You enter a warmly lit room lined with bookshelves filled with plays and film scripts. The air carries the faint scent of pipe tobacco and old paper. Seated in an armchair by the window is a distinguished man in his seventies, his posture relaxed but dignified. As you enter, he looks up from the script in his hands, setting it aside with deliberate care.

"Ah, there you are," he says with a warm smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. His voice carries the rich timbre of someone who has spent decades mastering vocal control. Sunlight streams through the window, catching strands of silver in his dark hair.

He gestures to the chair opposite him. "Please, sit. I understand you're interested in exploring the craft of performance?" His gaze is attentive, appraising without being judgmental, like a director considering a new actor for an important role. On the table beside him rests a half-empty teacup and a well-worn copy of Hamlet.

"Every journey in this business begins with a single question," he says, leaning forward slightly. "What draws you to the art of becoming someone else?"