She slides a fry off my plate and takes a bite, then informs me that she’ll now be eating more of my fries. She grows more excited talking about it and draws closer. “I turned into a monster.” This is 2019 Aubrey: hyper-focused, intense, inspired. Constantly in arguments with the producers, being like, ‘I need more money! You need to send a car for Sharon Stone! Don’t fuck me on this!’” She laughs. “I went psycho style.” “As in, swinging for the fences?” I ask. It unleashed a side of Aubrey that’s been building up for the past few years. More recently, she hosted the Independent Spirit Awards, which could have just been a standard gig but in her hands came alive. She also starred in and coproduced the oddball indie The Little Hours, about rogue nuns, which her boyfriend, Jeff Baena, directed.
#Aubrey plaza parks and rec series#
In the years since Parks’ series finale, Aubrey’s done films like the social media send-up Ingrid Goes West and the FX show Legion. We were all kind of touching each other and looking at each other, but it was all so far gone from that thing.” “So it always feels like a little bit of a letdown or something. Like, it was really fun and we all love each other so much, but it’s just that feeling that you can never re-create something that was so perfect,” she says. We settle on two stools at the counter to order burgers with sides of salad for her and fries for me and begin to plot which slice of pie we’ll split later. We finish our bunnies, and Aubrey frowns at her creation, which, despite being technically perfect, is apparently “just standard.” Then we leave the museum for lunch at a diner a few minutes away. “The funniest thing about it was that most people don’t react, they ignore,” she says. She and her friends would dress up in costumes and try to get a rise out of people at their local mall. Aubrey tells me that while she made the most of the all-girls Catholic school where she was “popular but not necessarily cool,” she was also beginning to test out different ways of being a type-A overachiever-disruptive but funny at the same time. She requests a pipe cleaner from the other end of the table, which a mom passes to a kid who then passes it to her. “In high school, I was involved in a lot of activities, Tracy Flick–style,” she says of her teen years in Wilmington, Delaware. Here, Aubrey begins to assemble a bunny with near-surgical precision.
We watch a big fluffy bird perform before making our way over to a table stocked with craft supplies.
So on this also characteristically pleasant day in April 2019, Aubrey sits cross-legged on the green shag carpet in front of the stage at the Southern California Children’s Museum, leaning forward with two fists propping up her chin, not unlike the kids sitting in front of her.
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