I was drawn to Sage for everything she didn’t try to hide. Her pain lived on the surface, and she didn’t bother disguising it to be palatable. That felt so rare for a character - especially for a woman. I usually get cast as the strong one (Uulan in Gateway To The West), the entitled one (Clara Livingston in Bridgerton), the polished, fuckable one that couldn’t possibly have a past. But Sage was different. And I was ready to portray someone different - someone flawed and complex who walks amongst us. I thought, this is a character that needs her moment on screen. I thought, this role could save someone.

I believe Sage came to me at the moment she was meant to - the universe doing what it does. I was offered the role while I was going through the early stages of grief myself, so I understood exactly what kind of truth the story needed from me. I had also hoped the process would be cathartic and help me release something I couldn’t in my own life. I wanted to see what would happen if I stood in front of a camera, a crew, and an audience - and allowed myself to be soft, fractured, and real. I wanted to know what that would heal. And what progressive conversations it might start.

I was so excited for this challenge, but I knew I had to protect myself - I had to build Sage as someone entirely separate from me. Our brains don’t really know the difference between imagined experiences and real ones - so I gave her traits that grounded her outside of me: a beauty spot, natural unkept hair, body language that made no attempt to appear confident. Skin flawed and uncovered. This was a girl who had given up on this world and was craving escape - not attention. She was not here to be consumed by the male gaze, not here to perform strength for strangers. And I needed her to be seen for that.

Many things helped me become Sage, but what I found most helpful was the playlist I built for her. The pages I wrote about her childhood. Invented moments that didn’t exist in the script but lived quietly in her body. I think that’s what made my performance believable - not what’s said, but what’s carried.

I’ve watched it three times now, and though the ending is so poignant, there wasn’t a single scene that stood out during filming - because every scene mattered in telling the truth of Sage’s decline.

What really stuck with me was the quiet devastation of a woman disconnecting from life, bit by bit. I know the people watching who have lived through trauma, grief, and mental health collapse, will feel that in their bones.

It’s not stylised pain or glossy suffering. It’s not curated to be desirable. It’s made for the human gaze, the kind that sees without needing to understand.

I learnt so much from filming Diary Of A Ghost, mostly, the importance of returning to yourself. Just like after intimate scenes, you need a moment of re-entry. A high five to snap you out of it. A laugh. A grounding word. And there was no green room or trailer due to the speed of the shoot, so I carved out little corners of stillness for myself that allowed me to be uninterrupted on my journey from Genevieve to Sage and back again. I was proud of how I protected my process - setting boundaries, making space, staying focused. The former TeamGB athlete and military brat really showed up in me: if I do something, I go all in. And I want it to be great. I’m a total perfectionist and give every role my soul.

I’m so glad we had such an incredible crew, and that Oda, our BTS photographer, captured such profound moments (unknowingly, in silence), as I regretfully didn’t take many photos. I didn’t chat much on set. I came to honour the work - and Sage. She was messy, pure, loving, ghosted by the world, and I think there’s power in showing that kind of woman with honesty.

Note to reader: I really hope Sage moves you when you find the right moment for Diary Of A Ghost to hold and guide you. And please don’t hesitate to reach out to share your experience of how it affected you.

If you’d like to read more about my journey as an actress subscribe to my Substack. Love,

Genevieve Chenneour x