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This story is full of spoilers for “The Last of Us” Season 2, especially the finale.

Season 2 of HBO’s “The Last of Us” ends with the ultimate cliffhanger (seriously, if you have not seen and do not want to know, please stop reading right now): An Abby (Kaitlyn Dever) vs. Ellie (Bella Ramsey) face-off in which only Abby has a weapon. As Ellie cries out, a gun goes off and … we are sent back in time to Day 1, Abby’s viewpoint.

So if any of y’all were looking for some kind of closure, emotional or narrative, well, you have got a bit of a wait.

The episode itself played out like a mini-epic. Picking up where last week’s mostly flashback episode ended, Ellie returns to the theater to find Jesse (Young Mazino) tending to Dina (Isabela Merced), who got an arrow through the leg, courtesy of the Seraphites, in Episode 5. When Dina refuses an anesthetic slug of alcohol during the proceedings, Jesse gets the wind up. As he and Ellie then set out to find Tommy (Gabriel Luna), he (kinda) tricks Ellie into revealing Dina’s pregnancy.

That admission only adds fuel to the tension between Ellie, with her obsessive need to make Abby pay for killing Joel, and Jesse, who is angry at Ellie for putting her personal desire for revenge above the needs of the community back in Jackson. High words are spoken before the two split up, with Jesse going to search for Tommy, Ellie to continue tracking Abby.

After a frankly weird hero’s journey in which she braves stormy seas and faces execution by the Seraphites, Ellie makes it to the abandoned aquarium to find Abby. There she surprises Mel (Ariela Barer) and Owen (Spencer Lord), two of the former Fireflies who were with Abby when she killed Joel (Pedro Pascal). When Owen reaches for a gun, Ellie fires, shooting him through the throat. The bullet also, alas, hits Mel, who reveals her advanced pregnancy and, as she bleeds out, begs Ellie to cut the baby out. Horrified, Ellie can do no such thing, and Mel dies even as Jesse and Tommy show up.

Ellie (Bella Ramsey) also has to battle the elements in “The Last of Us” Season 2 finale.

(Liane Hentscher / HBO)

It’s a powerful and terrible scene. Upon their return to the safety of the theater, Ellie is, understandably, very shaken and appears to be rethinking the wisdom of her revenge tour when Abby shows up and kills Jesse (sob). As Ellie takes responsibility for Mel and Owen’s deaths and struggles to explain, we see her original fury reflected in Abby’s face. She points the gun at Ellie, a shot rings out and the story resets on Day 1 of the outbreak.

The Times’ Lorraine Ali, Tracy Brown and Mary McNamara discuss the finale and the season that came before it.

McNamara: As someone who has not played the game but has watched a lot of television, I am going to make the wild guess that Ellie is not dead. Not that I expect to discover this for quite a while, as the final scene indicates that Season 3 will be giving us Abby’s backstory before bringing us (one hopes) back to the theater and the series’ present.

This finale, like much of what preceded it, felt both rushed and oddly slow. This season has been very much (and at times too obviously) focused on Ellie’s growth, as a person and a main character. And with the exception of her love for Dina, I’m not sure how much is there. That Ellie is relentless has been made abundantly clear; ditto the fact that she is confused about her purpose in life. But I admit I was relieved when Jesse read her the riot act about how this mission of vengeance put so many people in danger, including and especially the woman Ellie claims to love.

The stakes in Season 1 were very clear — get Ellie to where she can be used to make a cure — even if they were subverted in the end. This season, the main tension appears to be more about Ellie becoming mature enough to accept that not all heroes have to make dramatic sacrifices or win a blood feud.

That’s a fine message, but it required a lot of attention on her emotional growth, which honestly seemed to occur mostly in the final few minutes, while offering only tantalizing slivers of the larger forces around her. How do you introduce a crazy cult and not offer any real explanation for it? How do you enlist Jeffrey Wright (or for that matter, Hettienne Park) as WLF commanders and then give them so little to do? Not to mention poor Mel and Owen, who are sacrificed, apparently, merely to broaden Ellie’s worldview.

I realize that some of this is about staying true(ish) to the game, which I understand offers different viewpoints, but even with the action-packed finale, it’s hard not to feel like Season 2 was simply a preamble to Season 3. What do you think, “Last of Us” player Tracy Brown?

Isaac (Jeffrey Wright) remains a mystery in “The Last of Us” Season 2 finale.

(Liane Hentscher / HBO)

Brown: I have to agree with you, Mary — the finale’s pacing felt a bit awkward as it barreled its way toward the perspective shift into Abby’s side of the story that will likely be the focus of Season 3, while also trying to pack in familiar moments from the game. I also think you’re feeling a version of the confusion and frustration that “The Last of Us: Part II” players felt when Ellie and Abby’s showdown at the theater abruptly cut to something completely different and you’re suddenly being forced to play as the character you’ve spent hours trying to hunt down.

In the game, up until that cliffhanger, you’ve primarily been playing as Ellie outside of a few sequences before Joel’s death. Players don’t learn much about the Washington Liberation Front or the Seraphites or their conflict until they get to Abby’s side of the story. And when you’re playing a game, you’re used to knowing only as much as the character you’re playing as and learning more about any enemies as you go. You’re also much more mission-oriented — as great as a game’s story is, you’re main focus is gathering as much information as you can to accomplish your goal. The mission and the themes are a bit more straightforward in the first “Last of Us” game.

In “The Last of Us: Part II,” there’s a bait and switch. You start the game’s main storyline playing as Ellie, with the assumption that your mission is to get revenge, only to find yourself suddenly playing as Abby. Because “Part II” is more about an exploration of trauma and cycles of violence, Abby and her story have to be more than something you learn about as Ellie. In the game, the perspective shift is essential and revelatory because, navigating any discomfort while playing as Abby is part of the experience. It’s something dependent on the unique way players become attached to characters they play as.

In television, stories can unfold differently. Because audiences are not playing as Ellie, they can be introduced to Abby’s ties to the events in Salt Lake City and characters like Isaac (Wright) much sooner than in the game because we’re not locked into one point of view. And that freedom brings its own challenges. I should also mention that as acclaimed as the franchise is, “Part II” was a bit more divisive among players too. Lorraine, what did you think about the finale?

Ali: You’ve both expressed many of the same feelings I have about the finale and about Season 2 in general. Does that mean I can have the night off? If I took my cues from Ellie, I’d do just that. Ellie predictably put her own interests above everyone and everything else, which didn’t leave much room for an interesting story twist or character growth in the Season 2 finale. To Mary’s point about pacing, Episode 7 spent precious time hammering away on what we already know: Ellie’s need for revenge put everyone who cares about her in danger. Poor Dina. The only way Jesse was getting that crossbow bolt out of her leg was pulling it straight through. The credits are nearly ready to roll by the time Ellie realizes her single-minded quest is as barbaric as Abby’s killing of Joel, but not before she gunned down a pregnant woman.

Tracy, I wonder if the trouble the show had picking out where to spend its time is partly a game-to-TV adaptation problem. You mentioned the shifting perspectives in the game, of players seeing the world through Ellie’s and then Abby’s eyes. But serieswatchers are a passive audience and that left the show with a lot of options to tackle and/or leave out. The finale’s hopscotching from scenario to scenario appeared like it was born out of duty rather than purpose. Ellie’s choppy boat ride, the rogue wave washing her ashore, her capture and release at the hands of the cult — all were colorful and dramatic but felt abrupt and even extraneous to the story. That said, the decaying Costco storefront was a nice touch even if it was totally random.

Lastly, I loved the Seattle-centric soundtrack and poster choices of grunge bands like Nirvana, Pearl Jam and Soundgarden. But a lot of great female bands came out of the Pacific Northwest too, and I can’t help but feel the feral screams of 7 Year B— would have been a perfect soundtrack for Ellie’s rage. So what do we all think about the last moments of the finale, which set us up for Season 3?

Jesse (Young Mazino) is not too pleased with Dina (Isabela Merced) and Ellie (Bella Ramsey) in “The Last of Us” Season 2 finale.

McNamara: I love the granular music criticism, Lorraine! For the life of me, I could not figure out what to make of Ellie’s brief capture by the Seraphites, which felt a lot like finale padding — don’t forget the crazy cult in the woods about which we know nothing yet! — or even her “Twelfth Night”-like near-drowning. (“What country, friends, is this?”)

I can see how the switch from Ellie to Abby might work in the game — you’ll never understand your “enemy” until you walk a mile in her shoes — but for a series to flip viewpoints seasonally (as opposed to episodically) is a big ask for viewers, especially those not familiar with the game.

With the exception of Ellie and Dina’s burgeoning relationship, much of this season felt like a big teaser reel for Season 3. Ramsey is a talented actor, but the task of carrying the show by portraying a recognizable teen on a complicated existential journey in the middle of a life-or-death adventure tale is a formidable one, especially without the benefit of an older, wiser guide/co-star. But then no one said adapting a game to a series would be easy.

As for the final moments, well, as I said, I don’t think Ellie’s dead, though Jesse certainly is, which is tragic — he and Tommy were the real heroes of Season 2. I am intrigued by the “Day 1“-ness of the final scene. I always like when postapocalyptic tales take the time to explain how it all went down. So I will be counting the months to see what happens next, which I suppose is what every TV writer wants.

Brown: I’ll refrain from spoiling Ellie’s fate here, even though the game with the answer came out in 2020! But I don’t think it’s a spoiler to say that the cut to Abby’s “Seattle Day 1” signals the show is likely sticking to the structure of the game — meaning Season 3 will tell Abby’s story, following the former Firefly for the same three days that Ellie has spent in the Emerald City leading up to their violent reunion. If the show stays true to the game, we won’t be seeing what happens to Ellie following that cliffhanger gunshot until the story reaches that part of “Day 3” from Abby’s perspective. Sorry, Mary!

I was a bit surprised when I realized the show was going to follow this same route, especially after it introduced Abby’s backstory so early. One of the perks of television is that it’s possible to follow the multiple storylines of more than one character, so I thought the show might try weaving Ellie and Abby’s narratives a bit more. One benefit of following the game’s road map, though, is there are distinct breaks in the overall story to build seasons around. (I’m calling it now that the Season 3 finale will be around their clash at the theater again.)

Back to Lorraine’s point, I do think that some of the struggles of this season comes down to the choices around which game moments to give space to. Some game-to-TV moments were very successful, like Joel taking Ellie to the museum for her birthday in Episode 6. Others, like Ellie taking that boat to get to the aquarium, were a bit less successful. Ellie getting tossed around those waves was a great nod to that sequence in the game, but on the show, it wasn’t as clear why she even needed to hop on the boat to begin with.

We’ve all mentioned how Dina and Ellie’s relationship has been one of the highlights of this season. Without spoiling anything, what I am most curious about is how Ellie’s excitement around Dina’s pregnancy and becoming a dad is going to affect the story to come. How about you, Lorraine, is there hope for “The Last of Us” to win you back?

Ali: There is always hope, Tracy, even in the blighted, rotting, fungus-filled world of “The Last of Us.” My meager hope for the Season 3 opener? That Ellie emerges a survivor, and her comeback scene is set to Pearl Jam’s “Alive.”

He had the ability to communicate with God, the angels and one of the most powerful spirits in the voodoo religion.

This is what Won-G Bruny had been texting Lil Mosey for years. Bruny, a music manager who himself had started out as a hip-hop artist, believed he had a special connection with the spiritual realm that would help guide the up-and-coming Mosey’s rap career. In 2021, Bruny took the musician, then 19, to his native Haiti where, deep in the woods, he blessed the young man with what he described as his family power. After Mosey was accused of rape, Bruny urged him to partake in a Haitian rum-bath ritual; when Mosey was acquitted in March 2023, Bruny told him the voodoo gods had taken a hand in the verdict.

Won-G Bruny, left, and Lil Mosey attend the 66th Grammy Awards at Crypto.com Arena in Los Angeles, California.

(Johnny Nunez / Getty Images for the Recording Academy)

Bruny soon began urging Mosey to get out of his contract with Interscope Records, the company that signed him in 2017, after the then-16-year old’s debut single went viral. During Mosey’s five-year relationship with Interscope, Bruny believed the would-be star was not compensated fairly by the label.

“I want to express my disappointment on how … Interscope … have treated Mosey. I think it’s disgusting and despicable. You play with my clients career and have caused him mental trama [sic] …,” Bruny wrote in an August 2023 email to two executive vice presidents at Interscope that was viewed by The Times. “Believe me, you’ve never dealt with anyone like me in real life from the spiritual haiti [sic] I am indigenous and have techniques that the eye cannot see. If 48 hours go by and we do not have a release this is going public in a very bad way for you and Interscope. And I will arrive to your office soon as the worst [N-word] you every [sic] met.”

The message was signed: “Worst Nightmare.”

Interscope’s media representatives and the label executives Bruny emailed did not respond to multiple requests for comment for this story.

Angela Thatcher, Mosey’s mother, never had a good feeling about Bruny. After accompanying her son on the trip to Haiti, the early-childhood educator had advised him to be wary of Bruny: “If he’s trying to finesse you,” she said she told him, “please do not fall for it. I think he talks a lot bigger than he actually is.”

Big was how Bruny lived. On social media, he portrayed himself as a wealthy jetsetter, driving around Beverly Hills in a buffed Rolls-Royce one day, partying with soccer player Cristiano Ronaldo on a private yacht in the United Arab Emirates the next. He favored the trappings of the hip-hop culture he’d aspired to since he was a boy: heavy diamond chains, Rolex watches, tailored blazers that showcased his considerable biceps. His shiny veneers and taut skin make it difficult to ascertain his age — public records list various birth dates, putting him somewhere in the range of 46 to 53.

By the time he met Mosey, Bruny had spent decades honing his skills as a promoter. When he embarked on his career as a rapper in his 20s, he got Paris Hilton and Carmen Electra to appear in his music videos and turned up on “The Real Housewives of Orange County” to help one of its stars record her first song. He teamed with former L.A. County Sheriff Lee Baca on a ballot initiative, promoting himself as a law enforcement-friendly rapper. For a time, he managed rappers Sean Kingston and Tyga. These were among the associations he boasted of in the promotional materials he shared with potential investors, collaborators and those Interscope executives to spotlight his accomplishments.

Won-G and Paris Hilton

(Getty Images / Jeff Kravitz via FilmMagic)

Mosey’s mother didn’t buy it. Though she had no evidence that Bruny was defrauding Mosey, Thatcher believed the manager was a negative influence. In 2023, she started doing more than just regularly checking the Instagram page where Bruny had 487,000 followers. When Google searches turned up references to lawsuits and scam alert websites, she hired a private investigator. The findings revealed numerous civil suits against Bruny alleging breach of contract, as well as a bankruptcy filing.

Thatcher shared the report with her son. But Mosey, just a few weeks out of his Interscope contract, continued working with Bruny, cutting ties with his old representatives and, according to Thatcher, distancing himself from her.

In October 2024, Thatcher died unexpectedly, of “a severe infection,” according to her obituary. She was 55.

“I just want my son away from [Bruny],” Thatcher said in an interview with The Times last summer. “I think he’s being controlled and manipulated by this guy who has convinced him that everyone in his life is against him, including his own family.”

A Times investigation found that, over the past two decades, Bruny has utilized a perception of affluence, supposed personal ties to celebrity and references to Haitian voodoo to convince more than two dozen people to give him thousands of dollars in investments or loans — money that they never saw again, according to lawsuits and bankruptcy filings. In the last 20 years, Bruny, or companies associated with him, have been sued at least 19 times in Los Angeles County Superior Court; in nine of those cases, he was ordered to pay judgments amounting to more than $2.1 million, none of which was ever paid.

During that period, he filed for bankruptcy three times in California, most recently in 2019, when between his personal and business Chapter 7 records he was discharged of roughly $9.9 million in debt liabilities.

Lawsuits and bankruptcy filings show a striking range of individuals who say they lost money through investments in Bruny’s music career and fashion line, including a septuagenarian Old Hollywood starlet, a cancer patient, a former girlfriend, an Australian fashion designer, an airline pilot and a UCLA professor who served on committees for Presidents Biden and Obama. Because the U.S. Bankruptcy Court found he had no legal obligation to pay his debts, none of them were ever repaid by Bruny.

Bruny did not respond to multiple requests for comment or a detailed list of questions sent to him by The Times via email and social media. His lawyer, Kenneth Sterling, said in a statement: “We find no merit to the allegations or implications currently circulating regarding Mr. Bruny. While, like many others, Mr. Bruny acknowledges he has grown from mistakes made in the distant past, these are nearly or more than a decade old and wholly irrelevant to his current work or character. It is worth noting that this current media inquiry appears to have been instigated by a former manager and relative of one of Mr. Bruny’s clients — individuals who, based on credible information, mismanaged and acted in their own financial interests at the expense of the artist.

“To be clear: Mr. Bruny has never been arrested, charged, or the subject of any criminal investigation. He has no criminal record. Any civil matters from years past have long been resolved and are, in every sense, ancient history. We live in a society that believes in growth, redemption, and new chapters — Mr. Bruny embodies all three.”

Mosey declined to be interviewed for this story, saying via text message that he had “nothing but great things to say about Won.” When asked specifically if he believed a former manager and relative mismanaged and acted in their own financial interests at his expense, Mosey did not respond.

Lil Mosey, now 23, was born Lathan Moses Stanley Echols; his father, Thatcher said, wasn’t very involved in his upbringing. He was 15 when his music started to take off online — he and his two brothers created a makeshift studio in a closet of their Washington state home, where Mosey made music that he then uploaded onto SoundCloud. In late 2017, his song “Pull Up” garnered attention on a rap blog. Music manager Josh Marshall reached out and flew the then-16-year-old and his mother to New York City. After discussions with about half a dozen companies, Mosey, represented by Marshall, signed with Interscope in March 2018. His debut album, “Northsbest,” was released that same year.

By 10th grade, Mosey had dropped out of high school and gone on tour with Juice WRLD and YBN Cordae. He told Billboard at the time that he was surprised by his sudden popularity. Asked how his mother was reacting to his newfound fame, Mosey told the magazine: “She always told me like, ‘Why do you want to do this? Why don’t you wait? You can always do this later. You could just be a normal kid.’ … But you can’t do it later. The time is now.”

Mosey’s sophomore album, “Certified Hitmaker,” took him to the next level. Featuring Chris Brown and Gunna, the 2019 release yielded the rapper’s first hit single: “Blueberry Faygo.” After the song went viral on TikTok, Mosey inked a $4-million deal with Universal Music Publishing Group in May 2020; to date, “Blueberry Faygo” has amassed 1.4 billion streams on Spotify.

His ascent to stardom came to an abrupt halt in April 2021, when the state of Washington charged Mosey with second-degree rape. An affidavit filed in Lewis County Superior Court alleged that, in January 2020, Mosey had sex at a house party with a young woman who was too intoxicated to consent.

Interscope did not terminate Mosey’s contract but put its work with the rapper on pause until a verdict was reached.

Tyga, left, and Won-G in 2019.

(Johnny Nunez / Getty Images)

According to Thatcher, it was during the two-year trial that Mosey’s relationship with Bruny deepened. He had met Bruny through Sean Kingston, then best known for the 2007 hit “Beautiful Girls.”

According to press clippings he posted on social media, Won-G Bruny was born in Port-Au Prince, Haiti, and immigrated to the U.S. when he was 13. Bruny’s father, MacNeal Bruny, has said he was a high-ranking member of the Haitian army during the authoritarian regime of Francois “Papa Doc” Duvalier. After MacNeal noticed an advertisement for a company that would press compact discs for cheap, Bruny embarked on a music career, releasing his first independent rap album in 1995.

In 2001, he teamed up with an unlikely partner — Teodoro Nguema Obiang Mangue, the son of the president of Equatorial Guinea, who was attempting to become a rap mogul. Mangue released Bruny’s third album on his newly launched TNO Entertainment.

But that album was unsuccessful, and TNO never released any music of note. When Bruny filed for bankruptcy for the first time, in 2002, he owed TNO $75,000 relating to a recording contract.

Bruny forged ahead. In 2004, he landed his first record deal with a major label: Sanctuary Urban, an imprint headed by Beyoncé’s dad, Mathew Knowles. That year, Bruny also teamed up with L.A. County Sheriff Lee Baca to support a ballot initiative that proposed raising taxes to fund broader law enforcement. To help gather signatures for the initiative, Bruny said he planned to drive around the city with his “Haiti Boys Street Team” in 28 Ford Excursions with 27-inch wheels plastered with decals of him and Baca.

“Pictures belie personality,” Baca told the Los Angeles Daily News, which described Bruny as a “rapper with a $250,000 Elvis watch and penchant for fur coats and Rolls-Royces.” “He’s a faith-based hip-hop star. No vulgarity. No anti-public safety … There’s nothing in his work that’s bad boy.”

But Bruny had had at least one previous run-in with the law. In 1998, a judge in Pomona granted Bruny’s ex-girlfriend a one-year domestic violence restraining order. In court documents, the woman claimed that she and Bruny had been dating for two years and “during that time he demonstrated extreme physical violence by kicking, slapping, grabbing, bruising, spitting on my face and cutting my face.”

A year after his philanthropic efforts with the sheriff, Bruny began facing a string of lawsuits. There were four in 2005 alone, all alleging breach of contract. One case revolved around Bruny’s first role in a movie, an independent film called “Hack!” During production, the plaintiff — director Mike Wittlin — claimed that Bruny missed a day of shooting, leading the actor and the filmmaker to get into a heated verbal dispute. Following the argument, Bruny refused to return to set, according to the lawsuit. In his complaint, Wittlin said he then received an email from Bruny’s father, MacNeal, drafted “on behalf” of his son, which read: “I’m from a Royal family, little do you know. … I’m a self-made man and a self-made millionaire.”

When he was deposed in 2006, Bruny arrived wearing what Wittlin’s attorney described as a “large diamond ring” that Bruny said was owned by his father. “I just told you I don’t own anything,” Bruny said, according to the transcript. “I’m not a millionaire, I’m bankrupt.”

The court ultimately dismissed the case on the condition that Bruny pay $25,000 to the plaintiffs; according to a 2008 court judgment, he breached that settlement and was subsequently ordered to pay $108,236.25 in damages and fees. Wittlin told The Times he never received any of the money.

A clean-cut, God-fearing rapper. That was how Bruny represented himself to a pair of friends in their 70s.

Gita Hall, then 71, and Terry Moore, then 75, met for lunch nearly every day at Caffe Roma in 2004. They’d reminisce about the golden era of Hollywood: Hall, a onetime Miss Stockholm, had been photographed by Richard Avedon as a Revlon model and appeared in films like 1958’s “The Gun Runners”; Moore earned an Oscar nomination for her turn in 1952’s “Come Back, Little Sheba,” had a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and dated Howard Hughes.

Grant Cramer, Moore’s son and a film producer, had an office a block away from his mother’s favorite restaurant in Beverly Hills. One day, she wandered in unannounced with Hall and about 10 Haitian men he’d never met.

“They all sat down and said, ‘We are hereby announcing that we are becoming hip-hop moguls,’” said Cramer. “‘We’re going to raise all this money and become his producers.’”

He was stunned. He was fairly certain the women had never heard a hip-hop song before. After Bruny and his entourage left the office, Cramer tried desperately to talk them out of their new plan.

“But they were dead set on it,” said Cramer. “I said, ‘You’re going to lose your money. You don’t know who these guys are.’ And they said, ‘Oh, yes, we do. They’re Christian.’ Bruny had shown them this video he made with Paris Hilton, told them it was the new hottest thing, that he needed money to release a new album and they were gonna make 10 times their money.’”

(Through her publicist, Hilton did not respond to a request for comment.)

Hall had just moved back to Los Angeles after decades in Manhattan following the death of her husband. She wasn’t wealthy but had enough money to sustain her lifestyle, said one of her daughters, Tracie May Wagner.

Wagner joined Hall and Bruny for dinner at Mr. Chow one evening in an attempt to suss out her mother’s unlikely new friend.

“He rolls in, in his Rolls-Royce, handshake handshake, I know everybody on the planet,” remembered Wagner, a former entertainment publicist who now lives in Vietnam. “On first impression, he was very kind and sweet and doting. He would open the door for you. He would pull out my mother’s chair. He’d have this look in his eye of adoration, like, ‘I’m such a fan of yours. I know you were such a movie star.’ He would just keep playing into her reliving her golden years in her heyday.”

Hall ultimately loaned Bruny $93,000 under a contract that promised she’d be repaid in six months. But the day she and Moore transferred their money to Bruny, “Won-G and the money disappeared,” Cramer said.

“No album, no nothing,” said Cramer, who did not know the sum Moore invested. “Money’s gone.”

Hall sued Bruny, making similar allegations. In 2007, a judge ordered the rapper to pay her $107,319.45 — a sum her attorney said the family was unlikely to ever collect.

“When it was time to seize assets, he had none,” said Hall’s daughter, Wagner. “The mansion in Beverly Hills, all the cars, the jewelry — it was all registered under someone else’s name.”

That same year, Bruny appeared on two episodes of the Orange County installment of Bravo’s “Real Housewives” franchise. In Season 2, cast member Jo De La Rosa decided she wanted to be a singer. She invited Bruny and another producer to her home to discuss the possibility of collaborating.

“Won-G is a rap artist, producer, super-talented, amazing person,” De La Rosa said in a voice-over as Bruny exited a white Rolls-Royce in her driveway. “He’s worked with some big names in the music industry.”

De La Rosa recorded a song with Bruny but soon abandoned her musical pursuits. Bruny also shifted in another direction, attempting to expand his brand from music to fashion.

Taking a page from wealthy rappers like Jay-Z, 50 Cent and Sean “Diddy” Combs, he created an extensive pitch deck for investors, explaining how he’d use his music career to leverage “ancillary revenue possibilities” with a clothing line called Sovage. His business documents said he had signed Philippe Naouri, one of the designers behind Antik Denim, to create his jeans. (Naouri did not respond to multiple requests for comment.)

Bruny’s deck also included collages of him with dozens of celebrities — Kanye West, Bill Maher, Fergie — as well as images of him taken by paparazzi. His pitch said his forthcoming album would feature “exciting collaborations” with artists like Snoop Dogg, Alicia Keys and Timbaland, none of which ever came to fruition.

In 2001, Garry Heath, a technology executive, loaned Bruny $170,000. When he reached out to Bruny for repayment, Heath said the rapper warned him to stop “harassing” him because his father was “connected in Haiti. My family could really do damage to you if you don’t watch out.” One day, Heath said, Bruny’s father and brother turned up at his home in Orange County trying “to bury some voodoo thing in my yard that was gonna ‘protect me’ from losing my money or something … they wanted me to pay them, or else it was going to turn into a curse.”

In 2016, Heath finally decided to take Bruny to court. After a process server was unable to track him down to deliver legal documents for nearly two years, Heath said, a judge ultimately decided that posting the lawsuit on Bruny’s active Facebook page constituted service.

Bruny evaded service and court proceedings so many times that at least seven plaintiffs, including Heath, received default judgments in their favor in advance of any trials.

When she was fighting to recoup her late mother’s money, Wagner often relied on her connections with colleagues in the publicity industry to find out what events Bruny might attend. Then she’d show up to confront him. But after a few years without any movement in court, she backed off. “I knew it was never going to amount to anything, and I started having fear,” she said.

In December 2019, Bruny filed for personal bankruptcy and non-individual bankruptcy on behalf of his company, Real Sovage, claiming $9.9 million in debt liabilities. In his bankruptcy documents, Bruny said his personal assets amounted to just $10,700, about half of which consisted of “real & costume jewelry.”

“Debtor is currently living with friends until he is back up on his feet,” said the paperwork. “He hopes to be able to move into his own home within the next 6 months.”

On Instagram, Bruny had been depicting a very different image. Earlier that year, he posted a photo featuring himself, the rapper Tyga (his first major management client) and Amazon founder Jeff Bezos. “I’m so happy to be your friend and to study and learn your method to success,” the caption of the February 2019 photo read. (A source close to Bezos said the billionaire doesn’t know Bruny and has never interacted with him beyond posing for the photograph.)

In October, Bruny’s dad shared an image on Facebook of a Mercedes-Benz G-Wagon — which retails for over $100,000 — describing it as “A VERY EXPENSIVE & PRECIOUS GIFT FROM WON-G AND HIS PARTNER TO SHOW ME THEIR APPRECIATION”.

Angered by the lifestyle he saw online, Heath — whom Bruny had yet to pay a $229,984 judgment — unsuccessfully attempted to get his money back in court.

“He had the audacity to come to court in a T-shirt and flip-flops, looking like he was in poverty just a few days after posting pictures of himself driving a Rolls-Royce car and wearing a Rolex watch,” said Heath, who presented images from Bruny’s Instagram page to the court. “He said the car was borrowed from a friend and the gold chains and watch were fakes.”

After a bankruptcy is filed, creditors can meet a trustee to ask questions about the finances of the debtor. In California, creditors then have 60 days to file a complaint like Heath did, objecting to the discharging of a specific debt. It is unclear if any of the 25 other creditors listed in Bruny’s personal filing took this step — but legal experts say such paperwork often falls through the cracks.

“Bankruptcy is premised on all the creditors receiving notice of the bankruptcy case and either taking action or not. But people don’t read their mail,” said Evan Borges, the attorney who represented “The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” star Erika Girardi in the bankruptcy proceedings against her estranged husband, disbarred lawyer Tom Girardi. “It’s a hard-and-fast deadline to file a complaint, and if people miss it, they’re screwed.”

Without such complaints, it falls on the trustee appointed by the Justice Department to monitor Chapter 7 cases for potential fraud. “But they drop the ball all the time,” said Borges. “They’re there as watchdogs to safeguard the integrity of the system, and they’re supposed to refer people who have abused the bankruptcy system to the United States attorney for criminal prosecution. But they’re extremely overworked and can barely keep up.”

Even as he filed bankruptcy, Bruny was entering a business relationship with Tyga, a Grammy-nominated artist whose hit “Rack City” was then quadruple platinum. In his subsequent press materials, Bruny took credit for orchestrating “a huge comeback” for Tyga, whose music had become less popular than his relationship with Kylie Jenner.

But Bruny and Tyga parted acrimoniously. In April 2022, Bruny sued Tyga, alleging breach of contract and promissory fraud, saying he was owed $800,000 for his work on behalf of the rapper. A few months later, Bruny’s lawyer requested the case be dismissed. (Tyga did not respond to a request for comment sent to his publicist.)

By then, Bruny had moved on with Kingston, another partnership that would crash and burn.

“He promised us the world. He promised my son, ‘If you sign the papers, I have a $3-million deal,’” Janice Turner, Kingston’s mother, said in an interview.

During the year Kingston and Bruny worked together, Turner said, Bruny received 20% of everything Kingston made off his prior hits, but they were not satisfied with the partnership. Turner said she kicked Bruny out of the house he was sharing with her and Kingston and fired him. “I told him, ‘You’re a failed artist trying to live through other people,’” she said. “He was upset with me. He said that’s why God doesn’t like me.”

(In March, in a case unrelated to Bruny, a Florida jury found Turner and Kingston guilty of wire fraud for failing to pay for more than $1 million in luxury goods. Turner and Kingston await sentencing in July.)

As Bruny’s relationship with Kingston soured, he was strengthening his bond with Lil Mosey.

They began sharing a Redondo Beach rental — “I have a mansion in Beverly Hills, but it’s cooler here for the summer,” Bruny claimed, according to Mosey’s mom Thatcher. By the fall, Bruny had floated his first business proposition to Mosey: investing $50,000 in a four-unit apartment building being built by a company called Harmony Real Estate Developments.

“See when Justin [Bieber] gave Scooter [Braun] his trust they went to billions,” Bruny texted Mosey in February 2023, when he sent through more details about the project. “This is how I want to be for you as being seen together as business partners will take us to a whole new level.”

But Mosey’s team advised him against pursuing the opportunity. His funds were dwindling as he continued to fight the rape charge. As a jury prepared to deliver its verdict, Bruny urged Mosey to partake in a rum-bath ritual, according to two sources close to the situation. In the voodoo religion, rum baths are used “for good luck or to take off something bad,” said Elizabeth McAlister, a Wesleyan University professor whose research centers on Afro-Carribbean religions like Haitian voodoo.

On March 2, 2023, Mosey was acquitted.

“It’s been tough, mentally,” the rapper admitted to Billboard in an interview a month later. “It sucks to have something like that be attached to my name, knowing I didn’t do it, and the whole world can see that. … I feel like my last two years kind of been a sickness.”

While facing bills from the trial and the interruption of his music career, Mosey’s bank account had dwindled from millions down to a couple hundred thousand dollars — and he owed more than that in legal bills, according to a former business associate who requested anonymity because he still works in the music industry. Mosey’s team worked out a payment plan with Mosey’s attorney and jumped into action, setting up a nationwide college tour to bring in immediate revenue.

But Mosey wasn’t interested in doing the shows.

“Suddenly this tour that had been put in place wasn’t enough money, and he kept saying he deserved more,” his mother said.

Then Mosey began requesting his financial documents from his accounting team — materials he had never before asked to view. The team obliged. Gathering nearly 70,000 pages of bank statements, royalty metrics and tax returns, members of Mosey’s team, his mother and Marshall, met in L.A.

At the Glendale rental where Mosey was staying, Thatcher said, the team presented a new business strategy, suggesting new profit avenues like a beverage company or a lifestyle brand. But Mosey felt like he was being ambushed, his mother said.

Before she left, Thatcher made a final plea: “Please promise me you won’t sign a contract with Won-G,” she said. “Think about it. Talk to other people. You don’t have to sign a contract with him yet.”

Thatcher did not manage her son’s career, though she was a signer on his bank account when he was a minor. In recent years, he sent her around $4,000 a month to cover her rent in Washington, according to Mosey’s former business associate. Sometimes, Thatcher said, she would offer Mosey financial advice — “I think you’re spending too much. I know it feels like a lot of money right now, but this is not gonna last you forever” — but he disregarded it. She was also wary of becoming “that mom that took money from my son,” so she kept her job in the education sector.

Before her death, she’d started work on a trilogy of children’s books with an L.A.-based husband-and-wife writing team, Maya Sloan and Thomas Warming. The couple became some of the only people she confided to about Mosey.

“I felt terrible for Angela, because I saw her desperation and anguish when she’d come to L.A. in the hopes of just having a brief moment with her son,” said Warming. “She would keep motel rooms and wait for him to call or sit in cars outside his house to try to talk to him. That’s how difficult it had become.”

Sloan began helping Thatcher research Bruny and connected her with a private investigator. When the PI report confirmed Thatcher’s fears, she pressed Mosey for an in-person meeting. According to Thatcher, Mosey went home and read through the background documents. A half an hour later, he called, saying “I don’t know what to do. I’m really confused.’”

“I said, ‘Well, I know you’ve signed a contract with him. But if you really want, there’s always a way out. And I’m here for you,’” Thatcher said.

That night, he left the home he shared with Bruny and stayed in a hotel. Still uneasy, he flew back to Seattle to visit his family in Washington. But by the end of the trip, any concerns he’d had about Bruny had seemingly vanished. He returned to L.A., and they continued working together.

Mosey had given his mother something that would provide her with insight into his relationship with Bruny: His old phone, which was still logged into Mosey’s account. She had access to his text messages.

She began scrolling through her son’s interactions with Bruny. In August 2023, she saw herself mentioned: Mosey was urging him to stop mentioning voodoo in conversation with his mother.

“you gotta stop saying your the reason i beat the case bro cuz even if ogu is the reason i beat it anybody that does not know what voodoo is will not believe you and it makes you look bad for trying to take credit,” Mosey said in a text message. “not saying that you and ogu did not help i’m just saying it makes you look bad cuz most people will not believe you.”

But in the days that followed, Bruny mentioned Ogu, a warrior god, numerous times as the battle with Interscope ramped up.

“papa ogu never loses or fails. … I have won battles taken Artist out of many situations that are legal contractual,” Bruny texted his client. “You have to be a killer, I’m like trump. … You have 24 hours to give me a answer or I will drop a bomb on you.”

After Bruny sent his Aug. 22 email to Interscope executives demanding Mosey be let out of his contract, text messages revealed he continued to press other members of the rapper’s team. Two days later, he messaged Marshall, Mosey’s prior manager, demanding him to aid in the situation with the record label.

“I now have everybody’s home address and will pop up to their home at 1 AM in the morning and start waking them up by knocking on your door,” Bruny wrote to Marshall in a text reviewed by The Times. “We are very smart it is not a threat. It is not a violent act in America. You’re allowed to walk up to anybody you want and have a discussion with them.” (Marshall did not respond to interview requests for this story.)

In the end, Interscope agreed to let Mosey out of his contract with the stipulation that the company would continue to collect around 2% of his future earnings, according to the former business associate.

“my Power is ordained by God, No one will understand the angels that walk with me,” Bruny texted Mosey after the deal was executed. “My father & Ogu walk with us, interscope are fools … What interscope feared happened., you finding me was the blow. God, Ogu destroyed all of them, including that lying bitch in court.”

Thatcher was so worried about her son that she consulted Rick Ross, a cult intervention specialist whom she and Sloan had seen pop up in a few true crime documentaries. While she considered hiring Ross, she continued to strategize with Sloan. Last August, they approached the FBI about Bruny, then met with the director of the Bureau of Fraud & Corruption Prosecutions in the Los Angeles district attorney’s office.

A source close to the D.A.’s office confirmed a meeting with Thatcher and Sloan took place but said no investigation into Bruny was pending. Laura Eimiller, the FBI’s media coordinator, said the bureau does not confirm or deny information provided to the organization unless it results in a court charge.

Two months later, Thatcher died.

Sloan, who spoke to her the night before her death, said she was slurring her words because her “tongue wasn’t working right.” Thatcher told her friend that a doctor told her she’d be OK and that she just needed to take the antibiotics she’d been prescribed.

“Her spirit was broken,” Sloan said. “She was afraid that her son was … going to lose everything he’d worked so hard for. That he wasn’t going to ever be able to do a real album again.”

In February 2024, Mosey officially went independent, signing a global distribution partnership with Cinq Music. “As a manager, it is rare to have a young artist that is truly gifted in creating hit records and is equally an amazing human being,” Bruny said in the press release announcing the news. Since then, Lil Mosey has released an EP and a few singles but none have brought him close to the commercial success of “Blueberry Faygo.” This summer, he has 10 North American concert dates lined up at venues that can hold between 450 and 1,500 people; tickets start at $31.

In one of Mosey’s recent Instagram posts, he starts out standing in front of a Rolls-Royce on that palm-tree-lined street in Beverly Hills that all influencers flock to. The April photo shoot continues: He’s flipping the bird. He’s holding a huge bag from Louis Vuitton.

But scroll down just three posts, and the tone shifts. He’s on the ground, seated next to a pay phone. “miss u mom this one’s for u,” say the words below the picture. It’s from November 2024 — just weeks after his mother’s passing — an announcement for his new single, “Call.” He wrote the song for Thatcher, its lyrics lamenting how he’d “give everything” to hear her voice again. Between his rap verses, there’s an interlude where he samples voicemail messages he’s saved from her.

“Hey, it’s me, your mom,” she says gently, barely audible. “Just checking in, hope everything’s good. Stay safe, be strong, love you. You know I’m here for you, always. Reach out anytime. ”

Times librarian Cary Schneider contributed to this report.

Donald Trump had just been elected president when I first visited the sprawling Wyoming ranch of conservative billionaire Phil Anschutz in late 2016.

But my tour guides didn’t let President Trump’s well-known disdain for wind power stop them from sharing their story: With Anschutz’s fortune behind them, and huge profits ahead, they were preparing to build America’s largest wind farm. America’s future was renewable.

When I visited again in 2022, their story was the same: Wind turbines, all the way.

Not anymore.

After Trump returned to office this year and began weaponizing federal departments against clean energy, wind in particular, with a vengeance unlike anything seen during his first term, Anschutz’s Power Co. of Wyoming updated its website. The company now planned to build a gas-fueled power plant as large as 3,200 megawatts, it said in February. That would be the country’s second-largest gas plant, after a facility in Florida.

Anschutz’s 3,550-megawatt wind farm remained under construction, as did a long-distance power line capable of transmitting the electricity to California. But the way the company described its mission had changed.

Until at least Feb. 11, the website’s home page, as documented by the Internet Archive, was titled, “Putting wind to work for Carbon County.” It said the wind farm’s benefits would include “a reliable, competitively priced supply of renewable electricity” that would “help America reduce greenhouse-gas emissions.”

Now the page says nothing about heat-trapping emissions or renewable electricity, and little about wind. Instead, it’s littered with Trump-esque language about “American-made energy” and “electricity that our nation needs.”

There’s still a separate section of the site describing the wind project and its benefits. But atop the home page, a banner that previously featured two pictures — one of wind turbines, one of the U.S. flag and the Wyoming state flag fluttering in the wind — has been updated. In place of the flag picture, there’s a gas plant.

Why might an energy company owned by a Republican mega-donor feel the need to make such a pivot?

Phil Anschutz, left, watches the Lakers play the Minnesota Timberwolves in 2011.

(Gary Friedman / Los Angeles Times)

Simply put, Trump despises wind turbines, an obsession that dates to the early 2010s, when he tried and failed to block an offshore wind farm he believed would ruin the view from his Scottish golf resort. In January, he issued an executive order blocking construction of Lava Ridge, an Idaho wind project approved by the Biden administration. Trump’s appointees have paused federal permitting for all wind farms, which experts say is most likely illegal.

In their most brazen attack yet, last month Trump’s appointees ordered the Norwegian company Equinor to stop construction of Empire Wind, an ocean wind farm off the coast of Long Island that will help power New York City. The company had already invested $2.7 billion in the project. Until the Trump administration lifted the stop-work order this week, Equinor executives said they were days away from canceling Empire Wind entirely.

Given those events, it’s possible Anschutz’s pivot toward gas is a “strategic play” to avoid incurring Trump’s wrath, said Leah Stokes, an associate professor of climate and energy policy at UC Santa Barbara.

“Trump has been attacking wind so much,” she said.

Anschutz spokesperson Kara Choquette gave me a different explanation for the company’s gas-plant plan — one that had nothing to do with Trump. She cited “unprecedented demand growth,” alluding to the rapid adoption of artificial intelligence technology that’s driving a data-center boom — and a corresponding need for electricity.

“Market demand has always been the driver for our projects,” Choquette said via email.

In a filing with Wyoming regulators, the Anschutz Corp. expressed interest in selling power to “hyperscale data centers” that could be built on its Wyoming ranch. That power could come from the wind farm, the gas plant or a 1,000-megawatt solar farm that Anschutz is also interested in constructing.

A mix of wind and gas, Choquette told me, “will provide firm, reliable power at a meaningful scale and size.”

PacifiCorp’s Ekola Flats wind farm outside Medicine Bow, Wyo., seen in 2022, has 63 turbines, most of them rated at 4.3 megawatts.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

But Stokes, who helped craft portions of President Biden’s climate law, the Inflation Reduction Act, wonders if the gas plant proposal is largely performative. A surge in gas-plant construction, fueled by AI demand, has led to long delays for gas turbines. The research firm Wood Mackenzie reported this month that some energy developers are finding the earliest they can bring new gas plants online is 2030. Turbine costs have also hit all-time highs.

Meanwhile, solar and batteries made up nearly 84% of new power capacity built in the U.S. last year.

“You’ve got to build batteries and solar, because that’s the only thing you can build fast,” Stokes said.

Thus far, Anschutz’s company hasn’t applied for a gas-plant permit from Wyoming officials. But the Denver-based billionaire won’t lack for resources if and when he decides to move forward. He owns the Coachella music festival, the Los Angeles Kings and L.A.’s Crypto.com Arena, among other lucrative assets. He’s already spent at least $400 million over more than 15 years permitting and beginning to build the wind farm and 732-mile power line.

The wind farm and power line could help wean California off fossil fuels, supplying bountiful clean energy during the evening and nighttime hours, when solar panels stop generating and batteries aren’t always sufficient.

But if Anschutz does indeed build the nation’s second-largest gas plant, the air pollution could be significant.

Gas is usually cleaner than coal. But gas combustion still results in harmful pollutants, including nitrogen oxides, which the American Lung Assn. says can cause asthma attacks and reduced lung function. Gas also fuels the worsening heat waves, wildfires and storms of the climate crisis, especially when it leaks from pipelines and power plants in the form of methane, an especially powerful heat-trapping pollutant.

Anschutz’s company says on its website that the gas plant will be “hydrogen-capable and carbon-capture-ready” — meaning the facility will be capable of eventually switching from gas to clean-burning hydrogen, and ready to add installations that capture heat-trapping carbon dioxide before it escapes into the atmosphere.

The city of Glendale’s gas-fired Grayson power plant, seen in 2023, sits near the banks of the Los Angeles River.

(Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)

In theory, those are nice ideas. In practice, both technologies mostly don’t exist yet in commercial, reliable form. Hence the “capable” and the “ready.” A 3,200-megawatt gas plant would be a big polluter.

“There are water issues. There are wildlife issues,” said Rob Joyce, director of the Sierra Club’s Wyoming chapter. “Even if it is on private land on their ranch, it’s something we should be concerned about.”

Shutting down all gas plants isn’t realistic, at least not yet; even California still depends on gas for one-third of its electricity. But scientists say building new gas plants, especially in richer nations like the U.S., is incompatible with a safe future for human civilization. Not to mention financially questionable, when solar and wind are cheaper.

Here’s hoping Anschutz doesn’t actually build a giant gas plant.

Perhaps just as importantly, here’s hoping America’s most wealthiest and most powerful people and institutions stop caving to Trump’s diktats. Universities, Fortune 500 companies, marquee law firms, billionaires — do they really think if they just give Trump a splash of what he wants, he won’t ask for more? And then he’ll leave office peacefully, and democracy will be fine? And we’ll maintain a livable climate and functioning economy?

I can’t know for sure if Anschutz’s gas-plant proposal is designed to appease Trump.

But Power Co. of Wyoming has definitely undergone a rebranding since he took office.

On its profile page on social media platform X — where it’s long posted under the username “welovewind” — the company used to describe itself as a supplier of “diverse, high-capacity, reliable, ‘Made in Wyoming’ wind power to help meet region’s [renewable portfolio standard, greenhouse gas] and economic growth goals.”

Sometime between late January and early March, though, the description changed. Now it reads: “High-capacity, reliable, clean, ‘Made in Wyoming’ electric power to help meet diverse market demands and goals.”

ONE MORE THING

On this week’s Boiling Point podcast, I talk with Sadie Babits, a climate editor at NPR and author of the excellent new book, “Hot Takes: Every Journalist’s Guide to Covering Climate Change.” We talk about how reporters can do a better job tackling one of the biggest stories of modern times — and how news consumers can help them.

You can listen to my conversation with Sadie on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or YouTube.

This is the latest edition of Boiling Point, a newsletter about climate change and the environment in the American West. Sign up here to get it in your inbox. And listen to our “Boiling Point” podcast here.

For more climate and environment news, follow @Sammy_Roth on X and @sammyroth.bsky.social on Bluesky.

Correction: Last week’s newsletter used the wrong name for a nuclear plant in Washington state. It’s Columbia Generating Station, not Centralia. Centralia is a coal plant.

Eleven minutes into the June 27 presidential debate, CNN anchor Dana Bash slipped a note to her colleague Jake Tapper after President Biden gave a rambling, incoherent answer.

“He just lost the election,” she wrote.

The event at the network’s Atlanta studios — recounted in Tapper’s and Axios correspondent Alex Thompson’s new book, “Original Sin: President Biden’s Decline, Its Cover-Up, and His Disastrous Choice to Run Again” — turned out to be the most consequential presidential debate in history.

Negative reaction to Biden’s alarmingly disastrous performance led him to abandon his campaign three weeks later and Vice President Kamala Harris to take his place on the 2024 Democratic ticket. The election against President Trump was less than four months away.

Biden’s mental and physical decline had long been the subject of speculation at that point. The unraveling of the then-81-year-old incumbent president in front of an audience of 51 million TV viewers made his diminished capacity undeniable.

“It was just the painful realization that the White House had been lying to everyone, including likely, in many ways, to themselves,” Tapper said in a recent Zoom conversation from his home in Washington, D.C. “As bad as it was on TV, it was worse in person.”

CNN’s Jake Tapper and Dana Bash at the first 2024 presidential debate in Atlanta on June 27.

(Austin Steele / CNN)

The debate meltdown and its aftermath prompted Tapper to join forces with Thompson for an investigative deep dive into Biden’s deteriorating condition and how family and staff protected him from scrutiny until it was no longer possible to hide.

“Original Sin” is rife with examples of Biden forgetting the names of friends and associates he’s known for years, most notably actor George Clooney at a Hollywood fundraiser. At the same event, former President Obama led a dazed-looking Biden offstage.

Tapper and Thompson give a detailed account of Biden’s October 2023 interview with special counsel Robert Hur, who investigated whether the former president was in illegal possession of classified material.

Biden frequently wandered off topic during his testimony and failed to recall dates of key moments of his life, such as the year his son Beau died. Hur declined to prosecute Biden, calling him a “well-meaning elderly man with a poor memory” in his report. Hur was hammered by Democratic critics who called him cruel and ageist.

There were private discussions among aides about Biden using a wheelchair if he were elected to a second term. The staff went through machinations to minimize the appearance of Biden’s physical challenges, even enlisting director Steven Spielberg to coach Biden for his 2024 State of the Union address.

Tapper and Thompson tie the stories together in a way that reads like a horror movie script — you know what’s coming and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“We were just lied to over and over again,” Tapper said.

Their book has already generated a national debate about whether the White House deceived the public about the president’s condition and how Biden’s late exit from the race undermined the Democratic Party’s chances of stopping a second term for President Trump.

The discussion intensified after Sunday’s announcement that Biden was diagnosed with an aggressive form of prostate cancer.

The immediate response of right-wing commentators to the book’s revelations has been “we told you so,” along with accusations that the mainstream media was complicit in a White House cover-up of the president’s health issues.

Tapper anticipated the reaction. He said 99% of what is reported in the book was discovered after the election.

“If I learned about any of these stories in 2022, 2023 or 2024, I would have reported them in a second,” he said. “But I don’t have subpoena power.”

Tapper believes conservatives were proven correct in their harsh and at times tactless assessments of Biden’s condition, which clearly worsened in 2023 after his son Hunter faced the possibility of a prison sentence when a plea deal on tax and gun charges fell apart.

“They were right and that should be acknowledged,” Tapper said. “At the same time, saying that the president’s brain has turned to applesauce is not journalism. It’s punditry.”

Although there is plenty of footage showing Biden’s memory lapses and senior moments, Tapper noted there were few deeply reported stories on the extent of the president’s condition. Biden was surrounded by family members and longtime loyalists who were effective at deflecting and dismissing the inquiries as partisan attacks.

Fox News White House correspondent Peter Doocy was persistent in raising the issue of Biden’s health in the White House briefing room and former Press Secretary Karine Jean-Pierre was persistent in shutting him down, suggesting he was spreading disinformation.

“They weren’t only lying to journalists, they were lying to everybody,” Tapper said. “People would do reporting and all the great Democratic sources that you could rely on for candor would say, ‘No, we’re told that he’s fine.’ And I think that they all either believed it or had no other facts.”

Along with Thompson’s work for Axios, the most detailed report on Biden’s frailty and memory lapses came in June 2024 from Wall Street Journal reporters Siobhan Hughes and Annie Linskey. The highly respected Washington journalists were roundly criticized by progressive commentators for depending on unnamed sources in the report, titled “Behind Closed Doors, Biden Shows Signs of Slipping.” CNN’s own Reliable Sources newsletter dismissed the piece, saying, “The Wall Street Journal owes its readers — and the public — better.”

Tapper said Hughes and Linskey “should be heralded as heroes” and agreed that the Washington press corps failed to aggressively pursue the Biden health story. But it didn’t help that loyalty to Biden kept potential whistleblowers in line.

“I do primarily think that the people who were lying, or the people who knew the truth but were fearful, are the ones that could’ve prevented this disaster much more so than those of us in the news media,” Tapper said. “We’re only as good as our sources.”

Tapper and Thompson rely largely on unnamed sources in “Original Sin.” Among the 200 people they talked to are Democratic Party insiders and four cabinet secretaries. While many Democrats are still reluctant to go on the record about what they knew about Biden and when they knew it, the floodgate of anecdotes opened after the election.

“I have never experienced the ability to get behind the scenes in so many different rooms as for these recountings as I was for this book,” Tapper said. “I felt like people needed to get this off their chest. It was almost like they were unburdening themselves.”

Many of the sources expressed regret that they did not speak up sooner. Tapper said he and his co-author maintained a high bar for what they used.

“If there was stuff that we were not 100% sure about, we didn’t put it in the book,” he said. “There are stories, really good ones, that had one source and we said, ‘It’s not good enough.’”

In its only response to the book thus far, the Biden camp has asserted that the former president’s condition did not impair his ability to execute his duties in the White House.

“We continue to await anything that shows where Joe Biden had to make a presidential decision or where national security was threatened or where he was unable to do his job. In fact, the evidence points to the opposite — he was a very effective president.”

Tapper and Thompson say in the book that they found no instances where Biden was unable to discharge his duties as president. They write that even most of his critics interviewed for the book “attest to his ability to make sound decisions, if on his own schedule.”

Tapper believes that the effort of family and his longtime staff members to hide Biden’s condition deprived the Democratic Party of the chance to determine if its chances were better with another candidate, who would have benefited from more time to mount a campaign against Trump.

“President Biden knows what he was going through,” Tapper said. “Jill Biden knows what he’s going through. They hid this. It’s still amazing to me that they were actually arguing that he could do this job for four more years.

“I’m proud of the book that Alex and I wrote,” Tapper added. “I’m proud of the reporting. But I’d rather that this hadn’t happened.”

Asked if the Biden’s actions amounted to a medical Watergate, Tapper said it did “in the fact that there was a horrible cover-up of something that wasn’t technically a crime, but you could argue morally it was.”

Ahmaud Arbery. His name is just one that we’ve come to associate with senseless racial violence in America. On the afternoon of Feb. 23, 2020, in Georgia’s Glynn County, Arbery, 25, was out running when three white men chased him down and shot him. His death ricocheted across the nation just three months before the murder of George Floyd by a white Minneapolis police officer.

Now, five years later, the Grammy-winning choral ensemble Tonality is dedicating a show to Arbery at the Wallis in Beverly Hills. The May 24 program, “Put Your Guns Down,” includes the world premiere of founding Artistic Director Alexander Lloyd Blake’s piece “Running From, Running To: A Musical Reflection on Ahmaud Arbery.”

Tonality choral ensemble during a performance.

(Dorian Bonner)

Arbery’s mother, Wanda Cooper-Jones, will attend the concert and has already heard Blake’s 30-minute work for choir, orchestra and soloists. She took time while traveling to answer questions via email about experiencing the music.

“When I first heard the composition, I was overwhelmed. It’s beautiful. I wish I could play it over and over again,” Cooper-Jones wrote. “The fact that someone took the time to honor Ahmaud in this way — it means more than I can put into words. One of the movements is called ‘Running Free,’ and when I heard that, I told Alex that it was like we were made to make a connection.”

After Arbery’s death, Cooper-Jones channeled her grief into creating the Ahmaud Arbery Foundation, which champions mental health awareness and provides scholarships and youth development camps for young Black men.

“One of my favorite quotes from Ahmaud is, ‘When life gets hard, you gotta get hard with it,’” Cooper-Jones wrote. “I hear his voice saying that all the time, especially when I get to the point where I want to give up. Starting the Ahmaud Arbery Foundation hasn’t been easy. It’s hard work. But those words keep me going.”

Arbery, Cooper-Jones explained, inspired everything she does.

“He had a way of leaving every person with ‘I love you,’ no matter who they were. Since losing him, I try to do the same, letting people know I love them, just in case I leave here tomorrow,” she said. “Through the foundation, I’m working to be the change for young Black men like Ahmaud who may be facing mental health challenges or simply struggling to find their place in the world. If they choose running as their outlet, I want them to be able to run free, without fear. That’s what this work is about, honoring Ahmaud’s legacy by fighting for freedom, for justice, and for love.”

Tonality’s Blake also wants to honor Arbery’s life with his music.

“I remember reading about Ahmaud Arbery’s story in 2020 and feeling a deep frustration at how little attention it received. That frustration led me to create a project in 2020 with 60 Black musicians to honor the countless Black lives lost without consequence,” Blake wrote in an email. “‘Running From, Running To’ is my way of ensuring his story is not forgotten — a reflection of our need to remember, to heal, and to strive toward justice that has yet to be fully realized.”

Tonality founding Artistic Director Alexander Lloyd Blake.

(Dorian Bonner)

“Put Your Guns Down,” begins at 7:30 p.m. on Saturday at the Wallis Annenberg Center for the Performing Arts. Tickets can be purchased at thewallis.org.

I’m arts and culture writer Jessica Gelt, grateful for Cooper-Jones’ reflections on the power of love. Here’s a rundown of this week’s other arts news.

Best bets: On our radar this week

‘Califas Trilogy’

Playwright and actor Roger Q. Mason made waves with their play “Lavendar Men,” which reimagined Abraham Lincoln’s life through a queer lens. Now Mason has launched the “Califas Trilogy,” plays exploring the California dream at various points in the past, present and future. Times contributor Amanda L. Andrei sat down with Mason to discuss the works, two of which are up and running. Check them out and dive into Mason’s story.
“California Story” runs through June 3 at Caminito Theatre of Los Angeles City College “Hide and Hide” runs through May 29 at Skylight Theatre in L.A.; “Juana Maria” runs May 25-June 1 at Caminito Theatre. www.califastrilogy.com

‘Schoenberg in Hollywood’

Tod Machover’s opera “Schoenberg in Hollywood” is based on a remarkable incident from 1935: In the office of legendary Hollywood producer Irving Thalberg, composer Arnold Schoenberg asks for more than an astronomical fee to score the MGM feature film adaptation of Pearl S. Buck’s “The Good Earth.” He also asks for full control of the movie’s sound — and wants the actors to recite their lines to his musical rhythms. Three more performances of “Schoenberg in Hollywood” by the UCLA Herb Alpert School of Music are scheduled this week at the Nimoy Theater in Westwood. Until then, you can read music critic Mark Swed’s take on Schoenberg and his contribution to the L.A. sound.
7:30 p.m. Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. Nimoy Theater, 1262 Westwood Blvd., L.A. schoolofmusic.ucla.edu

Culture news and the SoCal scene

Elizabeth Reaser and Jason Butler Harner, who star as Nora and Torvald in “A Doll’s House, Part 2,” at the Pasadena Playhouse on Friday, May 2, 2025.

(Carlin Stiehl / Los Angeles Times)

Since Henrik Ibsen’s classic play “A Doll’s House” premiered in 1879, one thing has not changed: It’s still shocking for a woman to walk out on her child. Which is where playwright Lucas Hnath’s starts his 2017 play, “A Doll’s House, Part 2”: 15 years after Ibsen’s female protagonist, Nora, left her husband and daughter to find her own way in life. In a new production at Pasadena Playhouse, screen actors Elizabeth Reaser and Jason Butler Harner play Nora and husband Torvald, coming up with their own answers about what these two former life partners may now think and feel about each other. Read all about the show here.

Times theater critic Charles McNulty, a part-time professor at CalArts, enjoyed reading playwright Sarah Ruhl’s new book, “Lessons From My Teachers.” Ruhl is a playwriting instructor at Yale who finds plenty to learn from her students. “Even in the classroom, with its necessary hierarchies and rigorously observed boundaries, teaching isn’t a one-way street,” McNulty writes in review of the book. “Authority is enriched, not undermined, by intellectual challenge. The most thrilling moments in my years of teaching drama have come when in the dialectical heat of class discussion, a new way of understanding a scene or a character’s psychology emerges from conflicting perspectives.”

Maestro Esa-Pekka Salonen conducts the Los Angeles Philharmonic and Pierre-Laurent Aimard at piano at the Walt Disney Concert Hall.

(David Swanson/For The Times)

The classical music world is abuzz with the thought that conductor Esa-Pekka Salonen might return to lead the Los Angeles Philharmonic after Music and Artistic Director Gustavo Dudamel leaves at the end of next season to take over the New York Philharmonic. Times critic Swed ruminates on the possibility of Salonen playing a transitional role for a couple years while the search continues for a permanent successor.

Joe Ngo, Abraham Kim, Kelsey Angel Baehrens, Jane Lui and Tim Liu in “Cambodian Rock Band” at East West Players.

(Teolindo)

Massive cutbacks to the National Endowment for the Arts continue to send shock waves through L.A.’s arts community. East West Players announced that it lost a $20,000 grant meant to support the creative team behind the world premiere of Prince Gomolvilas’ “Paranormal Inside,” scheduled for the fall. “The loss of this funding represents more than a financial setback; it is a symbolic blow to our mission and to the creatives who rely on institutional support to tell vital, underrepresented stories,” the theater wrote in an email to supporters. The loss, which represents 10% of the budget for the project, couldn’t come at a worse time for the company, which in April was forced to layoff five full-time staff members. The theater is calling on members of the community to help fundraise and to contact their local representatives to protest the Trump administration’s proposed elimination of the NEA.

A massive art installation created by transgender and nonbinary artists in support of visibility and acceptance for their community was unveiled Saturday in Washington, D.C. The “Freedom to Be” project was spearheaded by the American Civil Liberties Union and helped kick off World Pride in the capital by displaying hundreds of quilts meant to build on the legacy of the 1987 AIDS Memorial Quilt.

The Getty has announced the lineup for its free outdoor summer concert series, “Off the 405.” This year’s performers include Bartees Strange, Cate Le Bon, Helado Negro, Alabaster DePlume and Moses Sumney. Check out the full schedule here.

And last but not least

Times travel writer Christopher Reynolds, who may have the best job at the paper, just released this list of “the 34 coolest, kitschiest, most fascinating motels in California,” which appeals to just about every aspect of my personality and taste. Now I just need a few months off — and a lottery win — to stay at each and every one.

The radiation containment domes at Arizona’s Palo Verde Generating Station were, truth be told, pretty boring to look at: giant mounds of concrete, snap a picture, move on. The enormous cooling towers and evaporation ponds were marginally more interesting — all that recycled water, baking in the Sonoran Desert.

You know what really struck my fancy, though? The paintings on conference room walls.

There were five of them, each representing one of the far-flung Southwestern cityscapes powered by Palo Verde. Two showcased Arizona: one for the Phoenix metro area — saguaro cacti and ocotillo in the foreground, freeway and skyscrapers in the background — and one for the red-rock country to the north. Another showed downtown Albuquerque. A fourth portrayed farm fields in El Paso, likely irrigated with water from the Rio Grande.

Then there was an image that may have looked familiar to Southern Californians: Pacific Coast Highway, twisting through a seaside neighborhood that looks very much like Malibu before the Palisades fire.

A painting of Pacific Coast Highway winding through Southern California, on display at Arizona’s Palo Verde nuclear plant.

(Sammy Roth / Los Angeles Times)

That’s right: If you live in Los Angeles County, there’s a good chance your computer, your phone, your refrigerator and your bedside lamp are powered, at least some of the time, by nuclear reactors.

The city of L.A., Southern California Edison and a government authority composed of cities including Burbank, Glendale and Pasadena all own stakes in Palo Verde, the nation’s second-largest power plant. In 2023, the most recent year for which data are available, the plant was L.A.’s single largest energy source, supplying nearly 14% of the city’s electricity. The reactors supplied just over 9% of Edison’s power.

During a tour last month, I walked past the switchyard, a tangle of poles and wires where energy is transferred to power lines marching west and east. When all three reactors are running, the yard can transfer “the equivalent of half of the peak [electric demand] of the state of California on its hottest day,” according to John Hernandez, vice president of site services for utility company Arizona Public Service, which runs the plant.

“So it is a massive, massive switchyard,” Hernandez said.

For all the heated debate over the merits of nuclear energy as a climate change solution, the reality is it’s already a climate change solution. Nuclear plants including Palo Verde generate nearly one-fifth of the nation’s electricity, churning out 24/7, emissions-free power. Shutting down the nuclear fleet tomorrow would cause a giant uptick in coal and gas combustion, worsening the heat waves, wildfires and storms of the climate crisis.

Phasing out the nation’s 94 nuclear reactors over a period of decades, on the other hand, might be manageable — and there’s a case to be made for it. Extracting uranium for use as nuclear fuel has left extensive groundwater contamination and air pollution across the Southwest, especially on tribal lands, including the Navajo Nation.

“When we talk about nuclear, thoughts often go toward spent fuel storage, or the safety of reactors themselves,” said Amber Reimondo, energy director at the Grand Canyon Trust, a nonprofit conservation group. “But I think an often overlooked piece…has been the impacts to those who are at the beginning of the supply chain.”

Reimondo participated in a panel that I moderated at Palo Verde, part of the annual conference of the Society of Environmental Journalists. She noted that the nation’s only active conventional uranium mill — where uranium is leached from crushed rock — is located in Utah, just a few miles from the Ute Mountain Ute Reservation.

Waste ponds at Energy Fuels’ White Mesa uranium mill in southeastern Utah.

(Jim West / UCG / Universal Images Group via Getty Images)

Even during the Biden years, Reimondo said, it was tough to overcome bipartisan enthusiasm for nuclear energy and “get folks to take seriously the impacts that [tribal] communities are feeling” from mining and milling.

“We just haven’t reached a place in this country where we are listening to these folks,” she said.

That dynamic has remained true during the second Trump administration. Just this week, Interior Secretary Doug Burgum said his agency would fast-track permitting for a uranium mine proposed by Anfield Energy in Utah’s San Juan County, completing the environmental review — which would normally take a year — in just 14 days.

Burgum and President Trump, like Biden-era officials before them, say it’s unwise for the U.S. to rely on overseas suppliers for nearly all its uranium. But many environmental activists, even some who are fans of nuclear, believe running roughshod over Indigenous nations and public lands is disgraceful. And counterproductive.

Victor Ibarra Jr., senior manager for nuclear energy at the nonprofit Clean Air Task Force, said rebuilding the U.S. nuclear power supply chain will require local buy-in — on the front end, where uranium is mined, and on the back end, where spent fuel is stored. Thus far, political opposition has derailed every attempt to build a permanent fuel storage site, meaning nuclear waste is piling up at power plants across the country.

If there’s any hope for more uranium mining and power plants, Ibarra said, it will involve a lot of conversations — conversations that lead to less pollution, and fewer mistakes like those made during the 20th century.

“I think it’s really unfortunate that the nuclear industry has behaved the way it has in the past,” he said.

The benefits of nuclear reactors are straightforward: They generate climate-friendly electricity around the clock, while taking up far less land than solar or wind farms. If building new nuclear plants were cheap and easy — and we could solve the lingering pollution and safety concerns — then doing so would be a climate no-brainer.

If only.

The only two nuclear reactors built in the U.S. in decades came online at Georgia Power’s Vogtle plant in 2023 and 2024, respectively, and cost $31 billion, according to the Associated Press. That was $17 billion over budget.

Units 1 and 2 at the Vogtle nuclear plant near Waynesboro, Ga., seen in 2024.

(Mike Stewart / Associated Press)

Meanwhile, efforts to build small modular reactors have proved more expensive than large nuclear plants.

“It would really be quite unprecedented in the history of engineering, and in the history of energy, for something that is much smaller to have a lower price per megawatt,” said Joe Romm, a senior researcher at the University of Pennsylvania’s Center for Science, Sustainability and the Media. “We try to make use of the economies of scale.”

Those setbacks haven’t stopped wealthy investors including billionaires Bill Gates and Jeff Bezos from bankrolling efforts to bring down the cost of small modular reactors, in hopes that mini-nuclear plants will someday join solar panels and wind turbines as crucial tools in replacing planet-warming fossil fuels.

I hope they succeed. But I’m not going to spend much time worrying about it.

Like I said earlier: Love it or hate it, nuclear is already a huge part of the nation’s power mix, including here in L.A. We’ve lived with it, almost always safely, for decades — at Palo Verde, at Washington state’s Centralia Generating Station, at the Diablo Canyon plant on California’s Central Coast. Nuclear, for all its flaws, is hardly the apocalyptic threat to humanity that its most righteous detractors make it out to be.

It’s also not the One True Solution to humanity’s energy woes, as many of its techno-optimist devotees claim it to be. There’s a reason that solar, wind and batteries made up nearly 94% of new power capacity built in the U.S. last year: They’re cheap. And although other technologies will be needed to help solar and wind phase out fossil fuels, some researchers have found that transitioning to 100% clean energy is possible even without nuclear.

So what’s the answer? Is nuclear power good or bad?

I wish it were that simple. To the extent existing nuclear plants limit the amount of new infrastructure we need to build to replace fossil fuels: good. To the extent we’re unable to eliminate pollution from uranium mining: bad. To the extent small reactors might give us another tool to complement solar and wind, alongside stuff like advanced geothermal — good, although we probably shouldn’t spend too much more taxpayer money on it yet.

Sorry not to offer up more enthusiasm, or more outrage. The climate crisis is a big, thorny problem that demands nuance and thoughtful reflection. Not every question can be answered with a snappy soundbite.

Before leaving Palo Verde, I stopped by the conference room for a last look at the paintings: Arizona. New Mexico. Texas. California. It was strange to think this plant was responsible for powering so many different places.

It was strange to think the uranium concealed beneath those domes could power so many different places.

A painting of metro Phoenix, on display at Arizona’s Palo Verde nuclear plant.

(Sammy Roth / Los Angeles Times)

This is the latest edition of Boiling Point, a newsletter about climate change and the environment in the American West. Sign up here to get it in your inbox. And listen to our “Boiling Point” podcast here.

For more climate and environment news, follow @Sammy_Roth on X and @sammyroth.bsky.social on Bluesky.

In “Overcompensating,” Prime Video’s newly released comedy series, everyone is doing too much. That’s what Benito Skinner, the creator and star of the A24-produced show, experienced in college in the mid-2010s, and why it felt like a perfect backdrop to tell a heightened version of his own coming out story.

“Overcompensating” centers around Benny (played by Skinner), a closeted former high school football player turned college frat bro who spends too much energy posing as a straight guy by lowering his voice and keeping his love for Lorde’s songwriting in check. That’s the case even, or especially, when he’s greeted by “The Alliance of Gay People and Lesbians and Bisexual People and Asexuals too even” as he makes his way around campus.

But Skinner knew there was plenty of narrative potential in focusing on the thorny relationship Benny strikes up with Carmen, a girl who ends up being both his beard and his BFF. Only in this telling, Carmen, played by Wally Baram, isn’t just a supporting player in Benny’s path toward self-acceptance.

“Naturally that story and getting to college, it’s this coming of age thing,” Skinner says. “And for so many gay people, it’s meeting these girlfriends who are creating these safe spaces — all the while they have their own s— going on. What was so interesting to me is thinking how I’m going through this whole journey inside. But so is she. She is having this whole other experience too.”

Benny (Benito Skinner) and Carmen (Wally Baram) in “Overcompensating.”

(Sabrina Lantos / Prime Video)

Baram says when she read the show’s pilot episode, she instantly understood where the character was coming from.

“I got the script, and within the first three pages, there’s this character — this frizzy, curly haired girl who’s kind of awkward and just can’t do the same thing that everyone else is doing,” Baram recalls. “And who, over the course of the script, is overcompensating with love. That was just so me for a really large chunk of my life, frankly.”

After meeting at orientation — and bonding over the need to ignore the kid who insists on telling everyone he’s Amanda Knox’s cousin — Benny and Carmen fumble through a performed kind of meet-cute. Wishing to do away with his sexual urges for cute boys on campus and hoping to avoid becoming a campus pariah if he doesn’t sleep with a girl on his first day at school, Benny pursues Carmen.

Over the course of the eight-episode season of “Overcompensating,” their freshman situationship quickly gets more and more complicated. Carmen is clueless at first about why things aren’t clicking with Benny in the bedroom (or more like the dorm room). And the root of the issue can be difficult for her to discern.

“It’s like, how could you not know he was gay? But in these relationships I’ve had with women, there was so much confusion and miscommunication through sad dishonesty,” he says. “The Carmen character was so fun to write because this girl is experiencing this on the other side being like, ‘What the f— is wrong with this guy?’ I found that for women, gay was the last thing on their list of things why these relationships weren’t working. And I’m like, ‘No, babe, that’s No. 1.’ You did nothing wrong.”

Benito Skinner on writing the relationship between his character and Carmen: “I found that for women, gay was the last thing on their list of things why these relationships weren’t working. And I’m like, ‘No, babe, that’s No. 1.’ You did nothing wrong.”

(Dutch Doscher / For The Times)

Finding the right actress to nail Carmen’s charming awkwardness was a challenge. Like Benny, Carmen is trying to start anew and fit in at the fictional Yates University. She’s often pushing herself to perform whatever normalcy looks like for a college freshman.

Carmen doesn’t nail collegespeak — “Here’s to a night we’ll never remember with the friends we’ll never forgive,” she captions her first selfie with Benny — but she’s skilled at beer pong, first-person shooters and chugging drinks like the frat boys on campus. More importantly, she is sweet and attentive, the kind of tender girlfriend a closeted boy like Benny would naturally gravitate toward.

At the suggestion of A24 producer Alli Reich, Skinner watched Baram’s 2021 set on “The Late Show with Stephen Colbert.” There, the young comedian, who’s Mexican and Syrian (“or as Fox News would call me, a ‘very lazy terrorist,’” she joked), poked fun at how she’s struggling with adulthood, especially since her body felt both childlike and grown-up at the same time. “I’m 5’2”, I have a baby face, but I’ve [got] boobs and the voice of like an eighth grade Jewish boy,” she deadpanned in the set.

“I had sat with this character for four and a half, five years,” Skinner recalls. “And I watched this video, and it was this very surreal moment. She was exactly what I had in my head for Carmen. I was like, ‘OK, well, it’s her.’”

Baram’s winsome self-deprecation felt like a perfect match for the cast of this off-kilter comedy Skinner was assembling.

“When we met in person, I felt like I had little maracas out,” Baram jokes. “The energy in that room was just like, ‘Oh, hello!’ Like when two dogs meet, and their tails go up.”

“It was so two chihuahuas meet, finally,” Skinner adds.

“When we met in person, I felt like I had little maracas out,” Wally Baram says about Benito Skinner.

(Dutch Doscher / For The Times)

“Overcompensating” hinges on their crackling chemistry. But as the season unfolds, the series becomes more and more of an ensemble piece. As Benny navigates his first semester at Yates, we spend more time with his sullen sister, Grace (Mary Beth Barone); her douchey frat boyfriend, Peter (Adam DiMarco); Benny’s swoon-worthy crush, Miles (Rish Shah) and Carmen’s brassy, sassy roommate Hailee (Holmes).

Together, they create a vision of college life that will make millennials cringe in recognition. The pilot, after all, opens with Britney Spears’ “Lucky” and the foundational queer film “George of the Jungle,” starring a chiseled, loin-clothed Brendan Fraser. But it’s the needle drops throughout the show that best capture that generation and moment in time. Charli XCX may get the spotlight treatment — she guest stars as herself in Episode 4 — but the deployment of a My Chemical Romance song in a later episode made the cast realize just how wounding and specific the writing on the show could be.

“I read ‘Welcome to the Black Parade’ and it sent a chill down my spine because I thought that was private to me, alone in my room,” Baram says. “And then you put it in there and I was like, ‘OK, so we all had that moment,’ which is both good and also, wow, my plight is not special.”

“That is so true that it felt private to all of us,” Skinner adds. “Because that was also something with Mary Beth, too. When we were talking about that song, she’s like, ‘I feel this in my bones, maybe in a good and a really mortifying way.’ I hope it has a resurgence. I do think Gen Z will really enjoy that song. It feels very them.”

Barone’s cringey karaoke rendition of that emo 2006 banger resonates because it captures the joy (and embarrassment) that comes from being unabashedly oneself — something every character in “Overcompensating” grapples with to varying degrees of success.

“Overcompensating” hinges on the chemistry between Wally Baram and Benito Skinner.

(Dutch Doscher / For The Times)

Skinner’s comedy excels at capturing those crippling feelings of inadequacy — whether you’re a closeted dude rushing a frat, a secretly emo girl trying to please her boyfriend or a shy freshman figuring out who she could be away from home.

“Some of these people that come into college where they’re like, ‘I’m gonna do me no matter what, and I’m coming in here like a bat out of hell’ — I felt so in awe watching them,” Skinner says. “I was like, ‘This is so incredible that you can do this.’ Meanwhile I feel so confident in one room and in the next room I’m like, ‘Oh my God, I should not be here.’”

That’s precisely what Baram keyed into when bringing Carmen to life, as well as listening to “Truth Hurts” by Lizzo to get into character.

“Because it reminds me of a time in my life in which I thought I was conquering the social. I was going to a party, and I thought that I was gonna, you know, get down and dirty,” she says. “But really, I was a disingenuous version of myself, and ultimately ended up feeling unrewarded at the end, no matter what I did, whether I had a successful social interaction or I failed miserably.”

“Overcompensating” broadens concepts that are central to the queer experience — like the closet and found families — and places them at the heart of the modern college experience. And, in between jokes about pink eye, Grindr dates gone wrong and a pitch perfect takedown of college improv, the series makes a heartfelt case for how to make the best out of those formative years.

“To do it right, I think, is the Benny and Carmen way,” Skinner says. “It’s finding the person that doesn’t make you feel like you have to be so inconsistent with who you are and the things you actually want to do. For me it’s like, you’re bad at overcompensating when you’re with the right person.”