Off Camera with Sam Jones

With a slew of acclaimed films and several TV series in the last two years alone, it seems Hollywood's come gunning for Sam Elliott. Fair enough; four decades ago, Elliott came gunning for Hollywood. But not for stardom or money. "It wasn't about anything but making film, and I knew the kind I wanted to make." He admired Gary Cooper, Jimmy Stewart, John Wayne - and the dudes who wrangled their horses. Guys who stood for simple, honest acting; guys we didn't want to watch being anyone but themselves. That less-is-more approach linked Elliott indelibly with Westerns and inscrutable tough guys for most of his career, but is now proving just as mesmerizing in a surprising range of new roles. When Elliott talks about his (very) storied career, he mentions luck more than talent, but adds that good luck is usually the residual of hard work. Well raise a Coors to that.

Jim Jefferies is an Australian comic who found success in America by mocking our laws, hypocrisy and leaders - and don't get him started on actors. But before you take offense, know that he's an equal-opportunity berator. The most patriotic thing you can do, whether youre British, Australian, American, South African, whatever the fuck you are, is speak out about things you don't agree with. Also, know that he loves the country that gave him both a permanent home and In-N-Out. It's just that he points out our flaws as bluntly and uproariously as he does his own. That's probably why he gets away with it. The guy who puts himself on full public display shares a few things you might not know: the lowest moment of his comedy career, his SRE (standard rate of embellishment) and what to expect from The Jim Jefferies Show. And if you're after positivity and inspiration Well, enjoy the conversation anyway.

As a film-obsessed 10-year old stranded in a rural suburb of Virginia, Danny McBride went with his parents to pay the cable bill so he could see where all those movies were made. Maybe the magic didn't happen in that small strip mall office, but a film he made in a small strip mall 20 years later launched a career he never imagined. He made it with friends he still works with today, a group with the hubris to think they were just as talented as the guys they saw working in Hollywood. When you're right, you're right. McBride's genius lies in pulling the rug out from under his characters, and often, his audience; he lulls us into stereotypes and comedy tropes one minute only to detonate them the next. We chat about the hard work of comedy, the Foot-Fist Business Model and the joy of finding your fellow bees.

Billy Crudup's post-theater school plans for a steady, workmanlike, and hopefully long career spent perfecting his craft were jackhammered by Almost Famous. Suddenly he was Hollywood's Next Big Thing, and completely unprepared for the dubious responsibility that comes with that crown. In fact, he was pretty sure he didnt even want the crown. "It throws you into some confusion about yourself and what you do and how each next move could affect that." Going with his gut and opting instead for interesting, "weird-ass" parts that would foster growth meant saying no to really smart people who made really big movies. Not becoming a "star" also meant he had to keep reaching for something, and to find out what kind of an actor he really was. As it turns out, he's the best kind - one who does it for all the right reasons.

From the this-just-in file: "Being in a band is not a normal job." Chris Shiflett knows it's a laughable understatement, especially when the band in question is the Foo Fighters, one of the few remaining rock acts that can record, tour and provide a (very) nice living for it's members. So why does he still take guitar lessons, humble himself in songwriting workshops and log 14-hour days in the back of a van? The answer is love, friends - an all-consuming passion for making, discovering and understanding music. He didn't always work so hard; he dropped out of school to enjoy the L.A. rock scene and make it in a band. Improbably and inevitably, he did. Yeah, there's a lot of story in between. Shiflett shares it all, including his harrowing brush with bookkeeping, whoring, drinking and gambling. The last three of which come in handy when you're writing excellent new country songs.

Listen closely to Elisabeth Moss' monologue in Queen of Earth and underneath it, you'll hear her heartbeat. It's not nerves; it's love. When Moss loves a scene, or hits her groove in it, her heart pounds so hard her mic has to be adjusted. She can't remember ever not loving acting, something she's done with confounding brilliance since the age of eight, but most recognizably since 17 in The West Wing, Mad Men, countless films and now to devastating effect in The Handmaids Tale. But if you're here for tips, she ain't spilling. She can't. Rules and techniques that apply one day (or hour) go out the window the next. She's willing to ponder it, though, and offer observations on character, directing, sucking, feminism and more. If we fail to solve how a true artist plies her craft, at least we fail alongside one of the best and most instinctual actors of our time.

Colin Hanks was just looking to fill time between acting jobs when he decided a documentary about Tower Records might be interesting. He had no idea how much it would change his outlook, his approach to acting, and essentially, his whole career. He also had no idea how to make a documentary. But that's what he loves about his trade "you're never done learning it. Anyone who says they're done learning is really saying they're done trying to learn." Here, he shares just a few of the lessons he's picked up so far: The biggest, truest stories emerge in the smallest moments; ask the right question, and the possibilities are endless; and, work begets work. Oh, and more work can beget a case of total body failure. Which in turn can finally beget Colin Hanks in your studio for a long-awaited conversation.

Yep, it's our 100th episode - or issue, in magazine speak - and we can't think of a better guest to mark the occasion than Ron Howard. He hit his 100th episode at 10, but hey, he had a head start, acting on some of the most iconic shows of our time. But from about that same age, he knew his future as an artist was behind the camera, and once he saw it might happen, "The only rule I gave myself was that I loved the medium, and I wanted to explore it." And he has, in many genres and subjects. A self-described nonintellectual, he's educated himself - and us - about space, parenting, journalism, schizophrenia, racing, and now, Einstein, with one desired outcome: "I want people to be able to say, 'Wow, that must be what it's like." He tells fascinating, human stories, and we're honored to hear him tell his own.

Do you suspect you might be an improv geek? If you're not sure, let us help. Symptoms include - but aren't limited to regular interjection of the phrase, "Yes, and" in dinner table conversation, no discernible fear of ASSCATs, and a strange feeling of dejà vu when watching Veeps feckless press secretary Mike McLintock hand out another doleful "No comment." If you are experiencing any of these symptoms, you are likely a) already beyond help and b) a big fan of Matt Walsh. The improv legend and Upright Citizens Brigade co-founder shares the story behind the iconic theater, the horrible trauma of being the middle child in a big family, why he loves making improv films (turns out it's not for the money), and why trying to be funny is exactly what you don't want to do.

Remember Slumdog Millionaire? "It's about an underdog who has a dream and goes gunning for it, refusing to stop. You struggle and fall on your face and you pick yourself up and get what you want." Freida Pinto was describing her first film, and perhaps unwittingly, foreshadowing her own career. In the eight short years since, she managed to work with some of the best (and most baffling) directors in the business. But she didn't always manage to get them to see beyond her looks. If finding substantive roles worth her time and talent requires some fight, okay then. "Even at 15 or 16, I could see myself being a superhero. I never saw myself as the sidekick or someone who didn't have a voice." She's found one in Showtime's Guerrilla, in which she is quite literally, a revolutionary. It's a radical departure from what most folks thought she could do, except Pinto herself. Surrender, Hollywood.