Rhea Seehorn says she’s on “Team Carol.”

In the Apple TV series Pluribus, actor Rhea Seehorn stars as Carol, a bestselling romance author who suddenly finds herself living in a world where everyone around her is bound together by a “psychic glue.” They share memories and knowledge and they are happy and peaceful. The only problem: Carol’s not interested in joining them — especially if it means losing her own sense of self.

“I would absolutely be Team Carol as far as arguing the necessity and the positives of individual thinking,” Seehorn says. If the world were taken over by group think, she explains, “There’s never going to be a joke that you haven’t heard. There’s never going to be a surprise behavior that makes you laugh. And that’s just such a source of joy for me that I just can’t imagine that contentment is the same as happiness.”

Seehorn previously played Kim Wexler in AMC’s Better Call Saul, co-created by Vince Gilligan. He is also the creator of Pluribus. Seehorn says Carol’s character was originally imagined as a male protagonist, but was rewritten for her to take the starring role. Gilligan “wanted to play with tone and take wild swings as far as [the series] could be darkly comedic, or it could be darkly psychological … and he was impressed at my ability to do those things,” Seehorn says. “I’m certainly very thankful for it.”

Interview highlights

On playing angry characters in Pluribus and in Better Call Saul

There’s this idea [that] anger can be a miasma almost, that can spread. And we’ve all seen horrible things can happen when you just are riling people up. … But at the same time, it is a necessary emotion, which, I think, is one of the arguments in the show that I side with — the idea that all of the emotions are important, not just happiness. …

Because I’m a woman playing the role … it felt as though I was taught that anger was unpalatable, specifically from females, and that I should find a way to make it palatable. … When I was much younger, I would scream. As a teenager, you know, screaming, yelling, like the typical arguments you have over hairspray and idiotic things as a teenager. … My parents were divorced, and so it was a household of three women, my mom, and my sister and I. … But, you know, you kind of grow out of this. …

I don’t think it’s OK to scream and yell in someone’s face, but I think I have become conflict avoidant in the suppression of that anger to a degree that’s not healthy. I will stand up for somebody else, though, in a heartbeat. If somebody else is being mistreated next to me, I’m in there. I’ll take you to the mat. But if it’s at me, I tend to swallow it and try to figure out how I can make it better.

On how she prepared to play the role of a romance novelist

I went to The Ripped Bodice, which is an amazing romance novel store. … And I just slipped in and looked around. And I have to tell you, one of the first things that struck me is the amount of sub-genres and the specificity of these sub-genres. … I watched a couple of people do readings from their books, and I was really surprised at the breadth of people, of fans, listening. There was a lot of people dressed like early Stevie Nicks, in a beautiful way. But then there was also … [a] couple that looked like they came straight from a corporate job. … People younger than me, people older than me. It definitely widened me to how huge this genre is and how much it encapsulates all the different novels it has.

On changing her name from Deborah, which was her first name, to Rhea, which was her middle name

I got a little chunky in puberty, and kids started yelling at me, “Hey, fat Debbie, do you want some more Little Debbie’s?” (which are snack cakes.) … I was just like … I just need a fresh start. And I think I identify more with my middle name. And weirdly, there was no issue with kids that had known me forever. Everybody just sort of was like, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

On her father being a counterintelligence agent

I knew he was investigating things and I knew that they were secretive, but I didn’t have a lot more details than that. And I am loathe to say that my head was too far up my butt as a teenager to actually be interested in what my parents actually do. And then he died when I was 18, so I didn’t get to ask a lot of the questions that I wish I had asked. …

My Dad’s favorite answer to everything was, “What are you, writing a book?” If you even just said, like, “Where are you going?” … And I thought I was so brilliant when I was 15 that I finally had a comeback. And I said, “Yeah, I am.” And he said, “Well, then leave this chapter out.”

On her father’s drinking

Apparently he was a heavy drinker for most of his adult life, but it just didn’t get labeled as alcoholism, you know? And my dad was the life of the party and very, very smart, very, very funny, with a super dry wit. … The idea that he was in the Tet Offensive and, as far as I know, never talked to anybody about it, and that you would have a life built of a lot of secrets. … I don’t remember him ever saying that he had anybody to talk to about it. So I just bring that up because I think self-medicating was going on for quite a while before it physically became a full-blown issue and then full-blown disease. 

On how she became an actor

I was obsessed with television, film, and as a kid in the suburbs in Virginia, I’d never known anybody that had even the loosest association with the entertainment business and thought it was just an impossible dream. And then, in my first year at George Mason University, you had to take an elective in the arts that was not your major, and my major was fine arts. And so I took an acting class. … It was not an emotional, ooey-gooey class — I took plenty of those later — but this was a hardcore, do-your-homework, script-analysis class using practical aesthetics that was developed out of the Atlantic Theater. And I just was in love with the fact that if you work really hard and study, you can incrementally get closer and closer to being good at this and hopefully one day great at this. …

And then I started going to D.C. theater, which I think is some of the world’s best theater … and [I] was just like: Immediately, I have to do this for my life. I don’t know how many day jobs I’m going to have to have. It was not about being famous. I knew that I had to be an actor and I’d support myself, however I had to.

Lauren Krenzel and Nico Wisler produced and edited this interview for broadcast. Bridget Bentz and Beth Novey adapted it for the web.

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On a nippy Monday night at the Zebulon in Frogtown, a man wearing a Jason Voorhees T-shirt steps onto a purple-lighted stage and stands next to a drum set. Audience members, seated in neat rows and cradling cocktails, enthusiastically applaud.

Then they look toward a glowing projector screen. Some clutch their pens, ready to take notes.

“In cinema, three elements can move: objects, the camera itself and the audience’s point of attention,” Drew McClellan says to the crowd before showing an example on the projector screen. The clip is a memorable scene from Jordan’s Peele’s 2017 film, “Get Out,” when the protagonist (Daniel Kaluuya) goes out for a late-night smoke and sees the groundskeeper sprinting toward him — in the direction of the camera and the viewer — before abruptly changing direction at the last second.

“Someone running at you full speed with perfect track form, you can’t tell me that’s not terrifying,” McClellan says laughing with the audience.

McClellan is an adjunct professor at the USC School of Cinematic Arts and the cinematic arts department chair at the Los Angeles County High School for the Arts (LACHSA). He’s presenting on two of the seven core visual components of cinema — tone and movement — as part of Lectures on Tap, an event series that turns neighborhood bars and venues into makeshift classrooms. Attendees hear thought-provoking talks from experts on wide-ranging topics such as Taylor Swift’s use of storytelling in her music, how AI technology is being used to detect cardiovascular diseases, the psychology of deception and the quest for alien megastructures — all in a fun, low-stakes environment. And rest assured: No grades are given. It’s a formula that’s been working.

“I hunted for these tickets,” says Noa Kretchmer, 30, who’s attended multiple Lectures on Tap events since it debuted in Los Angeles in August. “They sell out within less than an hour.”

Wife-and-husband duo Felecia and Ty Freely dreamed up Lectures on Tap last summer after moving to New York City where Ty was studying psychology at Columbia University. Hungry to find a community of people who were just as “nerdy” as they are, they decided to create a laidback space where people could enjoy engaging lectures typically reserved for college lecture halls and conferences.

Founders Felecia and Ty Freely pose for a photo with Drew McClellan (center) after his presentation.

(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)

“At the end of every lecture, people always come up to us and [say] “I hated college when I was in it, but now that I’m not, I would love to come to a lecture and have access to these experts without having to feel pressured to get a good grade,’” says Felecia, who makes “brainy content” on social media, like explaining the phenomenon of closed-eye visualizations.

Lectures on Tap, which also hosts events in San Francisco, Boston and Chicago, is the latest iteration of gatherings that pair alcoholic beverages with academic talks. Other similar events include Profs and Pints, which launched in 2017 in Washington, D.C., and Nerd Nite, which came to L.A. in 2011 and takes place at a brewery in Glendale. At a time when the federal government is moving closer to dismantling the U.S. Department of Education, AI is impacting people’s ability to think critically, attention spans are shrinking and literacy rates are down, events like Lectures on Tap are becoming more than just a place to learn about an interesting new topic.

“I think folks are passionate about keeping intellectualism alive especially in this age that is kind of demonizing that,” Felecia says. “We’re in the age of people not trusting experts so everyone out there who still does wants to be in a room with their people.”

“And there are a lot of them,” adds Ty. “It is actually alive and well, just maybe not mainstream.”

“In a weird way, this is kind of counterculture,” Felecia chimes in.

Wensu Ng introduces the speaker for the night.

(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)

During his presentation, McClellan broke down key film concepts in layman’s terms for the diverse audience who were mostly composed of film lovers and people who were simply interested in the topic. (Though there were some writers in the crowd as well.) To illustrate his points, he played several movie clips including the 1931 version of “Frankenstein” and Juan Carlos Fresnadillo’s “28 Weeks Later,” both of which made several people in the audience, including myself, jump in fear.

“This is how you scare the crap out of people,” he said while explaining why seeing a lighted-up character staring into an abyss of darkness is impactful.

Though some patrons like to go to Lectures on Tap events for specific topics they find interesting, others say they would attend regardless of the subject matter.

“I felt really comfortable and I loved the social aspect of it,” says Andrew Guerrero, 26, in between sips of wine. “It felt more like a communal vibe, but at the same time, I miss learning.”

Attendees mingle at the bar.

(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)

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He adds, “I can absorb [the information] more because I’m not pressured to really retain it and because of that, I actually do retain it.”

After weeks of trying to secure tickets, which cost $35, Ieva Vizgirdaite took her fiancé, Drake Garber, to the event to celebrate his birthday.

“I didn’t go to college so I don’t have any prior experience with lecturing,” says Garber, 29, adding that he’s interested in film production and is a “big horror fan.” But the fact that “I get to sit and learn about something that I love doing with a pint? Like, that’s amazing.”

The relaxed environment allows the speakers to let their guard down as well.

“I can play with certain elements that I maybe haven’t used in the classroom,” says McClellan, who made jokes throughout his presentation. “It’s definitely looser and getting around people who’ve been drinking, they’ll ask more questions and different types of questions.”

“It’s kind of like mushing up the education into your applesauce — mushing it up in the beer,” says Drew McClellan.

(Emil Ravelo / For The Times)

After the talk is over, bar staff quickly remove the rows of chairs and clear the stage for a concert that’s happening next. Several Lectures on Tap attendees, including the founders, transition to the back patio to mingle. McClellan stays after to answer more questions over drinks.

“This is a nontraditional environment to be enjoying yourself but also learning at the same time,” he says. “It’s kind of like mushing up the education into your applesauce — mushing it up in the beer.”