Anatomy of Emptiness: The Character Medium—Wanlop Rungkumjad
“As an actor, I need to empty myself as much as possible to allow the character to come through.”
Although Oum—Wanlop Rungkumjad didn’t major in acting or film, life seems to have chosen him to embody characters who are charming, mysterious, and tinged with a sense of destiny that plays tricks on society’s marginalized. It’s as if he’s a medium letting ordinary characters inhabit him.
After leaving the interior design program at Silpakorn University, Oum applied for a position at The Film Factory, an advertising production house known for hosting visionary directors like Wisit Sasanatieng and Pen-Ek Ratanaruang.
Oum worked on the art team and behind the scenes, where his interest in filmmaking began to grow. Eventually, his close friend, Karn Sivaroj Kongsakul, transitioned to directing and invited Aum to audition for the role of ‘Father’ in his debut feature film, Eternity (2010). This marked the starting point of Oum’s journey as an independent actor.
Following that, he portrayed the faceless hero in 36 (2012), the debut feature film by Ter Nawapol Thamrongrattanarit; ‘Anus,’ a young man from a mysterious island in The Island Funeral (2015); a blond fisherman aiding Rohingya refugees in Manta Ray (2018); a young soldier in Anatomy of Time (2021); a hotel worker in Morrison (2023); and, most recently, a migrant worker in Mongrel (2024)—his first time working with an international team.
Yet after completing Anatomy of Time (2021), he found himself burned out from the challenges of freelancing as an actor in an industry where stability is elusive. Alongside his work as a commercial producer, he sought alternative paths, even enrolling in a culinary course to gain certification and pursue job opportunities abroad. While sending job applications to Denmark and honing his cooking skills, the Mongrel (2024) project unexpectedly arose, leading him back to acting.
Our conversation began with Mongrel, before gradually delving into his journey as an independent actor in a land where art seems unimaginable, along with his passion for bringing people’s lives to the screen.
Tell us about your latest project, Mongrel (2024). How was it, and did you find it challenging?
Mongrel is a project by Wei Liang Chiang and You Qiao Yin, Singaporean directors who studied and now live in Taipei, Taiwan. From the beginning of their careers, they’ve been drawn to the topic of migrant workers, particularly the coexistence of migrants and local citizens. In Mongrel (2024), the main characters are Thai, a choice inspired by history: when Taiwan built its main railway line, which remains in operation to this day, Thai workers were brought in to help. After the project ended, some returned home, while others stayed on illegally. This became the story’s foundation.
The directors had watched nearly all of my past works. Before I even read the script, I didn’t know what the story would be about. But they wrote the role using my nickname, already picturing me as the character. Though they auditioned other actors, they ultimately asked me to try for the role. We did two auditions—the first one felt like they wanted to test me, to see if they could push me further. This role required going beyond anything I’d done before, so we went through a second audition and a series of workshops before they chose me.
Over the next four to five months, we had weekly video calls to discuss the role, and in December 2023, I traveled to prepare in person. We held daily workshops where I met with patients, elderly people, children, and animals. I had to learn to drive and pick up more Chinese as well.
Was there anything different about this project compared to previous ones?
Yes, it was an experience I’d been waiting for. I’ve always wanted to work with an international team. In some ways, I feel that Thai crews have certain strengths, but international teams also have their advantages, like better benefits and compensation. I wish the Thai film industry could offer that level of support.
But as an actor, the language of film is universal. Our conversations were grounded in the grammar of cinema, so communication wasn’t difficult.
This project made me proud as an actor. It stretched my potential, took me further, and pushed my abilities to a level I didn’t expect—it gave me goosebumps. I never imagined it would be this vast and far-reaching.
What about working as a freelance actor in Thailand?
After Manta Ray and Anatomy of Time, I felt discouraged about being a freelance actor in Thailand. There seemed to be no way forward. There’s little opportunity to work and still live a basic, sustainable life. It felt almost impossible. I started to consider a new path—cooking. Then, when the Mongrel project came along, I veered back into acting.
Working as an independent actor in Thailand, the roles and projects aren’t diverse enough. They’re mostly the same with minor variations. They don’t spark the imagination, nor do they offer new characters or challenges that push the team and actors to their limits. As a result, I end up having to take on more conventional work. I also looked for more from our country, but Thai films tend to remain in the same place, without space to grow. I believe that many Thai artists and actors are incredibly talented, but they lack projects and roles that bring out their potential.
But beyond being actors, it’s people working in the arts profession as a whole who struggle. Our biggest challenge is the lack of support. Who is responsible for providing that support? I have to ask if our society and our country value art beyond traditional forms and whether they see the worth of those who work in other creative fields. If there’s value, then support is essential.
Support, of course, means budget. It requires a ministry with dedicated funding for the arts. If that budget exists, we need to look closely at how it’s allocated.
Ultimately, it’s the people who matter. They’re the ones who experience art. I believe art enriches people’s lives. We already know that life here is a struggle for survival, but I believe that when people connect with art, it gives them hope and the imagination to dream of a better life.
Let’s go back to the beginning. When did you first think about becoming an actor?
I never really thought about it, but I loved watching movies when I was studying interior design at Silpakorn University. There was a video store nearby, Fame Video, that rented out CDs, DVDs, and alternative films. I would often go and rent movies, which introduced me to a different kind of cinema. When I was younger, I only knew about Hong Kong movies and mainstream Thai films, but Fame Video had alternative and festival films, which really opened up my mind and imagination.
What drew you to those alternative movies?
At the time, I found myself drawn to movies that I didn’t fully understand. They left me with something to interpret and think about afterward. Sometimes my thoughts about them would keep evolving—I’d have new encounters or experiences and reinterpret the films all over again. I enjoy engaging with films in that way.
These kinds of movies made me question the characters: Why did I feel they were real people? It blurred the line between cinema and real life. My favorite part was that they could be anyone in everyday life—their expressions, their speech, even their silence really drew me in.
How would you define ‘actor’?
I like to think of an actor as someone whose role is to embody and communicate everything about that character. An actor conveys the message that the director wants to deliver to the audience—almost like a medium, channeling something from the script to the viewer.
Is there any character you’ve played that you feel a special connection with?
I don’t know if it’s luck, but with every character, I’ve done enough preparation to truly believe in them. At some point, the character and I merge. There must be a path or a process of preparation that leads to that point.
How do you prepare to embody a character?
Let me tell you about a workshop I attended abroad, in Berlin. There, they had us choose an animal to play. I chose a turtle because I was a bit lazy (laughs). But what I discovered was that, for the first time, I didn’t feel like I was Wanlop. I felt like I was actually a turtle—I thought and moved like a turtle. It was the first time I experienced a kind of blank space before stepping into a character.
I try to find a person who closely resembles the character and study their behavior. I naturally enjoy observing people, thinking I might use those observations one day. I collect these details, combine and build on them to create a character that feels real—someone you might actually meet in daily life.
When I prepare before filming, I make notes. Since filming doesn’t always follow the story’s timeline, it’s essential. For instance, we might shoot the tenth scene on the first day. So I make notes about each scene—what happened, how the character feels.
I also create a playlist for key scenes. When preparing, I’ll have a song that quickly helps me jump into the character or scene. For example, if we’re filming scene 84 tomorrow, I prepare with the song today. On set, I stay quiet, listening to my playlist. When it’s time, it’s almost like the music opens a door into the character.
When you listen to the character’s playlist, how does it affect your emotions?
Reading the script or listening to music gives me a kind of blank space, letting me flow with the emotion. What’s exciting is that I’m not forcing myself. I let the feeling take over and notice how different parts of my body respond—how my left eye feels, how the back of my head feels, which muscles twitch to certain parts of the song. If I feel like shouting, I shout. If I feel like holding my breath, I hold it. I focus entirely on whatever I feel at that moment.
Does acting help you understand yourself more?
In many ways, yes. It makes me more aware—of my feelings, my emotions, my body, and my breathing. I think it’s very helpful. But I’m not sure if it helps me understand myself (laughs). It probably helps me understand my own body and even the bodies of others.
Does playing roles frequently change your sense of self?
I don’t think it changes me, but it might. Acting makes me want to understand the reasons or causes behind a person’s expressions as a human being—what they’ve experienced, what they carry, what brings them joy, why their emotions swing, why they feel angry. I want to understand people. It’s not necessarily out of kindness; it could even be selfishness since it serves as material I can draw on for acting. But I genuinely want to understand.
As an actor, Wanlop Rungkumjad, the more I understand people, the more I need to make myself as empty as possible—empty in a way that doesn’t carry any trace of Wanlop. I need to be completely blank. There shouldn’t be any personal thoughts, just an empty space to allow the character, that other human being, to come through. It’s about getting to know it and then letting it go at the same time.
What is the true identity of ‘Wanlop Rungkumjad’?
I don’t think I have a specific identity. I mean, I live simply—I don’t stand out. I wake up, drink coffee, go out to the garden, look at trees, pick leaves. I enjoy cooking and eating. It’s all very simple, so I feel like it doesn’t really affect me.
But if you ask what my identity is, I’d like to think of myself as that empty space that can support others (both people and characters—the writer). I’d rather be remembered that way. I like this version of myself, the one that’s just an empty space.
Why do you love acting?
I love the blend of fear and boldness in acting, which I see as a beauty in creating a character’s life and making it more complete. Every time I act, I get goosebumps—I feel a sense of energy and happiness in conveying something meaningful.
Speaking honestly, I don’t feel the need to be famous. But I do want the chance to keep conveying something, to keep sharing through acting.
What is your driving force in life right now?
My driving force is the opportunity to pursue what I love and am passionate about, to keep doing this for the rest of my life. It would be wonderful if that could also support a normal life—making a living, taking care of my family and parents. It’s not complicated, but it’s not easy either.
