Carrying & Crying

By the third day on a real film set, something shifts. The nerves settle a little. The routine starts to form. And suddenly you realize that you are not just visiting a set anymore. You are part of it.

A Quiet, Peaceful Moment With Actress Charlotte Arnold in Don't Run

That morning felt different from the start. The crew had arrived. The equipment was finally all there. The director was on location. We were back at home base, filming scenes in the main house before heading out to other locations later in the day. And for the first time in the shoot, I was not acting alone.

For the past couple of days, my character had been isolated. Now I finally had a scene partner. Not a human one, but a canine co star named Pedro. Working opposite another performer, even one with four legs, immediately changed the energy. Acting is a conversation, even when no one is speaking, and suddenly the scenes felt more alive.

Ironically, the first scene we shot together had no dialogue at all. In filmmaking, there is something called an MOS scene. It means the scene is shot without sound. Just action and emotion that will later be paired with music or ambient sound. It is a strange experience the first time you do it. What you are left with is pure behavior.

Scenes like that teach you something important very early in your career. Acting is not only about words. It is about listening, reacting, and telling the story with your body and your eyes. When there is no dialogue to lean on, everything you feel has to show up physically.

The rest of the morning turned into a blur of wardrobe changes.

If a film takes place over several days in the story, you might change clothes constantly in real life, even if you are filming in the same location. By midday I had already changed outfits five times. It is a small thing, but it is another reminder that continuity matters. What you wear in one shot has to match what you wore in the shot filmed three days ago that happens five minutes earlier in the story.

Then came the scene that changed the entire day.

In this moment, my character receives a phone call with devastating news. The request was simple and scary. Cry.

Crying on cue is one of the things actors talk about constantly, and for good reason. Everyone approaches it differently. That afternoon, the rain started falling outside, which helped set the mood, but I still had to prepare. The first thing I did was physical. I ran around the house. Jumping jacks. Moving my body. Getting my heart rate up. When your body is chemically closer to a heightened emotional state, it becomes easier to reach the place your character needs to be.

Then I slowed down.

I walked through the house alone and started thinking through the character’s situation. What would it actually feel like to get news like this. How would my chest tighten. Where would my breath go. What would my first thought be. One exercise helped more than I expected. I imagined a place from my childhood. I walked through it in my mind. I noticed details. Even happy memories can open emotional doors if you let them.

Before the take, I listened to a song that means a lot to me, How Great Thou Art. I focused on the lyrics and what they represent in my own life. Music has a way of bypassing your brain and going straight to your heart, and sometimes that is exactly what you need.

This sounds obvious, but it matters more than you think. If you are dehydrated, your body literally cannot produce tears. I had already had several cups of water and kept drinking throughout the day. No tricks can replace taking care of your body.

There are other methods too. Some actors swear by holding their eyes open until they water. Others use onions or toothpaste under the eyes. Those techniques can work in emergencies, but they are not substitutes for emotional preparation.

One of the most important lessons I learned that day had nothing to do with crying.

Before you step into an intense emotional state, anchor yourself in character. Find something physical that tells your brain who you are becoming. And just as importantly, when the scene is over, step back out of it.

Anne Hathaway once talked about how difficult it was to leave her character after Les Mis because she spent so long living inside that pain. Even in small scenes, you need to protect yourself. This is not you. This is a character.

When the take ended, I took a breath, reset, and reminded myself where I was.

By the end of the day, I was exhausted. Sweaty. Emotionally spent. And deeply grateful. Day three taught me how much acting lives between the lines. How preparation starts long before the camera rolls. How your body, your attitude, and your mindset all matter as much as your performance. And how storytelling does not always come from dialogue, but from silence, breath, and stillness.

If you are an aspiring actor, here is what I hope you take from this:

Learn how to prepare emotionally and physically. Take care of your body. Stay hydrated. Protect your mental health. Find ways to enter and exit difficult scenes safely. Be flexible when things change. And never underestimate the power of a quiet moment on camera.

Some of the most important lessons you will ever learn as an actor happen on days like this, when nothing goes exactly as planned and everything teaches you something you will carry for the rest of your career.