*Netflix’s psychological thriller His & Hers opens with a familiar hook: a murder in a small Georgia town pulls estranged spouses — Atlanta news anchor Anna Andrews (Tessa Thompson) and local detective Jack Harper — back into each other’s orbit.
But as the series unfolds, it becomes clear that the story’s true gravity doesn’t sit with the investigators or the headlines. It lives with Alice Andrews — Anna’s mother — played with unnerving control by Crystal Fox.
As Alice Andrews — mother to Anna (Tessa Thompson), longtime Dahlonega resident, and one of the show’s most deceptively steady presences — Fox delivers a performance that asks viewers to reconsider what they’re watching in real time.
Alice appears strong, direct, and slightly off-center, a woman whose memory seems to be slipping even as her instincts remain razor sharp. But His & Hers isn’t interested in decline for decline’s sake. It’s interesting in what happens when memory returns — and purpose comes rushing back with it.
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When Fox describes her approach to Alice, she grounds the character in a familiar truth.
“Most Black women know who we are,” Fox said. “We adapt fast. We roll with whatever comes our way — including issues regarding our health. We maneuver our way to get it done.”
That line is more than a cultural observation. It’s a thesis. Alice isn’t drifting — she’s adapting. And that distinction matters.
The series lives in moral gray, constantly asking who controls the truth: the police, the media, or memory itself. Alice operates in that space with unsettling clarity. Her recollections are triggered not by interrogation, but by videotapes — recorded moments meant to preserve happiness that instead expose something else entirely. What Alice confronts isn’t just what happened, but what failed to happen. The life she wanted for her daughter. The protection she believes she didn’t provide.
Fox is clear that Alice isn’t protecting secrets. She’s protecting her daughter.
“For any mom, you want your daughter to be free,” Fox explained. “I wanted her to always know she has access to me — that I’ll always be available.”
That instinct becomes the spine of the character. When asked what Alice carries but never says, Fox’s answer was immediate: “Guilt. Extreme guilt.” She framed it not as regret, but as purpose interrupted.
“When you’re called to be a mom, and you fail in any way, you don’t know how to live with yourself until you can fix it. And if you’re never given that opportunity? People shut down. When you lose your purpose, that’s it.”
What His & Hers understands — and what Fox plays with unnerving restraint — is that purpose doesn’t always return as healing. Sometimes it returns as resolved.
Notably, Fox avoids the exaggerated tropes often attached to portraying cognitive decline. She chose subtlety over spectacle, informed by watching real caregivers navigate the slow erosion of someone they love.
“I tried bigger choices,” she admitted. “They felt like too much.” Instead, Alice exists in a space where clarity comes and goes — but when it comes, it comes fully formed.
That choice leaves viewers questioning whether Alice’s behavior stems from dementia, trauma, or exhaustion. Fox doesn’t rush to resolve that ambiguity, and neither does the series. What becomes clear is that Alice is not motivated by fear. She’s motivated by instinct — sharpened by a lifetime of being overlooked.
“She’s lived with that for years,” Fox said. “But once it affects your child? All gloves are off.”
Jill Munroe is a Los Angeles-bred entertainment journalist, producer, and host. Follow her socials @StilettoJill or visit JillMunroe.com. Catch her live M-Thu on KBLA Talk 1580 from 6PM to 7PM.
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