In May of this year, filming wrapped up for the TV series "The Preview of Farewell to the Foolish Path". As usual, Tian Jiarui wrote a wrap-up essay for the character Bie Fan she played in the series. Rewinding to before filming began, when Tian Jiarui first read the script, what came to mind was not the lines, but the rhythm: a rhythm that was slowed down, lengthened, and dulled.
Performance details are merely supplementary; the character's psychological motivations are the foundation. Long before Tian Jiarui conceived the specific actions, he had already deeply analyzed Bie Fan's psychological motivations. In the play, Bie Fan's unwavering devotion to Fang Haowen stems from his unwillingness to lose this sole pillar of support. "Bie Fan couldn't understand anything else, but he memorized the entire book. His lines frequently included phrases like 'What is success?' and 'The book discusses...'" Bie Fan's high regard for Fang Haowen stemmed from the profound inspiration Fang Haowen's book, *What is Success?*, which gave him the strength to pursue his dreams. "However, what Bie Fan yearned for wasn't the science of success itself; he was simply committed to doing what he believed was right." In Tian Jiarui's view, an actor's understanding of a character begins with comprehending the character's fate and hearing their whispered discussions of dreams.
empathize with the character
In the play "The Prelude to Farewell," Tian Jiarui plays Bie Fan, a young chef who is the only fan of Fang Haowen, a writer played by Jia Bing. "What attracted me most to this role was Bie Fan's identity. In life, we can see how they communicate with the outside world, but in reality, it's difficult for us to truly understand their own situation and communication style." This attraction seemed to set the tone for Tian Jiarui's performance, and also like driving a coordinate pin into his body. All the subsequent actions, breathing, and pronunciation had to follow this foundation.
To get closer to this gradually transforming chef, Tian Jiarui first simplified the process. "I looked for documentaries and written materials to understand this type of person, and also watched some short videos to see the real records of ordinary people, studying life without filters." He observed that people like Bie Fan are not incapable of communication: "They have their own world. When someone asks them a question, they need time to think, and they might give an irrelevant answer; when corrected, they don't continue to think, but repeat the same fixed answer." This stubbornness of the character was incorporated into Tian Jiarui's toolbox and became the fulcrum of the role. He designed a language rhythm for him: "His speaking speed is half a beat slower than mine. Although he doesn't know what to say next, he still keeps outputting; when he gets anxious, he shuts up." Dialect is also part of Bie Fan's innate language system. "During the reading, the director let me try a few sentences in dialect, and I incorporated them into the appropriate parts of the plot." In addition, a reverse instruction became Bie Fan's little habit: "When others laugh, he doesn't laugh; when others don't laugh, he laughs." The action scenes were also recalibrated. Bie Fan chases Fang Haowen all the way, so the chase scenes account for a large part of the drama. Bie Fan's running posture will also show great differences and variations in physique. In such details, actor Tian Jiarui carefully arranges natural pauses and delays in the gaps between the character's words. With a subtle and precise rhythm, he guides the breath of each line of dialogue, so that every reaction of the character is as natural as a life, coherent and real, rather than a product of deliberate acting.
"The atmosphere on set was incredibly joyful. I have a low threshold for laughter, especially when acting opposite Bing Ge (Bing Ge), I'm easily amused." Tian Jiarui summarized a golden rule: "In comedy, the information received immediately is quite accurate. If an actor knows a certain part needs to be delivered with a punchline, it's easy to mishandle it. We only rehearsed our lines without any emotion beforehand, and then we just went for it when filming started. Once everyone realizes you're deliberately trying to deliver a punchline, they stop laughing, and you lose your sense of conviction." He wrapped that most genuine bottom line in the three words "sense of conviction."
As her first modern drama, Tian Jiarui admitted that she learned a lot about dialogue delivery and rhythm. "Especially since this role is quite unique, but whether it's a modern or period drama, sincerity is paramount in acting. First, understand the character's fundamental psychological motivations, and deliver the lines from the most authentic psychological perspective; then you don't really need to act." For an actor, a complex role is a triple test of acting skills, insight into human nature, and professional ethics. Clearly, Tian Jiarui abandoned preconceived prejudices and stereotypes in the drama, delving into the inner world of a unique individual, and presenting the character's full humanity with utmost respect and precise technique, in a truthful, believable, and dignified manner.
inner lens
In late August, Tian Jiarui played the poet Guang Weiran in the segment "Yellow River: The Wind Howls and the Horses Neigh" from the TV series "Song of War." Through this role, he stepped into a passionate and profound period of history. As this was a special program commemorating the 80th anniversary of the victory of the Chinese People's War of Resistance Against Japanese Aggression and the World Anti-Fascist War, Tian Jiarui felt both honored and pressured. "Before filming, I only knew about that period of history, but I had never truly experienced the lives of the revolutionary martyrs, making it difficult to fully empathize with their circumstances. Therefore, I could only try to get closer, imagining their feelings through historical materials and other people's accounts. But truly understanding is ultimately difficult, and that's why I felt a lot of pressure." This pressure reached its peak at the moment of costume fitting, but it also suddenly found an outlet.
“Once the character's makeup and costume were completed, I truly resonated with the character, and I could almost see some of the scenes from that time. At that time, every actor on set was fully immersed in the work, and the whole atmosphere was very solemn and dignified. Even if someone was just standing quietly, you could feel the tension in their body. It was the subject matter itself that brought us into such a magnetic field that could not be taken lightly.” Facing his predecessors, Tian Jiarui knew that the risk of distortion came from externalized movements and rhythms. “People in that era were more about the inner drive, the drive to avenge their compatriots, than the movements or the rhythm of their speech.” He chose to suppress his emotions and let the camera capture the barely perceptible tremor.
In shaping his characters, Tian Jiarui always remained true to their authenticity. To this end, he proposed two seemingly contradictory but complementary approaches: combining the principle of "first-time action" with breathing techniques.
The former is attitude, the latter is technique. "My habit is to preserve the authenticity of the moment of performance; doing it too many times will cause me to lose the feeling of the first time." Tian Jiarui trusts the initial spark. "Different methods, but audience conviction is the standard." In order to preserve the freshness of the first performance, he broke down breathing into smaller parts in his undergraduate acting class: there is joy in the form of secret joy and great joy, and sorrow in the form of sobbing and wailing; the breath of secret joy is short and light, the breath of laughter should be exhaled all at once, and despair requires holding one's breath before inhaling: "Use breathing to carry emotions, like turning a key on a hairpin." When actually filming, he first lets the key turn, and then gradually immerses himself in the role, using real emotions to guide the rhythm of his breathing.
Before filming the final scene of "The Feather of the Clouds," Tien Chia-jui locked herself in a small, dark room and spent five minutes adjusting her breathing. "This was the method I used at first, but as I gradually delved deeper into the character Gong Yuanzheng's inner world, I slowly became able to breathe without assistance. It's just an aid, allowing me to find my emotions faster and more accurately." At this point in the interview, Tien Chia-jui's gaze focused on a blank space far ahead, as if she could still see the scene from that moment, returning to that breathless instant, each inhale heavy and real.
From the initial intuitive approach to the delicate grasp of every breath, Tian Jiarui follows the same path: first, use technique to open the door, then let emotions run their course, and finally leave all techniques off-screen, leaving only authenticity in the lens. He admits that the process is like a tug-of-war, "it takes time in the middle," but the destination is always clear—to make the audience believe that at that moment it is not the actor panting, but the character breathing.
Be present in an instant
The transition from the stage lights to the red dot of the camera was not smooth for Tian Jiarui. When he first filmed "Cloud Feathers," he still carried the deep imprint of the stage: "Back then, my acting was different from everyone else's; my pronunciation was clear and my voice was loud." Because the stage requires conveying emotions to the last row and the most secluded seats on the second floor, with thousands of eyes simultaneously acting as the camera, actors must amplify their limbs, lines, and breathing, coordinating these factors to exchange energy with the entire audience. "In film and television shooting, if the movements and expressions fluctuate too much, the person goes out of frame." Tian Jiarui spent a whole week adjusting his acting style, learning to subtly weave the surging stage energy into threads, gently delivering an almost authentic sense of presence into the frame, precisely conveying a natural presence to the camera.
The muscle memory honed on the Happy Twist stage and his unwavering reverence for acting quietly followed him into the world of film and television. "Respect for acting allows an actor to be at ease at all times."
This respect took shape as early as the curtain call of his first commercial performance. During the curtain call, Tian Jiarui raised his hands in three salutes: his right hand to the villagers, his left hand to pay tribute to the help of his predecessors, and the highest salute in the middle to the audience and the patriarch. "At the moment the applause surged, I suddenly realized: the meaning of an actor is to be recognized in the present moment." The feedback from the stage is immediate and overwhelming, while film and television have to wait for broadcast, for online comments, and for the character to be remembered by the audience; but he does not resist this delay, "An actor should be remembered for the character, not for your name. Only when the character can deeply resonate with people can it be said that the actor has successfully created the role."
As for "when he realized he could truly act," Tian Jiarui said he couldn't give a specific timeframe. "An actor can't evaluate whether he can act or not. Besides, there's no such thing as knowing how to act or not. Even a blank slate can act well—playing himself." The so-called epiphany was just when a colleague or audience member patted him on the shoulder and said, "Today's performance was good," and he dared to quietly reply, "It seems alright."
This year marks actor Tian Jiarui's third year in the industry. Although his work and life have become increasingly busy, he is more and more immersed in the present moment. "Do your best to do what you're supposed to do, and take a good rest whenever you have a spare moment." The promise he wrote in his wrap-up essay for "Cloud Feather" remains valid: "I will definitely continue to work hard and be a good actor." This path has no end. The balance between restraint and release, respect and authenticity, are written by Tian Jiarui with respect and passion. Whether facing the camera or a footlight, with just a turn, he can precisely deliver his expression with the right breath and heartbeat.
