Lindsay Lohan reveals how motherhood impacts her career choices
Lindsay Lohan will only accept acting roles that 'work around' her family.
The Freakier Friday actress, who has two-year-old son Luai with her husband Bader Shammas, has opened up on her career choices and explained why she will only take on certain projects at this point in her career.
She told Entertainment Weekly: 'Everything I do is [about] what's going to work for my family. 'If something works around that, it's meant to happen. If it doesn't work around that, it's a no-go.'
Reuniting with Jamie Lee Curtis on Disney's new Freaky Friday sequel is something Lohan, 38, felt was 'meant to happen', along with Netflix films like Irish Wish and Our Little Secret.
She said: 'It's manifestation, because I had this thing in my head during Covid, I was like, 'I want to work with Netflix and do a couple movies, but I want to work with Disney again, too.'
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The Spinoff
13 hours ago
- The Spinoff
‘This never happens': Bailey Poching on getting cast in Netflix's North of North
The comedian and actor takes us through his life in television. It was on a Monday morning that actor and comedian Bailey Poching recorded his audition for Netflix's North of North, describing himself as being 'a hair's breadth' from throwing in the towel and heading back into hospitality. He sent his tape in, and got a reply that afternoon asking if he could audition in his own accent. By Tuesday, he had a Zoom meeting with Netflix and the showrunners. By Wednesday, he had got the job. Less than a week later, he was shooting his first scene in the Arctic Canadian territory of Nunavut in -40 degree conditions. 'I think I'll be telling that story for the rest of my life,' Poching laughs. 'It was like trying to appreciate the feeling of winning the lottery in real time. We romanticise this happening, but this never happens for actors.' For the next three months, Poching played Colin, a radio DJ looking to find love in the arctic circle in Netflix's first Canadian production – and the first show of its kind to be centered around the indigenous Inuk community. 'It felt like capturing something really special, and it was really cool to be even peripheral to that,' he says. Poching, who is Māori and Samoan, says he learned a lot about story sovereignty from being a part of the groundbreaking series. 'I remember asking the showrunners for advice on making indigenous TV shows and they were like 'you will have an easier time, because at least there's a precedent for indigenous film and TV in New Zealand',' he says. 'There was a sense of reckoning with the fact that, in our position as Pacific and Māori storytellers, we do have more opportunities than some of our indigenous whānau around the world to make television – even if there's still not heaps.' Closer to home, Poching is a part of another important onscreen kōrero in Don't, TVNZ's new big issue comedy series. In it, comedian Bubbah is joined by a host of funny friends to interrogate the big issues facing rangatahi today. Poching's episode is all about marriage, including interviewing university students and rest home residents alike about their attitudes towards it. 'The title is quite provocative, but Don't really holds space for so many different cultural and social perspectives on what marriage represents, the origins of it and how we feel about it now,' he says. 'There's no sense of judgment in it at all.' A lot of that, he says, comes down to host Bubbah's own curiosity about the world. 'She has such an interesting lens and so much to say, but she's also an incredible listener.' Taking a leaf out of the beloved comedian's book, we carefully listened to Poching's eclectic life in television, including Scottish Wipe Out for kids and how Coca-Cola made him famous in Australia. My earliest TV memory is… I spent the first 19 years of my life in the UK, and so my TV memories are of CBBC, the children's BBC channel, and a show called Balamory. The jingle really sticks in my head – ' what's the story in Balamory, wouldn't you like to know?' It's one of those things that I'll say to myself, but then people here don't really know what I'm talking about. We also had lots of VHS tapes of The Wiggles, and they did a crossover episode with the crocodile hunter Steve Irwin. It was like Avengers: Endgame. The show I would rush home from school to watch was… I watched so much TV as a kid. Superhero cartoons were huge for me – X Men, Spider Man, Fantastic Four. There was a game show called Raven that was like Wipe Out, but fantasy themed and for kids. The host was called Raven and he wore a feathered cloak and had a big staff. If a kid failed a challenge, he would like place his staff on the kid's shoulder, and then they disappeared. It was the most terrifying thing – that kid just applied to be on a TV show, now he's vanished. My first time on television was… A Coca-Cola commercial, just before Covid. I was playing an Uber Eats driver and I appear for two seconds at the end. Honestly, because of the way TV commercials work, that really helped me out through Covid. I didn't realise it played in Australia as well, so I had family sending me photos and it was a huge moment of pride. Now, I don't know how I would feel about doing a Coca-Cola commercial, but I needed that at the time. My favourite NZ TV ad is… This was such a phenomenon for me moving here, when I realised that a lot of these local ads have vice-like grip on people of a certain generation. I remember Ghost Chips was huge on YouTube. The 'do it yourself' kid tradies were also pretty big in my house because I have a dad who grew up in New Zealand and a mum who grew up in Australia. Any kind of recognition of those two countries was always nice. My TV guilty pleasure is… Any YouTube show where celebrities eat food, so things like Hot Ones and the Angela Hartnett and Nick Grimshaw podcast Dish. I'll line up a bunch of those while I'm making food or cleaning up and just watch celebrities eating food. I love food, and I'm interested in celebrities as well. They are kind of like the modern talk show. A TV moment that haunts me is… Anything from the David Tennant Doctor Who era, which had a lot of really scary stuff in it. I remember there were these monsters that had pig faces and human bodies, or one big brain with a single eye and all these tentacles. It traumatised me – I asked my brother to wait outside the bathroom while I was showering, because I was so scared. My favourite TV character is… Mark Corrigan from Peep Show. Word for word, some of the funniest dialogue maybe ever put on television. I have a deep affection and appreciation for cringe humour and he's a character whose whole purpose is putting his foot in his mouth while also having that common trope of unearned confidence and being so certain of himself. He's so smart, he's done everything he was told to do growing up, and he's still a failure. It's so poetically funny. My favourite TV project I've ever been involved in is… North of North is a very special one because of the indigenous kaupapa. It feels like such a triumph to have that story on TV, and to be even peripheral to it was such an honour. But I have to make a special mention to Kid Sister, because Simone Nathan was kind enough to give me that opportunity and I had a blast. A TV project I wish I could be involved in is… I always romanticise the lifestyle of an SNL writer, where you pitch on Monday, and then you're up all Tuesday night writing the silliest stuff. And I feel like I've seen a picture of Bobby Moynihan smoking a cigarette out a window and they're all there with Bill Hader and Seth Meyers. This idea of working with your closest, funniest friends would be my dream. That, or doing a voice on a superhero cartoon. My controversial TV opinion is… We should be making weirder television and taking more creative risks. I think there's so much space for us to explore the weirder stories of New Zealand, rather than packaging up something neat for a global audience. There's a lot of idiosyncrasies and dark little stories for us to tell, and not just in the grim murder mystery way. I think there's so much to explore still in our underrepresented communities, and I dream of seeing abstract, surreal, artistic television made here. A TV show I will never watch, no matter how many people tell me I should is… The White Lotus is becoming that for me. I remember, with season one, seeing that it was a show about privilege, set in Hawaii, and that was the cast? I think this trend of shows about people with too much privilege is hopefully curving downward, because the more seasons it gets, the more it's too much homework now to catch up on. I'm sure it's actually incredible, but something about that initial idea turned me away from it. The last thing I watched on television was… The first season of Severance, which was really good. I got told to catch up before season two started, so I watched the whole of season one on a plane and it was gripping – I was totally locked in. Interesting craft, interesting filmmaking decisions, interesting writing decisions, and all just carried by great performance and production design. Well-crafted TV.
Newsroom
3 days ago
- Newsroom
Jacinda, glossed over
There are gaps, big gaps, in the new memoir by Jacinda Ardern. It is not a book which gives the full political context of her rise and fall, or at least her rise and exit. There's not as much as might be expected on the Covid years. No mention at all of her 2020 election opponent Judith Collins, with very little on other Nats. Bare references to the Covid-era economic borrowing and spending, or of the suite of second-term political quicksands like Three Waters that dragged her government and Ardern personally down. It is a global book, not local. New Zealand politics in the abstract. Yet she opens up in many areas, and avoids the traps of political autobiographies in which the great and good name drop, show off, reinvent history and attack their opponents. There's minimal retailing of conversations with world leaders. She shares observations about Prince William from close quarters, warms to Angela Merkel, reveals her message on the phone to Donald Trump after the mosque terror attacks – for the US (and by implication the President) to show sympathy and love to 'all Muslims' – and recalls Malcolm Turnbull helping her at an Apec security check. No indulgences with Trudeau or Xi or Boris, no Bolger-style 'As I was telling the President'. For someone so studied, prepared and self-aware, it's remarkable how often Ardern just blurted out her most famous lines. 'Let's Do This', the election slogan that helped Labour win power in 2017, was at first a throwaway line on one of her Instagram posts. 'Kindness' came out as the essence of what she wanted her Government to exhibit, in a conversation with John Campbell as she drove to Government House to be sworn in as Prime Minister in 2017. 'They Are Us', the nation's unifying cry after the Christchurch mosque massacres in 2019, was something she said as she downloaded to her friend Grant Robertson in a moment of dread and despair, when about to address the nation. He told her, 'Just say that.' The origins of the phrases are gently revealed among the scores of anecdotes and insights in A Different Kind of Power. In each instance she appears surprised at herself, a 'chronic overthinker' who has realtime discoveries of the mot juste, of the historic. 'Kindness,' she muses after recalling the Campbell conversation. 'It is a child's word, in a way. Simple. And yet it encompassed everything that had left an imprint on me.' The book also peels back the deeper origins of her ability, on the spot, to capture a mood, to distil her purpose and look to inspire – and the origins of her senses of compassion and social justice. It leans heavily on Ardern's personal formation and challenges. It is a different kind of memoir. And that will make it stand out among the reminiscences and revelations of New Zealand political leaders. She writes at some length about growing up in Te Aroha, Murupara and Morrinsville, about her family, and about her life in the Mormon church. The family memories are powerful: The primary school-aged Jacinda coming across her father Ross, the police sergeant in Murupara, surrounded by menacing men 'in leather pants and jackets' outside his station, and being told 'Keep walking Jacinda', unable to help. Her mother Laurel's mental breakdown in the same forestry town. Murupara was tough. Poverty, struggle, gangs, unfairness. Ardern writes that years later, when asked when she first became political, she realised it was there in that central North Island community. 'I became political because I lived in Murupara.' Then in an ordered, chronological way A Different Kind of Power traverses high school, knocking on doors for the church, university, initial political awakenings, OE and the pull of national politics. In every phase there is a building of the picture of a woman who is at once sensitive to a fault, image-conscious, self-conscious, media-conscious and trying to live by her own conscience. Open and closed Ardern can write. No surprises there, with the talent for communicating, messaging and indentifying with her audiences that she showed us over 14 years in politics. She professes herself, in the acknowledgements, to have been a 'speechwriter' since the age of 13, and implies the book benefited hugely from Ali Benjamin who she credits with being 'teacher, editor and coach all rolled into one'. Yet a ghost didn't write this; Ardern's voice is obvious from the opening dedication 'to the criers, worriers and huggers' to the final words. Memoir writing is thinking, lived experience, revelation and anticipation of what the reader might want answered. There was always going to be a mountain of material to sift through. Ardern's answer is to be relentlessly open, personally, and largely subdued and non-controversial politically. In the opening scene as she awaits a pregnancy test result in a friend's bathroom she wonders about the day's coalition talks and her feeling the equivalent of imposter syndrome. 'We were never meant to win. And I was never meant to be leader.' The book's title A Different Kind of Power might betray a hint of a self-help text, a motivational Ted talk or a 'how to win elections and influence history' lecture. It's much more than that. It offers up Jacinda Ardern as a lifelong doubter who through conviction, talent, political accidents and then empathy, rose to international acclaim. What's missing from this book is almost as interesting as what it covers. For example, she doesn't indulge the haters, giving a complete swerve to that daft, ubiquitous, corrosive series of online and social media rumours about her husband Clarke. Her story is not a platform to even scores – not many of them, anyway. The book is clearly for an audience extending beyond these shores, so the detail of domestic politics is relatively sparse. Don Brash, on the other side of politics, is harshly dismissed, and David Cunliffe, on her own, qualifies for the strongest and most detailed dressing down. Ardern plainly has no time for the man who famously declared he was sorry for being a man. There's a tantalising window into Labour's caucus room after Cunliffe's historic defeat in 2014. 'By convention what is said in a caucus room stays in the caucus room, and it's a convention I will always follow,' she writes, nobly but disappointingly limiting herself to describing and paraphrasing tears and anger, fury and despair. Ardern the party leader won two elections from two. In A Different Kind of Power, it's not exactly 'losers get off the stage', but her book describes John Key, the Prime Minister for the first eight years of her time in Parliament in a perfunctory paragraph. It gives his successor Bill English part of one line and a mention about the campaign debates, and ignores her 2020 opponent Judith Collins entirely. The yawning question That year, 2020, and the epoch-defining Covid deaths and lockdowns that followed into 2021, are peculiarly consigned to very late in the book, taking their chronological place from 280 pages in. For the haters who will want to pore over her justifications for the pandemic policies and their grievances, the book will disappoint. Ardern threads accounts of Level 3 crisis decisions at the Beehive alongside home bubble experiences with husband Clarke, daughter Neve and mum Laurel. These brief, fascinating two chapters on the Covid years give a glancing view into a Beehive in the time of crisis. 'It's rare that you can draw a direct line between a politician's decision and whether someone lived or died,' Ardern writes. 'But this seemed to be one of them.' Fitting the minimalist recounting of the Covid days, Sir Ashley Bloomfield rates a one-sentence cameo. Ardern reflects on the later parliamentary protest not so much as a personal or political condemnation as being a systemic lesson: 'Whatever had brought the protesters to Parliament, by the end, it was clear that is was a place and institution they didn't believe in anymore.' Years on, the ex-PM who is now a world away at Harvard, asks herself the yawning question. Does she have regrets about the Covid decisions and years? 'Yes, I think about regret,' she writes, but 'that word regret contains so much certainty. Regret says you know precisely what you would have done differently … We don't get to see the counterfactual, the outcome of the decisions we didn't make. The lives that might have been lost. One thing I am certain of is that I would want things to have been different. I would want a world where we saved lives and we brought everyone with us. Perhaps that is the difference between regret and remorse.' Or the difference between the perfect and the optimal. Resignation and new life If the book's Covid-era brevity seems a little short-changing, it is likely deliberate. After all, A Different Kind of Power is about being able to rise, in spite of your doubts or fears, to the occasion of running the country or handling a crisis – not about the detail of actually running the country or the crisis itself. Its difference is in viewing empathy and kindness, hugs, tears and compassion as political virtues in a world that judges them vices. Ardern is astonished when a social media poster at the time of the Whakaari White island disaster claimed she went to Whakatāne just so she could be photographed hugging people. And that makes her even more determined. 'The post bothered me more than I wanted to admit,' she writes, and then tells of meeting a female ambulance officer who'd helped on the day, the woman hugging her, with the cameras clicking. 'I knew this would only feed my critics, the ones who were cynical about empathy, who thought that everything was somehow a show. That's fine, I thought as I hugged her tight in return. I would rather be criticised than stop being human.' She outlines in the final brief chapters how that criticism, the cynicism, the always-on-alert responsibility of her job, helped convince her to resign. There's the story of a mystery woman sidling up to her at an airport bathroom, pressing in and hissing 'Thank you for ruining the country'. There's Ardern's fear upon being told she needed a scan for a lump in her breast and wondering 'perhaps I could leave' office, a feeling that didn't leave her despite the risk of cancer being ruled out. There are two instances of snapping at or about people – calling David Seymour an arrogant prick and pushing hard against a journalist for asking a sexist question at a press conference with the Finnish PM. And there's Ardern suggesting to her chief of staff that she worried, in 2023 at the start of an election year, she might have become a lightning rod for attack, and could damage Labour's chances of winning and of its policies enduring. And, in that most ordinary of family occurrences, young Neve asks why her mum needs to Work. So. Much. As the book rushes to a close, the announcement of her resignation, the political and public reaction and the accession of Chris Hipkins as Prime Minister to lead Labour forward are largely glossed over. That's a fail, maybe resulting from an American editor scrawling 'who, what, who cares?' in the margins and deleting. There's nothing on The Wedding, and just a mention of moving to Boston, with nothing of the new life. More importantly, also absent are all the issues of political (mis)management beyond Covid – Three Waters, ministerial conduct, law and order failures, stubborn child poverty and emergency housing – that rose up inexorably in Ardern's second term. Remember, Labour burned more political capital in that term – from an outright MMP majority to 27 percent and defeat – than probably any government other than the Fourth Labour Government of 1987-90. But A Different Kind of Power doesn't dwell on the negative or even acknowledge it. Right at the end, Ardern summarises her role-model message to any young woman doubting her right to be in a position or place. Embrace your sensitivity and empathy. 'In fact, all of the traits that you believe are your flaws will come to be your strengths.' That might well be true for Ardern, or for an individual. It's not so for a government. A Different Kind of Power: A Memoir by Jacinda Ardern (Penguin, $59.99) is available in bookstores nationwide. ReadingRoom has devoted all week to coverage of the book. Monday: experts in the book trade predict it will fly off the shelves. Tuesday: a review by Steve Braunias. Wednesday: a review by Janet Wilson.
NZ Herald
30-05-2025
- NZ Herald
Start planning for the coolest festival in town
Art Deco Festival recovery from the Covid lockdown era continues with next week's launch of ticket sales for what they're calling Napier's coolest boutique festival. Sales for the July 18-20 Winter Deco Weekend – two years after the mid-year event came to the party when Cyclone Gabrielle forced the cancellation
