It’s about damn time actress-comedian Maya Rudolph got to flex her considerable talents as the lead of her own TV series. Long a star supporting player during seven seasons on Saturday Night Live, as a voice actor on various animated shows, and in feature films from Bridesmaids to Grown Ups, the four-time Emmy winner now finds herself front-and-center, and in full flow, on the new Apple TV+ comedy Loot (★★★☆☆).
Created by Matt Hubbard and Master of None co-mastermind Alan Yang, Loot isn’t as consistently well-realized right out of the gate as, say, Hacks or Russian Doll. But it’s several shades of funny, uncommonly compassionate, and takes big chances — not the least of which is building a mainstream comedy around a jet-setting billionaire in this gloomy economy.
Rudolph’s stylish, new-money socialite Molly Novak isn’t a bad person, per se. She’s superficial and absurdly out-of-touch, firmly ensconced in the opulent, mega-yacht and supercar life she shares with tech-bro husband John (Adam Scott), who also isn’t exactly evil. He is a dog, though, as revealed swiftly — and, for Molly, in humiliatingly public fashion — in the pilot episode.
Their scandalous, expensive divorce leaves her with $87 billion and turns her into a media hot topic, à la Melinda Gates or Mackenzie Bezos. The betrayal also sends her spiraling. Molly, who supported John in every way as he built his billion-dollar company, was so thoroughly invested in their marriage and so comfortable in their wealth, that she neglected to cultivate her own passions, outside of a stunning wardrobe.
Yang, directing the first two eps of the ten-episode season, captures in one dreamily serene montage a sense of the world passing Molly by, each day bleeding into the next. She’s still attended by a hilariously large household staff in her enormous mansion. You won’t pity her, but Rudolph will have you rooting for her. Like Master of None, Loot delicately balances the poignant and the absurd, subtle asides and broad slapstick.
Rudolph, who can ham it up with the best of ’em (or the worst, if we’re talking about some of her Grown Ups castmates) mostly plays Molly at a credible level of amusingly pissed-off and heartbroken. She only goes full zany when it’s called for, as in a fun post-divorce sequence of Molly bouncing around the international party scene with gay aide-de-camp Nicholas (a snarky Joel Kim Booster).
Molly wakes up to the fact that she’s been moving without purpose, and much like billionaire divorcées Gates and Bezos, she finds purpose in running her charitable foundation. First, she has to be informed that she even has a charitable foundation, a solid joke that sets up the show’s fish-out-of-water premise, as Molly, with Nicholas in tow, dedicates herself to being a team player at her namesake foundation.
Blissfully unaware of how unaware she is, Molly initially clashes with the foundation’s intensely focused director, Sofia, portrayed by Pose star Michaela Jaé Rodriguez. Sofia is a driven hard-ass, who, quite obviously, will warm to Molly eventually. Everybody else in the office falls for her immediately, including gregarious Howard (comedian Ron Funches), a distant cousin she barely remembers, and hangdog single dad accountant Arthur (Nat Faxon), who develops a crush on her.
The writers do little to disguise the plot turns that come along rather expectedly, and it takes a few episodes before the ensemble locks into a steady, snappy rhythm. And mid-season feels repetitive in portraying Molly’s gaffe-prone foibles as the face of the foundation.
Once the show commits to storylines for characters other than Molly, it starts to feel like we’re going somewhere. And throughout the entire season, in broad strokes and witty details, Loot astutely emphasizes the ways that money can change everything, or, conversely, doesn’t change anything.
The show has it both ways, portraying how intoxicating private jets and private chefs can be, while making the point that Molly’s privileged, “frictionless” life, as Sofia calls it, bears no resemblance to how most people live. And maybe, while so many suffer with so little, no one person should have so much. Yet, what can any one person do but try to be better?
Molly Novak, celebrity billionaire, is not just like us, but for her, like anyone watching, there’s a world to gain by giving. She stumbles often on her path of learning to be more generous, but, thanks to Rudolph’s grace and comic panache, gets up every time looking like a million bucks.
New episodes of Loot are available for streaming every Friday on Apple TV+. Visit www.apple.com/apple-tv-plus.
Arguably the most pivotal character in Alfonso Cuarón’s Disclaimer doesn’t appear onscreen until episode two: Lesley Manville’s tremendous Nancy Brigstocke, who’s already dead.
By the time Mrs. Brigstocke quietly, though not timidly, enters the picture, chapter one has deftly positioned the series’ two Oscar-toting main combatants. Cate Blanchett enthralls as TV journalist and documentarian Catherine Ravenscroft, described by no less than Christiane Amanpour as “a beacon of truth,” while the newswoman bestows what is presumably not Catherine’s first prestigious prize for excellence in journalism.
As if theater performers didn't already expose several dimensions of themselves onstage, even while in the guise of fictional roles, Mosaic's world-premiere The Art of Care demands an extra degree of emotional and individual nakedness rarely required of actors.
No one in the cast has to strip down, per se, but each member of the seven-person ensemble bares intimate glimpses at some of their own most vulnerable, even painful moments. Conceived and directed by Derek Goldman, The Art of Care was developed with its cast, who weave oral storytelling, dramatic scenes, songs, and movement into a warm tapestry of testimony, both to the caregivers in their lives, and to the care they've given.
Luther: Never Too Much is set for a TV and streaming premiere in 2025, but Luther Vandross lovers and other aficionados of R&B are best served by seeing this music-filled documentary, directed by the prolific Dawn Porter (John Lewis: Good Trouble), while it's in theaters, on a big screen with big sound.
Among real Luther fans -- some of whom will invariably, and understandably, feel compelled to sing along to the film's prime performance clips -- one might experience the powerful currents of emotion transmitted through the late singer-songwriter's voice and music. "I can't think of anybody that is near to him," says Mariah Carey, praising his tone, uniqueness, and talent.
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