Media Secret: Hidden Johansson

Time to meet the cast

The flat in Manchester wasn't much to look at from the outside. It was tucked away on a quiet street, the kind of place that blended into the background, unnoticed by most. But inside, it felt like a sanctuary. The walls were painted a soft grey, and the large windows let in the kind of natural light that made everything feel a little warmer, a little more alive. The furniture was simple—an old leather sofa, a small kitchen table, a desk cluttered with half-empty coffee mugs and scripts. But it had a certain charm. It was the kind of place you could sink into, let your thoughts settle, and just breathe.

Alex had arranged for me to rent it during the production. It wasn't glamorous, but it was perfect for what I needed. A quiet space to retreat to after long days of shooting, to think, to process. The kind of place where I could finally let go of the weight I'd been carrying for so long.

The first day I walked in, I immediately felt at home. The walls were bare, save for a few abstract paintings that looked like they'd been picked up from a thrift shop. The kitchen was small, but functional, with a kettle always on the boil. There was a stack of vinyl records in the corner, and a few old books scattered across the coffee table.

I was still adjusting to the idea of this film, of the role I'd agreed to take on. The gravity of it hadn't fully hit me yet. But as I sat on the couch, staring at the script in my hands, I couldn't help but feel the pull of Ethan's story, the way it mirrored parts of my own.

The next day, I was headed to the office for the table read. It was in a small, unassuming building on the edge of town, tucked between a café and a record shop. The office was minimalist, with sleek wooden floors and an open layout that gave it a calm, almost sterile feel. But the air was electric with anticipation.

The long table in the centre of the room was surrounded by a mix of actors, producers, and crew members. There was a hum of conversation, but as soon as Alex entered, everything went quiet.

"Alright, everyone," Alex said, their voice cutting through the silence. "Let's get started."

I took my seat, glancing around the room. Hailee Steinfeld was sitting across from me, her dark hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. She was dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, but there was an intensity to her presence that immediately commanded attention. She was reading for Sam, Ethan's counterpart, and I could already tell she was going to bring something special to the role.

Next to Hailee was a man I didn't recognize—someone in their mid-thirties with sharp features and an easy smile. His name was Jack, and he was playing the role of Liam, Ethan's best friend. Jack had this effortless charm about him, the kind of guy who could make you laugh without even trying.

To my left sat a woman named Claire, who was playing Ethan's mother, and beside her was Thomas, who was playing a key supporting role as Ethan's therapist. There was a palpable chemistry between the cast, a sense that we were all part of something bigger, something that was going to be more than just a film.

Alex paced around the table as they handed out the scripts, their eyes scanning the room. "This isn't just about delivering lines," they said. "It's about living these characters, feeling them, breathing them. Ethan and Sam's journey isn't neat. It's messy, it's painful, and it's beautiful. I want you all to bring that to life."

The read-through began, and as the pages turned, the room seemed to shrink. The words on the script weren't just words anymore—they were real. Ethan's pain, his guilt, his desire to push people away—it all felt so raw, so immediate. And when Hailee read Sam's lines, I could feel her strength, her vulnerability. There was a quiet power in her voice that made me believe in Sam's journey.

We worked through the scenes one by one, and with each passing moment, the characters began to take shape. By the time we reached the pivotal scene where Ethan and Sam first truly connect, I could feel the energy in the room shift. It was as if we were all holding our breath, waiting for the moment when everything clicked.

After the first read-through, we took a break. The room buzzed with quiet conversations, but I found myself lost in thought, replaying the scenes in my head. Hailee caught my eye and smiled.

"You're really good at this," she said, her voice low but sincere.

I shrugged, trying to brush off the compliment. "I'm just trying to figure it out."

She nodded. "I get that. Ethan's not an easy character to play. But I think you've got him. You've got the pain, the rawness. It's real."

Her words hit harder than I expected, and I couldn't help but feel a wave of gratitude. Hailee had been doing this for years, and if she saw something in my performance, maybe I was on the right track.

Alex gathered us back together, and we continued the read-through, diving deeper into the characters' emotions, their motivations. By the end of the day, I was exhausted, but there was a sense of fulfillment I hadn't felt in a long time. This wasn't just another film—it was something personal, something that mattered.

As we wrapped up, Alex stood at the head of the table, their gaze sweeping over the cast. "You all did great today. But remember, this is just the beginning. We've got a long road ahead, but I'm confident that you're all going to bring something incredible to this film."

I left the office that afternoon with a new sense of purpose. The cast had already started to feel like a second family, and the film had begun to feel like more than just a job. It was a chance to confront my own past, to step into Ethan's world and find something in myself I hadn't known was there.

The flat in Manchester felt a little more like home now. It wasn't just a place to crash—it was the starting point for something bigger, something that could change everything. And as I sat at the kitchen table, the script open in front of me, I realized that this role wasn't just about acting. It was about healing. About finding a way to be whole again.