Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again Is the Only Good Thing This Summer Has Given Us

It’s been a rough summer. The things that we usually look forward to the most about the hottest months have a slightly sickly, dystopian sheen, like something isn’t quite right about this place (Earth) anymore. America’s brightest young things are getting engaged left and right, but are they okay? Drake delivered his perennial album’s worth of sweating-in-the-club-ready R&B bops, except this year they discuss his secret love child with an adult film actress he claims to have only met a handful of times. Announcers at the World Cup were racist; a guy on The Bachelorette was racist. Bikinis all have sleeves now. What gives, America?

This is why you must, must go see Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again this weekend. I simply urge you to jump into its cool cerulean waters and indulge in this slightly sloppily prepared, refreshing cinematic Greek salad of equal parts song and dance and irrepressible cheese. It’s the only pure good thing out there right now that knows exactly what the world outside is: filth, so why resemble anything like it?

I could sell you on the cast alone, probably. Mamma Mia’s reprise sees a full return from the cast of the original musical turned movie, including Amanda Seyfried, Christine Baranski, Julie Walters, Pierce Brosnan, Colin Firth, Stellan Skarsgård, Dominic Cooper, and Meryl Streep, as a ghost (this isn’t a spoiler—it’s not my fault if you haven’t been paying attention to the MM2 discourse). This time, we have the addition of Lily James, who plays a young Donna in a series of flashbacks that serve as backstory. We learn just how she got herself into the original film’s conundrum, in which her daughter, Sophie, had three possible fathers, and it’s a pretty simple explanation: She had a bunch of one-to-a-few-nights stands, sans diaphragm. Back in the present, Sophie is carrying on her mother’s legacy (again, Streep’s character is dead) by reopening the hotel she first crashed in on her Greek island home as a young pregnant unwed mother—here is where I assert that Mamma Mia is also feminist for this reason. Andy Garcia is the penultimate casting addition, all but extending his role as hot older distinguished gentleman in this summer’s only other good thing, Book Club, to play hot older distinguished hispanic gentleman. There are a few deeper cuts of the ABBA catalog to keep the songs fresh, but all the hits, of course, make their way back.

Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again’s fantasy world of bright seaside colors against those quintessential white clay Greek hillside homes, its Anthropologie-inspired interpretation of ’70s clothing, its inconsistent attempts at historical accuracy (none of the suitcases have wheels but the microphones are cordless), its bald-faced shoehorning of ABBA’s confectionary hits into caftan-thin plotlines—the whole experience caresses like a warm breeze, spiked by one meaningless thunderstorm and a few incredible one-liners delivered by Donna’s friend Tanya (the honorable Baranski in the present, Jessica Keenan Wynn in the past). Back in the ’70s, Donna meets her suitors and goes home with them unafraid of the decade’s abundant serial killers; in 2018, a nod to a bunch of listless Greek fishermen sitting around with no money or jobs, which you might call its shoutout to the global recession, is solved by—what else—a bunch of ABBA songs. Everyone has the exact same hairstyle and distinctive personality traits over the span of several decades. At one point, the characters literally find a pearl in an oyster, that’s how good the citizens of Mamma Mia have it. Is it possible to change your country of origin to a movie sequel?

I can’t tell you about the ending of Mamma Mia 2 without actually spoiling it, but I can tell you that we finally do see Cher, as Sophie’s grandma/Donna’s mom, and that she is decked out in silver with platinum hair like a tall chrome Dolly Parton, and that she sings, her beautiful moonlit face wholly unmoving except for her mouth. And that there is a subsequent scene that brought me to tears even as I thought to myself, This is so incredibly absurd. And that the film’s curtain call is one of the finest showstopping musical numbers and general feel-good fan pandering since goddamn Grease. If I sound passionate, it’s because I’m not used to feeling anything anymore. I await Mamma Mias 3 through 10.

Victoria Beckham Has a Dressy Date Night with Brooklyn

Victoria Beckham has been out and about with her boys lately. In London on Monday night, Beckham hosted an intimate fête alongside her husband David to celebrate her curation of Sotheby’s upcoming Old Masters sale, and she then crossed the Channel to take in Kim Jones’s debut effort for Dior Homme with son Brooklyn.

Tonight, Beckham again stepped out with her eldest son to celebrate the 25th anniversary of the Elton John AIDS Foundation.

Beckham selected a streamlined frock from her spring collection which featured a plunging neckline and nary an embellishment. The sheer back alluded to skin while retaining a hint of modesty, while the slit down the spine was a natty touch.

Minimal jewelry—Beckham’s OTT engagement sparkler being an exception—provided subtle shine for the finishing touch.

Brooklyn, meanwhile, took a cue from his dapper dad David and gussied up in a complementary navy suit. The combination with his mother’s look made for a fashion knockout—and we’d expect nothing less from the Beckham brood.

Joshua Henry on Starring in the Broadway Revival of Carousel

There are many reasons why Jack O’Brien’s revival of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s dark 1945 musical Carousel, now in previews at the Imperial Theatre, should be at the top of your theatergoing list—from the beguiling score, which features such classics as “If I Loved You” and “You’ll Never Walk Alone,” sung here by the likes of Jessie Mueller (Beautiful; Waitress) and Renée Fleming, to the choreography, by New York City Ballet wunderkind Justin Peck. But for me, the main reason to ride this Carousel is Joshua Henry as the magnetic but good-for-nothing ruffian Billy Bigelow. After Tony-nominated performances in The Scottsboro Boys and Violet, among others, the ridiculously handsome, charismatic, and golden-voiced Henry, who acts as beautifully as he sings, is poised to take his place as a Broadway leading man for a new generation. “This is one of the great musical-theater roles—a man who has a poetic soul but is extremely limited and takes some very wrong turns,” Henry says. “And I get to sing some of the most gorgeous music you’ll ever hear. It’s pretty much a dream.”

Set on the coast of Maine in the late nineteenth century, Carousel tells the story of a young mill worker named Julie Jordan (Mueller), who falls for and marries the brash carousel barker Billy (Henry), who physically abuses her and is about to leave her when he learns that she’s pregnant, leading to his involvement in a botched robbery, his violent death, and his ultimate salvation in the afterlife. The son of Jamaican immigrants, he grew up in Miami and planned on being an accountant when he grew up (it didn’t pan out), Henry comes to the role fresh from the national tour of Hamilton, in which he played Aaron Burr, another flawed man undone by poor life choices. “I’m attracted to playing complex human beings like Billy,” he says. “He’s the hero and the villain of the story.” Many of the musicals in which Henry has starred, from Scottsboro Boys and Shuffle Along to Hamilton, have contended with the barbed issue of race in our country’s history. But don’t expect a revisionist Carousel. “When I asked Scott Rudin why he wanted to cast me, he said, ‘Because I think you’re the best actor to play this role’—which was very flattering,” Henry recalls. “At the same time, I’m a black man, and I’m going to bring who I am to the part, and that’s going to add nuances of meaning to certain moments.”

As someone who grew up in a deeply religious household and discovered his gift for performing by singing and playing guitar in church, Henry says that he is drawn to the show’s theme of redemption. “I’m moved by the idea of ‘Can we do something terrible and get a second chance?’ ” he says. Playing a man whose life is changed when he discovers that he’s about to be a father has a particular resonance for Henry at this moment: He and his wife, Cathryn, are expecting their first child this month. It has given, Henry says, new meaning to the lyrics of “Soliloquy,” the almost operatic act-one finale, in which Billy grapples with the emotions of what it will be like to raise a son or daughter. “In that first line, he asks, ‘I wonder what he’ll think of me’ and then he goes on to wonder what he’ll be like, and that’s exactly what I’m thinking right now, like, Who is this guy going to be?” Henry says. “I’m getting to be a leading man, playing this iconic role, and at the same time preparing to take on the most important role of my life. From my own spiritual perspective, the whole thing almost feels orchestrated.”

Victoria Beckham Gets a Jump on Head-to-Toe White for Spring

Victoria Beckham is still in L.A. after last week’s pre-launch celebration for her forthcoming Reebok capsule collection. Today saw the designer wear an all cream ensemble from her own Pre-Fall collection to celebrate her friend Eva Longoria Baston’s Walk of Fame ceremony.

Beckham’s tailored top took its roots from menswear, but the more open collar treatment hinted at its wearer’s décolletage. A coordinating skirt with exposed stitching was an elegant complement and mimicked the style sported by Queen Rania of Jordan yesterday. Beckham finished her look with her signature shades of the moment, the Céline Thin Shadow, and the lilac Dorothy pump.

Nell Scovell’s Just the Funny Parts Is the New Bossypants Meets Lean In

Tina Fey’s Bossypants has been my go-to, crowd-pleasing book recommendation ever since I read it, in a day flat, on my honeymoon in 2011. For me, it stood alone in the canon of celebrity memoirs—until now. Nell Scovell, a pioneer among women writers in Hollywood, who has worked on The Simpsons, Late Night With David Letterman, and Murphy Brown, as well as created Sabrina the Teenage Witch, sets a new standard with Just the Funny Parts...and a Few Hard Truths About Sneaking Into the Hollywood Boys’ Club (Dey Street Books). It is at once a hilarious showbiz memoir peppered with Scovell’s celebrity run-ins and a compelling #MeToo story about the sexism and hostile environments she experienced as the lone woman in many a television writer’s room (including a tense time in Letterman’s: After he admitted to sleeping with female staffers in 2009, Scovell wrote a story for Vanity Fair about the sexually charged atmosphere at the show).

Now, almost three decades into her career, Scovell writes that Hollywood still has a long way to go: “Sexual harassment is so embedded in show business, the industry even has a cutesy name for it—the casting couch,” she writes, “which does sound a lot nicer than the ‘rape sofa.’” But even in her detailed excavation of her past (Scovell includes script excerpts, magazine reviews, and all manner of fascinating primary sources), she doesn’t spare herself, making for at least one remarkable moment (I gasped; you’ll know it when you get there). Just the Funny Parts is an ideal read for right now: humor with an eye toward gender diversity. It helps that Scovell has the bona fides. She cowrote Lean In with Sheryl Sandberg, who has now penned the foreword of Scovell’s book.

Vogue spoke with Scovell by phone about making sexism funny (“Am I corporeal?” she recalls asking a rare female coworker on The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour, “You can see and hear me, right?”), confronting Letterman, and the power of women in high places helping each other.

You’ve been a private person, so it’s pretty new for you to put your personal stories out there. What possessed you to write this book now?

I’ve been asking myself that question a lot lately. I feel lucky that we’re in this time where people are paying attention to female narratives, and my life has been filled with some bizarre moments, from making Homer Simpson eat blowfish and thinking he was going to die to having Sabrina the Teenage Witch turn a cheerleader into a pineapple. So, I wanted to get the fun stories down. I’m also aware that it’s unusual that a female writer got to be in a lot of these rooms. There are so many times I felt like I was both an insider and an outsider at the same time.

You strike a perfect balance between writing very honestly about sexism in Hollywood and also being so funny about your experiences. How did you pull that off?

There’s a great old play and a movie called A Thousand Clowns by [Herb] Gardner, and in it, he says, “If life isn’t funny, then it’s just what it is, and it’s just a long dental appointment.” I’ve always had that approach to life.

Having been in Hollywood for so long, as you have…

I am very old.

No! But what does it feel like to go from being the only woman in the Letterman writers’ room to now seeing Frances McDormand on the Oscars declaring “inclusion rider”? You’ve probably been thinking about this stuff for decades, and now it’s going mainstream.

Oh, completely. And I don’t want to get too optimistic because for 30 years, I’ve been told, “It’s getting better, right?” And that’s always anecdotal. You can cherry-pick your data, but until we have sustained, statistical proof that things have gotten better for women, then I will remain wary. I do think women in their 20s are smarter about this than I was when I was at the same age. They grew up in a post–Anita Hill world, and that’s huge. When I went through my experience at Letterman, I had no vocabulary for that. I just thought it was fucked up. That was the technical term. And then, years later, Anita Hill comes along, and I’m watching her on television and a senator says to her, “Well, you know, if the workplace was so unhappy, why did you stay?” And she said, “I loved my job.” And I burst into tears in my bedroom because I had loved my job at Letterman, but I really didn’t see a way to stay in this atmosphere where I knew I was not going to thrive.

When Letterman’s scandal broke in 2009, you wrote a Vanity Fair story about the sexist culture, the hostile environment, and the lack of female writers on the show. Some of the response from readers was: “Shut up” and “You’re a fame whore.” You remind us in the book that there was sympathy for Letterman. Did it feel like a risk to be telling your story?

Writing that was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It’s the only time I’ve really felt a compulsion to speak out. I couldn’t not write it. I tried to. I didn’t really want to. I was scared. My husband and I actually had a phone call with my accountant to say, “If Nell never works again, are we gonna be okay?” But it really went from being something I thought would be a terrible thing to one of the best things I’ve ever done in my whole life. There’s all this talk about being authentic, and I really felt like I was true to myself in that moment.

Years later, you had this heart-to-heart—as much as that’s possible—with Letterman, in which you asked him about sexism in late-night and he said, “I don’t worry about that stuff.” But then, in subsequent years, you write that he started to actually be more vocal and suggest a woman might replace him…

I’d like to note that his new Netflix show has five executive producers, and they are all male.

I was going to ask if you think you had a role in bringing him a little more awareness of gender issues.

He doesn’t worry about that stuff. When someone reveals themselves, believe them.

No spoilers, but one of the best parts of the book is when you tell the story of working with a “novelty singer” turned writer named Jim Stafford at The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour. You write that Stafford had a “dim” view of women, boxed you out of creative decisions, and once crudely suggested you fellate the guitar great Chet Atkins. Why did you decide to go there, so to speak, about Stafford? It just occurred to me: Is he dead?

Well, he lives Branson, Missouri, so, pretty close. One of the reasons I told this story about myself was, there’s a tendency when we see someone who’s been successful to think they’ve sailed through and nothing bad ever happened to them. So I wanted to reveal that you can succeed, not because it’s all good, but because even when bad stuff happens, you keep going.

You tweet often about the Trumps and the current political circus. You wrote jokes for President Obama for multiple White House Correspondents’ dinners. If Stephen Miller called you and said, “Hey, Nell, can you write some jokes for President Trump?” What would you say?

I might say yes, and then send only jokes about how venal and hideous and corrupt he is. Like: “I tried to block Stormy Daniels from appearing on 60 Minutes, which means I imposed more sanctions on a porn actress than on Russia.” Or, “My first wife wrote in a book that I raped her. That hurt, but I learned from the experience. Now I make my wives sign NDAs.” Then I’d be like, “What? He didn’t use any of my jokes?”

Before I forget: What do you think about the Sabrina the Teenage Witch reboot?

I’m excited to watch it. You know, Sabrina and Buffy both came on at the same time, and I was a huge Buffy fan, so if this is sort of a combo thing, I think that sounds like fun. They’re rebooting three shows I’ve worked on: Murphy Brown, Charmed, and Sabrina. If it brings in a whole new generation, then that’s kind of interesting.

I was shocked that you could write about having a career drought in later years, after all the success you’ve had. Do you attribute that to the usual cycle of a Hollywood writer’s career, or to sexism and ageism?

I turned 40 and things started to go south. One of the things I learned by writing the memoir was how often female executives came through for me, from Nina Tassler to Susanne Daniels and Chris Sanagustin. They continued to call to see if I was available for work, and I always was. So, this is another reason we need women in leadership positions—too many men in Hollywood appreciate the potential of young women more than they appreciate the experience of middle-aged women.

When you hear people say, “Women don’t have each other’s backs,” how does that strike you?

One of the greatest benefits to come out of Lean In was convincing women to help and support other women, not out of this sense of duty and that you’d be condemned to hell forever if you didn’t, but because it will make all your lives better. The way Gloria Steinem puts it is that “we are linked, not ranked,” which I’ve always loved. In Just the Funny Parts, I quote the line about how women who don’t help other women have a special place in hell, but I add that women who do help women should have a special cloud in heaven.