Here's the latest promo vid for the P.O.C. (proof of concept) and Movie Trailer we are shooting in L.A. later this year to promote a much bigger and more ambitious project - a feature length film, called Neverland - a Neo noir, Supernatural Thriller. Principle casting and some crew placement is now open on this project. If your interested in what promises to be a high standard and quality film project then go to my profile page to express your interest for casting and crew, there's also a posting in Jobs on Stage 32 as well. Unfortunately I'm not able (at this stage at least...the situation may change however as funding applications are currently in process) to give you a bucket of money for your creative involvement as the current Budget only stretches to cover some key crew roles & material production costs - camera, equipment, lighting, location hire, catering, permits and transport etc.
"Hey! I owe my success and my wealth to my customer base except, I'm not trying to make them happy. I'm so talented that no matter how much I insult you or tell you what I think is the correct way to think and the only way to think even if half of the country disagree with me. My acting is so spectacular, that you have no choice but to and spen your hard earned money to see me work my craft. You just can't take your eyes off of me and are helpless to watch everything I'm hired to act in."
It was a surprise opportunity for a young guy who felt he could do anything in the entertainment field, and of course that included great acting. I was making day trips to Allentown Pennsylvania from Mountaintop and one summer day stumbled on an ad in the local town newspaper which basically said "Actors Wanted".
The #1 Reason Actors Don't Book (It's Not What You Think)
There are days when acting feels like falling in love for the first time.
And there are days when it feels like staying in a relationship that hurts — not because the love is gone, but because the world around it has become loud, fast, demanding, and unforgiving.
We rarely talk about that part.
We talk about careers, strategies, visibility, bookings, momentum. But beneath all of it lies something far more fragile and far more powerful: the quiet love we once had for this profession. The moment we first realized that stories could move us, that standing on a stage or in front of a camera could make us feel more alive than anything else. That being an actor wasn’t a plan — it was a calling.
And then life happened.
Auditions multiplied.
Self tapes replaced rooms full of people.
Opportunities came faster, but felt thinner.
We learned to be efficient, flexible, professional — and slowly forgot how to be present.
We gained more access, but less patience.
More knowledge, but less trust in ourselves.
More feedback, but less certainty.
We built bigger résumés, yet sometimes felt smaller inside.
We learned how to survive in the business —
and somewhere along the way, forgot how to live inside the art.
Our days became measured in submissions instead of moments, in responses instead of resonance. We rushed from casting to casting, from hope to disappointment, from motivation to exhaustion, telling ourselves this was the price of commitment. That love must hurt a little. That sacrifice was proof we cared.
But love that only consumes eventually empties us.
This isn’t about doing less or retreating from the industry — it’s about working with intention again, so your craft remains reliable, present, and valuable when opportunity finally aligns.
There is a paradox at the heart of our profession: we are asked to be deeply human on demand, while living in systems that reward speed over depth, output over presence. We learn to add years to our careers, but sometimes forget to add life to those years. We conquer platforms, algorithms, techniques — yet neglect the inner space where courage, imagination, and truth are born.
We can break down scripts flawlessly, but struggle to break down the walls we build around ourselves.
We communicate constantly, but connect less.
We know how to perform intimacy, but forget how to allow it.
And still — we stay.
Because every now and then, there is a moment that takes our breath away. A scene that scares us. A role that asks more of us than we thought we could give. A collaboration that reminds us why we started. A look exchanged on set that says: this matters. These moments don’t come often. They never do. But they are enough to keep us here.
Maybe that’s what our careers are really measured by.
Not by the number of auditions we survive.
Not by the size of our credits.
But by the moments that stopped us in our tracks and made us feel alive again.
The danger is not failing.
Happy Sunday Actors!
I would like to start the conversation about what is your mindset for the New Year? Not a resolution or a goal even, more like a title card. New year, new chapter. Midway through 2025 I had to do a course correction. So I decided I was going all in. That I would stop getting sidetracked with other projects, or non entertainment industry income. I have been focusing on submitting for auditions, watching all the webinars on auditioning, voiceover, and audio book recording. I even took some writing courses. I got a microphone for Christmas and I have downloaded Audacity. I am in the process of turning my walk in closet into a sound booth.
Ben Affleck and Matt Damon chat about their friend ship and explain the research they did for The Rip and what was happening on set during their tense scenes.
Happy 2026 all!
A new year, and a new chance, to experience our lives as actors using the wisdom of all the experiences from the past year. A lot, right? Haha.
Most of the times, as actors, we are constantly searching for someone to direct us (generally speaking). To advise us in what we should be doing: acting wise, role wise, picture wise, social media wise, contract wise, methods wise...you get the gist of it. But that word, wise...we should be looking within...listening to our own wisdom.
There's a word that has come up, softly, and a bit surprisingly, this beginning of 2026: sovereignty.
The way I do things, as an actor, my choice of movement, of work, of being...should be my own. How I would like to get into a rehearsal space, what my boundaries are in terms of other players and crew as I prep, how I feel I need x, y, z...or don't...and all the other things that most of the time, we let slip, and allow, because we...adapt...flow...and at times...allow an intrusion....once...twice...
Now, this is where it gets interesting: when we are on a film, a television show, in a play, etc..., we are usually directed, and reacting to notes, to other's energies, other characters, the ensemble...you get the idea. We are literally reacting like magnificent and unique chemicals in a beautiful lab, to create a story. And how that happens...is when we completely let go, relax, and allow the environment, actors, sounds, sensations, to propel us toward a place. That place, well, us the unknown...and is not in our control, and we hold no power there.
But, there is something that is still ours...something deep within, that I feel is a point of discovery, and here in this post, a dialogue: What is sovereignty to you, as an actor? Do you feel it? How does being on a set, or the stage, affect it, and how can it free you to become a more generous actor, while still anchoring you in your essence, your confidence...your authenticity...?
Sovereignty...
CASTING CALL — HOUSE OF SATURN (Table Read)
You don't need representation to succeed. You can do it all yourself! Or can you?
The SAG Nominations have been announced! What do we think? What nominations stood out or are you excited? I'm glad to see OBAA and Sinners get some well-deserved nominations! The nomination that surprised me with glee? Odessa A'zion for supporting. I used to work at the agency she was repped at prior to Marty Supreme, and thought she was amazing in the film, and who doesn't love Pamela Adlon?
I once read a beautiful comparison: life is like a journey on a train.
And the longer I work in this industry, the more I believe that acting might be one of the most honest versions of that journey.
When we are born into this profession — when we first step onto the train of acting — we meet people we believe will stay with us forever. Teachers. Mentors. Parents. Early supporters. The ones who tell us we are talented, that we should go for it, that we belong on this path. For a while, they sit right next to us. And then, often without warning, they get off at a station we didn’t expect. Some leave because life calls them elsewhere. Some because they no longer understand our choices. Some because their role in our journey is simply finished.
At the next stations, new passengers enter the train. Fellow actors. Directors. Coaches. Producers. Friends we form on sets, in rehearsal rooms, in waiting areas outside casting offices. Some of them see the journey as a short ride — one project, one collaboration, then they’re gone. Others sit with us for years, sharing long stretches of doubt, hope, success, rejection, and growth.
There are passengers who travel lightly, as if acting were just a pleasant walk through life. And there are others who carry heavy luggage — disappointment, financial pressure, comparison, fear. Some passengers are always ready to help those who stumble. Others leave the train so quietly that we barely noticed they were there at all. And some leave behind something deeper: longing, gratitude, a sense of “what could have been.”
What often surprises us most is that some of the people we care about deeply move to a different wagon. They are still on the same train, still in the same industry — but suddenly we are no longer sitting side by side. Our careers diverge. Our rhythms change. Our opportunities don’t align. And yes, many of us try to make our way through the wagons, pushing past doubts and obstacles, hoping to sit next to them again.
Sometimes we make it.
Sometimes we don’t — because the seat beside them is already taken.
And that, too, is part of this journey.
Acting is a path filled with challenges, dreams, fantasies, hopes, and farewells. It is a journey without guarantees and without return tickets. None of us knows when we will get off this train. And just as little do we know when the people sitting next to us will leave — not even the ones who feel inseparable today.
If I’m honest, I believe there will be a moment of sadness when I step off this train one day. Saying goodbye to people I met along the way will hurt. Leaving loved ones behind will feel heavy. But there is also hope in this image. The hope that there is a central station somewhere — a place where all these journeys make sense. And the quiet comfort of imagining the people I cared about arriving there with luggage they didn’t have when they first stepped onto the train.
What matters most to me is this thought:
that I may have helped make that luggage heavier — not with burden, but with value. With experience. With courage. With memories.
So, to my fellow actors and creatives reading this on Stage32:
let’s try to make this journey a good one. Let’s treat our fellow passengers with respect. Let’s remember that at any point someone next to us may be struggling and might need understanding — just as we will, more than once, need someone who understands us.
And when we eventually step off the train, let’s try to leave behind an empty seat filled with longing, gratitude, and good memories. A seat that tells those who continue the journey: it was worth sharing this part of the ride with you.
None of us knows the final station.
But we can choose how we travel — and what kind of passenger we are along the way.
To everyone on this train with me:
If you want a smart, career-spanning reminder of what long-term craft looks like, this Sigourney Weaver video is worth your time: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6s1ssDMUXZ4