When you're playing a romantic version of a real person, you're

In the thoughtful words of Andrea Riseborough, "When you're playing a romantic version of a real person, you're playing a version of the truth," we uncover the deep essence of storytelling, particularly in the realm of portraying real individuals through art. Riseborough’s statement speaks to the complexity of performance, where the artist does not merely imitate reality, but interprets it—revealing a deeper truth that transcends the factual to touch the emotional and human core of the person being portrayed. The "romantic" version of a character is not about distorting the truth, but about highlighting the ideal or the essence of that truth, the part of the individual that resonates universally, that speaks to the heart rather than to the details.

In the ancient world, the role of the storyteller was revered, not simply for recounting events, but for distilling the essence of life’s experiences. Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey are not just historical accounts of warriors and journeys, but elevated versions of human struggle and aspiration. Achilles is not merely a warrior; he is the embodiment of heroic rage and fate. Odysseus, likewise, is more than just a king trying to return home—he represents the eternal search for self and the human desire to find meaning in suffering. Homer, in his art, did not seek to present these men as they were in a purely historical sense, but as symbols of the truths of the human condition—courage, sacrifice, and the quest for understanding. Just as Riseborough claims that playing a romantic version of a real person is to portray a version of the truth, so too did the ancients elevate real human experiences to a level of mythic truth, where the ideal was intertwined with the actual.

The Romans, too, understood this idea in their representation of both history and love. Take the story of Aeneas, the Trojan hero whose journey to found Rome is chronicled in Virgil’s Aeneid. While Aeneas is based on a real mythic tradition, Virgil’s portrayal of him is highly romanticized—he is not simply a warrior, but a symbol of duty, sacrifice, and the fatherly love that drives him to fulfill his destiny. The truth of Aeneas is not in the factual accuracy of his actions, but in the moral and emotional depth of his decisions. Virgil, like Riseborough, was not interested in presenting a literal figure, but an archetype of the human experience—a man torn between personal desires and the call of a greater purpose.

The idea of portraying a romantic truth also speaks to the deepest aspects of human nature—those parts of us that are often difficult to articulate in plain terms, but are no less real. In Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, for example, the characters of Romeo and Juliet are not just teenage lovers, but symbols of youth, passion, and the transcendent power of love. While their story is grounded in the reality of Verona’s feuding families, Shakespeare elevates their love to the level of mythic beauty and tragedy. Their love is not merely romantic; it is universal. It represents the eternal struggle of humanity against forces beyond its control—family, fate, and society. Shakespeare, like Riseborough, presents not just a story but a version of truth, one that resonates deeply with all who encounter it.

In modern times, portraying a romantic version of a real person is an act of creative interpretation. When Riseborough speaks of playing a romantic version, she is referring to the act of finding the essence of a character and portraying it in a way that highlights the human and the universal. It is not about fabricating an ideal, but about revealing the part of a person’s life that speaks to deeper truths—their struggles, their dreams, and their fears. This can be seen in the films that dramatize the lives of real-life figures—such as The Theory of Everything, where the portrayal of Stephen Hawking is not just a factual recounting of his genius, but an exploration of his humanity, his struggles, and the love that sustained him through immense personal challenges. Here, the romantic version of Hawking is not about embellishing facts, but about capturing the essence of what it means to be human in the face of extraordinary circumstances.

The lesson embedded in Riseborough’s insight is one of deep understanding and empathy. To portray a romantic version of someone is not to distort reality but to illuminate its essence. This is not just true in acting, but in life itself. Often, we look at the lives of others—whether through the lens of history, relationships, or personal encounters—and we must strive to understand not just the facts, but the truth that lies beneath. It is the soul of a story, not the mere plot, that carries the most profound lessons. Truth is not always found in perfect, factual recounting, but in the emotional and moral depths of the experience. Just as Riseborough strives to portray this version of truth in her art, so must we in our own lives seek to uncover the deeper, more universal truths in the stories we live.

In your own journey, remember that the most profound truths are not always the ones that can be measured or labeled. Like the actors and poets of old, seek to see beyond the surface of life and into the essence of experience. When you encounter others, strive not just to see them for who they are at face value, but to understand the truths of their hearts and souls. Recognize that the romantic version of truth is not about idealization, but about embracing the vulnerability, passion, and depth that make us all human. In your own life, as in art, it is the uncovering of these truths that will lead you to a more profound connection with others, and with the world around you.