Harry and Mike might be the only two characters out of the main characters who aren’t from Patience.
So there’s this kind of “fish out of water” context to Harry —
and a “fish out of water” context, I think, a little bit to Mike as well.

It’s a lot of fun to be able to allow Mike’s insecurities to come to the surface.
At least for me, in my performance and choices, in some of the things that he does —
because he’s an odd duck, Mike.
And I think a lot of it is driven by insecurity.

As he was starting to settle into the town —
our backstory includes that he and his father moved there roughly four or five years ago.
There were some issues in his past, some hurtful aspects of his time on the force in Washington, D.C.
He was trying to make a fresh start —
and create an opportunity for his father to live in an environment better suited for retirement,
because his father was facing health issues.

So they packed up everything and moved out to Colorado.
Then the sheriff ended up passing, and Mike ran for sheriff.
I think that made him feel buoyed —
it played into that bravado, that armor that protects him from his insecurities.

But then, all of a sudden, he has a deputy —
someone who knows everyone in town, knows the town inside and out,
and has exceptional investigative skills of her own —
as long as he doesn’t try to tamp them down.
And I think that made him feel really insecure —
like, “Oh, I have to prove myself to everyone.”

That’s what kind of creates that over-the-top component to him, in some ways.
But it’s all coming from a place of insecurity and self-doubt.
I think that’s what a lot of people do —
people who are the most insecure tend to be the strongest, and sometimes the wrongest.

That’s a part of who he is.
And he’s come to redefine that.
His relationship with Deputy Liv has expanded so much over the course of the three seasons —
she’s the only person he feels he can be vulnerable around.

He’s trying to learn to do that with his love interest, Lena.
But again — Mike is in this conundrum of who he is versus who he feels he has to be.
I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s how I see it.

Yeah — and tell me, Corey —
how did the opportunity come about for you in the beginning, to get cast as Sergeant Mike?
Was it the traditional talent process — taped auditions, agents reaching out,
or was there a particular backstory that made it unique and special?

Yeah, I think what makes it unique — especially at that time —
is that I booked this series in the summer of 2018.
That’s how long it’s been.
We’ve only done three seasons, but we’ve been working on the show for six years.
We had COVID pop up, strikes — all that.

When I first read the script, I loved it.
It was honestly one of the best pilots I had ever read in my life.
When I went in for it, I had an instant idea of how I saw Mike —
an amalgam of Richard Pryor, John Wayne, Bernie Mac, and a little bit of my own father.

I was sitting in the lobby — this was back when you’d actually go into auditions —
and in that particular office, you could hear the people in the room auditioning.
I listened to the other guys read,
and they weren’t doing anything like the way I was doing it.
That made me nervous — like, “Okay, have I misread the script? Am I way off?”

In the original script, Sheriff Mike was described as having these big, burly muscles —
which, I don’t know if you can tell, but I didn’t wear my muscles that day.
So when I got to the audition, there were a lot of football-type dudes —
these big guys.
I think the casting saw the character’s bankability as physical.
But I knew that wasn’t going to work for me.

So I just went in and made it my own.
We did a little improv in the room — which I love to do anyway.
If you give me a microphone, you’ll have to turn it off to get me to stop.

It read really well.
I connected with Chris in the room — Sheridan, our show creator —
and our director at the time, David Dobkin, who shot the pilot.
Then I came back for another read.
After that, there was an offer.

I had another offer for another show at the exact same time.
That show was great too.
But I had a choice — and I chose Resident Alien.
I thought to myself: if Resident Alien doesn’t go but the other show does,
I can live with that.
But if I’d taken the other show and Resident Alien went,
I’d have been kicking myself forever.

The other show actually did get picked up — but it was canceled by the end of its first season.
So, no regrets.

I hadn’t had a choice like that in a long time.
Back when I did Hairspray on Broadway,
I had also been cast in the first national tour of The Lion King.
I had to choose between that sure-thing tour
and Hairspray, this unknown show no one had heard of.
The casting director told me, “Man, I hope that show runs forever,
because you’re turning down a paycheck.”

All I could think was,
I was in that hyena costume for twenty minutes and had to lie down for thirty.
Doing that eight times a week? No way, man.

At the time, I was the second cast on Resident Alien.
Sara was cast first. Alan was actually cast last.
The show I passed on had a big name attached —
but there was something different about Resident Alien.
The writing was different.
I’m a huge Family Guy fan,
and I think I picked up on Chris’s energy through the page.
It just clicked.

Yeah — and Corey, you mentioned the comedy,
but let’s talk about the sci-fi aspect.
Are you big into the genre — the fantasy worlds, the extraterrestrial stories?

Yeah, I mean — being part of this whole comic and sci-fi world is super exciting.
The fans are dedicated, bro. Hardcore dedicated.
I went to San Diego Comic-Con last year — or the year before —
then New York City Comic-Con a few years back,
and WonderCon out in Anaheim.

It’s great.
I’ve always been kind of a nerd like that.
I play with action figures with my 11-year-old son —
Marvel, G.I. Joe, Transformers — all that stuff.
It keeps you a kid, you know?

And I suppose, Corey —
in terms of prosthetics, makeup, wardrobe —
how thankful are you that you’re not Alan Tudyk,
sitting in a chair for two and a half hours every day?

I have zero interest in trying that head on.
Chris keeps pushing to get Mike out of his uniform more —
that’s why you’ll see me in more civilian clothes next season.
But I love knowing what I’m wearing every day.
It makes it easy.

The uniform gets hot — polyester —
but it’s simple.
On The Closer, I wore suits all the time.
That meant constant changes, ties, new jackets —
champagne problems, sure —
but still, I take joy in knowing what I’m in most of the time.
Easy peasy.

And Corey — being attached to a show with life,
where you’re not wondering episode to episode if it’ll be renewed —
that must be a relief.

Hell yeah.
That’s the golden ticket in this industry — job security.
If you can plan your life two years out,
you’re living luxury.
Especially now, with how quickly things change
and the shrinking of the traditional television season.

I saw a meme about WKRP in Cincinnati —
four seasons, 107 episodes.
That’s what TV used to be —
22, 24 episodes a season.
Back in the ‘70s, Starsky & Hutch, Dukes of Hazzard — 28 episodes.
That was a grind.

On The Closer, our longest season was 21 episodes — 10 months of shooting.
It was long.

When you’re lucky to get a series regular spot —
and start earning enough to breathe a little —
you still can’t get too comfortable.
Comfort is the enemy of progress.

We haven’t gotten our Season 4 pickup yet —
but I’m feeling confident.
Still, nothing’s real until you get that pickup letter.
That’s when they have to pay you, whether they cancel or not.

I think we’ll get Season 4.
There’s a lot of story left to tell.
We’d be doing our fans a disservice
if we left them where Season 3 ends.

You guys haven’t gotten Season 3 yet, right?
No? Still on Season 2?

Oh man — Season 3 is a game-changer.
We left some pretty big cliffhangers.
I told Chris — “If we don’t get picked up,
you still have to write it,
because I need to know how it ends.”

I’ve loved all our seasons —
but these eight episodes of Season 3 are tight, focused, powerful.
I think it might be our strongest yet.

And getting on Netflix broadened the reach.
For folks who hadn’t seen it on Syfy or Peacock,
they finally got to binge.
We were in the Netflix top 10 —
their number-one scripted show for a while,
top 10 in 20 countries for months.

Considering we only had 26 episodes at the time,
that’s huge.
That means people were rewatching,
telling friends — word of mouth spreading it.
And that’s the strongest force there is.

Now — the other project I mentioned earlier —
it’s a realism-based story.
A campaign about struggle, about change.

I acquired the life rights to Jane Elliott —
the diversity expert who created the “brown-eye, blue-eye” exercise in 1968.
The day after Dr. King was assassinated,
she separated her third-grade class by eye color —
to let them feel discrimination.
Her idea was: if you want to reduce racism,
white people must experience what it feels like firsthand —
to move empathy from sympathy into reality.

In today’s world,
it feels like we’ve entered the Emotion Age.
And the key to creating change is helping people feel something.
Not just read or hear — but truly feel.

Because when you’ve felt something, you can’t unfeel it.

I’ll give you a quick story.
I was walking my dog not too long ago.
Another woman was out with her dog —
we recognized each other from the park.
We started chatting,
and I mentioned I take my dog for night walks.
She said, “Oh, I never take mine out at night —
I don’t want to be raped.”

It hit me like a thud.
Because that’s not something I ever think about.
When I walk at night,
I worry about someone thinking I’m doing something suspicious —
and the cops being called.

Different fears — same outcome: danger.
Her fear came from sexism.
Mine from racism.
But that connection —
that shared feeling —
that’s empathy.

And that’s what we need more of.