Christine Luby is an American-Australian director whose recent films include “Beauty From Pain” and “You, Always,” starring Adrian Grenier. She previously directed Netflix’s “This Little Love of Mine and Dive Club” and Disney+’s “The Curious Case of Dolphin Bay.” Luby began her career as an assistant director on films including “Aquaman,” “Elvis,” and “The Wolverine.”
There I was, standing at 5'2", trying to hold an umbrella over 5'11" Nicole Kidman while it lightly misted outside a suburban house in Sydney on the set of Top of the Lake.
Her hairstylist had requested the umbrella, but lifting it high enough meant standing awkwardly close behind her. Then my walkie crackled. I reached to answer it with my free hand just as Nicole turned and…whack. Straight into her forehead with the umbrella.
I wanted the earth to swallow me whole.
Instead, Nicole laughed.
Not a polite laugh. A real one. Easy, generous, completely unbothered.
That moment stayed with me for years, not because I nearly concussed one of the world’s most famous actors, but because it revealed something I’d continue noticing over my 13 years as an assistant director: The actors people love working with aren’t necessarily the most famous ones. They’re the ones who know how to transcend chaos without spreading it.
And film sets are chaos. Beautiful chaos, but chaos nonetheless.
As an AD, your job is to keep the machine moving. You’re tracking schedules, moving hundreds of people through impossible days, solving problems before they explode, and occasionally performing emotional triage before lunch. It’s logistics mixed with diplomacy mixed with sleep deprivation.
But the real gift of being an AD is that you become an observer of human behavior.
You’re there for every take, every reset, every lighting adjustment that somehow takes 40 minutes. You watch actors when the camera’s rolling, but more importantly, you watch them when it isn’t.
You notice who learns the crew’s names.
Who’s friendly to the PA knocking on their trailer door at 5 a.m.
Who can pivot when a location changes, a scene gets cut, or rain destroys the schedule.
Who disappears into their phone between takes versus who stays connected to the energy of the set.
And contrary to popular belief, crews rarely care whether an actor is “difficult” because they’re intense about the work. Crews care when an actor makes everyone else’s job harder.
The actors that crews adore most often have the same qualities: preparedness, adaptability, curiosity, and focus. They understand filmmaking is collaborative. They don’t conserve kindness only for the director or producers. It’s the Hugh Jackmans of the world buying the whole crew lottery tickets every Friday and taking the time to learn everyone’s name.
That stayed with me when I transitioned into directing.
When I cast actors now, I’m obviously looking for talent. But I’m also looking for people who want to play. Actors who arrive prepared enough to throw things away. Actors who can stay flexible when we reinvent the scene on the day.
Because here’s what actors often misunderstand: your energy becomes part of the set’s ecosystem.
One anxious actor can make a room feel tight. One generous actor can loosen an entire crew.
And anxiety itself isn’t the problem. Some of the best actors I’ve worked with get nervous. The difference is that some know how to communicate. They can say, “I’m in my head today,” or “I need a little quiet before this scene,” and suddenly everyone knows how to support them.
I actually wish more actors spent time figuring out how they work best before arriving on set. Do you like short notes or detailed backstories?
Do you need music beforehand? Space? Rehearsal? Spontaneity?
Do you prefer staying in character between takes or joking around until action is called?
Many actors can describe their character in extraordinary detail but struggle to explain their own creative process. Knowing that about yourself is invaluable.
As a director, I tailor communication constantly. Some actors need one precise sentence. Some need an emotional anchor. Some need freedom to improvise blocking or dialogue until the scene clicks into place.
On “You, Always,” I trusted the actors to challenge blocking if it felt unnatural. If dialogue wasn’t landing authentically, we adjusted it. My job wasn’t to control every molecule in the room. It was to create an environment where good ideas were enacted, even if they weren’t scripted.
That’s ultimately what the best sets feel like to me: not rigid, but alive.
And maybe that’s the biggest thing I learned standing quietly beside the monitors for all those years as an AD.
Everyone notices talent.
But the actors I adore are a joy to be around!
This essay has been edited for clarity and length.
