The California Supreme Court is poised to rule in a lawsuit that has pitted the state’s court reporters — the workers who create transcripts of court proceedings — against victims of domestic violence and other vulnerable litigants.
The case will determine whether to end a long-standing prohibition on the electronic recording of most civil court proceedings, enabling the use of modern technology to create a “verbatim record,” which is crucial to appeals and other legal challenges.
Advocates say a decision in favor of electronic recording could end a years-long judicial crisis virtually overnight, producing legal records and preserving the right to appeal in tens of thousands of cases in civil, family and probate hearings where court reporters are rarely provided. Participants in the civil proceedings can hire private stenographers to maintain a record of what’s said, but their services can run thousands of dollars a day.
“In many, many courtrooms throughout the state today, there is nobody there, and there’s not going to be anybody there,” attorney Sonya Winner told the high court during oral arguments in Los Angeles last month. “The court reporters the court has on staff are off doing felony trials,” making electronic recording the only alternative for most civil litigants.
Everyone agrees the lack of court reporters is a crisis. Lawyers on both sides have urged the high court to establish a clear right to a verbatim record in civil hearings.
The divergence is over whether the worker shortage is improving slowly or still getting worse, and what the Supreme Court should do about it.
California’s largest public sector union and the court reporters it represents warn the decision could allow the state’s court systems to stop hiring stenographers.
Court reporters say their duty to maintain an accurate record is a profound public trust that can only be performed by a human being, who can intervene to ensure everyone is heard and who bears responsibility if a transcript is missing or incomplete.
Despite California’s sluggish job market, hiring for court reporters remains brisk, bolstered by tens of millions in funding from Sacramento, a recent change in state law and aggressive recruitment by some of the country’s largest court systems, including Los Angeles, Orange and San Diego counties.
Lila Scott, a TV writer, is among those seeking to join the profession. Like a lot of Hollywood talent, she had been struggling to find steady work in recent years.
The “Unicorn Academy” writer was trolling government job sites when she stumbled across a listing for court reporters in Los Angeles — and then another, and another.
“I thought, ‘What the heck is this?’” Scott recalled as she set up for a class at Downey Adult School.
Scott is now in training to become a “voice writer,” a form of note-taking that relies on a device called a stenomask — something like a cross between a podcast mic and a nebulizer — to produce a transcript. Voice writers repeat every word spoken in court along with a sequence of formatting commands to voice recognition software.
“You use your mom voice when you’re dictating,” said another Downey student, 40-year-old Wanda Port. “That stern mom voice, that’s the one you use.”
Traditionally, court reporters have used 22-key steno machines to rapidly take down every word said by lawyers, judges and anyone else who speaks on the record during an official proceeding. The licensing process for these stenographers is significantly longer and more difficult than what voice writers undergo.
A change in state law in 2024 allowed voice writers to become licensed as “certified shorthand reporters,” opening a new pipeline for court staff.
About half of the court reporters hired in California since 2024 have been voice writers, data show.
“Of the 300-plus students we have, it’s about 50/50,” said Jennifer Shenbaum, who directs the Downey program.
The current hiring blitz follows more than a decade of decline, after California’s court systems shed about a third of their reporters amid a protracted budget crisis in 2012. Labor leaders say new licenses have jumped ninefold in recent years, and court reporting classrooms across the state are full.
Diana Van Dyke, a Los Angeles County Superior Court reporter and a shop steward in Service Employees International Union Local 721, credits much of that growth to the expansion of paid internships, signing bonuses and other aggressive recruitment tactics funded by the Legislature and promoted by the union.
Students training to become court reporters practice on stenotypes and stenomasks during a speed-building class at Downey Adult School.
(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)
At Orange County’s Cypress College, which offers court reporter training, job fliers boasting six-figure salaries paper the walls. A pamphlet from the Central District of California that touted “front-page Federal cases” hung in the window of a court reporting classroom, where students practiced typing 200 words per minute.
“By the end of the third test I can’t feel my fingers — but it’s worth it!” said Asia Mendez, a trainee-stenographer.
While advocates for court reporters say humans can still do the job better than machines, the fact that many hearings occur without any official transcript at all has drawn concern from top state officials.
Atty. Gen. Rob Bonta has called the situation “untenable.”
“This is the rare case in which the current application of a statute violates procedural due process,” Bonta’s office said in a brief urging the state’s high court to allow recordings.
Such a ruling would be especially important for survivors of domestic violence, who often find the family court system weaponized against them, said Jennafer Dorfman Wagner, director of programs at the Family Violence Appellate Project, which brought the suit that is now before the California Supreme Court.
“People who want to exert power and control over an ex-partner will find whatever foothold they can and use it,” Wagner said.
Without a record of their proceedings, litigants can’t prove what happened in the courtroom, or appeal if a judge denies a restraining order or approves a custody arrangement that leaves them vulnerable to further violence.
California’s court systems have also thrown their weight behind the plaintiffs in the case.
“California has long led in areas of access to justice and technology, but in this area, it lags far behind the rest of the country, and behind the federal courts that are in this state,” said Mark Yohalem, an attorney representing the state’s superior courts.
The justices, too, seemed eager to embrace electronic recording in cases where no court reporter is available and litigants cannot afford to pay for one on their own, repeatedly pressing lawyers on exactly how such a ruling might be written.
Although the decision would not affect criminal proceedings, the high court judges have expressed concern that court systems may use their ruling to roll back the broader recruitment push as a cost-cutting measure — a worry labor leaders share.
“Electronic recording is cheaper,” said Justice Joshua P. Groban. “It allows any court to just say, for example, that no more court reporters are needed.”
When advocates for the Family Violence Appellate Project told Groban and the other justices hearing the case that such a move by the courts would amount to “bad faith” and should not weigh on their decision, the judge appeared skeptical.
“Either bad faith or fiscal responsibility, depending on the budget that year,” Groban said.
• American playwrights, recognizing that identity is more complicated and slippery than ideology, have been shedding fresh light on what it means to be an American. • Writers such as Young Jean Lee, Tarell Alvin McCraney, Quiara Alegría Hudes, Branden Jacobs-Jenkins, Jeremy O. Harris, Ayad Akhtar, and Bess Wohl have been creating drama from the multidimensional, intersectional realities of characters whose backgrounds refuse to be compartmentalized into a single category.
The American democratic experiment stands on shaky ground. Not since the Civil War have these proverbially United States been so disunited. As the nation throws itself a grand old 250th birthday bash in Washington, the mood in much of the country is more funereal than festive.
All-out partisan warfare has sown chaos. Republican legislators, taking their lead from a president who sees half the nation as his personal enemy, have put their own party’s interests over the republic’s. Staying in office has become the only thing that matters. The values imparted to me throughout my public school education — equal opportunity, impartial justice, respect for expertise, basic honesty — have been abandoned by a new breed of politician that has turned governance itself into a blood sport.
Where can one turn for reassurance that America’s best years are still ahead? Would you believe me if I said the theater? I’m not toeing the line for my field. I’m merely calling attention to a development that’s been gaining strength since I first reported on it in 2015. A cohort of playwrights, breathtakingly diverse demographically as well as aesthetically, has been rejuvenating American theater.
These writers aren’t on a sociological mission. They’re not trafficking in grievance or appealing to a particular political base. They let their plays do the talking. And they’ve been trying to have a conversation that isn’t hijacked by the most doctrinaire voices in the room.
From an institutional perspective, the American theater is in bad shape. The triple whammy of the COVID-19 closures, inflation and technological disruption has left everyone hurting. The Mark Taper Forum had to suspend programming for more than a year, smaller companies still in operation are producing fewer shows, and producers everywhere are gravitating toward the bankably familiar.
But despite this difficult terrain, it has been a boom time for American playwriting. For more than a decade, I’ve been teaching a course at the California Institute of the Arts called American Drama Now, and each year the selection of plays has become harder to whittle down. I designed the seminar partly around theater offerings in Los Angeles to connect students to recent developments in the field and to consolidate awareness that something special is happening in the American theater.
The current generation of playwrights has revealed itself to be remarkably resilient and independent. It has had no other choice. By the time many of these rising talents were accruing debt in graduate writing programs, the dream of a sustainable career in the nonprofit theater had already gasped its last breath.
When Wendy Wasserstein, Tony Kushner,Craig Lucas and Jon Robin Baitz emerged in the late 1970s and ’80s, it was still imaginable that a chosen few playwrights could make a living via the regional theater circuit, that constellation of companies founded as an alternative to the Broadway model.
That prospect was growing dimmer a few years later when playwrights such as Suzan-Lori Parks and Lynn Nottage came into prominence. But hope was still alive in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Regional theaters such as Seattle Rep, the Guthrie, the Goodman and Baltimore Center Stage remained committed to their missions while New York nonprofit companies continued to hold the line off-Broadway.
When did the picture change? In 2009, “Outrageous Fortune: The Life and Times of the New American Play” was published by the Theatre Development Fund, and one of the key findings in this study written by Todd London with Ben Pesner and Zannie Giraud Voss is that “there is no way to view playwriting as anything but a profession without an economic base.” A chasm had opened between the network of increasingly corporate-minded nonprofit theaters and the artists this system was built to serve.
The situation has grown bleaker in the last decade and a half as commercial pressures have ramped up and media consolidation and digital shortsightedness have obliterated arts coverage. Yet there’s been an unexpected upside. Theater artists who have come of age in this period have been released from the burden of having to conform to notions of regional theater respectability.
Instead of worrying about the timid taste of subscription audiences, these dramatists have been writing for themselves and their communities, dreaming up plays that don’t have to fit into institutional slots or stay within the staid bounds of traditional proscenium house decorum. The irony is that in not trying to pass muster with more conservative theatergoers (and their fastidious institutional guardians), playwrights have been winning over not just critics but also formerly squeamish artistic directors and perennially nervous Broadway producers.
The politics of identity for them is a lived experience. And as dramatists, they’re uniquely positioned to appreciate the conflicted loyalties and communal tensions of American life in dramatic rather than dogmatic terms. Whatever agendas they may personally espouse, these writers are too alert to the messiness of history and human nature to be rigidly ideological in their work.
The ongoing war between woke and anti-woke factions is a fatuous melodrama best left to the satirists. The goal of playwrights grappling seriously with what it means to be an American today isn’t to score social media points but to shed light on the fractured reality of our collective experience.
Characters in plays by Young Jean Lee, such as “Straight White Men,” are often “trying on masks to see what might prove effective in a given situation.”
(Lawrence K. Ho / Los Angeles Times)
Identity is not a fixed fact but a raucous collision of parts. No single category can contain the Whitmanesque multitudes jockeying for position inside us. Race, religion, ethnicity, gender, age, sexuality, class, disability and geography don’t line up in perfect political harmony, and each social marker tells only a fraction of the whole story. (Money, the great unequalizer, may be the most taboo subject of all.) “We are not only but also,” the sociologist and cultural historian Todd Gitlin wrote in his 1995 book “The Twilight of Common Dreams: Why America Is Wracked by Culture Wars.” We also overlap and often even clash with ourselves.
Discussion around identity can be dangerous. How can anyone be expected to navigate the minefield? Tribalists and traditionalists have controlled the terms of the battle, one by simplifying, the other by denying, the way privilege has shaped our compound selves.
Playwrights know better. They understand the way oppression, which falls disproportionately on the marginalized, has warped all of us. History, whether acknowledged or not, is etched in our souls.
It is a long-held tenet of the theater that the most interesting characters, like the most interesting people, are defined by their schisms and paradoxes. (How else could Hamlet have maintained his centuries-long hold?) Dramatists are more cognizant than ever of the sociopolitical import of these contradictions and they’ve been chronicling the way this historically freighted baggage emerges in the drama of everyday life.
All the world is indeed a stage and all its inhabitants merely stock players, as Jaques lays out in “As You Like It.” Hegel described Shakespeare’s characters as “free artists of their own selves.” The truth where we and our contemporary stage surrogates are concerned is somewhat more constrained. Culture and representation largely determine the range of our performance possibilities.
Plays such as Branden Jacobs-Jenkins’ “Appropriate” reexamine “the canon of great American family dramas … to uncover the stories that have been suppressed.”
(Craig Schwartz)
Jacobs-Jenkins has recognized perhaps more acutely than any of his peers the way dramatic forms have locked us into set scripts about our lives. He tackles genres — adapting a Dion Boucicault melodrama in “An Octoroon,” reexamining the canon of great American family dramas in “Appropriate” — to uncover the stories that have been suppressed in the dominant white middle-class narratives that would prefer not to think of themselves as political.
Lee’s standout identity plays — “Straight White Men,” “The Shipment” and “Songs of the Dragons Flying to Heaven” — reject the illusion of stable, coherent characters propagated by psychological realism. The figures in her uncategorizable works are in experimental flux, trying on masks to see what might prove effective in a given situation. Even “Straight White Men,” which uses the old home-for-the-holidays genre as a springboard, can’t help spinning away from the drama’s droll hyper-naturalism toward something resembling performance art. (Not even straight, white men want to be confined to a box, even a relatively plush one.)
“Fairview,” by Jackie Sibblies Drury, “theatricalizes the experience of the white gaze.”
(Jeff Lorch)
In “Fairview,” Jackie Sibblies Drury theatricalizes the experience of the white gaze, ultimately reversing the comfortable position white theater audiences have traditionally held. Bess Wohl’s “Liberation,” this year’s most decorated play, reanimates the history of the 1970s feminist movement by questioning what it could be leaving out of the picture. “The Balusters,” by David Lindsay-Abaire, brings the current culture wars to the stage with unique sensitivity through the squabbles of a neighborhood association torn between protecting its town’s heritage status and coming to terms with the more pluralistic demands of the 21st century.
“Fairview,” “Liberation,” and “The Balusters” are extremely funny plays that also happen to be deadly serious. If philosophy begins in wonder, trenchant social drama seems to start in laughter.
What do theatergoers want? They don’t just want to look; they also want to be seen. Isn’t that what any of us wants when gazing into the mirror held up to nature, as Hamlet describes the theater? To be granted a more expansive view of ourselves and others?
E pluribus unum, the motto of the United States, is so fundamental that it’s printed on our currency. There’s perhaps no place where the truth of this phrase — out of many, one — is more regularly realized than at the theater, where strangers transform over the course of a show into that mysterious organism we call an audience.
Gitlin ends “The Twilight of Common Dreams” with a plea: “For too long, Americans have busied themselves digging trenches to fortify their cultural borders, lining their trenches with insulation. Enough bunkers! Enough of the perfection of differences! We ought to be building bridges.”
A coalition mindset doesn’t mean denying history or pretending that America has been a level playing field. It’s been anything but in this “melting pot where nothing melted,” to quote the rabbi whose eulogy sets Kushner’s “Angels in America” in motion. But history happens to all of us, not just a select few. And to be an American is to be embroiled in the great democratic experiment that has been defined by division from the beginning. Empathy, the nuclear fusion of playwriting, is expanded when we’re allowed to take in more of our patchwork selves. Today’s dramatists have been extending a generous invitation to their compatriots: We’ll show you our complexity, if you’ll show us yours.
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Eddie Huang has never felt lighter. Last month, after his debut novel, “Come Undone,” finally released, something shifted.
“I have a family. I feel healed,” he said over coffee and short ribs in Santa Monica hours ahead of a live talk with Ottessa Moshfegh, the bestselling, critically acclaimed author of Huang’s favorite book, “My Year of Rest and Relaxation.”
“People always write me off as a personality or a multi-hyphenate,” he said. “It’s a nice way of saying I’m not really good at anything. But I didn’t have any of that this time.” He leaned forward, serious. “I have to be honest. I do think the Knicks are a big, big part of it.”
His beloved Knicks winning the championship, he said, kept him from spiraling over the book. In person, Huang subdues his ironic braggadocio with polite eye contact and rolling belly laughs at his own jokes. For years, audiences have watched Huang resist whatever box you put him in. His particular brand of cultural fluency — a rapid-fire mix of food, fashion, basketball, politics and pop culture — is what made the “Gua Bao Bad Boy” impossible to categorize.
For most of his career, Huang has seemed constitutionally incapable of standing still. Chef. Memoirist. TV host. Filmmaker. Lawyer. Comic. Podcaster. His first book, “Fresh Off the Boat,” became the longest-running network sitcom centered on an Asian American family, even as Huang publicly distanced himself from the show. Since leaving post-fires L.A. for New York, he’s reopened Baohaus — returning to the kitchen that built his career. Waiting for him at home after the book tour is his wife, Natashia Perrotti, and their 2-year-old son.
Now there’s “Come Undone,” fiction that Huang called his most honest — and vulnerable — work to date.
“It’s sort of this next-gen auto fiction type thing that is creating its own rules,” Moshfegh said ahead of their Q-and-A. “It made me think about my own appreciation for the experience of male heterosexuality and how much it’s been commodified.”
The book follows Hubie, a globe-trotting food-show host drifting through Chateau Marmont, Madeo, Nobu and other “dirtbag L.A” (as Huang coins) spots. He meets Janine, his equal in appetite and id, sending him into a tailspin of yearning and loops of Sky Ferreira’s “Everything Is Embarrassing” on sadboi walks. The “two walking red flags” decide to try to make it work.
Huang called the novel an “autofictional riddle.” The puzzle isn’t especially difficult if you’ve followed his relationship with Perrotti, who co-hosts their podcast, “Canal Street Dreams.” Marrying a writer, she’s learned, often means finding out what he feels by reading it. “We’ll get into a fight,” she said, “and I’ll wake up to a Substack article about it.”
It’s also part of the private life she’s since conceded. “It’s annoying,” she added. “But now I can read it, and maybe understand him a little bit better. He’s trying to communicate through the writing, like sending somebody a song and saying, ‘I want you to listen to these lyrics.’”
The novel goes further, drawing from experiences the couple has never discussed publicly. In the novel, Hubie and Janine’s relationship pivots after an ectopic pregnancy ends in loss. Perrotti said the scene is fictionalized but mirrors a similar experience they had early in their own relationship.
“It brought us closer together,” she said. “It was the catalyst for us realizing we were serious.”
Before Huang could finish the book, the life he was writing about had to fall apart. “This book was very much about breaking up with your family to start your own,” he said. “There was a lot of anger in the book that had not been resolved.”
By the end of 2024, Huang had stopped speaking to his mother. The break followed what he described as a blowup at a Cheesecake Factory. It also unlocked the ending he’d been chasing.
Eddie Huang.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
Looking back, Huang thinks the earlier versions failed because he was still arguing with her. He’s still trying, in some way, to communicate with her through his writing. “If there’s one person I wish would read the book,” he said, “it would be my mom.”
There were other chapters he had to close the book on, mainly Hollywood. His foray into fiction coincided with the writers’ strike, drying up all his income and future projects. That same year, he became a father. “I had to accept and realize that my value was not in making money,” he said. “Because for three years, I couldn’t.”
He recalled a particular low point researching life insurance policies. “I had to rebuild my whole self. Really love myself despite not being able to offer anybody anything.”
That new certainty didn’t make Huang any less willing to pick fights. Last year, as his documentary “Vice Is Broke” — an autopsy of the media company behind “Huang’s World” and its eventual bankruptcy — awaited release, Huang said distributor Mubi shelved the film after he boycotted the company over Sequoia Capital’s investment in an Israeli defense technology startup. (Mubi denied this and said it still planned to distribute the film.)
The ghost of Vice still lingers in today’s media ecosystem in what he called our “era of cartel journalism:” creators navigating a world of blurred incentives and corporate interests. He traced this instinct to challenge those systems back to Socrates’ “gadfly” — the person whose job was to annoy power. “As a writer, you should be challenging people,” he said. “If your memoir can be turned into a sitcom, it probably wasn’t challenging.”
Eddie Huang.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
After the 2025 L.A. fires drove his new family back to New York, Huang went back to cooking. He worked pop-ups, reopened Baohaus and found himself alongside line cooks half his age. In March 2025, he rewrote the novel in five days. That same month “was the first month I didn’t overdraft my credit card,” he said, with the majority of his income today coming from the restaurant. It’s allowed him to make films, write books and walk away from deals he doesn’t believe in. “Being a chef is the anchor that allows me to maintain my artistic integrity.”
For years, comparisons to Anthony Bourdain followed Huang everywhere. The two eventually became friends.
“He was one of the few people who was as advertised,” Huang said. “Nicer and more generous in person. And wounded.”
Bourdain is the only real person who appears in “Come Undone” under his own name.
When Huang mentions him, he stops talking. He covers his face. Tears come.
“I don’t believe in God,” he said, “but I asked the universe why for many, many years.”
Bourdain’s suicide, he said, was one of the reasons he walked away from “Huang’s World” in 2018. At the time, few people understood why. “It was Tony. It was family. It was everything.”
Eddie Huang.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
Now, looking back, Huang thinks he was writing “Come Undone” toward a different ending than the one he’d imagined.
“This book is a guy saying, ‘I don’t want to be like my biological father,’” he said. “And, in the most respectful, loving way, I don’t want to go out like Tony.”
He paused. “I needed to name the sadness in me. I needed to allow myself to be loved.”
Huang is already writing another memoir about getting back into the kitchen. Still, he said, these days, he’d rather write fiction.
Rudi, an L.A. native, is a freelance art and culture writer. She’s at work on her debut novel about a stuttering student journalist.
Beaches in the UK are set to be busier than ever during the summer months, but there’s one hidden gem without any crowds that has unspoilt golden sand and pristine blue waters
This beautiful beach in the UK is by far my favourite, and it never gets busy(Image: Getty Images)
Beaches can become overwhelmed with holidaymakers, particularly during the summer months, but there’s one hidden gem boasting golden sands that I return to time and again.
The sight of densely packed umbrellas, desperately searching for somewhere to settle down for the day, weaving through swimmers while drifting on a lilo and fighting over the last Cornetto at the ice cream stand, is hardly what you’d call a relaxing day in the sunshine. And with the UK basking in balmy temperatures, British beaches are anticipated to be more crowded than ever.
To be fair, you can hardly blame anyone for descending on their nearest stretch of coastline when the UK is blessed with glorious sunshine. After all, there’s nothing quite as refreshing as a dip in the rolling waves with a gentle sea breeze on your face.
Yet there are plenty of alternatives, well away from the heaving masses. So, for that perfect coastal day out, there’s one breathtaking shoreline in Wales that I cannot recommend highly enough.
Tucked away on the south-western tip of the Pembrokeshire coast in West Wales lies the spectacular Marloes Sands Beach. Just a 30-minute drive from the town of Haverfordwest and sitting on the boundary of the Pembrokeshire Coast National Park, you’ll be welcomed by miles of unspoilt golden sand and inviting blue waters set against dramatic, rugged landscapes.
Framed by towering coastal cliffs with unique rock formations, it not only offers a stunning backdrop for a seaside outing but also keeps it somewhat under the radar. So for my family and me, who visit regularly, we’re treated to plenty of room and expanses of golden sand.
We’ve never had to battle for that coveted patch on the beach or fretted about accidentally splashing into someone in the crystal-clear waters — it truly is a haven away from the crowds. What’s more, dogs are permitted on the beach throughout the year, so they’re free to race about, plunge into the surf and dig for gold until their hearts’ content.
And that’s not all. Marloes Beach has even been graced by Hollywood, as scenes from the film ‘Snow White and the Huntsman’, starring Kristen Stewart and Charlize Theron, were filmed there in September 2011.
Yet with any hidden gem destinations, there can be drawbacks.
There are no amenities on the beach, so you’ll need to come prepared and bring your own provisions. The walk down can also be somewhat demanding.
I mean, I’ve always relished the 0.5-mile winding path down from the National Trust car park, passing through meadow fields, but understandably, when you’ve got children and picnic hampers in tow, it’s more of an ordeal. But after the trek down, armed with a sun umbrella and bodyboard, it’s absolutely worth it for a day on this pristine stretch of coastline.
What’s more, on your way back up, you can treat yourself to an ice cream from the van that’s occasionally parked close by, or just a short distance from the car park, there’s the café, Runwayskiln, serving up sweet treats and chilled drinks.
Just make sure to plan your visit and check the tide times beforehand. At high tide, sections of the beach can become cut off, so provided you plan ahead and keep track of the time, you’ll be basking in the sunshine in your own little slice of paradise.
Do you have a travel story to share? Email webtravel@reachplc.com
We made it. With just days left in Phase I voting, this week marks the last issue of The Envelope, and the last edition of this letter from the editor, until we return with a crop of newly minted Emmy nominees in August.
How do “Industry” stars Myha’la and Marisa Abela want the series to end? Let’s just say they are as unsentimental about their characters as series creators Mickey Down and Konrad Kay.
“I want there to be a huge statue of Harper Stern in front of J.P. Morgan,” Myha’la says of her hard-charging trader. “And a bird s— on her arm.”
“In her mouth,” interjects Abela, who plays Harper’s No. 1 frenemy Yasmin Kara-Hanani.
After the laughter ringing through the room subsides, though, Abela does allow for a moment of reverence — for the HBO drama if not for the disreputable people who populate it. “I don’t know if I need Yasmin to be happy at the end of it,” the actor says, reflecting on her character’s emergence as a Ghislaine Maxwell type in the Season 4 finale. “I know I want it to feel worthy of everything that has come before… What I love about the show is that [the writers] don’t often backtrack. You commit to something and then you have to live with the f— fallout. Which is savage.”
Though he joined The Envelope’s 2026 Emmy Writers Roundtable to discuss the return of another beloved comedy, “The Comeback,” we couldn’t resist asking Michael Patrick King about the intense fan reactions to his “Sex and the City” revival “And Just Like That…”
“What happened was, it was really well made, but it wasn’t their Carrie,” he said. “Even though you stand behind it, you go, ‘Wow, that’s a surprise. I thought that they would be interested in 57-year-old women who still hadn’t figured everything out. And instead they wanted them to be 35 and still allowed to be lost.’”
For more juicy tidbits from the minds of of TV’s top writers, be sure to check out the full conversation, which also included Megan Gallagher (“All Her Fault”), Jonathan Glatzer (“The Audacity”), Andrew Guest (“Wonder Man”), Bruce Miller (“The Testaments”) and Sonja Warfield (“The Gilded Age”).
How Connor Hines won over Ryan Murphy
Writer Connor Hines, who translated the real-life relationship between JFK Jr. and Carolyn Bessette into FX’s major hit “Love Story.”
(Evan Mulling / For The Times)
While our On Writing series of screenwriter essays are always revealing — about the inspiration behind a series, the process of adaptation or the making of a major plot turn, to name just a few — I don’t remember one as candid about the art of the pitch as Connor Hines’. In this week’s issue, the writer behind “Love Story: John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette” explains how he prepared to present his vision for the new anthology’s first season to one of TV’s most powerful producers, Ryan Murphy. As it turns out, landing the meeting is not the (only) hard part.
“I spent roughly three months in the trenches with [producers] Brad [Simpson] and Nina [Jacobson], deepening and refining my presentation [to Murphy] — one that I’d recite in the shower, on runs, at Trader Joe’s, while I drove,” Hines writes. “It was a crash course in storytelling, producing, and understanding the alchemy that propelled so many of Ryan’s shows into the zeitgeist.”
At the beginning of Mary H.K. Choi’s wildly entertaining presentation for her new novel “Pool House’” at Skylight Books, she reveals she won’t be reading.
“Readings are boring,” she says, tapping her Prada loafers. “It’s like you’re watching someone else play video games.”
Instead, she and Yasi Salek, host of the hit podcast “Bandsplain,” spend the evening riffing on literature, coolness, autism diagnoses and a literary perennial: unrelenting pain.
“How is your mother wound?” Salek asks in her signature vocal fry most often heard ad-libbing about the band Weezer. Salek reveals she is in Jungian therapy, adding, “What Carl says, goes.”
Throughout the discussion, Choi describes her novel as a challenging read — calling it a “gross, decaying meat soup.” She jokes that her career as an author feels like a “Make-A-Wish Foundation wish,” bewildered by any attention her work has garnered. Yet dozens of eager readers have packed into the independent bookstore, spilling into the aisles with copies of the novel balanced on their laps.
“Publishing is so slow, it’s like giving birth to a lawn chair,” Choi remarks. Later, she professes tedium with the resurgence of an alt-lit scene.
“Don’t you find that everyone has to be cool right now? Why is everyone so cool?” Choi asks Salek.
Let’s be clear: Salek and Choi are very cool. Salek sits cross-legged, dressed in all black, with a heart tattoo on her forearm that reads “books.” Before “Pool House,” Choi authored three New York Times bestselling novels. Salek recounts dropping out of her MFA program at Bennington College in 2020 to start what would become a cult-classic podcast.
Book-themed sugar cookies sold at a past Little Literary Fair at Hauser & Wirth.
(Francine Orr / Los Angeles Times)
“I love that you started a podcast instead of getting an MFA,” Choi replies.
Like Skylight Books, independent bookstores across Los Angeles have become gathering places for readers and writers alike. Authors ranging from household names to debut novelists regularly draw enthusiastic crowds. Increasingly, bookstores are functioning not only as retail spaces but as community hubs.
A few blocks from Echo Park Lake, local favorite A Good Used Book has transformed Sunday mornings into one of the neighborhood’s liveliest recurring gatherings. Visitors browse used books while enjoying charcoal portraits, handmade jewelry and Hawaiian shaved ice. Buy a book and you might even end up on the store’s coveted Instagram Story — the hottest plug in town.
“It feels like in a city as big as Los Angeles, books are still underrepresented. So there’s a lot of room to grow, and that’s exciting,” says Chris Capizzi, who founded the bookstore in 2017.
Earlier this month, the Los Angeles Review of Books hosted its annual Little Literary Fair at SCI-Arc, drawing hundreds to literary panels and workshops on zine-making, publishing and finding an agent. Vendors from across California filled the space, representing independent presses, bookstores and literary magazines.
“I find writers based [in the L.A. area] to be socially incisive in equal measure as being experimental, innovative and just fun,” says Emily VanKoughnett, the events director at the Los Angeles Review of Books. “I love the L.A. lit scene because it invites people to explore pockets of the city and connect over writing.”
This summer, literary events across Los Angeles are continuing to draw readers into bookstores, community spaces and alternative venues alike. The city’s literary scene remains as weird, profane and sentimental as ever.
In this week’s episode of The Envelope podcast, Rachel Sennott discusses finding the voice of “I Love L.A.” — and finding her footing as series creator — during a tumultuous time in her life.
Kelvin Washington: Welcome to The Envelope, Kelvin Washington alongside you know who, Yvonne Villarreal, Mark Olsen. Always great to have you two here and spend some time with you. We talked about it earlier, we had Emmy season — a few weeks ago we discussed it. But now Emmy nominations are on the way. Yvonne, I’ll start with you, just maybe someone, a show, a couple of things you’re looking at saying, “Hey, I would love to see this or that person nominated.”
Yvonne Villarreal: I wanna give some shout-outs to the women right now. I was really frustrated when Rhea Seehorn didn’t get love until the final season of “Better Call Saul,” and I’m hoping — and I do have a lot of hope — that she will be recognized for “Pluribus.” [I] was a really big fan of “The Comeback” this season. I would like to [see] Lisa Kudrow get in there. Show-wise, I would like to see “The Testaments” in there. I don’t know how much of a dark horse that one is, but that’s my pick for show.
Washington: You’ve been riding “The Testaments.” What about you, Mark?
Olsen: I’m sort of leapfrogging over nominations, and I’m just thinking about what would be exciting on the show. And last year, I remember Stephen Colbert won for talk show kind of right after his show had been canceled, and that seemed like a very exciting moment. And so this year, with Jimmy Kimmel, where this is the first Emmy cycle since he had his suspension last year, and really has been in the news, I just think if he were to be nominated and then to win, that just would be such an exciting moment at the show. What’s he gonna say? I just would really love to see that.
Washington: Yeah, he seems like he would have some things to say, right? Because just kind of the nature of who he is. We’ll have to wait and see. And just for me, a couple of people. Just a fan of this particular person, Janelle James is hilarious to me. She plays in “Abbott Elementary.” She plays that role great. And then this one is no real surprise, probably 50-plus-year career, but Martin Short. Every time I see him, he’s amazing, steals the scene. So those are folks that just jump off on the radar for me.
All right, I’ll get to you, Mark. You had a chance to sit down with Rachel Sennott of “I Love L.A.,” creator and star of it. Tell me a little bit more about that.
Olsen: She’s been kind of a real, like, bright light on the comedy scene for the last few years in films like “Shiva Baby,” “Bodies Bodies Bodies” and “Bottoms,” and, you know, she also was like a writer as well as a performer. And so with “I Love L.A.,” which is a look at sort of like the young creative class in Los Angeles, she is the star of the show, she created the show, she writes on the show, she’s executive producer, she actually made her directing debut with one of the episodes. And so it’s just exciting to see her sort of really like come into her voice and come into her own with this new show.
Washington: Kind of reminds me a little bit of, you know, now maybe a decade ago Issa Rae’s surge in L.A. and comedy creating, and then Riz Ahmed, who you spoke with last week — same thing creating and starring and stuff. Seems like that’s the energy [we’re] getting from a lot of the young talent. Well, here is Mark and Rachel now.
Rachel Sennott, creator and star of HBO’s “I Love L.A.”
(Evan Mulling / For The Times)
Mark Olsen: We’re here with Rachel Sennott, creator, executive producer, writer, star, and for the first time, director on the show “I Love L.A.,” as well as co-creator and writer on “Big Mistakes.” That’s a lot.
Rachel Sennott: When you say it like that, I’m like, “Oh, my God.” And I’m also a friend, daughter, let’s not forget girlfriend. Yeah, those are all things that I am doing. And I am so grateful and having so much fun doing that.
Olsen: Hopefully this isn’t something that just I get a kick out of, but we’re here at the L.A. Times offices in El Segundo, and the Randy Newman song “I Love L.A.,” one of the first lines in the song is “Rolling down the Imperial Highway.” And we are in fact on Imperial Highway.
Sennott: We’re here right now. We’re living it.
Olsen: Tell me about the title of the show, its relationship to the song and what was it that you liked about having the show called “I Love L.A.”
Sennott: We were between two titles for a while, “I Love L.A.” and “Climbers,” and the reason we went with “I Love L.A.” is because in the process of making the show, I moved here from New York and I had a hard time when I was first here. And in the process of filming the pilot, I really fell in love with L.A., and I think getting to make something here, I all of a sudden saw L.A. through this lens where everything was like a movie. I would go on my walks that I usually go on. I would walk through my neighborhood, I would go to my spots, and I just saw it through this different lens, and I was really falling in love with it in the process of making the show. And I think with “Climbers,” that title fell a little bit — it was a double meaning of like social climbers and then also, being the age that I am, where I feel like ever since I got to college, ever since I became an adult, there’s been this chaotic energy in the world and uncertain ground where things never felt expected. It was always unexpected events. Graduating into COVID and then there was a strike and everything. So I feel like Sisyphus, where you’re always pushing the rock up the hill and it’s never enough. But we were worried that “Climbers” would seem too negative … We didn’t want to set people up already judging the characters.
Olsen: And then what has it been like for you learning to be a showrunner in making “I Love L.A.”? It’s funny, your co-showrunner Emma Barrie, she mentioned how you were very organized, but she was struck that you had everything in a pink binder with horses on it. So it was you trying to learn this new thing while also holding on to your essence.
Sennott: I feel so grateful for everyone who works on the show with me. I learned a lot from Emma. I learned from Lorene [Scafaria], who inspired me so much as a director. Aida [Rodgers], our producer, Amy [Gravitt] and Allie [Wasserman] at HBO; Max [Silvestri], who’s one of our EPs and writers. Showrunning is a million different jobs, and some of the jobs I’d done before, some of them I hadn’t, and I felt like I got to see different people shine in certain things, people who are more talented or more skilled at structure than me, people who have directed before, people who understand shots and basically learn from everyone and see that everyone wants the show to be the best it can be. They’re bringing stuff to the table. And so I benefited from everyone else’s skills and talents and just being like, “If you know how to do this better than me, I’m gonna learn from you and watch you and hopefully take from that so I can do my job better.”
Olsen: In a lot of the press as you’ve been talking about the show, you’ve been talking a lot about the concept of the Saturn return and this sort of chaotic period people have in their late 20s. You yourself now are 30 —
Sennott: Yes, I made it. I literally just finished. I was relieved, but my Saturn return was the process, getting the show picked up and the first season of the show. That was my Saturn return.
Olsen: Can you already feel that something has settled or things are different somehow?
Sennott: Yes, a thousand percent. My Saturn return, the dates that it was the strongest were the month around when the show got picked up. Making the pilot was so amazing and I learned so much. And then I was in this moment where I had to pick — basically, I couldn’t take on acting jobs because I was gonna hopefully do the show, but I didn’t know if the show was picked up yet or not. And so I had to say no to certain things and kind of take this leap. At the same time I went through a breakup, and then I got arrested for having CBD in the Cayman Islands. And it was just a very chaotic month of my life where I was like in jail for six hours on a break with my boyfriend, so he, like, had no idea where I was, and I was like, I don’t even know if I have a show, I just said no to this other thing. I just felt like I didn’t know what was happening. I’m someone who it’s hard for me to take risks sometimes, and that was a big risk and leap into what I thought I should be doing. And then the rest of it was learning for the first season how to do a job I’d never done before. Obviously, I still have more to learn, but I think that was a big Saturn return for me, the roller coaster of it.
Olsen: It’s so interesting to hear you say that you think of yourself as a person who’s afraid of risk, because that’s not my impression of you.
Sennott: You’re like, “Stop taking risks. Chill on the risks, every second.” No, I think it’s more [that] I didn’t necessarily believe in myself as a creator on my own, and that was really scary for me. That was the risk, I think.
Olsen: Because especially in building up to making “I Love L.A.,” in your career, I feel like you’ve created this comedic persona for yourself. What is the biggest distinction between the Rachel I think I know and like the actual you?
Sennott: You mean the characters that I play? Or like the persona?
Olsen: These sort of hard-charging, very ambitious, but maybe not always understanding of themselves characters, and you. I’m just interested in how you see the distinction between that persona and the actual you.
Sennott: Well, I hope that the characters that I’ve played have been somewhat different from each other. I think “Shiva Baby,” that character, was a little bit more anxiety-inward. Alice in “Bodies” was way more outward and kind of no filter, said every inside thought. Maia on “I Love L.A.,” I think, is kind of bitter in the beginning of the first season and is pinning her failures, blaming them, on her friend. All of those characters, I always draw on some element of myself. I think all actors, you have to find some connection to the character. But I think I’m hopefully more grounded and balanced and mature than the character. I hope.
Olsen: You’ve talked about how “I Love L.A.” really explores the foibles and challenges that people have leading these very, like, online lives and the way that people nowadays are really sort of tethered to their phones all the time. Is that something that you feel like you grapple with yourself? Is it something you yourself have had to kind of get over?
Sennott: I would say I started my career on the internet, and I grew up on the internet, and basically, I created a different sort of persona on the internet that was based in truth of a time when I was in my early 20s in New York, and it was a lot more messy and a little chaotic, and I was just going through things in my life at that time [that inspired] — I say “writing,” but like the tweets, the jokes, the videos, whatever, that were coming out of me. And then I felt I changed, but I still wanted to kind of project that character. And so I actually ended up putting that character into Tallulah [played by Odessa A’zion]. And I think Maia was a little bit more the version of myself when I first moved to L.A. and I felt isolated and it was during COVID, and I felt I was kind of gripping onto my friends in a codependent way. And so I think the show is sort of dealing with, whether or not you’re an influencer or person online, anyone who’s grown up on the internet is projecting some sort of version of themselves. So I think it was that I was trying to explore.
Olsen: You mentioned that the character of Tallulah is this version of you that you used to be. So what was it like for you creating this character that was almost like your id unleashed?
Sennott: It felt like I was separating myself from her. At first, [it] maybe could have felt like a caricature. And then when we cast Odessa, who is so talented and just, as an actor, she has such depth and range, and I think she asked questions and brought so much to it. Then it actually made me sever myself from the character, and the character became its own thing that she brought to life.
Olsen: Your character, Maia, in some ways is the audience surrogate, she’s kind of the most “normal” character on the show. And considering that in “Bottoms” or “Bodies Bodies Bodies” you often were the outrageous character, what has it been like for you to play this character that’s a little more self-contained?
Sennott: It’s been fun. I think we sort of found her during the first season. I feel that Episodes 6 through 8 are really where the show finds its footing and where we find what’s the comedy of Maia. It takes a little for her to kind of crack open, what’s funny about her as a character, but also I think Tallulah is almost like an agent of change for her — Maia was set in her ways and sort of struggling and depressed, and I think Tallulah puts her on track, and she’s going through her Saturn return and all that stuff. And so I think we get to see at the end of the season and just having been writing Season 2, I think that we get see her do a lot more fun stuff.
Olsen: It’s funny, as viewers, a lot of times people say, “Oh, you know, there’s this show you should watch, it really gets going on like Episode 3” or whatever. And I don’t think I’ve ever heard a creator say before, like, “Oh, 6, 7, and 8, we figured it out.” Do you feel you knew that in the moment, or has that only come to you as you’ve been working on Season 2?
Sennott: I think as we were editing the first season. Tone is something that you can say, like, “We want it to be like, this needs this, and it’s that and that and the tone of that.” But tone is what you find in the edit. I think you shoot different versions of a line, of a scene, and then you piece it together. And I think for me, that’s when I felt like, “This is the tone of the show. This is the world of the show.” And in writing Season 2 as well, just living more in that world.
Olsen: You kind of touched on this, but the characters on the show, they kind of skirt this line between being endearing and annoying. What is it that you like about that?
Sennott: Because I think that’s how people are. I am not interested in seeing perfect people or people who are flawed in a way that’s not actually real. So I love all the characters. I think Alani [played by True Whitaker], for example, is someone where you could really easily be like, “Oh, a nepo baby, she’s so privileged, whatever.” I think she’s the character with the biggest heart. She’s the best friend out of the whole group. She cares for everyone. She’s so deeply sensitive. And she’s actually been through a lot of s— and she drops these little things, these clues where you’re like, “Gee, she went through something crazy but is choosing to look at life half-full,” and I think that’s fun. I like the characters who make you feel or expect something of them and then show you another side. Charlie [played by Jordan Firstman] I think does that as well, where you meet him and you think he’s a little acerbic, he’s a little judgmental, and then he goes through loss and grief when Lukas, spoilers, Lukas Landry dies, RIP Lukas. That’s really hard for him. I’ve been friends with Jordan for so long, and I love him so much. I think he’s so talented. But I think he showed a totally new side of himself with the character.
Olsen: I agree. I found those scenes very touching. There’s an emotion there that’s kind of unexpected. Another moment that I really like in the show is Odessa’s character, she wants to change a dinner reservation to five people at 8 o’clock. And then you have to spend hours trying to make that happen. And I really appreciated how it’s something that sounds like it should be simple, and for some people it’s no big deal. But then for other people, it’s the biggest hurdle imaginable. Did you like that the show explores this sort of proximity to ease? Sometimes you end up at this party in a big, big house, but it’s not your house. Was that something you wanted to explore about life in L.A.?
Sennott: Totally. There’s also something specific to L.A. and specific to the industry we’re exploring — which is the internet as opposed to Hollywood — that I would say is relatable to me, to anyone in their late 20s, early 30s. When you’re in your early 20s, everyone’s sort of grouped together or feels like they’re in the same bucket. It’s like, “Oh we’re all doing this same thing, we’re all roommates, we’re all in school together, we’re all whatever.” But people make decisions that you don’t even see. I feel like the first time I found out that one of my friends had a SEP IRA, I was like, “When did we all decide that we’re getting SEP IRAs?” And it was a friend who loves to party, and I was thrown. Now I’m panicking I didn’t do that. Or who’s getting in a serious relationship, whatever. People start making decisions in their late 20s, all of a sudden everyone’s off on different paths. It’s like, “Wait, you’re getting married, but you’re still partying the way that we did when we were in college.” This person is moving, this person is changing their career path. And so you all of a sudden feel a little bit betrayed or on your own, and it’s isolating, and that is something that, yes, we’re doing it through a specific lens of L.A. and this world and these characters, but I think it’s really relatable to people at that age.
Olsen: I’ve heard you describe yourself as a zillennial cusp.
Sennott: Yeah, I’m cusp, and I feel like I relate to a little bit of both.
Olsen: But do you feel a pressure for the show to feel like some sort of a generational statement, to capture these kind of big-picture things?
Sennott: No. Ayo [Edebiri] and I were texting each other because there’s always an article that’s like, “Turns out these b— are 30. Yeah. They’ve been lying the whole time. They said they’re Gen Z.” I’m like, “I didn’t say anything. I was born in ’95. I’m 30.” Call me what you want, but I was just writing to what I feel at the time. I think people who grew up on the internet in the way that I did will relate to it, but I think you can relate too if you’re older or you’re younger.
Olsen: As people are writing about the show, they very frequently are referencing “Girls,” “Insecure,” “Sex and the City.” But I’ve heard you reference “Entourage” quite a bit. Could you explain that?
Sennott: “Girls” and “Sex and the City” and “Insecure,” all of those shows, all HBO shows, are formative to me as an artist. I remember watching “Girls,” I was in high school and looking at colleges with my dad and we went and toured [New York University], and in the hotel room that night, he was like, “I heard so much about this new show, ‘Girls,’ we should watch it. And it was the episode with Patrick Wilson where they f— in his nice apartment the whole time, and we turned it on and my dad was like, “OK, you can watch this later on your own, this is for you.” And I remember going to bed being like, “I’ve gotta go to New York, like whoa, this is crazy.” I think naturally those were already gonna inspire me. “Entourage” and “Atlanta,” those were two references that I mentioned a lot when we were making the show. “Entourage” because I feel I got to come up in this industry with my friends, and when I’m with my friends I feel completely invincible, and so there was that aspect. It was like, “I wanna see ‘Entourage’ but from a different point of view and perspective and a slightly different industry.” And then “Atlanta,” there is already having a family relationship and friendship on top of managing. Like how [Earn] manages Paperboi. And then I think “Atlanta” did such a great job of capturing a city that has almost magical realism elements to it. And L.A., a lot of the time, there’s things that happen here that are crazy, that feel almost unreal, but they are real. So that was a big inspiration for the show as well. Like the opening of the show, sex during an earthquake. That’s happened to me, but it also feels a little ridiculous, but it happens in L.A.
Olsen: You mentioned earlier that in waiting for the show to come around, you felt you were having to turn things down or you were really having to sort of change your mindset in a way. Can you talk a little more about that? With the show “Big Mistakes” that you created with Dan Levy, is that one of the things that you had to step away from or readjust how you were gonna be involved because of the fact that you were going to have “I Love L.A.”?
Sennott: I was more talking about acting roles. When you step into a creator role, it’s a different mindset than acting jobs and you have to commit to a longer time period. When you’re just acting in things, you can pop in, pop out and you leave set and you’re like, “I love you guys so much. I’ll see you in a year at the premiere,” which is fabulous too — love doing that. But when you are creating something, you’re in it from beginning to end, and you really wanna give your all to it. So I think I was more talking about just, like, betting on myself as a creator, as opposed to just acting.
Olsen: And how has that felt now that you’re on the other side of it, with one season of “I Love L.A.” made? How do you feel about having made that decision, having bet on yourself like that?
Sennott: I think it’s changed me, in a way where I’m so happy I did it. And it’s sometimes harder and there’s more parts to it, but I feel more in myself creatively than I ever have before, I think.
Olsen: It changed you how?
Sennott: Just because you all of a sudden see all the different parts of the process of making something and all these different jobs that maybe I wasn’t as aware of before. And I think there’s also something beautiful about popping into something and acting and just being like, “I am present as my character. This is what I am thinking about. I’m thinking about what does the character want.” And that’s amazing too. But I feel so lucky to have been able to experience other parts of making something.
Olsen: What was it like learning how to switch hats, especially during production? I would imagine you have a producer brain, you have an actor brain, then for one episode you have a director brain.
Sennott: I had to like sort of take it day by day. There are days where it’s a lighter scene for me and I can be on the side approving locations, taking meetings during lunch. There was a day where I had two sex scenes, for Episodes 6 and 7. So we shot the end of 7, the fight scene with me and Josh [Hutcherson], and the sex scene where it’s Maia and Dylan but she’s fantasizing about Ben. It was a lot. And so I was like, to Emma and Max and Aida, “Let’s not do any other meetings today in the middle of the day,” and they were like, “Totally got you.” That day I was more focused. I really needed to be present in the scene and have this be my main focus. And then on a day where I’m shooting like, “you’re texting on your phone” and “you’re walking on your walking treadmill,” I can do other stuff. So I think it was just taking each day as it comes and having so much support from the rest of the team.
Olsen: It’s wild to think of just one day providing all this material for the show. Just a single day could be so pivotal.
Sennott: Yeah, totally. A lot can happen in a day and then other days you’re like, “I’m just opening doors.” You never know.
Olsen: How did you come to conceive of how you kind of wanted to depict the online world, how people text, whether they’re FaceTiming and things like that? The show obviously exists with that world, as part of it, but you didn’t spend a whole lot of time animating texts. How did you come to conceive of how to depict people’s online life?
Sennott: I wanted it to feel how it does in the real world, which is the internet is just a big part of everyone’s life, but people aren’t explaining it to each other all the time. So we wanted to have the internet feel like the real internet, but our own internet. We didn’t want to ever reference anything that would date us because the internet moves so fast. So, like, Coke Larry, for example, when Dylan gets made into a meme, whatever, that’s our own thing, but it moves the same way as the internet does. And we tried not to have too much phone screens, texting, whatever. Like for example you [just] see snippets of Tallulah making videos or posting or whatever. In “Entourage,” you don’t really see that much of Vince acting. You see all the stuff around it. So that was sort of our model for the show.
Olsen: You directed the final episode of the season. Do you expect to be directing more in Season 2?
Sennott: Yeah.
Olsen: And how did you find the experience? What did you like about it?
Sennott: I loved it. You’re just in every aspect of the process. You are thinking about everything, and it was so engaging and exciting, and afterwards I felt fried, and I like crawled onto the edit couch and I was like limp and it took a lot out of me. People describe it like giving birth. And then you’re like, “I gotta do it again.” So that’s kind of how I felt on the other end.
Olsen: Can you talk a little about that final episode? The show is called “I Love L.A.” You send the main characters to New York for the final episode, which has turned into kind of a controversial decision. A lot of people have talked about that. Can you talk just a little about deciding to end the season in New York?
Sennott: I think it was because it was sort of addressing the fact that these girls went to school in New York together. They lived in New York and they chose to move to L.A., and I think when you do that there’s always going to be the push and pull of the two cities, and going back to New York, it was almost like getting a chance to get back together with your ex and being like, “You know what, there’s a reason it didn’t work out.” And they end the episode with, “I miss L.A.” So I think that’s kind of what we were aiming to do.
Olsen: And then before we wrap up, I should be sure to ask, is there anything that you could tell us about Season 2? What can people look forward to?
Sennott: It’s sort of what we were talking about earlier, Episodes 6 through 8, I think, I just feel we’ve locked in to our tone, we get to see other sides of characters we haven’t before, we go deeper on certain characters. And I think there’s some fun stuff that we set up in the finale that we get to explore.
Hasley was a veteran TV writer who taught screenwriting classes at UCLA Extension. He was also a friend of Caitlyn Jenner and helped write the former athlete’s motivational book “Finding the Champion Within,” according to his biography.
The L.A. County medical examiner released Hasley’s identity Tuesday but had yet to rule on his cause of death.
More than two dozen personnel with the Los Angeles Fire Department responded to a report of a hiker in grave medical condition off Nichols Canyon Road near Hollywood Boulevard shortly before 7 p.m. Saturday.
A helicopter was used to reach the patient and allow paramedics to provide urgent medical care. They were unable to save him, and he was declared dead shortly after, according to the LAFD.
Hasley hailed from Pittsburgh and played university football before venturing to Hollywood to pursue his dreams as a writer. He wrote on 37 episodes of “The Smurfs” in the late 1980s and early ’90s as well as several episodes of “Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids,” according to IMDB. His TV writing credits also included “Swift Justice,” “Ghost Stories,” “Murder, She Wrote,” “Young Riders” and “Highway to Heaven.”
He was able to channel his love of sports while working with NBC on the network’s project “Star Salute to the U.S. Olympic Team,” where he met Olympic gold medalist Caitlyn Jenner, according to his professional biography.
The pair became friends, and Hasley went on to help write a book about Jenner’s philosophy on overcoming adversity in sports and life. He was commissioned to ghostwrite several other motivational books including “Passion, Profit, & Power” for hypnotist Marshall Sylver and “The Slight Edge” for self-help expert Jeff Olson.
Hasley loved sharing his passion for writing with students at UCLA and described the process of writing as akin to assembling a puzzle, where one tries many different combinations of pieces before finding the perfect fit, according to his teaching biography.
“I personally believe that when you know your characters well enough they will start dictating their actions,” he wrote. “When that happens writing becomes a euphoric experience.”
In addition to teaching and writing, he enjoyed golfing, horseback riding, fighting City Hall over an environmental issue, volunteering in soup kitchens and speaking to youth organizations, according to his bio.
Hasley was formerly married to actor Robin Riker, best known for her roles on “Brothers” and “The Bold and the Beautiful.”
He lived in the Hollywood Hills not far from where he suffered the medical emergency. A neighbor told the New York Post they had seen him earlier Saturday carrying groceries home. “It’s very sad he had to die all alone like that,” the neighbor said.
Times staff writer Sonja Sharp contributed to this report.
In the age of Ozempic, the buzziest hardcovers are getting smaller — and slip right into your Baggu. At Book Soup in West Hollywood, the bestselling hardcover fiction display is marked with laminated cards that denote the book’s place in the top 10, with each one cut snugly into the popular hardcover frame of 6-by-9 inches. But lately, more of the books rising to the top wear the placard noticeably looser.
I should know, I work at Book Soup so I spend a lot of time staring at this display and can tell you, the answer to this problem is definitely to print out smaller cards cut to the little sister “trim size” of 5-by-8 inches — or 5½-by-8¼ to be specific.
While the New York Times bestsellers from 2025 skew in favor of the 6-by-9 trim, the popularity of 5-by-8 books appears to be on the rise. Current utilizers of the smaller cut include the buzzy Vanderbilt heir Belle Burden’s “Strangers,” George Saunders’ darkly humorous “Vigil” Lena Dunham’s millennial-tinged tell-all “Famesick” and the infamously tablet-sized “Transcription” from Ben Lerner.
1/5
“Strangers: A Memoir of Marriage” by Belle Burden (The Dial Press)
2/5
“Famesick: A Memoir” by Lena Dunham (Random House)
3/5
“Vigil: A Novel” by George Saunders (Random House)
4/5
“Transcription: A Novel” by Ben Lerner (Farrar, Straus and Giroux)
5/5
“Lost Lambs” by author Madeline Cash (Farrar, Straus and Giroux)
Gretchen Achilles is the director of interior design at Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Achilles recently implemented the 5-by-8 cut for one of this year’s breakout hits, “Lost Lambs” by Madeline Cash. “It’s a tone,” she says. “Smaller trim sizes have an intimacy. … You want to echo what’s going on in the text as an experience for the reader.”
According to Achilles, FSG frequently implements the 5-by-8 trim size. She said that length is the No. 1 factor when deciding to employ it, followed by genre. She listed literary fiction, memoir, biography, and essay collections as the defining genres of the smaller size books.
Caroline Mason is a writer in New York whose debut novel “An Endless Cycle of Evenings” from Hyperion Avenue is slated for 2027; she runs the Instagram account @literarycrushes. Mason described a 5-by-8 hardcover as shorthand for a specific book she seeks out when she is in a bookstore because it often signals a character-driven novel. “It’s my favorite kind of book,” Mason says. She adds that it’s also Instagram-friendly.
“Holding the book up to take a photo of it is easier,” she says with a laugh. “Although I do sometimes still drop it.”
Dahlia de la Vega is an L.A.-based Bookstagrammer who runs the page @ofpagesandprint. According to De la Vega, she finds the shrunken books more approachable. “When I sit down to read a small hardcover, it almost feels like I’m reading a journal,” she says. “Whereas when I read a large hardcover, it almost feels like I need a journal to jot down notes about what’s happening.”
Ethan Mann, my colleague and a supervisor at Book Soup, told me he remembers the place he was both mentally and physically when he purchased a 5-by-8 hardcover copy of “The Parade” by Dave Eggers. (Right before the pandemic struck at CSUN campus store at Cal-State Northridge). “It’s easier to attach relevance to the specific feel of [the book] because it seems one of a kind,” he says.
Mann adds that hardcovers are sometimes a tough sell on the floor. They are often derided for their cost, and customers declare they will wait till the paperback comes out. But the smaller hardcover has the benefit of fitting into nearly any bag.
Esther Margolis is a publishing veteran and the founder of Newmarket Press. She says that the 5-by-8 hardcover is nothing new. According to Margolis, the smaller trim size was previously the industry standard for U.S.-based publishing houses, and any fluctuation is due to the evolution of printing technology.
“Unlike for mass-market paperbacks, hardcover books were shelved, so it didn’t matter that the books were different sizes,” Margolis says. “They didn’t have to fit into a pocket.”
The popularity of the 5-by-8 hardcover is, at the very least, indicative of a shift in what I witness consumers at Book Soup seeking out. With social media making it easier than ever to connect over the act of reading, or looking like you are reading, cover design and presentation — and how it cuts through the noise of the attention economy— is perhaps a factor too.
“A small hardback is like a Labubu,” my co-worker Mann says. “ The feeling in your hands isn’t just about books — it’s about all cute things. … We like small things we can control.”
The success of the publishing industry could never rest on the tiny shoulders of the small hardcover. It may not even represent any changes in production. But on the bestsellers display at your favorite local indie, it represents the small pleasure of palming a near-pocket-size book in your hands.
And, yes, maybe Instagrammability too.
Messinger is a writer in L.A. who runs the Substackadumbmessinger.
The union representing workers employed by the Writers Guild of America have reached an agreement on their first contract, ending a strike that lasted nearly three months.
The pending contract includes seniority and layoff protections, higher wages and outlines provisions for progressive discipline and a stepped grievance process, the Writers Guild Staff Union said in a statement Friday.
The union represents 116 members, who work in areas including legal, communications and residuals. They will vote on proposed contract in the coming days.
“Once ratified, the WGSU strike will end and Writers Guild staff will return to doing what we do best: defending the writers’ hard-fought gains and helping them build collective power,” the WGSU Bargaining Committee said in a statement.
WGA also said in a statement that they “are pleased to have reached a tentative agreement” with the union for its first collective bargaining agreement.
If ratified, members would see a minimum of 12% increases in pay for all Writers Guild staff over the course of the three year term. The salary floor would rise from $43,000 to $57,000. The staff would also see better protections against AI.
The strike began in February, weeks before the WGA was set to enter negotiations with the major studios, with the workers accusing their employer of bargaining in bad faith.
The co-creators of the new Prime Video series “Kevin” tried to make the show “as personal as possible,” says Joe Wengert, explaining that he and Aubrey Plaza looked back to the end of their relationship nearly two decades ago for inspiration. Then, Wengert says, they focused on “the emotional story and investing in the inner lives” of the main characters. (Plaza’s production partner, Dan Murphy, was a third co-creator.)
And, Plaza adds, they strived to give the show a real “groundedness” in its specific New York neighborhood — Astoria, Queens, where she and Wengert lived together — while also “infusing some of my film nerdiness and love of New York films.” There’s even a rooftop scene that’s a homage to Al Pacino’s first leading film role, in “The Panic in Needle Park.”
OK, so all of that’s totally true, but “Kevin” is mostly a silly, raunchy animated series with a star-studded comedy cast about talking animals and their escapades in a life generally free of human owners.
The show opens with a couple, Dan (Mike Mitchell) and Dana (Plaza), breaking up and their cat, Kevin (Jason Schwartzman), deciding he’s done with both humans and will find his own way in the world.
“Joe and I were talking and realized we both weirdly wanted to do a cat comedy, and he had this idea and I loved it,” Plaza says, explaining that when they broke up, Kevin and another cat, Howard, passively went with Wengert. (Howard died relatively young, but, spoiler alert, Plaza says a cat named Howard will make an appearance as a tribute.)
“Joe was then doing a lot of comedy about being a single guy with cats.”
Wengert, who serves as showrunner, says the breakup was “a significant moment in my life” and he wanted to explore that, but a sad man going off to reconnect with his friends was not as funny as this concept. “The idea of this just made us laugh,” he says.
The real Kevin was a homebody, not a cat who looked longingly out the window, Wengert says, adding that he always felt bad for Kevin: “You could have been with Aubrey Plaza but you’re stuck with me in my studio apartment.”
In the series, Kevin soon lands at an animal rescue where he falls in with Cupcake (Whoopi Goldberg), a self-declared feral cat with a kinky and rebellious side; Armando (John Waters), an aristocratic cat with a haughty attitude; Judy (Aparna Nancherla), a cat with gross eye infections who is way more upbeat and hopeful about the world than she should be; and a shrill and bossy dog named Brandi (Amy Sedaris), who runs the human Seth (Gil Ozeri) — ostensibly the operator of the shelter.
After his owners break up, Kevin decides to stay at an animal shelter, where he makes friends with a rag-tag group of cats, dogs and other animals.
(Courtesy of Prime)
“This idea of fending for yourself and trusting your instincts is part of checking off boxes to show you have lived a quote unquote real life,” says Schwartzman, briefly growing philosophical about what intrigued him about playing a neurotic cat.
The cats encounter plenty of other animals on their adventures, from a drunk spider to a deer that gets hit by a car and curses out the driver. “That made me laugh out loud,” says Plaza, who also voices numerous animals, including the spider and a pitbull love interest for Cupcake. “I’ve always wanted a love story with Whoopi Goldberg,” she adds.
(Wengert voices a parrot named Paco, among others, and says there’s talk of adding a tortoise.)
One secondary character is a horse named Patti Lupony, who, naturally, is voiced by Patti LuPone. She’s part of a stacked guest star roster that includes Addison Rae, Cary Elwes, Charles Melton, Nicole Byer, Jim O’Heir, Maria Bamford, Quinta Brunson and Tig Notaro. Many of the actors, including Schwartzman, Waters, LuPone and O’Heir, are Plaza’s friends.
“I like to do things that people don’t expect me to be in, and this is definitely one of them,” says Waters, adding that “Armando is not a real fan of humans, and as a human, I’m not a real fan of cats.”
Still, Waters, who prefers dogs, says he was easily able to get into Armando’s skin. “I’m a Method actor, so I was crawling around the floor,” he jokes, before adding, “If I was a cat, I would probably act like Armando.”
For what it’s worth, Schwartzman also owns dogs, though he’s quick to point out that growing up in Los Angeles, he volunteered at a cat shelter, and these days Plaza actually owns a dog, too. But as anyone who has seen her in “Parks and Recreation” or other roles would surmise, Plaza says, “I have cat-like tendencies and relate more to cats.”
Plaza and Wengert also incorporated the actors’ sensibilities and personalities.
“We would change things on the fly based on the actor’s input,” Wengert says.
Plaza says that Waters is known for being provocative and loves reading tabloids but that he asked to tone down Armando’s snide put-downs of celebrities. “I felt ill at ease about them,” Waters says. “I’ve gotten away with my career for 50 years because I’m not mean. My specialty is praising things other people hate, not the other way around.”
Wengert says the change “forced us to dig deeper and find something more unique in the character, so I’m happy that he asked us to make the change.”
(He adds that he expected Goldberg to object more “because we gave her so many outrageous lines” but she rarely did, except “to pitch something that was even funnier that worked better.”)
Plaza knew Kevin’s neuroses fit Schwartzman but also that he could bring his own touches while improvising. “He’s really funny about his own body,” she says. “We were hanging out once and he just said, ‘Feel this, my leg is really heavy.’ So we put that in for Kevin.”
Schwartzman says, seemingly seriously, “Wow, I don’t have a memory of that exact moment, but it is true that my leg does feel heavy.” And he adds that his friendship with Plaza enabled him to feel comfortable throwing out ideas during recording, adding that the improvising and tweaking went both ways, with the writers constantly adding new ideas. “It was a collaboration and an evolution,” he says.
The writers room is stacked with people who, like Plaza and Wengert, hail from the Upright Citizens Brigade improv world. (Wengert, who also imported writers he’d worked with on Netflix’s “Big Mouth,” was running the UCB school when they met.) “Our sense of humor is very aligned,” Plaza says.
While Plaza loves how “freeing” animation is — “your imagination can run totally wild” — she says that even though it’s out of character for her, she’d play the “bad cop” in the writers room. Wengert says one day she brought Schwartzman in and he and the writers pitched some wild ideas that made them say, “What the f— is going on.”
“We’re just building the world, so you need some rules, otherwise all the inanimate objects can start talking,” Plaza says. “When things started getting too crazy, I’d say, ‘Let’s rein it in.’”
The example Wengert gives is that they can briefly have a talking pizza slice (it is New York, after all) but they don’t want it to become close friends with Kevin in a major plotline.
But if they get to produce a second season — the scripts are already written — Plaza says the leash will get looser “and it will get more insane.”
Tens of thousands of readers of all ages, from toddlers clutching picture books to longtime fans carrying armfuls of paperbacks, fanned out across the USC campus Saturday for the opening day of the 31st Los Angeles Times Festival of Books, packing panels and lining up to see favorite authors and celebrity guests.
It was too early to know how many people attended the first day of the event, billed as the country’s largest literary festival, though organizers said they expect between 150,000 and 155,000 attendees over the weekend. By late morning, the campus was already bustling, with strong turnout expected for appearances by author T.C. Boyle and actors Sarah Jessica Parker and David Duchovny, among others.
Founded in 1996 and spread across eight outdoor stages and 12 indoor venues, the festival has become a fixture on Los Angeles’ cultural calendar, bringing together more than 550 storytellers for panels, author interviews, book signings, performances and screenings spanning a wide range of genres, from children’s story times to cooking demonstrations.
This year’s lineup features a broad mix of writers, performers and public figures, including comedian Larry David, musician Lionel Richie, multihyphenate businesswoman (and Beyoncé’s mother) Tina Knowles, author and social critic Roxane Gay and scholar Reza Aslan.
Under sunny skies, actor and reality TV personality Lisa Rinna brought humor and a bit of bite to a 10:30 a.m. conversation on the festival’s main stage. The “Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” alum released her second memoir, “You Better Believe I’m Gonna Talk About It,” in February, chronicling her time on the show and her recent turn on Season 4 of Peacock’s reality competition series “The Traitors.”
Reflecting on her approach to “Traitors,” Rinna said she wanted to strip away the conflict-driven persona she had cultivated on “Real Housewives” and present a more unfiltered version of herself. “I was like, ‘Self, listen. You’re gonna go in there and just be you. No housewife s—, none of that reactionary stuff.’ ”
In conversation with Times senior television writer Yvonne Villarreal, Rinna also spoke candidly about the loss of her mother, Lois Rinna, in 2021 and how her grief manifested in a feeling of rage while she was filming Season 12 of “Real Housewives.”
“It really took me by surprise,” she said. “And you have to give space for it because you can’t make it go away. … They always say time heals, but time makes everything just a little less intense.”
At a noon panel titled “Fire Escape: Wildfires and the Changing Geography of Southern California,” moderated by Times climate and energy reporter Blanca Begert, author and former wildland firefighter Jordan Thomas said the scale and frequency of California wildfires have shifted dramatically in recent decades.
“The vast majority of the largest wildfires in California’s recorded history have happened just in the past 20 years,” said Thomas, author of last year’s National Book Award finalist “When It All Burns: Fighting Fire in a Transformed World.” “While I was a hotshot, there were three of those fires burning simultaneously, including a million-acre fire — more than used to burn across the entire American West over the course of a decade.”
In the early afternoon, former Georgia Rep. Stacey Abrams spoke with moderator Leigh Haber about artificial intelligence and voter suppression in front of an enthusiastic, packed crowd at USC’s Bovard Auditorium.
Abrams’ latest Avery Keene novel, “Coded Justice,” came out last year and explores the role of artificial intelligence in the healthcare industry. AI has already become enmeshed in everyday life, she said, asking audience members to raise their hands if they had used TSA PreCheck or a streaming service.
“AI is a tool … but it is created by someone, it is programmed by someone, it is controlled by someone,” she said. “Regulation is not about slowing down progress. It is about asking questions and saying that in the absence of answers, we’re going to put on reasonable restraints that we can revisit.”
Abrams also revealed that her next book, the fourth in her Avery Keene thriller series, will focus on prediction markets.
“I write Avery Keene novels to tell stories about social justice, but I put it in a form that’s accessible to people who don’t think that they are social justice people,” Abrams said. “I want to meet people where they are, not where I want them to be.”
She also encouraged audience members to push back against voter suppression and defend democracy by volunteering at polling places — even in reliably blue districts — warning that she believes masked paramilitary groups will be allowed to patrol voting locations and target people of color in the upcoming midterm elections.
The festival kicked off Friday evening with the 46th Los Angeles Times Book Prizes ceremony at Bovard Auditorium, emceed by Times columnist LZ Granderson, recognizing both emerging voices and established writers.
Winners were announced in 13 categories for works published last year. Find a full list of winners here.
Oakland-born novelist Amy Tan, whose work often explores identity and the Chinese American immigrant experience, received the Robert Kirsch Award for lifetime achievement, and the literary nonprofit We Need Diverse Books received the Innovator’s Award for its work promoting diversity in publishing.
Accepting her award, Tan, author of the 1989 bestseller “The Joy Luck Club,” said that as a birthright citizen, she had never questioned her place in the country until recent debates over citizenship and belonging led her to reconsider whether she is, in fact, a “political writer.”
“My birthright and that of millions of others is now being argued before the Supreme Court, and no matter what the outcome is, it’s been a kick in the gut to know that those in the highest echelons of government and those who support them believe that we don’t belong.”
Tan said that as an author, “I imagine the lives of the people I write about,” and that act of compassion “reflects our politics and our beliefs. And so yes, I am a political writer.”
Addressing the attendees, Times Executive Editor Terry Tang pointed to the breadth of the weekend’s programming as an opportunity for connection and discovery. “If you take in just a fraction of these events, it will expand your mind,” she said. “This weekend gives all of us a chance to celebrate a sense of unity, purpose and support.”
The festival runs through Sunday. More information, including a schedule of events, can be found on the festival’s website.
There’s a couple somewhere in Los Angeles who unknowingly inspired the second season of “Beef.”
Lee Sung Jin, the creator of Netflix’s anthology drama that swirls in the consequences of class struggles, resentment and the absurdity of life’s curveballs, once again found himself inspired by a tense interaction playing out before him. A road rage incident at a stoplight in Hollywood a few years ago, triggered by Lee’s delayed response to a green light, became the catalyst for the first season. An early idea to write about a men’s doubles partnership gone awry lost its luster after “Challengers,” Luca Guadagnino’s drama about a love triangle between tennis pros, came out. But a heated argument coming from a house in Lee’s neighborhood became the next spark that lit a narrative fuse.
“I told the story to people — it caused a little stir in the neighborhood,” he says. “And what I found fascinating was the different reactions. When I told younger folks, I’d get, ‘Did you call the police? Should you go check on them again?’ Very concerned, having an ideological view on relationships. When I told the story to older friends and couples, they were just kind of like, ‘Who among us hasn’t?’ I thought the idea of juxtaposing these couples at different stages felt like ripe ground.”
The overheard in L.A. moment inspired the eight-episode season,
Carey Mulligan and Oscar Isaac square off with Charles Melton and Cailee Spaeny in Season 2 of “Beef.”
(Netflix)
The twist-filled, darkly comic thriller kicks off when a young couple, Ashley and Austin (Cailee Spaeny and Charles Melton), who work at a Montecito country club, witness the explosive altercation between their boss Josh (Oscar Isaac) and his wife, Lindsay (Carey Mulligan), an interior designer, the night before the club’s new Korean billionaire owner, Chairwoman Park (Youn Yuh-jung), takes over. She has her own mess to tend to involving her husband (Song Kang-ho), a doctor whose health is affecting his work on patients. The calamities each couple faces spin out into a web of favors and coercion in this tale of broken systems and characters going to great lengths to get what they want.
“The idea of cycles felt interesting,” he says. “A lot of shows and movies cover marriage through the lens of one couple, you don’t really see that multigenerational juxtaposition.”
Speaking from his office on the Raleigh Studios lot in Hollywood, Lee discussed the season’s Montecito setting, the financial anxiety that drives the story and the four-legged breakout star of the show. These are edited excerpts from the conversation, which includes many spoilers.
Why did you want to set this season in Montecito?
Just writing what I know. My goddaughters — their parents are my best friends. They live in Montecito. The dad is my oldest friend in LA. He has a membership to Montecito Club, which is where we shot the exterior of our show. I was house-sitting for him during the writing of all this. He let me use his membership. I remember when he told me about the membership, I was like, “You pay how much? That’s insane, dude.” But then you start using the membership. This idea of hedonic adaptation — how humans so quickly adapt to this new comfort, this new stimulus — it felt like an interesting thing. I was observing how all the members seemed to be mostly boomers and Silent Gen; then all the workers were Gen Z and millennial. I thought: What a perfect metaphor for society right now. No matter how hard the Gen Z and millennials work, they’re never going to get to be members of this club because, as Austin says, “everyone grabbed the bag before they could.” That’s what made me want to set it at a Montecito country club.
Oscar Isaac as Josh Martin and Carey Mulligan as Lindsay Crane-Martin. Cailee Spaeny as Ashley Miller and Charles Melton as Austin Davis. The second season of “Beef,” follows the two California couples from different socioeconomic backgrounds — though both are struggling — as they spiral into a high-stakes feud.(Netflix)
That feeling of survival and resentment and entitlement really looms over this season. There’s speeches about love, but also capitalism. The anxiety about finances is so prevalent right now.
We certainly didn’t set out to make a season about capitalism. But if you’re constantly trying to chase truth as writers, I don’t know how you say anything in the modern era, in 2026, and not have capitalism be a huge variable because it permeates every aspect of life. It’s like going to get gas. Gas is almost $7 right now. You have to fill your tank and there goes $140? That’s crazy. And relationships face so much stress — everyone is being hit by all these curveballs and trying to keep your head above water — how can you enjoy each other?
It became very obvious to us that if you’re going to write a season about marriage and love to these two couples, financial implications have to be a big factor. There’s a lot of talk about the disappearance of the American dream right now. Birth rates are declining. No one’s owning homes anymore. But then you also see headlines about everyone’s scamming. CVS has everything locked down. You’re like, “Yeah, no wonder.” Everything’s connected. We wanted to really show how that survival instinct, the desperation, is starting to come for everyone. I don’t think it’s going to get easier, especially with AI moving on the horizon, and with leaders who refuse to put checks and balances in place.
Part of Ashley’s story is using the video of the fight between Josh and Lindsay as blackmail to get health insurance so she can afford treatment for her endometriosis. And that moment where she’s waiting in the ER for hours and it’s not until she collapses that they realize she needs emergency surgery — her big concern is whether she has to pay the deductible.
I wrote that episode in a literal day because it was based on an experience I had in an ER with my daughter’s mother. She had this illness fall upon her. We spent 12 hours at the ER and, the whole time, I had my Notes app out and was just writing down everything I saw. Almost everything in that scene is stuff that happened in real life. Our healthcare system is absolutely insane. It’s, again, unhinged capitalism and … felt like it really unlocked so much of the season.
There’s a moment where Josh has to sell some of his prized possessions to pay a gambling debt. Have you been there, needing to sell things to cover your financial obligations?
I’ve been there multiple times. I obviously struggled to find my way for a long time, even after becoming a writer. If you’re in a writing partnership, in a staff job on a show — first of all, this is what the guild has been fighting, trying to get these longer-term employment windows because these jobs sometimes are only … maybe eight to 12 weeks. You’re splitting a staff salary in two [if you’re in a partnership], and you probably haven’t qualified for health insurance by the end of that run. Sure, you’re a working writer, but I remember [by the time I landed at] “Always Sunny in Philadelphia,” my first real writing job, I had amassed so much debt, half of which were from parking tickets. I just didn’t have the money to pay these tickets, and so I just let them run rampant. So, yeah, I’ve been there. There’s this one guitar that I loved; it was the first guitar I bought with my own money after college — it was a Fender Telecaster. I think I bought it for $1,200. I ended up selling it for $300. I’ve sold collectibles. I’ve sold anything that had gold in it. I’ve scrapped to just find anything because you’re desperate.
Song Kang-ho as Dr. Kim, Youn Yuh-jung as Chairwoman Park in “Beef.” Recalling the opportunity to direct the pair, Lee says: “It just makes me feel like a little kid again. It stops feeling like work and starts feeling like play.”
(Netflix)
You directed this season. Is there a moment that stands out with this cast?
A peak of my career that I think about daily is the moment in Korea where we were shooting at Amorepacific. It’s one of the most beautiful buildings in Seoul. I’m shooting the scene between the great Youn Yuh-jung and the great Song Kang-ho — two of not only my favorite Korean actors, but favorite actors period. They have never been in a scene together in any Korean film ever. They’ve been in a movie together, but never acted together. And here we are making Korean history by having them shoot that breakfast scene and, while I’m in the middle of shooting that scene, director Bong Joon Ho surprises us on set. He comes over laughing, pulls up to me, looks at my monitor, gives me stage fright, then elbows me and says, “You sure you want to frame it like that?” He was teasing. Then we started shooting the scene, it’s all in Korean, and I look back at video village and Bong’s just doubled over in laughter. He is just cracking up. Younger me, and present me, is looking around like: Here I am in Korea, in this building I’ve always wanted to shoot in, two of the greatest living actors and the greatest living director — what is happening? What a crazy sentence to say. It just makes me feel like a little kid again. It stops feeling like work and starts feeling like play.
How did you want race and identity to figure into this season, particularly through Austin?
Charles was the first piece of the whole thing. After Season 1, I got to go to Korea multiple times. I shot a music video for one of the members of BTS. I was experiencing Austin’s journey of being courted by this level of Korea that I’d never been exposed to before and feeling warm and allured by it — I’m having dinners with K-pop idols, like what is happening? So, I knew I wanted to have that element of elite Korea involved. The writers and I discussed a lot whether it should be a Korean American that’s being pulled. We had covered a lot of Korean American ground in Season 1, [but] one of the things we didn’t get to cover is the half-Korean experience. Several of the writers on staff are either half-Asian or half-Korean. We don’t want to repeat things, but let’s do explore a half-Korean character who is about to have a child suddenly get this pull toward Korea.
Carey Mulligan as Lindsay acting alongside Jones, the dog who plays Burberry, in “Beef.” “Jones is the best dog actor I’ve ever worked with,” Lee says. “A24 is making Burberry merch. There’s going to be a Burberry shirt.”
(Netflix)
There are some pretty gross, petty and violent acts of revenge. One is Ashley swirling her period blood in Josh and Lindsay’s pitcher of orange juice. The other takes place during a flight — Lindsay wiping gunk from the toilet seat and transferring it to the rim of the cup Ashley drinks from. Please explain how you arrived at these acts. Were there any left on the cutting room floor?
Episode 4 was pouring out of me. And I remember I got to the point where Ashley snooping through the house [where Lindsay and Josh live]. Initially, I had her scratching up the trophy. She opened Josh’s pomade and blew a snot booger into it. I was thinking of juvenile things. But I had the thought of her going to the kitchen and having the thing that happened to her being the expression of her revenge. I remember I was so nervous to show the [writers’] room. The way I wrote it, I had her crouching over the pitcher and Anna Moench, as the main female writer on the show, was like, “Sonny, I don’t think you know this works.” So, we revised it. That’s how the OJ one happened. With Episode 7 [and the toilet seat], we wanted to have a bodily episode on a plane, and there’s just such limited ways to get revenge on a plane. But given the OJ drink — there’s so many mirrors between the two couples, we thought it’d be fun to mirror that with a drink from Lindsay to Ashley. The only place to do that on a plane is bathroom. We shot it on stage with a fake toilet and Carey was almost vomiting. She came to me after that scene, and she goes, “Sonny, in all my years in this business, that is the most vile, disgusting thing I’ve ever had to do.”
The final moments of the finale jumps eight years. Did you always know you wanted a time jump? And did you always know Ashley and Austin were going to repeat the cycle?
The Ashley and Austin side, I knew the inverse graph for both characters would be very satisfying — to me, at least. I didn’t know whether that happened in a time jump or not. That’s something we discovered later. There was great debate in the room. I had a couple writers plead with me, “Why aren’t you ending with the kiss? It’s so sweet. It’s so good. I feel so good at the kiss. Can we just end it at the kiss?” I took it very seriously, but then it felt very similar to Season 1’s ending. Taking two people who start apart and they finally discover that connection but too late. I didn’t want to leave with the same feeling. How we can make it different is the “what happens next?” Life comes at you fast. He’s [Josh] still in prison. She’s [Lindsay] got to move on. Once I started heading down that thought experiment, I’m like, “Whoa, you could do a whole coda showing the literal theme of the show, the cycles, that’s where we can show Ashley and Austin becoming Josh and Lindsay.” That’s where we show, even though they found a connection, it’s lost between Josh and Lindsay — even if they’re still hanging on to the past a little bit. You show Troy and Ava still together [laughs] — they have it all figured out. Then you show the billionaire who, even with all the money in the world, is crying at the graveside of her first love, filled with regret.
We didn’t see where Eunice (Seoyeon Jang)ends up.
I wanted to leave it open. I’m very curious what people think. She really put her neck out there. Austin burned her bad. I don’t know where Eunice is at but it’s probably not good.
Charles Melton as Austin Davis in “Beef.”
(Netflix)
We can’t talk about “Beef” without discussing the needle drops. When you have Austin listening to Billie Eilish’s “What Was I Made For?” it was over for me.
The needle drops are usually pre-picked even before we shoot. The source music that’s playing diegetically, usually we discover in the edit. Before, as scripted, it had him scrolling Instagram and it was [the song playing on] his Instagram feed — you know how those Reels have music overlayed on a POV? It just wasn’t that funny to me in the edit. He’s so down and out and I wanted to find different source music in there. One day, I told my editor, “Can you rip ‘What Was I Made For?’ And can you just temporarily do it where, as she opens the door, he’s like, pressing the volume up, being like ‘sh— … sh— …’ [intending to make the volume go down]?” Our AE [assistant editor] did the ADR temporarily of the “sh—, sh—,” filmed it on my phone and I texted it to Finneas [O’Connell, the show’s composer, who is Eilish’s brother and collaborator] being like, “Hey, is it cool if we do this?” And he was dying laughing. [O’Connell also makes a cameo in the season.]
Ahead of Season 1, you gifted the writers “The Sopranos Sessions” and also assembled a Letterboxd list of films that served as reference points. What guidance did you provide for Season 2?
I sent another Letterboxd playlist. For inspo, we got “Handmaiden,” “Phantom Thread,” “Force Majeure,” “Eyes Wide Shut,” “The Informant.” For some reason, I have “Margaret” on there, the [Kenneth] Lonergan film. I also had “Michael Clayton,” “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” “Burn After Reading,” and lastly, it’s a deep cut, there’s this movie called “Like Crazy,” starring Felicity Jones and Anton Yelchin.
Also, can we take a moment for Burberry’s acting?
Oh my god, Jones! Jones is the best dog actor I’ve ever worked with. He would hit his mark. He would listen. He would look at people when he’s supposed to be looking. It was his first time acting. Crushed it. A24 is making Burberry merch. There’s going to be a Burberry shirt.
“Well…I’ve decided it’s TIME,” she wrote in the caption of an Instagram reel on Wednesday. “The AI revolution has begun, and I need to learn as much as I possibly can about AI and share it with all of you. Also, FYI: the jobs women hold are 3x more likely to be automated by AI, yet women are using AI at a rate 25% lower than men on average. We don’t want to be left behind. So…do you want to learn with me?”
In the video, which the star shared across social media platforms, Witherspoon said she was with 10 women at a book club this week. “I said to the 10 of them, ‘How many of you guys use AI?’ And only three of them used AI. And then I said, ‘How many of the three of you feel like you really know what you’re doing or using it the right way?’ And there was only one person,” she said.
“So, if three out of 10 women are the only ones using AI, that means 70% of that group is not keeping up. The thing I’ve learned about technology is if you don’t get a little bit of understanding from the very beginning, it just speeds past you. So you have to have little bits of learning just to keep up.”
The “Big Little Lies” star then seemingly put out a feeler for an A.I. learning course saying, “I think we should learn the basics together and learn some really good tools that are going to make our everyday lives easier and better. Do you want me to share what I’m learning with you?”
One group that was especially vocal in their opposition to A.I., was the literary community, and writers and authors across the country didn’t hold back when sharing their two cents.
Bestselling “Bad Feminist” author Roxane Gay chimed in on Threads, writing, “Oh Reese. Absolutely not.”
“This is obviously a scripted ad and it’s genuinely infuriating. Notice how AI’s biggest defenders are the ones cashing checks from it,” wrote screenwriter and director Charlene Bagcal on Threads. “AI isn’t inevitable. Technology follows society. If people stop using it, it dies. We still have agency.”
“Jagged Little Pill” author and literary agent Eric Smith weighed in, “As someone who champions authors and books the way you do, this is so disappointing.”
“AI plagiarized all my books. It seems unlikely that I’ll be ‘left behind’ if I don’t use it, given that it’s trained on work I did years ago,” wrote “Get Well Soon” author Jennifer Wright.
Writer and actor Rati Gupta said, “How am *I* the one being “left behind” by not using AI when *my* cognitive function will remain fully intact and uncompromised?”
And Sophia Benoit posted, “There’s something particularly insidious about seeing that women— the group you have built your brand on— have not adopted something and instead of assuming it’s out of wisdom, infantalizing them with ‘we’re falling behind.’”
In 2021, Witherspoon’s company, Hello Sunshine, partnered with World of Women (WoW), an NFT collective, and the actor similarly caught flak from followers for tweeting “In the (near) future, every person will have a parallel digital identity. Avatars, crypto wallets, digital goods will be the norm. Are you planning for this?”
Representatives for Witherspoon have not responded to the Times request for comment.
