Jane Adams hopes The Idol offends you: ‘Go ahead. Hate It. I don’t care’

What’s changed, in her mind? “Over the last few years, it’s been a weird experience that makes me a little sad,” she says between sips of her hot matcha latte. “People in that world, some of them, have turned into the scolding schoolmarms that I wanted to be an actress to get away from.”

The experience of a character actor can come down to how you get recognised in public. For Adams, it started with a few weird Happiness interactions: “More people than you would think would stop me and say, ‘Oh, my God, I was on my first date with my now husband for that movie and you ruined it—that was just the strangest way to start our relationship.’” She recurred on Frasier the next year, at which point people would scream her character’s name on the street as she walked by.

Her TV career has never been high-profile—either the show was too niche, or her part too small—but she’s flourished on the small screen, playing witty and strange women who find unique ways of asserting their power. Adams owned the unsung 2010s HBO comedy series Hung as the unlikely pimp to a one-night stand (played by Thomas Jane), her performance a marvelous amalgamation of sad, sweet, and scary. In 2017, The New Yorker’s Emily Nussbaum wrote of Adams’s turn in TNT’s Claws, “[She’s] played a lot of wacky characters, but they are giving her some truly luscious banana bread.” (Adams played an artist holding a man captive as a sex slave.) But only two years ago did Adams receive her first Emmy nod, for guest starring as Hannah Einbinder’s neurotic mother in Max’s Hacks.

At one point, I bring up another show Adams doesn’t hear about much, the one-and-done CBS series Citizen Baines, an otherwise mediocre family drama about a former US senator (James Cromwell) that Adams elevated as his prickly daughter. Moments later, Adams’s sister in that 2001 show, Embeth Davidtz, rushes up to us at the restaurant. “I’m the only person who hasn’t seen your show yet!” Davidtz says as she greets her old friend. Adams explains she’s being interviewed for said show, The Idol, and that, weirdly, we were just discussing Citizen Baines. “We only survived because of each other,” Davidtz tells me carefully. “You would know this already, about generic TV writing, but [Jane] could take the most unimaginative line and make it sound”—she turns to Adams—“I don’t know how you do it.” She starts to walk to a nearby table. “I have to see you,” Davidtz tells Adams as a wistful farewell, “just to get an injection of creativity and life.”

Ah—is that what this is? There’s a liveness to Adams’s way of conversing. She keeps you on your toes and likes to provoke, though it never feels combative. “Thanks for asking questions—it’s a relief that that is what you have to do,” she tells me at one point. “Have I made it clear I’m very happy that you’re in charge?” She appreciates this kind of structure, in her desire to talk about the tough stuff, the controversies floating in the air because of The Idol. As Adams sees it, gossip around the production has filtered into criticism of the series itself; she hears many refusing to engage with The Idol’s satirical commentary on celebrity and modern life, or its forthrightness with sex and nudity. “I think it’s gorgeous stylistically, but it’s a black comedy,” she says. “It’s a kaleidoscope that they’ve created. They’re inviting the audience: ‘Look here. Instead of the other things you’ve been looking for, try these kaleidoscope glasses on.’ It’s trippy.”