Elena Schick is an American actress making a rise in the film industry! With several exciting projects in the works, Elena shared her insights and experiences in an exclusive interview. Read below our Q & A with actress Elena Schick to discover more about her journey, upcoming films, and her inspiration as an actress.
Q: Where are you originally from and where are you based now?
Elena Schick -A: I’m from Southwest Philly – born and bred. I was raised on corner stoops, Sunday gravy, and the kind of love that’s loud, loyal, and occasionally yelled from across the street. Southwest Philly didn’t just shape me—it straight-up chiseled me. It gave me my voice, my grit, and my perfected side-eye that I honed crossing busy intersections, daring any car to even think about not stopping. (Spoiler: They always stopped. The eyes don’t lie.)
I learned early that life doesn’t hand you much—you gotta earn it, speak up for it, and sometimes give it a good ol’ Philly eye roll when it tries to sell you nonsense. And that eye roll? A work of art. Crafted in the classrooms of St. Irenaeus-Raphael and sharpened at West Catholic High for Girls, where the nuns had hearts of gold and nerves of steel. They taught us how to walk into a room like we belonged there—even if our knees were shaking.
Then I got to Penn, and that world cracked wide open. I learned how to question, how to think bigger, and how to see past the four corners of my block without ever forgetting where I came from. I still carry that duality—the streetwise instinct and the Ivy League lens. Both live in me. Both fuel me.
These days, I live in Delco. Still close enough to hear SEPTA screechin’ in the distance, still close enough to run out for a WaWa hoagie and be back before the Eagles kick off. That Philly pulse? It’s in my bloodstream. In my blunt honesty. In the way I can sniff out BS from across the room and still smile sweetly while doing it.
So yeah, I’m based in Delco now. But Southwest Philly is forever inked into my DNA. It fuels my work, my hustle, and my humor. It taught me how to survive. How to show up. And how to own every room I walk into—even if that room starts with a crosswalk.
Q: As a rising actress in the industry, what motivates and inspires you to be the best at your profession? And who are your top 3 favorite actors, filmmakers, or directors you’d love to work with?
Elena Schick -A: What motivates me? The glorious, exhausting, don’t-you-dare-quit grind. The rejection emails I read in my inbox right before logging into a Zoom meeting for my legal job. The self-tape I squeeze in at midnight after a full day of writing legal briefs for the freakin’ Pennsylvania Supreme Court. The PTO hours I burn – not on beaches, but on buses—four-hour rides to audition for fifteen-minute roles, then turning right back around so I can be back at my desk by morning. Glamorous? Not even close. But real? Oh, absolutely.
This isn’t a side hustle. This is soul work. This is who I am, down to the bone marrow. Acting is the air I breathe and the heartbeat under every court filing I submit. I don’t dabble—I bleed for it. I am all in for it.
I bring every piece of my life to my work—the joy, the grief, the sleepless nights, and the years I stepped away to care for my Mom and Pop as a full-time hospice caretaker. That chapter broke me open in ways I’m still unfolding. It taught me how to sit in silence. How to hold space. How to love and let go in the same breath. That depth, that stillness, that ache—it’s in me now. And it shows up in every character I play.
I’m drawn to actors who make me feel like I’m watching someone live, not perform. Kathy Bates. Frances McDormand. Viola Davis. Women who don’t pretend to feel something—they live it on camera. They’re messy, raw, and honest in a way that makes you sit up straighter in your seat. That’s the kind of work I chase. That’s the bar I hold myself to.
And when I think about dream collaborators? It’s the Philly greats—Bradley Cooper, Brad Ingelsby, Colman Domingo, Da’Vine Joy Randolph, Tina Fey, and Quinta Brunson. People who don’t just make great work—they make real work. Gritty, human, unflinching. The kind of stories that punch you in the gut and stay with you in the car ride home. That’s where I want to live as an actor—in the thick of it, in the heartbreak and humor, in the stuff that doesn’t wrap up clean. And if that means I have to film a scene in the back of a Wawa parking lot with one hour of sleep and my hair full of dry shampoo? I’m all in. I’ll bring the hoagie.
Q: What are your favorite genre roles?
Elena Schick -A: Give me the ones who are barely holding it together. The women who smile while unraveling. The ones who cry in the car, scream into the void, pull themselves together with a bobby pin and some dry shampoo and still show up. That’s my sweet spot. That’s where I live as an actor.
I’m not here for polished. I’m not chasing picture-perfect. I’m after roles that are lived in—wrinkled, bruised, honest. Characters with chipped nail polish and laundry they keep forgetting to fold. People who’ve been through it and carry that weight in their walk, their silences, and their side glances. The ones who don’t say what they feel right away, because real people don’t always have the words. And when it finally spills out? You feel it in your bones.
I want to sit in the tension. In the “almost said.” In the crack between what a character’s showing and what they’re hiding. Because that’s where truth lives.
Think Mare of Easttown, The Bear, Unbelievable, and The Morning Show—those shows where a single moment over a sink full of dishes says more than an entire courtroom speech. Where a quiet breath, a subtle twitch, a flicker behind the eyes tell you everything you need to know. Those are my people. That’s my genre.
Because I’ve lived it, too. I’ve held grief in one hand and sarcasm in the other. I’ve gone from writing a legal brief to sobbing over an empty bottle of wine because I miss my parents so much I physically ache from the sadness and the grief. I’ve laughed when all I wanted to do was scream, and I’ve screamed when I should’ve stayed quiet.
And all of that? That beautiful, chaotic, fully human mess—I bring it into every role. Every damn breath on screen.
So no, I don’t want easy. I want real. I want raw. I want roles that leave a bruise—in the best way.
Q: Can you share what projects you’re working on right now?
Elena Schick -A: Right now, I’m filming a limited series for Hulu and working on an indie biopic about JFK Jr.—both pushing me in ways I didn’t even know I needed. Different tones, different muscles, same fire. These projects are stretching me, thrilling me, and reminding me that the “yes” is always worth the ten “no’s” before it.
I just wrapped a biopic about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., a horror feature where I got to scream like I meant it (and I meant it), an indie drama, a comedy short, and a dramedy that hit me right in the feels. These weren’t just jobs—they were emotional marathons disguised as productions.
In Mister Pot Pie, a completely bonkers and brilliant comedy short, I played Mandy—a deadpan, no-nonsense job interviewer conducting a Zoom call that goes totally sideways when she has a coughing fit and passes out on camera. It was absurd, physical, dry, weird, and honestly? A dream. I love comedy that catches you off guard—like you’re laughing before you realize how sad or strange it really is.
Then there was Octopus, a dramedy short where I played Angela, an overworked, overtired ER nurse trying to throw together an anniversary dinner with a foil-wrapped bottle of old wine, a candle from Bed Bath & Beyond, and a Costco rotisserie chicken. And just when you think the night can’t get worse? She discovers her husband’s secret addiction to… octopus porn. Yup. That happened. And I played the hell out of it. Because Angela? She was all of us. Trying. Failing. Still loving. Still showing up.
And in the indie feature The Impact Factor, I played Jayla’s Mom—a single mother wrestling with addiction and desperately trying not to lose her daughter or herself. It was raw. It was painful. And I gave it everything. Because I don’t judge my characters—I walk into the fire with them. I want to understand them, to live in their skin, to tell the truth, even when it’s ugly.
All of this while still working full-time, writing legal briefs for the Pennsylvania Supreme Court. I memorize lines on lunch breaks. I tape auditions in my kitchen with the microwave beeping in the background. I rehearse monologues on the bathroom floor while dinner’s in the oven. Glamorous? Not even a little. But it’s real. And it’s mine.
Every time I step on set, I know I fought for that moment. I earned it. I sacrificed for it. And I bring all of me—the loss, the laughter, the Ivy League degree, the late nights, the Philly fire—to every scene. This isn’t just something I do. This is who I am.
Q: What hobbies or other talents do you have or like to do in your spare time?
Elena Schick -A: Spare time is rare. Like, “unicorn with a good credit score” rare. But when I get it? I live the hell out of it.
After years of being a full-time hospice caretaker for both my Mom and Pop, I stopped waiting for the “perfect moment” to start living. I’ve seen up close how fragile it all is. So now? I soak it in. Every messy, magical, ridiculous second.
Sometimes that means curling up with a book that wrecks me in the best way. Sometimes it means getting lost in a movie so deep I forget I’m still holding my water bottle. I’ve been slowly (and I mean sloooowly) teaching myself piano—one painfully plunked note at a time. And if a time step suddenly sneaks out while I’m doing dishes? So be it. My kitchen is my stage, and the mop is my dance partner.
But my real happy place? My family. Laughing too hard with my husband, Ed. Long, winding chats and inside jokes with my daughter, Darragh, and her amazing husband, Shawn. Belly rubs and tail wags with their dog, Sophie—who looks like a stuffed animal, is smarter, and has better hair than most humans I know. And then there are their four red-eared slider turtles—who I lovingly call ,“The Ninja Turtles,” obviously. They’ve never said a word to me, but you know they’re silently judging and plotting turtle world domination. I respect it.
These moments—unfiltered, ordinary, real—they fill me up. They remind me who I am when the cameras are off. And truthfully? They make me a better actor. Because acting isn’t just about technique and learning lines—it’s about living fully. Laughing when it’s inconvenient. Dancing when nobody’s watching. Crying over nothing and everything.
I don’t just live for the big scenes—I live for all the scenes. Because life, in all its weirdness and wonder, is the best training there is as an actor.
Q: Elena, can you share your official social sites?
(AKA: I Post Rarely But Authentically, and I’m Learning, OK?):
I’m on Instagram: @elenamschick
Now, full disclosure—I’ve got maybe two posts up – one is a shout out from my incredible acting coach – Adria Tennor, and the other is a win that I posted about when I booked the supporting role in the indie biopic, JFK, Jr. Social media and I are still getting to know each other. I know it’s important, and I know it’s a tool—but right now, it’s mostly a beautiful mess. Like me.
I’m learning, though. Just like I learned how to juggle filming and filing court briefs. Just like I learned how to cry on cue and type 80 words per minute. It’s all part of the ride. If you stick around, you’ll get the whole truth: the auditions, the behind-the-scenes chaos, the bathroom-floor line reads, the early call times, and the post-wrap hoagie joy.
Because the last thing I want to be is one of those accounts that looks perfect and leaves you feeling worse. Nope. You’re getting the real me. Bad lighting, great roles, wrinkled scripts, Philly sass, emotional truth, and probably one too many Sophie and Ninja Turtle pics.
And yes—I still say LOL. Is it outdated? Probably. Am I still saying it anyway? Absolutely. Because I’m a proud, nerdy work-in-progress with a heart the size of a SEPTA bus and no plans to pretend otherwise.
So follow along if you’re into the long game. The real stuff. The good stuff. The rising star that refuses to be anything but herself.
Coverphoto Credit: Dana Patrick
