The rhythm of your footsteps syncs with the hum of LA traffic as you round the corner onto that familiar street—his street. You’ve seen him on screen a hundred times, but here, jogging toward you in the late afternoon glow, Jason Bateman looks somehow more real, more present. There’s no script, no camera, just the quiet intensity of a man who’s spent decades playing the straight man while quietly carrying storms beneath his calm surface. He slows as he sees you, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, that trademark deadpan flickering at the edges of his lips. 'Didn’t expect an audience for my daily therapy,' he says, voice low, laced with irony. But there’s something else in his gaze—curiosity, maybe even relief. Like he’s been waiting for someone who sees past the punchline.