GEOFFREY RUSH
Left: You’re the cornerman for a winded female boxer, desperately exhorting her: “She’s run away with your boyfriend! She’s kidnapped your kid! Get out there and kill that heifer!” Center:: You’re five years into a contented but sedentary married life, protesting to your wife, “I said you’re ‘Rubenesque.’ It doesn’t mean fat. It means … Rubenesque!” Right: You’re a 10-year-old in a high-rise apartment, playing fetch with your fox terrier and a tennis ball—which has just bounced out the window, with your dog in full pursuit.



ELISABETH MOSS
Left: You’re the secretary of state, suspicious of your Russian counterpart’s jolly assurance that his country will gladly commit 50,000 troops to the U.S. effort in Afghanistan. Center:: You’re an Academy Award nominee, keenly aware that a camera is trained on you, at the precise moment when you hear that the Oscar has been won by someone else. Right: You’re a Peace Corps volunteer fresh from Yale, stepping out of a Land Rover at a refugee camp and witnessing starvation and abject poverty for the first time.



BROOKE SHIELDS
Left: You’re a celebrity guest at a White House state dinner, forced out of desperation to finally confront the creepy “nobody” crasher who has been trying to catch your attention all evening. Center:: You’re a Kansas homemaker on vacation in Vegas, enjoying the stage show of the hypnotist, who has successfully programmed his volunteer (your husband) to quack like a duck. Right: You’re in the fourth row of a high-school auditorium, watching as your 15-year-old daughter begins singing Annie Oakley’s “Doin’ What Comes Natur’lly”—and freezes halfway through.



JEFF GOLDBLUM
Left: You’re the surly 14-year-old son of a single mother, steeling yourself as she awkwardly, haltingly begins a belated and unnecessary “birds and bees” talk. Center:: You’re at your daughter’s college graduation, and the pretty classmate of hers that you’ve been secretly ogling has just said, “Mr. Lefkowitz, you can’t be 58—you’re too cool!” Right: You’re the valedictorian of your high-school class, having just been introduced to give the speech of your young life—and your mind has gone completely blank.



TRACY MORGAN
Left: You’re a father teaching his daughter to ride a bike, watching as she takes a header on her first solo try. Center:: You’re the cat that ate the canary. Right: You’re a man in denial, figuring that if you don’t listen to your girlfriend’s breakup speech she’ll stick with you.



CHLOE SEVIGNY
Left: You’re a hyperkinetic eight-year-old drama queen at her birthday party, hearing that the clown has just arrived. Center:: You’re a mom at your seven-year-old daughter’s ballet recital, watching her execute an adorably imperfect pirouette and an almost flawless curtsy. Right: You’re a high-school senior whose parents are at work, just about to have s*x with your boyfriend for the first time, when your kid sister bursts into the room.



JOHN GOODMAN
Left: You’re a geek flirting with a cheerleader, unaware that you don’t stand a chance. Center:: You’re departing the nursing home where your wife resides; it is your first visit in which she didn’t recognize you. Right: You’re a college basketball coach, on the cusp of an N.C.A.A. tournament berth, screaming at the referee, knowing that if you’re ejected, your boys will turn it up a notch.



MARISKA HARGITAY
Left: You’re a middle-aged woman at your mother’s hospital bedside as she hovers near death, remembering the quarrel you had with her when you were last together. Center:: You’re a perky gal in your 20s whose boyfriend of two years has asked you to close your eyes because he has a very special surprise for you! Right: You’re a six-year-old at the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus for the first time, startled by a bang from a huge cannon and the sight of a sleek, silver-clad woman flying high above the crowd in an arc.



WHOOPI GOLDBERG
Left: You’re the ever obeisant wife of a charismatic televangelist, and you’ve just learned that a male prostitute is about to go public with his story of a years-long affair with your husband. Center:: You’re a fabulously wealthy Fifth Avenue matron, greeting your building’s doormen—whom you never tip—with a cheery “Merry Christmas!” Right: You’re Barbara Walters, interviewing a recently divorced actress about her latest movie, suddenly going for the jugular with the question “Did it hurt more that he left you for a younger woman?”



IAN McSHANE
Left: You’re a politically ambitious prosecutor trying a sensational murder case, and you’ve just realized that the defense’s key witness has given you a huge opening to prove that he’s lying. Center:: You’re an ex-Marine, on the way home from a workout at the gym, suddenly confronted by a knife-wielding mugger. And you’re thinking, “This dude has picked the wrong fookin’ guy to take on.” Right: You’re watching your son on television in his first Formula One race, moments after his car has hit a wall. Track workers have lifted him out of the tangled wreck as the announcer says, “He doesn’t appear to be moving … “



AMY POEHLER
Left: You are sneaking a peek, in the middle of the night, at your sweet new boyfriend’s computer … and discovering e-mails to and from his three current “other” girlfriends. Center:: You are a Park Avenue matron, paying your husband a surprise visit at his office and discovering him on the couch in flagrante delicto with his secretary. Right: You are a disoriented homeless woman being arrested for loitering.



JOHN LEGUIZAMO
Left: You are a hostage in a desert prison camp, overhearing your buddy being tortured in the adjacent room, knowing you’re next. Center:: You are a four-year-old boy at a new, “realistic” dinosaur theme park, getting a lick on the head from a 50-foot-long mechanical brontosaurus. Right: You are a heroin addict begging your dealer to give you a fix, promising you’ll pay him later, really.



NATHAN LANE
Left: You’re an eight-year-old boy whose friend convinced you to shoplift the latest Grand Theft Auto. Now you’re sitting in the security office at the mall, waiting for your father to arrive. Center:: You’ve just excused yourself from the table at a dinner party where you’ve been placed between the two most boring people on the planet, and you’re in the bathroom, wondering how you’ll survive two more hours. Right: You’re the idealistic young teacher of an out-of-control fourth-grade class, exploding after 20 minutes of complete chaos.



MICHAEL DOUGLAS
Left: You’re a man whose daughter has been missing for two months. You’ve been called in by the police to identify the body of a young murder victim. The sheet is pulled back … and the victim isn’t your daughter. Center:: You’re a boy at a freakish carnival, watching a pierced performer munch live cockroaches. Right: You’re a 14-year-old girl who’s just opened her 18-year-old sister’s bedroom door to find her having s*x with her boyfriend.



DAVID STRATHAIRN
Left: You’re a 9-year-old boy hearing about the details of s*x for the first time from your 16-year-old brother. Center:: You’re an evangelical preacher, screaming to your flock, “Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, JESUS!” Right: You’re an ex-jock dad, apoplectic over the penalty the soccer ref has called against your seven-year-old son for a tackling foul.



HUGH LAURIE
Left: You are a dedicated father who, with your wife, has just sat down to dinner with your 15-year-old daughter, who is defiantly announcing that she’s pregnant. Center:: You are a fashion designer on the morning of your big runway show, realizing that nothing in the collection is ready or fabulous. Right: You are a blustering, pompous member of the British Parliament, giving a speech that is being broadcast on the BBC, and you’re thrilled at the sound of your own voice.



JOHN MALKOVICH
Left: You’re an ingénue actress, new to Hollywood. Your agent has just called to say you’ve been chosen for a role in a big movie … as George Clooney’s love interest. Center:: You’re a construction worker having lunch with your buddies on the street in front of the job, calling out to a s*xy woman passing by, “Hey, hon, wanna see what’s in my lunchbox?” Right: You’re a mid-level drug dealer with a big payment due to a Mob boss, getting the news from one of your street runners that he lost the big coke stash in, “like, a weird gust of wind.”


Howard Schatz