Aubrey Plaza is the stealth-weapon actress of our era, one whose name plenty of people know but whose presence somehow feels like a surprise every time she shows up. Even if you were to argue that there’s a typical Plaza character—let’s call her an offbeat, loopy loner with zero patience for idiots—when you look closely, no two Plaza performances are alike. One minute she’s a temptress with sultry, hungry eyes; the next she’s a smart-ass Kewpie doll, but not the overly cute kind—more like one you’d win at a Nightmare Alley-style carnival. With her dry-martini timing, she’d have fit in perfectly with the classic comedic actresses of the 1930s like Myrna Loy and Irene Dunne, though you also wonder what she might have done with a ‘70s-era Robert Altman role—she even looks a little like Shelley Duvall, and she’s capable of the same wistful vulnerability. In a world where everyone seems to be clamoring desperately for attention, Plaza is the ultimate low-key movie star.

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