Film roles I was born to play

An extra in the background of an intense breakup scene set in a bright, popular L.A. brunch spot. All she has to do is mouth fake conversation and eat chia seed-constellated yogurt, but she keeps dropping her spoon and ruining the take.

A confident, even arrogant, jaywalker who feeds bits of cheese danish to pigeons.

A sheep shearer with dark secrets and a penchant for rye bread. When she moves to a small, insular Scottish town, the residents treat her warily — both because she’s a woman, and because she never takes off her shearing apron. {What’s she hiding under there?} Most of the movie’s shots of her are framed by shuddering stalks of wheat.

A governess who really shouldn’t be trusted with the children, given that she spends secretive nights cutting book pages into the shape of small people, then uses meticulously-sharpened scissors to snip off their hands.

Diane Keaton’s turtleneck.

A successful brand strategist in sharp-shouldered blazers, seemingly high-powered but deeply alone. She competes for the biggest account of her career against a handsome, entitled jerk. While trapped for hours together in an elevator, they call a truce and reveal stories of their traumatic childhoods; she realizes how he acts is a mark of his emotional pain and only partially because of internalized misogyny. He kisses her and promises to change. She doesn’t date him, though: since the thirty-seven minute mark she has been in love with the rumpled immigration lawyer who writes puns in multiple languages.

Giovanni Ribisi’s deepest eye crinkle, which — when it appears — you know something is about to go down but aren’t sure what until it’s too late.