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Kaitlyn Dever was Hollywood's best-kept secret. Those days are over now

Kaitlyn Dever was Hollywood's best-kept secret. Those days are over now

Kaitlyn Dever knows the words to the 'Bob the Builder' theme song. She's singing it — we're singing it — which isn't something I expected when preparing to talk with her again after we took a deep dive into the season finale of 'The Last of Us.' But then, even the most meticulous research had failed to turn up that Dever's father, Tim, voiced Bob the Builder, as well as another icon of children's television, Barney the Dinosaur.
'I know, right?' Dever says, laughing. 'Barney the Dinosaur. Crazy.'
Is it a reach to think that's why Dever is having such a blast right now in Australia shooting 'Godzilla x Kong: Supernova,' the latest entry in the Monsterverse franchise? After all, this isn't her first rodeo with a dinosaur — even if this time around, the creature isn't purple or huggable or even tangible, just a green-screen dream.
'I want to meet Godzilla,' Dever says. 'I just don't know if, outside my imagination, I ever will. But that's OK. My imagination is a powerful thing.'
Dever is home in L.A. for a few days, taking a break from filming, enjoying time with her dad and her younger sisters, anticipating her return for good in July when she'll have enough time for, among other things, a meal or three at the venerable Valley Mexican restaurant Casa Vega. She's experiencing serious taco withdrawal right now.
If you've had even a casual relationship with television or movies in the last 15 years, you know Kaitlyn Dever, even if you don't think you do. As a teenager, she got her start playing the gun-toting, pot-growing Loretta McCready on 'Justified' and Tim Allen's daughter on 'Last Man Standing.' She then starred opposite Beanie Feldstein in the thrilling, funny 2019 coming-of-age comedy 'Booksmart,' now part of the teen movie canon, and then gutted viewers portraying a sexual assault survivor in 'Unbelievable' and an opioid addict on 'Dopesick.' Earlier this year, she shined as a cancer-faking Australian wellness influencer in the limited series 'Apple Cider Vinegar.'
All that was a prelude to her turn as Abby Anderson on 'The Last of Us,' playing the young woman who killed Joel (Pedro Pascal) to avenge her father's death. Dever appears in only three episodes of the show's second season, and in two of them, she has just one scene. But if you measured an actor's work by the power emanating from brief screen time, Dever would be the television season's MVP.
'I remember feeling like we were capitalizing on a quasi-secret that shouldn't be a secret,' says 'The Last of Us' co-creator and showrunner Craig Mazin. 'It was the same feeling I had with Bella [Ramsey]. You can't wait to watch the reaction when everyone finally sees it.'
The second season served as a curtain-raiser for both Dever and her character, ending in a reset that will now follow Abby through the warring factions and fungal-infected hordes of postapocalyptic Seattle, bringing her back to that moment when she meets Ramsey's Ellie again.
Both Mazin and Neil Druckmann, co-creator of 'The Last of Us' game, are practically salivating at the prospect of spotlighting Abby, as it will force viewers to reckon with their reactions to her killing Joel.
'Our challenge now is to make you question whether you hate Abby at all and maybe make you start to love her and then be confused,' Mazin says. 'Where are my loyalties? What is the concept of a hero? That requires an actor who can inspire those thoughts without sweating, and we have that in Kaitlyn.'
'That's the experiment of the story,' Druckmann adds. 'What if Abby isn't so horrible? I'm thrilled to watch Kaitlyn bring her version of Abby to the screen because I think people can already see the force she brought to the show in such a short period of time.'
That Dever did all this amid the shattering grief of losing her mother, Kathy, to breast cancer is something that, 15 months later, she still can't quite fathom. Dever flew to Vancouver three days after her mom's funeral. Her first day on set was the scene in which Abby kills Joel.
'When you have a moment like that with an actor, you are immediately bound to them,' Mazin says. 'I would stand in front of a bullet for her.'
For Dever, everything about that day is a blur, and when she finally watched the episode this year, it was like seeing it for the first time.
'Grief does a really interesting thing with your brain,' she says. 'It messes with your memory.'
Truthfully, Dever, 28, didn't want to leave home after her mother's funeral. She didn't think she could do it. It took her father to remind her how excited her mom was when she won the part of Abby. 'I realized there's no part of me that couldn't not do this,' Dever says. 'I had to do it for her.'
Saying that she 'won' the role isn't entirely accurate. When Mazin and Druckmann asked her to drive to casting director Mary Vernieu's Santa Monica office in 2023, Dever went in thinking it was going to be an audition, much like the one she had with Druckmann years ago when there had been talk about turning the game into a movie.
Dever came in prepared to read. It turned out all she had to do was listen. They were pitching her, detailing their plans for the series and Abby's arc and asking her to trust them. She was so shocked that she spent most of the meeting just trying to hold it together until she could get back to her car, call her dad with the news and listen to him freak out.
'He couldn't believe it,' Dever says. 'He had played the game and loved Abby, so this was huge.' She remembers everything about that day, including the 'really big cookie' they gave her when she left. 'I think only just now have I been able to process that it actually happened,' she says, smiling.
Dever stands 5 foot 3 and bears little resemblance to the tall, muscular version of Abby seen in 'The Last of Us' game. Imposing, she is not. And that makes her work on 'The Last of Us' all the more remarkable.
'Abby is so intimidating because of her strength,' Dever says. 'And that comes from her dark and very sad past and how long she has been thinking about killing Joel. That's the energy I was hoping to put across.'
Does Dever consider herself a strong person?
'Mmm-hmm, yeah,' she answers immediately. 'When I think of strength, I think of what has brought you to this moment, how much you've been through and how have you gotten here. It's more emotional, what I consider strength.'
A few minutes later, though, we stumble upon her kryptonite. Dever has two younger sisters, Mady and Jane. She and Mady have been making music together for years and just released a six-song EP, 'I Think We're Lost,' recorded under the banner Devers. It's beautiful folk pop featuring the kind of intuitive harmonies that only siblings can pull off. But, for a while at least, you'll probably only hear it on streaming services and not in a concert setting. Dever hates performing in front of people.
'When you ask if I have strength, I don't have strength in that regard,' she says. 'It's so scary. Maybe I'm working up to it. I don't know. My sister is so confused by the nerves that I have. She doesn't share that nerve thing with me. She's like, 'You literally perform in front of people for a living.' But with acting, I'm playing a character. Onstage with music, there's nothing for me to hide behind.'
But when it comes to songwriting, Dever doesn't want to hide. The last several weeks, she has been pulling out her acoustic guitar and writing songs about her mom for an album she plans to dedicate to her. She writes during her downtime making 'Godzilla x Kong' — there's a lot of downtime on a movie like that — and has come up with seven or eight songs, each playing off core memories. Most of them are upbeat and happy because that's the kind of music that her mom listened to and loved.
'Everyone used to say that she was like a 17-year-old stuck in a 53-year-old body,' Dever says, laughing. 'She had a very youthful quality to her that was magnetic. She approached life with a lot of humor and just wanted to have a good time.'
'And I have to sometimes remember that,' Dever continues, 'because as much as I love the challenge of doing serious stuff and find playing those types of characters therapeutic, there's a place for a Godzilla movie, you know?'
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It's Time to Put 'The Valley' Out of Its Misery
It's Time to Put 'The Valley' Out of Its Misery

Time​ Magazine

time15 hours ago

  • Time​ Magazine

It's Time to Put 'The Valley' Out of Its Misery

Television has gotten pretty dark. Tech dystopias, from Black Mirror to Severance, are our water-cooler shows. The true-crime factory pumps out more real-life nightmares every day. Millions of viewers are bingeing on post-apocalyptic misery, whether it takes the shape of The Last of Us' fungal wasteland or Silo's crumbling underground city or the sterile billionaires' stronghold in Paradise. Even realistic dramas increasingly rely on a murder-mystery element to build suspense. And yet, somehow, the most depressing show on TV—with the exception of any news broadcast, at least—is a reality soap about bougie couples in the suburbs of Los Angeles. I am, of course, talking about Bravo's The Valley, the Vanderpump Rules spinoff that follows some of the latter series' most notorious characters from the clubstaraunt to the cul-de-sac. Like the early seasons of Vanderpump, as well as the network's stalwart Real Housewives and Below Deck franchises, The Valley was introduced as light entertainment. In this case, the comedy inherent in the premise was that of hard-partying, adulthood-resisting millennial Angelenos adjusting to marriage, mortgage payments, and parenthood. (The original opening credits placed the couples in kitschy front-yard tableaux, hoisting trash bags or raking leaves.) Instead, viewers have spent two seasons looking on in horror as many of the cast members have torn their own lives and families apart, with public scrutiny only adding heat to the crucible. Far from entertaining, the show has become genuinely painful to watch. Now, as its second season ends in a trilogy of miserable reunion episodes, I wish Bravo would just pull the plug. The series premiere, which aired last March, suggests what producers initially envisioned as the tone of the show. Like the Housewives, this docusoap would center on the big personalities and minor melodramas of a so-called friend group—a term of art for a reality TV cast that may or may not actually socialize off-camera. Vanderpump alums Jax Taylor, a supposedly reformed womanizer, and his wife Brittany Cartwright, a Kentucky-bred sweetheart whose years of saintly self-sacrifice had apparently redeemed him, were positioned as what Jax might call the No. 1 couple in the group. Also back on Bravo, years after getting fired from Vanderpump for racist mischief, was perennial pot-stirrer Kristen Doute, now trying to get pregnant with her boyfriend, soft-spoken L.A. outsider Luke Broderick. A selection of their associates filled out the cast. Jesse Lally and Michelle Saniei were married real estate agents with a toddler. Actor Danny Booko and former Miss USA Nia Booko had their hands full with three kids under two years old (now they have four under four). Janet Caperna was extremely intense and extremely pregnant; her husband, Jason, kept relatively quiet. Finally, we met Jasmine Goode and Zack Wickham, who were both queer but whose personal lives didn't seem to be part of the friend-group saga. While Jax, surely at the urging of producers, tried to provoke Kristen by questioning her fertility choices, nothing major happened in the premiere. The couples bickered and complained about each other, as couples often do. The episode climaxed with Jax pantsing Danny, who turned out to not be wearing underwear, at a country-fair-themed birthday party for Janet. Earlier, Zack had made an observation whose accuracy was never in doubt but that would only seem more prescient as the show progressed: 'All these people move to the Valley, get a house, pop out a couple of kids, and then they think they're so grown-up. But these people don't grow up.' As tends to be the case in shows like this, tensions between and among couples escalated as the season wore on. But unless you'd been following the ever-expanding constellation of tabloids, podcasts, and social media gossip accounts that track reality stars' every move, it was still jarring to see a six-month time jump in the finale that checked in with two couples—Jesse and Michelle as well as Jax and Brittany—who'd separated since production wrapped. Alarming reports trickled out during The Valley's hiatus, mostly about Jax: his cocaine addiction; his stint in rehab, during which Brittany filed for divorce; his diagnosis, after years of Bravo fans' armchair psychoanalysis, of bipolar and PTSD; a second rehab stay. Much of the above was chronicled in this year's anhedonic second season, which opened with Brittany's account—and Jax's confirmation—of his violent, table-smashing response to his discovery of some racy text messages she'd exchanged with a friend of his, even though they were separated and free to date at the time. Viewers learned that he'd also been surveilling his estranged wife via home security cameras, and watched as he bombarded her with rage-texts from rehab. Repeating a pattern of behavior familiar to any Vanderpump completist, he sometimes lied, sometimes expressed remorse and promised to change, and sometimes played the victim, insisting it was Brittany who had destroyed their family by separating him from his son. (I mean, who could blame her?) Every episode seemed to bring a new, terrible revelation. Jax wasn't the only man in the group whose actions went beyond the pale—even for reality TV. Though he and Michelle both had new partners and were co-parenting… well, not peacefully, but at least more functionally than the Cartwright-Taylors, Jesse became obsessed with the idea that she'd been cheating on him with her current boyfriend before their separation. He called her a 'hooker' to her face and spread an unsubstantiated rumor that a billionaire was paying her for sex. The exes went back and forth over whether Michelle could take their daughter on a trip to visit her dying mother. Less predictably, it came out that nice-guy Danny had drunkenly groped Jasmine and her fiancée, Melissa Carelli, at a Halloween party between seasons. Although he apologized and they forgave him, the incident fueled a season-long arc that divided the cast over whether they believed he had a drinking problem that Nia was helping him hide. 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Yet there Cohen and The Valley cast members often were, on his post-game talk show, polling viewers about whose side they were on in the Jax-Brittany breakup or how they felt about Janet labeling Danny's blackout transgression sexual assault. As the RHONY meltdown illustrates, The Valley isn't the first Bravo docusoap to get darker than the genre is equipped to go. But the sheer number of horrible storylines and moments in its second season suggests something uniquely rotten at the show's core. I think it's the focus on the specific varieties of dysfunction that can arise within heterosexual marriages and families. While husbands and kids are part of all the Housewives menageries, they're never the main characters. Frequent girls' trips, among other contrivances, keep the focus on female friendship, which for all its discontents does not usually conceal sexual violence, abuse, or infidelity. Cheating has been a constant source of drama in Vanderpump (before Scandoval, Jax was the resident recidivist cad) and other coed 'friend group' shows like Summer House. The thing is, those casts tend to be younger, unmarried, and childless; the stakes of their drunken antics are lower, less likely to land them in court or rehab and their kids, who in the case of The Valley families are too little to be consensual participants in the Bravo universe, in therapy. Which is why, as unlikely as its cancellation seems at this point, I'm convinced there's no fixing The Valley. Sure, Taylor's recently announced departure from the show is a relief, especially for Cartwright and their son, whether or not he's capable of staying out of the spotlight or maintaining what he enumerated in a statement as 'my sobriety, my mental health and coparenting relationship.' No one's livelihood should be contingent on interacting, on camera or off, with a person who caused them pain. Yet Brittany isn't the only cast member in that boat. Even if she were, what would be left to salvage of a show whose central clique has no real chemistry, whose cast has no charming breakout star (much has been made of Vanderpump villain Doute's emergence as the most likable of the bunch), whose episodes are devoid of the silly hangout shenanigans found in the best seasons of Vanderpump and Housewives? (The slapstick comedy of Jax pantsing Danny was immediately followed by Nia bursting into tears over her husband's humiliation.) The producers of The Valley were right to presume that chaos would ensue when people who'd been partying for 20 years tried to settle into more tranquil, suburban existences. They just didn't anticipate what a tragic form that chaos would take.

Materialists review: Pedro Pascal and Dakota Johnson explore modern love
Materialists review: Pedro Pascal and Dakota Johnson explore modern love

Yahoo

time5 days ago

  • Yahoo

Materialists review: Pedro Pascal and Dakota Johnson explore modern love

Just in case you haven't had enough of Pedro Pascal after The Last of Us, Fantastic Four and the forthcoming Eddington, the in-demand A-lister forms one corner of a very glamorous love triangle in romantic drama Materialists. Dakota Johnson plays Lucy, a single New Yorker who makes a great living as a professional matchmaker, pairing 'high-value' individuals based on their physical and financial attributes. Her scientific approach to love is rooted in an upbringing that left her fearful of poverty – something that ended her previous relationship. Her ex, broke actor John (Chris Evans), re-enters her life just as she begins dating Harry (Pascal), whose wealth and attention are everything she wants on paper. But an incident at work makes her question her entire outlook on love. The synopsis might sound like the setup for a cut-and-paste romantic comedy – a cynical matchmaker caught between two hunks – but happily, director Celine Song is aiming for something more grown-up. Her stunning debut, 2023's Past Lives, explored the idea of romantic kismet and soulmates. She returns to similar territory here, asking whether true love is something intangible – and if so, how do we know when we find it? There's a healthy degree of cynicism in the storytelling, but not where you might expect. Rather than tearing down the idea of true love to appear subversive, the film instead questions those who believe a life partner can be found through a checklist of 'must-haves'. While Johnson's sharp Manhattanite initially presents her system as perfectly reasonable, the idea of picking a potential partner like one would choose a new car gradually begins to feel absurd. Yet no one is mocked – every character gets a chance to express their feelings, building a vision of romance that doesn't rely on tired tropes. Johnson makes Lucy's weaknesses as compelling as her strengths, portraying someone whose past makes her crave security over spark. She's the perfect lead for Song, whose previous film favoured quiet, intense emotion over theatrics – and she shares genuine chemistry with both leading men. Star of the moment Pascal oozes class as the financier whose goals appear to align with Lucy's, while Evans has scruffy charm as the broke ex who loves her deeply. It may be obvious early on whom Lucy belongs with, but the joy lies in the emotional journey. Materialists ends quite neatly, but its mature take on the more vapid side of dating is nuanced enough to make that conclusion satisfying. Once again, Song explores the quiet, honest corners of the heart to share a message that is anything but superficial. • Materialists is in cinemas from 15 August

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