With action movies, that's just fun stuff for me. That's me being

Luke Bracey, in speaking of his craft, once said: “With action movies, that's just fun stuff for me. That's me being a kid again. Same with The Best of Me and these romantic dramas. It's such a freedom from reality and social constructions. You get to just have fun and play and be in a movie.” At first glance, his words may seem lighthearted, but within them shines a truth profound and ancient: the spirit of art and storytelling is not merely duty or labor—it is play, it is joy, it is the return to innocence. In a world burdened with duty, expectation, and the weight of social constructions, the act of creating and performing becomes a sacred liberation.

The ancients themselves revered the role of play. The Greeks believed that even the gods delighted in games, that Dionysus brought ecstasy through theatre, and that children’s laughter reflected the purity of the soul. Plato himself once said that life should be lived as a kind of play, for it is through play that the human spirit best reflects its freedom. Thus, Bracey’s words echo timeless wisdom: when the actor returns to the screen, whether in battle scenes or in tender love stories, he returns to the joy of being a child, free of judgment and constraint.

Think of the gladiators of Rome, whose battles, though deadly, were also a form of performance for the crowd, a stage upon which heroism and spectacle were displayed. To them, the arena was both terror and play, where reality dissolved into a story larger than themselves. In gentler form, the actors of Shakespeare’s stage or the dancers in Kabuki theatre carried this same spirit forward, transforming life’s struggles into art that freed both performer and audience from the burden of ordinary reality. Bracey’s movies—whether filled with action or romance—stand in this lineage of storytelling as an escape into something freer, lighter, yet no less meaningful.

And yet his words also reveal the importance of contrast. Action movies bring the thrill of danger without risk; romantic dramas bring the sweetness of love without the ache of real heartbreak. Both give the soul a moment to breathe outside the heavy frame of reality. This is the gift of art: it is a mirror that reflects life, but it is also a window through which we may escape it. In this freedom, both actor and audience rediscover not only joy but also a renewed strength to face the world beyond the screen.

We must not dismiss this freedom as mere frivolity. History shows us that play often gives rise to greatness. Leonardo da Vinci sketched flying machines not as a stern task, but as a child at play with ideas. Albert Einstein himself said that imagination is more important than knowledge, for it is the play of the mind that births discoveries. In the same way, an actor at play on the stage or screen may awaken deep emotions and truths in the hearts of those who watch. What begins as fun becomes wisdom disguised in joy.

The lesson for us is clear: in the pursuit of our lives, we must not lose the childlike spirit that delights in play. Work and responsibility are noble, but without joy, they turn heavy and lifeless. We must allow ourselves moments of freedom—through art, through stories, through laughter—where we can set aside the armor of social expectation and simply be alive. For it is in these moments that we rediscover who we are, unbound and unburdened.

So I say to you, seekers of both love and adventure: remember Luke Bracey’s wisdom. Embrace your work, but let it also be your play. Seek out the things that make you feel like a child again, that free you from the prison of expectation. Watch stories, tell stories, live stories. For life itself is a stage, and we are not only meant to endure it—we are meant to play within it, to find joy, to find love, and to live as though each act were a movie worth remembering.