Author: rb809rb

Over the course of Sally Field‘s storied career, there have been opportunities to discover her character on set (like the ad-lib-heavy Mrs. Doubtfire) and those where it was all on the page (Tony Kushner’s Lincoln script). In Netflix’s, an adaptation of Shelby Van Pelt’s novel that’s sold more than 2 million copies, it was a little bit of both. “Lewis Pullman and I were improvising all the time,” Field says of her primary co-star … at least the one that’s not a CGI octopus. “That relationship was really created out of he and I playing with each other. You can kind of see it in the movie.”

Her Emmy nom for the work isn’t just interesting because it’s her 10th (she has three wins), she’s also the first actress in nearly a decade to earn one for a TV movie. But for Field, who went from ABC’s The Flying Nun to an Oscar winner for Norma Rae early in her career, the medium is something she’s learned not to focus on.

Is there some role or project you’re still itching to do that’s not being presented to you?

My whole life, it’s been very difficult to find projects that I wanted to do. In the beginning, it was very difficult to find projects where they would even let me in the room to audition. I started in situation comedy television in 1964. In those days, they didn’t let you out. You lived and you died on that railroad track. You weren’t getting out. Even after I got to a place where [they’d let me audition], it has always been difficult to find films, characters, stories that I want to be part of me … that I would go, “OK, that’s it. This is the one.” It’s always taken me a long time. I never was an actor that was able to work back-to-back-to-back, doing one project after another. I just had to keep my head down, as they say.

What were the conversations with your team like in those moments where you felt like you weren’t booking what you wanted?

I didn’t think it was their responsibility. They would perhaps come across something that I might like, even if it wasn’t offered to me, maybe they would show it to me. But many times, the things that I finally, eventually did do, I found it. I came after it. Certainly Lincoln was one of them. I fight like crazy. You don’t get delivered things, and at least women don’t and certainly not older women. You don’t get a whole box of chocolate, so to speak, and say, “Hmm, which one do I want today?” It just doesn’t happen.

Was Lincoln the role that you fought the hardest for?

No, I fought hard for Sybil. That was a huge turning point. And I fought hard to get into this movie, Stay Hungry [1976]. That was the first [feature]. It was incredibly difficult to even get in the room. Nobody wanted me there. I could hear [director] Bob Rafelson in the back room yelling at Dianne Crittenden, the casting director, for even letting me sit in the waiting room because I was wasting his time. I had to use that anger as my fuel. It was a long haul to get to my movie career and then to find the things I wanted to do.

You talk about this stigma of working in sitcoms at the beginning of your career. You went back to TV in 2006 with Brothers & Sisters — a time before a lot of other Oscar winners started working in both mediums. Did you feel that the iron curtain was lifting?

I wanted to tell stories that were worth telling. I wanted to act. When I finally transitioned to film, I was able to find Norma Rae, Places in the Heart, Absence of Malice, Mrs. Doubtfire, Forrest Gump, Steel Magnolias and whatever they were. But the industry was changing at the same time. When Brothers & Sisters came along, it just struck me. Those five years, I’m proud of them. It’s about a woman who’s older, obviously, because she’d raised children. I understood that because I had raised sons. Also, I had a gay son who was just coming out or had just barely gotten his feet under him. I got to play a mother with a really great family and a great son [Matthew Rhys] who happened to be gay. And this was a very crucial time in our country when this was not done. I mean, Will & Grace had been done, but it was comedy and very broad.

Matthew Rhys, the onscreen son from Brothers & Sisters who you just referenced, is nominated for two Emmys this year.

Yes! Good for him. He deserves it.

Do you keep in touch with him?

I sure do.

A very important scene in film history for me and several of my friends is you repeating the phrase “The whole time?” in response to learning your husband had been cross-dressing as the nanny in Mrs. Doubtfire. Would you mind telling me a little about filming that scene?

That was me improvising. That whole sequence, we shot it at the end of the film. It was several days in that restaurant. But that moment, that is an ad-lib because the line was [supposed to be] very calm. “The whole time” was an improvisation. Robin [Williams] and I had created a relationship, a world where we improvised a lot. It allowed Mrs. Doubtfire to come alive because it was such a weird circumstance.

I don’t know how much you think about how the work is going to be received commercially or critically while you’re making it, but I’d imagine that many people involved in Mrs. Doubtfire expected it to hit as big as it did. Did you feel that was the case?

I think they thought it would be successful. Robin was at the height of just … brilliance. But I don’t think anyone saw it being as huge as it was. The script wasn’t what was on the page because of what Robin and I were allowed to do by [director] Chris Columbus. We did not want — and Robin felt this strongly, too — the mother to be the villain. We both felt that there were no villains in this divorce. Marriages don’t always last. Sometimes there are no bad guys. It’s time to move on. Without getting in the way of the comedy, it was a delicate dance to allow her to not be mean. She was hurt to lose her marriage, too, but he was impossible. Who could be married to this guy?

Looking back at the whole of your career, what do you feel like the biggest risk you took was?

Everything’s a risk. Otherwise, forget it. If it’s not a risk, then stay home. Easy is overrated.

You and your Lincoln collaborators Tony Kushner and Steven Spielberg saw Oh, Mary! before it went to Broadway. Now that Cole Escola has ceded the role to a revolving door of famous actors, would you ever step back into Mary Todd Lincoln’s shoes?

No, no, no. (Laughs.) Maya Rudolph [just did it], and I couldn’t be in her world. She’s never not great. And Cole is so dazzlingly talented. I think they tried to keep it from them, the three of us were in the audience when we saw it. I can be in awe of it, but I can’t do it.

This story first appeared in an August stand-alone issue of The Hollywood Reporter magazine. To receive the magazine, click here to subscribe.

The murders of two Alaskan Native women, Kathleen Jo Henry and Veronica Abouchuk, at the hands of serial killer Brian Steven Smith, are centered in ID’s Lost Women of Alaska.

The three-part series narrated and executive produced by Octavia Spencer lays out the vulnerabilities that allowed Smith, who is serving a 226-year sentence for the killings, to prey upon Henry, Abouchuk and countless other native women he and other men are suspected of harming, from remote terrain to racism and biases against sex workers.

“Amplifying these stories is our duty,” said Spencer, who’s nominated for an Emmy for best narrator for her work on the series, during a taping of THR Presents powered by Investigation Discovery. “These women had lives, they have loved ones, and they are human. We are human.”

Right from the beginning, the series lays out the disproportionate number of missing persons in Alaska—roughly 1,300, with only 100 being actively worked on. Were you aware of the situation in Alaska prior to this project?

As a Black woman, I know that our stories here are not prioritized. So it was not shocking, sadly, to me, that these indigenous women were going missing at alarming rates. It’s a systemic failure within our culture to disregard people who are Black and brown. 

The end of the third episode notes that Brian Steven Smith is still being investigated for possibly committing more crimes in Alaska and his native South Africa. Are there any new developments?

Without having concrete evidence, these aren’t his first victims. He was too good at it and had his modus operandi. He went to Alaska because it was a broader playing field, of that I am sure. But the same way that they weren’t vigorously investigating the indigenous women, I can almost assure you that his victims [in South Africa] were Black and aren’t being as rigorously investigated either. 

True crime, as a genre, has been critiqued as sensational. What sets Lost Women apart?

We don’t see this as entertainment. I don’t watch true crime for entertainment. I watch it to gain knowledge, and if I’ve seen something, I want to be responsible and report it. Lost Women, for us, is one about being restorative of lives and voices and bringing some resolution, hopefully, to families. It’s not that we glamorize crime against women. I find it abhorrent. Lost Women is about empowering all women and young girls to be a part of a community that helps each other, that we see each other, that we report, and that we fight for laws that protect us. This is a passion of mine, but not for entertainment, for justice for these victims.

This is your second narration Emmy nomination, both of which were for the Lost Women series. What does that mean to you?

It’s wonderful because it amplifies the story of the Lost Women of Alaska. I always joke and say, “Is my voice the right one to be narrating their stories?” But visibility is something that I can give with my name. And the voice — I’m compelled to use it for good and to tell these women’s stories because they can no longer tell their own stories. So it’s very, very humbling. And it’s not for me. I see this as a nomination for The Lost Women of Alaska.

Watch the full Q&A with Spencer in the video above.

It was just three years ago when Bela Bajaria revealed the internal label for Netflix’s programming ideal, the gourmet cheeseburger. Evoking populist fare with a garnish of prestige, it seemed like the only dining-related descriptor the TV industry would ever need. But there’s a new moniker on the rise, which I learned when a screenwriter friend recently shared their concerns about a project never getting out of development. The rationale? “Oh, they’re only buying white wine thrillers.”

This trio of words is so evocative that it barely needs a definition. Let’s establish one, just to be safe. A white wine thriller can get dark but not too dark. The body count is kept low. A few murders, nothing too graphic. There must be aspirational elements, typically wealthy characters wearing Brunello Cucinelli while emotionally unraveling in Nancy Meyers-worthy kitchens. White wine thrillers are often adaptations of books. And, pivotally, they are centered on female protagonists and marketed with a female audience in mind. The characters may drink white wine. They frequently do. The real implication is that the viewer is drinking it as they watch.

Roots of this label can be traced to Peacock. “It was just after All Her Fault, we were talking about female-led thrillers, and one of the executives called them white wine thrillers,” says Lisa Katz, president of scripted content at NBC and Peacock. “I don’t know what that conjures for you, but I like wine. To me, white wine feels lighter, refreshing, enjoyable. It goes down easy. You don’t feel bad the next day.”

For every person I’ve approached who claims to have never heard the term, there are at least another two who trill with excitement at its mention. And not because the white wine thriller is anything revelatory or new. It’s because there are finally the words to articulate a kind of show we’ve been watching for years. Look back at the female-driven hits of the past decade, and so many fit the bill. Netflix’s adaptation of Elin Hilderbrand’s The Perfect Couple? Quintessential white wine thriller. Hulu’s Nine Perfect Strangers? Big white wine energy. HBO’s The Undoing? Pour another glass of Grüner. In short: If Nicole Kidman is in the mix, keep a corkscrew within arm’s reach. This brings me to Big Little Lies. No series better encapsulates the tenets of the white wine thriller. HBO assembled The Avengers of A-list actresses, put them in stunning homes on the California coast, asked viewers which one killed the shitbag husband played by Alexander Skarsgard, and our cups ran over.

All Her Fault is the latest industry standard for white wine thrillers. The 2025 miniseries, which stars Sarah Snook as a mother unraveling the cashmere mystery of her missing son, is nominated for seven Emmys. It’s a watershed hit for Peacock. Until the recent launch of the Jennifer Garner drama Five Star Weekend, All Her Fault ranked as the most watched original in the streamer’s history. The fact that, in the wake of All Her Fault’s success, Peacock announced in July that it was finally profitable certainly suggests that white wine thrillers are worth the investment.

“It’s such a good phrase because you immediately understand exactly what it means,” says Tessa Coates, the comedian turned showrunner behind Prime Video’s Ride or Die. “But thrillers, when correctly done, are incredibly difficult to pull off. The fact that you enjoy them with a white wine is not a damning thing. White wine makes it clear that we’re here for a bit of fun. If you wanted to be truly damning, you would call it a prosecco thriller. That says, ‘We’re sugar. We’re sweet. We’re silly.’ “

Coates’ series starring Octavia Spencer and Hannah Waddingham skews too comedy and too action to satisfy the white wine criteria, the most comedic-skewing example of the genre likely being Kaley Cuoco’s The Flight Attendant, but Ride or Die is part of a wave of female-fronted hits setting the summer TV narrative. Apple TV has the Anya Taylor-Joy-fronted Lucky, which is said to skew too male to be a white wine. The aforementioned Five Star Weekend is deliberately short on thrills (“It’s possibly more of a rosé,” jokes Katz). And then there’s Furious, on Hulu, a red wine thriller.

Red wine thrillers check many of the same boxes as their sauvignon blanc counterparts. The biggest differences are higher body counts and a bit of grime where you’d normally find the aspiration. Picture Amy Adams in Sharp Objects. Her alcoholic character may have been quaffing vodka from Evian bottles, but that was a red wine thriller all the way. A red wine thriller demands a stronger constitution, a willingness to wake up the next morning with some lingering effects. Those watching Furious — Liz Meriwether and Emmy Rossum’s cat-and-mouse thriller about an Epstein-esque victim taking out her rapists one by one — know the series is not so easy to shake.

“A red wine thriller stains your teeth, it’s tannic,” one producer tells me, noting that white wine thrillers are in higher demand but that some buyers have developed a taste for red. “Peacock and Hulu are definitely looking for white wine thrillers. Netflix and HBO Max might skew more red. And Paramount has absolutely no idea what it wants.”

Paramount appears to be, as a recent THR report detailed, finally turning its attention to women after so many years relying on the work of Taylor Sheridan and his abundant testosterone. All this serves as a reminder that programming for or about women is still spoken of in terms that would almost never be used for men. Male-skewing series don’t suffer such labels, as much as I’d argue for Shane Gillis’ Tires being dubbed a Kirkland Signature comedy. Calling something a white wine thriller could be interpreted as pejorative, if not sexist.

“Looking at these female-fronted shows that are doing so well, they’re all different,” says Larry Salz, an agent and partner at UTA. “I think the danger of boxing them in is the notion of a network going, ‘Well, we already have our female thriller.’ “

Taxonomies, even cheeky ones, can also be helpful. In a marketplace so often defined by confusion, calling something a white wine thriller offers a rare bit of clarity for all parties. “People want to categorize because people are always trying to figure out what audiences want,” says Katz. “What I’ve learned is that you never know what they want. So the only way to approach this is to make something entertaining, something well-executed that will connect no matter the genre.”

This story appeared in the Aug. 12 issue of The Hollywood Reporter magazine. Click here to subscribe.

Slow Horses, Apple TV’s wry cult spy series, isn’t planning on, well, slowing down anytime soon.

The show, starring Gary Oldman as the crotchety and flatulent Jackson Lamb; Jack Lowden as River Cartwright; and Kristin Scott Thomas as MI5 director Diana Taverner, hit a bit of a snag at the end of its most recent fifth season, when lead writer and executive producer Will Smith walked away from the show for other pursuits.

While Slow Horses, which films in Britain, doesn’t operate with a traditional showrunner, Smith served as the de facto captain at the helm. His departure raised some questions about the future of the slow-burn series. However, executive producer Doug Urbanski says the production, in part because there isn’t a lone showrunner, had built up a creative foundation that meant if they couldn’t figure out the best way forward, they should all resign.

“Will leaving really meant that we just had to solve it, and I think we did, as you will see with season six about to premiere,” Urbanski says. “Some people have seen it already and have said they think it’s the best season yet. Now we’ve heard that season after season, but it is very good.”

After the first couple of seasons flew under the radar, Slow Horses has in recent years cemented itself among shows consistently vying for critical recognition. For its most recent season, the show nabbed nine Emmy noms, including lead and supporting actor nods for Oldman and Lowden, as well as best drama series.

“There’s not one award that I’ve been nominated for that I haven’t been surprised by, and the same goes for Gary,” Urbanski reveals. “Awards add another sort of pressure to the whole thing. … So we don’t really think about awards, and we don’t make the show for awards. But the recognition is nice.”

The sixth season of Slow Horses is set to premiere Sept. 16. Co-executive producer Gaby Chiappe was tapped to serve as lead writer for the season, which will be the first in the series to adapt two of author Mick Herron’s books for a single season — usually one book nets out to one six-hour run of a season.

Urbanski says in order to keep the character and story momentum of previous seasons going, combining the sixth and seventh books in Herron’s series made the most sense. “We thought the two books each were thin enough,” he explains, adding that Herron’s novels remain the creative foundation for the series. “Often some of the best dialogue and scenes you see in the show are stuff that Mick Herron has already authored.”

With nine books on the shelf and a seventh season of TV based on the eighth novel already in production, the runway for the series after that point remains a question for fans. Urbanski says, however, the creative team is committed to keeping the show going, so long as they’re able to continue balancing its delicate tone and everyone involved — Apple, Oldman, etc. — wants to keep showing up.

“We’re all having the family conversation,” Urbanski says. “But get this: Most TV shows don’t have books, so we can figure this out. … And there’s another thing: Mick Herron hasn’t stopped writing. I can’t speak for Mick, but you never know, more books might be coming.”

This story first appeared in an August stand-alone issue of The Hollywood Reporter magazine. To receive the magazine, click here to subscribe.