ANARCHY! ACTORS NYC RESIDENCY May 5th - July 22nd 2025 www.anarchyactors.com/nyc "When people ask me what makes a costume drama thrive, my answer is always the same: it’s in the details. In a genre steeped in the subtlety of glances and the careful placement of a teacup, a single scene can carry the weight of an entire narrative. That truth was never more apparent than in the high-society banquet scene in SON OF SLAVES, where the Moroccan protagonist’s kidnapping sets off a clash of titanic personalities: Lady Asbury and Princess Zaya of Persia. Lady Asbury, a figure of quiet desperation, represents the fragility of societal rules in the face of real human suffering. She is poised, proper, and utterly shattered inside, a woman clinging to the edges of her world. Across from her, we have Princess Zaya of Persia: unapologetically flamboyant, gloriously self-serving and regal to the core. Zaya is the sun in this scene, her light casting long, intimidating shadows. At this point in the story, Lady Asbury has become the moral compass of the narrative, advocating for The Moroccan, whose life hangs in the balance. But Princess Zaya, in all her grandeur, is unmoved. For The Moroccan is her property, an acquisition she’s not inclined to relinquish. Their confrontation brims with tension, not just because of what’s being said, but because of everything left unsaid. Princess Zaya’s power lies in her duality. She’s both absurd and terrifying. On one hand, there’s a comedic edge to her exaggerated vanity; on the other, her dismissive treatment of Lady Asbury reminds us that she’s not a caricature but a woman whose self-interest has calcified into tyranny. It’s rare to find a character who is so deliciously evil yet deeply human. Princess Zaya hits that sweet spot. Villains like Princess Zaya stand on the shoulders of cinematic giants. From Glenn Close’s icy brilliance in Dangerous Liaisons to Helena Bonham Carter’s eccentric malevolence in Great Expectations, costume dramas have given us some of the most unforgettable female antagonists. And let’s not forget Cate Blanchett’s haughty Lady Tremaine in Cinderella or Kristin Scott Thomas’s steely Mrs. Danvers in Rebecca. These women share a common thread: they command attention not just through their actions but through the sheer force of their personalities. There’s an art to making audiences laugh while their hearts are breaking, and this scene was no exception. The comedy here isn’t slapstick; it’s rooted in the absurdity of high-society decorum clashing with raw, human desperation. Princess Zaya’s dismissiveness, her biting remarks, and the almost theatrical way she “floats” into the room bring a kind of macabre humour to the proceedings. Lady Asbury’s carefully modulated attempts to reason with Princess Zaya, while the latter ignores her in favour of adjusting a piece of jewelry, create a tension that’s both uncomfortable and oddly funny. It’s the comedy of discomfort, the laughter that comes when we recognize our own helplessness mirrored in the characters. The banquet hall itself is a character in this scene. Its grandeur, with glittering chandeliers and opulent decor, provides a sharp contrast to the ugliness of the confrontation. This juxtaposition amplifies the tension, creating a space where the characters must maintain composure even as their emotions threaten to boil over. Through strategic camera work, I sought to emphasize the power dynamics. A low-angle shot of Princess Zaya makes her look larger than life. Conversely, close-ups of Lady Asbury’s trembling hands remind us of her vulnerability. These visual cues pull the audience deeper into the story, allowing them to feel the weight of every word and gesture."

ANARCHY! ACTORS NYC RESIDENCY May 5th to July 22nd 2025 Join the Waiting List: www.anarchyactors.com/nyc

"The scene is set in the opulent drawing room of Lord Asbury’s manor, a gilded cage where opulence is both a display of power and a trap for its inhabitants. This is where Lady Asbury, a woman of aristocratic poise, and her fiancé, a Moroccan boxer, find themselves on a Dinner meant to celebrate their engagement. Instead, it becomes a battlefront. Mixed-race marriages in Victorian England were practically unheard of and deeply taboo. They represented not only a personal rebellion against societal norms but also an affront to the rigid structures of race and class that upheld the empire. These unions were viewed as a threat, a fracturing of the “purity” that the British elite clung to as a symbol of their superiority. For Lord Asbury, the relationship is more than a family matter, it’s a reflection of a world he fears losing control over. As a filmmaker, I had to honor the historical reality without letting it dominate the story’s human elements. The tension in this scene arises from how these characters, so starkly divided by status and race, attempt to navigate the space. Every glance, pause, and line of dialogue brims with meaning. For the Actors, portraying these layered dynamics was both a challenge and an opportunity. Playing the Moroccan boxer required a delicate balance of vulnerability and defiance. He is a man who has endured unimaginable odds: trafficked as a ship boy, rising as an unlicensed fighter, yet here, his greatest opponent is an invisible yet omnipresent force: prejudice, being seen as “other” in every corner of society, even within a home meant to welcome him. Lady Asbury isn’t a naive romantic; she’s a woman making an active choice to defy conventions for love. It must be subtle and composed, cloaking the storm of emotions roiling beneath. One of the joys of working on SON OF SLAVES has been navigating the interplay between the formal language of the period and the universal themes at its core. The dialogue in this scene is steeped in the rigid politeness of the 19th century, yet every word is a weapon. Formality becomes a shield for the characters, but it’s also a tool for exposing their vulnerabilities. For modern audiences, this restraint in language might seem foreign, but the emotions, love, fear, defiance, are timeless. It’s a testament to the universality of the human condition that, even with a century’s worth of change, viewers can still connect deeply with these struggles. It’s in the Moroccan’s tightly controlled pacing as he confronts Lord Asbury’s thinly veiled hostility. It’s in Lady Asbury’s carefully chosen words as she defends her love while maintaining the grace expected of her. This scene isn’t just a turning point in the narrative; it’s a microcosm of the larger themes that SON OF SLAVES explores, resilience against oppression, love that defies boundaries, and the enduring struggle for justice. By grounding these issues in a personal story, we’re able to bridge the gap between history and the present, reminding viewers that while society has evolved, the fight for equality remains a constant. For me as a Screenwriter & Filmmaker the takeaway is clear: let history inform the story but not overshadow it. The emotions that drive your characters are what will ultimately resonate with audiences. Simplify the narrative’s complexities to their emotional core, let the dynamics between characters guide the pacing, and always strive for authenticity. This scene represents everything I strive for as a filmmaker, a commitment to truth, both historical and emotional. It’s a story of courage, not just in the ring but in the hearts of those who dare to love. And to me, that’s what makes filmmaking so powerful: its ability to remind us of our shared humanity, no matter how divided we may seem."

ANARCHY! ACTORS NYC RESIDENCY

May 5th - July 22nd 2025

www.anarchyactors.com/nyc

"As a storyteller, I’m captivated by moments that transcend the screen, scenes where characters breathe, tension simmers, and history comes alive. My film THE PRINCE OF SAILORTOWN, delves into the tumultuous world of Alexander Robinson, a Belfast boxer thrust into the heart of Prohibition-era Chicago under the shadow of Al Capone. In this piece, I’ll not only unpack the craft behind a pivotal scene in the film but also reflect on the legacy of iconic portrayals of Capone and his world across cinema and television. Let’s start with one of THE PRINCE OF SAILORTOWN most complex scenes: a charged exchange involving Caitlyn (Jazz Singer and Alexander’s Lover) and Capone himself. It’s a nexus of emotional subtext, power struggles, and finely tuned performances, a microcosm of what the film strives to achieve. At the core of the scene is a triangle of tension. Caitlyn represents a woman caught between loyalty and self-preservation, navigating the dangerous terrain of Capone’s favor while building a fragile connection with Alexander. Meanwhile, Capone looms as a figure of both menace and vulnerability. The portrayal of Capone is instrumental in avoiding the pitfalls of cliché. Rather than delivering a cartoonish gangster, you must embody a character whose weakening grasp on power rendered him more dangerous, a predator wounded but still lethal. Caitlyn, in contrast, maintains an almost unshakable poise, even as her eyes betrayed layers of fear and defiance. This interplay kept the audience hooked, the balance of power shifting with each glance, pause, or shift in tone. It’s often the simplest choices that leave the deepest impression. Emply controlled breathing and deliberate posture to command Capone’s presence in the scene. A shallow breath before delivering a line hints at the character’s impatience, while a subtle lean forward during silence ads menace. Similarly, Caitlyn uses physical stillness to her advantage, punctuating her dialogue with a tilt of the head or a hand gesture. These choices underscore the character’s resilience, a quiet defiance in a world that demanded submission. One of the scene’s strengths lay in its pacing. Dialogue isn’t rushed; instead, it allows silences to speak volumes. For example, when Capone questioned Caitlin’s loyalty, the beat of silence afterward wasn’t just a pause, it was a battlefield. The actors’ reactions during these moments of stillness told as much of the story as the dialogue itself.

THE PRINCE OF SAILORTOWN is more than a gangster film; it’s a story about survival, identity, and the choices that define us. Through meticulous performances and careful attention to history, my hope is that it offers a fresh perspective on a world we think we know."

ANARCHY! ACTORS NYC RESIDENCY

May 5th - July 22nd 2025

www.anarchyactors.com/nyc

"As a filmmaker, there are stories that live with you, gnawing at your creative soul until you finally bring them to life. For me, THE PRINCE OF SAILORTOWN is one of those stories. It’s a film rooted in the grit and romance of history, following Alexander Robinson, a Belfast boxer who trades the turbulent streets of Ireland for the equally treacherous underworld of Prohibition-era Chicago. The heart of this project beats in its characters, its taut storytelling, and the delicate dance between actors and director. Today, I want to take you behind the curtain, breaking down a pivotal scene that has become, in my mind, a microcosm of everything this film represents. From the crackle of the dialogue to the weight of a single glance, this scene is as much about the unsaid as it is the spoken word. The scene opens at a garden party, a quintessential tableau of 1920s grandeur. Think children chasing each other across manicured lawns, women in beaded flapper dresses clinking champagne glasses, and the faint hum of a jazz quartet. It’s idyllic, almost disarming. But that’s precisely the point. Beneath the surface, the setting is a powder keg. This was intentional, of course. As a Director, I’m drawn to juxtapositions: joy edged with danger, beauty masking brutality. It’s this duality that pulls an audience in, compelling them to anticipate the moment when the façade cracks. In this case, that crack comes in the form of Alexander and Al Capone’s simmering confrontation, two men circling each other like predators sizing up their prey. Actors often ask me about props. Should they be incidental? Integral? My answer is always the same: they should serve the character. In this scene, Alexander uses a toothpick in a way that borders on genius. It’s such a small thing, a throwaway item, but in the hands of a talented actor, it becomes a statement. The toothpick was wielded sparingly but with precision, pressed between his lips to feign nonchalance, removed mid-dialogue to punctuate a point, or fiddled with nervously to betray a crack in his tough exterior. That toothpick became an extension of Alexander’s inner turmoil: a young man trying to project confidence while navigating the lion’s den of Capone’s world. This scene lives and dies on the chemistry between Alexander and Capone. Their dynamic is electric: the brash ‘wayward son’ and the seasoned ‘father figure.’ It’s a relationship that’s as much about what’s not said as it is about the cutting dialogue. Tone is everything in a scene like this. Too much melodrama, and you lose the grit. Too much subtlety, and you risk dulling the edge. We worked tirelessly to find that balance, sharp dialogue laced with an undercurrent of menace. While the dialogue in this scene is razor-sharp, it’s the actions that tell the real story. Capone, with his effortless control of the room, moves as though the world bends to his will. Meanwhile, Alexander’s bravado is betrayed by the subtle swagger of his walk, too forced, too deliberate. These small details reveal the power imbalance between the two, adding depth to their interaction. Bringing 1920s Chicago to life wasn’t just about flapper dresses and vintage cars. It was about capturing the texture of the era. For instance, Alexander’s tattoos, a controversial choice for a man of his time, became a symbol of his outsider status. Likewise, Capone’s sartorial elegance contrasted with his brutal reputation, underscoring the contradictions of his character. These details aren’t just window dressing; they’re storytelling tools. They ground the narrative in its historical context while adding layers of meaning. Alexander isn’t just a young man navigating a dangerous world, he’s a symbol of cultural and personal dislocation, a “fish out of water” trying to survive a world that demands he sink or swim."

ANARCHY! ACTORS NYC RESIDENCY

May 5th - July 22nd 2025 "Interrogation scenes are fertile ground for drama, not because of the words exchanged but because of the dynamics they reveal. They hold the power to distill a story’s essence into its purest, rawest form. For MAMA’S BOIS, the interrogation of Daniel became the beating heart of the Series, a microcosm of its larger themes of power, redemption, and the jagged edges of human morality. The Interrogation scene is powerful because it’s a crucible for tension. It’s a test of wills where characters expose their vulnerabilities or conceal them with precision. Unlike a shootout or a chase, the stakes in an interrogation are psychological. The characters are naked, armed only with their words, gestures, and the ghosts they carry. In MAMA’S BOIS, this scene works because it operates on multiple levels: personal, professional, and existential. Detectives Virani and Gracie aren’t just probing Daniel for answers; they’re grappling with their own fractured psyches. The room becomes a theater of conflict where their motives, fears, and biases play out as Daniel subtly takes the upper hand, reminding us that silence can be deafening. Unlike the bombast of some classic scenes, MAMA’S BOIS leans heavily on restraint. Daniel’s power doesn’t come from overt defiance or snarling retorts; it’s in the way he controls the space with his presence. Virani and Gracie approach him with contrasting strategies: one probing, the other imploring. But Daniel’s responses, or lack thereof, dismantle their authority without him needing to raise his voice. The beauty of this scene lies in its authenticity. It doesn’t rely on cheap twists or theatrical outbursts. Instead, it draws its strength from the characters’ internal struggles, which seep into the room like a fog. Josef as understood that Daniel’s power lay in his quiet control, and he wielded it with precision. Every glance, every pause was deliberate, forcing the detectives, and the audience, to fill in the blanks. Leena’s portrayal of Detective Gracie is the emotional anchor of the scene. Her weariness, both professional and personal, seeps into every line she delivers. Her exhaustion becomes a weapon and a weakness, making her an unpredictable force. Anya brought a frenetic energy to Virani, channeling the desperation of someone new to the town and unsure of her footing. She infused her lines with a quiet urgency, her voice trembling just enough to reveal the cracks in her confident façade. This scene is where everything shifts. It’s not just an interrogation, it’s the story’s fulcrum. The Detectives come face to face with their own limitations, and the audience glimpses the larger, more insidious forces at play in this seaside town. Daniel’s quiet defiance isn’t just an act of resistance; it’s a mirror, reflecting the systemic failures that allowed these murders to occur in the first place. More importantly, this scene encapsulates the essence of MAMA’S BOIS: a story about broken people navigating a broken world, trying to find justice in the shadows. It’s not about heroes or villains but about the grey areas where most of us live. The interrogation scene in MAMA’S BOIS is a testament to the power of storytelling stripped down to its essence. No explosions, no gunfights, just three characters locked in a battle of wills, their silences echoing louder than words ever could."

ANARCHY! ACTORS NYC RESIDENCY May 5th - July 22nd 2025 Join the Waiting List: www.anarchyactors.com/nyc

"As a filmmaker, I’ve always believed that storytelling is, at its core, a dance between light and shadow , a delicate balance of character, atmosphere and nuance. My latest project, MAMA’S BOIS, a Detective Horror Noir Series, embodies that philosophy. It's a dark, layered narrative that unearths the unspoken fears and desires lurking in the most unexpected places. Crafting this story was as thrilling as it was challenging, and I’m excited to take you behind the scenes. Detective Anouska Virani and Detective Maddie Gracie are the fractured heart of MAMA’S BOIS. Virani, with her razor-sharp focus and unyielding discipline, is a detective carved from stone, a steely presence that embodies authority. Opposite her is Gracie, a freewheeling spirit whose sharp wit and devil-may-care attitude conceal her own vulnerabilities. Together, they’re an oil-and-water duo, their chemistry both a source of tension and a crucial narrative force. In many ways, they reflect the duality of the series itself: Virani, the precision and logic of the Detective Genre; Gracie, the unpredictable, chaotic energy of horror. Their dynamic isn’t just engaging, it is alive, crackling with humour, frustration and the occasional glimmer of genuine connection. From the opening scene, a mist soaked fairground in a forgotten seaside town, it’s clear that MAMA’S BOIS isn’t just a noir. It’s a haunting experience. The setting is crucial here: the quiet groan of a distant carousel, the flicker of broken neon, and the faint scent of brine in the air create an atmosphere that is equal parts eerie and intimate. The town itself feels like a character, an omnipresent force, decaying but defiant. It serves as both a stage for the mysteries Virani and Gracie must unravel and a reflection of their own struggles. The blend of noir’s shadows and horror’s dread creates a world where the line between reality and nightmare blurs. Merging Detective Noir and Horror might seem like a challenge, but to me, they’re natural companions. Noir is all about exploring the darkness of human nature, our greed, our flaws, our secrets. Horror magnifies that darkness, externalizing it in monstrous forms. In MAMA’S BOIS, the detective work exposes the rot of the town, while the horror elements take that metaphorical rot and make it tangible. An abandoned ferris wheel creaks under a weight that shouldn’t be there; a shadow moves where no one should be standing. These moments of supernatural dread aren’t just scares, they are extensions of the story’s themes, the fears our characters can’t outrun. Fans of True Detective will recognize the philosophical undertones and decaying Americana of MAMA’S BOIS, while admirers of The X-Files might appreciate the interplay of skeptical pragmatism and open curiosity between our Detectives. There’s also a touch of Carnivàle in the way the show uses its settings to reflect existential unease. But what makes MAMA’S BOIS different is its tone. A careful balance of humour and horror, grit and tenderness. Where other shows lean into despair, we let our Characters crack jokes and find small, human moments amidst the chaos. The show doesn’t just ask what scares us — it asks how we survive those fears, how we laugh in their face, and how we make sense of the madness around us. Directing the opening sequence of MAMA’S BOIS reminded me why I fell in love with filmmaking. Every detail? the faint squeak of a carousel, the way a shadow lengthens under the moonlight, the sharp edge of a clever retort, builds a world that feels alive. For me, storytelling is about collaboration. It’s about Actors who pour their hearts into their performances, a Crew who brings their technical brilliance to every frame, and an Audience who’s willing to dive into the darkness with us. MAMA’S BOIS isn’t just a show, it’s a journey. And I can’t wait for you to take it."

ANARCHY! ACTORS NYC RESIDENCY

May 5th - July 22nd 2025

www.anarchyactors.com/nyc

"They say acting is like a fight: each scene, a round; each line, a jab or a hook. The craft of acting, particularly in roles that demand physicality and emotional depth, like a boxing coach, is all about balance: strength and vulnerability, precision and intuition. An actor’s style must align with the script’s tone and genre. It’s not just about memorizing lines; it’s about understanding the rhythm and flow of the world you’re stepping into. This notion took me back to some of the most gripping performances of boxing coaches on screen. Think about Morgan Freeman in Million Dollar Baby, his calm yet firm demeanour mirrored the film’s meditative tone. Or Ron Silver in Ali, where his gruffness carried the weight of a man molded by the harsh realities of the sport. Failing to grasp tone is like stepping into the ring blindfolded you’ll flail, and the audience will see right through it. If the script calls for subtle shifts, your performance must whisper instead of shout. If it demands raw grit, you’d better bring it. Enter Billy ‘Bones’ Foley. A boxing coach who is both broken and brilliant. A man who has taken more hits from life than from any opponent in the ring. Set in the gritty realism of the 1990s, Billy ‘Bones’ is a mentor to a female boxer whose fire reignites his own. The portrayal of Billy ‘Bones’ demands an intricate dance of physicality and psychology. He is not just a man who walks into a room; he drags his history behind him. From his shuffling gait to the slightly slurred cadence of his speech, every detail conveys a lifetime of fights both inside the ring and out. Billy ‘Bones’ every movement and word is steeped in truth, not theatrics. So how do we elevate this Character authentically? Internalization Over ExaggerationSubtlety is power. Avoid overacting, the performance must feel lived-in and natural. Synchronizing Physical and Vocal ElementsA character like Billy is defined by his body as much as his voice. Deliberate movements paired with a controlled vocal delivery create a harmonious authenticity. Adapting to Physical ConditionsPlaying a character with physical ailments like Billy’s punch-drunk state, requires finesse. Slurred speech or an uneven posture shouldn’t overshadow the character’s essence but complement it. As with all great films should be, this isn’t solely actor-focused. Stage directions and chemistry are as crucial as dialogue. In the scene where Billy ‘Bones’ meets Atusa, the young boxer he’ll coach, there is real interplay of energy: Billy’s weariness collides with Atusa’s fire, creating sparks that light up the narrative. The beauty lies in the subtleties. A pause before a line. A shift in gaze. These are the moments that make scenes breathe. Billy ‘Bones’ isn’t just a boxing coach; he’s a metaphor for the acting process itself. Like a fighter stepping into the ring, an actor must be prepared mind, body, and spirit, while staying flexible enough to adapt to the moment. So here’s to the Billy ‘Bones’s of cinema, to the coaches who teach not just their on-screen protégés but us, the audience, about resilience and redemption. After all acting, like boxing, isn’t just about the punches you throw. It’s about the heart behind them."

ANARCHY! ACTORS NYC RESIDENCY

May 5th - July 22nd 2025

www.anarchyactors.com/nyc

"When people talk about great fight movies, classIcs like Raging Bull, Rocky, and Warrior are often lauded for their raw intensity and emotional depth. But behind every punch thrown and every bead of sweat lies an intricate process, a delicate balance of storytelling, choreography, and vulnerability. As someone who’s dedicated my career to both acting and directing, I find the art of the action scene to be the purest test of an actor’s mettle and a writer’s ability to capture the human spirit. Let me take you into the ring, so to speak, with a glimpse into my process. This is the same approach I used while crafting ELYSIUM FIELDS, a screenplay about Atusa, a determined immigrant chasing her dream of becoming a professional boxer in the gritty 1990s. It’s a story that celebrates vulnerability, resilience, and representation, qualities I believe are essential not just in the characters we create but in the actors who portray them. The secret to any great action scene? It’s not just the punches; it’s the person throwing them. One of my favorite examples is Million Dollar Baby. Hilary Swank’s portrayal of Maggie is a masterclass in embodying vulnerability and strength. That same duality runs through Atusa. She’s a refugee wrestling with loss, trying to carve a new identity in a hostile world. I often tell my actors: vulnerability isn’t weakness; it’s power. When working with performers on Elysium Fields, I focus on subtleties. Something as small as maintaining intense eye contact or the slight tremor of a hand can say as much as a carefully scripted monologue. These moments give audiences a reason to care, even before a punch is thrown. My approach is to simplify. For instance, straight-arm shots and proper positioning are key fundamentals I teach right away. During industry showcases, I’ve seen actors deliver basic boxing techniques in just 48 hours. This compressed timeline mirrors the intensity of real-world auditions, where you’re often thrown into unfamiliar roles and expected to deliver. Here’s a little secret about great fight movies like The Fighter or even Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon: the magic begins on the page. A fight scene isn’t just about action, it’s about stakes, setting, and emotion. I’ve always been meticulous about these details in my scripts. Take Atusa’s climactic fight in ELYSIUM FIELDS. It’s not just a physical showdown; it’s a collision of everything she’s fought for her identity, her dignity, and her future. By writing the tone, the oppressive noise of the crowd, and the flicker of doubt in her opponent’s eyes, I create a roadmap for actors to dive into the scene’s intensity. In an action scene, there’s no room for hesitation. Whether it’s the raw emotion before the bell rings or the desperate energy of the final round, my actors must hit their marks with precision from the start. This doesn’t mean perfection, it means truth. That’s the heartbeat of any memorable performance. One of the most exciting aspects of ELYSIUM FIELDS was exploring representation. Atusa’s journey as a female immigrant boxer in the 1990s felt groundbreaking. Films like Girlfight have touched on similar themes, but there’s still so much room to tell diverse stories in the genre. Atusa’s struggle isn’t just about the fight in the ring, it’s about breaking barriers outside of it. She’s a woman fighting for respect in a male-dominated sport, a refugee fighting for a place in a foreign land. That’s why representation in casting was critical to me. The actor who portrays Atusa needed to bring not just skill but lived authenticity to the role. Action films are more than explosions and brawls, they are about people. They’re about the moments of vulnerability that make us root for a character, the adrenaline that makes us sit on the edge of our seats. Whether you’re an actor, a writer, or a fan, remember this: every punch tells a story."