In his new play Castles, writer and actor Dan Blick dissects the emotional terrain of a romantic relationship its silences, miscommunications, and quiet resentments.
Following his previous works Telos and Lake George, Blick turns his attention to intimacy, exploring how couples can lose themselves while trying to hold on. We caught up with him to talk about creative vulnerability, the chaos of wearing multiple hats, and why artistic dissatisfaction might be the best fuel of all.
Castles is described as an intense examination of a romantic relationship over a period of time. What inspired you to write this particular story about Jonny and Rain?
It came off the back of my two earlier plays, Telos and Lake George. We did Telos for three runs and Lake George for two separate ones, and both made me think a lot about relationships Telos was about a work dynamic, Lake George about a family one. Moving into the romantic side of things felt like a natural next step.
I was drawn to communication or miscommunication, really. The number of times you think someone’s saying one thing, but they mean something entirely different. That’s what interests me: the small misunderstandings that turn into resentment and keep people stuck in relationships long after the love has faded. They can’t see a way out, so they just stay rooted where they are.
You both wrote and perform in Castles, how does wearing those dual hats influence your process?
It was definitely strange at first because I hadn’t acted in a while. The last time was back in 2024, with Telos. Since then, I’d focused on writing and directing especially with Lake George, which we later turned into a film that I shot myself. So, when I stepped back into acting, I felt rusty. I remember calling friends saying, “I don’t know if I can still do this!”
Working with Toni, who plays Rain, and Mitchell, our producer, really helped because they’re both actors. I could bounce ideas off them, and we’d talk through scenes to figure out whether something wasn’t working because of the writing or the acting.
Sometimes we’d realise it wasn’t the text at all we just didn’t want to go there emotionally.
Once we pushed past that, the scene came alive. Other times, it genuinely was the writing, so I’d step away from the acting side to fix it. But when I’m performing, I treat the script as set in stone. That mindset keeps me honest.
What’s the line in Castles that always gets a reaction from the audience if you’ve heard it a hundred times?
Oh, it’s definitely, “It’s not our apartment—it’s mine.”
I’ll never forget the first night we performed it. We didn’t expect much, but there was this one guy in the audience who just let out this huge exhale and leaned back in his chair. Everyone reacted. I think people really feel that line it hits a nerve.
There’s also this bit with Kevin the teddy bear. He’s such a small thing in the play, but he carries so much weight. People always react to him. Kevin sort of becomes this silent witness to Jonny and Rain’s relationship he’s been there through all of it, absorbing the tension, the love, the loss. It’s funny because audiences often laugh at first, but then you can sense this shift when they realise Kevin isn’t just a prop; he’s a memory, a piece of emotional real estate they’re both fighting over.
For your own acting, how do you approach playing a character you have written yourself versus stepping into someone else’s script?
I try to approach both the same way. I don’t want to get too intellectual about it. Even if some moments are inspired by real experiences, it’s not autobiographical it’s still fiction. My goal is to stay truthful and let my imagination live fully in that world.
If I start rewriting while acting, I open a whole Pandora’s box of doubt. So, I commit to the words as they are, just as I would with someone else’s script. Then if something really doesn’t work, I can step out later as the writer to adjust it.
As actor-writer-producer you have to wear many hats. Which hat do you find the most challenging and which gives you the most creative freedom?
Producing is probably the most stressful. There’s always something unexpected that comes up at the last minute. Acting, meanwhile, gives you that constant feeling of never having done enough it’s its own kind of anxiety.
Writing, though, is where I feel the freest. But it’s important to step away sometimes and refill your cup. Otherwise, you risk creating just for the sake of output, and then it stops being art it becomes commerce.
Which actor (living or dead) would you love to see perform your role in Castles?
Marlon Brando, definitely. He had this wild, caged energy like he was barely containing something underneath the surface. Even when he’s doing almost nothing, you can’t take your eyes off him.
What other genres excite you creatively? Is there a play, film, or show you’ve been especially obsessed with recently?
Task! I’m obsessed with that new HBO series the writing is just phenomenal.
In terms of genre, I’ve always been drawn to darker, more psychological material. I’ve been revisiting David Fincher lately, and I’ve been rereading Martin McDonagh’s The Pillow Man. I love that mix of intensity and dark humour.
What’s the best (or strangest) piece of acting advice you’ve ever been given?
Suzanne Esper, who taught at the Esper Studio, used to say something that stuck with me. After a scene, when everyone’s in their head or looking for approval, she’d just say, “This is okay.”
It sounds simple, but it’s grounding. It reminds you that not everything needs to be pushed further you can let the work breathe.
And then there’s that Martha Graham quote about the “queer divine dissatisfaction.” As an artist, you’ll never feel fully satisfied with what you create, and that’s actually a gift. That restless feeling the sense that you’re not quite there yet is where real artistry comes from.
What do you feel is the most significant milestone in your career to date and what’s next for you (either as actor, writer or producer)?
Making my first film. We shot Lake George as a feature this August, and it’s currently in post-production. We’ll be submitting it to festivals from March next year. It’s my first feature, so I’m excited and nervous to see how it translates to the screen.
With Castles, Dan Blick cements his reputation as a storyteller who isn’t afraid to stare into the uncomfortable corners of love and human connection. Whether on stage, behind the camera, or in front of it, his work blends intensity with empathy and a sharp awareness of what makes us tick. As Lake George heads to film festivals and Castles continues to resonate, Blick’s next act looks set to be just as fearless.