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It’s odd the moments you remember after someone’s gone.

Scrolling through a seemingly infinite number of clips featuring Rob Reiner being compassionate and kind, scenes from his movies that feature a bone-deep empathy for the ways human beings struggle and strive to be better, I kept thinking back to a little wink in “This Is Spinal Tap,” the 1984 mockumentary Reiner directed and co-starred in, playing filmmaker Marty DiBergi.

I’ve seen this movie so many times that I could probably act out the whole thing upon request. It provided a soundtrack to a family trip to Stonehenge several years ago. But thinking about Reiner in the wake of the horrible news that he and his wife, Michele Singer Reiner, were found dead in their home on Sunday night, their son Nick subsequently charged with their murders, I randomly landed on the scene where DiBergi talks with Spinal Tap lead singer David St. Hubbins (Michael McKean) after guitarist Nigel Tufnel (Christopher Guest) leaves the band.

St. Hubbins blithely insists he won’t miss Nigel any more than insignificant band members who played briefly in the group. DiBergi is stunned. He loves Spinal Tap and fears for its future. Reiner plays the moment with such sincere heartbreak, partly in character, but mostly I think because that’s who he was. Reiner couldn’t help it. He felt things deeply and spent much of his life working to make things better for those on society’s margins. He will be missed in so many ways.

I’m Glenn Whipp, columnist for the Los Angeles Times and host of The Envelope newsletter. How to describe this week? None more black will do. But Christmas is coming, and that Vince Guaraldi song never fails to make me smile. Let’s look at some good news for those who made the Oscar shortlists this week.

Voters, consider these

The film academy announced shortlists for 12 categories at the 98th Oscars, whittling down the list of contenders and offering a few indications about what films are scoring early points with voters.

Ryan Coogler’s critically acclaimed, genre-defying blockbuster “Sinners” picked up eight mentions, as did “Wicked: For Good.” Both movies placed two songs on the original song shortlist and both were cited in the newly created casting category.

Guillermo del Toro’s “Frankenstein” followed with six mentions, and “One Battle After Another,” “F1” and “Sirât” each scored five.

The bounty for “Sirât,” the Oliver Laxe thriller that is unquestionably one of the most memorable movies of the year, offered an indication that the word of mouth on this movie is strong enough to land it a spot among the nominees for international feature.

Can it do better than that? It should. Here are five suggestions for voters, including “Sirât,” as the lists are narrowed ahead of Oscar nominations on Jan. 22.

Cinematography: ‘Sirât’

“Sirât” contains so many surprising twists and turns that when asked to describe the plot, I simply tell people that it’s about a father who shows up at a rave in southern Morocco with his young son looking for his missing daughter. The long desert journey they end up taking is astonishing, and cinematographer Mauro Herce, shooting on 16mm film, captures every treacherous mile in dramatic detail.

Original score: ‘Marty Supreme’

Voting with the Los Angeles Film Critics Assn., I cast my ballot for Kangding Ray’s hypnotic score for (you guessed it) “Sirât.” But that was just one of many soundtracks that found its way into my life this year. Hans Zimmer’s synth-heavy “F1” score makes for propulsive listening while pedaling on an exercise bike and ranks among the celebrated composer’s best work. And I share Times film editor Josh Rothkopf’s enthusiasm for Daniel Lopatin’s throwback electronic beats in “Marty Supreme,” a delight for anyone who grew up listening to the ethereal soundscapes created by Tangerine Dream.

Casting: ‘Weapons’

I’m highlighting Zach Cregger’s horror-mystery “Weapons” here partially because of its inexplicable absence in the makeup and hairstyling category. I guess voters knew it was Amy Madigan in that bright red wig all along. That omission aside, “Weapons” is a prime example of what a great casting director can do, making use of familiar faces (Josh Brolin, Julia Garner, Madigan) in unexpected ways, finding the right child actor (Cary Christopher) to deliver big emotional moments and elevating emerging talent (Austin Abrams) to unexpected heights. Allison Jones, one of the greats, belongs among the casting category’s inaugural set of nominees.

Original song: ‘I Lied to You’

I mean, you saw that scene in “Sinners,” right?

Documentary: ‘My Undesirable Friends: Part 1 — Last Air in Moscow’

Julia Loktev’s five-hour chronicle of the chilling Russian crackdown on independent journalists has won documentary honors from both the Los Angeles and New York film critics. The doc begins in 2021, when the journalists, mostly women, are forced to label themselves as “foreign agents” simply for doing their jobs, covering Putin’s regime in a factual manner. Things intensify after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, turning “My Undesirable Friends” into a cautionary tale about the perils of bending to an autocrat. It goes without saying, but this is essential viewing.

Phil Wickham has released 14 Christian worship albums, has been Platinum certified and nominated for American Music Awards, Dove Awards, Billboard Music Awards and Grammys — but all of his vocal training and performances couldn’t prepare him to step into the shoes of one of his Biblical heroes with the upcoming animated musical film “David.”

Directed by Phil Cunningham and Brent Dawes, “David” marks the second animated film this year for Angel Studios. April’s “The King of Kings” made $60 million and is the second-highest-grossing film from the studio following “Sound of Freedom,” which made $184 million. The film hits theaters on Friday. If the release date sounds familiar, it could be because the third installment in the multibillion-dollar “Avatar” franchise, “Avatar: Fire and Ash,” is released on the same day. Presale numbers for “David” are at $15 million on 3,100 screens, but with “Avatar” tracking to open between $135 million and $165 million, and “The SpongeBob Movie: Search for SquarePants” also tracking between $13 million and $20 million, it would seem to be a true David vs. Goliaths for ticket sales.

That in itself could be daunting, but for Wickham, the biggest obstacles came long before release dates were decided. Despite playing in arenas with thousands of fans, he had a “secret dream” of voicing a character in an animated film. A character “that carried courage and faith and had some grand adventure.” But because he’d never chased that dream, he realistically put a limit on that particular goal. Even when the opportunity arose, he was hesitant when going into a casting meeting.

“I’m unoffendable. [I said to producers], if I suck, then just tell me because I don’t want to waste anybody’s time. And also, I don’t want to be bad in a movie as much as you don’t want to make a bad movie,” says Wickham.

The contemporary Christian artist, who recently finished sold-out concerts at Downey Calvary Chapel and the Wiltern, had never tried his hand at voice acting. Not only did he get the role, but he also had to help bring to (animated) life one of the most well-known stories in the Bible. The tale of David — the boy who was anointed to become the king and along the way felled the giant Philistine warrior Goliath with a rock and a slingshot — has become synonymous as the most famous of underdog representations and tests of faith in the Bible. The character and story is also one of Wickham’s favorites.

Phil Wickham always wanted to voice an animated character, especially after seeing “The Lion King.”

(Colton Dall)

“When this came across my desk, so to speak, I was just like, man, I could tell you that story, but I didn’t know if I had it in me. I didn’t know if I was a good actor. I didn’t know if I could voice a character, but I knew I wanted a shot,” said Wickham.

A curious revelation for Wickham was discovering that the singing that he’d been doing most of his life would not work on-screen, at least not for this project. He was asked to tone down things, to sometimes “talk through” lyrics and to generally make the music more dramatic for the screen.

“I thought, OK, I got this. This is why they hired me, because I’m a singer. But that ended up being the hardest part because they didn’t want me to sound like me,” Wickham said.

“Singing became a background to just being the character, which honestly, in some ways, was the hardest thing. Maybe even for my ego as as an artist.”

It was definitely a process that required lots of fine-tuning and looking at David as not just the king and hero that Wickham had grown up reading about at home and in Southern California churches. Sitting in the pews in Downey, the singer reflected on why he got into music and why Christian entertainment is on the rise.

“I found out really quick that I loved being a part of moments where people were encountering the same hope and faith that I encountered in my room alone,” Wickham said of songwriting and performing. He grew up with Christianity all around him, but has seen a spike in popularity for music and movies dealing with faith-based fandom.

“For this movie ‘David’ to come out at this time … I think that the world is looking for stuff to hope in. I think people are just searching and finding out more and more the truth that if we look around us at the world of man, we’re not going to find real solutions. So that maybe if we look up, we will.”

SEATTLE — In a matter of minutes, the home of the Seattle Seahawks went from a painfully quiet Lumen “Library” to a rollicking madhouse that sent seismologists scrambling for their ground-motion sensors.

Call it the Sheesh-Quake Game.

In a historic comeback, the Seahawks dug their way out of a 16-point, fourth-quarter ditch to beat the Rams in overtime, 38-37.

Oh, the visitors will agonize over some of the bizarre calls, some deserving of further explanation from the NFL. An ineligible-man-downfield call that wiped out a Rams touchdown when they were a yard away from the end zone? That had people scratching their heads. Then there was that do-or-die two-point conversion that seemingly fell incomplete… but later was reversed. More on that in a moment.

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Gary Klein breaks down what went wrong for the Rams in their 38-37 loss to the Seattle Seahawks at Lumen Field on Thursday night.

When the Rams wincingly rewind the video of the collapse, they’ll be peering through the cracks in their fingers.

You’ve heard of a no-look pass? This was a no-look finish.

As soothing wins go, this was a warm bubble bath for the Seahawks, who secured a playoff berth and assumed the driver’s seat in the race for the NFC’s No. 1 seed.

“You hear people late in the year have losses, and you hear people come up here and say, like, ‘Man, this is going to be a good thing for us,’” said Seahawks receiver Cooper Kupp, a onetime Rams hero. “It’s much better to be up here right now saying this is going to be a good thing for us.”

Kupp atoned for his first-half fumble with a successful two-point conversion in the fourth quarter — the first of three in a row for the Seahawks — and a 21-yard reception on the winning drive in overtime.

“If you find a way to get a win when you do turn the ball over three times, you do end up down 16 points, or whatever it was, in the fourth quarter, just finding ways to win games when the odds are against you and things aren’t going right — finding a way to fight back — it’s going to be a good thing for us,” Kupp said. “A good thing for us to draw on.”

The Rams are sifting through the debris of a different lesson. It was a reminder that this charmed season, with Matthew Stafford in line to win his first Most Valuable Player honor, can come crashing down at any moment. There’s no more smooth glide path to Santa Clara for the Super Bowl.

As good as it was for most of the game, picking off Sam Darnold twice and sacking him four times, the Rams defense failed to hold up when it counted most. Shades of the three-point loss at Carolina.

Darnold will have a story to tell. He exorcised a lot of demons. The Rams sacked him nine times in the playoffs last season when Darnold was playing for Minnesota, and intercepted six of his passes in two games this season.

“It’s not great when you have interceptions and turnovers, you want to limit that,” said Darnold, the former USC star. “But all you can do is fight back. For us, I was just going to continue to plug away.”

Darnold came through when it counted, completing five passes on the winning drive, then finding the obscure tight end Eric Saubert — his fourth option — wide open in the end zone on the triumphant conversion.

Seattle Seahawks quarterback Sam Darnold looks to pass against the Rams in the first half Thursday.

(Lindsey Wasson / Associated Press)

The second of the three conversions was the game’s most controversial moment. The Seahawks needed it to forge a 30-30 tie with a little more than six minutes remaining in regulation.

Darnold fired a quick screen pass to his left, trying to get the ball to Zach Charbonnet. Rams defender Jared Verse jumped the route and knocked down the pass. Everyone thought the play was dead, including Charbonnet, who casually jogged across the goal line and picked up the ball as it lay in the end zone.

That proved critical because officials — after what seemed like an eternity — ruled that Darnold had thrown a backward pass and the ball was live when Charbonnet picked it up. Therefore, a fumble recovery and successful conversion, tying the game.

Asked later if it felt like a backward pass, Darnold had a half-smile and said, “Um, yeah. It felt like I threw it kind of right on the side. I’m glad Charbs picked it up, and that turned out to be a game-changing play.”

Was that designed to be a backward pass?

“It just happened to be backwards,” he said. “It wasn’t necessarily talked about. We were just trying to get it in down there on the goal line.”

The Seahawks were lined up to kick off when officials announced that, upon review, the previous play was successful. Suddenly, the most improbable of come-from-victories was within reach.

Earlier in the fourth quarter, when the home team was trailing, 30-14, the Amazon Prime crew had to do some vamping to keep viewers engaged. Al Michaels and Kirk Herbstreit told some Kurt Warner stories from the “Greatest Show on Turf” days. Hey, it had to be more interesting than this game.

Michaels delivered an obscure stat: When leading by 15 points or more in the fourth quarter, the Rams were 323-1.

Informed of that, Seahawks running back Cam Akers — once shown the door by the Rams — had a wry response.

“Now, they’ve lost two,” he said.

Celebration in one locker room. Silence in another.

Do you believe in meltdowns?

Everyone switched off their headlamps and there we stood together in total darkness, inside the San Gabriel Mountains. Yes, inside.

I had joined a local caving group in an attempt to understand more about what lies beneath the plants, trees and dirt we hike around.

I was in awe of the cavern’s striations and white globs of minerals dripping from its ceiling. The experience stuck with me, enough that in this week’s Wild, we’re exploring more about the geology of our local mountains.

And we’re in luck! This week, the Natural History Museum in Exposition Park debuted “Unearthed: Raw Beauty,” an exhibit of rare earth minerals, including several from Southern California.

Visitors will see blue cap tourmaline, crystals named after their blue tops, and other tourmaline crystals mined in San Diego. They’re estimated to be 100 million years old!

Tourmaline grows in Southern California inside rocks called pegmatites, which are “basically granite that had time to grow large crystals. These rocks form when hot magma cools and hardens into solid rock inside Earth’s crust,” according to the museum. (We’ll talk more about pegmatites in a minute.)

While at the opening night event for the exhibit, I spoke to two experts to better understand all that rocks and rolls around us: Aaron Celestian, the curator of mineral sciences at Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County and Kriss Leftwich, collections manager of mineral sciences at the Natural History Museum.

My main question for them was: How can hikers better understand what they’re seeing and hiking over and around?

Let’s dive into what I learned, which I’ve compiled for you into a brief beginner’s guide. It rocks!

A lone hiker takes in sweeping views of the Santa Monica Mountains at Eagle Rock along the Backbone Trail in Topanga State Park.

(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)

What minerals can be observed in the Santa Monica Mountains?

The sediment and minerals of the Santa Monica Mountains were formed over millions of years, including through a process of ocean transgression and regression, Celestian said.

As Earth went through its natural periods of warming and cooling, ice sheets would melt and grow, causing sea levels to rise and fall. When sea levels rose, water moved further inland, covering ancient beaches and sandstone in layers of marine sediment, including shells and skeletons of sea animals. When the sea levels would fall, the water would recess, causing more beach material and sediments close to the shore to layer over the marine layers, he said.

Parts of the Santa Monicas were previously a beach-type environment that eventually developed into sandstone that we see while out hiking, Celestian said.

As this geologic report on the Santa Monica Mountains points out, “Sediments that were deposited in marine settings millions of year (sic) ago now sit high in ridges and peaks of the park as a result of tectonic forces and the uplift.”

The sunset seen from the Ray Miller Backbone Trail in Point Mugu State Park.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

The Santa Monica Mountains were formed over millions of years through a process called “compression,” where tectonic plates force land upward, and tectonic folding, where the rock bends instead of breaking.

Celestian said the Santa Monica Mountains originally ran along the coastline, but “they started to rotate horizontally … [because] there’s a fault that actually rotated the Santa Monicas perpendicular.”

“They call them the Transverse Ranges because they got twisted,” he added.

Because of the diversity of our mountains and how they were formed, geologists (or lucky hikers) might find surprising micro-environments with unexpected minerals.

One way these can be formed is through the cooling process of a magma chamber. “It’s releasing lots of water, and that water is like a convection cell, and it circulates through it, and it concentrates metals in various areas. So you can get these little pockets of random crystals that you’ve never seen before because of how the water cooled,” deep underground, Celestian said.

While out hiking recently in the Santa Monica Mountains, he found lots of invertebrate fossils at the top of a mountain. And then he found a “huge pocket of quartz underneath a tree” with nothing else around it, likely due to a geological process that developed a micro-environment.

A close look at a tourmaline on feldspar on display at the “Unearthed: Raw Beauty” exhibit at the Natural History Museum.

(Ronaldo Bolaños / Los Angeles Times)

What types of minerals might we notice while hiking in the San Gabriels?

As you hike in the San Gabriels, you may notice striations in rock walls, like large white rock with little black veins. That was likely a quartz-rich rock with mica, a flaky, “very glittery” mineral that will resemble the texture of eye shadow, Leftwich said.

“When it’s black, it’s biotite, and when it’s purple, it’s lepidolite,” Leftwich said, adding there are several other types of mica.

If lucky, hikers might observe pegmatite, which is essentially a rock with large crystals forming within it, she said.

Leftwich said the pegmatite on display at the museum could have been in a cooling magma chamber or a similar environment. The large hunk of rock — visitors are encouraged to touch it — features large plates called albite or cleavelandite, which are types of feldspar, a group of minerals “distinguished by the presence of alumina and silica in their chemistry,” according to Minerals Education Coalition.

Celestian said the reason that hikers might observe a lot of quartz, feldspar and mica in the San Gabriel Mountains is because the range is “mostly like old basement volcano rocks.”

“It was like magma chambers that cooled down deep in the earth, and over time, that got pushed up to the surface, and that’s what we have in the San Gabriels and surrounding mountains,” he said.

A tourmaline on quartz on display at the “Unearthed: Raw Beauty” exhibit. The piece is from the tourmaline King Mine in San Diego County and is estimated to be 100 million years old.

(Ronaldo Bolaños / Los Angeles Times)

Are there any tools I can carry as a hiker to help me identify rocks?

Celestian has tested apps that claim to be able to identify rocks and has found they’re correct only about 10% to 15% of the time.

“A lizard is going to have the same morphology every single time. A bird is going to have the same morphology every single time. A mineral is not,” Celestian said.

Hence why it’s so hard to develop an app. Calcite, he said, can grow in hundreds of different forms, making it near impossible for an app to recognize it just by using a phone’s camera.

Still, the best tool for beginners is your phone’s camera because you can take photos of the rock in question for later research.

Taking pictures and “just trying to figure out your environment is really exciting,” Celestian said. “It matters a lot because all of the resources that we have available to us today came from the earth, and knowing more about how that came about, how much time it takes to create these things, adds a different perspective of Earth’s resources and how we appreciate them.”

A pegmatite rock on display at “Unearthed: Raw Beauty.” Attendees are allowed to touch and interact with the rock as part of the exhibit.

(Ronaldo Bolaños / Los Angeles Times)

To take the most useful images for mineral identification, I’d recommend reading the rock key from the Mineralogical Society of America before heading out. It will help you understand the types of pictures you need to take (especially since on our public lands, you’ll be leaving the rock where you found it).

For example, the first question on the rock key is, “Is the rock made of crystal grains? (Does it have a lot of flat, shiny faces — maybe tiny to small — that reflect light like little mirrors? You may need to use a magnifier.)” To answer that question, you’d want to ensure you captured those characteristics in your photographs.

A piece of gold stands on on display at “Unearthed: Raw Beauty.” The piece is from the Mother Lode District in El Dorado County.

(Ronaldo Bolaños / Los Angeles Times)

How can a hiker learn more about our local geology?

One of my biggest takeaways from my conversations with Celestian and Leftwich was our local geology varies widely, and thus, there’s a lot to learn. But that complexity opens up a great opportunity to find community.

You can join one of several local geology groups where hopefully you’ll find not only knowledge but also new friends. And for anyone wanting to dive a little deeper, there are local caving groups like the SoCal Grotto, which teaches its members how to explore safely and responsibly, along with hosting experts at its meetings where members learn about a range of earth science topics.

A final thought

“Look under the rock before you pick it up — because of spiders and snakes,” Celestian said.

3 things to do

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

1. Celebrate New Year’s Day hiking around L.A.
California State Parks will host its annual First Day Hikes on Jan. 1 at more than 60 of its parks, including across L.A. At the Santa Susana Pass State Historic Park near Simi Valley, hikers can arrive by 11 a.m. for a stroll past its narrow canyons and hulking rocks. Mount San Jacinto State Park will host a snowshoeing hike at 11 a.m. for hikers willing to take the tram up. Or if you’re perhaps feeling like a later start, Malibu Creek State Park will host a guided night hike at 5 p.m., where hikers will trek under an almost full moon. Learn more, including how to register, at parks.ca.gov.

2. Nurture native plants in Agoura
National Park Service and Santa Monica Mountains Fund need volunteers from 9 a.m. to noon Saturday to restore native plants around Cheeseboro Canyon. Participants will plant hundreds of live plants grown from locally collected seed. Register at eventbrite.com.

3. Capture the sunset in Borrego Springs
The Anza-Borrego Foundation will host photographer Paulette Donnellon to teach a sunset photography class from 1:30 to 6:30 p.m. Jan. 3 at the park. Donnellon will share tips on how to shoot wildlife and landscapes before leading students into the desert for both golden hour and “blue hour” just after sunset. The class is $100. Register at theabf.org.

The must-read

Joseph Brambila vanished on Mt. Whitney in early November. This image is from a previous climb in the summer of 2025.

(Joseph Brambila)

Like many Southern California hikers, 21-year-old southeast L.A. County resident Joseph Brambila had fallen in love with Mt. Whitney. Only a four-hour drive north of L.A. to its trailhead, Mt. Whitney is the nation’s tallest mountain outside of Alaska. In early November, Brambila was reported missing, his last known location being Mt. Whitney. Times staff writer Jack Dolan spoke to Brambila’s family about the budding alpinist, highlighting what kept Brambila coming back to the mountain. “He always said he loves to disconnect from the real world,” his girlfriend, Darlene Molina, said. “He just wanted to be out there and enjoy life. … It was just him, nature, and God.” On Monday, the Inyo County Sheriff’s Office announced it had recovered the body of a young male hiker that fit the description of Brambila. He is the second person believed to have died near a steep, icy section of trail known as the 99 Switchbacks.

In reading Dolan’s story, I felt like I got a brief glimpse into the excitement and love that Brambila carried with him into the mountains. It’s an energy we can all relate to, one that keeps us returning for more.

Happy, safe adventuring,

P.S.

This is the final Wild for 2025. If you’d like to catch up on all we’ve covered, head over to our archives or my author page. The most-read Wild of the year was this piece about Austin Nicassio, founder of Accessible Off-Road, a nonprofit aimed at bringing off-road mobility devices to parks and trails around L.A. If you’re reading this as an email, consider replying and letting me know what you’d like to see more of. Yes, I read your last emails and I do plan to write more in 2026 about hikes in Orange and Ventura County. I love hearing from you and I cannot thank you enough for your support of The Wild. Happy holidays, friends!

For more insider tips on Southern California’s beaches, trails and parks, check out past editions of The Wild. And to view this newsletter in your browser, click here.

Luka Doncic was back at it again, this time surprising the Lakers and staff members with more than 100 e-bikes for Christmas gifts.

Doncic, who took his teammates to a Porsche Driving Experience in October as a way to bond, gave the gifts away Tuesday after practice.

“I just wanted to give everybody something,” he said. “Everybody works hard, even the people you don’t see in the back, so I want to do something for them too.”

Said teammate Jake LaRavia: “Shout-out to Luka, man. What a guy.”

In the latest episode of The Envelope video podcast, Oscar Isaac opens up about the connection he forged with director Guillermo del Toro for “Frankenstein” and Wunmi Mosaku reflects on the way her own heritage informed her work in “Sinners.”

Kelvin Washington: Hello, everyone, and welcome to a new episode of The Envelope. Kelvin Washington here, and you know who we have: We have Yvonne Villarreal, we have Mark Olsen, and you as well, so thank you for being here. Happy holidays to the both of you. First off, the green memo [gestures to Villarreal].

Mark Olsen: I feel like you guys have left me off the group text again.

Washington: We did.

Olsen: I’m not getting these messages.

Washington: By the way, tomorrow will be Christmas trees — but we’ll talk about that later. Don’t worry about that. Quickly, Christmas list. One thing you’re looking for.

Villarreal: A break. …. Sorry, I answered before you even finished.

Washington: You know our bosses and producers are looking at us right now. You deserve one. Mark, you?

Olsen: That sounds good, sure.

Washington: All right, that was it, thank you for watching this episode of … All right, let’s get into it. Yvonne, you had a chance to speak with Oscar Isaac, who’s taking on the role, of course, as Frankenstein in Guillermo del Toro’s adaptation of this classic. Tell me a little bit more.

Villarreal: He plays the brilliant but egotistical scientist Victor Frankenstein, who creates life with this monstrous experiment, and the result is the Creature, played by Jacob Elordi. It was really nice speaking with Oscar about some of the themes that the film explores, the father-son dynamic and breaking cycles of generational trauma. And he was talking a lot about where he pulled from, the conversations he had with Guillermo about what they wanted to delve into. And it was really fun also hearing him talk about the rock star inspiration, for his take on Victor. So it was fun.

Washington: All right, we’re looking forward to that. We’ll get there in just a moment. Mark, I swing to you. You had a chance to speak with Wunmi Mosaku, who in my mind was the kind of the breakout star of Ryan Coogler’s vampire thriller “Sinners.” I want to hear more about what you had to talk about.

Olsen: Exactly. I mean, this has been such a breakout role for her. Obviously, the film was a huge hit when it came out earlier in a year. And she, you know, she’s been acting for years now. I think a lot of people know her for when she was on “Lovecraft Country,” another sort of horror-themed story. Here she plays Annie, the former partner of Smoke, one of the two characters by Michael B. Jordan in the film. And just on a practical level, it was great to hear her talk about working with Michael, where he’s playing these two parts and the way he made it seem so effortless to shift back and forth between them. But then also on an emotional level, you know, she was born in Nigeria, raised in England, lives here in Los Angeles, and yet she just forged such a deep personal and emotional connection to this character from 1930s Mississippi. And so to hear her talk about that, there was just something really wonderful in the conversation. It was really terrific.

Washington: This happens all the time, as you all know, that moments like this, scenes like those in the movie, like she’s gonna become someone that’s, “Hey, you know what? We need to look into her more.” So I’m happy for her to have that breakout moment. All right, without further ado, here’s Yvonne and Oscar.

Oscar Isaac in “Frankenstein.”

(Ken Woroner / Netflix)

Villarreal: Oscar, thanks so much for being here.

Isaac: Very happy to be here.

Villarreal: I have to say, driving down the 110, I came across buses with your face wrapped around them.

Isaac: I’m so sorry.

Villarreal: It was a pleasant sight in L.A. I know you encounter a level of this with each project, but this does feel a little bit different. How you’re feeling in this moment with “Frankenstein”? How do you take stock of the small moments in this big production?

Isaac: There aren’t too many small moments with this, to be honest. Everything’s very big-sized. In a way, it’s the most I’ve really done to support a movie. I’d say even more than “Star Wars” to a certain extent, because it straddles so many things. It’s a big fun popcorn movie. It’s also an intense emotional drama. It’s a platform release, a few theaters then the streaming platform itself. So there’s been a lot of things to do for that. And it can be tiring, but the thing is when it’s in service of Guillermo [del Toro, the director] and his vision and it’s his love letter to cinema, it’s the story he’s always wanted to tell — that’s an energizing thing. Being able to do it with him. And with Jacob [Elordi] and Mia [Goth].

Villarreal: Have you come across a bus with your face on it yet?

Isaac: Maybe not a bus. I’ve seen billboards. I’ve seen bus stops, but the actual moving thing itself, no, I haven’t yet.

Villarreal: I know Guillermo has said that he has long seen you as the person to play this role of Victor, even before there was a screenplay. What do you remember about that lunch you had with him? What did he say that he saw in you for this?

Isaac: I wish I could really go back and like just parse it all out. We just immediately started speaking as friends, as fellow Latinos, as immigrants trying to navigate our way through this industry, as both having very intense relationships with our fathers and the way that’s changed over time, both becoming fathers and wanting to not necessarily follow in some of the same footsteps, but also recognizing what an incredible source of of life our fathers have been. But all the pain that came from that, and forgiveness. We talked about those things without any relation to a movie in my mind. It wasn’t until after that where he started talking about this project and he said, “I think you need to play Victor Frankenstein.”

Villarreal: I feel like Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” is so steeped in the culture because the creature, the monster, is such a part of pop culture. When did you first encounter the book? Did you have to read it in high school?

Isaac: I encountered it a little later. It was shortly after high school. I wanted to have a read because it’s such a famous, legendary, iconic book. I enjoyed it, but it didn’t really hit so hard for me. When I left that that meeting, Guillermo gave me Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” and the Tao Te Ching. He’s like, “Read these two books.” Going back to the book again, reading it, really hearing her voice, really hearing her voice in all of the characters — I thought that was very interesting, that everybody kind of sounds a little bit like her. And I love that Guillermo took that idea and did the same thing with his movie. He made it very autobiographical.

Villarreal: For “The Card Counter,” you also had to read a book about the way that we store trauma. Did you find yourself returning to that at any point?

Isaac: “The Body Keeps Score.” That’s right. Incredible book. I did, very much. Also, parts therapy. This idea that we’re all these different parts and different voices and we’re not any one thing. And gestalt therapy, this idea of, like, being able to hold that child-self of you that’s broken. For me, that was a very big one in thinking of the Creature. The Creature is a reconstruction of Victor’s broken child that has to chase him down to forgive him — to make him look at him, face him and forgive him.

Villarreal: Did you find that you wanted to understand both Victor and the Creature?

Isaac: Guillermo and I spoke very explicitly about the idea that they’re one and the same. That there are two halves of one full person. And that actually was really helpful in the playing of it, particularly in that one scene when the Creature comes back and demands a companion. That scene in particular was played on my part as if that’s his voice, his inner child, his addict, that darkness within him that he’s trying to suppress.

Villarreal: How did you both discuss Victor in terms of, is he a reliable narrator telling the story?

Isaac: We spoke that he’s very much an unreliable narrator. It is his remembrance. It’s a memory play. Did Elizabeth really look like his mom? Probably not, but that’s how he remembers it. That’s who he saw. And the sets are these massive archetypal Jungian visions that feel very much like they’re part of his inner conscious, his subconscious, and not so much objective reality.

Villarreal: I want to talk about the the look and vibe of Victor. I know that you’ve talked before about looking to some rock icons for inspiration, whether it’s Prince or David Bowie. I think Guillermo mentioned Mick Jagger at one point. How did you both arrive at that and what were the videos or the performances that you locked in on?

Isaac: That first meeting that we had, it wasn’t so much like he saw me and he’s like, “You’re my Victor.” It’s a conversation. And out of that conversation, inspiration starts to happen. That is what ultimately led for this thing to happening between us. And that conversation just keeps going. As he writes it, he has a few ideas, I look at a few scenes, I see where he’s going with it, we start talking about it more. He starts talking about the way he wants Victor to occupy space, especially in his memory, that he remembers himself like conducting a concert, like a rock star, like holding court and having this punk rock, iconoclastic energy. He’s like Mick Jagger. And suddenly “like Mick Jagger” becomes, “well, like a rock star.” Well, how does he move? What is it about Mick Jagger? What is it about these other musicians, these artists that that’s the form of expression to think about? Not so much the scientist or the mad scientist, but the passionate artist. Then those ideas mix with the incredible genius Kate Hawley, who does these costumes, who also is bringing in all of her ideas of punk rock in London in the ’60s and Jimi Hendrix and those bell-bottoms and those hats that have a bit of a Gothic-Romantic thing going for it. Then these little boots. And then suddenly I see these boots and I see this hat, but for me that looks more like prints to me. All these things are just conversations and pieces and things being put together that create a character. It is this amazing collaboration that happens, this collage that gives the impression of a character, and that’s really special.

Villarreal: You’re working opposite Jacob Elordi, and I think a lot of people come in with preconceived notions about maybe who he is as an actor based on his past work. He’s such a revelation in this film in terms of the work and prep that he did to get here. First, talk to me about seeing him as the Creature for the first time, but also what he was like as a scene partner.

Isaac: We only met briefly in Guillermo’s office at one point, and he seemed like a nice young fella. He had his little 35mm camera, was taking a lot of analog pictures, which was cool. And the first scene we shot was the last scene of the movie. That was the first time I saw him in the full getup. So he walked in and immediately I was really moved by how graceful he was. I remember him coming in, like, fingers first; his hands were like animals, like [a] sea anemone. There’s just like incredible movements that were happening and I found it really lonely and heartbreaking. I thought it was an amazing coincidental, if you believe in those, opportunity that that was the first scene that we were going to get to do together — the last scene, the time when these characters finally actually see each other for the first time. He was amazing and then so graceful and gentle and very emotionally available.

In between takes, I’d see this big lumbering monster taking photos with his little camera, which was incredible. What was incredible about that too is that he was loose. He was just taking everything in. And that’s a very hard thing to do in those high-pressured situations. People can kind of get, like, tunnel vision and narrow in and try just to do the thing that they want to do, but he was [operating from] open awareness, which is a place that we all hope to start from as artists.

Villarreal: Did you both have an idea of, “Do we need to approach this a certain way to be true to these characters, with the friction or tension that they have, or can we turn that off in between takes?”

Isaac: There was no need to do any of that. That would have been just extra work, more like an ego idea. It was very free on set, and that’s Guillermo; that comes from the top down. He’s ebullient, he’s joyous, he’s loud, he’s inclusive of everything. So there’s no secrets. If he likes something, everybody knows it. If he doesn’t like something, everybody knows it. Whatever he’s working on, everybody knows it. And so it feels like a team. There wasn’t really space for this kind of sheltering away or trying to manufacture some kind of dynamic.

Villarreal: Did your view or perspective on Victor shift over the course of making this film? As a son and as a father, how did you see him in the beginning and how did it change by the end?

Isaac: It’s funny because I have a lot of friends that have kids that have texted me saying, “Wow, man, that made me feel really guilty watching you do that,” because we can all think of those moments where we lose our patience and we yell or we get angry at these very innocent beings that didn’t ask to be here and yet they’re being forced to conform to these rules. And the idea that what we think is right trumps everything and that our children are just extensions of ourselves, accessories, things to be judged in relation to us, as either prideful or shameful. That horrible cycle that happens and those patterns that we fall into. So that became more and more evident, especially in those scenes with Jacob as the Creature, with the shaving and the washing and the being tired and all things that were additions from Guillermo that are not in the book. Because in the book, Victor leaves right away. But this is more of like a slow retreat from the responsibilities of bringing somebody into the world.

Villarreal: I want to unpack that more, because it’s been interesting to see the discourse online of people very much relating to this element of Guillermo’s take, the themes of generational pain and a father’s desire for redemption. Obviously, Victor is physically and emotionally abused by his father, and we see how the cycle repeats itself with the Creature. This idea of breaking generational trauma, like you said, it’s something that we try to be mindful of in how we work every day. Did you find yourself unpacking some of those emotions in the process, or is it just something that you’re sort of reflecting on now that it’s over?

Isaac: We spoke about those things at that first meeting, so that was actually like the touchstone of the whole thing. That’s what kept everything grounded. It’s a very heightened performance. It’s not naturalistic. It’s meant to be quite expressive. It also brings in modalities and forms of telenovelas and and Mexican melodrama. We watch those things very carefully to bring some of those elements out in this kind of fever dream that is this film. But we were only able to do those kinds of things knowing at the core it is about this generational trauma and this idea of what we inherit from our fathers or from our parents. And as much as we try to run away from them, we get blinded often by our own constructions of ourselves and our own egos and our own desires and are blind to repeating these exact same things again. And especially as artists — I can definitely relate to the idea of “Well, if I can just figure out this one thing, this character, this piece, if I can find the breakthrough here, then everything will make sense. Everything will be worth it, all the limbs that I’ve cut off, all the villages I’ve burned. The trail of debt I’ve left behind me will will mean something if I can figure this thing out.” Then you get to the other side of that and that’s not the answer. We very much were conscious of that.

Villarreal: I guess I ask because the interview I was referencing before, your interview with Terry Gross, which was around the time of “The Card Counter,” I was so struck by you talking about your [father and] upbringing in an evangelical household and this feeling like doom was around the corner. And I was so struck by how you talked about that. And you talked about your home in Florida being demolished by the hurricane. In my rewatch of “Frankenstein,” being focused on you and your character in particular, I was thinking about how much of that was playing in your head, especially in the scene where the place is burning down. Like, do you go directly to those kind of moments? How was it playing in your head?

Isaac: I don’t necessarily try to summon that specific moment. I think part of the preparation is reading and feeling; as I read through the script and as I think about it, where I connect with it emotionally. And sometimes if something feels far away, I do have to be like, “OK, well, how do I bridge the gap to this thing? How can I relate to it? Oh, well, I guess, yeah, I had to deal with this in my life. And how did I respond to it? Well, how would Victor respond to it? How would I respond to it if I had Victor’s circumstances?” That is some of the fun of meditating on the piece and thinking about what all the possibilities are. But with this, I didn’t find myself, like, literally reaching to stories in my past. I just allowed that to be available.

I did a bit with the last scene, thinking about, “When was the last time I was at a deathbed with a loved one?” And what was that like and what do I remember physically of that, what was the energy and what was the tone of that and how is it appropriate with this and how is it different? You use whatever’s available, and sometimes just the other person across from you is enough and sometimes you need to kind of summon it from the ancestors or from wherever to get through that performance ritual.

Villarreal: When you’re channeling those intense emotions, is it, like, hard to keep them under control sometimes for the good of the scene?

Isaac: Well, actually, that happened with this last scene. I’d spent a a day getting into that mode and summoning, and we did the scene and it was quite volatile sometimes. A lot of the emotions would come through and Guillermo would say, “OK, let’s do another one, but maybe tamp that down a little bit.” It’s like, “OK, let’s try that again.” We did it a bunch of different ways. And funny enough, even though it was a great day and everyone was happy, we ended up coming back and reshooting it. And it was done last minute. I didn’t have time to do all of this preparation, and we just went and that’s actually what ended up being in the movie. Because I wasn’t expending any energy trying to reach for something. It just was more reactive and it was a bit more sober and less an idea. It’s that balance sometimes between wanting to get to something, explore something, but also letting it go and allowing something to emerge that is not willed.

Villarreal: I want to talk more about the collaboration with Guillermo. What does that look like in practice? What is a note from him like? I saw another interview where you mostly spoke in Spanish with each other. How did that allow you to understand what he’s after more easily?

Isaac: That first meeting we only spoke in Spanish. So it set the tone. And my Spanish is good, but it’s like maybe seventh-grade vocabulary.

Villarreal: I feel a kinship.

Isaac: I would speak in Spanish to my mom. That was the person that I would only speak in Spanish to. And then when she passed eight years ago, I kind of lost that. I have my aunts and I talk to them, but it kind of starts to go away. So to suddenly have Guillermo show up, and that was the way that we really first interfaced. And with him, even though he could hear me sometimes, doing it in Spanglish or trying to get to it, he just was committed. It’s like, we speak in Spanish. He didn’t have to say it. That’s just what it is. It just created this real, almost, like, subconscious intimacy because it’s the mother tongue. That is the first thing that I heard. Even though when I learned to speak, it was in the United States, it was both always at the same time, then the English took over. But it just hits something different to have to communicate, to have to try to find a way to express myself in Spanish to Guillermo, talking about really difficult things. What would be great about it is it forced me to be simple and just, like, get to the f— point, and not like all this intellectual stuff around all these definitions and acting terms and all this. That was a really special thing.

Villarreal: We’ve talked a little bit about we’re working through, for lack of a better term, some daddy issues during the making of this. I know that “Hamlet” is such a seminal text in both your personal life and in your career. And obviously, this is a film that has parallels. With the passing of your mom, and working on this, especially with that last scene, how did you feel your mother while working on this project?

Isaac: Wow, that’s a very kind question. So, so, so much. She would have loved this movie. The last movie we saw actually was “The Handmaiden.” Super erotic too. I was like, “Mom, we’re sorry; close your eyes, Mom.” But it was so beautiful and kind of dark and opulent — she loved that stuff. She was always incredibly, incredibly present. Even the Elizabeth character — my mom had red hair as well. And this is in Mary Shelley’s text about the feminine and the masculine and those warring kind of energies. And for Victor, ironically, really tapping into more of the feminine energy with him in some ways. What he does is obviously — the penetrating nature, is a masculine thing, but at the same time, that freedom and the liquidity of that femininity was very important too. That last scene, it was interesting. That first time we did the scene, there was a lot of my mom there. Then when I had to let it go and I had to just respond, suddenly dad showed up. And that was really wild. There’s a bit of that warring energy with Victor all the time, and that was really surprising.

Villarreal: There was also the the detail that people really picked up on, which was the drinking of the milk. How did that inform you as you played Victor?

Isaac: Once his mom dies, he gets stunted. He never grows from that point on. His body grows. What he’s doing, his intellect grows, but emotionally, he stays that little boy that’s been hit in the face by his dad and rejected. And rejected by his mom because she died. It’s not rational, but that’s what it is. He’s orphaned. That’s also why mom feels so present. He’s just always looking for her. He’s always looking for her everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. The milk is just looking for her. It’s just comfort. La lechita. It’s also very funny because it’s so simple too. He likes playing with the saint-sinner thing, this guy that paints himself as the victim. He’s not a drug addict. The only thing he does is milk. And milk’s good for you, right? He starts off as Jesus Christ and ends up as Charles Manson. That’s what that milk does.

Villarreal: Do you have a sense — especially with a little bit of hindsight now, though I know you’re still in the whirlwind of it — what the character of Victor has done for you?

Isaac: What was surprising is that he is a sadist, but in like the Marquis de Sade kind of way. That wasn’t something that I thought about, but as it progressed, what was surprising to me was the pleasure that the character was giving me. For someone that is so dark and has such capacity for cruelty, the fact that he just felt so good, it was so free and so energized and kind of joyful. And I asked Guillermo at one point, I was like, “Maybe something’s wrong here? Because, like, shouldn’t it be a little darker and heavier?” He’s like, “The movie tells you what it needs.” You listen to the movie, and this is somebody that doesn’t have any doubts. And that feels pretty good to not have any doubts, until he crashes. He wakes up from this dream, this fever dream of no consequences. There’s no consequences, nothing matters, the rule of nature is dominance and cruelty, and actually pain is the same as pleasure. And the more perfect the crime, which is against something that’s virtuous and innocent, the more perfect an act that is, philosophically, nihilistically. So that is pure freedom. Pure freedom and pure pleasure, it’s like f— it. To play somebody like that, and to allow myself to be blind to the feeling of consequence and to just shoot like a rocket, that was incredibly freeing and pleasurable. Then suddenly to stop back and look back and be like, “Oh, what an awful thing. What awful things he did. He couldn’t see what he was doing.” But in the moment, that was unexpected.

Villarreal: We talked about the intensity of filming that last scene. What was the scene where you just felt so free and happy or excited?

Isaac: Creating the creature. Creating the creature was just like the rain coming down, the running up and down the stairs in the little high-heeled boots, the screaming at Christoph Waltz, you know, and his body flying down and him being like, “f— it, gotta throw him in the freezer, gotta keep this thing moving.” That energy, you know, climbing up the tower, putting the spear up there. He’s like a Gothic hero, a Gothic superhero. That kind of mutability within the character — it’s kinda like what I was saying about the artist. It’s like, “This I know; I know how to do this, and if I can do this, everything will make sense.” So that moment of just purely going for that thing, that was a really exciting moment. And also in that set, in Tamara [Deverell’s] incredible set, with Dan [Laustsen’s] lighting and Guillermo sitting there in the corner like this little crazy Mexican Buddha, just wanting more, more, more, that was electrifying. Pardon the pun.

Villarreal: I’ve wondered what it’s like walking into one of his creations, those sets. I can’t imagine. It feels like you’re in a dream.

Isaac: You do, and what’s the most incredible thing is that he’s surrounded himself with people for the last 30 years that are like an extension of himself. Through a process of elimination, he’s gotten these people that are just as passionate, just as detailed, and have ownership of the movie. The set decorator, the painter, the greens person that puts the moss in is like, “Do you see where I put the moss right there? You see the moss right there?” That kind of artisanal passion over it. So you walk in, sure, it’s inspiring for the imagination, but it’s also inspiring as a crafts person to be like, “OK, how do I bring the same amount of detail and passion and love for it?”

Villarreal: I’m asking this teasingly, but what’s the worst thing about Guillermo as a director? Is it that he wants so many takes, or is it that he just thinks you can do anything?

Isaac: I was gonna say what was challenging was to have somebody quilting the movie as we were shooting it. So that you would do a take and sometimes it would go straight into the edit and he could show you it in the movie itself. And as an actor, that could be tough because you’re like, “Oh, I’m not ready to see that yet.” But he was making it as it goes because the camera was always moving, so he needed to see that it was always connecting to the next thing. I had never experienced that before. For instance, that last scene, we did it, the next day he came in, and it was all edited with some temp score on it and I saw it, I was like, “Oh no, I don’t think that’s… “ But in that case, it was good that I saw it and had that reaction because we got to have another go at it. But it is dealing with like, “How much do I want to see? How self-conscious am I?” But it’s his openness. He’s not afraid.

Villarreal: Was he open with Jacob having his dog Layla on set?

Isaac: Yeah. That’s the thing. He was just free. He was really free. He’s like, “Whatever you need, man. Whatever anybody needs, that’s it.” He would embrace everything. Every mistake, he’d embrace.

Villarreal: Before we wrap things up, we’ve talked about swirling in this space of loss and renewal. In addition to tapping into that with “Frankenstein,” your wife, who’s a filmmaker, Elvira Lind, has this documentary, “King Hamlet,” where she documented a very transformative period in your life as you dealt with the loss of your mother, but also the birth of your child, while working on a staging of “Hamlet.” How has it been to sort of live in this space and have these parallel moments between these two projects?

Isaac: In a way, it’s like the father and the mother of these projects here. And the strange synchronicity of when they’re coming out at the same time, it’s kind of a beautiful thing, because “Frankenstein” is this massive thing, it’s very expressive, it has a lot of people, so much energy behind it. Having to do that and then flying to New York and showing a small group of people this tiny little movie made by just a handful of people, mostly my wife, this incredible documentary filmmaker, but made by her again by hand about this really small, quiet time of a play that we did that maybe a few thousand people saw, there is something quite grounding about that. It also feels generous because it’s about something that she’s made. But also it’s about showing a little peek for anybody, but also for artists as well, at what it costs sometimes and what it takes and how this particular family dealt with all this happening and the desire and the need to process it and create something out of it.

Wunmi Mosaku in “Sinners.”

(Warner Bros. Pictures)

Mark Olsen: “Sinners” obviously opened earlier in the year, and it’s really just hung in there. It’s a movie people are still talking about. What does it mean to you that the movie has already had such an enduring life?

Wunmi Mosaku: Oh, it means so much to me. I feel like you take a job because you believe in it and you trust the filmmakers and you’re excited, and then you get on set and you do your best and then all of a sudden you remember that it’s going to be out there and people are going to judge it and they might not like it and they may not like you and they might not respond to it. And we would turn to each other sometimes and be like, “Do you think they’re going to feel how we feel about this? I really hope so.” Because we really felt like it was so special. And so seeing the reaction has been so affirming and pretty magical because it’s not always the case that it translates the same as how it feels for you, that the audience feels that too.

Olsen: And what do you think it is that audiences are responding to? Mosaku: I think Ryan Coogler, his way of creating art is always based in truth and connection and honoring the people on the screen and the people that they represent in and around his life. And so I feel like people are responding to the fact that it feels truthful. Even though it’s got horror aspects and a musical aspect, it really just has heart and depth and it’s about community, it’s about freedom, it’s about the price of freedom. It’s about so many things that affect people every day. Capitalism, selling out, cultural appropriation. It’s deep and it’s layered, and it’s all rooted in truth.

Olsen: And now when you say that as you were shooting the movie, it felt special to all of you — can you describe that for me? What do you think you were feeling as you were shooting the movie?

Mosaku: I felt a deep connection to my ancestry, to my purpose, to how what I do today will reverberate in the future. My lineage, my child’s future. I just felt the film links the past to the present. It links West African traditional spirituality and it connects it to hip-hop and blues and all these different types of dance and culture. It feels kind of sprawling and encompassing of the Black diaspora experience. And it makes you feel connected to everyone in the diaspora. I felt really awakened to my position in that web of creativity. And artists like Ryan, who have this visionary, revolutionary way of creating, they just kind of feel like guiding lights, diamonds, in this web of us. It feels like, “Oh wow, he really is this jewel to be cherished, and I’m connected to that now.” So it was very multilayered, the connection I felt.

Olsen: That does sound like more than just a typical day at work. Mosaku: There was nothing typical about it. It felt like, vibrationally, it changed all of us.

Olsen: As I understand it, when you auditioned for the film, you were given this seven-page scene that introduces your character of Annie. It’s you and Michael B. Jordan’s character of Smoke, and from that scene you thought the film was a romantic drama. What did you make of it when you found out what the movie was really about?

Mosaku: Ryan explained the movie to me in and around the scene, and my mind was blown because it made complete sense, but it came completely out of left field for me. I had the themes that we see in the movie of the evolution of blues to modern-day music and ancestors and future ancestors, they weren’t quite there when he was explaining it to me, but it was there in the spirit of what he was explaining to me. So I knew it was epic and that there was depth, but then there was also vampires. I can’t explain how he explained it, but I felt the weight of all of the themes and messages, and it seemed to work with the idea of vampires coming in and taking blood. It was a surprise, but it made sense. I was completely hooked and in from the first scene, but his description, I was like, “This is genius.”

Olsen: I like the idea that you were still able to process your story in the movie, Annie’s story, as that of a romance. Even with everything else that’s happening in the film, there still is that story at the core of it. Mosaku: Because he only works with truth. Even in a fantastical world of vampires and spirits, he still works within the truth of relationships and character dynamics, and so their love is the community, the love and the bond between all of the characters, that is the heart of the movie. Sammie’s desire to leave the plantation and see the world, that’s the heart of the movie. These two people who love each other dearly and are insatiable for each other but can’t be together because of racism and the color of their skin, that heartbreak is the heart of the movie. A woman who just wants to sing and is young and is married to this old church type — that line I think is cut from the movie, but Jayme [Lawson]’s character says he’s older, church type — and she just wants to be completely free on the stage. That she gets to explore and to have this thrilling night in the community in the juke joint, I mean that’s the heart of the movie too. These relationships are the beating heart.

Olsen: But there’s something I’ve heard you talk about, that Annie relates to the character that most of us know as Smoke, as both Smoke and Elijah, his given name. Can you untangle that for me? It’s really compelling to think that she is relating to both sides of his personality. Mosaku: Well, everybody has a representative, right? Like, this is my representative. And then there’s Wunmi at home without the glam, the truth. So yes, she met Smoke. She fell in love with Smoke, but she knew Elijah. In Yoruba, we have your given name and then you get given an Oriki name, and the Oriki name is a pet name that your grandmother or your mom would call you and when they call you by that name, when you hear someone speak your Oriki name, you can’t say no. It’s like, “That person knows me like no one else, and they’ve used this name for a purpose.” So almost like Elijah is his Oriki name because everyone knows him as Smoke. He has his defenses up, he has his heart guarded, Smoke’s been through war, Smoke’s been through the gangster stuff in Chicago, but Elijah lost his daughter. So when she calls him by his name that’s like calling his Oriki. Olsen: You’ve spoken as well about how much you feel you’ve learned about yourself in playing this role, that it changed you. How so? Mosaku: I mean, even the fact that I can talk about Oriki names. I didn’t have an Oriki name. I didn’t understand the meaning of the Oriki name until I really just kind of immersed myself more in my culture that I feel like I had no choice in not being a part of. I came to England when I was 1½, and you try and assimilate, you try and fit in. And that is at the expense and the tax of your birth culture. And that’s something people don’t really pay attention to, what’s lost in order to feel safe in another culture. Researching Annie, I had to look back at where I’m from, because she’s a hoodoo priestess and hoodoo is a derivative of Ifa, and Ifa is the traditional Yoruba religion. That is where my people come from. That is part of my survival, that’s why I’m here. Their knowledge, their belief systems, that is why I’m here. And so having to research that just opened up a whole treasure trove of truth for me and inquiry and self-reflection and self-love and admiration of all the people that came before, the difficult decisions my parents made, and then the difficult decisions I’ve had to make in navigating being an immigrant in another country.

Olsen: What does it meant to you to connect with that part of yourself?

Mosaku: I’m unable to put it into words. It’s changed me profoundly. It’s changed my relationship to the world, my culture, my home. I feel inspired in so many different ways to reconnect, feel connected. I’ve been doing Yoruba lessons for five years, and only in the last year has it really stuck. And I think the sticking is because of the exploration, the real exploration, not just an intellectual “trying to learn a language.” It’s unlocked something emotionally in me. The language is sticking.

Olsen: “Sinners” is rooted so specifically in the world of the Jim Crow South here in America. Was that still something that you could relate to? Were there aspects of the story that still felt familiar to you?

Mosaku: Yeah, I can relate to being Black in America, I can relate to being Black in a different culture. But there’s a lot of research that has to be done. A lot of people in the cast were pulling upon the people that they knew in their history and their ancestry, whether it was Ryan and his uncle James who inspired the movie or Miss Ruth [E. Carter, costume designer, who] said my dress, the velvet dress was inspired by a picture of her grandma in a velvet dress on the stairs with her grandfather. They have different things they can pull on that are really from the time and the people. I do research in a different way, because I don’t have that same history to pull from, but I have an admiration and a love of the African American culture. My daughter’s African American. So I feel I have a respect and a duty to do my research, not just for my character work but for my family. I can relate to aspects, but I don’t have that shared cellular memory that the rest of the cast do.

Olsen: So what did you draw on for research? Mosaku: I spoke to hoodoo priestesses and that was really my main research, was kind of the faith, because that is who she is. That’s her foundation. And that’s her power. So that was my main research. Obviously, researching the era, Prohibition, Jim Crow South, the Great Migration. For me it’s about respect and honoring as truthfully as I can, if someone has trusted me with this role. And also I’ve said no to roles that I don’t think should be played by Black Brits or Nigerians. I’ve said no to roles that I think should be specifically for African Americans. There’s something about Annie that feels really close to me and really important to me, and I think she’s like a bridge, and I do think of myself sometimes in that way, of in the middle. I’m someone who was born in Nigeria but was never raised there, someone who was raised on a land that has never felt like my own, and then someone who’s come here and has, not inherited, but I have a daughter with this inherited history. And so I have a responsibility for her to understand all three aspects, and then I’m sure there are more aspects of her history that I am yet to figure out what they are. It’s my responsibility to understand that and guide her with it.

Olsen: When you’re shooting these kind of stories or dealing with sort of heavy topics, do you have anything that you like to do at the end of the day to pull yourself out of it?

Mosaku: I talk to my husband and I spend time with my daughter. I speak to my family. I go home.

Olsen: And I don’t think I’m spoiling anything, but I want to be sure to ask you about your last moments in “Sinners.” It’s deeply moving. You reappear in the film as a vision to Smoke. You’re nursing your infant daughter. Can you talk to me about that moment in the film and what it means to you?

Mosaku: It’s purity. He drops his representative, he drops Smoke. He has to drop Smoke in order to join us. The initial cost of this never-ending life as a vampire, it sounds like there’s a glamour to it, there’s a capitalism to it. Stack and Mary are still young and beautiful but there is such a great cost. They never get to see the sun, they never get to hold their loved ones again. And actually they’re not truly free. Whereas Smoke and Annie have chosen true freedom that fully incorporates everything that they love truly. It’s not money, it’s not eternal life, it’s not eternal darkness. They are basking in the sun with their ancestors and it’s purity, it’s love, it’s freedom.

Olsen: I have to ask you about the musical number where sort of the past and the future sort of collapse in on themselves. What did that read like in the script? And what was it like to be on set that day?

Mosaku: It read very much like it felt when you watched it. I had read a version without the future and past ancestors, where it was just about the two brothers and their women and reconnecting and it was beautiful. I loved it. And then before the read-through, we got given another draft, and it had the ancestors and the roof going on fire, and I threw the script down and I ran into my living room and was like to my husband, “Oh, my God, oh, my God, it’s amazing, it’s amazing. I think this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever read. I think it’s the most amazing thing that’s ever going to happen onscreen.” That’s how it felt. And on the day filming it, it very much felt magical. Sammie and Delta Slim have this scene where Delta talks to him about his gift and where it comes from. It comes from the homeland, it comes from your ancestors, it comes from home, Africa. And it’s such a powerful gift and to really guard it with all he has. Then Miles [Caton], who plays Sammie, is talking to the the older guy, Papa Toto, who plays his past ancestor. Who has the little guitar behind him, I don’t know what it’s called, like the original guitar. And he’s behind him in the scene, and then I kind of wander over to them, and Papa Toto basically does the exact same speech, never having read the script, to Miles about his gift and where it comes from and like how he should cherish it and keep it protected. That’s what they’re both talking about, protecting their gifts. And I was just like, “Oh, my gosh, this is magical. He doesn’t even know that this is the scene in the script.” It was a really special day.

Olsen: I’m going to ask this as politely as I can, but I found “Sinners” to be a much bawdier movie, it’s a much more sensual and sexy movie, than I expected. I’m curious how you found those scenes in the script and in particular what it was like for you shooting your scene with Michael.

Mosaku: It explores so many different emotions and feelings. It feels palpable, it feels tangible, it feels like it’s pulsing. It also feels kind of inevitable. Again, it just felt true, and it wasn’t difficult because we created such a safe space for everyone, and there’s no nudity in it, and it just feels really sensual and safe.

Olsen: What was it like shooting scenes with Michael where he’s playing both Stack and Smoke? I would imagine just him having to switch out for the scenes, how did that impact the rhythm and the momentum for the rest of you? Mosaku: It was pretty easy for us, honestly. We didn’t have to do anything. Michael had a stand-in, Percy Bell, and both would learn both twins’ lines, and then Michael would shoot as Stack, and Percy would do Smoke, and we would lock this, we would rehearse it, rehearse it, rehearse it, and then shoot it, shoot it, shoot it, find the one we liked and lock it. So then, if this is Percy and this is Stack, what they would do is he would go get changed, be Smoke, and we would kind of mime the scene. It was really harder for Mike, I don’t know how he did it. We would kind of mime the scene. They would play the scene back so he was responding to us in the real time of the scene that they had chosen. That was it. That was the only scene that we were going with. And then he would trace Percy’s steps and physique to make sure he wouldn’t step on Stack or whatever. So it was very easy for us. Like, we just had to play the scene. And I honestly don’t know how Mike did it. I have no idea how he did it.

Olsen: What has the response to the movie been like for you professionally? Do you find that you’ve gotten some offers? Are you finding yourself in rooms that maybe you wouldn’t have been in before? Mosaku: Everyone has been so complimentary and lovely about the movie. I think work has come from it, and I was in a room at the Governors Awards with Tom Cruise and Debbie Allen and Phylicia Rashad. I was like, “Well, this is new.” Me, Jayme [Lawson], Hailee [Steinfeld] got awarded one of the Elle Women in Hollywood awards yesterday, which was again really surreal, like, “Oh, hey, Jennifer Aniston. Hey, Rose Byrne. Hey, everyone. Hi, we’re in this room with you. Cool.” So a lot of really lovely things have come of it. Very grateful.

Olsen: And what does it mean to you that it’s for this movie in particular? Mosaku: This is the movie that just keeps on giving. I loved it from the first time I read those seven pages and I have grown as a person, as an actor, as a mom, as a wife. And now I’m experiencing this, which is really lovely, really nice. Olsen: You also have an upcoming role in “The Social Reckoning,” Aaron Sorkin’s sequel to “The Social Network.” Is there anything you can tell us about your role in the movie? Mosaku: I have no idea what I’m allowed to say about it. I’ve not been prepped on press for that yet, so I’m sorry. Olsen: You shot your part? Mosaku: I’ve shot a lot.

A different type of British invasion had EDM fans in a trance at the Queen Mary in Long Beach.

Armed with turntables, social media-star-turned-professional-party-starter Fish56Octagon made his U.S. festival debut Nov. 21 and 22 at Insomniac’s Dreamstate SoCal, where he performed alongside some of the world’s most preeminent electronic artists, including Tiësto, Paul Oakenfold, Gareth Emery, Ferry Corsten and Chicane.

Fish, as he’s called, is a 46-year-old from the London suburbs who joined TikTok on a drunken whim after being introduced to the app by friends in 2021. Now boasting over a million followers across platforms, he’s seen his life flip because of that choice — quitting a full-time marketing career to become a DJ, produce music and play sets at some of the world’s biggest music festivals in the four years since he uploaded his first video.

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Though his initial post was about his watch collection, the self-described “petrol head” quickly went deep into creating content about cars and made a successful side hustle within a couple years. Crossover between auto enthusiasts and the music lovers in his audience meant the dance songs he used to soundtrack his car videos and sporadic vinyl-haul unboxings spawned passionate discussion in the comments about the classic rave songs Fish was sharing with the world.

He also benefited from an accidental, scroll-stopping visual hook repeated across videos born from his employer asking him to ensure it didn’t look like he was posting during business hours: middle-aged, thin and bald, dropping dad moves in front of his sprawling Technics decks and pumping his fists to the beat between bites of Weetabix biscuits, all while wearing a red and black dressing gown (what Americans would call a robe), gifted to Fish’s wife by his mother.

Screen shot of Fish DJing on TikTok in his bathrobe

(TikTok)

“That gown is elegant,” wrote a fan in the comments.

“It was legit my mum’s but she found it too hot,” Fish responded.

“You the same build as your mum” another person wrote back, punctuating the comment with a sweating smiley face emoji.

Fish also began to livestream on TikTok late into the night, playing his own mixes for the first time in 20 years.

“I remember seeing people commenting on the Live going, ‘Mate, we were watching you before we went out. We’ve just gone on a whole night out in our city, come back and you’re still here playing,’” Fish said. “I just love it. Sharing and being able to get out those obscure records. Sometimes it’s the big anthems everyone knows and sometimes it’s a tune that was an anthem to me.”

He’s had a decades-long education in electronic music. Fish was introduced to the genre on the cusp of his teen years through an episode of the British detective show “Inspector Morse.” One episode took place in the illegal rave scene and he thought it looked like fun to party in an old warehouse.

Fish’s taste quickly developed by listening to pirate radio and vinyl. He pieced together his first setup with two hi-fi record players his dad had in the attic. Only one had pitch control. He learned to beatmatch by plugging a player into each side of his amplifier and using the balance knob to fade between them. He was given Soundlab DLP-1 belt-driven turntables for his birthday and his obsession accelerated over the next several years.

Fish56Octagon performing at the Dreamstate music festival in Long Beach.

(Niyaz Pirani)

“By then I was just spending every penny that I had on vinyl building my record collection up. It was all rave music, early old school, hardcore jungle, and then happy hardcore, drum and bass around that sort of time, early to mid-’90s,” he said. “I played quite a few house parties.”

He became a de-facto resident DJ in college, spinning vinyl in the student union, and dabbled in music production at the same time. He eventually sold his analog kit and synthesizers when he switched to Ableton. He downsized his record collection as he converted them to MP3s.

The demands of his post-college marketing career meant the DJ dream disappeared for many years. That was until his TikTok Live sets gave him a second chance as club promoters reached out in the hope of booking him. Fish admits a lack of confidence caused him to stay on the sidelines. It was an offer in February 2024 to play a solo show at Hidden in Manchester — about the same time he switched his channel over entirely to music — that got him out of his house and onto a stage.

“Even if I wasn’t sure that people would come, I knew that anyone that did come would be coming to see me,” he said. “ … I ended up putting a night on where I played for five hours straight, just me from the start to the end. When the tickets went on sale, it sold out a good couple of months before the event.”

Fish wondered if it was a one-off event or the beginning of a life-changing run. Then the offers came in from other big U.K. cities — FishTales in Newcastle; acid techno at Beaverworks in Leeds; raves in Liverpool and Birmingham. He hired an agent. Dropped some merch.

“Not sure how this happened! But I’m here for it and hope you are too,” he wrote online.

A 20-date summer tour featured three different sets at the famed Glastonbury Festival, and appearances at Reading and Creamfields. He also traveled to Ireland, Scotland and Malta, marking his first time playing professionally outside of England.

He quit his day job in August 2024 to DJ and focus on music production full time with the support of his wife, children and parents.

“They support me even though it comes at a cost that I can’t always spend as much time with them, but they understand that I’m following my dream, following my passion, and doing something positive,” he said.

He’s gained an appreciation as a historian of the genre. Fish’s followers have grown to include Skrillex, David Guetta, Disclosure, Bicep and more of the artists he has admired and now counts among his peers.

“For about the first year, I often would wake up in the morning — I’m gonna get a little bit emotional just talking about this — but I’d wake up in the morning and just think, ‘Wow, that was all a dream, wasn’t it?” he said. “Then I look at my phone. I can see that actually it was real.”

Fish attributes his success to social media, though he said it’s a mistake to think just having social media followers guarantees bookings and the upward trajectory of one’s career.

“They’re actually a function of each other. It’s because I was making content that proved to be popular about music that I managed to build up a following and have those opportunities come my way,” he said. “I’ve now played, getting on for, 200 professional gigs at various clubs, festivals, events, raves, all around the world.”

Fish waited until November 2025 to make his first trek to North America with an 11-date run featuring his first U.S. festival booking. He chose Dreamstate because he’s always had a special place in his heart for trance and the emotional connection people have with the music.

“I love all dance music, but trance is the one that can kind of tug at your heartstrings a bit with those melodies, and the chord progression, and the way that the beats can be so crisp when they come in, and the way the bass hits,” he said.

Fish performed Friday night on “The Vision.” It’s the same stage played by legends Chicane and Paul Oakenfold this year and Darude last. He also co-headlined an hour-long B2B with Night 1 Dreamstate headliner Gareth Emery early Sunday morning, as the top-billed act for the festival’s afterparty in the Grand Salon of the iconic Queen Mary.

He made his way to LAX after stepping off stage at 3 a.m. to fly to New York and play the last three hours of a 24-hour rave.

Chicane and Fish56Octagon run into each other in the lobby of the Long Beach Hilton after playing the same stage Night 1 of Dreamstate.

(Niyaz Pirani)

Fish has tour dates in New Zealand and Australia toward the end of the year, plus the largest show of his career March 28 at London’s O2 Academy Brixton. He’s also releasing music for himself and others under his record label Octagon Discs.

As his audience multiplies, Fish’s earliest followers remain enthralled by his seemingly infinite rise.

“How did the dude who recommends second-hand cars get to this. So happy for you dude,” one fan wrote in the comments of his Dreamstate recap video post.

“Music was my number 1 passion but i thought I was too old. Thanks for the support bro,” Fish replied.

“Amazing,” another chimed in. “But I would not recognize u in the wild without the bathrobe.”

USC and Brown have mutually agreed to cancel their upcoming men’s basketball game at Galen Center on Sunday, in light of the recent mass shooting on Brown’s campus.

USC announced the cancellation on Tuesday morning while sending its support to Brown and those affected. The school said in a statement that it plans to announce a new nonconference opponent to fill the same slot on Sunday.

The matchup with Brown was slated to be USC’s nonconference finale. The Trojans have yet to lose outside of Big Ten play this season, currently standing at 9-0.

USC was set to be Brown’s first opponent since this past Sunday, when two people were killed and nine were wounded in a deadly shooting on campus.

On Sunday night, USC women’s basketball coach Lindsay Gottlieb, who is a Brown alumnus, got emotional addressing the shooting after her team’s loss to No. 1 Connecticut.

Gottlieb said that a former teammate of hers had a daughter still hiding from the gunman in the basement of a library at the time of Sunday afternoon’s game.

“It doesn’t need to be this way,” she said. “Sending thoughts and prayers to my teammates who have kids there. To the parents that have to worry about their children, I’m just going to end it with that, but just to say we’re the only country that lives this way.”

It was a struggle all the way, but USC men’s basketball continued its hot start with a 68-61 nonconference victory over Washington State on Sunday at Galen Center.

The Trojans (10-1) led by three with five minutes remaining, but outscored the visitors 13-9 down the stretch to notch their second straight win.

Jacob Cofie led the way with 21 points and 10 rebounds and Chad Baker-Mazara added 19 points, six rebounds and five assists. Ezra Ausar had 13 points and was nine of 11 from the free-throw line.

Rihards Vavers led the Cougars (3-8) with 13 points.

’Tis the season of Top 10 lists. On occasion, being at the bottom of the list is a plus.

I’m Glenn Whipp, columnist for the Los Angeles Times and host of The Envelope newsletter, wondering if you’ve felt that 1% decrease in traffic congestion this year. I had plenty of time to contemplate its veracity the other day while inching my way down the 405 Freeway on my drive home. Let’s just say I’m unconvinced.

Let’s think happier thoughts — the continued, sweeping success of the year’s best movie, “One Battle After Another.”

This week’s digital cover story

(Bexx Francois / For The Times)

I spoke with the women of Paul Thomas Anderson’s acclaimed epic, “One Battle After Another,” on a rainy day last month in the midst of that atmospheric river that washed through the city. You want to talk traffic congestion? Try going down San Vicente during rush hour on the way to a premiere at the Academy Museum.

The only movie worth that effort this year might be … “One Battle After Another.”

For our Envelope digital cover story, we gathered stars Regina Hall, Chase Infiniti and Teyana Taylor for a stunning photo shoot with Times contributor Bexx Francois, followed by a conversation accompanied by a slate of appetizers that evoked memories of the night before when Taylor’s French fries went missing at their Governors Awards table.

“I went to the bar during the dinner and came back,” Taylor says. “And Regina’s like, ‘Somebody took my plate.’ And I look down and say, ‘Somebody ate my fries.’” She motions at Hall. “Goldilocks over here.”

There were no beefs over the apps that day, just the kind of camaraderie evident by the care Infiniti showed her co-stars, helping them keep their immaculate outfits pristine. “One Battle After Another” feels like a lock for a Screen Actors Guild Award (now known as the Actors) ensemble nomination, in no small part due to the exemplary work of these three women, along with co-stars Leonardo DiCaprio, Sean Penn and Benicio Del Toro.

Taylor won a supporting actor prize Sunday from the Los Angeles Film Critics Assn. for her portrayal of Perfidia Beverly Hills, the revolutionary leader of the French 75. The character dominates the movie’s 35-minute opening section, an extended prologue that ends with Perfidia betraying members of her group to avoid prison and abandoning her daughter in the haze of postpartum depression.

“Perfidia anchors this movie,” Taylor says. “We got a boat ride to the middle of the ocean and we gonna anchor this boat, and when we anchor this boat, I’m done.” She turns to Hall. “Then I need you to get on your jet ski and go.”

Taylor loves Perfidia, as do Infiniti and Hall. She’s protective of the character, admitting that, yes, Perfidia is selfish. But also: She has her reasons.

We talked about a scene that Anderson cut from the film featuring Perfidia and Hall’s steadfast Deandra, another member of the French 75. Perfidia calls Deandra from custody, Sean Penn’s Lockjaw lurking in the background, and tells Deandra, “Remember those baby socks I was telling you about? I need you to go out and get them.”

It’s code: Perfidia wants Deandra to make sure that she takes care of her baby, Willa, and get out of town.

“When people have certain opinions of Perfidia, that’s the part of her that they didn’t see,” Taylor says. “People write her off, but she made that phone call.”

“Perfidia and Deandra are best friends,” Hall says. “Watching the movie, you can feel that. But that scene made it clear.”

“But in hindsight,” Taylor says, “artistically that scene would not have made sense. We needed Perfidia to be selfish.”

“She’s not selfish,” Infniti, who plays Willa, interjects. “She was doing the only thing she felt she could do.”

“That’s true,” Taylor replies. “But she’s also selfish. That’s why I think Paul is a f— genius. He is a mad scientist. He really knew what to do with this movie to create a healthy dialogue. He got people talking.”

More coverage of ‘One Battle After Another’

USC women’s basketball coach Lindsay Gottlieb suffered a bitter defeat Saturday when her team lost 79-51 to top-ranked team UConn. But after she walked off court, she weighed in on a more pressing matter: the deadly shooting at her alma mater, Brown University.

“It’s the guns,” Gottlieb said as she began a post-game news conference at the Ivy League school. “It doesn’t need to be this way.”

Gottlieb said she got back to the locker room Saturday after the USC Trojans’ home game with No. 1 UConn Huskies and had “a million text messages” from former Brown teammates. A gunman had opened fire during final exams, killing two students and injuring nine others.

“We’re the only country that lives this way,” Gottlieb said, her voice shaking as she noted that she knew people who have children at Brown. “Parents should not have to be worried about their kids.”

Gottlieb, who graduated from Brown in 1999, was a member of the women’s basketball team and served as a student assistant coach during her senior season.

One of her former teammates, she said, was flying into Providence on Sunday, because she had a daughter who had taken shelter in the basement of the library, and “she doesn’t know what’s going on there.”

Oscar Perez, the Providence police chief, said Sunday that a person of interest in his 20s was in custody. No charges have been filed, he said, noting “we’re in the process of collecting evidence.”

On Saturday, students and faculty spent the night on lockdown, trapped inside classrooms and dorms while law enforcement fanned out across Providence to search for the shooter.

“Hopefully, everyone is safe and praying for peace for those that have lost people,” Gottlieb said before she assessed her team’s game against the Huskies. “And that’s that. It’s more important than basketball. We can all be better.”

Brown University has canceled all remaining classes and exams for the fall semester.

“The past 24 hours really have been unimaginable,” Christina Paxson, university president, wrote in an email to alumni. “It’s a tragedy that no university community is ever ready for.”

Film fans like to lament: They don’t make them like they used to, specifically the kind of wry, life-affirming dramedies that director James L. Brooks perfected back in the 1980s and ’90s like “Terms of Endearment,” “Broadcast News” and “As Good as It Gets.” Movies of that tone and character are rare these days, so it’s worth noting when a new one comes along. But with Brooks’ latest, the deeply strange “Ella McCay,” he doesn’t make them like he used to either.

“Ella McCay” is a portrait of a lady on fire, from stress. The quirky, twitchy Ella (Emma Mackey, horrifically bewigged) is the youngest lieutenant governor in her unnamed state, an awkward policy wonk serving under her mentor, Gov. Bill Moore (Albert Brooks). When he’s tapped for the Cabinet, Ella gets the promotion that she craves, sworn in as the youngest female governor of her state, even as her family life descends into chaos. But Ella’s family life has always been chaotic, as we see in flashbacks to her teenage years, wherein our narrator describes how Ella experiences seeing other happy families — as a stab in the heart.

Our narrator is Estelle (Julie Kavner, best known as the voice of Marge Simpson), Ella’s secretary, who explains that she’s biased, claiming “I’m nuts about her.” The year, by the way, is 2008, “when we could still talk to each other.” So Brooks sets this political film in the recent past, giving a wide berth to the third rail that is MAGA. But by shrinking away from political hot buttons, he renders the whole gambit frustratingly vague and meaningless. Ella lives in the “state,” she runs afoul of the “party,” but skirting these details feels too timid. It’s clear that Ella’s politics are liberal, as she champions a bill designed to support parents and kids in early childhood (she tears up over “tooth tutors”). But why play coy with the specifics?

All Ella wants to do is run her policy meetings, but the men in her life keep getting in the way. First there’s her dad (Woody Harrelson), an inveterate philanderer who would like to make amends — in order to please his new girlfriend. Then there’s Ella’s agoraphobic brother (Spike Fearn), over whom she frets (the less said about his bizarrely tacked-on romantic entanglement with an ex-girlfriend played by Ayo Edebiri, the better). Then there’s her husband (Jack Lowden), a seemingly nice if cocky guy who suddenly starts to love the warmth of the spotlight as Ella ascends.

Again and again, Ella runs in circles trying to put out fires with these men without ever getting to her meetings or doing the job she claims she loves so much (and when she finally does get to her meeting, it’s a flop). The entire movie is about how men are always getting in the way of women’s work, but it’s not entirely clear that Brooks knows this is what his film is about, as Ella happily embarks on pointless side quests with her dad and brother and becomes embroiled in the tamest political sex scandal of all time. The real scandal here is why she entertains any of these losers at all.

It never feels like Brooks has a grasp on the material, which careens aimlessly through Ella’s harried day-to-day in a handsomely bland, serviceable style. The thread about Ella’s childhood trauma resulting from her parents’ messy relationship is lost — and was never that convincing to begin with. She has an unconventional family but her aunt Helen (Jamie Lee Curtis), who helped raise her, is a fierce protector and confidant. Their relationship is fun to watch, so why bother with all these men and their inane storylines? The only worthy one in Ella’s life is her designated security detail (Kumail Nanjiani). In another movie, they’d have a romance, some sexual tension or at least a heartfelt and wise conversation. Here, his character is denied any chance of that.

As we move from broken home to political scandal to another broken home, Ella finally realizes that a woman’s place is not in the capital, but rather in the nonprofit sector (not that she has much choice in the matter). What, exactly, is Brooks trying to say? We spend two hours watching men mess things up for Ella and then she just accepts it and moves on? Even if that message weren’t profoundly weird, dramatically it falls flat, despite Estelle trying to tie it up with a positive final message: “The opposite of trauma is hope.” Whatever that means. It’s apt that this closing phrase makes as much sense as the rest of the movie, which is to say, very little.

Katie Walsh is a Tribune News Service film critic.

Sweeping the Las Vegas Raiders is one thing, but can the Chargers do the same against the mighty Kansas City Chiefs?

With the way Patrick Mahomes & Co. have played lately — losing four of five and in danger of missing the playoffs for the first time with Mahomes — that’s entirely possible.

The Chargers need to win at least one of their final four games to get to double digits and put themselves in position to make the playoffs, and it’s a brutal stretch — at Kansas City and Dallas, home against Houston, and a finale at Denver. They could check that box Sunday, having won five of their last six games.

How the Chargers can win: The Chargers need to ratchet up the pressure on Mahomes, particularly off the edges, and test an offensive line that has been in a steady rotation and is suspect at the tackle spots. Take advantage of the inconsistency at receiver and the propensity for drops. The secondary led the way in the win over Philadelphia. Win on early downs to get into third-and-manageable and don’t fall behind in what can be one of the loudest stadiums in the league. Keep Chris Jones and the rest off of Justin Herbert, who still is recovering from surgery on his left hand. Continue to pound the ball with Omarion Hampton and Kimani Vidal.

How the Chiefs can win: The Chiefs need to win out, and to do that they must get out of their own way. Too many times they have fallen victim to mistakes — drops, penalties, missed assignments, defensive lapses. It’s like a bizarro version of the team that went 11-0 in one-score games last season. As great as he is, Mahomes can’t get happy feet the way he has too often. Kansas City needs to do a better job of giving him a clean pocket. The Chiefs need to tighten up on defense late — that has been a problem — and limit turnovers. They’re in a loud stadium and the cold weather plays to their advantage.

This past week, my dear friend Bob and I went to Griffith Park in search of a little bit of holiday magic in the hillsides. We were looking for bright red toyon.

In the fall and winter, toyons produce iconic red berries, a signal that the temperatures are lowering around L.A. and that winter is coming.

“Though the most common name ‘toyon’ is thought to be a Spanish alteration of the plant’s Ohlone name (“totcon”), Indigenous peoples around California have given the plant many names,” according to environmental nonprofit TreePeople. “It has also more recently been referred to as ‘California holly’ or even ‘Christmas berry’ due to it’s similar appearance to English holly in the winter months.”

For many Angelenos, myself included, toyon brings about a warm sense that the winter holidays are nearing too.

“During the fall season, after several months of growing and maturity, toyon fruits change color from green to red; it’s a signal to birds and other larger animals that a meal is ready for them,” wrote Jorge Ochoa, a professor of horticulture at Long Beach City College. “It is also during the fall that the hills of Griffith Park are adorned with striking red colors reflecting the many toyon plants growing in the hills of the park.”

Although Los Angeles County is warmer in the winter and thus doesn’t produce iconic scenes of a winter wonderland, you can easily drive nearby and find it, whether it’s by hiking past toyons, frolicking in the mountain snow or, as you’ll see here, catching a cosmic light show during Hanukkah.

If L.A. is your ho-ho-home for the holidays, I hope visiting these three natural places below helps you catch the holiday spirit, regardless of how you celebrate. Let’s sleigh these trails! (I had to!)

Bright red toyon berries in Griffith Park.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

1. For red berry bliss: Griffith Park’s Five Points-Beacon Hill Loop

The Five Points-Beacon Hill Loop is a six-mile moderate hike past several toyon trees, laurel sumac and California black walnut (with bright yellow leaves at the moment).

Friends of Griffith Park developed that trail option as part of the Griffith Park Explorer, 15 routes along more than 50 miles of trails in L.A.’s outdoor sanctuary. As someone who has gotten lost (or just forgot where I parked) in Griffith Park more than I will readily admit, I am grateful for these efforts.

Also, the Griffith Park Explorer makes it easy to discern which trails will provide the best red berry bliss! If you’d like to determine the best trail for your physical conditioning that has toyons, you can look at iNaturalist, a citizen science app, to see where toyons grow in the park and match that with the best Explorer trail.

That’s how I identified the Beacon Hill loop. As Bob and I started our hike, I quickly spotted red berries on the hillside. We also savored the quiet that Griffith Park offers just before sunset as the hillsides become blanketed in yellow, orange and scarlet light. At Beacon Hill, I paused and took in the clear views that winter brings. I felt grateful to be here now, which, to me, evokes gratitude and joy, two essential elements of the winter holiday season.

Distance: A six-mile loop
Elevation gained: About 1,200 feet
Difficulty: Moderate
Dogs allowed? Yes
Accessible alternative: Bette Davis Picnic Area

The snow-covered road to the Buckhorn Campground in Angeles National Forest in 2024. The campground is a common spot for anyone near L.A. who wants to snowshoe and frolic in the powder.

(Jaclyn Cosgrove / Los Angeles Times)

2. For snow-dappled trees: Buckhorn Campground trail

The Buckhorn Campground in Angeles National Forest is a special place to me, bringing me and my family joy every season. In the winter, it is often covered in snow, as it sits above 6,000 feet in the San Gabriel Mountains.

Crunching over the snow-covered road into the campground this past March — the campground is closed for camping in the winter — I was transported back into a childlike sense of wonder. The evergreen conifers towered above, like giant Christmas trees for squirrels, deer and bobcats.

The view of the snowy mountains near Mt. Hawkins from Angeles Crest Highway in the Angeles National Forest on Nov. 23.

(Raul Roa / Los Angeles Times)

If you celebrate Kwanzaa, Buckhorn would be a great place to visit to observe multiple of the seven principles, including unity, as you and your friends and family slog through the elements together. (Microspikes recommended!)

And if you can’t make it up to the mountains, but still want to observe Kwanzaa with community, the annual Unity Run/Walk is scheduled for Dec. 27 at Balboa Park in San Diego. Either way, you can be in a natural environment hopefully in unity with each other and nature.

Distance: Varies
Elevation gained: 300 to 500 feet
Difficulty: Easy to lower-level moderate
Accessible alternative: Large turnouts after snow along Highway 2 east of Camp Valcrest

A Perseid meteor streaks low in the sky in this 16-second exposure, as seen from White Tank campground in Joshua Tree National Park early on Aug. 12, 2024.

(Raul Roa / Los Angeles Times)

3. For cosmic candlelight: Joshua Tree National Park

On Dec. 21, during the second to last night of Hanukkah (and also the start of the winter solstice), the Ursids meteor shower will peak, allowing anyone watching to see around five to 10 meteors per hour, according to the American Meteor Society.

If you’re celebrating Hanukkah, you can experience your own cosmic Festival of Lights as the sky lights up during the meteor shower at Joshua Tree National Park. I checked, and there are still several campsites available at the park on the peak night. It’s also a great place to celebrate the winter solstice, lighting a campfire (if allowed under fire restrictions) and taking in the natural elements. There are endless hiking options too.

If you want to camp closer to home, you could try Chilao Campground in Angeles National Forest for a darker sky option. (Chilao is at 5,300 elevation, and it’ll be cold. And it is sometimes closed because of snow.) To check whether it’s open, you can call the Angeles National Forest office in Acton at (661) 269-2808. The office is generally closed Wednesday and Thursday, so another option is to call the Gateway District office at (818) 899-1900.

Either way, be prepared for an awe-inspiring light show, a beautiful way to be together with the people you love (who can also keep you warm, in body and spirit).

Happy holidays to you, my dear Wilder!

3 things to do

Members of Paddle LA and OC participate in annual Christmas paddles near Long Beach, dressing in festive costumes.

(David Sanchez)

1. Paddle past pretty lights in Long Beach
Paddling LA and OC will host an evening paddle from 4 to 6:30 p.m. Saturday through Alamitos Bay to observe holiday lights near the water. Guests are encouraged to don holiday costumes and light up their boards with good cheer. All skill levels are welcome, but paddlers need to be comfortable in the water after dark and around slow-moving boats. Register at eventbrite.com.

2. Secure Fido’s ranger badge in Calabasas
Santa Monica Mountains National Recreation Area will host its B.A.R.K. Holidays event from noon to 2 p.m. Saturday at the King Gillette Ranch visitor center. Dogs and their owners can visit ranger-led booths and take part in a special swearing-in ceremony where pups will earn their official B.A.R.K. Ranger badge. Learn more at the park’s Instagram page.

3. Hike among native plants in Sylmar
Scorpio Gardens, a queer, Latinx-owned native plant landscape design company, will host a hike along the May Canyon trail from 9 to 11:30 a.m. Sunday at Veterans Memorial Community Regional Park in Sylmar. Guests will first be guided in mindfulness and stretching before heading onto the trail. Hike leaders will help participants with native plant identification, discussing the roles the plants play in the larger San Fernando Valley ecosystem. The event is free, but donations are welcome. Register at eventbrite.com.

The must-read

(Ruthy Kim / For The Times)

In highlighting these hikes and natural places where you can celebrate the holidays, I don’t want to seem oblivious or excessively positive. It would be a massive understatement to say it has been a hard year for L.A. “In the past 12 months, we’ve witnessed homes destroyed by fire, families broken up by ICE, skyrocketing anti-trans hate and massive layoffs across the entertainment and media industries leaving thousands in our city unemployed,” wrote Times staff writer Deborah Netburn. Amid all this devastation, it is even more important to try to find joy. That was the message Netburn heard from experts she spoke to about how to still find joy this holiday season in L.A. Joy is an essential element of our lives, refilling our tanks not only to help us survive but also to keep doing good in the world. “The purpose of oppression, hatred and discrimination is to disconnect us and dehumanize us,” said Thema Bryant, a psychologist and minister at First AME Church in Los Angeles. “It is an act of resistance to say, ‘I’m not going to give all my peace to those who are working to stress me out.’”

Happy adventuring,

P.S.

For almost 20 years, the Mojave Desert Land Trust has worked to preserve prime desert habitat, protecting more than 125,000 acres of California desert. Recently, the trust acquired 1,280 acres at the entrance to Mojave Trails National Monument, a massive swath of federal land south of Mojave National Preserve that had been suffering from illegal dumping, graffiti and more. If you’d like to help support the trust’s efforts to protect the desert, consider attending a fundraiser at 6:30 p.m. Wednesday at the Last Bookstore in Studio City. Barret Baumgart, author of “Yuck,” and Josh Jackson, author of “The Enduring Wild,” will discuss their books that underscore the importance of protecting our diverse desert landscape. Guests can imbibe free beer and buy signed books and limited-edition desert posters and tote bags. Half of sales will support the trust. 🏜️

For more insider tips on Southern California’s beaches, trails and parks, check out past editions of The Wild. And to view this newsletter in your browser, click here.

To say the U.S. Senate has grown dysfunctional is like suggesting water is wet or the nighttime sky is dark.

The institution that fancies itself “the world’s greatest deliberative body” is supposed to serve as a cooling saucer that tempers the more hotheaded House, applying weight and wisdom as it addresses the Great Issues of Our Time. Instead, it’s devolved into an unsightly mess of gridlock and partisan hackery.

Part of that is owing to the filibuster, one of the Senate’s most distinctive features, which over roughly the last decade has been abused and misused to a point it’s become, in the words of congressional scholar Norman J. Ornstein, a singular “weapon of mass obstruction.”

Democrat Jeff Merkley, the junior U.S. senator from Oregon, has spent years on a mostly one-man crusade aimed at reforming the filibuster and restoring a bit of sunlight and self-discipline to the chamber.

In 2022, Merkley and his allies came within two votes of modifying the filibuster for voting rights legislation. He continues scouring for support for a broader overhaul.

“This is essential for people to see what their representatives are debating and then have the opportunity to weigh in,” said Merkley, speaking from the Capitol after a vote on the Senate floor.

“Without the public being able to see the obstruction,” he said, “they [can’t] really respond to it.”

What follows is a discussion of congressional process, but before your eyes glaze over, you should understand that process is what determines the way many things are accomplished — or not — in Washington, D.C.

The filibuster, which has changed over time, involves how long senators are allowed to speak on the Senate floor. Unlike the House, which has rules limiting debate, the Senate has no restrictions, unless a vote is taken to specifically end discussion and bring a matter to resolution. More on that in a moment.

In the broadest sense, the filibuster is a way to protect the interests of a minority of senators, as well as their constituents, by allowing a small but determined number of lawmakers — or even a lone member — to prevent a vote by commanding the floor and talking nonstop.

Perhaps the most famous, and certainly the most romanticized, version of a filibuster took place in the film “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.” The fictitious Sen. Jefferson Smith, played by James Stewart, talks to the point of exhausted collapse as a way of garnering national notice and exposing political corruption.

The filibustering James Stewart received an Oscar nomination for lead actor for his portrayal of Sen. Jefferson Smith in the 1939 classic “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.”

(From the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences)

In the Frank Capra classic, the good guy wins. (It’s Hollywood, after all.) In real life, the filibuster has often been used for less noble purpose, most notably the decades-long thwarting of civil rights legislation.

A filibuster used to be a rare thing, its power holstered for all but the most important issues. But in recent years that’s changed, drastically. The filibuster — or, rather, the threat of a filibuster — has become almost routine.

In part, that’s because of how easy it’s become to gum up the Senate.

Members no longer need to hold the floor and talk nonstop, testing not just the power of their argument but their physical mettle and bladder control. These days it’s enough for a lawmaker to simply state their intention to filibuster. Typically, legislation is then laid aside as the Senate moves on to other business.

That pain-free approach has changed the very nature of the filibuster, Ornstein said, and transformed how the Senate operates, much to its detriment.

The burden is “supposed to be on the minority to really put itself … on the line to generate a larger debate” — a la the fictive Jefferson Smith — “and hope during the course of it that they can turn opinions around,” said Ornstein, an emeritus scholar at the American Enterprise Institute. “What’s happened is the burden has shifted to the majority [to break a filibuster], which is a bastardization of what the filibuster is supposed to be about.”

It takes 60 votes to end a filibuster, by invoking cloture, to use Senate terminology. That means the passage of legislation now effectively requires a supermajority of the 100-member Senate. (There are workarounds, which, for instance, allowed President Trump’s massive tax-and-spending bill to pass on a 51-50 vote, with Vice President JD Vance casting the tie-breaker.)

The filibuster gives outsized power to the minority.

To offer but two examples, there is strong public support for universal background checks for gun buyers and greater transparency in campaign finance. Both issues have majority backing in the Senate. No matter. Legislation to achieve each has repeatedly been filibustered to death.

That’s where Merkley would step in.

He would not eliminate the filibuster, a prerogative jealously guarded by members of both parties. (In a rare show of independence, Republican senators rejected President Trump’s call to scrap the filibuster to end the recent government shutdown.)

Rather, Merkley would eliminate what’s come to be called “the silent filibuster” and force lawmakers to actually take the floor and publicly press their case until they prevail, give up or physically give out. “My reform is based on the premise that the minority should have a voice,” he said, “but not a veto.”

Forcing senators to stand and deliver would make it more difficult to filibuster, ending its promiscuous overuse, Merkley suggested, and — ideally— engaging the public in a way privately messaging fellow senators — I dissent! — does not.

“Because it’s so visible publicly,” Merkley said, “the American citizens get to weigh in, and there’s consequences. They may frame you as a hero for your obstruction, or a bum, and that has a reflection in the next election.”

The power to repair itself rests entirely within the Senate, where lawmakers set their own rules and can change them as they see fit. (Nice work, if you can get it.)

The filibuster has been tweaked before. In 1917, senators adopted the rule allowing cloture if a two-thirds majority voted to end debate. In 1975, the Senate reduced that number to three-fifths of the Senate, or 60 members.

More recently, Democrats changed the rules to prevent filibustering most presidential nominations. Republicans extended that to include Supreme Court nominees.

Reforming the filibuster is hardly a cure-all. The Senate has debased itself by ceding much of its authority and becoming little more than an arm of the Trump White House. Fixing that requires more than a procedural overhaul.

But forcing lawmakers to stand their ground, argue their case and seek to rally voters instead of lifting a pinkie and grinding the Senate to a halt? That’s something worth talking about.

When I first started playing “Dungeons & Dragons” as a tween, my friends christened me with a new good-natured nickname: gamer geek. While we could spend hours in front of a screen with the latest “Zelda” title, the dice-focused tabletop role-playing game was viewed with suspicion, a ’70s-era invention that belonged to a certain subset of nerd.

Times have changed.

Today, “Dungeons & Dragons” enjoys mainstream recognition, and live game sessions from the likes of Critical Role and Dimension 20, the latter of which last summer enjoyed a date at the Hollywood Bowl, have only further cemented its wide appeal. Now a heavily improvised theatrical production, “Dungeons & Dragons: The Twenty-Sided Tavern” has come to the Montalbán Theatre in Hollywood.

The show, which ran off-Broadway in 2024 after years of development, is celebratory, a victory lap for a game that has endured more than half a century. It invites participation, with actors performing the action inspired by the dice rolls and allowing the audience to influence the direction of the show by making choices via a smartphone.

Alex Stompoly, left, and Anjali Bhimani in “Dungeons & Dragons: The Twenty-Sided Tavern,” a production that invites audience participation.

(Andromeda Rodriguez)

“Twenty-Sided Tavern” brought me back to days and nights crowded around my family’s living room table. My father was an executive with TSR, Inc., the company that created “Dungeons & Dragons” — there were glass dragons on our fireplace mantle, pewter dragons on our bookshelves, painted dragons on our walls and even a metal dragon that hung from a necklace I wore too often (and that probably didn’t help me with getting dates). As a junior high kid, the game was a refuge, a creative tool where I could envision characters, worlds and fantastical scenarios.

There was a lot of math, too, and quite a bit of rules, not to mention addendums to rules and fine print to those rules, but I discovered early on a key to its personal appeal, one that likely makes many hardcore followers of the game cringe: Story comes first, the rules a distant second. In fact, I discarded any directive that got in the way of a more fanciful tale.

It pleased me that “Twenty-Sided Tavern” does as well. When my showing the other week began not with beholders and battles but instead a yarn about trying to flirt with and seduce a dragon, I couldn’t help but smile. For the best “D&D” games, no matter how serious, tense or dramatic they may get, are always a bit silly, or at least they are to me.

“I know we hear about toxicity in gaming all the time, but when I picked up my first ‘D&D’ set that my brother gave to me when I was 8 years old, what was open to me was not just a world of storytelling,” says Anjali Bhimani, a co-producer of the production as well as a regular performer in it. “It was a world where a halfling could kill a red dragon, where it didn’t matter where you came from. There was always a seat for you at the table.

Anjali Bhimani in a production of “Dungeons & Dragons: The Twenty-Sided Tavern.” The actor views the game as a storytelling tool.

(Andromeda Rodriguez)

“I think the sense of belonging that tabletop RPGs and ‘Dungeons & Dragons’ can provide is so, so, so powerful, and I think it really is a means to just bring people together in a way that a lot of other media can’t,” she adds.

“Twenty-Sided Tavern” does have some constraints. It is, after all, staged in a theater. But it also throws the traditional rules of theater by the wayside. Expect, for instance, to be on your phone most of the show. We’ll lightly direct the production, voting, for instance, to explore a castle’s catacombs or the mysterious woods. Many will cheer a good dice roll, and it wasn’t out of the norm at my matinee for the audience to shout suggestions or requests. When, for instance, said storyline about romancing a dragon became a bit risqué, a woman kindly reminded the cast that there were children present. It was toned down, but not before an actor made a joke about the show being educational.

“This doesn’t have to be a stuffy, fourth-wall drama,” says Michael Fell, the show’s creative director. “We can create a sense of community. As much as there is a script — there kind of is — we aim to have engagement with the audience every two pages. That means they’re calling out a name, asked to come on stage or it’s just an election on your phone where you make a choice or play a small mini-game. No engagement on the phone ever lasts more than nine seconds.”

In “Twenty-Sided Tavern,” there are three core actors playing and acting out the game, one dungeon master and a sort of tavern keeper helping to keep score and track of the story. There’s a setup at a bar and a quest involving a threat to the town, but each show is unique. The cast may swap roles, the audience may concoct a monster — my group envisioned a giant, destructive slice of pumpkin pie — and settings will shift based on audience vote, done via smartphone.

It’s a little bit like theater as sport.

“This is gamification of live entertainment. Part of what I’m doing is mirroring what happens in sports entertainment, but in a live theatrical setting,” says David Carpenter, the founder of Gamiotics, which co-developed the show and powers the smartphone tech behind it. “This show has surprised me for years, but one of the early surprises was the entire audience losing their mind when someone rolls a 20. It’s like someone scoring a touchdown. The audience goes nuts because they didn’t see it coming.”

Anjali Bhimani, left, Will Champion and Jasmin Malave appear ready for battle in a production of “Dungeons & Dragons: The Twenty-Sided Tavern.”

(Andromeda Rodriguez)

Like the game, “Twenty-Sided Tavern” theorizes that stories can be at their most powerful when they are not passive, when we as audience members have a role to play and invitation to interact.

Carpenter is curious how far the audience choice can be pushed to shift a narrative. He talks in the future of experimenting more with moral or ethical decisions. There are none in “Twenty-Sided Tavern,” where occasionally the audience may influence an action in a way similar to a dice roll. We’ll tap, for instance, to fill up a meter on a screen, and where it lands may indicate a success or a failure. Here, the smartphone gamification is used to prod a narrative rather than define it, a reminder to me that “D&D” is in some ways a story creation tool.

“There are stories that we have told in tabletop games that I have played that I never would have imagined coming up with in the writers’ room because the dice told the story that they did,” says Bhimani.

The large-scale audience participation of “Twenty-Sided Tavern” naturally invites a jovial, party-like atmosphere. It succeeds in extending a hand to the audience, welcoming us into what can be a complex, daunting fantasy world. It argues that “Dungeons & Dragons” is for all, much as I did as a junior high kid who made it something of a mission to convert my name-calling friends with the hopes of showing them the joys of gathering with little more than paper, pencils, dice and an imagination.

“It’s still somewhat intimidating to a lot of people because they think, ‘I have to know all these rules and learn all these spells and read all these books,’” Bhimani says. “Coming to the ‘Twenty-Sided Tavern,’ it’s about telling a great story. Yes, we roll dice. Yes, there are spells. But ultimately, that’s just scaffolding to tell a beautiful, improvised story.”

I remember when I played weekly games in high school, my friends used to joke that I, as dungeon master, would “lose” because I did everything in my power to keep everyone’s character alive and playing, wanting to see a narrative to a conclusion that didn’t end in anyone’s death. They wondered if I was running the game incorrectly because they always succeeded. Yet I saw “Dungeons & Dragons” as a wholly collaborative endeavor, and I felt that way again watching “Twenty-Sided Tavern,” an ode to the idea that “Dungeons & Dragons” is best when shared.

And a reminder, too, that there is no wrong way to play it.

We were well into our journey from Los Angeles to Chicago, surrounded by cornfields and grain elevators, when the train halted and a voice rang out.

“All right, folks,” said a man on the PA system. “We’ve come to a stop in what appears to be the middle of nowhere.”

To a traveler in a hurry, this is the stuff of nightmares. To a seasoned passenger on the L.A.-Chicago train known as Amtrak’s Southwest Chief, it’s just another day.

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When you board an American long-distance train in 2025, you are trading the airport routine for entry into a locomotive-driven realm where there is neither TSA nor WiFi. And AI might as well stand for aged infrastructure.

There will be delays, often because of passing freight trains. But in the bargain, you are freeing yourself from worry about aerodynamics or the chronic shortage of U.S. air traffic controllers and gaining access to ground-level scenery and idle hours.

You’re also joining a modest trend. Even before this fall’s bout of flight cancellations during the government shutdown, Amtrak had set records for passengers and revenue in fiscal 2024, then again in 2025. Ridership on the Southwest Chief rose 12.6% in the last year. Amtrak’s long-distance trains haven’t caught up with their pre-pandemic numbers yet, but we seem to like them a little more lately.

Passengers board the Southwest Chief at Los Angeles Union Station.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

To learn why, I boarded the Southwest Chief at Los Angeles Union Station on a recent Monday afternoon. I was ready to see a few desert sunsets from the Sightseer Lounge and hear what people say when they have the time to chat with a stranger IRL.

Before long, I had been party to conversations about fear of flying, doctors in Tijuana, how to make beef jerky and how to sleep in a moving metal box. I’d also heard these sentences:

• “I like watching the country go by. I draw and I paint,” said passenger Nancy Roeder.
• “I’m a fourth-generation model railroader,” said William Angus.
• “I’m not going to lie to you. I took his life.”

This last comment came from a fellow traveler, ruefully disclosing an act of self-defense many years ago. No proof was offered, but I believed it. I also found the teller of the story (whom I won’t name) to be good company, thoughtful and generous.

In other words, on a two-day train, you meet people and hear things that you might not on a four-hour flight.

What Paul Theroux wrote 50 years ago in “The Great Railway Bazaar” is still true: “Anything is possible on a train: a great meal, a binge, a visit from card players, an intrigue, a good night’s sleep, and strangers’ monologues framed like Russian short stories.”

Flagstaff by dawn

Passengers relax in the Sightseer Lounge on Amtrak’s Southwest Chief.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

There’s one Southwest Chief departure from Los Angeles every day (and one from Chicago). If everything goes right, the 2,265-mile, 32-stop trip takes about 43 hours.

But only a rookie would count on that. About 60% of the time, the Southwest Chief arrives at least 15 minutes late.

For much of its route through Arizona, the route is flanked by old Route 66 and other lonely desert roads.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

Back in 1936, when the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railway introduced Southwest Super Chief service between Los Angeles and Chicago, this was a roughly 40-hour journey. The passenger list included plenty of show-biz people and the first stop was in Pasadena.

Nowadays, the Southwest Chief is run by Amtrak (which gets government funding but operates independently enough to be unaffected by recent government shutdowns). There are not so many show-biz people now, not as many frills. Instead of Pasadena, its first stop after Los Angeles is Fullerton, followed by a bend to the northeast. By the time I arrived in the dining car for my first dinner aboard, we were nearing Barstow.

“This way, young man,” lied the server winningly as he steered me to a table. (I am 65. In the dining car, every traveler, no matter how aged, gets greeted as a young man or young lady.)

Since booths hold four people, dining car stewards like Chuck Jones manage the delicate task of putting travelers together. Through PA announcements and whispers in the aisles, he encouraged us to introduce ourselves and keep phones off tables.

He also suggested we steer clear of politics — a tall order when traveling through a government shutdown from a city the president had just called “lawless” to one he had just called “the worst and most dangerous city in the world.”

Surprise: Almost everyone complied.

Over the course of six dining car meals as a solo traveler, I heard no political disagreements and met travelers from their 20s to their 80s.

Claudette Toth, a senior from Massachusetts, estimated that she’d only flown three or four times in her life. William Angus, a 24-year-old returning to Chicago from a pilgrimage to the San Diego Model Railroad Museum told of how much he loved running a 1/87 scale model of the Bakersfield-Mojave rail system, re-enacting operations from February 1953.

Ernie Haecker, of Sante Fe and New York, is a regular on Amtrak’s Southwest Chief train between Los Angeles and Chicago.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

As Angus spoke, Ernie Haecker, a longtime train lover, nodded in understanding, grinning beneath a handlebar mustache. Haecker, 77, an audiologist, told us he takes the train every six weeks, splitting time between Santa Fe and New York. After so many trips, he knows the crew, knows where the train will pause long enough for him to shave, knows he can count on chatting with “a whole panoply of folks every time.” He even knew the spot in Illinois where the train would switch from one old company’s tracks to another’s.

“We just left the old Santa Fe,” he would say when the moment came. “Now we’re on Burlington.”

My dinner on the first night was another happy surprise — a fairly tender and flavorful flat iron steak. There was a vase holding flowers at every table, along with white tablecloth.

A meal is served in the dining car.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

Still, nobody should expect a Michelin-star meal in an Amtrak dining car. It’s common for servers to bring out dessert before the main dish (to avoid running behind later) and at one meal, someone forgot my order and I had to start over half an hour later.

By the time we crossed into Arizona that first night, I was back in my roomette nodding off, lulled like a baby atop a washing machine.

We were near Flagstaff when I blinked awake, glad to catch sight of the sunrise and grateful to have a sleeping area of my own.

Arizona sprawl and the Amtrak class system

Roomettes measure about 23 square feet.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

Of the three ways you can travel long-distance on Amtrak, the fanciest option is a private room that’s about 50 square feet (including private bath). The cost — about $3,200 for a couple, one way, when I booked — includes meals in the dining cars. (Family rooms, which hold four people but share bathrooms, cost about the same. All rates fluctuate by season and demand.)

That was too pricey for me and my expense account, so I booked a roomette. The roomettes are about half the size of a private room, with dining-car access and upper and lower berths that allow two travelers to lie flat (or one to spread out). These share toilets and showers. This cost me $809. (For a couple, the tab would have been $1,112.)

The third option was coach class, which means sleeping in your seat. It’s a sensible choice if you’re traveling only a portion of the route, and it’s what I did when traveling this route as a college student 45 years ago.

I was intrigued to see that coach fares start at $198 — only a bit more than the starting price for a flight. But no, not intrigued enough.

As a coach passenger, you don’t get access to the dining car (unless there’s room and you’re willing to pay $20-$45 for a meal). Instead, you bring food, buy snacks in the cafe car below the Sightseer Lounge or, if truly desperate, try to arrange a restaurant delivery to an upcoming fresh-air stop.

Fortunately, all classes get access to the Sightseer Lounge, where armchairs and couches face big windows. I’ve heard of lounges getting pretty crowded and ripe on heavily booked trips, but our trained seemed less than half-full. A few coach passengers dozed in the lounge overnight (which is officially forbidden) and nobody seemed bothered.

That first morning, with coffee in hand, I tiptoed into the lounge, sank into an armchair and watched the desert sprawl while wispy clouds clung to the horizon under a brightening sky.

This postcard (or rather Instagram) moment came somewhere between Winslow and Holbrook. I’m told the scenery is more dramatic on the Coast Starlight (from Los Angeles to Seattle) and the California Zephyr (from Emeryville through the Rockies to Chicago). But this comes down to taste. If you like deserts, the Chief is hard to beat. (Though no matter the route, if you like photography, the train is a challenge: no open windows, so you’re always shooting exteriors through glass.)

As Arizona yielded to New Mexico, the dirt seemed to get redder and the ridges rose to form buttes. Along rivers and creeks, bright yellow cottonwood trees congregated in bursts of yellow. Occasionally we’d glimpse small towns and timeworn roadside attractions — a reminder that Old Route 66 basically follows Southwest Chief’s path between the West Coast and Albuquerque, N.M.

Amish in transit, elk at sunset

Travelers head toward seats at Chicago Union Station.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

“Living in L.A., you forget all this space,” said Kim Rinauro, a nurse from Los Feliz. “When you come out and see how vast this is, it really gives you a different perspective.”

“America is so ginormous,” said Jeanine Bass, a softball coach from Costa Mesa who was on her way to see family in upstate New York.

Meanwhile, one end of the observation car had been filled by several women in white bonnets, joined by men with straw hats, footlong beards and no mustaches. Occasionally I’d hear a sort of clapping sound. Amish families. Playing dominoes.

Amish travelers have been using this route for decades, one of the men told me, on their way to and from doctors in Tijuana. Seeking medical treatment that’s more affordable and easier to schedule than in the U.S., they take trains to Southern California, then continue overland across the border.

Just before we made a 45-minute stop at the station, which is surrounded by a grim neighborhood, an Amtrak staffer took the microphone to sternly address the coach-class travelers.

“Coaches: No alcohol,” she said. “If you bring alcohol, you can stay and spend all night here with the transients.” For those in rooms and roomettes, she continued, booze in private rooms is OK, but not in public spaces.

Farther into New Mexico, we passed the other Southwest Chief train, carrying passengers west.

Between Raton, N.M., and Trinidad, Colo., amid a gaudy sunset, we crept past a herd of elk, then plunged into a tunnel. Emerging, we caught a last bit of sunset, some of the most gorgeous miles of the trip.

Yet this, I learned later, is the part of the trip that Amtrak’s chief executive tried to replace with bus service in 2018. The effort failed and that executive is no longer in the job. But the battles in Washington over Amtrak funding and mission never end, which is why so many cars, like the Superliners on the Southwest Chief, were built between 1979 and 1996. Amtrak leaders have set a goal of replacing their older long-distance cars by 2032.

Speaking of hardware: Eventually I tried the shower. It didn’t go well. First, I saw that someone had stolen the shampoo dispenser. Then I couldn’t find a way to cool the scalding-hot water. I stood as far back as I could in the snug compartment and grimaced my way through it.

Missouri, Iowa and Illinois: The final miles

The concourse at Chicago Union Station is grand but quiet.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)

On arrival day, I woke just as we reached the station in Kansas City, another gritty neighborhood along the tracks. Our news feeds were filled with fresh reports of nationwide flight delays because of the government shutdown.

Soon we were crossing the Missouri River, roaring through forest and skirting naked farmland where this year’s corn crop had just been cut. Then came Fort Madison, Iowa; the Mississippi River and the beginnings of Illinois. Water towers and grain elevators.

I zipped my bags shut, tipped the roomette attendant and dining car team. Soon I’d be stretching my legs at the Art Institute of Chicago, walking Millennium Park and along the Chicago River, checking out the skyline from Navy Pier.

We pulled into Union Station within an hour of our target time.

Was it a perfect trip? No. But it was full of humanity, scenery and comforting clangs and rumbles. I even liked the lurching way you had to walk down the corridors, adjusting balance as the train shifts. And then, to step off the train after two days into a brisk Chicago afternoon, 2,265 miles from home, having never left the ground? That’s almost magic.

Tracks dominate the view from the last car on the train.

(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)