Entertainment
6 television actors on being judged for their looks, why AI is ‘lame’ and more
Memorizing your lines seems like such a foundational part of an actor’s job that there wouldn’t be much to say about it. Yet when a group of performers recently got onto the topic during The Envelope’s Emmy Limited Series / TV Movie Roundtable, it turned out everyone had their own way of doing it. And all were eager for tips and tricks, whether it be an app, a line-drilling coach (“Can I have that number?”), writing down the first letter of each word or even writing a monologue backward.
“We have to share tools, guys,” said Camila Morrone, who plays a bride-to-be who learns her fiancé’s family dark secrets in the horror thriller “Something Very Bad Is Going to Happen.” “It’s funny that we all have such different methods.”
Joining Morrone were Jamie Bell, who stars in “Half Man,” about the extremely dysfunctional, toxic relationship between two stepbrothers; Linda Cardellini, who appears in “DTF St. Louis” as a dissatisfied woman caught in a dangerous love triangle; Michael Peña, who plays a detective assigned to the case of a missing child while his own boundaries are tested in “All Her Fault”; Andrew Rannells, who is a man coming to terms with his own life while helping to plan a funeral in “Miss You, Love You”; and Constance Zimmer, who channels the mother of Carolyn Bessette Kennedy in “Love Story: John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette.” Read on for more excerpts from our conversation.
The Envelope’s 2026 Emmy Limited Series / TV Movie Roundtable: Constance Zimmer, left, Michael Peña, Linda Cardellini, Andrew Rannells, Camila Morrone and Jamie Bell.
How do you watch TV? A home theater screening room or a tablet on the go?
Morrone: When I see people on a plane watching on their phone, I’m like, “Do you know how many people worked on that?”
Zimmer: I can barely watch one on an iPad because I still feel guilty about not getting the full effect.
Cardellini: I can’t watch on my phone or an iPad. It starts to hurt my eyes. And I like to binge. I don’t like one at a time. I like to save it up, and I like a binge. I don’t have the patience.
Morrone: Oh, I love one at a time. I want to wait till Sunday night, order my favorite food, maybe have a friend come over … Guess our theories of what’s going to happen. I did that with “White Lotus” this year, and I was looking forward to every Sunday at 7 p.m.
Bell: I catch usually about 10 minutes of whatever my wife has fallen asleep to. And then I’ll get into that, and then I’ll watch a lot more episodes while she’s asleep. And then she’ll wake up, and we’ll be completely out of sync in terms of what we’re watching.
Jamie, “Half-Man” is such an emotionally intense show, and it seems like that would be a really hard head space to exist in. Are there things that you do for yourself to maintain your own sanity?
Bell: Me and Richard [Gadd], who wrote the show, are big soccer fans. So I brought a soccer ball to set a lot, and just whatever space we’re in, we just kick a ball to each other every now and then. So, a lot of that wasn’t even us really speaking to each other, but just passing a ball backwards and forwards, which was quite a nice way of just taking our minds off of whatever scene we were doing and still enjoy the space with each other and do something that was physical that didn’t really require us jumping [around] too much.
Camila, “Something Very Bad Is Going to Happen” is also a very intense show. It’s not so much a scream queen kind of horror; it’s this foreboding horror. Was that a difficult space for you to exist in?
Morrone: I think there’s an underappreciation for horror performances. I think some of the most incredible performances, especially by women, have been done in the horror genre. And I think it’s a really specific thing to do because if you’re playing only one level of horror throughout an eight-episode series, I think it’s incredibly boring. And I think I had this notion of like, “God, I don’t want to do these jump scares,” and kind of the cliches of what we imagine horror is like. But horror can be really deep and really internal, and I think there’s a lot of ways in which horror and fear manifest. And I think it was interesting to try and find levels to it and to have the audience come with you, but not dramatize or exaggerate an emotion.
Michael, in “All Her Fault” you are playing someone who could be a much more conventional detective character, but reveals more layers. Was there a moment in your career when you realized, whether it was going for certain roles or not going for certain roles, where you wanted to break out of feeling like a sidekick character or more stereotyped characters? Was there a moment where you made an effort to start going for a different kind of role?
Peña: Back when I started acting, the breakdowns for actors, it was like “Caucasian only,” “Caucasian only,” “Caucasian only,” and we weren’t allowed to audition for those. And it was only until the 14th part that it said, “Open to other ethnicities.” So there’s like a thousand of us going for the 14th place. Ten years of that, you kind of think, “I guess I’m meant to be a supporting character.” But then my mom, right before she died, what she said is, “If you’re going to do that, just make it real. What’s the best you can do with that part?” I said, “Make it a three-dimensional character.” She’s like, “Just do that.” And she’s like, “Nobody remembers your bank account.” And I was like, “Oh, these are two good pieces of advice, Moms,” and so that’s what I did. And with “Crash,” he was a gangster and I was like, “Screw it. I’m just going to do the work and try it out, and all the stuff that I was learning in acting class, I’m going to apply it to this particular role.” And I was happy with the work, so then I kept doing that.
For the rest of you, was there a moment where you had to make a decision about the kind of career that you wanted for yourself and the kind of roles you were going to go up for?
Zimmer: Sorry. It just makes me laugh because we have no control, as actors, over where they believe that we belong. I wish that we could say, “I’d like to try this now,” but it’s basically where they believe they would like us. And then you get put into an area, or a path, or a box, and you can’t get out until somebody else decides, “Hold on. We’re going to give you that shot to try this, even though it’s not necessarily what you normally do or are known for.” Then it takes that for everybody to go, “Oh, you can do this, too?” And it’s like, “Yeah, that’s my job.” My job is to do a lot of things, not just one role, or one type of role.
Rannells: You’d like to think that you’re more in control of those decisions, but sometimes things just happen.
Constance, as Ann Messina, Carolyn Bessette’s mother in “Love Story,” you have this speech that you give at their wedding dinner. It’s such an incredible scene, and I’m wondering, what was it like for you when you first read that in the script?
Zimmer: That monologue was actually my audition.
Peña: Oh, I love when that happens like that.
Zimmer: So I knew it very well, getting on the set with it. I think that I only saw two scripts out of nine episodes, and they were just the ones I was in. And I remember my team saying, “This might be it. We don’t know if there’s anything else that you’re going to do on the show.” And I said, “If this is the only thing I do, it’ll be worth it,” because it was so layered and it was so well-written by Connor Hines and Juli Weiner, I was kind of like, “This is all that matters anyway.” So, to be able to feel like I could pour the entire character into one moment in time, it allowed me to try and give her as much as possible because I was like, “This might be it.” So when I read it, I was like, “Oh, OK. That’s like those five-page monologues that you don’t get very often to do for one character in one episode.”
Linda, your character on “DTF St. Louis” has this habit of saying, “No way, José,” and it’s oddly catchy. And she also is always asking people to speak up. Is it difficult to take what seems, on the page, maybe like tics or weird habits and make them feel natural?
Cardellini: That was the great challenge of it, and it’s the beauty of [Steven Conrad’s] writing. Like we repeat “Jamba Juice,” or “Quality Inn,” or “Garden Suites,” all these little phrases, or “Snag it.” It’s so fun to find a way to make that seem like it is natural to you. I remember I had a long monologue audition, and in there I talk about, “No way, José.” I wasn’t sure what the tone was — it’s such a specific tone when you watch the show, and it’s very Steve Conrad. And I didn’t know what it was before I met him and before you could see the show in action. So getting through that and chewing through that in my audition, doing these versions of “No way, José” that I thought felt really, really natural to me, I was like, “This is how I would say it. This is how I’m going to do it. If my sense of humor matches his sense of humor, if our tones match, then I’ll get this role. And if they don’t, then somebody else will do it beautifully in that other way, whatever that is.” Luckily that was like a marriage of tone and thought, and then those things start to come naturally. And then you want to say them more often than they’re written. There’s not a lot of improv in the show, but we would all just joke around and say it to each other.
Andrew, so much of “Miss You, Love You” is just you and Allison Janney together —
Rannells: Just sitting in a house. Just talking.
What was the rehearsal process like? How did the two of you prepare for these very long dialogue scenes?
Rannells: We rehearsed it like a play, which was really fun, and I’ve never really … I mean, we did that, I guess, with “Boys in the Band” a little bit. We had done it on Broadway and then we all kind of still knew it from when we actually filmed it. But Allison and I rehearsed it like a play, and we would just run lines like little theater nerds. It was exciting because I’ve never — to get on set and to be able to say, like, “We can do the first 25 pages just because we’ve already memorized it.” And we did for Danny Moder, the [director of photography]; we did our little play for the crew one day. Which was really fun because you don’t normally get to work like that. It’s like in little segments. And [writer-director] Jim Rash just let us run it in a way that felt really satisfying to get to do. Because sometimes when you just do little pieces of things you’re like, “I can’t quite get the arc of this, and I don’t really know.” You’re doing inserts, and you’re like, “This doesn’t feel like acting.”
Zimmer: And you’re doing it out of order, so you’re like, “Wait, I’m playing the end before I’ve even played the beginning, but I don’t even know what my beginning is.”
Cardellini: It becomes detective work.
Rannells: Shout-out to Allison Janney. It turns out she’s good at acting.
Linda, what was it like working with an intimacy coordinator in shooting what certainly look like they could have been very awkward scenes in “DTF”?
Cardellini: I like an intimacy coordinator. I think it’s wonderful. I think they’re there if you would like to use them. Everybody I’ve ever worked with in that capacity has been so helpful and considerate, and I think it’s just a nice resource to have. And we had a great one on “DTF.” … One of the first scenes I ever shot was me where I have to, we call it “weight placement,” on Jason’s face. And we were scheduled to shoot that much later, but it came up the —
Rannells: That was your first day?
Cardellini: That was our first scene together, really placing your weight on somebody in a way where you just don’t want to hurt somebody’s face. I mean, you don’t want to suffocate somebody. There’s a lot of things that could happen. But it was handled so beautifully. And Jason, of course, is so wonderful, and we had such a great time doing the scenes because we just would laugh — they’re funny. The scenes, more than even being sexual, are so awkward and bizarre and filled with these strange little kinks that it becomes funny, in a way, although you treat it with dead seriousness. But Steve Conrad had a beautiful economy about what he was shooting, and he would storyboard. It was never just like, “Oh, be intimate and go for it, and we’ll see what we use.” It was, “This is the part of your body we’re going to use right here. This will be the shot. It’s this frame. We’re not going to do any more than that.” So you never felt like you were in the Wild West doing this passionate thing that felt uncomfortable. … Because, of course, going into something like that, reading the script, you’re thinking, “It’s a little nerve-racking. How am I going to do these things?” It was much easier than I could have ever imagined.
Constance, your character in “Love Story,” she embodies the other side of the glamour and the fame and the story that we all think we know. And in a lot of ways I can’t help but connect it to your character from “UnReal” in that it creates this really interesting perspective on fame. These roles, do they make you think about that, as well? Do you start to consider your own relationship to fame and your character’s relationship to fame?
Zimmer: Ann, [and] working on “Love Story” in general, really brought the price of fame to the forefront and how it can tear people apart and down and away from who they were before they became famous. And I think, in this particular story, Carolyn never set out to be famous. That was like the last thing she wanted. The scenes with me and Sarah Pidgeon, who plays Carolyn Bessette, were very much about, “How do I remind you that everything is going to change, and you are going to change?” So it made the mama bear really show up. And sadly, it’s hard to do the research about all of that and see how much media was to blame. I hate to say it, and it’s tough, especially for a woman: They really tore her apart. It definitely makes you look at things and go, “Wow, it’s so interesting what we all give up.” This is our craft. We do this as actors, yet when we step outside of our craft and our roles, we are judged on such a harsh level. We’re here for the work and to make and show these characters so that maybe you can see a little bit of yourself, or maybe it can help you with grief, or laughter, or whatever. But then, outside of our work, we are judged almost worse about how we’re aging, how we’re not aging, what we look like, what we don’t look like. It’s the hardest part, I think, of what we do.
Would the rest of you agree with that, that in some ways, it’s not the work that you’re doing, but it’s this other job that exists outside of your work, the fame aspect of it? Does that become a bigger challenge than you expect?
Rannells: So much of the promotion of things that you work on now hinges on your participation in like, “Post this picture” or “Do this video” or “Do this thing.” And that’s stuff that you just don’t think about when you say, “I want to be an actor.” You don’t think about, “Do I have to do a collab with the network?” I don’t want to do that. That’s not part of my job, but it is part of your job. That is part of it now. So that’s a tricky aspect of it that I didn’t expect.
Morrone: The other side of that coin is that there’s independent films that I’ve done, that nobody would have ever seen had I not been the poster child on social media, being like, “I love this film. Please, watch this film. This is how to watch this film.” So, then again, it can also be a really beneficial platform. And it’s such a complicated relationship because, I mean, I grew up with social media. I don’t ever remember not having a form of social media. And I wish I could be like the cool actors who aren’t on it. They’re much more mysterious.
Peña: Jamie’s not on it.
Bell: I mean, it’s not a conscious choice. I’m just not on it.
Jamie, both you and Linda have been acting since you were quite young and, in some ways, have grown up on camera. How do you know what of yourself to hold onto, what you allow the public to see? Is that something you , at some point in your career, had to make a decision about how much of yourself you were going to give away?
Bell: I’m quite a boring person. I’m a dad. When I’m not working, I’m just dad and school running and that kind of thing. And also, I enjoy working. So most of my time is spent either trying to get the next job, or thinking about the next job, or just really working hard on that because I enjoy that. So I really don’t think about any of that other stuff. And I’ve been quite fortunate in that no one is particularly interested in banging down that door anyway …which I’m quite relieved about, honestly, because I feel like I get to work in a space where I’m just coming and playing the part, and I’m going home. That’s all I’ve ever done is since I was like 12 or 13 years old, and I still enjoy that. I still enjoy that thrill of going to work and playing the character. And I have incredibly high expectations of myself and all those things. I self-flagellate a lot on the way home, like, “Why didn’t you do it like that?” I stress myself out about that kind of stuff, but I still go back the next day going like, “God, maybe I’ll get it today.” And that excitement still exists. And I think mostly that’s because I don’t have this other side of stuff that is distracting me from anything.
Cardellini: When I first started, I wondered if I would ever make a living at it. And to be able to have had it as my job and to have a job that I love and, like you said, show up and just be excited to do the work and be excited to be around other people who do the similar work or behind the camera… It’s such a beautiful community that I feel very grateful that I’ve been able to grow up doing what I love. I mean, I wouldn’t have guessed that it could have lasted this long. And people always said, like, “Oh, when you get to a certain age, it gets terrible for women.” And I still feel like I’m still learning and growing and doing new things, stuff I’ve never done before. So I just try to turn down my worry and just be so grateful in the moment, which is not always easy for me because I can live with a lot of anxiety. But thinking about it and listening to everybody here right now, I just am very grateful to have a seat at the table, literally and figuratively.
I’d imagine for all of you that you’re probably never quite sure what roles you do that are going to be the ones that hit in a certain way. Do you ever know what movies are going to land with audiences?
Peña: I think I’ve done OK in that department where if I read something and it really moves me, I just want to be a part of it. I mean, they had their own success, in a way. “Eastbound & Down” was so funny. When I read the character, I was like, “Oh, this is a really cool character.” And now the meme… There’s a fart meme. Man, I swear to God, we shot that 15 years ago, and literally I do a fart noise, and I say, “How long have you been with her?” It sucks now because I’m like, “That’s all they know me for. Not ‘Crash,’ not ‘World Trade Center,’ not all the movies that were nominated, this and that.” It’s the fart noise.
Rannells: Is that going to be your In Memoriam thing?
Peña: Can you imagine? Let’s watch a clip here of Michael —
As we talk about these past projects you’ve been a part of, it just leads to the question of how the business of being an actor, the nature of this as a job, has changed for you over the years.
Rannells: When I started, and I started in the ensemble of “Hairspray” on Broadway, I never expected that I would ever get a job on television. That just seemed very far away. So the fact that I get to do it and that I have a tiny bit of control over what I get to do is a real gift because it was very unexpected. My first TV job, I was a headless stripper on “Sex and the City.”
Morrone: What episode?
Rannells: It wasn’t a Halloween episode. They just didn’t shoot my face. But I remember filming it and being like, “I can’t imagine this will ever happen again, that I’ll be on a set, or doing a TV show,” So it’s still sort of a surprise anytime I get a job that I’m like, “Someone’s going to pay me to do that, to make faces.”
It seems like everyone in Hollywood right now is talking about artificial intelligence. For all of you, is that something that you are thinking about for yourself? Have you experimented with it at all?
Morrone: I really want to believe that people will always choose us and real emotion, and that the audience is really smart and they want to see real humans and real life experiences and raw emotion. And I pray that that’s the case. I have a lot of hope in humanity, in that case.
I don’t know what it means for us in the near future. I know that we have to protect ourselves. I actually was working with Patricia Arquette, she directed me in a film called “Gonzo Girl.” And she is so hyper-aware of all of this and looking into all her contracts. So was Jamie Lee Curtis. I got the opportunity to talk to her about AI. And they were so knowledgeable and like, “Go back and look at everything that you’ve done the last 10 years, and review everything, and make sure that they can’t use your likeness in the future.” I mean, it’s something that we really do have to be aware of.
Peña: I don’t think that it’s going to be a threat because it’s working off of a database and whatever has been uploaded onto that particular AI. So, just for s— and giggles, I was like, let me see if it can write some jokes. So, I’m like, “What would Peña say in this one?” I was like, “Lame.” All the jokes sucked, and they were recycled jokes. And I was like, “OK, cool. That gives me hope.”
Zimmer: Was there a fart joke in there, though?
Movie Reviews
‘Jean-Michel’ Review: Jean-Michel Basquiat Finally Gets the Fantastic Documentary He Deserves
“Jean-Michel” is the Jean-Michel Basquiat documentary we’ve been waiting for — the fantastic one he deserves. Over the years, there have been a sprinkling of films built around Basquiat, like the boho vérité snapshot “Downtown 81” (2000) or “Boom for Real: The Late Teenage Years of Jean-Michel Basquiat” (2018), which captured the period in the late ’70s after he’d broken with his family, when he was a scene-maker cultivating the seeds of his art and fame. Both those films are heady time capsules, and so, in a different way, is Julian Schnabel’s “Basquiat” (1996), a biopic — starring the hypnotic Jeffrey Wright — that was way ahead of the curve in recognizing the poetic sway of Basquiat’s art and image.
But “Jean-Michel,” directed by Quinn Whitney Wilson and Viridiana Lieberman (it just premiered at the Tribeca Festival and was bought by Netflix), is the first movie to penetrate the Basquiat mystique and give you a full-scale portrait of who he was: New York child of privilege, driven prodigy, bohemian scavenger, downtown rock star, thrill-seeking junkie, media celebrity, meditative soul, spiky and timeless art genius. It’s the first Basquiat film to be made in cooperation with his family, who provided the archive — home movies, photographs, sketches, notebooks — that fills in Basquiat’s life as never before.
When the family estate cooperates in a biography, it can mean the rough edges are sanded off — that you’re getting a burnished, officially approved portrait. But that’s not what happens in “Jean-Michel.” I’m sure there are sordid details that were left on the cutting-room floor (and it’s jarring that the movie leaves out his relationship with the artist Suzanne Mallouk), but the film is bracingly direct about who Basquiat was, his many dimensions and contradictions. He was a singularly charismatic and, by most accounts, ingratiating person, so it’s not like the film has to fudge that, but he could also be moody and jealous and ruthless (at an opening at the Whitney, he used a pen to deface one of Schnabel’s paintings). He was like a planet revolving around himself, and the film does justice to the light and dark sides of that orbit.
The closest thing “Jean-Michel” has to an agenda is to undercut a stubbornly persistent dimension of the Basquiat legend: that he was a “primitive” genius who rose up out of the streets. It’s important to say that we have this image, in part, because it was cultivated by Basquiat himself. But the media dug the myth a little too much; their consuming embrace of it carried a racist undertone, as if Basquiat could only be understood as a derelict version of virtuosity.
It’s true, of course, that he started off as an underground graffiti artist who named himself SAMO (for “same old shit”) and ultimately crossed over to the gallery world. And it’s true that he went through a self-styled homeless period. But “Jean-Michel” fills in the ground floor of his life — that his father, Gerard, a Haitian immigrant who became a New York businessman, and his mother, Matilde, a fourth-generation Puerto Rican, raised him and his two younger sisters in a Brooklyn brownstone that the family owned. They were a close-knit clan, and Jean-Michel was doted on by his mother. He attended private school and wanted to be a cartoonist. But he’s described by his adult sisters, Lisane and Jeanine, as a ball of unruly energy who couldn’t settle down in class; he was too much of a rebel dreamer.
His life took a turn after he was hit by a car (at age 7), and his parents divorced. (In the film, the prospect of losing his family devastated the young Jean-Michel.) Matilde, who had cultivated the love of art in him, declined into mental illness once she was on her own, and his father was basically a 1950s straight-arrow who wanted to shoehorn Jean-Michel into the American Dream. Jean-Michel was having none of that, so in his teens, stoked by the post-punk fervor of the late ’70s, he ran away from home. It’s crucial to note that this was happening at a moment, at least in New York, when squatting had become hip. Madonna did it too, and she and Basquiat had a fling as she was on the verge of fame.
What’s striking about Basquiat’s creativity, which the documentary captures with a seductive, voluminous presentation of the development of his art, is that he was a fountain that never turned off. We see samples of his art as a child, and there’s no question that as he got older he deliberately hung onto and refined elements of that blotchy, scalding style; he saw the expression of his childhood self as the ultimate freedom. Yet by the time he’d reached his teens (he began painting at 15), and was selling postcards on the street for a few dollars, his work had begun to acquire the vibratory quality that made it seem like you were staring at psychological X-rays. “There is no filter,” says one observer. “You’re looking inside his brain.” That’s exactly the talismanic quality of Basquiat’s paintings. He used mixed media (words, collage, geometric piping, icons like the repeated use of a crown, erupting scrawls) to make it feel like you were downloading his soul in its distilled form. The paintings were incantations, shot through with rapture and anxiety, threaded with a secret coded history of the culture. Basquiat looked into himself and saw the world — of Black experience, and of American experience — and then reflected that world back to us.
Growing up, Jean-Michel Basquiat chose to be a drifting bohemian, but the nightclub culture that became his second home was starting to interact with the media in a new way. We see clips of Basquiat on “TV Party,” the New York cable public-access show, where he sat around with people like Christ Stein and Fab 5 Freddy. For a while, his hair is shaved into a widow’s-peak dagger, but what’s disarming about his presence is how gentle and gregarious it is. We see interview segments where he lets his guard down, and also ones where he reveals himself by revealing next to nothing. He’s notably more wary in the interviews he began to give when he was getting famous. One takes place in his loft studio, and as the interviewer nudges him with questions about a painting, all tethered to a kind of racist skepticism (Why did you make that choice? Is it all arbitrary?), Basquiat fends off the cluelessness by creating an aura of invincibility around himself very much like that of Bob Dylan in the mid-’60s.
If you go to see a Jean-Michel Basquiat retrospective (and this movie has the effect of one), it’s astonishing to confront everything he painted, and the maturity of it, all before he died at the age of 27. It’s no hype to say that he can remind one of Picasso. There is only one Picasso, but Basquiat had that kind of fecund imagination, that endlessly varied and prolific joy. He worked fast, and took refuge in his work much as Picasso did. By the time he became buddies with Andy Warhol, Jean-Michel was the one doing the inspiring. The movie colors in their friendship, which we can see was quite close; they each got something out of the other, but it’s also clear that they adored each other. That’s why Warhol, after decades of not painting by hand, was moved to start again, in what became a collaborative project. The critics hated it, and they were too harsh; they couldn’t process the dual authorship, and by then they had turned, almost reflexively, on Warhol. The bad response soured the friendship….and then Warhol died. This left Jean-Michel without the mentor who had been a fulcrum for him.
He returned to his family, showing up in Brooklyn in a limo one day, handing out money, but in a way he was lost. Jennifer Goode, a girlfriend of his from 1984 to 1988, tells the story of his heroin addiction (she was his partner in junk), and how they would go to Hawaii so that he could get clean. They travelled extensively for his art openings around the world, and Jean-Michel would power through when he was someplace where he couldn’t get drugs. He should have gone to rehab, but he was deeply private, like Philip Seymour Hoffman, who also felt himself to be invincible and used heroin to self-medicate his way into an early grave. The film presents some evidence that Basquiat, near the end, was losing interest in art (he talked about wanting to become a writer). But I don’t believe that. He lived and breathed painting; it’s hard to conceive of him abandoning it. The paintings, of course, now sell for so much that they have put him on that rarefied level, along with Van Gogh and Francis Bacon and Picasso. There are still Basquiat doubters who think that’s a travesty. Don’t listen to them. Decide for yourself by seeing “Jean-Michel.”
Entertainment
Of course, Supergirl can have pierced ears. James Gunn explains it again for those who forgot ‘Superman’
DC Studios co-chief James Gunn took to social media Monday to settle a debate once and for all: Of course, Supergirl can have pierced ears.
“Supergirl,” the upcoming superhero film starring Milly Alcock as the last daughter of Krypton, Kara Zor-El, has been the target of questioning from online detractors. One overblown gripe that some have mentioned on social media after zeroing in on Supergirl’s earlobes in promotional images is how a superpowered alien refugee known for her invulnerability and unbreakable skin could have any body jewelry.
“As explained in Superman, the same way she gets drunk — she goes to a planet with a red sun,” Gunn wrote on Threads. “Not to mention she was raised on a chunk of Krypton so didn’t even experience super powers until her teens.”
As the filmmaker mentions, Alcock’s iteration of Kara made her DC Universe debut in his 2025 movie, “Superman.” After the clearly inebriated Girl of Steel crashes into her cousin’s Fortress of Solitude to pick up her dog, Krypto, Superman notes that Kara “likes to go and party on other planets … with red suns.” This is because, as Superman explains, Kryptonians have enhanced power on Earth because of its yellow sun. This is also Kryptonian lore that has been established in comic books.
A recently released “Supergirl” clip also shows Superman first meeting his cousin after her pod lands on Earth. The footage shows Kara’s superpowers kicking in for the first time.
Directed by Craig Gillespie, “Supergirl” will follow the eponymous Kryptonian as she is celebrating her 23rd birthday. According to the film’s logline, Kara’s encounter with “an unexpected and ruthless adversary” leads her to “reluctantly join forces with an unlikely companion on an epic, interstellar journey of vengeance and justice.”
The movie’s cast also includes Matthias Schoenaerts, Eve Ridley, David Krumholtz, Emily Beecham, David Corenswet and Jason Momoa. “Supergirl” will hit theaters June 26.
Movie Reviews
Film Review: “Obsession”
Hello, dear reader! Do you like what you read here at Omnivorous? Do you like reading fun but insightful takes on all things pop culture? Do you like supporting indie writers? If so, then please consider becoming a subscriber and get the newsletter delivered straight to your inbox. There are a number of paid options, but you can also sign up for free! Every little bit helps. Thanks for reading and now, on with the show!
Warning: Full spoilers for the film follow.
Like many other people, I was quite simply blown away by Obsession, Curry Barker’s horror film that’s taken the world and the box office by storm. It’s one of those films that held me rapt from the very beginning and, as its plot unfolded and as the horrors piled up on each other, I kept wondering just what was going to happen next and how much further things were going to go off the rails. Like the best horror, it’s a rather simple story–Michael Johnston’s Bear pines for his friend Nikki (Inde Navarrette) and makes a wish on a novelty toy for her to love him more than anyone else, with predictably disastrous consequences–and it’s in its simplicity that its power rests. It speaks to so many of the issues plaguing us today, particularly surrounding young men, and it’s the kind of film I’ll be thinking about and wrestling with for months.
The moment Bear breaks that little toy stick and invokes his wish, Nikki seems to become a totally different person. She’s no longer the fierce, independent spirit he fell in love with. Instead, her entire existence revolves around him and her desperate (and increasingly terrifying) need to impress him. As Bear soon learns, obsessive love–of precisely the kind he’s harbored for Nikki all these years–can be a very unpleasant thing when it’s inflicted by some sort of supernatural entity. When you wish for someone to love you more than anyone else in the world, you have to contend with the fact that obsession destroys.
This is the kind of horror film that truly gets under your skin and into the back of your mind, lodging there and refusing to leave. In part, this is because Barker has a keen sense of suspense and framing, with the narrative and the camera working in tandem to keep us, like Bear, uncertain about what’s going to happen next. I was particularly struck by the way that Nikki’s appearance changes the moment that stick breaks. She’s repeatedly backlit–whether by the lights of her own porch or the stoop to Bear’s house–which means we see her the same way Nick does: as a sort of menacing dark presence, only her eyes gleaming in the light. Bear, of course, is too oblivious–and too blinded by his overwhelming “love” for Nikki–to sense that something might be amiss, at least not until it’s too late.
I lost count of the number of times in this film where I gripped the edges of my seat, absolutely dreading what was going to happen next, and it must be said that a great deal of the film’s terror comes from Inde Navarrette’s truly electrifying and captivating performance. She gives us just enough in the first few moments before Nikki’s possession for us to get a sense of who she is as a person before the horrors unfold. As her alternative self becomes ever more unhinged in her devotion to Bear–watching him while he sleeps at night, screaming at him to love her, staying in one place all day so as not to risk his anger (and covering herself with urine and vomit in the process)–we find ourselves missing who she once was and wondering how much of her original self is left.
There’s also something insidiously brilliant about the way the film toys with our affiliation as viewers. On the one hand, Johnston’’s performance as Bear makes him ever-so-slightly sympathetic, at least up until a point (though young men fruitlessly pining after women who don’t want them always involves a certain level of creepiness). Things change, though, when he calls the help number on the toy and hears the real Nikki screaming in torment while her alternative self continues her absolute devotion to Bear. It’s at this point that our sympathies with him–assuming they ever existed at all–start to curdle into hostility. When, a short time later, the real Nikki surfaces briefly to beg him to kill her so she can be freed from her horrible existence, the only thing Bear can think to do is to ask why she couldn’t have loved him, before leaving her behind. It was at this point that I leaned over to my viewing partner and whispered, “he has to die.” I said this not just because the narrative required it but also because, in the film’s own logic, Bear has earned his eventual fate. It takes quite a brave film to turn its hero into a villain, and I give Barker a lot of credit for making this choice.
When it comes to the film’s message, however, I’m a little torn. Now, we all know that horror, perhaps more than any other genre, is a genre predicated on saying something, whether explicitly or implicitly. Horror films work on us because they tap into the things we collectively fear or are anxious about, whether it’s immigration, bodily autonomy, or race relations in the US. On the surface, at least, Obsession seems to be arguing that young men’s obsession with viewing women as nothing more than emotional appendages to their desires, and to a certain degree it succeeds, at least if one starts to see Bear as the villain of the piece. However, the film also falls into a double-bind of its own creation, because at the end of the day this is still Bear’s film: we’re sutured into his POV, we see Nikki as a source of horror and terror through his eyes, and he ultimately gets to escape the mess of his own creation through dying.
It’s also more than a little revealing that the film’s most gruesome acts of violence are acted out on the very bodies of the women with whom we are, according to the film’s narrative and political logic, supposed to be identifying. Bear’s friend Sarah (Megan Lawless) suffers especially egregiously in this regard, when an enraged Nikki bludgeons her to death, the camera leaving nothing to the imagination as, once again, a woman’s mutilated body is offered up as spectacle. It’s also worth noting that Nikki’s body also bears the wounds of her possession, whether it’s standing in one place all day or, in a gut-wrenching moment, when the real Nikki stabs herself in an effort to free herself from her imprisonment and torment. As so often in the movies, women’s bodies bear the punishment for men’s cruelty and desires.
What, then, are we to make of the ending? Yes, Bear has died (somewhat inadvertently) by his own hand, a fitting punishment, perhaps, for the suffering his selfishness has caused. But what of Nikki? She might finally be liberated from the possession Bear’s thoughtless wish inflicted upon her, but she’s the one left to pick up the pieces of both her shattered life and the bodies strewn around her. I highly doubt the legal system is going to be very understanding of her plight, since last I checked “an evil toy made me do it” isn’t a valid legal defense. At best, she can look forward to a life in either an institution or prison, forced to live with the trauma of her imprisonment in her own body, her murder of two of her friends (she also shoots Ian, the fourth member of the friend group, during the climax), and the fact that one of her best friends took control of her body and kept doing it even when he knew what he was doing.
So, I must admit that I’m a bit more mixed about Obsession than I thought I would be. While I think it’s remarkably effective and terrifying and horrifying as a piece of horror cinema, the ends to which it puts those sensations leaves me feeling rather cold. But then, perhaps I’m being unfair. The double bind of patriarchy–and the ubiquity of patriarchal methods of meaning-making within cinema–means that it’s almost impossible to show the toll that it takes on women without indulging in the very system itself. If nothing else, then, Obsession reminds us that horror films still have much to say and, if they manage to make us think and force us to grapple with the deep issues of our time, then all the better.
-
Lifestyle4 minutes ago‘Office Romance’ stars J.Lo as a CEO with a bad case of Brett Goldstein : Pop Culture Happy Hour
-
Technology16 minutes agoApple dials down Liquid Glass, and the Mac looks way better for it
-
World19 minutes agoUS adversaries China, North Korea strengthening ties as Xi, Kim set to begin talks
-
Politics24 minutes agoTrump’s SAVE America Act shows signs of life in the Senate despite Republican revolt
-
Health31 minutes agoWoman with advanced Alzheimer’s regained speech and memories after taking magic mushrooms
-
Sports34 minutes agoKnicks guard nearly wipes out Michael Bloomberg diving for loose ball during NBA Finals Game 3
-
Technology39 minutes agoAI voice scams can clone your family’s voice
-
Business46 minutes agoCommentary: Here’s how Musk’s SpaceX IPO could crash your 401(k)