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This summer, Sandra Oh stood behind a lectern at a graduation ceremony in the northeastern state, set to deliver university-leavers inspiring thoughts during a time of permacrisis. She stepped up brilliantly, discussing openly her past battles with emotional difficulties, before making a heartfelt case for accepting awkwardness and goodwill “so we can face harshness again and again and not {lose our humanity|sacrifice our compassion|forfeit our empathy”. This became even more critical, she clarified, when many global figures “assert dominance through fear and oppression”.

“I was very, very, very nervous about it,” says Oh. “I dedicated myself fully.” She had been putting herself into the mindset of 20-year-olds not just worried about their own futures but about the broader context. “The world is burning!” she notes, envisioning their fears. “There’s wars all over! My heart is so heavy, so all I’m going to do is absorb pessimistic media.” But, essentially, Oh wanted her audience to find their way to joy – thus the movement. “Sitting there trying to bear the planetary anguish,” she says, succinctly expressing the belief she shared that day, “will help you understand how to be in the world.”

These days, it's common to see T-shirts featuring the words Oh memorably stated at the Emmys: ‘It’s an honour just to be Asian’

The presentation – with its vulnerability and compassion, its consciousness of the world’s harshness while still finding moments of joy – feels distinctly fitting for Oh. Born near Ottawa to parents who emigrated from Korea, the actor, whose celebrated performances in the famous medical drama and the spy thriller made her the first Asian woman to win multiple Golden Globes, has since built a following for her dedicated promotion of wider representation in the industry.

Engaging and vibrant, her own speech today is filled with plenty of humor. “Hold on baby!” is the opening line I hear as she connects via call from the Big Apple, stalling briefly as she tries and fails to turn on her camera. But Oh soon becomes more thoughtful, prone to lengthy pauses as she talks about everything from the environmental crisis to machine learning to social justice.

Fittingly, Oh’s current endeavor – the feature with futuristic themes the thought-provoking title – is about finding salvation amid the crisis. After an cataclysmic, technology-driven tragedy hits Earth in the very carefully picked year of the upcoming period, human life has been reestablished. The story fast-forwards: harmony prevails. Offices, computers and smartphones are relics of a damned civilisation. People spend their days tending to their green spaces. But there are stipulations: they avoid journeys, power usage is limited and – the largest drawback – everyone must die a government-mandated death at 50. Oh plays Ellie, a an individual who lived through the event, who is assisting her offspring into her new job as a “documenter” of these “end of life” ceremonies. These can be chosen from a booklet, with options including church memorials and beachside goodbyes with champagne.

If your main emotional connection is the phone, something is happening to you at an deep-seated, very profound depth

“My chief fascination was the script’s contemplation of dying,” says Oh, in particular how the realization of life's end would change one’s approach to life. It’s an growing concern, Oh says, recalling an preview event last year in the California city while blazes spread across LA. It emphasized the idea that the film is not really about the future. “This reflects current reality,” she says. “We are in the burning right now.”

During the production of the film, Oh asked filmmaker and author the visionary artist to include AI in the script. How does she think modern tools are altering our lives? “Phones and social media,” she says, “are reconditioning people.Whenever your chief affection is the phone, changes are occurring to you at an unconscious, very profound depth.”

Her own solution to this shift – “I’m already struggling, and I didn’t grow up with this technology” – is choosing to do “small, profoundly meaningful” films such as this recent work, as well as live acting. She has been playing a Shakespearean character in Twelfth Night at the the iconic venue in the urban park. “I connect with 2,000 people in an open-air theatre. You can feel people really want to attend the performance to laugh, have a enjoyable experience, for it to be uplifting, out in the environment. You’re in community and you’re connecting – through the Bard's works.” In the digital epoch, “such true human interactions become way more important”.

She often reflects about making conscious choices, active decisions. “One benefit of getting older,” says the actor, who has just turned fifty-four. “A great deal in culture, in society, that you’ve been living in unconsciously. But you see that crack of light coming through – and realise that’s what you want to follow. In my view, this defines middle age. And it’s very engaging.”

She has addressed about rejecting prejudiced ideas she took in from her early years, highlighting a wounding experience with an talent manager when she came to Hollywood in the mid-nineties. The agent recommended to head back north as there was little chance for Asian actors in the US. Much later, on receiving the acclaimed show's material, Oh didn't realize which secondary role was intended for her. “Dear,” her agent said. “You're the lead.”

Lately, Oh has put her significant influence into narratives about overseas communities, acting in the animated hit the beloved film, the scary movie Umma, and the humorous project Quiz Lady. She’s also played secretary Sofia Mori in Vietnam war drama the thought-provoking show and the overwhelmed educator in streaming show The Chair. All these roles, unlike the ones that made her famous, specifically consider her character’s roots in the script.

“I reflect on the ceremony when the groundbreaking film swept the awards,” she says. “It meant a great deal. To build something, you need a larger community – to gain momentum, to get the experience, to know how to support each other. When I started, actors like colleagues in the industry – we’d had long-standing relationships, but we never shared a show or film, because we were always on our own. It’s still a tough industry, often favoring, honestly, a established majority-centric structure.”

Variety, justice and integration may be {under attack|