The Right Way to Work with Actors (From Someone Who’s Been There)

Kent Kay
Aug 16
5 min read

Intimacy built through playable objectives.

For nearly 30 years, I’ve worked with professional and non-professional actors in hundreds of situations, on film sets, documentary crews, and commercial shoots in markets as varied as Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Houston, Milwaukee, Reno, and Palm Springs. Across all of those environments, one truth has never changed: directing actors isn’t about controlling a performance; it’s about unlocking one.

I don’t believe in giving line reads. Ever. My job is to help the actor find the character inside themselves and bring it forward truthfully. That starts with how I talk to them, the language we share, and the space I create for their process.

Start With the Actor’s Process, Not Your Result

Actors are not all cut from the same cloth. Some are Meisner-trained and respond to partner and moment. Others come from Method or Strasberg and lean into personal substitution. Some prefer the clarity of Practical Aesthetics; others live in the imaginative body of Chekhov or the truthful given circumstances of Uta Hagen. I don’t force one approach on everyone. I ask a few questions early:

“How do you like to receive notes—short and direct, or with context?”
“Do you want objectives and verbs, or pictures and images?”
“What gets you in the pocket fastest?”

Once I know their language, I translate the direction into something playable. “Be sadder” is a result. “Fight to keep it together while you ask for help” is playable. Results create stiffness; playable actions create behavior.

Before We Roll: Clarity Beats Volume

Rehearsal doesn’t have to be long to be effective. I aim for three things before we shoot:

Objective and obstacle. “You need your sister to forgive you before she leaves for the airport, but pride keeps getting in the way.”
Tactical verbs. “Charm her. Deflect. Confess. Bargain. Surrender.” Verbs give actors something to do, not something to feel.
Given circumstances and stakes. “It’s 3 a.m., you’ve already missed two calls from her, and the rideshare is three minutes out.”

When those three are clear, I can get out of the way and let the actor surprise me.

On Set: Notes That Actually Work

I keep notes short, specific, and one at a time. Here’s my go-to pattern:

Affirm the existing behavior: “The restraint you found in that last take is spot-on.”
Offer one specific adjustment: “This time, win her over without letting yourself apologize. Keep the apology trapped in your throat.”
Point the actor toward a partner or action: “Use the ring on the table as a lifeline. Touch it whenever you need strength.”

If I need to adjust pace or energy, I anchor it to behavior: “Let the anger leak sooner—don’t wait for the last line to crack.”

What I don’t do: stack five notes, contradict myself, or “help” by performing the line. Giving a line read steals ownership and collapses the actor’s instincts into mimicry. If I ever need cadence or comic rhythm, I’ll model the music of the moment (“think staccato—jab, jab, release”) without dictating the words.

Working With Pros vs. Non-Pros

Seasoned actors

With pros, I respect the prep they’ve done: choices about backstory, dialect, physicality. I’ll ask, “What are you protecting in this scene?” Then I work with that intention. Continuity matters—if we land a take with a fragile emotional peak, I protect it in coverage by reducing resets and noise between takes. Script supervisors become my best friends; they help me preserve the architecture of a performance across angles.

Non-actors and documentary subjects

With non-professionals, my priority is psychological safety and simple, human language.

Normalize the environment. I let them touch the chair, see the lens, practice the eyeline.
Invite conversation, not performance. “Let’s just talk like we did off camera.”
Ask anchored questions. Not “How did that make you feel?” but “When you heard your name, what did your hands do?” Specific memory triggers bring authentic detail.
Give permission to restart. “If a sentence gets messy, pause and pick it up from ‘…when you got the call.’”

For documentary interviews, I maintain eye contact, keep questions short, and never “line read” an answer. If I need a clean soundbite, I prompt with the start of the sentence: “Can you begin with, ‘The hardest day was…’?”

Commercial Sets: Precision Without Killing Spontaneity

Commercials demand exact beats: brand voice, legal language, and a 15- or 30-second clock. Precision is non-negotiable, but it doesn’t mean robotic. My workflow:

Lock copy where required; loosen where permitted. I clearly mark “must-say” phrases.
Coach intent first, then timing. “You’re welcoming me into your store like an old friend. Now fit it in :06 without rushing the smile.”
Chunk the performance. We record clean alts for each thought, then a “flow take” to let their personality breathe.

Even with time pressure, I never shortcut into a line read. I’ll direct the breath and emphasis: “Land on ‘trusted’ and let ‘since 1978’ be the afterthought.”

When Things Go Sideways

It happens: nerves spike, a scene goes flat, or we’re chasing light. Here’s how I reset:

Change the doing, not the emotion. If grief won’t land, I’ll shift the action: “Try packing the box as if it’s the last thing tying you to this house.”
Use environment. Move the actor—stand, sit, cross, choose a prop with meaning. Physical truth unlocks emotional truth.
Switch the frame. A tighter lens and a quieter set can protect an internal performance.
Call the “one for free.” After we have the safety, I give the actor a take with no notes. Freedom often sparks the moment we needed.

Result Direction vs. Playable Direction (Real Examples)

Result: “Make it funnier.”Playable: “Tease him and then catch yourself being too mean—pull the punch mid-word.”
Result: “Be more confident.”Playable: “Own the space the way you do when you’re training new hires. Let your shoulders lead.”
Result: “You’re devastated.”Playable: “You refuse to let them see you cry. Turn every tear into a laugh you can’t quite sell.”

The Quiet Work That Builds Trust

Directing actors is 80% communication and 20% taste. The trust comes from boring, consistent habits:

I’m on time and clear about marks, blocking, and business.
I protect rehearsal—no “drive-by” notes while the gaffer is flagging a light.
I never give an actor a note through someone else. I speak to them directly, privately when the note is vulnerable.
I acknowledge good work in front of the crew. Public credit, private course-correction.

When actors believe you see what they’re doing—and that you’ll keep them safe—they’ll go further than you hoped and bring you ideas you couldn’t have invented.

A Simple On-Set Checklist I Live By

One clear objective (what they need) + one strong obstacle (what’s in the way).
Action verbs, not adjectives.
One note per take.
Protect the actor’s ownership—no line reads.
Adjust behavior through doing (props, eyeline, breath), not through feeling.
Respect the process (pro or non-pro) and speak their language.
Praise specifically; redirect gently.
Get the safety; then give freedom.

I’ve directed day in and day out with on-camera pros, coached real people through first-ever interviews, and built performance under real-world constraints—tight schedules, brand requirements, and shrinking light. Through all of it, the principle holds: when I honor the actor’s method, speak in playable actions, and guard their sense of ownership, the work becomes honest, repeatable, and alive.

That’s the “right way” to work with actors—because it’s not about making them say what I hear in my head. It’s about helping them discover what only they can bring to the role, and creating the conditions where that truth can happen on cue.