This essay inaugurates my Substack, and I’m also publishing it here on popticular — because if I’m going to dedicate my debut to one of the worst moments of my career, the least I can do is give it maximum distribution. Some people open with their achievements; I’d rather we get the humiliation out of the way early. It’s more honest, and frankly, it’s a better story.
The photo you see above is of a young journalist on one of those «celebrated» press days — the junkets — which are less an exercise in actual journalism and more a public relations play, a way of decorating a project without ever going too deep. For some reason I’ve never fully understood, but grow more convinced of every year, actors hate them. They hate sitting in a five-star hotel suite talking about their own movie. They hate questions designed to go nowhere. They hate, somehow, benefiting their own film. Not all of them, I should say. But a solid majority, yes.
Enough about the strange trade of junkets, though. Let’s get to it.
Back to the photo. Me: young, impressionable, still processing what had just happened to me. Her: a Marvel superhero, in Miami to promote one of her movies. And guess what — I couldn’t believe they had invited me to interview her. The actress from my favorite show of all time, Lost. The Hobbit. I had watched every talk show appearance she’d ever done. Real admiration, the kind you’re not supposed to have while practicing this profession. At least not that obviously.
But there I was. I had rehearsed that interview because I was genuinely interested in the character — my bad, not the actress, the character — and the result stands, to this day, as the worst interview and the worst interaction of my life. My personal junket rock bottom.
I sat down across from Evangeline Lilly and she told me, point blank: «I’m bored, and if you ask me anything I’ve already been asked, I will shut you down.» And she did. Every time. All of it delivered with a smile that kept me guessing whether this was a game, or whether this Marvel heroine had simply decided that today, in this suite, my career would end.
Running out of options, I threw out a question about the casting — specifically, about Michelle Pfeiffer playing her mother in the film. Yes, that Michelle Pfeiffer. Her whole face changed. «Now you’re my best friend,» she said, and answered genuinely connected to what we were talking about, like a switch had been flipped and an actual person had walked into the room.
When I edited the interview, that was the only answer I used.
I’ve told this story a thousand times. Over the years it’s become a kind of urban legend among entertainment journalists in my circle. And in an era when leaking footage of actors behaving badly at junkets became a content genre of its own, I’ll admit the thought crossed my mind: publish the raw tape, let the world meet the real heroine of Lost. Nobody ever did. That stayed between her and me.
Here’s the part I left out. When the interview ended and I got up from that chair thoroughly defeated, she was the one who said: «Don’t you want a photo?» I didn’t know how to say no. She took my phone out of my hands and took the picture herself. And then, as a parting gift: «Tell your press friends my claws are out.»
I did. Message delivered. And from that day on, the way I approach actors changed forever. I should also admit: I’ve never had the luck of running into another one like her.
The interesting thing about this story isn’t the story. I’m certain she doesn’t remotely remember being in Miami promoting Ant-Man and the Wasp. But I remember it perfectly — her, the suite, the smile, the claws — like it happened yesterday.
Now cut to today.
We know Evangeline Lilly has been going through health struggles. We know she retired from acting. Every so often she publishes on her Substack, and recently she shared something that hit me twice: once as a reader, and once as the guy from that chair in Miami. The title alone did it: «I Used to Like Myself… Until I Met Myself.»
Because that’s exactly what happened to me with her. I liked her — until I met her.
But reading her essay, something I’ve been slowly internalizing for years finally clicked into place. Junkets are no pleasure cruise for actors either. Past the five-star hotels, the million-dollar contracts and the gourmet catering — and sure, there are worse jobs on this planet — there are human beings in those chairs. People with doubts, insecurities, questions about who they are and who they’ve been trained to appear to be. People who feel exactly like I felt that day. Just on the other side of the table.
How good it feels to grow up. To realize that sometimes you were the worst one in the room. And the best part is not justifying it — just accepting it.
So thank you, Evangeline Lilly, for that essay. It arrived at a precise moment in my life. And coming from you — as stupid as this may sound — it matters, because you’ve played a defining role in my career, in the person I am today, and in how I approach this whole business of entertainment.
I hope someday you come back to acting. And I hope we get to sit down again — no publicists, no countdown clock, no rehearsed questions — and just talk about life, about how unpleasant junkets really are, and about how strange this industry we call «Hollywood» can be.
Claws welcome.
With love,
Mauricio
