Cynthia Nixon responds to And Just Like That... cancellation
Showrunner Michael Patrick King announced the cancellation on Friday.
Nixon shared a carousel of photos from the show as she spoke out on the shocking decision.
"I can't believe our wild, beautiful And Just Like That ride is almost over. It has been such a delight from start to finish."
Referring to the photos of cast, crew and special guests, she continued, "I will miss working with these people every day so incredibly much, but know we will always be a part of each other's lives. Get ready for a lot more carousels in the weeks to come!"
Teasing about how things will be wrapped up, she added, "And don't miss these last few episodes: surprises in store!"
In her response, Davis shared her dismay at King's announcement.
"I am profoundly sad. I love our whole beautiful cast and crew. 400 artisans working so hard on our show with deep love," she wrote.
"And to our loyal fans, we love you forever and ever.
"Thank you to you all! You hold me up, and I do not take it for granted."
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Yahoo
3 minutes ago
- Yahoo
Liza Colón-Zayas was taught that leading ladies have to be 'tall and bony and blond and perfect.' Her Emmy for 'The Bear' says otherwise.
While she's stepping into her role, the actress won't be going too Hollywood: "I don't want Mar-a-Lago face." Liza Colón-Zayas spent decades carving out her place in an industry that doesn't often make space for women who look like her. At 53, the Bronx native is stealing scenes in The Bear and earning awards — all while reshaping the definition of a leading lady. The Afro-Latina actress brings equal parts heart and grit to the role of Tina Marrero, a line cook in Carmy's kitchen at the restaurant at the center of the FX series, now four seasons strong. Colón-Zayas recently earned her second Emmy nomination for Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Comedy Series after becoming the first Latina to win the award in 2024 — and besting legends Meryl Streep and Carol Burnett to boot. The fact that this career breakthrough is happening in her 50s isn't lost on her, nor is the reality that she doesn't fit the typical mold of what Hollywood has long deemed marketable. And yet, here she is blazing her own path, embracing the moment and staying true to the 'Bronx girl' she's always been. 'Showing up on set of The Bear is living the dream,' she tells me during our conversation for Yahoo's Unapologetically series. Looking back, Colón-Zayas wishes she had been kinder to herself during times when she didn't reach the professional milestones she'd hoped for, even as she steadily worked as an actress for over 30 years. 'You do this thing where you're like, Oh, if you're not this by 30 [then you aren't enough]. In hindsight, I think: Wow, I was still a kid,' she says. 'Then you get past 50, and you don't give a damn.' That's not entirely true — Colón-Zayas views herself as a 'work in progress' and is committed to 'not [being] afraid of not being good at things.' It's with that spirit that she's forging ahead in Hollywood, embracing her journey as a latecomer who's armed with knowledge and experience and resisting pressure to change herself. You received over 1,000 rejections for TV and film roles before . What helped you to keep believing in yourself? [Acting is] my passion. I knew I had something. And I have guardian angels who would remind me [along the way, which] kept me going. You didn't have a moment where you thought: No, no. I had to alter the fantasy of what it was going to look like. But I knew I had something. I knew I could channel something. [Besides,] I didn't have any other skills. ... I wasn't good at business or math, so I had to make this work. [In between jobs] I did a lot of temping. [Then] I became a teaching artist, and with that, I was able to fulfill reaching people and using my acting skills. That kept me going. You've said you don't look like a leading lady. What does one look like to you, and do you think the idea of the leading lady has shifted at all? Yes, it has shifted — but not enough. For me growing up, there really wasn't anybody [onscreen] who looked like me — probably well into the 2000s. And I don't know that I am a leading lady. To me, a leading lady was like: You're tall and bony and blond and perfect — and I just didn't see that. So I love not being a leading lady, actually. I like the character roles. They're juicier [and] far more interesting. I like messy. And now I'm getting these accolades and these trophies. It's not only about that — that's outside of my control — but people are paying attention [which is] necessary. People feel seen when they see me. Have you felt pressure to change yourself to fit Hollywood's long-standing ideals? I always feel pressured to fit into a Hollywood mold, to be thinner. ... Thankfully, I'm at an age that I can recognize the value of being a Bronx girl and embracing myself. That real art — the great writers and directors are looking for that. But I still struggle with it, I'm not gonna lie. As a Bronx girl, what are you unapologetic about? So many things. I am unapologetic about being tough and sometimes wilding out if I have to. It's survival. I'm not always demure. I was reading a profile on you in the New York Times, and it started with you opening the window of your Bronx home and yelling 'Shut up' down to the noisy people on the street below. I am trying to work on not being so reactionary, but if I get to that point, then I can't apologize for it. Clearly, you brought it upon yourself [laughs]. In talking about Tina's career path to Carmy's kitchen, you said that 'ageism is real.' What would you say to people who feel like the world wants them to disappear at a certain age? I was going to drop an F-bomb, but I won't because I'm working on these things [laughs]. But: No. Too bad. Deal with it. It's insane how we as a society want to discard all of this experience and wisdom and value. I had somebody walk up to me the other day and say, 'You should do fillers.' It was somebody I know, [but] not well. I thought, How sad for you that you have to say that to me. ... Why would you need to try to put that in my head? Who hurt you? It's not like it isn't already in my head, but, you know, I don't want Mar-a-Lago face. I want to look like me. It doesn't mean we can't take care of ourselves. But it's because I want to, not because I feel unlovable. I feel it's getting harder to resist the filler-obsessed world we're in. It's not to put down anyone who does. Listen, I dabble in things. But I would never tell anybody that, especially women [after] all of the pain that that has caused me [experiencing] looksism and ageism. And as I see how it backfires and it's like, Oh no, honey. I don't think that it's doing what you wanted it to do. I feel like [ageism] is real, but the only way to combat it is to dig deeper into loving and embracing ourselves. Tina often wears a basic, no-nonsense uniform. How does stepping onto a red carpet in full glam feel in contrast to that? The truth is, it can take its toll. I appreciate being celebrated and dressing up, and being appreciated by designers. But it's tough because I still have to rewire my brain because I don't fit a certain formula that I grew up with. So it's difficult for me to feel really comfortable in that lens. Plus, heels suck. You've appeared with your husband, David Zayas, in and on his show . What's it like to go to set with your real-life partner, and has the way you've worked together changed over the years? We've acted together for decades. We started out in the same theater company — that's how we met — so acting opposite him is the most natural thing. He's just so grounded. He's always supportive and encouraging me and trying to alleviate my doubts. And he's just so good at what he does. It's a joy. I love working with him. He absolutely, 1,000% is the best. You mentioned your grandchildren in your Emmy speech. 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New York Times
5 minutes ago
- New York Times
It's Hot Outside. Let's Drink.
Hosted by Gilbert Cruz Featuring Sam Sifton and Becky Hughes Produced by Tina Antolini With Alex Barron and Kate LoPresti Edited by Wendy Dorr Engineered by Efim Shapiro Three editors at The Times make one another their go-to cocktails and debate the dos and don'ts of summer drinking. Whether you like beer, wine or pickle juice, they've got something for you to are their recipes, simplified into three steps. Something Classic: Gin and Tonic Fill a highball glass with ice. Add a shot of gin and lime juice to taste. Top with tonic water and mix carefully. Garnish with lime and enjoy. Something Easy: Spaghett Take a long sip (about an ounce) from a bottle of Miller High Life. Add Aperol or Campari, filling the neck of the bottle. Squeeze a lemon wedge into the bottle and enjoy. Something Sweet: Tinto de Verano Fill a highball glass with ice. Add dry red wine, like a Grenache or a Tempranillo, until the glass is about a third of the way full. Slowly add Sprite or a lemon-lime soda of your choosing, filling the rest of the glass. Stir. Garnish with a lemon wheel and enjoy. Gilbert Cruz is the editor of The New York Times Book Review. Sam Sifton is an assistant managing editor at The Times and the founding editor of New York Times Cooking. Becky Hughes is a food editor at The Times and a writer for the Where to Eat: New York City newsletter. The New York Times Audio app is home to journalism and storytelling, and provides news, depth and serendipity. If you haven't already, download it here — available to Times news subscribers on iOS — and sign up for our weekly newsletter.
New York Times
5 minutes ago
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‘Fleetwood Mac' at 50: A Marvel of Serendipity and Perfectionism
With its 10th album, Fleetwood Mac was making yet another new start in a meandering career. But its 1975 LP, 'Fleetwood Mac,' would catapult the band from midlevel FM airplay and modest sales to hit singles, platinum certifications and decades of arena tours. The album gets the 50th-anniversary treatment on Friday, rereleased on deluxe vinyl and with spatial audio Atmos and surround sound remixes on Blu-ray. After half a century, the music still gleams. 'Fleetwood Mac' was made by a British band — Mick Fleetwood on drums, John McVie on bass and his then-wife, Christine McVie, on keyboards, vocals and songwriting — that had relocated to Los Angeles. When its guitarist and frontman left, Fleetwood happened to hear the duo of Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham. It was serendipitous; it was transformative. 'The way our band works when we write is that we try to stumble towards each other, then work it all out,' Fleetwood wrote in his autobiography, 'Play On: Now, Then and Fleetwood Mac.' The newly reconfigured band, with its members still getting to know one another, did more than stumble; it found synergy. 'Fleetwood Mac' is one analog-era album that still sounds current, mainly thanks to the sheer perfectionism that the band and its co-producer, Keith Olsen, brought to every layer of instruments and vocals, long before quantization, digital editing or Auto-Tune. The tempos may fluctuate a little, and the vocals are (rightly) human and not superhuman. But all the tracks still feel flawless. For decade upon decade, 'Fleetwood Mac' and its turbulent, torturously recorded, blockbuster 1977 successor, 'Rumours,' have been endlessly imitated. They showed generations of bands and producers how to blend voices and to make guitars sparkle or bite with fastidiously shaped tones. Current country studio production often harks back to Fleetwood Mac for steadfast drumming and a punctilious mix of acoustic and electric guitars. Indie-flavored rockers like Haim and boygenius are clearly disciples. In 1975, Fleetwood Mac was no one's winning pop formula. What were journeyman English musicians doing with American strivers whose 1973 debut album, 'Buckingham Nicks,' had flopped? (That LP will be rereleased in September.) During a career that had already been messy enough to break up any less tenacious band — with booze, drugs, cults, mismanagement, lawsuits and infidelity — Fleetwood Mac had evolved from British blues-rock stalwarts into an Anglo-American pop-rock band. The California-born guitarist and songwriter Bob Welch was a frontman from 1970 to 1974. Furthering their Americanization, Fleetwood and the McVies moved to Los Angeles in 1974. When Welch suddenly decided to leave the band, Fleetwood realized he had already heard a successor. Olsen, the engineer and producer for 'Buckingham Nicks,' had played the album for Fleetwood to show what his studio, Sound City, could do. Fleetwood immediately recognized the impressive guitar work on the album's finale, 'Frozen Love.' He wasn't sure about adding a second female singer and songwriter to a band that already had Christine McVie, but Buckingham and Nicks were, again luckily, a package deal. Nicks was working as a waitress at a flapper-themed restaurant, and she was still in costume when she and Buckingham met Fleetwood and the McVies at a Mexican restaurant to discuss joining forces. Over margaritas, both camps said yes. Buckingham and Nicks also brought strong new songs that they had been performing live: 'Monday Morning' and 'Rhiannon.' No A&R person, bean counter or algorithm could have ordered up the 1975 Fleetwood Mac. It wasn't just the band's particular blend of British restraint and American exuberance; it was also a marvel of interlocking musicianship. The new band had a rhythm section that never showed off. Instead, it supported a front line that could be a lone voice or a gorgeous tangle of guitars and harmonies. On 'Fleetwood Mac,' the drum parts are always solidly in place yet rarely call attention to themselves. Fleetwood leans into the muscle of tom-toms rather than the flashiness of snare and cymbals. John McVie's bass lines stay unobtrusively on the roots of the chords, only occasionally hopping upward to keep things interesting. That rhythm-section reticence leaves ample room for guitars, keyboards and voices: Christine McVie's understated serenity, Nicks's scratchy urgency, Buckingham's nervy eagerness. Somehow, those disparate voices converge. The songs on 'Fleetwood Mac' carom through contradictory feelings and subtle musical feats. Songs by Buckingham bookend the album, bragging and complaining about wanderlust — his own and his lover's — in 'Monday Morning' and sinking into paranoia and despair (with massed guitars to rival Queen) in 'I'm So Afraid.' Christine McVie basks in afterglow amid melting guitar lines in 'Warm Ways,' then worries over a mercurial but irresistible partner in the determinedly chipper 'Over My Head' and 'Say You Love Me.' Nicks conjures a crescendo of witchcraft over gnarled guitars in 'Rhiannon,' then ponders aging — she was 27 — in 'Landslide.' And Buckingham and Christine McVie trade and share troubled verses over a skein of perpetual-motion guitar picking in 'World Turning,' which also glances back at 'The World Keep on Turning' from the band's 1968 debut album. It's a predigital Easter egg, quietly insisting on Fleetwood Mac's continuity. 'Fleetwood Mac,' like most albums of the analog era, came from one concentrated stretch of work by a handful of people, an effort of songwriting and arranging and producing that was a combination of honeymoon and marathon. (Fleetwood's autobiography notes that cocaine fueled long studio hours.) Voices, fingers, minds and hearts all aligned somehow. The unity didn't last. Fleetwood Mac's upheavals have continued for another 50 contentious years, sometimes with superb musical results. The moment captured on 'Fleetwood Mac' was more precarious than it seemed. But in all its dexterity, confidence and grace, there's no denying what's on those master tapes.
