Lifestyle
Shortlisted for an Oscar, ‘Homebound’ is a daring movie about two dear friends
Mohammad Saiyub (above, in a Mumbai quarter on a February day) appeared in a photo that went viral in the early days of the pandemic. He and his childhood buddy Amrit Kumar were hitching home, a journey of nearly 1,000 miles. Kumar, who is a Hindu Dalit, fell ill. Saiyub, a Muslim, cradled his friend by the roadside. Their different religious identities drew attention in a country where communal relations have been polarized after a decade of Hindu nationalist rule. The photo and the story behind it inspired the award-winning movie Homebound.
Diaa Hadid/NPR
hide caption
toggle caption
Diaa Hadid/NPR
DEVARI, India — The legendary Martin Scorsese was the movie’s executive producer although his role was kept secret to ensure the film crew could keep working without attracting media attention. He was even assigned a code name: “elder brother.”
That’s because Neeraj Ghaywan, director of Homebound, didn’t want to go public with his movie until it was ready. He worried its central story might be received with hostility by Indian media — by a country — profoundly changed by a decade of rule by the e Prime Minister Narendra Modi and his Hindu nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party, known as the BJP.
He need not have worried.
Homebound, is based on a true story: a tender friendship between two boys from a dusty village, one a Muslim; the other a Dalit, a South Asian caste once known as “untouchables.” The movie revolves around their failed attempts to push through the discrimination they face in today’s India as their lives are upturned and imperiled by the Indian government’s response to the COVID pandemic.
“I treaded that path very, very carefully. Like we didn’t disclose about the story for a long time. We were being very cautious,” Ghaywan tells NPR. “I thought: Let the film speak for itself.”
Neeraj Ghaywan is the director of Homebound.
Kate Green/Getty Images/Getty Images Europe
hide caption
toggle caption
Kate Green/Getty Images/Getty Images Europe
The film has spoken for itself — helped of course, by the megaphone that is the backing of one of the world’s most prominent directors.
Cannes loved it — a nine-minute standing ovation. Homebound made the rounds of film festivals, gathered up medals along the way, then was selected by India for consideration for an Oscar in the foreign film category. It even made it to the prestigious shortlist — a rare feat for any Indian movie.
Based on a true story
Homebound is based on a New York Times essay from 2020 by writer Basharat Peer. It tells the backstory of a photograph that went viral during the early days of the pandemic in India. The image shows one man cradling another in his lap in the dirt, by the roadside. And that man is clearly unwell.
“Just the care and the dignity, the photograph moved me immensely,” says Peer. “It was a great act of friendship.”
Then Peer discovered the men were Hindu and Muslim, and it drew him in, because of the context of “everything that had come before that in the past 10 years,” he says, referring to the routine vilification of Muslims by Hindu nationalists, including members of the ruling BJP party, and the prime minister himself. Perhaps most prominently this year, in February, the chief minister of the northeastern state of Assam, Himanta Biswa Sarma, generated an AI video of himself shooting Muslims. It was shared by his party and only taken down after a backlash, and a member of the state’s BJP social media team was fired.)
The two men in the image are garment factory workers: Mohammad Saiyub, a Muslim and Amrit Kumar, a Dalit.
That image captured them as they were trying to get home after the Modi government shut down most industries and transport to prevent the spread of the virus.
But with no work, migrant workers, who survive off low wages, began going hungry — and trying to leave. Economist Jayati Ghosh, who researched India’s COVID response, estimates some 80 million migrant workers tried to return home, walking and hitching rides in searing summer heat.
Peer says it reminded him of the Dust Bowl exodus of the ’30s in the United States. “I was thinking about Steinbeck and the Dust Bowl migrants, which led him to write Grapes of Wrath,” says Peer — except in India: “They’re not running from their Dust Bowl villages. They’re running from the Californias to their villages.”
Migrants died enroute — including the man in that viral photo, Amrit Kumar. “He died of heat exhaustion,” his friend Mohammad Saiyub tells us in a tiny tea house in a crowded Mumbai quarter, where workers sat at stainless steel tables to down steaming cups of chai, boiled in a giant, blackened pot manned by a teenager whose face was largely buried in his phone. Saiyub was in the port city to look for work.
Saiyub says the day that photo was taken, he and Kumar had paid a truck driver the equivalent of $53 for a ride. The cargo was crammed with other migrant workers, desperate to return home. But Kumar developed a fever, and the driver booted him off. “They worried he had corona,” Saiyub recalled.
So Saiyub helped his friend off the truck. Then, he says, “the driver told me, you get on the truck and let’s go.” Saiyub refused to abandon his friend. They sat by the roadside, waiting for help. That’s when someone took their photo. As the image spread online, an ambulance raced to find them.
Too late.
Saiyub ultimately returned home with his friend’s body. He dug his best friend’s grave. “My blood is Kumar’s,” he says. “And Kumar’s blood is mine. We were friends like that.”
A personal connection
Director Ghaywan read the essay, drawn in by that tender friendship between a Muslim and a Dalit Hindu.
There was also a very personal reason that Ghaywan was so affected: He was born into a Dalit family but concealed that information for much of his life, fearing rejection by his upper-caste peers if he told them the truth about who he was.
Ghaywan also happens to be a celebrated wunderkid in Bollywood. He got the backing of a major production studio to make Homebound.
He drew on his own experiences of fear and shame as a Dalit-in-hiding to draw Kumar’s character. “In the film, I poured in a lot of my own shame.” And he hoped to humanize a story rarely told, about India’s downtrodden workers. “I felt there is a strong springboard to talk about contemporary India,” Ghaywan said.
Film critic and curator Meenakshi Shedde said the decision to put money on a movie like Homebound spoke to Ghaywan’s talents as a director, and yet remained, something of a “miracle.”
“In today’s India, you can imagine how daring it is of a producer to put money on a film that’s going against the grain,” Shedde said. The grain she refers to is the stuff that Bollywood is increasingly churning out: films that reflect the Indian government’s Hindu nationalist ideology – with macho Hindu men fighting evil Muslims and proud Indians battling enemy Pakistan.
India’s notoriously prickly censors approved the film for screening in the country, although they insisted on changes that diminished the intensity of the caste and faith discrimination that the protagonists faced. Still, Ghaywan says, “the soul of the film remained intact.”
And then, it was selected as India’s official entry for the Oscars.
It was a striking choice to represent India. Just last year, an Indian movie that critics globally tipped as an Oscar winner was passed over by the same selection committee. Critics suggested that was because it featured a steamy Hindu-Muslim romance.
(NPR sought to speak to the Indian selection committee but received no response.)
Film curator Shedde said she, like many of her peers, were dumbstruck. “How did they end up being India’s submission? OK, so those are, I think, mysteries of the universe,” says Shedde.
Ultimately, Homebound made it to the Oscar shortlist for best foreign film but not the final five.
A very personal screening
After all the excitement died down, Ghaywan set about screening the movie in the one place that really mattered: in Devari, the dusty hamlet that Kumar and Sayoub came from.
The families of two young men whose friendship inspired the movie Homebound gather for a makeshift screening on the balcony of the home of Mohammad Saiyub.
Diaa Hadid/NPR
hide caption
toggle caption
Diaa Hadid/NPR
That day, Gaywan hugged the fathers of Saiyub and Kumar, who were waiting to meet him. Both men, elderly and unable to work, sat on the same wooden bench.
Kumar’s mother Subhawati arrived later, dressed in her best, brightly colored sari, gifted by her daughter. Subhawati, hunched and sunburnt, stood quietly outside, until Ghaywan insisted she sit with the menfolk on the porch. Saiyub is from a conservative Muslim family. His sisters and mother stayed inside the house, his mother only poked her head outside to pass on plates of food for lunch.
After the meal, Ghaywan lined up plastic chairs on the Saiyoub family porch. Hung up sheets to block the light. Set up his laptop. Curious villagers piled in. Saiyub’s mother even drew up a chair.
But one person refused to watch: Kumar’s mother, Subhawati.
Ghaywan pleaded with her. “Your son’s story,” he said, “inspired millions of people.” Maybe if she watched the movie, she would see how big he had become in people’s hearts, and “maybe this will help you in some way to heal.”
Kumar’s mother asks us: “What good will it do me to watch this movie?”
Subhawati is the mother of Amrit Kumar, who was on a 1,000-mile journey home with his childhood friend Mohammad Saiyub. Kumar fell ill and later died. Their story inspired the movie Homebound. When the director arranged a screening for the families of the two young men, Kumar’s mother could not bear to watch.
Diaa Hadid/NPR
hide caption
toggle caption
Diaa Hadid/NPR
It was her son Amrit who kept their bellies full with his garment factory work. Now she works on construction sites for a few dollars a day.
“Amrit used to see my sorrow and my happiness. He took my troubles away. If I watch this film — and Amrit doesn’t speak to me, what is the point?”
So as the opening score wafted from the porch, of a movie about her son’s life and death, she walked away.
A federal jury found that Live Nation and Ticketmaster, which merged in 2010, have been stifling competition and overcharging consumers when it comes to live events.
Paul Sakuma/AP
hide caption
toggle caption
Paul Sakuma/AP
A federal jury in Manhattan found that Ticketmaster and its parent company, Live Nation, have been acting as a monopoly, stifling competition and overcharging consumers.
But that doesn’t mean your next concert ticket will automatically be a better deal.
Wednesday’s verdict is a legal win for the 33 states and Washington, D.C., that accused the company of wielding its immense power over too many aspects of the live entertainment industry, from concert promotion and artist management to venue operations and ticketing services.
And it’s vindication for the many disgruntled artists, venues and fans who say they have been paying the price. The verdict has the potential to reshape the live music industry in the U.S. But the fight isn’t over.
States’ attorneys general now have to argue in favor of specific “remedies and financial penalties” — as many of them put it in celebratory press releases — at a separate trial. The lead lawyer for the plaintiffs, Jeffrey Kessler, declined to comment to NPR because that trial has not been scheduled.
One remedy that many ticketing advocates and Democratic lawmakers want is for the government to force the breakup of Live Nation and Ticketmaster — which merged in 2010 — separating the concert promoter from the ticket seller.
Meanwhile, Live Nation said in a statement that “the jury’s verdict is not the last word on this matter.” It has not responded to NPR’s request for comment.
The company said several motions are still pending in front of the court, including one to strike some expert testimony from the trial.
“Of course, Live Nation can and will appeal any unfavorable rulings on these motions,” it added.
Rebecca Haw Allensworth, a visiting professor at Harvard Law School who specializes in antitrust law, said a verdict from a jury is generally harder to fight successfully than one from a judge. In any case, she said, whatever remedy the court orders would likely be paused while an appeal plays out.
“So it’s not like next month … certainly not in 2026, will Live Nation be severed from Ticketmaster,” she said.
What about the long-term?
Thales Teixeira, a professor at UC San Diego’s Rady School of Management, says this next phase is “a little bit complicated because there’s so many parties involved … that might want different things out of a potential settlement or a trial.”
Beyond major restructuring, Live Nation could be forced to take steps like end exclusive contracts, cap service fees and open booking at its venues to competing platforms like SeatGeek and AXS.
The company is also likely to face financial penalties, which could include payouts to some consumers: The jury found that Live Nation overcharged customers by $1.72 per ticket in 22 states. Live Nation said that applies to only a fraction of tickets sold, and estimated total damages below $150 million (which it says the court would triple, per legal standards).
But that money most likely won’t go directly to consumers, Allensworth says, unlike in a class-action lawsuit (which the company also faces). She says any judgment amount would go back to the participating states, which can use it as they see fit — most likely for some sort of consumer-related issue, not back into ticket-buyers’ pockets.
“Really, here, the win for the consumers is the future and the restoration of competition, if that happens, which is why I think it’s so important for the remedy to go beyond this dollar amount,” she says.
A young fan tries her luck outside Taylor Swift’s concert in London in August 2024. A chaotic Eras Tour presale in 2022 crashed Ticketmaster, canceled the general fueled calls for the platform to be held accountable.
Alishia Abodunde/Getty Images Europe
hide caption
toggle caption
Alishia Abodunde/Getty Images Europe
Teixeira says consumers in the U.S. have gotten used to the high cost of concert tickets, not to mention food, parking and other expenses. If anything, he says some of fans’ anger may have been alleviated by Ticketmaster’s implementation (to comply with federal regulations) of all-in pricing in 2025, labeling fees upfront rather than revealing them at checkout.
And he doesn’t think the outcome of this case will lower ticket prices in the long term. For one, he says Live Nation can make up any lost fees in other ways, like upping the cost of a parking spot at one of the many venues it controls.
“My view is that even in the best-case scenario, if the states that have gone forward with the trial win most of their claims, I’d say very little will change for the average concertgoer,” he said.
What about the settlement?
While many states’ attorneys general have uniformly referred to their effort as a “coalition,” Teixeira says it’s possible that some could leave the process early, depending on which of their demands are met.
A version of that has happened in this case already: About half a dozen states joined a tentative $280 settlement between President Trump’s Justice Department and Live Nation last month, just days into the trial.
As part of the settlement, the company agreed to do things like cap service fees at 15% and divest exclusive booking agreements with about a dozen amphitheaters, which ticketing organizations and Democratic lawmakers say does not go nearly far enough. That settlement must undergo a 60-day public comment period and get federal court approval before it can be finalized.
Just this week, several of the most vocal Democrats on this topic — including Sens. Amy Klobuchar of Minnesota, Elizabeth Warren of Massachusetts and Richard Blumenthal of Connecticut — submitted a letter urging the judge in the case to “closely scrutinize this settlement,” which they called insufficient.
Live Nation said in its Wednesday statement that it is confident “that the ultimate outcome of the States’ case will not be materially different than what is envisioned by the DOJ settlement.”
Allensworth says that Live Nation can point to the settlement to show the judge that it is already taking steps to restore competition, in hopes of less intrusive remedies. But she expects states to have the same response as the Democratic lawmakers: “It’s a slap on the wrist and, your Honor, you need to impose something more meaningful here.”
Even if the company is forced to split up, she says, it’s not clear how long it would take for the live events landscape — which Live Nation and Ticketmaster have dominated for so long — to feel the effects. But she says the pressure of competition would undoubtedly improve the experience for venues, artists and fans alike.
“It’s one of the wonderful, and I think frustrating, things about organizing our whole economy through competition, is that we don’t know what new ideas will come forward,” Allensworth says. “We don’t know how they will affect consumers. But we do know that the best way to provide long-term consumer welfare is to have a place for new ideas to come to life.”
There were 200 people on the back patio of Glassell Park’s Verdugo Bar, and John Ayala had a hug for all of them.
Wiping tears from his eyes as he slowly made his way through the intergenerational crowd, he recognized almost everyone in attendance — if not by name, then definitely by address.
For four decades, the 61-year-old Ayala delivered mail to their homes, and now he was finally retiring, to the great surprise of everyone, including himself. He’d been talking about it for years — working it into the many conversations he had each day with the friends he’d made along his mail route in the hills of Mount Washington, a small residential community in northeast Los Angeles.
-
Share via
The folks at the retirement party were glad that he would finally get some well-deserved downtime, but they were also wistful. For them, Ayala’s departure represented the end of an era when mail delivery came with a side of conversation.
“He talked with everyone,” said Jonathan Sample, a graphic designer who grew up in Mount Washington and now lives there with two kids of his own. “He was a really unifying presence.”
At a time when just 26% of Americans say they know their neighbors, according to a recent Pew Research study, Ayala helped create a sense of community in Mount Washington, even if it was only through the shared experience of having an unexpectedly personal relationship with the local mailman with a gruff voice and a gregarious disposition.
Over the years, Ayala would invite people from his route to the shows he played with his metal band Horns Up, and whether or not they liked the music, they‘d come out because they liked him. He would frequently talk about sports (especially the Dodgers and the Packers) and many on the hill knew he had two knee replacements — a result of a job that required him to hop in and out of a truck all day — because he would share updates on his recovery.
And when he started delivering reams of college marketing materials to families with high school seniors, he’d often inquire where the soon-to-be graduate was headed.
Ayala, center, celebrates with friends at his retirement party at Glassell Park’s Verdugo Bar.
(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)
“He’s amazing. He knows my kids — my daughter is 40 and my son is 37 — and they love him,” said John Amour, a Mount Washington resident who has known Ayala since the ’90s. “They’ve grown up with him. He remembers their name. He says, ‘How is Brianna?’”
Because Ayala made daily visits to the homes on his route, he also knew who was on vacation, who was moving and who was having a medical crisis.
A few years ago, he was delivering mail to a man whose wife had been in the hospital. When Ayala asked “What’s up with Sandy?” the man shared that she had just passed away.
“I was the first one to see him after that and I just had to hug him,” Ayala said. They still text occasionally.
1
2
3
1. A goodbye sign is displayed on Ayala’s route during his final shift. 2. John Ayala delivers mail to a home. 3. Los Angeles resident Seonna Hong stops on the road to thank Ayala. (Ronaldo Bolaños / Los Angeles Times)
“If people are sick, he’ll tell people in the neighborhood,” said Laura Lee, who has lived in Mount Washington for 40 years. “If I start wondering about someone I haven’t seen in a while, I’ll ask him, just to make sure they’re OK.”
For Ayala, connecting people with one another comes naturally.
“I’ll find out someone is a Red Sox fan and I’ll tell them, you know your neighbor Neil up the street is from Boston too. You guys should talk,” he said.
Ayala, who grew up in El Sereno and is married with two sons, has deep family roots in the United States Postal Service. His mother, Yolanda, worked for the agency for 39 years, as did each of her four brothers and a sister-in-law. Ayala’s uncle was the first Latino vice president of finance for the Postal Service in the 1990s.
Ayala was an honors student at South Pasadena High School, but he wasn’t interested in college. Toward the end of his senior year, his mom saw a job opening at work and encouraged him to apply. He’s been working for the Postal Service since 1984 — even during the time his metal band Lace was selling out the Whiskey a Go Go and the Roxy in the mid ’80s.
Neighbors made a USPS-themed cake for Ayala’s retirement party.
(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)
“I always wanted to be a rock star, but I probably wouldn’t be alive today if we’d made it,” he said.
He started delivering mail in Mount Washington in 1987 and never looked back. He loved the people and taking a break by the Self-Realization Fellowship’s verdant headquarters to read the newspaper. “It’s a neighborhood I could never afford,” he said. “It’s like a different world.”
Also, he said, “I never had to buy lemons. My customers always gave me lemons.”
The Postal Service changed his route once in 2008, but a few years later, he was able to return to Mount Washington. “I couldn’t wait to get back up there,” he said. “It was just like, oh man, I’m going to be in heaven again.”
After 42 years of service, Ayala’s pension couldn’t get any higher, so he decided to retire at the end of 2025. He could have retired in 2020, but as he wrote in a Facebook post in 2023, “I’m having too much fun.”
On a rainy day in December, Ayala maneuvered his truck one final time through Mount Washington’s narrow streets. Even as he emptied it of mail, it gradually filled up with gifts from his longtime customers — a bottle of vodka, a few bottles of wine, a six-pack of craft beer, homemade biscotti, a signed farewell poster, several thank you cards and a giant foam cheese hat from one of the many residents who knew he was a Packers fan.
Graphic designer Jonathan Sample made dozens of signs saying “Rock on Mailman John” for neighbors who wanted to send well wishes to Ayala on his last day.
(Ronaldo Bolaños / Los Angeles Times)
And then there were the signs, stuck on stakes, posted on telephone poles, taped to mailboxes all over the hill.
Good Luck John! We’ll Miss You!
Mailman John!! Thank you!!
Rock on Mailman John! Enjoy Your Retirement. We Love You!
Not everyone who made signs and delivered gifts knew each other, but they all knew Ayala.
Even after he retired, Ayala was still bringing the people of Mount Washington together. The farewell party at the Verdugo Bar was put together by a trio of neighbors who got to know each other because they all wanted to be involved in celebrating their beloved mailman. At the bar, residents who live on the same street finally got around to introducing themselves.
“See that group in the corner?” said Penny Jones, an artist who helped organize the party. “That’s the Glenalbyn contingent. They are just getting to know each other.”
Also among the many people who had come to wish Ayala a fond farewell? Alex Villasenor, the neighborhood’s UPS driver, wearing an Iron Maiden shirt in Ayala’s honor.
“I had to represent,” he said. “We always chat and clown around and block each other and honk at each other on the hill. He goes for the Raiders and I go for the Packers. I’ll be sad not to see him.”
I was at the party, too — and not just to report this story, but because for the last 18 years, Ayala was my mailman. More than anyone else in my life — even my parents — he religiously read my stories in The Times, always commenting when I had a piece on the front page.
“Great story, Deb!” he’d yell from his truck after putting some real estate fliers in my mailbox. It always made my day.
Ayala has a hug for everyone at his party.
(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)
Like everyone else, I’m going to miss him.
A few months after his retirement, I called Ayala to see how he’s been doing. It’s been a difficult adjustment.
“I just miss everybody, “ he said. “It’s hard. You lost a friend. One person. I lost like 2,000 friends.”
Two hundred residents attended John Ayala’s retirement party after 40 years with the USPS.
(Carlin Stiehl / For The Times)
He said sometimes in the middle of the night when he’s tossing and turning, he imagines traveling street by street, just thinking about everyone on his mail route.
But he is committed to staying in touch. He still texts some of his friends about sports, and he’s planning to make a trip up the hill soon just to walk around and greet people.
Ayala may have stopped delivering the mail, but he’s not done delivering connection.
Carey Mulligan as Lindsay.
Netflix
hide caption
toggle caption
Netflix
There was something special about Lee Sung Jin’s Beef when it premiered on Netflix in 2023. The sometimes surreal but always emotionally grounded dramedy was premised upon how one minor, negative interaction between strangers — in that case, a road rage incident involving a struggling contractor (Steven Yeun) and a well-to-do business owner (Ali Wong) – can open the floodgates for misdirected anger and surface long unexamined disappointments and unrelated resentments. It tapped into something both mundane and potent, cleverly dramatizing a general sense of societal chaos via two richly-rendered Asian American leads.
Three years later, and Season 2 finds Lee swapping in an entirely new cast while pivoting the locus of ire. At its center are two couples: Josh (Oscar Isaac) and Lindsay (Carey Mulligan), the married general manager and interior designer of a Montecito, Calif. country club, and fiancés Ashley (Cailee Spaeny) and Austin (Charles Melton), low-level staff members at the club. In the opening episode, the latter couple accidentally happen upon Josh and Lindsay having a nasty drag-out fight that, from outside looking in, appears on the verge of turning violent.
As Beef reiterates many times in various ways, Austin and Ashley are Gen Z — so, naturally they capture the argument on video. The video’s existence is the first small cut of beef, which quickly ripples out to meatier and more consequential beefs, entanglements and manipulations. The younger pair, dissatisfied with their low wages and lack of health benefits, sees an opportunity to leverage what they’ve documented, and they do. But Josh and Lindsay have a lot more drama going on besides a sexless, unhappy marriage; despite their proximity to wealth and seemingly cushy lifestyle, they’re drowning in debt, and Josh’s employment at the club is in limbo as his contract nears its end. Predictably, both couples turn to extreme (and extremely illegal) measures to meet their wants and needs.
Season 1 was equally, if not more so, interested in the knotty personal lives of Yeun’s Danny and Wong’s Amy, apart from their beef with one another. Season 2 benefits from taking this same approach, though with far more primary characters to flesh out and intertwining storylines to serve, it can become unwieldy. To get across a heavily underlined message that “capitalism is soul-sucking,” an entirely separate and somewhat uninspired international plot dovetails with the quartet’s mess. Still, it’s fun to see Youn Yuh-jung leans into her role as Chairwoman Park, the shrewd and menacing billionaire owner of the club whose own dirty laundry drives much of the high-octane action in the back half of the season. (Ditto the great Song Kang-ho as Dr. Kim, the chairwoman’s much younger husband who has a poignant moment in a late episode.)
The digs at capitalism probably feel overdone because of how the media landscape looks now. It seems as if nearly every show or movie in recent memory throws in a corrupt wealthy person (or several) to comment on the disparities between the haves and have nots (The White Lotus, Triangle of Sadness, The Girlfriend) or presents middle-aged married couples wading through malaise and regret (DTF St. Louis, Fleishman Is In Trouble, plenty of Nicole Kidman projects). But it also seems like this iteration of Beef struggles with narrative substance on its own; while the exact details of how its story shakes out aren’t easily predictable, some of the emotional novelty has worn off by the time we arrive at any twists. (This is also true of some of its wry observations on cultural identity, which come off rote and obvious — a running gag is that Isaac’s Josh and Melton’s Austin are frequently perceived as ethnically ambiguous to white people. Isaac is Cuban and Guatemalan; Melton is white and Korean.)
Charles Melton as Austin, Cailee Spaeny as Ashley.
Netflix
hide caption
toggle caption
Netflix
Season 2 is compelling enough largely because its stars gamely tap into the spirit of the show’s M.O.; at any given moment, each character may reveal the worst of themselves, which looks different for everyone. Josh, for one, is an avoidant personality whose contempt simmers ominously for the demanding one percenter clientele he serves at the club, yet when he does explode, the limber and expressive Oscar Isaac lets him rip. In contrast, Carey Mulligan’s Lindsay is clearly exhausted from putting on airs as if everything between them is fine, and resentful of the sacrifices she feels she’s made for her increasingly distant husband at the expense of the dreams they once shared.
Lee Sung Jin and his writing team have added nice touches when it comes to Ashley and Austin, too – their relative youth reveals that media literacy and basic life skills are seriously lacking, all of which makes for silly comedic bits that Spaeny and Melton carry through handily. But even better is when the cracks in their “perfect,” non-confrontational relationship widen into a gaping abyss, reflecting and refracting that of their older counterparts.
“Couples fight. It’s normal,” Lindsay insists to Josh in the first episode, right after they realize Austin and Ashley were in the audience for their domestic row. Neither couple is as stable as they’ve convinced themselves they are. In its best moments, the show leans into this: depicting people who are actively avoiding reality until they’re forced to confront it by the skin of their teeth.
DC Navy Yard shooting: What happened in Washington? ‘Targeted attack’ feared as scary visuals emerge
Cleveland man called ‘King Dinero’ sentenced for trafficking and raping 4 women
INDIE MEME FILM FEST OF AUSTIN, TEXAS RETURNS FOR ELEVENTH YEAR — The Indian Panorama
Alabama Basketball Acquires Third Player from Transfer Portal
Peltola posts massive campaign fundraising, but Republicans maintain cash advantage in Alaska congressional races
Florida High School Football Rankings: Top 25 teams – Oct. 21
How old is Bo Nix? What to know about Oregon quarterback ahead of 2024 NFL Draft
Cleary's 21 help Le Moyne down Central Connecticut State 69-64 in OT
99th annual Pony Swim held in Virginia
Indiana Members Credit Union announced as new anchor tenant at Bottleworks District
Firefighters Likely Had Limited View of Approaching Plane in LaGuardia Crash
Tennessee governor signs nuclear family month resolution as critics push back on exclusions
Displaced Lebanese wary as ceasefire between Israel and Hezbollah begins
Retired Coast Guard officer with decades of public health experience is Trump’s pick to lead CDC | CNN
Video: A Look at the Plans for Trump’s ‘Triumphal Arch’
-
Ohio3 days ago‘Little Rascals’ star Bug Hall arrested in Ohio
-
Georgia1 week agoGeorgia House Special Runoff Election 2026 Live Results
-
Arkansas7 days agoArkansas TV meteorologist Melinda Mayo retires after nearly four decades on air
-
Austin, TX1 week agoABC Kite Fest Returns to Austin for Annual Celebration – Austin Today
-
Politics2 days agoDem fundraising giant in the hot seat as GOP lawmakers demand answers over dodged subpoena
-
Politics5 days agoTrump blasts Spanberger ahead of Virginia meetings, says state faces tax base exodus like New York, California
-
Health1 week agoWoman discovers missing nose ring traveled to her lungs, causing month-long cough
-
San Francisco, CA4 days agoPresident Trump terminates Presidio Trust