This summer, Sandra Oh positioned herself behind a lectern at a graduation ceremony in the northeastern state, ready to share university-leavers encouraging messages during a era of ongoing challenges. She met the moment, sharing honestly her past battles with mental health challenges, before making a sincere argument for welcoming unease and goodwill “so we can meet cruelty again and again and not {lose our humanity|sacrifice our compassion|forfeit our empathy”. This was increasingly important, she explained, when many international authorities “seize control through fear and oppression”.
“I was tremendously apprehensive about it,” says Oh. “I worked really hard.” She had been putting herself into the perspective of 20-year-olds not just worried about their own futures but about the broader context. “Our planet is in crisis!” she notes, envisioning their fears. “Battles rage globally! My heart is so heavy, so all I’m going to do is consume negative news.” But, crucially, Oh wanted her attendees to find their way to happiness – thus the movement. “Sitting there trying to bear the pain in the world,” she shares, clearly capturing the philosophy she shared that day, “will help you determine how to exist meaningfully.”
These days, it's common to see T-shirts featuring the words Oh famously said at the Emmys: ‘It’s an honour just to be Asian’
That speech – with its openness and empathy, its recognition of the world’s harshness while still discovering pockets of happiness – feels very characteristic for Oh. A native of the region around Ottawa to a family with roots in South Korea, the actress, whose star turns in the famous medical drama and the spy thriller made her the first Asian woman to win several of the prestigious awards, has since built a following for her dedicated promotion of increased diversity in the industry.
Warm and sparkling, her own conversation now is filled with plenty of laughs. “Just a moment please!” is the opening line listeners catch as she connects via call from NYC, stalling briefly as she attempts unsuccessfully to turn on her camera. But Oh soon becomes more thoughtful, prone to lengthy silences as she talks about everything from the environmental crisis to AI to racial equality.
Fittingly, Oh’s current endeavor – the indie Canadian sci-fi film Can I Get a Witness? – is about locating hope amid the burning. After an apocalyptic, computer-caused catastrophe hits Earth in the very carefully picked year of the near future, society has been restructured. It’s 2040: conflict has ended. Traditional workplaces, devices and gadgets are relics of a damned civilisation. Individuals occupy their time tending to their plants. But there are conditions: they don’t travel, electricity is restricted and – the biggest catch – everyone must experience officially decreed passing at fifty. Oh plays the protagonist, a an individual who lived through the event, who is supporting her daughter into her new job as a “documenter” of these “conclusion” ceremonies. These can be selected from a catalog, with options including church memorials and oceanside farewells with champagne.
When your primary source of love is the phone, changes are occurring to you at an unconscious, very powerful level
“I was most interested was the script’s reflection on mortality,” says Oh, in particular how the knowledge of one’s impending death would change one’s outlook on living. It’s an growing concern, Oh says, recalling an initial showing last year in the California city while wildfires raged across LA. It highlighted the idea that the film is not really about the future. “This reflects current reality,” she says. “Our world is already aflame.”
When they were making the film, Oh asked director and writer the visionary artist to include AI in the script. How does she think digital advancements are transforming our lives? “Screens and networking apps,” she says, “are retraining human beings.Whenever your chief affection is the phone, something is happening to you at an deep-seated, very profound depth.”
Her own solution to this change – “It's a challenge for me, and I wasn't raised alongside this technology” – is choosing to do “humble but impactful” films such as this new project, as well as live acting. She has been playing Olivia in the classic play at the the famous theater in the city's green oasis. “I’m engaging with 2,000 people in an alfresco stage. You can feel people really want to attend the performance to be amused, have a pleasant moment, for it to be joyous, out in the environment. You’re in community and you’re connecting – through Shakespeare.” In the digital epoch, “these genuine connections become way more important”.
The actress frequently discusses about making intentional selections, engaged options. “A positive aspect of maturity,” says the actor, who has just turned 54. “A great deal in society, in community, that you’ve been experiencing passively. But you see that glimmer of hope coming through – and realise that’s what you want to embrace. This captures the essence of this stage. And it’s very absorbing.”
The performer has discussed about unlearning the racism she internalised from her formative period, singling out a painful incident with an representative when she came to Hollywood in that decade. The agent suggested to head back north as there was little chance for Asian actors in the US. Years after, on receiving the acclaimed show's material, Oh didn't realize which secondary role was intended for her. “Honey,” her agent said. “You're the lead.”
Lately, Oh has put her considerable heft into tales of cultural heritage, acting in Domee Shi’s Pixar romp the coming-of-age story, Iris Shim’s intergenerational horror Umma, and the lighthearted show the game-based narrative. She’s also played secretary Sofia Mori in period piece the acclaimed series and the stressed professor in digital production the university-based story. All these roles, unlike the ones that made her famous, specifically consider her character’s background in the script.
“I recall attending the awards when Everything Everywhere All at Once took home top honors,” she says. “It was so important. For progress to occur, you need a broader network – to get traction, to get the experience, to know how to support each other. When I started, actors like colleagues in the industry – we’d been acquainted for years, but we never shared a production or project, because we were always working separately. It’s still a tough industry, veering towards, honestly, a established majority-centric structure.”
Representation, fairness and belonging may be {under attack|
