You know that moment on a rollercoaster—the part where you’re strapped in, the safety bar clicks, and suddenly you’re climbing higher than you realized you ever agreed to? Your stomach drops before the ride even starts. You know you’re safe. You know it’s been tested a thousand times. And yet… when the bottom falls out and you’re flying through the air at 70 mph, it feels like you might not make it out.

That’s not an accident. That’s the ride doing its job.

That was today’s audition coaching.

I was working with a series regular actor on a scene that had some intense dynamics. And before we ever hit record, we got really specific with each other. Not in a vague “do what feels safe” way—but in a “here is exactly how far you’re allowed to go” kind of way. Language, proximity, tone, breath, even eye contact. We talked about what was fair game and what was off-limits.

And here’s the magic that happened the second we defined those boundaries:

The scene lit up.

Because once we each knew the rules, we could commit fully to going right up to the edge. Not tentatively. Not apologetically. Fully. Boldly. Toe on the line.

I see actors all the time “being a good scene partner.” What I mean by this is that they are “doing” something without them (or me) believing they’re actually going to go through with it. They pull punches. They focus on themselves. They seek emotion. They tell a story. They provide clarity.

They are a companion to their scene partner when, in the strongest levels of the craft, they are meant to be the rollercoaster.

This is something I think more actors need to build into their process—especially when working with strong material. Set the boundary. Draw the map. Then use every. Square. Inch of it.

When you know the other person has invited you to step all the way up to the line, you’re no longer walking on eggshells. You’re dancing on the edge. You’re not wondering if you’re going too far—you’re strategically pushing to see what happens when you get a little too close. That’s not dangerous. That’s collaborative trust.

And that’s when it stops being about “doing the scene right” and starts being about affecting your scene partner. Getting in their head. Changing their breath. Messing up their plan—in the best way. Because they gave you the key.

You’re no longer worried about your own performance. You’re not holding back. You’re shaking the ground just enough to make something real happen between you. Because that’s where the best work lives: in the illusion of danger, under the absolute protection of mutual trust.

So next time you’re prepping a tough scene—especially one that pokes at heightened emotions or tough dynamics—don’t skip the conversation. Talk it out. Set the rules. Strap in.

And then take them on a rollercoaster ride.

-J