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Julianne Nicholson just shed light on one regret from her first Emmy win for Mare of Easttown in 2021.

For the unversed, the 54-year-old actress secured her second Emmy Award for Hacks and she has been nominated for the third time for her portrayal of Samantha “Sinatra” Redmond in Paradise.

In a talk with PEOPLE magazine at the inaugural Televerse Festival in Los Angeles on August 16, Nicholson opened up about the one regret she is carrying from her first Emmy win, revealing she should have given a proper shout-out to her husband, Jonathan Cake.

However, Nicholson, who tied the knot with Cake in 2004 and welcomed two children with him, affirmed to “talk more about” her husband if she secures an Emmy for playing Sinatra in Paradise.

Referring to her first Emmy speech, she quipped, “I feel like the first time, I was so nervous. There’s a lot of people to mention and I feel like my husband got short shrift.”

“Honestly, I can’t do it without him. And I felt bad about that,” The Amateur star confessed and went on to highlight how fun it is to prepare for the prestigious awards.

“Yeah, I love the whole thing. My hair and makeup team I’ve been working with for 10 years and they make me laugh so much. So, it always feels pretty relaxed, actually.”

“Honestly, it just feels like a celebration. I feel like I wish the awards never even had to happen. We could all just live with a nomination. No, I feel really lucky and it’s fun to go back and just be reunited with people you might not have seen for a while,” Julianne Nicholson said.

It’s the end of “Downton Abbey.” No, really — this time, it’s right there in the title, “The Grand Finale.” After six seasons, five Christmas specials, three movies and a partridge in a pear tree, this is the end, until the next time writer and creator Julian Fellowes is struck with inspiration.

All joking aside, “The Grand Finale” is a fine send-off for the beloved British costume drama, which follows the ups and downs of the aristocratic Crawley family — and their staff — while navigating the tumultuous beginnings of the 20th century.

While the previous “Downton” film, 2022’s “A New Era,” saw the Crawleys venturing to France and hosting a movie crew at their Yorkshire estate, the key to “The Grand Finale” is that Fellowes doesn’t venture into unfamiliar territory. He keeps us grounded in the smaller social and familial dramas, with a few fun guest stars that nod to the year in which the story takes place: 1930.

What Fellowes has done so well with “Downton” is offer an escape to the past, while using the period setting to comment on issues of contemporary relevance. He produces an appealing tension in the simultaneous presentation of archaic cultural norms alongside issues that feel as urgent as ever. In “The Grand Finale,” there’s the tabloid scandal that swarms the divorce of Lady Mary (Michelle Dockery) as well as the ongoing struggle that is Lord Grantham’s unwillingness to pass on management of Downton Abbey to the next generation. (Returning again to the role of the patriarch is Hugh Bonneville.)

We can titter at the shock and horror that some of the characters display at even being in the same room as a divorced woman — Lady Mary is rudely escorted from a ball and asked to hide under a staircase lest she come into contact with a royal — and also empathize with the frustration of a new generation that desperately wants to take over from the old guard and maybe even shake things up a bit. It sounds a lot like the complaints that Gen X and millennials have with the boomers. Some things never change, even if divorce is no longer grounds for social expulsion.

Fellowes isn’t exactly subtle with the messaging in his final chapter. American uncle Harold (Paul Giamatti) declares it’s more comfortable to live in the past. Fellowes gets even more self-reflective with the character of Molesley (Kevin Doyle), who progressed from footman to screenwriter in the last film and now demands the recognition that he believes he deserves. You have to laugh when Molesley declares to camera that screenwriters are more important than even movie stars. (Heard, Lord Fellowes, an Oscar winner for his original script to “Gosford Park.”)

“The Grand Finale” brings back old friends from “A New Era,” such as film actor Guy Dexter (Dominic West), now in a quiet relationship with former Downton footman Barrow (Robert James-Collier), and their pal, theater attraction and playwright Noel Coward (Arty Froushan), representing the new wave of media celebrities. In a truly delightful, star-making performance, Froushan delivers mischievous double entendres as Coward, practically licking his chops at all the juicy material he finds at Downton for his new plays, whether it’s Lady Mary’s love woes or the inner workings of the “downstairs” Downton staff.

With the late Dame Maggie Smith no longer delivering her usual barbs, Simon Russell Beale has stepped in to represent the traditionalist ways of thinking. Playing Sir Hector who contends with Lady Isabelle (Penelope Wilton) over the planning of the county show, he mightily resists change and isn’t afraid to let her know about it. He also delivers one of the most spectacular line readings of the phrase “beekeepers and bottling fruit,” so don’t worry — the spirit of the Dowager Countess lives on.

In other subplots, the Crawleys need to manage both a financial pickle related to the American stock market crash and a smooth-talking scam artist who goes by Gus Sambrook (Alessandro Nivola), who has inveigled Harold into an Argentine currency grift and Lady Mary into a rebound tryst. He is ultimately merely a device to illustrate Lady Edith’s mannered English claws when she scares him off with threats to his social standing, and a way to urge the Crawleys into new management of their assets, but he’s a fun fly in the ointment nevertheless.

With its mix of old characters and new, worldly upheaval and small-town drama, Fellowes illustrates what “Downton” has always done best, which is a social examination of how much things have changed and how they haven’t changed at all. While some of the character work doesn’t quite develop or deepen our understanding of them, or even take them on new journeys, it’s simply a pleasure to visit one last time — or at least until the next one. (Why pretend otherwise?) World War II is only a few years away. Wouldn’t you like to see how the Crawleys tackle that?

Katie Walsh is a Tribune News Service film critic.

Things are grim in “The Long Walk,” the adaptation of Stephen King’s 1979 novel (published under the pseudonym Richard Bachman) that’s essentially “The Hunger Games” for teenage boys or “They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?” for Gen Z — texts that traffic in the extreme outcomes of American capitalism, a force that rots from within.

“The Long Walk” is the first novel King wrote, one he started around 1966, eight years before his first book, “Carrie,” was published. The plot is simple and incredibly dark: In a dystopian United States under totalitarian rule, 100 teenage boys are selected from a lottery to participate in a contest that only one can win. Whoever survives a multiday, hundreds-of-miles-long walk is rewarded with a hefty monetary prize. Walk until there’s only one left. Slow down and receive a warning. After three warnings, it’s a bullet in the head. The telecast of this walk is intended to inspire workers to increase their productivity.

Cooper Hoffman stars as Ray, one of the hearts of the film. The other is another walker named Pete (David Jonsson). The two young men become fast friends and then brothers on the walk, during which they endure all manner of physical, psychic, emotional, spiritual and mental degradation, along with the other boys whom they befriend, support and battle on the asphalt.

“The Long Walk” is directed by Francis Lawrence, who helmed most of “The Hunger Games” films and prequels, and is scripted by JT Mollner, who wrote and directed 2023’s pop noir “Strange Darling.” It’s a movie that tackles what it means for young people to volunteer for organized barbarism out of desperate need — as well as the consumption of their destruction as entertainment.

There are two audiences at play here, the one within the film itself, like those at a gladiator arena uncritically taking in death and bloodshed, and then there’s us, watching a movie that’s delivering a scathing critique about abuses of power. Lawrence hasn’t quite made the important distinction between these two kinds of audiences, though. We never see the broadcast or who is actually watching this walk, aside from a few cutaways to bored locals on the side of the road. But before the title even flashes on screen, we are granted the disturbingly detailed view of a bullet ripping through the face of a young boy. It signals to the participants on the walk that they’re not to toy with the warnings — and to us watching that this is a film that pulls no punches when it comes to graphic content (in many different ways).

But does it implicate us in this morbid voyeurism? What does it mean to see a child’s head exploded by heavy artillery in a fictional film, when that’s something that regularly happens in schools across America? Pete mentions to Ray that they’ll have to get used to it and Ray responds that’s what he’s worried about. It sounds like the conversation every time a mass shooting happens in America and while it’s a profound piece of dialogue, it’s just that.

Mollner and Lawrence keep the story locked on the boys, never elaborating on this desensitizing idea but continuing to show us the dehumanizing torture they endure. The emotional heft comes from what they learn about each other, especially Pete’s ability to look at life with genuine enthusiasm and beauty, a lesson he imparts to Ray, who has arrived with vengeance on his mind (against the cruel orchestrator of their pain, the Major, played by Mark Hamill) and a broken heart for his mother (Judy Greer). Ray has the critical thinking down, but his journey is an emotional one, learning to see the world through Pete’s eyes but never putting his natural leadership abilities to use in organizing against their oppression.

It’s a stunning showcase for the acting talents of the young ensemble, which also includes Ben Wang, Garrett Wareing, Tut Nyuot, Charlie Plummer and Joshua Odjick. Lawrence is sparing in his style, the image desaturated like a vintage photograph, locating this fable in an unspecified future. The message of “The Long Walk” is muddled, at once hopeful and despairing.

Katie Walsh is a Tribune News Service film critic.

Accomplishing the unlikely feat of bridging the great divide between prog rock and pure pop, Supertramp became one of the most successful British bands of the 1970s and 80s. The group’s creative driving force was the partnership between Rick Davies, who has died aged 81 after suffering from multiple myeloma, and Roger Hodgson. They wrote all of Supertramp’s big chart hits and best-known songs, but though the compositions were credited to both of them, the songs were invariably written solely by one or the other.

The New York Times suggested that Hodgson “was known for his celestial tenor and his Paul McCartney-esque ear for melody”, demonstrated on the likes of Dreamer and The Logical Song. Meanwhile Davies’s grittier tones could be discerned on Bloody Well Right, Crime of the Century and Goodbye Stranger.

Davies and Hodgson were contrasting characters. While Hodgson had attended Stowe public school, Davies came from an earthier background, and was studying art at Swindon College when he formed his first band. His lyrics to Bloody Well Right, which gave Supertramp their first hit in the US when it reached No 35 in 1974, alluded to the very English theme of class division: “You say it all depends on money / And who is in your family tree.”

The contrast between the two songwriters would eventually lead to an acrimonious split, but it also helped fuel them creatively. “I could be putting down his way of thinking and he could be challenging my way of seeing life,” Hodgson commented. “The contrast is what makes Supertramp go round.” On the other hand, Davies observed how their relationship was “like two people who are painting a picture on the same canvas … and you have problems, because the picture doesn’t get finished.”

It was their third album, Crime of the Century (1974), that thrust the group into the global spotlight. It reached No 4 in the UK and 38 in the US, and delivered two of their best-loved hits, Dreamer and Bloody Well Right. A hectic touring schedule meant that the follow-up album, Crisis? What Crisis? (1975), was rushed and unsatisfactory, but they made amends with Even in the Quietest Moments … (1977), a Top 20 album in the States that also gave them a Top 20 US single, Give a Little Bit.

But the icing on the Supertramp cake arrived with Breakfast in America (1979), an international smash that topped the US and several other charts, though only reached No 3 in the UK. Boosted by a trio of big US hit singles – The Logical Song, Goodbye Stranger and Take the Long Way Home – the album was glued to the top of the US chart for six weeks and would become Supertramp’s bestselling album, going on to sell 20m copies worldwide.

Born in Swindon, Rick was the son of Elizabeth (nee White), a hairdresser, and Richard, a merchant seaman. The boy’s interest in music was triggered at the age of eight when his parents gave him a second-hand radiogram and some records to go with it. These included Drummin’ Man by the jazz drummer Gene Krupa, which inspired him to start playing drums. He acquired a drum kit and took lessons, and at age 12 he was playing the snare drum with a marching band.

He attended Sanford Street school, and by the end of the 50s was playing drums with a rock’n’roll band, Vince and the Vigilantes. He then went to Swindon College, and also formed his own band, Rick’s Blues. By now he had taught himself the piano and switched to playing a Hohner electric instrument, noticing “that seemed to go over better than my drumming, for some reason”. Occupying the drum stool was the future pop star Gilbert O’Sullivan.

Davies took a break from music when his father fell ill, and worked as a welder temporarily, but returned in 1966 as an organist with the Lonely Ones (an ex-band member was Noel Redding, the future bass player with the Jimi Hendrix Experience). The group renamed themselves the Joint, and when they were playing at a club in Munich they were spotted by a Dutch millionaire, Stanley August Miesegaes. Impressed by Davies’ musicianship, he felt the group was unworthy of his talents. He pledged that if Davies found himself a better band, he would manage them and supply financial backing.

Thus, in 1969 Davies advertised in Melody Maker for new musicians, and one of the applicants was Hodgson, who would play bass and later guitar and keyboards. The pair formed an immediate songwriting bond. Miesegaes helped them secure a deal with A&M records and funded their first two albums, Supertramp (1970) and Indelibly Stamped (1971). Neither of these sold well, despite some favourable reviews that drew attention to the group’s ambitious if sometimes overblown songwriting and inventive instrumentation.

Several lineup changes accompanied the band’s quest for a distinct identity, with the guitarist Richard Palmer and drummer Bob Millar leaving after the first album (it was Palmer who suggested replacing the band’s original name, Daddy, with Supertramp, after WH Davies’ book The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp). Frank Farrell, Dave Winthrop and Kevin Currie joined Hodgson and Davies on the follow-up, but when this sold even fewer copies than its predecessor, the group disintegrated and Miesegaes withdrew his financial support. Hodgson and Davies were left wondering if they had a future.

Their triumphant resurgence owed much to Dave Margereson, a young A&R man at A&M who sensed the pair’s potential. Their initial two-album deal with A&M had terminated, so Margereson organised a new deal and secured them a publishing contract with Rondor Music. Davies and Hodgson recruited the bassist Dougie Thomson, drummer Bob Siebenberg and saxophonist John Helliwell to form the band’s “classic” lineup. Margereson found them a farmhouse in Somerset called Southcombe, where they worked on what would become Crime of the Century, the album that lit the blue touchpaper under the band’s career.

Margereson became the band’s manager and it was at his urging that the group moved to Los Angeles in 1975, to concentrate on breaking into the American market.

Their seventh album, … Famous Last Words … (1982), despite being a No 5 hit in the States and reaching 6 in the UK, was also Hodgson’s last with the band. He disagreed with Davies’s wish to pursue a more progressive-rock direction and quit to pursue a solo career. Davies continued with Supertramp for another six years and a couple more albums, including 1985’s Brother Where You Bound, which delivered the US Top 30 single Cannonball, until the group dissolved after their 1988 tour.

Davies would reform Supertramp during the 90s, but Hodgson was aggrieved that Davies was performing his songs, despite having apparently agreed not to do so. Hodgson argued that “people want to hear the songs sung by the man who wrote them”. In 2002 Supertramp’s 11th and final studio album, Slow Motion, was released.

Davies was planning a farewell European tour with Supertramp in 2015, but had to cancel it when he was diagnosed with multiple myeloma.

He is survived by his wife, Sue, who had been Supertramp’s manager since 1984.

What has surprised you most since when you first envisioned the story and its characters?

Fellowes: Personally, what always surprises me is the extent to which I get caught up in the storyline. I remember at the end of series three when Sybil died and I was sobbing away on the sofa and my wife said to me, “Well, you wrote it. What did you think was going to happen?” I can’t really explain how I am able to separate the story from the experience, but I do. The characters have become very moving to me. Obviously, I enjoyed Maggie very much all the way through. We had made two films together before we ever embarked on Downton. We weren’t great pals who took a house by the sea together, but she knew how to say what I wrote and I knew how to write what she would say. Although Maggie had a great career before she ever heard of Downton Abbey, I was nevertheless pleased that we gave her a new level of fame. If she was here with us, she’d probably argue and say that it rather spoiled things because up till then she could win Oscars and still go to the grocers and be left alone.

What was the inspiration for making Noël Coward a character in the film?

Fellowes: We knew that his play Bitter Sweet opened in 1930, which is when we were setting the film. Noël Coward was so much the voice of this particular interwar period in England. It was my son, actually, who said, “I think you’re mad not to have Coward in it.” He was not part of Victorian England, which is, you know, still hanging on to the skirts of half of the characters. Although he became a cabaret star later on, Coward’s prime time was the ‘30s.

Curtis: It’s interesting that people now think of Noël Coward as this old man. We present him at age 30, at the peak of his career, when he was the Harry Styles of his time.

Fellowes: He was so young when he hit the big time. When Bitter Sweet opened, it was the biggest, hottest ticket in London.

Curtis: He came off as a posh man, but in fact he was just a boy from Teddington.

Fellowes: He remade himself in the way people did then. But that’s all gone now. I believe now, the rougher your background, the more you parade it to the public’s delight. In that time, Coward was a man of his own charm and reinvented himself with a different voice. What is interesting is that he didn’t tell untruths about his own past ever. He always presented the truth. But he presented it from the viewpoint of a very different kind of person.

Coward had such wit and charisma. How difficult was it to find someone who could capture that sort of brilliance?

Curtis: It was harder than I thought it was going to be. But we struck gold with Arty [Froushan], who was delighted to devour all the research he could find. And I think he performs the song, “Poor Little Rich Girl” very well. I’m thrilled with Arty’s performance.