Within the indie sphere of any art form there will always be room for projects where performers make their own opportunities rather than waiting for someone else’s validation or permission. It’s the lifeblood of the independent ideal, and one of the reasons why so many actors transition into directing, and vice versa. Named after a good‑luck affirmation shared among actors, Break a Leg from actor/director Kaitlyn Boyé is a fascinatingly exposed example of this tradition that uses the premise of an audition to peel away the layers of an actor’s persona. It’s a simple premise that’s written, directed, produced and acted by Boyé, who stars as a distracted former child actor, with Brendan Kelly as co-writer and producer playing a jobbing actor who lives in his car. The pair turn up to an audition but there’s no one else there, so they wait, and wait, and wait some more until they’re eventually at each other’s throats.
There’s a version of this concept that’s very theatrical, akin to when a book or play gets adapted across different media with minimal effort made to accommodate the new form, and if I had a pound for every time this happened then I’d be very rich. Credit here goes to Boyé’s for her direction and her sense of flair, starting with the presentation where we see that there are no opening credits in the traditional sense, all the important information instead being baked into the production design as Kelly walks from the car to the theatre. The name of the movie appears on a hotdog wrapper, while the “directed by” and “starring” credits are on a poster in the background, and although it’s not storytelling per se, it’s a shrewd usage of environmental narrative – but whether it’s part of the ruse the audition becomes or simply a cool presentation choice is up for debate. Boyé’s command of the vast theatre space also plays into the inherent terror that makes so many liminal pieces effective, especially when the huge theatre is normally full of performances, people and life, but during Break a Leg it’s empty and lit in a way that makes it inherently spooky. Throw in the occasional CCTV‑style shot and you have a deceptively visual iteration of a movie where two people talk to each other for ninety minutes.
Boyé’s command of the vast theatre space plays into the inherent terror that makes so many liminal pieces effective.
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Two people waiting and no production representatives present. If this were really happening, they’d wait a little while before leaving, but the point of Boyé and Kelly’s script is the sheer self‑destructive desperation of two people who need this – it’s the difference between being working actors and walking away entirely. The grand scheme of the script exposes the bone‑headed dysfunction required to be a jobbing actor, the industry and its power players having created a trade where the entire potential workforce is a only few bad days away from a psychotic break. Whether the characters are close approximations of who they are is moot as it’s a very open and personal script for two actors to bring to life, so fair play to them for being brave and honest, and for giving themselves the platform to deliver star‑making performances.
Boyé plays Molly McGrath, a “disgraced” former child star from a Power‑Rangers‑coded TV show, and an avatar for the horrible way the media class and so‑called fans use and abuse young talent. She’s seen the worst of Australia’s entertainment class and, along with a problematic history with substance abuse, she’s burned out, becoming a barely functional person who’s exploited because she’s easy on the eye. Opposite her, Brendan Kelly plays Patrick Flynn, one of the countless actors never good enough for casting agents who falls through the cracks, but not because of a lack of talent or chemistry. He’s just unlucky, as so many actors are, and constantly refers to himself as a nice guy, as if he’s trying to convince himself of something he knows isn’t true. The scenes the two share as they burn down time are sizzling, and as they bicker, Molly channels the cynicism directed at her in the a way that has seen her labelled “difficult”, her impersonations of the people she’s crossed paths being chilling, but what her issue is with people drinking milk, I don’t know – maybe that’s an Australian thing.
Together, Boyé and Kelly have penned and performed a piece that will hit countless nerves for actors of all levels. I won’t spoil how the characters know each other or how they’re ultimately connected, but as a feature it’s visually interesting, and an incredible actor showcase that’s far more than a transparent showreel. Break a Leg is a sizzling piece of character horror when it’s the pair on screen alone, growing to slowly hate each other with each passing moment, but loses something when the cast expands during the finale. Not only is the arrival accompanied by some of the most gross and disgusting ASMR open‑mouthed chewing, it also loses considerable wind from its sails when it tries to justify why so few people are present for the so‑called audition. It simply doesn’t have the same level of purpose as before, and even worse, it becomes confused and convoluted, to the extent that the prior clean logic of two people trapped in a space but unable to leave starts to fade. Now that may be a little dramatic, but the point remains that Kaitlyn Boyé’s Break a Leg is an incredible showcase for the unseen and underappreciated actor that fails to stick the landing.
BREAK A LEG SHOWED AT PANIC FEST 2026
