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Diana Oh, Passionate Voice for Queer Liberation in Theater, Dies at 38

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Mx. Oh’s politically provocative and often playful works, including the Off Broadway production “{my lingerie play},” asserted the right to be oneself while having fun.Diana Oh, a glitter-dusted experimental artist-activist whose theater works intertwined political provocation with profound compassion in rituals of communion with audiences, died on June 17 at their home in Brooklyn. Mx. Oh, who used the pronouns they and them, was 38.The death was confirmed by Mx. Oh’s brother Han Bin Oh, who said the cause was suicide.A playwright, actor, singer-songwriter and musician, Mx. Oh created art that didn’t fit neatly into categories. Mx. Oh was best known for the outraged yet disarmingly gentle Off Broadway show “{my lingerie play},” a music-filled protest against male sexual violence; it was performed in a series of 10 installations around New York City.A concert-like play — with Mx. Oh singing at its center — “{my lingerie play}” percolated with an angry awareness of the ways restrictive gender norms and society’s policing of sexual desire can leave whole groups vulnerable. It was an emphatic and loving assertion of the right to be oneself without worrying about abuse.“I was born a woman, to immigrant parents,” Mx. Oh said in the show. “That’s when my body became political. That’s when I became an artist.”Mx. Oh’s Infinite Love Party, which the Bushwick Starr theater in Brooklyn produced in 2019, was not a show but rather a structured celebration with a sleepover option. It was a handmade experience, including music and aerial silks, designed to welcome queer people, people of color and their allies.Mx. Oh in The Infinite Love Party, which was not a show but rather a structured celebration with music.Nina Westervelt for The New York TimesMx. Oh in 2019 during The Infinite Love Party, which had a sleepover option.Nina Westervelt for The New York TimesWe are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    Diana Oh, Passionate Voice for Queer Liberation in Theater, Dies at 38

    Mx. Oh’s politically provocative and often playful works, including the Off Broadway production “{my lingerie play},” asserted the right to be oneself while having fun.Diana Oh, a glitter-dusted experimental artist-activist whose theater works intertwined political provocation with profound compassion in rituals of communion with audiences, died on June 17 at their home in Brooklyn. Mx. Oh, who used the pronouns they and them, was 38.The death was confirmed by Mx. Oh’s brother Han Bin Oh, who said the cause was suicide.A playwright, actor, singer-songwriter and musician, Mx. Oh created art that didn’t fit neatly into categories. Mx. Oh was best known for the outraged yet disarmingly gentle Off Broadway show “{my lingerie play},” a music-filled protest against male sexual violence; it was performed in a series of 10 installations around New York City.A concert-like play — with Mx. Oh singing at its center — “{my lingerie play}” percolated with an angry awareness of the ways restrictive gender norms and society’s policing of sexual desire can leave whole groups vulnerable. It was an emphatic and loving assertion of the right to be oneself without worrying about abuse.“I was born a woman, to immigrant parents,” Mx. Oh said in the show. “That’s when my body became political. That’s when I became an artist.”Mx. Oh’s Infinite Love Party, which the Bushwick Starr theater in Brooklyn produced in 2019, was not a show but rather a structured celebration with a sleepover option. It was a handmade experience, including music and aerial silks, designed to welcome queer people, people of color and their allies.Mx. Oh in The Infinite Love Party, which was not a show but rather a structured celebration with music.Nina Westervelt for The New York TimesMx. Oh in 2019 during The Infinite Love Party, which had a sleepover option.Nina Westervelt for The New York TimesWe are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    Lisa Kudrow’s ‘The Comeback’ to Come Back to HBO

    Lisa Kudrow’s critically beloved cult comedy will return to HBO next year, the network announced on Friday.Valerie Cherish is not finished yet.HBO’s critically beloved comedy, “The Comeback,” starring Lisa Kudrow, will return for a third season next year, more than a decade after its second season concluded, the network announced on Friday.The show centers on the challenges of Valerie Cherish, a former network TV star turned reality show performer (Season 1, which premiered in 2005) and then a premium cable network dramedy actress (Season 2, which premiered in 2014).Over the last two decades, “The Comeback” has become something of a cult classic, and Kudrow’s depiction of Cherish — her big red hair, her earnest demeanor, her totally unique turns-of-phrase — remains a meme in present day. Earlier this year, Variety published a list titled “The 100 Greatest TV Performances of the 21st Century,” and ranked Kudrow in “The Comeback” at No. 4.The show, however, has never been broadly popular. HBO canceled “The Comeback” after it premiered in 2005 because of low ratings, before bringing it back — to the surprise of the industry — for a second season nearly a decade later. The season got a rapturous response from some critics but the result was the same: The ratings were very low.The network gave few details on the premise of the third season, but Kudrow and Michael Patrick King, the “Sex and the City” producer who cocreated the show, said Cherish was gearing up for another turn in show business.“Valerie Cherish has found her way back to the current television landscape,” King and Kudrow said in a joint statement. “Neither of us are surprised she did.” HBO released a one-minute video on Friday in which Cherish declares: “I’ve got a new show.”“The Comeback” will have to navigate its third season without one of its key stars: Robert Michael Morris, the actor who played Valerie Cherish’s loyal hairdresser Mickey, died in 2017.The show will go into production this summer, and the network said this would be the final season.King is also the executive producer of “And Just Like That…,” the “Sex and the City” revival that is currently streaming on Max for its third season. More

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    Rachel Zegler’s Balcony Scene in ‘Evita’ Has London Talking

    Crowds are converging outside the London Palladium to watch Rachel Zegler sing “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” from a balcony — while paying theatergoers inside see it on a screen.One recent afternoon, I arrived at the London Palladium to a disappointing scene: The West End’s most talked-about seats were already taken.Outside on the street, not far from the theater’s grand entrance, two men had perched themselves on the seats — actually piles of cardboard awaiting recycling — to get a perfect view of a scene that has London’s theater scene buzzing.In a few moments, Rachel Zegler, the actor playing Eva Perón in a revival of “Evita” at the Palladium, would appear on a balcony and belt out “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina,” the show’s signature song, to the hundreds of musical lovers, celebrity spotters and confused tourists gathered below.Members of the public watching Rachel Zegler’s balcony performance on the street outside the London Palladium.Jeremie Souteyrat for The New York TimesThe audience inside, some of whom had paid 240 pounds, about $327, for seats that weren’t made out of trash, would be watching her on a big screen.Adam McCollom, 41, an academic who had scored a spot on one of the cardboard perches, said that Zegler’s street scene was apt for a musical about Perón, the wife of Argentina’s socialist president’s who was adored by the working classes. “Here I am, the pleb on the bins, about to clap the woman who’s paid billions,” he said.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    Did ‘The Bear’ Bounce Back? Sort of, Chef

    After a divisive previous season, the fine-dining dramedy regained some momentum. But other aspects of Season 4 might leave fans cold. Here, we recap it all.This recap includes spoilers for all of Season 4 of “The Bear.”Season 3 of the FX/Hulu series “The Bear” was generally well-received by critics and it will probably pick up plenty of Emmy nominations when they are announced next month. But there was a fair amount of fan grumbling when the season debuted last summer.The most common complaints were that the season felt unsatisfying and incomplete, with too much left unresolved, and that it heaped too much misery on the characters. There were fewer of the triumphant moments that made the first two seasons so beloved.It would be a stretch to call Season 4 a comeback because “The Bear” never stopped being top-shelf television — and because the ending of the new season might provoke more howls of frustration. For the most part though, these 10 episodes should give most fans what they want, as our heroes finally start notching some wins again, and, for once, they actually open up to each other.When Season 3 ended, the Chicago fine-dining restaurant the Bear was in big trouble, thanks largely to its co-founder and head chef, Carmy Berzatto (Jeremy Allen White), whose emotional unavailability and fussy pursuit of perfection resulted in consistent kitchen chaos.The Season 4 premiere, “Groundhogs,” is named for the movie “Groundhog Day,” in which a self-centered man repeats the same mistakes until he learns how to be a better person. The episode begins with what ends up being a turning point for Carmy: a mixed-to-negative Chicago Tribune review of the Bear, praising some of its dishes (including the Italian beef sandwiches served at its lunch window) but blasting the overall “culinary dissonance.”As the season starts, everyone at the Bear is about as low as they can be. To make matters worse, the restaurant’s chief financial backer, “Uncle” Cicero (Oliver Platt) — and his number-cruncher, “the Computer” (Brian Koppelman) — present the kitchen with a large countdown timer. They say the business has enough capital to keep losing money for another two months, but when the clock hits 0:00, if the Bear is not making enough profit to cover costs, it closes.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    Matthew Goode’s Surprising and Subversive ‘Dept. Q’ Performance

    The British actor is the engine that drives the popular new Netflix series.Anyone can be charming. But not everyone can wield and subvert their charms with the same savvy as the British actor Matthew Goode. He’s done it to great effect in movies and series like “Match Point,” “Downton Abbey,” “The Crown,” and now the Netflix show “Dept. Q.”In the first season of the Scotland-based series, Goode plays Carl Morck, a brilliant but abrasive detective whose career has been derailed by an attack where he was injured, his colleague died and his partner was paralyzed. When Carl returns to work bearing two healed bullet wounds and guilt underneath his prickly exterior, he leads the reopening of a cold case about the yearslong disappearance of a notorious court prosecutor. “Dept. Q” is a well-crafted detective show with a compelling cast of characters portrayed by an equally strong cast of actors. But what really anchors the show, and has helped it become a breakout hit for Netflix, is the charismatic performance of its lead.Goode has taken on roles that exploit his appearance as the strait-laced guy, the polished gentleman who represents a man of good breeding, education and success. His boyish looks and upright posturing can easily set him in the category of nonthreatening romantic interest. More often than not, though, Goode portrays a variation on the type, tamping down the charm or perverting it so that even a rote role is instilled with new dimension.For all of Carl Morck’s vulgar language and boorish attitudes toward those around him, the character is still a very obvious — and beloved — trope. Grizzled, rule-bending cops are their own subgenre of entertainment, as is the misanthropist genius — detective, doctor or otherwise — who excels at his job and yet struggles to engage in a civil conversation. So Carl is performatively sardonic and curmudgeonly, but Goode allows the audience to see how desperately this detective is clinging to his churlish persona as a life raft after his traumatic incident.Carl’s dialogue is snappy and curt, punctuated with firm, perfectly enunciated expletives. Because of his character’s insomnia, Goode’s bearing and mannerisms are languid, his eyes glazed and half-lidded. It gives Carl an extra air of impatience, even boredom.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    ‘Squid Game’ Season 3 Review: Game Over

    It’s time for Netflix’s global phenomenon to give up its final answers, if there are any.Contains spoilers for Season 2 of “Squid Game.”“Squid Game” is back for what is said to be its final round, with a six-episode third season on Netflix. If only all beneficiaries of free-floating, pandemic-boosted nihilism would fade away as quickly.The South Korean drama’s creator, writer and director, Hwang Dong-hyuk, had a couple of very profitable insights: that what was missing from “Survivor”-style competition shows was machine guns; and that greatly increasing the pool of contestants — the show’s dour hero, Gi-hun (Lee Jung-jae), is No. 456 — would increase the amount of blood that could be shed while simultaneously giving most of the deaths an anesthetizing, video-game irrelevance.He then gave his package an Instagram-friendly visual wrapping of bright colors, gargantuan toylike structures and massed minimalist costumes, and replaced plot with a series of elaborate variations on children’s games. No candy was ever designed and marketed with greater effectiveness.But the series wasn’t strictly a consumer product, and it wasn’t a reality show. As a work of fiction, it needed to do something to surprise us to merit a second or third season (they are really 2A and 2B). Most television shows may be formulaic to one degree or another, but it is harder not to notice when the formulas you are repeating are ones that you just created.The last batch of episodes picks up halfway through a set of the games in which debt-ridden proletarians are killed, or kill one another, as they compete for an ever-increasing pot of cash, all for the entertainment of anonymous, hyper-rich spectators. The previous winner Gi-hun, whose attempts to halt the spectacle and unmask its ringleader have failed miserably, is battered but alive. Sixty players remain for the final three games.The proximity to a resolution of Gi-hun’s fate gives this season a tension (artificial as it may be) that the show’s second installment, released in December, lacked. Otherwise, it is “Squid Game” business as usual.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    ‘Squid Game’ Review: Game Over

    It’s time for Netflix’s global phenomenon to give up its final answers, if there are any.Contains spoilers for Season 2 of “Squid Game.”“Squid Game” is back for what is said to be its final round, with a six-episode third season on Netflix. If only all beneficiaries of free-floating, pandemic-boosted nihilism would fade away as quickly.The South Korean drama’s creator, writer and director, Hwang Dong-hyuk, had a couple of very profitable insights: that what was missing from “Survivor”-style competition shows was machine guns; and that greatly increasing the pool of contestants — the show’s dour hero, Gi-hun (Lee Jung-jae), is No. 456 — would increase the amount of blood that could be shed while simultaneously giving most of the deaths an anesthetizing, video-game irrelevance.He then gave his package an Instagram-friendly visual wrapping of bright colors, gargantuan toylike structures and massed minimalist costumes, and replaced plot with a series of elaborate variations on children’s games. No candy was ever designed and marketed with greater effectiveness.But the series wasn’t strictly a consumer product, and it wasn’t a reality show. As a work of fiction, it needed to do something to surprise us to merit a second or third season (they are really 2A and 2B). Most television shows may be formulaic to one degree or another, but it is harder not to notice when the formulas you are repeating are ones that you just created.The last batch of episodes picks up halfway through a set of the games in which debt-ridden proletarians are killed, or kill one another, as they compete for an ever-increasing pot of cash, all for the entertainment of anonymous, hyper-rich spectators. The previous winner Gi-hun, whose attempts to halt the spectacle and unmask its ringleader have failed miserably, is battered but alive. Sixty players remain for the final three games.The proximity to a resolution of Gi-hun’s fate gives this season a tension (artificial as it may be) that the show’s second installment, released in December, lacked. Otherwise, it is “Squid Game” business as usual.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    Barbara Walters Film ‘Tell Me Everything’ Sticks to Highlights

    “Tell Me Everything” is more of a puff piece than its subject might have liked, but the film is at its best examining TV journalism’s evolution.Given the subtitle — and, to be honest, the subject — of Jackie Jesko’s documentary “Barbara Walters: Tell Me Everything” (streaming on Hulu), I expected a bit more soul-baring. That’s what Walters, the pioneering journalist who dominated the TV interview for decades, was known for. As Oprah Winfrey notes in the film, Walters’s specialty was getting subjects from Fidel Castro and Anwar Sadat to Monica Lewinsky and Winfrey herself to say something they’d never said to anyone.There’s nothing that really qualifies as a bombshell or revelation in this film, though. Like most documentaries about celebrities these days — and Walters, who died in 2022, was undoubtedly a celebrity — it features some frank comments from various interviewees, but carefully positions Walters in her best light: not a flawless woman, but one whose foibles don’t detract from her overall legacy.That means the film comments upon but doesn’t dwell on some of Walters’s more controversial moments: grilling women like Taylor Swift and Lady Gaga on their romantic lives, or cozying up to men like the notorious Roy Cohn. The lives of women in the spotlight are often scrutinized far more intently than those of their male colleagues, but here it’s not without reason: journalists who aspire to do their work in a fair, independent way have to accept that close personal relationships with subjects are off-limits in their private lives, and some questions probably cross ethical lines. But the film tries to frame most of these moments as responses to her upbringing, without spending much time on how they play into a broader American attitude of mistrust toward journalists.By those standards, “Barbara Walters: Tell Me Everything” is disappointing, and more of a puff piece than I suspect Walters herself would have wanted. Yet seen through a different lens, it’s also fascinating — a rather thrilling history of television journalism, as seen through Walters’s life.That’s because she was absolutely a trailblazer for women in news, subjecting herself to plenty of ridicule as she took on one barrier after another: co-hosting a morning show, then anchoring evening news, landing consequential interviews, breaking ground with newsmagazines and innovative talk formats like “20/20” and “The View,” and ultimately creating a brand out of herself that signaled something to the public. There was a time when “the Barbara Walters interview” with a celebrity was an Event, something to stay up late and watch.Throughout the film, a host of voices — including Walters’s own, via archival interviews — tell this story. Winfrey and the seasoned news anchor Katie Couric, in particular, are valuable in filling in the historical background, showing how television journalism progressed from an era in which “hard news” was the realm of serious men in suits, all the way to the years when Walters sat around on a couch with her fellow hosts on “The View,” mixing news and interviews with live-wire conversations. Alongside Walters, they tell the tale of a shift in the shape of TV news. A medium built for entertainment has slowly changed how journalism is delivered and what you expect, and you can see it happening right before your eyes.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More