scene

“It’s so intimidating to walk through here,” says an arena staffer as she scurries under the sight line of a video camera on a tall tripod. It’s a couple of hours before the Sparks’ home opener against the Las Vegas Aces on Mother’s Day. None of the photographers or videographers or security guards respond. She says it again. Still they don’t react, but they’re not being rude. They’re just all laser-focused on a 6-foot-4 blond wearing a stunning white Alaïa runway set that happens to be both a perfect ab showcase and an unmistakable style gauntlet thrown.

As every WNBA fashion watcher already knows, the blond can only be Sparks forward Cameron Brink, a Vogue favorite and a staple on LeagueFits, the Instagram account that has amassed a million followers since 2018 with a curated stream of tunnel fits. How do they differ from regular off-court attire? These are highly stylized, high-stakes pregame outfits that many professional athletes wear when arriving at the stadium or arena, capitalizing on the opportunity to get seen on their own terms.

Cameron Brink wears an Alaïa top and skirt and Louboutin shoes.

The popular images share a common visual language: The players show up in outfits so expressive they raise an exhilarating middle finger to the very idea of quiet luxury. The backdrops are always drab; concrete floors and metal doors. The stark contrast between the two, and the suggestion of backstage access, make the photos irresistible to fans.

No one skips the tunnel walk. The Sparks rookies are here early, Ta’Niya Latson first, followed by Ji-Hyun Park and then Chance Gray, all arriving while the last section of sparkly black carpet is still being laid down on the literal tunnel, which is finally emblazoned with the team logo. That’s the one they’ll all walk in uniform to get onto the court. We are in the proverbial tunnel, it is the bustling back-of-house that players must traverse on their way to the locker room, which means that all around us the enormous task of staging a pro ballgame is unfolding in a practiced frenzy.

Less than a month ago, Latson went classic Hollywood at the WNBA draft with a glamour girl dress, meticulously laid spit curl and elbow gloves, but today she comes in sporty and fun, in a Puma top and jeans with a folded-down waistband. It’s her very first league game, and the moment is surreal, joyful. “It doesn’t even feel like I’m here, but I am,” she says.

A team staffer pulls a forgotten wad of blue painter’s tape off the floor. A photographer checks her light levels. Three gaffers rush by with heavy coils of electric cord slung over their shoulders. Park is next to arrive. A basketball star in Korea, she’s new to L.A. but already wearing a sweatshirt from a local brand, Madhappy, and does not seem at all intimidated by the cameras, giving them a playful pose, head cocked and leg kicked out. Not long after, Gray, in a plaid mini, is also posing at the photographers’ request, switching effortlessly between signature Gen Z stances, chin resting atop a bent hand. She, too, showed up at the draft in a flawless gown, but today all three rookies seem to have wisely cast themselves in a sort of spirited younger sibling role.

Ta’Niya Latson wears a Puma top and Louis Vuitton bag.

Jihyun Park arrives for her tunnel walk in a Madhappy sweatshirt and Nike sneakers.

Chance Gray wears a Revolve top and shoes, I.am.Gia. skirt and Ganni bag.

Word spreads that Sparks starter Kelsey Plum will be there soon and everyone straightens up. More team staffers rush by. To play basketball you need only a ball and a basket. To magic a WNBA production into existence, you need so much more. A man bearing a dozen brand new jerseys, designed as a callback to the original 1997 uniform, weaves past a line of people going the other way, carrying orange Gatorade coolers and stacks of branded blankets wrapped in thin plastic. An assistant speeds back and forth, loaded down with pallets of snacks, her long hair streaming behind her.

And then Nneka Ogwumike steps into view. After two seasons in Seattle, her return to L.A. is triumphant. As president of the Women’s National Basketball Players Assn., she helped secure a historic new agreement, signed March 24, with salary numbers that mean real money across the board. And in case there were any lingering doubts about her loyalty, she’s made a pointed clothing choice: a pair of custom tapestry pants constructed from a Lakers logo blanket, created by KA Originals designer and former player Kristine Anigwe. The message is simple. “L.A. for life,” says Ogwumike.

Nneka Ogwumike wears custom KA Originals tapestry pants constructed from a Lakers blanket.

Now the rush begins. As we’re talking to Ogwumike, Sania Feagin slips by in a multicolored knit beanie, smile unmissable, holding a bouquet of Mother’s Day flowers from one of the league’s social media managers. Then Emma Cannon embraces the holiday by pulling her son and twin daughters behind her in a wagon. As the family is photographed, several Aces members come in and pause for a brief hug and coo before ducking quickly out of frame. The energy could not be more different from a boxing weigh-in. No spotlight stealing. No antagonistic peacocking.

It is, indisputably, the home team’s turf. And Plum, next to arrive, treats it like her runway. Willy Chavarria sunglasses on, textured Ferragamo trousers glittering with each camera flash, she strides through without pausing. The look has her signature rebel edge, but the guard is working with a new stylist, Karla Welch, who’s known for transforming actors into fashion darlings — her client Greta Lee (“Past Lives”) is the face of Dior’s latest campaign.

Soon after, we get another speed strut from guard Erica Wheeler, whose giant “EW” initial chain from the GLD Shop is the iced out topper to an outfit that’s a master class in artful layering, composed with the assistance of stylist Miguel Moss. Wheeler dipped into Willy Chavarria’s Adidas collab with both her shorts and a pair of black sneakers with a metal-tooled toe in a floral pattern that the designer named after the Compton Cowboys.

WNBA LA Sparks player Emma Cannon with her three children.

Kelsey Plum wears Ferragamo top and pants, Willy Chavarria sunglasses and Jude boots.

The entire time players are walking through, music has been booming through the hallways. Gradually, it becomes clear that the game DJ and host are also getting ready, running through their playlists and patter. When Rae Burrell enters, the game announcer is rehearsing, exhorting the not-yet-arrived crowd to cheer for their team. Burrell may have worked with a shopper to procure options, but she styled herself in this cheer-worthy outfit — a gray minidress that satisfyingly contrasts with a pair of bright white Moon Boots, all pulled together the night before.

Star stylist Brittany Hampton, who has worked with Brink and Plum, says, “historically, [the players] were told to kind of put themselves in a box … to shrink themselves.” The league had very narrow standards for how women were expected to look. But now, according to Hampton, their fashion choices are a projection of power: “It’s an act of their own ownership.”

Before she headed to the locker room, Burrell thanked everyone and called out a cheerful invocation, “Successful first game!” That’s the appeal of the tunnel walk. You cannot stay suspended in pure potential. There is always a ticking clock. A game will be played. Someone will win and someone will lose. None of us know yet that the Sparks are about to get trounced by the Aces, losing by 27 points. It might seem like it would be more sensible for this ritual to take place after the game, for the victors to stage a triumphant, high-style parade and for everyone else to slink out, unnoticed. But where’s the glory in that? To be an athlete is to prove yourself constantly, to always be risking your ego and your body. Without these stakes, without the backdrop of the tunnel and the promise of the competition, it would just be a runway.

In the third quarter, as the Aces’ points keep piling up, the Jumbotron lingers on a fan wearing a simple white T-shirt, probably self-made, emblazoned with an iconic 2024 image of Kelsey Plum in black sunglasses and head-to-toe black leather. Plum is braless, her vest open to reveal a shimmery pile of silver chains, her abs on defiant display. It is a potent, and lasting, assertion of self. The fan in the T-shirt smiles as their image, and Plum’s, looms over the arena.

Dearica Hamby poses with her daughter, Amaya, and wears an Ottolinger set, Steve Madden shoes and Balenciaga.

Rae Burrell wears Prada sunglasses and Diesel bag.

Ariel Atkins wears Zara pants, Charles Keith top, Bape shoes and Ganni bag.

Sania Feagin wears Mnml pants and jacket and Supreme beanie.

Head coach Lynne Roberts.

Jade Chang is the author of the novel “What a Time to Be Alive.”

This article contains spoilers for the penultimate episode of “The Boys.”

There’s just one episode to go in the fifth and final season of Prime Video’s irreverent superhero satire, “The Boys.” The topical, darkly funny, whip-smart series from Eric Kripke follows a band of vigilante misfits who fight to expose the all-powerful, corrupt conglomerate Vought International and its stable of villainous superheroes.

Among the ragtag crew of antiheroes is Frenchie, played by Tomer Capone. Frenchie is the de facto chemist and inventor of the group, a former assassin for hire whose drug-addled brain is constantly concocting news ways to kill immortal Supes (superheroes). Yet he’s deeply connected with the feral Kimiko (Karen Fukuhara), who was nonverbal when he helped save her from human traffickers who sought to cash in on her Supe strength. Their bond — both are outsiders who suffered abuse as children — is one of the few emotional soft spots in the otherwise fast-moving series about America’s rotten power structure, manipulative media and the gullibility of the public.

Though fans of the show are already mourning the end of “The Boys,” they were dealt another major blow Wednesday, when in Episode 7 beloved Frenchie met his fate at the hands of the sociopathic head Supe, Homelander (Antony Starr). Israeli actor Capone talks about the scene, the end of the show and how to cope with the loss of Frenchie. This conversation has been edited for clarity and length.

OK, so the big question first. Do you actually speak French?

En vous? Moi? [Laughs] OK, a little bit, but it’s a different kind of French. But that wasn’t the difficult part. Frenchie, to me, is one of those characters for an actor, that’s a gift. It’s something I prayed for. It’s a full-on character. He’s an outsider. He’s a foreigner. The way he walks, the way he talks. We can also talk about the crop tops and the hairstyle …

He’s a full-on character, and the French aspect was only part of it. There was also the sign language with Kimiko, and the connection. For me, the emotion and connection was the bigger aspect of portraying Frenchie.

Are you ready for all the tears of your fans once they witness Frenchie’s demise? He sacrifices himself to lure Homelander away from Kimiko. She is saved, but he is killed in the process.

Oh my God, I can’t watch it. I didn’t watch it. I can’t. I’m too involved.

Tomer Capone on the scene with his character’s demise: “Oh my God, I can’t watch it.”

(Jasper Savage/Prime)

So you really haven’t watched the scene yet?

No. It’s the longest character I ever had in my career, and I can’t. Something tells me not yet.

When you shot that scene, was there an intensity on set? How did that play out?

Intensity is always around the show because there’s so much to accomplish doing “The Boys.” But funnily enough, that specific scene was the most tranquil and quiet set I’ve experienced. I remember standing there with the amazing people of the cast and crew, and we’re talking about how the scene is going to play out. I felt this quietness, like everybody was like inside themselves, so I started to get nervous. I said, “Oh my God, they’re expecting something.”

But very quickly, I decided that I’m just going release all the [plans], thoughts or ideas that I had about the scene. I literally went into this mantra that said, “Frenchie, here’s the keys. Drive the car.” And you know what? It was the right way to go. It made sense. It felt very respectful and spiritual. Those kind of scenes come once in never, where you feel like you’re letting the character drive, and you’re just gliding behind it.

“The Boys” is based on the 2000s comic book series of the same name by writer Garth Ennis and artist Darick Robertson. But the show is unlike any comic book adaptation out there. In fact, it mocks superhero culture.

The biggest gift of working [with] Eric Kripke, the writers and this show is that even as things are moving fast and big things are happening, they’re emotionally backed up. And as a character and an actor, it’s like, OK, I understand what I’m doing. This is the world and what we’re playing. You get where it is going, and why it needs to happen.

Were you surprised when you first learned about Frenchie’s fate?

I wasn’t surprised when I heard from Eric that Frenchie was continuing on to the big field [in the sky]. I had this feeling. I didn’t want to say it out loud. It’s like, at this point, the fifth season, we all felt it. We knew where it was going,

But Frenchie is the empathy and compassion of this series. I actually cried when he was killed off. The empathy is gone, and now we’re left with soulless, terrifying Homelander.

But Kimiko lives.

True, but I haven’t seen the finale. How does Kimiko go on without Frenchie?

Well, let me tell you… [laughs]. I can’t tell, but I can say that I do think Episode 8 is going to blow the audience and fans’ minds with where it goes. That’s the only thing I can say. It evolves into something that resonates.

When it comes to pushing the envelope, “The Boys” is renowned for going where most shows won’t. It drove a speed boat into the side of a whale, imbued superheroes with powers such as toxic vomit and a giant killer penis. Then there was the flying killer sheep. Was there ever a moment too far for you?

Almost every episode has those moments … I remember they told us about the whale, and they said they were still figuring out how. It was a surprise. So I’m driving to set, and it was a sunny day on the shore of Toronto, then all of a sudden, my windshield, everything is covered with this [big shadow], and I’m like what’s going on? Clouds? Is going to rain? The day is ruined! Then I look up and see them [trucking] in a real-size animatronic whale. People that had nothing to do with the show were stopping their cars and looking at this whale moving on the Toronto shore. It was like, OK, here we go.

And there was the musical sequence [in Season 3, Episode 5, when a hospitalized Kimiko imagines her and Frenchie dancing to “I Got Rhythm.”]. Karen and I were on set, and there’s like 30 professional dancers stretching behind us, beautiful and fresh and clean. And we’re looking at each other like, what is this show? What are we doing here? As an actor, you pinch yourself. It’s an experience.

Frenchie (Capone) and Kimiko (Fukuhara) in Season 3’s musical number.

(Amazon Studios)

The musical number, did you actually have to practice the choreography for that?

Oh, day in and day out. I thought I knew how to dance. Apparently I needed some work. Luckily, Karen is a total badass in terms of her commitment, and we practiced it day and night, even working on it off set between other scenes, just working in the movements, trying to get it right. But I learned something very fun about myself. Usually, I don’t like to watch myself on screen, like a lot of actors don’t. From time to time, I would watch an action scene or me fighting because I want to see if I got the choreography right. And I learned that I can watch myself dance too.

With all the fighting in that show, that’s also requires quite a bit of physical acting.

We have the best stunt teams in the business. They made our life very easy compared to the crazy stuff we had to do. Saying that, I don’t miss the harnesses that they put on us. I will not miss that

Harnesses?

I remember when we shot the first episode where Frenchie, Hughie (Jack Quaid)and Mother’s Milk (Laz Alonso) are captive in the camp. And then I think Starlight flies me off out of the camp. It was like minus 40, snowing. We’re on our harnesses, and we’re just flying away. It’s an experience.

“The Boys” has brilliantly captured the political craziness in America, but told through the world of egotistical superheroes. For example, Homelander claimed he was lord and savior around the same time President Trump posted an AI image of himself as Jesus.

How they predicted some of the stuff, it beats me. You’re going to have to ask Kripke and his writers. But I love that the show tackles all that. For me, portraying Frenchie is about humanity. About how in chaos and in fear and in the craziness of “The Boys’” world, people still choose love and compassion and that’s really the heart of “The Boys.” Or maybe that’s just from Frenchie’s perspective, where it’s all about family, loyalty and protecting the ones you love.

How did you imagine the character of Frenchie when you first learned of the show?

When I got the audition, I didn’t know about the source material. I didn’t know about the novel, or the graphic comic book. So I went online, and I started researching Frenchie. And the first picture that came in was this buzz cut, crazy, goggle-wearing character. I said, what really? Frenchie specifically is illustrated and drawn so different from volume to volume. It gave me so much space to create something in between those worlds. Then picking the brain of Eric Kripke and building a whole story and backup story for the characters. We already knew, in a way, where it was going, so we had the privilege of understanding the arc of the bigger picture for “The Boys.”

Do you have a favorite Frenchie moment?

Yeah, I do, but it’s not what you might expect to hear. It’s from Season 1. There was this scene with Frenchie and Petit Hughie. Hughie comes out of his father’s house [and he’s upset]. I say that I understand because my father was bipolar too, and [he tried to smother me with a] Hello Kitty duvet. It’s just it’s one of those moments when we couldn’t get those two lines out. We kept breaking. I think it’s the longest scene Jack and I ever had in the show. It was something like 14 takes. All the cast and crew were breaking too. It was like, should we just give it up? But I was fighting for it. No, I can do this! Now it’s a [fan] favorite quote. So that means a lot. I fought for that line!

Have you thought about how you’ll console distraught fans once they’ve seen Episode 7?

Oh, my God. Do you have any tips for me, please?

Sorry, no. I’m in mourning too.

Frenchie will live forever. Viva la Frenchie.

Firefighters battled a fire Sunday that erupted in the early morning and remained active well into the afternoon at a downtown L.A. office supplies store.

Roughly 120 firefighters were called about 4 a.m. to the two-story building with a mezzanine at 1225 S. Hope St. near West Pico Boulevard. Upon arrival, firefighters encountered heavy smoke and flames. One firefighter suffered minor injuries in the battle and was hospitalized.

Firefighters transitioned from offensive to defensive mode and used a remote-suppression robot to enter the building, LAFD spokesperson Jennifer Middleton said. Arson and emergency air units also were requested.

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1. Firefighters battled a fire Sunday that erupted in the early morning and remained active well into the afternoon at a downtown L.A. office supplies store. (Kayla Bartkowski/Los Angeles Times)

The blaze was initially contained by 5:52 a.m., but the building’s contents rekindled, said LAFD Battalion Chief Peter Hsiao.

About 10 a.m., firefighters were “trying to remove paper from the building to stop it from catching on fire,” Hsiao said.

By 10:30 a.m., the building’s roof had collapsed, according to Times photographer Kayla Bartkowski, who was at the scene. Thirty minutes later, the building was again engulfed in flames.

At 1:30 p.m., firefighters were trying to contain the blaze by using a forklift and heavy machinery to pull boxes of office supplies and pallets of paper out of the building, then spraying it all down with water.

Firefighters on the roof also were spraying the fire to prevent it from spreading, she added.

A blaze was reported at about 4 a.m. in downtown L.A. at 1225 South Hope St.

(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)

The address is associated with Bluebird Office Supplies. A voicemail left for a number listed for the business owner was not immediately returned.

No one was inside the building at the time of the blaze, Middleton said.

The cause of the fire is under investigation.

Why go now

In the south-west of Munich, Schlachthofviertel is an area in flux; a jarring district that is home to a theatre, a techno club and a controversial active slaughterhouse.

In the 1870s, after the final cholera epidemic in Munich, a municipal slaughterhouse (Schlachthof) was built on what was then the outskirts of the city as part of a wider effort to improve hygiene standards. Although it is still in use today, the site has dramatically decreased in capacity, and creative entrepreneurs have been quick to see the potential of unused spaces.

In 2021, the Münchner Volkstheater (People’s Theatre) moved to the area, bringing a new cultural status and sparking fears of accelerated gentrification. For me, it’s a part of town I go to for a change of scene or just a loaf of double-baked rye bread. In summer, the open-air spaces come out of hibernation and show a much edgier side to Munich.

Where to eat and drink

Today, butcher’s shops and cult dive bars sit side by side. There has been a flurry of openings; my favourite recent addition is the female-run Mari on Adlzreiterstraße, the street Albert Einstein lived on for much of his childhood. The airy cafe serves a late breakfast, including a Korean option of marinated tofu and miso mayonnaise.

The Brotatelier bakery operates from a shipping container, and bakers use equipment on wheels to maximise the limited space. From the cinnamon buns to the French fougasse bread, all products are prepared with sourdough. “Everybody has time here; we haven’t had a single customer who was stressed or anything like that,” says co-founder Christof Teriete, whose bigger concern is the impact of the fluctuating container temperatures on the sourdough starters.

For drinks, start at Frisches Bier, run by craft brewer Tilman Ludwig. He has his own beers on tap, along with a small selection of other independent labels, such as Bierol from Tirol and Hoppebräu from southern Bavaria.

Cultural experiences

On one side of Zenettistraße is the decommissioned cattle market (Viehhof). The red brick walls are now home to the Volkstheater. Launched with a production of Christopher Marlowe’s Edward II, the diverse programme includes the Radikal jung festival, focused on emerging directors, and the U20 Poetry Slam, which invites young writers to present their work.

Next door is Bahnwärter Thiel, the heart of Munich’s underground scene, were graffitied shipping containers and the occasional caravan provide studios for DJs, artists, potters, goldsmiths, bakers (see above) and non-profits. “There’s no central heating or running water in the containers,” says Kati Legge from female creative office High Five, “but it’s not about comfort, it’s about maximum inspiration and the fascinating people around you.”

Raised garden beds add touches of green and upcycled materials are used for sculptures and makeshift walkways. There’s also a bar in an old tram, a restaurant in a train carriage and a techno club open till 6am weekends.

Where to shop

Rindchen’s Weinkontor has a huge selection of wine stored in a roomy, listed building. At Moss Concept Store on Thalkirchner Straße you’ll find ceramics, glassware and other home accessories.

Don’t miss

Actually quite hard to miss is Alte Utting, a former passenger ship that’s now a bar and event space that fills the length of a bridge over Lagerhausstraße. Destined for the scrapyard after years of service on Ammersee, it was rescued and relocated in 2017 by Wannda, the people behind Bahnwärter Thiel.

Where to stay

There’s little tourist accommodation in Schlachthofviertel, but there are hotels close to the nearby Oktoberfest site. Cocoon Theresienwiese has doubles from around €80 room-only.

Indiana officials have disclosed the official cause of death for “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” star Nicholas Brendon, who died in March.

The Putnam County Coroner confirmed in a report shared with The Times on Tuesday that the actor, best known for portraying the loyal and wisecracking Xander Harris, died of atherosclerotic and hypertensive cardiovascular disease. Acute pneumonia and a previous myocardial infarction — a heart attack — were listed as contributing factors in his death.

Brendon died March 20, his family announced in a statement on his social media pages. The family said he died of natural causes, which was also confirmed by the coroner’s report. The report also noted that Brendon had “90% blockage” in his right coronary artery. He was 54.

“He was passionate, sensitive, and endlessly driven to create,” his family said on Instagram in March. “Those who truly knew him understood that his art was one of the purest reflections of who he was.”

Prior to his death, Brendon experienced multiple health issues. He was hospitalized in 2022 after he was diagnosed with a congenital heart defect and after suffering a cardiac incident. The “Criminal Minds” star also underwent multiple spinal surgeries to manage cauda equina syndrome, a rare condition in which nerve bundle in the lumbar or sacral spine are compressed or not functioning properly. His serious spinal injury was triggered by a fall in 2021 that required emergency surgery to prevent paralysis, his manager Theresa Fortier said in a statement at the time.

The coroner’s report described the scene of Brendon’s death, noting that because of the actor’s “declining health” Fortier had spent more time with him and notified authorities of his passing. The report confirmed there were no “obvious signs” of foul play and that “nothing seemed out of place or disturbed” in Brendon’s home, which appeared to be under renovation. Fortier told officials that the actor — a longtime smoker — was dealing with a “persistent” cough, complaining about chest pain and “self-medicating” with over-the-counter drugs prior to his death, according to the report. Brendon also declined further medical treatment.

According to the report, Brendon also had a “markedly enlarged heart,” “moderate” blockage in some of his left arteries and small bowel inflammation.

In addition to “Buffy” and “Criminal Minds,” Brendon was known for roles in the TV series “Without a Trace,” “Private Practice” and “Kitchen Confidential.”

Times staff writer Clara Harter contributed to this report.

Ibiza might be famed for its sleepless nights, but where you stay can shape the whole experience.

From serene sea-view luxury to buzzy beachside energy, the White Isle serves up escapes to match every mood.

Find rooftop heaven at Ibiza’s Ocean Drive Talamanca,

says writer Mia Lyndon 

Sleepless nights are often a given on this island – but not at this stylish retreat. Here, you’ll find panoramic ocean views, an extensive pillow menu and truffles delivered at bedtime. 

 Tucked between Talamanca’s sandy beaches and whitewashed architecture are Ocean Drive’s four pools and 117 rooms, all facing the sparkling waters of Talamanca Cove.  

Our room is decked out with a rainfall shower, floor-to-ceiling windows and a tower speaker – plus a welcome flaó, an Ibizan mint and aniseed cheesecake.  

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There’s a complimentary hangover supplement, too (though that remains in its box).  

Downstairs, walls are adorned with local modern art, plus there’s a balmy sun terrace and the Almendra Boutique shop, stocked with whimsical Ibizan trinkets.  

We catch the sunset at the hotel’s rooftop Up And Down eatery, and sip Montenovo, a crisp, vibrant white wine, £35 a bottle, while gazing at Ibiza Castle across the bay, as we tuck into fresh seabass and prawns in a rich coconut, oyster and lime sauce, £30. 

Lunch is equally tempting, with indulgent sandwiches loaded with Iberian ham, Mahón cheese and truffle, £24, soaking up our rosé sangria, £7 a glass, before we plunge back into the rooftop pool. 

Mornings here are slow and relaxed – breakfast is served until noon and boasts local meats, Spanish cheeses and warm, freshly baked cookies. 

We stroll along Talamanca’s sandy boardwalk ogling the yachts, and stop by B London Boutique to browse the colourful rails of swimsuits, wraps and shades (Blondonboutique.com), before setting up camp on the golden beach.  

This is bliss. Double rooms at Ocean Drive Talamanca cost from £170 per night (Od-hotels.com).  

Seek out Hyde Ibiza. . . For a cool pool scene,

says Assistant Editor Kelly Allen

Perched in the hills of Cala Llonga, 15 minutes further along the Isle’s east coast, is boho-chic Hyde Ibiza.  

Head to its main pool, Hyde Beach, for an excellent playlist and cabanas, from £131 a day, to live it up – the fee is redeemable on food and drink.  

At beachside eatery Sonrojo, we order seafood paella, £30, and sangria, £35 a jug.  

Later, we catch the sunset on the terrace of Japanese restaurant Niko, feasting on umami-rich tuna and truffle maki, £24, and miso-glazed black cod, £37.  

Hyde is just steps from the public ferry to Ibiza Town, Santa Eulalia and Leonardo DiCaprio’s fave nearby island, Formentera.  

It’s also just 20 minutes from UNVRS, where we catch David Guetta (Unvrs.com), Ushuaïa, where Calvin Harris performs alfresco (Theushuaiaexperience.com), and Hï Ibiza, with its Wild Corner complete with a DJ booth inside the unisex loos (Hiibiza.com).  

Recovery at beach club Amante proves a winner (Amanteibiza.com), and the views are so impressive that a mate back home thinks my pics are AI! Double rooms at Hyde Ibiza cost from £161 per night (Hydehotels.com/ibiza). 

Cameron Collins was sick of Joe Biden.

The owner of concert promoter Brew Ha Ha Productions describes himself as a libertarian-leaning conservative who built his career in San Juan Capistrano. He’d kept his personal politics out of his popular SoCal events, like the ska fest OC Super Show and the nationally touring Punk in the Park fest, a staple for bands like Bad Religion and Pennywise.

On May 30, 2024, Collins felt dismayed that Biden had pursued reelection. In a fit of anger, he donated $225 to Donald Trump’s campaign.

“It was just an impulsive thing,” Collins said in an interview. “Biden had said he was going to run again. I was like, nope. He’d said he wasn’t. It was more about that than anything. I don’t post anything political or talk about anything politically. I’ve never donated to anything like that before.”

That donation proved fateful. After a small punk label discovered and decried Collins’ donation, the scene turned on him. Influential bands pulled out of his festivals or said they wouldn’t return.

On Feb. 27, Collins canceled every Punk in the Park date for 2026.

“The current climate surrounding the events has created challenges that make it impossible for us to move forward,” the organizers wrote on Instagram.

It’s no surprise that an underground music scene would loathe a Trump-donating promoter. Amid the Iran war, raids by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, and the Epstein files, many Americans want Trump supporters gone from their lives, some viewing any form of support for him as an attack on their and others’ safety and dignity.

Yet until this donation, Collins was a respected promoter whose events sustained hundreds of acts, including progressive bands. Some artists who relied on Collins’ festivals — even if they hate his politics — said the backlash will hurt their livelihoods too.

“It was the worst money I ever spent,” Collins said. “It was not worth this.”

On a March afternoon after canceling his tours, Collins spoke to The Times on a Zoom from his home in Texas. He wore a thick gray beard and the chunky glasses of an aging rocker. His home office was plastered in concert posters from his decades of shows, which include Punk in Drublic (a long-running collaboration with his friends in the left-leaning band NOFX), Silverado Showdown in Orange County and SoCal rock radio station KLOS’ Sabroso Festival.

He expressed bewilderment over the fan revolt that turned him from a scene mogul who gave to pediatric cancer research charities to a villain with a gutted festival business.

“I feel like my reputation with every artist I ever worked with was that they would say, ‘The guy’s got integrity. He treats everyone right. He fights for this scene,’ ” Collins said. “I’m wondering what is happening right now that this has become so polarizing.”

Asked what Trump policies he supported, Collins sighed and said, “A vote for a candidate is not an endorsement of everything they stand for. I am very antiwar. There were promises that Trump made — no more foreign wars, supporting Ukraine by ending that war, lowering prices on gas and on groceries. Dinner table topics.”

Those goals are significantly at odds with the president’s track record. Did Trump deliver on Collins’ donation?

“The way that this whole fiasco has gone down — no one would have voted for that,” he said.

Punk has long struggled with a reactionary streak. British bands in the ‘70s wore swastika armbands for shock value. The Sex Pistols’ Johnny Rotten and the Ramones’ Johnny Ramone turned rightward, and Orange County’s hardcore scene has had neo-Nazi extremists. Gen X punk fans who consider themselves anti-establishment might see online leftists as imposing on their ability to have consequence-free political speech.

Yet the vitality of today’s punk scene is driven by young, racially and sexuality-diverse fans who believe they are in grave danger from Trump’s policies.

Last year, Brandon Lewis, the founder of the Columbus, Ohio-based label Punkerton Records, was poking around on the donor database Open Secrets. He was curious how his scene was donating, and he’d attended Brew Ha Ha events like the Ohio punk festival Camp Anarchy. He checked where Collins put his money and was appalled that it went to Trump.

“We refuse to support, defend, or stay silent about someone who gave money to a man actively destroying everything we care about, deporting our friends and families, erasing the existence of our trans community, stripping away civil liberties, civil rights, and workers’ rights, while dismantling the Constitution itself,” Lewis wrote from Punkerton’s Instagram.

“I’m a combat veteran, and this administration is just pushing everything I believe in about freedom out the window,” Lewis told The Times. “When I would listen to Trump’s rhetoric about ICE — I’ve got friends who are undocumented. Supporting that in a financial way, supporting someone saying my trans friends don’t exist, and to do so coming from a music scene that to me is accepting and kind and certainly not ripping families apart, I couldn’t in good conscience let that go.”

Other bands in the scene, like Dillinger Four, found more donations — around $100 or $200 each — from Collins going to the Trump-supporting political action committees WinRed and Never Surrender and the Trump National Committee. Collins’ support ran deeper than a one-off gesture.

Left-leaning fans demanded that bands drop off Collins’ festival bills.

Dropkick Murphys, a rough-and-ready enemy of Trumpism in punk, had played Collins’ past events. When word of his donations spread, the band came out swinging.

“Punk Rock and Donald Trump just don’t belong together,” they wrote in an Instagram post . “So, upon finding out that Brew Ha Ha promotions donated to the Trump campaign, we will not be playing any more Punk in the Park shows.”

Some acts, like old-guard punks the Adicts and ska group the Aquabats, canceled sets at Collins’ events. Other bands, like Dead Kennedys, said they opposed his beliefs but fulfilled their contracts.

“Dead Kennedys have always stood firmly against authoritarianism, racism, and fascism. That has not changed,” the group wroteon social media. “After these scheduled appearances, we will not be participating in future Punk In the Park events.”

Collins said he understood why bands jumped ship. “There was so much pressure building,” he said. “The bands are a business. You have to say, at what level is the pay worth the headache?”

Yet he insisted that “anyone that pulled off did not pull out because they were standing for something, but were being pummeled to the ground by everyone that said they’d better do it or else. I don’t want those bands to go through that.”

Many fans say that Collins is seeing the predictable consequences of supporting a politician the scene despises.

Others struggled with what to do in response. Monique Powell, the singer for the Orange County ska band Save Ferris, describes herself as a “queer anarchist anti-Netanyahu Jewish child of a North African immigrant,” and far from a Trump sympathizer. Yet Save Ferris played Collins’ OC Super Show event in spite of the protests and bands pulling out.

She said that, while she opposes MAGA, she “wasn’t willing to disappoint fans and put hundreds of people out of work just because someone had a view I didn’t agree with.”

She said Collins “has been an important part of creating and nurturing this scene. He gave a lot of people work. From onstage, I see all the vendors, the stage crew, all providing jobs for people of all backgrounds. He’s given a place for fans to come together, even if they don’t all believe the same stuff.”

Save Ferris was a breakout act in the ‘90s and is now a working-class band on the ska and punk festival circuit. “I see the midsized, hometown venues that the bands of my ilk play — they’re being bought out or dying,” Powell said. “I’m not about to start getting out pitchforks for someone who did something that’s nothing compared to the effects of larger companies.”

Take, for example, Beverly Hills-based concert giant Live Nation, which was in the news last week after a federal jury in New York ruled against it in an antitrust case. Live Nation’s chief executive, Michael Rapino, has donated to Democrats Kamala Harris, Sens. Jacky Rosen of Nevada, Lisa Blunt Rochester of Delaware and Adam Schiff of California, and the music biz-friendly Texas Republican John Cornyn. Live Nation’s PAC has given to Republican Sens. Marsha Blackburn of Tennessee and Ohio Rep. Jim Jordan, alongside several Democrats. Billionaire Philip Anschutz, whose namesake firm AEG is the parent company of Coachella promoter Goldenvoice, has donated millions to Republican politicians, PACs and party organizations for decades — exponentially more than Collins ever did.

It’s fair for to wonder why music fans who hold the line on supporting a Trump donor like Collins might attend those other shows. Lewis said he struggles with that contradiction too but said it hurt worse coming from a punk promoter.

“Donating to Trump is antithesis of what punk means. Hating people for their sexuality or skin color is not punk in the least bit. People clearly expected better from a punk rock festival,” he said.

“I think Live Nation should be broken in half,” Lewis added. “But it’s no knock on someone who wants to see Social Distortion at a Live Nation venue; they need escape as well. I’m just not going to pretend Live Nation is a beacon for good things.”

Those punk communities are pushing back beyond Collins’ events. The SoCal gothic-cumbia DJ collective Los Goths pulled out of the Orange County festival Los Darks after learning its organizers, Peachtree Entertainment, produced the MAGA-champion Kid Rock’s controversial Rock the Country festival. The Los Angeles crust-punk event C.Y. Fest was scrapped after its organizer, Ignacio “Nacho Corrupted” Rodriguera was accused of sexual misconduct (he called the claims “false allegations and misinformation,” but stepped back from the festival).

Collins’ company produces events outside the punk scene, focused on craft beer and other music genres. He recently revamped his upcoming Me Gusta festival into Sublime Fest after the rap group Cypress Hill pulled out. (Last year, Sublime played at the Trump National Doral golf course for the Saudi-backed LIV Golf tour.)

Collins is not sure how he’ll find his way back into the punk scene or if the fans will want him there again.

“I still go out into the audience because I just want to see, is it real? Do people hate me?” he said. “We have bands up there like the Casualties, who are flying [anti-ICE] flags. People are like, ‘You’re a fascist,’ but I’m paying a band to go on my stage to say whatever they want, and then signing a check and going, ‘Thanks for doing it.’ ”

In America‘s current political climate, left-leaning punk fans may not have patience for Trump sympathizers. Having heterodox beliefs is one thing; financially supporting the president is another. Collins is a free market guy, and the punk market has spoken.

Yet huge companies that donate to Trump and his allies are consolidating the industry. It’s harder for progressive punks who want the scene to reflect their values.

“I feel like we created a sustainable, realistic scene that can keep going for years, and bands can earn the money that they need to anchor those tours,” Collins said. His donation caused this avoidable backlash, but “if you take away festivals that are their anchors, like we have been for so many of these artists over the years, how do they tour? This is what the bands are telling me, that ‘we’re the ones getting killed here.’ ”

The third season of Apple TV’s “Shrinking” concludes with Jimmy (Jason Segel) being, well, “Jimmy-ed.”

For three seasons, Jimmy, a therapist grieving the loss of his wife, has used unconventional methods —think taking someone with aggression issues to a boxing ring — to get through to his patients. In the last moments of “And That’s Our Time,” Jimmy’s mentor and fellow therapist Paul (Harrison Ford) turns that approach on its namesake, flying across the country to give Jimmy a much needed push to move forward with his life. “Jimmy needed permission and encouragement from someone to say, ‘All right, it’s time,’” Segel says. “This is the end of this story and it’s time to start a new one.”

In the scene, Paul finally tells Jimmy he’s like a son to him. “I found ourselves writing a conversation that if we were lucky enough to have a conversation like that with our own fathers, we’d be grateful,” executive producer Bill Lawrence says. “A lot of my shows have an element of mentorship in them. To see Jimmy’s mentor come through for him in the way that I would always hope he would meant a lot to me.”

Lawrence had always envisioned the three-season arc for Jimmy ending this way. But when they found out the comedy would be returning for a fourth season, he and his fellow executive producers were faced with a dilemma: End the season the way they would have the series or push their original ending out for one more season. After much discussion, they decided to stick the landing.

“It still felt right,” Lawrence says. “This particular story with these characters has been told and you should feel, in a good way, like it’s gonna be OK for Jimmy. Jason is so good at it, watching him play the agony of trying to get through it all and come out on the other side was my favorite kind of journey on the whole show.”

Segel spoke to The Envelope about filming this pivotal scene and bringing the third season to a close.

What did filming this final scene mean to you? To play this part of Jimmy’s journey coming to an end?

I’m always really interested in, “What is the dirty underneath? If we go one level deeper, what is the thing that the person is not saying?” This arc with Jimmy over the three seasons had been building up to Jimmy finally saying the actual thing, which is some version of, “Who’s gonna want me now?”

Paul answers that question by telling Jimmy that his scars are “evidence of a life well–lived.”

I had a therapist I was talking to about having to show up somewhere with people I knew from 25 years ago. I remember having a little bit of apprehension because I’ve had a twisty-turny life. I thought, “God, there’s so much to catch up on and I’m showing up covered in scars.” And this therapist said to me, just matter of fact, “What a shame it would be to show up anywhere at 45 years old not covered in scars.” And I went straight to Bill and [executive producer] Neil [Goldman], this is a year ago, and I said, “This is what Harrison says to Jimmy at the end of this arc.” And we worked it in.

What was the actual day of filming the scene like for you?

It was a difficult day. It was loud that day. There was a little bit of discombobulation on the street. There was construction and they couldn’t hold the cars right. It wasn’t the ideal environment for a scene like this where you would love to hear a pin drop. People were coming into the restaurant asking, “Are you guys open?” It almost felt like we were making a student film. And Harrison and I took a minute and we walked away from the set and we started running the scene, walking up and down the busy street to kind of acclimate ourselves. And I’m walking up and down the street with this man who I idolize and we are at that moment like equals and teammates. We have to go build this scene together. It is a real honor to have that dynamic with him.

Do you think it was important to have such a pivotal scene outdoors?

They’re a good reminder that the show takes place in the real world and that you’re like a representative of reality almost. I think that there’s something vulnerable about all that taking place outside. … There’s other patrons there. It’s surrounded by people, surrounded by life, and Paul is showing up and telling Jimmy, “It’s time to step into it. Look, it’s all around you.”

This season we met Jimmy’s father (played by Jeff Daniels), who never really connected with his son and, in a heartbreaking moment, chooses a fishing trip with his buddies over staying for Alice’s (Lukita Maxwell) high school graduation.

One of the things this show does really well is handle these situations honestly. Whether it’s Parkinson’s or loss or a complicated relationship with a family member. It’s not gonna magically change. None of it. And so the show is very much true to, “How do we get through it with each other?” That’s really the theme of the show. These issues are gonna be there. What are we gonna do with the realities of life? I think the reason they brought Jeff Daniels in is to highlight why Jimmy so desperately wants Paul’s affection. Where is this coming from? Bill is a genius in terms of setting something up in a previous episode so that there’s a payoff in the finale. I think that we understand suddenly how desperate Jimmy is to have somebody say, “You’re my son and I love you.” And he finally gets that at the end from Paul.

The other major event that happens in the finale is that Alice leaves for college.

To me, [Jimmy’s relationship with Alice] has been the heart of the show and the most important storyline. The show started out with Alice parenting a troubled child in her father. And that dynamic slowly, slowly, slowly shifted to being the right direction. Until finally he is able to see her off to college and she feels safe to leave him behind. He is the parent and she is the child and everything is the right size again. I think watching Lukita as an actor and a human being grow up over these past four years, it’s been really the joy of my career. When I met her, she called me Mr. Segel. I realized she grew up with my “Muppet” movie. I have the real honor of being more of a mentor than a contemporary to Lukita. To get to the point where I am being surprised and challenged and blown away and moved to tears in scenes with Lukita is like the coolest thing in the world.

Cobie Smulders and Jason Segel in “Shrinking.”

(Apple TV)

We see Jimmy sit down at the restaurant with his potential love interest Sofi (Cobie Smulders), but we don’t hear their conversation.

It originally ended with a hard cut to black. Then then they did this beautiful cinematic pullback. I think the most important line is, “Hello.”

As the scene ends, Paul tells Jimmy that he can either “stay stuck” or “go make new scars.” Paul advises Jimmy to “choose wisely” and then winks at Jimmy. It’s a subtle nod to the famous “choose wisely” scene from “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.”

Harrison is not so secretly one of the funnier people I know. He always knows exactly what he’s doing and we’ve had a few of those throughout the season, some little nods to Harrison’s body of work. It was a perfect way to end that scene. Paul slash Harrison is always just a little smarter than you. One of the great qualities that they have is they’re just a little bit ahead of you, which a great mentor should be, right?

Have you thought about how it will be to play Jimmy in the show’s fourth season now that this particular story arc has come to an end?

I think an equally interesting and complicated and fun area is someone deciding they’re ready to be happy. Because God knows it’s one thing in your house alone in front of the mirror [to say], “Now I’m gonna be happy.” And then you go out and in practice, it’s its own set of complications, right? And so, I’m actually really excited about that idea of someone saying, “OK, I’m ready to take it for a spin.” And then seeing that’s its own thing.

There’s a couple somewhere in Los Angeles who unknowingly inspired the second season of “Beef.”

Lee Sung Jin, the creator of Netflix’s anthology drama that swirls in the consequences of class struggles, resentment and the absurdity of life’s curveballs, once again found himself inspired by a tense interaction playing out before him. A road rage incident at a stoplight in Hollywood a few years ago, triggered by Lee’s delayed response to a green light, became the catalyst for the first season. An early idea to write about a men’s doubles partnership gone awry lost its luster after “Challengers,” Luca Guadagnino’s drama about a love triangle between tennis pros, came out. But a heated argument coming from a house in Lee’s neighborhood became the next spark that lit a narrative fuse.

“I told the story to people — it caused a little stir in the neighborhood,” he says. “And what I found fascinating was the different reactions. When I told younger folks, I’d get, ‘Did you call the police? Should you go check on them again?’ Very concerned, having an ideological view on relationships. When I told the story to older friends and couples, they were just kind of like, ‘Who among us hasn’t?’ I thought the idea of juxtaposing these couples at different stages felt like ripe ground.”

The overheard in L.A. moment inspired the eight-episode season,

Carey Mulligan and Oscar Isaac square off with Charles Melton and Cailee Spaeny in Season 2 of “Beef.”

(Netflix)

The twist-filled, darkly comic thriller kicks off when a young couple, Ashley and Austin (Cailee Spaeny and Charles Melton), who work at a Montecito country club, witness the explosive altercation between their boss Josh (Oscar Isaac) and his wife, Lindsay (Carey Mulligan), an interior designer, the night before the club’s new Korean billionaire owner, Chairwoman Park (Youn Yuh-jung), takes over. She has her own mess to tend to involving her husband (Song Kang-ho), a doctor whose health is affecting his work on patients. The calamities each couple faces spin out into a web of favors and coercion in this tale of broken systems and characters going to great lengths to get what they want.

“The idea of cycles felt interesting,” he says. “A lot of shows and movies cover marriage through the lens of one couple, you don’t really see that multigenerational juxtaposition.”

Speaking from his office on the Raleigh Studios lot in Hollywood, Lee discussed the season’s Montecito setting, the financial anxiety that drives the story and the four-legged breakout star of the show. These are edited excerpts from the conversation, which includes many spoilers.

Why did you want to set this season in Montecito?

Just writing what I know. My goddaughters — their parents are my best friends. They live in Montecito. The dad is my oldest friend in LA. He has a membership to Montecito Club, which is where we shot the exterior of our show. I was house-sitting for him during the writing of all this. He let me use his membership. I remember when he told me about the membership, I was like, “You pay how much? That’s insane, dude.” But then you start using the membership. This idea of hedonic adaptation — how humans so quickly adapt to this new comfort, this new stimulus — it felt like an interesting thing. I was observing how all the members seemed to be mostly boomers and Silent Gen; then all the workers were Gen Z and millennial. I thought: What a perfect metaphor for society right now. No matter how hard the Gen Z and millennials work, they’re never going to get to be members of this club because, as Austin says, “everyone grabbed the bag before they could.” That’s what made me want to set it at a Montecito country club.

Oscar Isaac as Josh Martin and Carey Mulligan as Lindsay Crane-Martin. Cailee Spaeny as Ashley Miller and Charles Melton as Austin Davis. The second season of “Beef,” follows the two California couples from different socioeconomic backgrounds — though both are struggling — as they spiral into a high-stakes feud. (Netflix)

That feeling of survival and resentment and entitlement really looms over this season. There’s speeches about love, but also capitalism. The anxiety about finances is so prevalent right now.

We certainly didn’t set out to make a season about capitalism. But if you’re constantly trying to chase truth as writers, I don’t know how you say anything in the modern era, in 2026, and not have capitalism be a huge variable because it permeates every aspect of life. It’s like going to get gas. Gas is almost $7 right now. You have to fill your tank and there goes $140? That’s crazy. And relationships face so much stress — everyone is being hit by all these curveballs and trying to keep your head above water — how can you enjoy each other?

It became very obvious to us that if you’re going to write a season about marriage and love to these two couples, financial implications have to be a big factor. There’s a lot of talk about the disappearance of the American dream right now. Birth rates are declining. No one’s owning homes anymore. But then you also see headlines about everyone’s scamming. CVS has everything locked down. You’re like, “Yeah, no wonder.” Everything’s connected. We wanted to really show how that survival instinct, the desperation, is starting to come for everyone. I don’t think it’s going to get easier, especially with AI moving on the horizon, and with leaders who refuse to put checks and balances in place.

Part of Ashley’s story is using the video of the fight between Josh and Lindsay as blackmail to get health insurance so she can afford treatment for her endometriosis. And that moment where she’s waiting in the ER for hours and it’s not until she collapses that they realize she needs emergency surgery — her big concern is whether she has to pay the deductible.

I wrote that episode in a literal day because it was based on an experience I had in an ER with my daughter’s mother. She had this illness fall upon her. We spent 12 hours at the ER and, the whole time, I had my Notes app out and was just writing down everything I saw. Almost everything in that scene is stuff that happened in real life. Our healthcare system is absolutely insane. It’s, again, unhinged capitalism and … felt like it really unlocked so much of the season.

There’s a moment where Josh has to sell some of his prized possessions to pay a gambling debt. Have you been there, needing to sell things to cover your financial obligations?

I’ve been there multiple times. I obviously struggled to find my way for a long time, even after becoming a writer. If you’re in a writing partnership, in a staff job on a show — first of all, this is what the guild has been fighting, trying to get these longer-term employment windows because these jobs sometimes are only … maybe eight to 12 weeks. You’re splitting a staff salary in two [if you’re in a partnership], and you probably haven’t qualified for health insurance by the end of that run. Sure, you’re a working writer, but I remember [by the time I landed at] “Always Sunny in Philadelphia,” my first real writing job, I had amassed so much debt, half of which were from parking tickets. I just didn’t have the money to pay these tickets, and so I just let them run rampant. So, yeah, I’ve been there. There’s this one guitar that I loved; it was the first guitar I bought with my own money after college — it was a Fender Telecaster. I think I bought it for $1,200. I ended up selling it for $300. I’ve sold collectibles. I’ve sold anything that had gold in it. I’ve scrapped to just find anything because you’re desperate.

Song Kang-ho as Dr. Kim, Youn Yuh-jung as Chairwoman Park in “Beef.” Recalling the opportunity to direct the pair, Lee says: “It just makes me feel like a little kid again. It stops feeling like work and starts feeling like play.”

(Netflix)

You directed this season. Is there a moment that stands out with this cast?

A peak of my career that I think about daily is the moment in Korea where we were shooting at Amorepacific. It’s one of the most beautiful buildings in Seoul. I’m shooting the scene between the great Youn Yuh-jung and the great Song Kang-ho — two of not only my favorite Korean actors, but favorite actors period. They have never been in a scene together in any Korean film ever. They’ve been in a movie together, but never acted together. And here we are making Korean history by having them shoot that breakfast scene and, while I’m in the middle of shooting that scene, director Bong Joon Ho surprises us on set. He comes over laughing, pulls up to me, looks at my monitor, gives me stage fright, then elbows me and says, “You sure you want to frame it like that?” He was teasing. Then we started shooting the scene, it’s all in Korean, and I look back at video village and Bong’s just doubled over in laughter. He is just cracking up. Younger me, and present me, is looking around like: Here I am in Korea, in this building I’ve always wanted to shoot in, two of the greatest living actors and the greatest living director — what is happening? What a crazy sentence to say. It just makes me feel like a little kid again. It stops feeling like work and starts feeling like play.

How did you want race and identity to figure into this season, particularly through Austin?

Charles was the first piece of the whole thing. After Season 1, I got to go to Korea multiple times. I shot a music video for one of the members of BTS. I was experiencing Austin’s journey of being courted by this level of Korea that I’d never been exposed to before and feeling warm and allured by it — I’m having dinners with K-pop idols, like what is happening? So, I knew I wanted to have that element of elite Korea involved. The writers and I discussed a lot whether it should be a Korean American that’s being pulled. We had covered a lot of Korean American ground in Season 1, [but] one of the things we didn’t get to cover is the half-Korean experience. Several of the writers on staff are either half-Asian or half-Korean. We don’t want to repeat things, but let’s do explore a half-Korean character who is about to have a child suddenly get this pull toward Korea.

Carey Mulligan as Lindsay acting alongside Jones, the dog who plays Burberry, in “Beef.” “Jones is the best dog actor I’ve ever worked with,” Lee says. “A24 is making Burberry merch. There’s going to be a Burberry shirt.”

(Netflix)

There are some pretty gross, petty and violent acts of revenge. One is Ashley swirling her period blood in Josh and Lindsay’s pitcher of orange juice. The other takes place during a flight — Lindsay wiping gunk from the toilet seat and transferring it to the rim of the cup Ashley drinks from. Please explain how you arrived at these acts. Were there any left on the cutting room floor?

Episode 4 was pouring out of me. And I remember I got to the point where Ashley snooping through the house [where Lindsay and Josh live]. Initially, I had her scratching up the trophy. She opened Josh’s pomade and blew a snot booger into it. I was thinking of juvenile things. But I had the thought of her going to the kitchen and having the thing that happened to her being the expression of her revenge. I remember I was so nervous to show the [writers’] room. The way I wrote it, I had her crouching over the pitcher and Anna Moench, as the main female writer on the show, was like, “Sonny, I don’t think you know this works.” So, we revised it. That’s how the OJ one happened. With Episode 7 [and the toilet seat], we wanted to have a bodily episode on a plane, and there’s just such limited ways to get revenge on a plane. But given the OJ drink — there’s so many mirrors between the two couples, we thought it’d be fun to mirror that with a drink from Lindsay to Ashley. The only place to do that on a plane is bathroom. We shot it on stage with a fake toilet and Carey was almost vomiting. She came to me after that scene, and she goes, “Sonny, in all my years in this business, that is the most vile, disgusting thing I’ve ever had to do.”

The final moments of the finale jumps eight years. Did you always know you wanted a time jump? And did you always know Ashley and Austin were going to repeat the cycle?

The Ashley and Austin side, I knew the inverse graph for both characters would be very satisfying — to me, at least. I didn’t know whether that happened in a time jump or not. That’s something we discovered later. There was great debate in the room. I had a couple writers plead with me, “Why aren’t you ending with the kiss? It’s so sweet. It’s so good. I feel so good at the kiss. Can we just end it at the kiss?” I took it very seriously, but then it felt very similar to Season 1’s ending. Taking two people who start apart and they finally discover that connection but too late. I didn’t want to leave with the same feeling. How we can make it different is the “what happens next?” Life comes at you fast. He’s [Josh] still in prison. She’s [Lindsay] got to move on. Once I started heading down that thought experiment, I’m like, “Whoa, you could do a whole coda showing the literal theme of the show, the cycles, that’s where we can show Ashley and Austin becoming Josh and Lindsay.” That’s where we show, even though they found a connection, it’s lost between Josh and Lindsay — even if they’re still hanging on to the past a little bit. You show Troy and Ava still together [laughs] — they have it all figured out. Then you show the billionaire who, even with all the money in the world, is crying at the graveside of her first love, filled with regret.

We didn’t see where Eunice (Seoyeon Jang) ends up.

I wanted to leave it open. I’m very curious what people think. She really put her neck out there. Austin burned her bad. I don’t know where Eunice is at but it’s probably not good.

Charles Melton as Austin Davis in “Beef.”

(Netflix)

We can’t talk about “Beef” without discussing the needle drops. When you have Austin listening to Billie Eilish’s “What Was I Made For?” it was over for me.

The needle drops are usually pre-picked even before we shoot. The source music that’s playing diegetically, usually we discover in the edit. Before, as scripted, it had him scrolling Instagram and it was [the song playing on] his Instagram feed — you know how those Reels have music overlayed on a POV? It just wasn’t that funny to me in the edit. He’s so down and out and I wanted to find different source music in there. One day, I told my editor, “Can you rip ‘What Was I Made For?’ And can you just temporarily do it where, as she opens the door, he’s like, pressing the volume up, being like ‘sh— … sh— …’ [intending to make the volume go down]?” Our AE [assistant editor] did the ADR temporarily of the “sh—, sh—,” filmed it on my phone and I texted it to Finneas [O’Connell, the show’s composer, who is Eilish’s brother and collaborator] being like, “Hey, is it cool if we do this?” And he was dying laughing. [O’Connell also makes a cameo in the season.]

Ahead of Season 1, you gifted the writers “The Sopranos Sessions” and also assembled a Letterboxd list of films that served as reference points. What guidance did you provide for Season 2?

I sent another Letterboxd playlist. For inspo, we got “Handmaiden,” “Phantom Thread,” “Force Majeure,” “Eyes Wide Shut,” “The Informant.” For some reason, I have “Margaret” on there, the [Kenneth] Lonergan film. I also had “Michael Clayton,” “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” “Burn After Reading,” and lastly, it’s a deep cut, there’s this movie called “Like Crazy,” starring Felicity Jones and Anton Yelchin.

Also, can we take a moment for Burberry’s acting?

Oh my god, Jones! Jones is the best dog actor I’ve ever worked with. He would hit his mark. He would listen. He would look at people when he’s supposed to be looking. It was his first time acting. Crushed it. A24 is making Burberry merch. There’s going to be a Burberry shirt.

It’s been decades since “Faces of Death” stirred panic among parents of teens trading the 1978 pseudo-snuff VHS. The “video nasty” spawned a number of sequels, spinoffs and now a remake starring Barbie Ferreira and Dacre Montgomery that hit theaters this month.

But back in the 1980s, the original film caused an uproar at Southern California schools.

Days before school was out for summer in 1985, Escondido High School math teacher Bart Schwartz, then 28, used a spare two hours during finals week to squeeze in a film screening with his class. Schwartz wanted to show the film because it was “interesting.”

According to the Times coverage of the incident and subsequent lawsuit, the scenes shown in the classroom included autopsies, decaying cadavers and live animals being butchered, mutilated and tortured. The original “Faces of Death” also includes scenes of a man being electrocuted, a decapitation and an orgy during which a man is gutted by a flesh-eating cult.

Although today’s audiences might be more desensitized to such gruesome scenes thanks to hyperrealistic special effects in modern horror movies, and the commonplace spread of graphic clips online, audiences of the ‘80s were reportedly traumatized and scandalized. Not only was the film considered macabre, but it also was widely believed to be composed entirely of real footage.

“The ultimate taboo,” “100% real” and “banned in 46 countries!” were taglines for the original film. It wasn’t until decades after the film’s release that director John Alan Schwartz publicly confirmed that while some footage was real and pulled from news and autopsy archives, much of the movie was staged and the shockumentary’s host pathologist, Dr. Gröss, was an actor.

“Each new generation discovers it,” Schwartz told New York Public Radio in 2012. “And even though things look hokey now, there are still segments that people actually believe are real that aren’t.”

The 2026 remake, by comparison, is clear about its fictional plot, but also includes real clips of death that were “carefully trimmed,” according to director Daniel Goldhaber.

Back to 1985 — Escondido High’s Schwartz, who had previously been named “teacher of the year,” reportedly would not allow students to leave the classroom while the film played. One student, then 16-year-old Diane Feese, said the teacher fast-forwarded through the dialogue and forced students to watch the film’s most gruesome scenes. She covered her eyes, according to reports from the time, but was still subjected to other students’ commentary and the audio of the deaths depicted on-screen.

That fall — when school was back in session — Feese sued the teacher and the school principal for $3 million. Schwartz was suspended with pay for 30 days, then an additional 15 days without pay.

In 1986, another student in Schwartz’s math class, Sherry Forget, followed suit and took the math teacher to court for being subjected to the film. In 1987, the lawsuits were settled with Feese receiving $57,500 and Forget, who asked for $1 million, netting $42,500.

Less than a decade later, a Los Angeles high school teacher was also sued by his students for showing “Faces of Death.”

Verdugo Hills High School social sciences teacher Roger Haycock showed his cultural awareness class the film in December 1993. Students Jesse Smith and Darby Hughes alleged in their lawsuit that they were required to watch the film and write a paper on it. The teen boys said they suffered nightmares, emotional problems and were harassed by other students for their reaction to the film.

According to The Times, Haycock showed excerpts from “Faces of Death” to five classes that day and gave students the option to write a paper for extra credit or go to the library if they didn’t want to see the film. Haycock said he showed only parts of the film depicting animals being killed and did not show portions of the film that depict human death.

“Basically it had to do with the treatment of animals and the way we get our food, which was the lesson,” Haycock said at the time. “We go to the supermarket and get our meat, and we think it sanitizes us because it’s wrapped in plastic. But it has to be slaughtered for us by someone else. I was trying to show how other cultures provide food for themselves versus the way we do, living in the city.”

The judge dismissed the lawsuit, siding with the district’s argument that students shouldn’t be able to sue based on what they are taught in class.