheng’s camera follows close behind. Her connection with Hechinger is palpable, heady and heated, despite their characters’ differences, and it’s nice to see Hechinger in a more adult, romantic role, even as Skinner falls prey to his own demons.

Liu does indulge in the prolonging of heartache and indecision, and the story stalls while heading into the third act, the film stretched beyond what the material can sustain. Nevertheless, “Preparation for the Next Life” is a powerful assertion of dreams, humanity and hard work, arguing that every person has a past, a future and a story to tell. Some loves are for a lifetime, others just a moment, but nothing’s stopping Aishe from what she wants in this life — or her next.

Katie Walsh is a Tribune News Service film critic.

Tragedy and comedy make freaky bedfellows in “Oedipus the King, Mama!” This latest romp from Troubadour Theater Company turns the Getty Villa’s annual outdoor theater production into a Freudian carnival of psychosexual madness.

In “Lizastrata,” the troupe’s 2021 Getty Villa production, Aristophanes’ “Lysistrata,” the old political comedy in which women declare a sex strike to stop a ruinous war, and that singular showbiz sensation, Liza Minnelli, were merrily united in a lampoon with Bob Fosse flourishes. Here, Sophocles’ “Oedipus the King” and Elvis, the King of Rock ’n’ Roll, are brought together for an equally madcap if less artfully composed mashup.

The Elvis that storms into this ancient land known as Malibu is long past his prime. As impersonated by Matt Walker, the company’s director and comic frontman, he makes the late-career Las Vegas singer look like a spring chicken. Wearing a white jumpsuit adorned with rhinestones and a wig that looks as if some woodland creature had nested on his head, Walker’s Elvis has a bowlegged gait that suggests either a cumbersome protuberance or the early stages of rigor mortis.

There’s a younger version of the character, played by Steven Booth in a cartoon muscle suit and a tunic that makes it easy to flash the audience. But this exhibitionistic Oedipus is the star of the show’s unnecessary preface, a belabored warmup act that should have been cut in rehearsals.

The show feels overextended, as if 45-minutes of comic material had been inflated to fill out a 90-minute slot. The company’s commedia dell’arte-style shenanigans have a natural elasticity but farcical lunacy snaps when stretched too far.

The references to Southern California are unfailingly funny (this Oedipus claims to have started out as the crown prince of Temecula). But there’s something tired about an Elvis parody. The pompadour gag has lost its cultural shelf life. For the TikTok generation, it might as well be Thomas Jefferson who’s crooning “Hound Dog.”

The music still instantly captivates, even if whole swaths of the audience won’t be familiar with the original songs, impudently rewritten for the occasion. A version of “All Shook Up” is brilliantly deployed just as Oedipus is told the truth of his identity by Teiresias (Mike Sulprizio, outfitted to make the blind prophet look like a rejected member of the “Harry Potter” universe.)

How could any son not be shaken to the core after discovering that he not only killed his father but married his mother and sired his own siblings! That’s a lot to take in, as the cast routinely jokes. But denial buys time for a protagonist who’s too busy acting out his Oedipal fantasies to grapple with difficult realities.

The cast of “Oedipus the King, Mama!” at the Getty Villa.

(Craig Schwartz / J. Paul Getty Trust)

The object of Oedipus’ stunted affection is Jocasta (played by Beth Kennedy in a Priscilla Presley wig and the manner of a Southern ex-showgirl turned cougar). Kennedy not only steals the show but comes close to saving it. The comedy isn’t afraid to go low — poor mixed-up Oedipus isn’t yet fully weaned — but Kennedy’s Jocasta never loses her audacious, sexy-mama vivacity.

Rick Batalla, who plays Creon (pronounced crayon here), Oedipus’ straight-shooting brother-in-law, is another standout, eager to show off his own impish Elvis moves. The musical numbers are more elaborate than karaoke acts, but the volume is contained in deference to the Getty Villa’s neighbors, draining the staging of some of its theatrical power.

Scenically, the costumes of Sharon McGunigle and the puppet and prop design of Matt Scott do the heavy lifting. Walker’s direction has a grab-bag aspect, as if the invitation from the Getty Villa came too late to smoothly integrate all the moving parts.

Walker makes a jokey aside to that effect at the start of “Oedipus the King, Mama!” But no one’s complaining. The Getty Villa survived the fires and it can survive this jovial, if half-baked, Sophoclean circus. Levity is what’s needed now, and the Troubies are still funnier than anything AI could come up with, even if the joke is that ChatGPT had a hand in the script.

In “NCIS: Tony & Ziva,” premiering Thursday on Paramount+, two popular characters from the CBS military procedural “NCIS,” have been brought back after several years and given a series of their own. Michael Weatherly and Cote de Pablo, as special agents Anthony “Tony” DiNozzo and Ziva David, so occupied the romantic fantasies of viewers that their names were portmanteaued into “Tiva.” (You can find thousands of instances of Tiva-themed fan fiction online.) As to the will-they, won’t-they of the relationship, they finally did, before they didn’t, and now they have a 12-year-old daughter, Tali (Isla Gie), whom they’re amicably co-parenting.

I have looked in on the franchise now and again, professionally, as new iterations have extended the length and breadth of the brand, which technically reaches back into “JAG,” from which it was spun off. But I’m not even going to attempt to pretend to have any real expertise in the adventures of a large rotating cast over 22 seasons. (It’s been renewed for a 23rd.) But I respect the institution — the original of which has been and may be now America’s most watched series — and its longevity, as I will salute your long marriage.

At the same time, once you know the basic premise of the show — it’s an elite military police procedural — it’s not hard to figure out where you are, wherever you drop in. The characters may be heroic or eccentric, but they’re heroic or eccentric within a recognized mold, with enough individual personality to make them lovable over a long run, and you can pick up on the interpersonal vibes pretty quickly.

Unlike earlier “NCIS” series, all based on broadcast television, “Tony & Ziva” is platformed on Paramount+, which means that characters utter a bad word now and again — it doesn’t get much edgier than that, and despite the sexual heat it’s hardly racy — and that there’s a budget which allows for foreign locations and big action scenes. And where the earlier shows, notwithstanding soap operatic long arcs, are fundamentally episodic, “Tony & Ziva” is a serial story, stretched over 10 episodes. Whether it’s stretched to breaking, we’ll have to wait and see; only four episodes out of 10 were offered for review.

The crime-fighting combo of a roguish guy and a no-nonsense gal is familiar from “Moonlighting” and “Castle.” Even the fact that the title joins Tony and Ziva with an ampersand and not an “and” indicates a certain lightness of tone, and when Tony, speaking of his company, says, “We try to walk that fine line between techno thriller and workplace comedy,” he is, of course, describing the very series he’s in. A strain of comedy is common to team-based procedurals, and it’s certainly part of what’s kept “NCIS” going strong all these years.

Given that the American brand hasn’t been as toxic, internationally and domestically, since the Vietnam era, possibly, and that “NCIS” series show around the world, it’s just as well that the presumed villains are (apparently) not the anti-American, freedom-hating terrorists one often finds in these things, but Bond-type stateless actors merely seeking power and money.

Additionally, the series — whose earlier iterations have been based in Washington, Los Angeles, New Orleans, Hawaii, Sydney and, in last year’s prequel, “NCIS: Origins,” exotic Oceanside, Calif. — is set in Paris, where, having gone civilian, Ziva has opened a fancy language school and Tony runs a high-end security service. (Among his clients: Interpol. You can’t get more European than that.) Along with easy access to croissants and café au lait, our heroes have the benefit of not having to wax patriotic about a country in which they no longer live. It feels very 2025.

The series’ MacGuffin is a magical thumb drive that, when plugged into a computer system, can seemingly do anything at all; possessing it, therefore, is an issue for both the good guys and the bad, into whose respective hands it goes in and out. When villains use it to frame Tony for extorting money from a hospital and threaten Tali’s life, Tony and Ziva are dragged back into a life of running, shooting, reckless driving and fisticuffs. “Two words,” says Tony, observing Ziva take apart a thug endangering her daughter. “Jewish mother.”

Most important, it puts the pair on the run together — the opening episodes find them (ostensibly and/or actually) in France, Italy, Switzerland and Hungary — and into constant close quarters, where old tender feelings simmer and the question of sharing a bed arises, as in “The 39 Steps,” the greatest of all innocent-and-on-the-run romances.

Ziva, whose pre-NCIS employment was as an assassin for the Israeli secret service — perhaps not the best job for a TV heroine to have on her resume nowadays, but it’s not an issue here — has hung on to an arsenal and plural safe houses. (“Have I ever told you how deeply I appreciate your paranoia?” Tony tells her.) And they’ve both kept their old NCIS badges, which they will flash to dazzle security guards and the like.

Along the way they pick up Boris (Maximilian Osinski), a non-aligned Russian hacker who made the MacGuffin in the first place, and his chirpy fiancee Fruzsi (Anne-Marie Waldeck), who provide both comedy and the image of a healthy, all-in romantic relationship to contrast with that of our hesitating heroes. Filling out the ranks are Tali’s capable nanny, Sophie (Lara Rossi), and Tony’s resident tech whiz, Claudette (Amita Suman), because you apparently can’t plot a thriller anymore without computers at the center of things. By virtue of being Tony’s friend and Tali’s godfather, Interpol exec Henry (James D’Arcy) is the sort of character you expect to turn out to be bad, though it’s up in the air. I’ll say no more about Martine (Nassima Benchicou), other than that Benchicou is very good at being very bad.

Created by John McNamara (“The Magicians”), not previously part of the “NCIS” world, “Tony & Ziva” can be quite absurd, depending heavily on suspensions of disbelief, or a viewer just not thinking too hard. This does not set it apart from a great many such screenplays, and the series does not shy away from genre tropes — the car chase through a marketplace, a fight with a seemingly unbeatable big bald bruiser. Indeed, it embraces them.

But what makes the show worth watching are Weatherly and De Pablo, two extremely attractive middle-aged people with genuine chemistry; he’s superheroically unflappable without ever seeming anything but a regular Joe. She’s sad and serious and not to be messed with. They’ve been around; they have worn edges, and when they intersect, it generates something authentically sweet, as real as the rest of the series is improbable. There’s a reason for all that fan fiction.