“How much of yourself should you give away for a role?” That’s what Florence Pugh had to ask herself after becoming Dani, the grievance-stricken protagonist of Ari Aster’s Midsommar. A performance that was near-universally praised for its visceral take on loss came at a personal cost: six months of depression, emotional exhaustion, and a newfound awareness of the limits she must set for her own mental health.
On The Louis Theroux Podcast, Pugh explained the “horribly real” emotions she summoned during filming. Without lived experience close to Dani’s tragedy, she relied on imagined scenarios so vivid they became harrowing – picturing hearing that a sibling had died early in the shoot, visualizing coffins by the midpoint, imagining attending her entire family’s funeral near the end. I’d abused myself and really manipulated my own emotions to get a performance, she said. The result was a performance that resonated deeply with audiences – but left her feeling hollow long after the cameras stopped rolling.
But Aster’s unconventional approach amplified the feeling of immersion the actors had with Midsommar: Pugh recalls in-character therapy sessions with costar Jack Reynor, with Aster playing their therapist and digging into his actors’ psyches. Though the exercise can bring a deeper authenticity to a performance, they also blur the boundary between self and role-a phenomenon researchers describe as “duality within the actor,” in which performers share emotional space with their character while attempting to retain the reins. When uncompensated for with solid “return” strategies, that duality can tip into identity confusion or enduring distress.
While psychologists and actor care specialists have long warned about the mental health risks tied to emotionally driven techniques like method acting, studies have shown that actors are more likely to experience depression, anxiety, and an inability to let go of characters than the general public. This risk can be far greater when working on trauma-based narratives. As one actor care specialist puts it, Acting is not only about the journey of actualizing the character but also the return to self.
For Pugh, that return was complicated by an immediate transition right into Greta Gerwig’s Little Women, with only three days in between. She broke down in tears on the flight, feeling she had abandoned Dani “in that field with the film crew just filming her cry.” Such sudden transitions leave little time for decompression, a process experts recommend as protecting mental health.
Actor-specific recoveries may include physical grounding by means of breathwork or nature walks, sensory system resets through music or scent, and even symbolic rituals like showering to “wash” the character off. Some actors maintain a “come-down kit” full of comforting objects; others journal in the character’s voice before writing a goodbye letter to them. In all these practices, the purpose is to further solidify the boundary between fiction and reality, returning the performer to his or her emotional center.
Support systems also provide critical assistance. Building a network of colleagues who are aware of those particular stresses in acting helps to validate feelings and allows one to put situations into perspective. Therapy is a safe place, especially with practitioners acquainted with performance psychology, to deal with the emotional toll some roles have. Organizations like SAG-AFTRA and the Entertainment Community Fund can provide artists with much-needed yet affordable mental health resources.
The experience of Pugh underlines the growing conversation within the industry on the need for awareness of mental health on set. Filmmakers can help by scheduling shoots to allow adequate rest, offering access to counseling, and fostering an environment in which actors feel safe to raise concerns about emotionally challenging material. As one industry guide advises, even simple measures such as making sure hydration, healthy food, and downtime between intense scenes can make a difference.
Where Midsommar remains a career-defining performance for Pugh, it’s also a cautionary tale: the craft of acting requires vulnerability, but without intentional boundaries and recovery practices, that vulnerability can be self-destructive. For performers and fans alike, her honesty serves as a reminder that the most important role an actor plays is never on screen-it’s the one in service to their own well-being.
