conversations from the fleet · October 2026
Not Waiting to Be Chosen:
Lucas Amorim on Making
His Own Work
| Photo: Lucas Amorim
Lucas Amorim is an actor and producer from São Paulo, Brazil, who has worked across Brazil, Italy, and the UK. He trained at the Wolf Maya acting school, has performed on stage throughout Brazil, and wrote, co-directed, produced, and starred in the short film True Self. He plays Yan in the feature De Volta Pra Casa.
You have trained and worked as an actor across Brazil, Italy, and the United Kingdom. Can you recall a particular moment when moving between those cultures changed how you understood yourself as a performer?
Moving between Brazil, Italy, and the United Kingdom showed me how small I am in relation to the world and how much I still have to learn. At the same time, working alongside artists from different cultures made that world feel smaller, because I discovered how much we have in common.
What stayed with me most was the warmth within the artistic community. Even in places where social interactions can feel more reserved, I met artists who were welcoming, curious, and open to creating something together. I experienced that in England, Italy, and Brazil. There are always exceptions, but that connection was a consistent part of my experience.
It wasn’t one defining moment so much as a gradual realization: I could bring my own identity into a room and still connect with people whose backgrounds were very different from mine. Our languages and customs might differ, but many of our questions, ambitions, and insecurities overlap.
Now I’m focused on making the United States the next chapter in that journey. It’s a decision I’m committed to, and I’m already working through the practical steps to make it happen. I’m curious to discover how living and working in another country will challenge me and shape the artist I’m becoming.
You have said that you did not want your career to depend entirely on someone else choosing you. Was there a particular rejection, period of waiting, or realization that pushed you to begin creating your own opportunities?
There wasn’t one particular rejection that changed everything. I auditioned for many projects, booked some, and didn’t get many others. Over time, I realized that if I wanted to make a living through my art, I needed to create opportunities alongside pursuing the ones other people could offer me.
Producing my own work grew out of that desire to keep going. I wanted to act, tell stories, and help bring projects into existence. When I produce something I also perform in, I can stay involved from the initial idea through to the finished film. I value having that creative responsibility.
I also love acting in other people’s projects. What has changed is my awareness of everything happening around the performance. Having worked as a producer, I understand more of the effort and responsibility behind getting a production off the ground. Today, I place much more importance on my relationships with the cast and crew. Producing has changed how I show up as an actor and how much I appreciate everyone else’s contribution.
| Photo: Lucas Amorim & Aline Jones in True Self
In True Self, you were simultaneously the writer, co-director, producer, and lead actor. How did directing yourself change your performance, and where did your collaborators challenge or strengthen your original vision?
With True Self, I had a very personal connection to the material. I prepared extensively, read books, including Jim Carrey’s Memoirs and Misinformation, and drew on personal experiences to shape the story. Directing myself meant holding on to that vision while remaining emotionally present as an actor.
One scene involving the film’s central reveal captured that challenge. It was a long, continuous shot, and I needed to cry at precisely the moment the camera reached my face. We did five or six takes. Crying on cue involves technique and practice, but around the fourth take, the emotion began to take over: I genuinely felt the need to cry.
When we finally got the shot, I cried uncontrollably. The crew was celebrating, and I felt as though I had scored a goal for the whole team. At the same time, my body was still responding to the emotional state I had worked to create.
That experience gave me confidence in my ability to direct demanding scenes while performing in them. My collaborators were essential to that process. Iuri Saraiva, Aline Jones, and Felipe Souza contributed through their performances and our exchanges, while Anderson Peter, who co-directed the film with me, brought another perspective that helped develop and strengthen my original vision.
“I felt as though I had scored a goal for the whole team.”
You have spoken about refusing to use the favela or police violence merely as dramatic scenery. Can you describe one creative decision in Favela where that responsibility directly changed what you wrote, filmed, or performed?
The central creative decision was to build the conflict around three people with different upbringings and ways of seeing the world. The story takes place in a favela, but the drama depends on how those three individuals respond to one another under pressure.
I wanted viewers to understand each character’s perspective within just a few minutes and then form their own judgments. Understanding a person’s perspective doesn’t mean excusing their behavior. Their actions carry different consequences, and it was important to leave room for the audience to recognize that.
That intention guided how I approached the characters: I wanted them to feel like people whose behavior viewers might recognize from their own lives. Someone might identify with one character, feel uncomfortable with another, or question their initial reaction as the scene unfolds.
For me, the story needed to work as entertainment while also leaving the audience with something to think about afterward: who they identified with, what made them uncomfortable, and why.
| Still from Favela
In De Volta Pra Casa, you play Yan, a musician returning from rehabilitation who must confront his past and repair his family relationships. What did you need to understand about him before you could portray him without judgment?
Before playing Yan, I needed to understand addiction as an illness and see the person beyond it. I watched performances that explored that experience and read Codependent No More, which helped me think about how addiction affects relationships and families.
But my understanding became much more personal after we finished filming. I came to understand that a former girlfriend was struggling with drug use, and that relationship affected my life profoundly. It was an incredibly painful experience, and it helped me understand what partners and families can go through when someone they love is struggling with addiction.
I began to recognize how consuming that relationship could become: how much of your life can revolve around the other person’s problems, and how easily you can lose sight of your own needs while trying to help. The idea of codependency became something I could relate to personally.
That experience complicated my understanding of Yan. I could recognize his suffering while also understanding the pain someone in his position can cause others. For me, approaching him without judgment meant making room for both realities. My understanding of the character continued to grow long after filming ended.
You emphasize preparation and action, but you have also acknowledged that hard work does not guarantee opportunity. How do you remain disciplined without allowing ambition to become unsustainable?
I once heard Taz Skylar say, “Freedom is found within discipline,” and that idea makes a lot of sense to me. Today, I have the flexibility to move between places and organize my life around my career. I’m grateful for that freedom, but having control over my time also means taking responsibility for how I use it. Discipline helps me give that freedom a direction.
My ambitions are one of the things that get me out of bed. I enjoy having goals, training, studying, and following through on what I set out to do. A routine helps me turn those ambitions into consistent action.
At the same time, that routine has to allow for being human. I won’t feel equally motivated, focused, or energetic every day. On difficult days, I try to maintain a manageable level of consistency without demanding my best performance every time.
Spending time with people, nurturing my relationships, and having experiences beyond work matter too. For me, discipline creates room to pursue my ambitions while still having the freedom to enjoy the life I’m building.
“Discipline helps me give that freedom a direction.”
| Photo: Lucas Amorim
When the next rejection arrives and no opportunity is guaranteed, what does continuing actually look like for you the following morning?
For me, continuing begins with accepting that uncertainty is part of life. A job is never guaranteed, but neither are many of the things we care about. People move away, take different paths, or are no longer with us. We live with uncertainty in our relationships as well as in our careers.
I try to place rejection within that wider perspective. It can hurt, and I won’t always wake up the next morning feeling ready to move on. But I can return to what is within my reach: my preparation, my routine, the projects I can develop, and the people I can connect with.
Continuing doesn’t require me to know where all of that will lead. It means staying involved in my own life and remaining open to possibilities I cannot predict yet.
I don’t know where the next opportunity will come from or who I’ll meet along the way. And I want life to keep surprising me.
