Sure, I treat every take like a pawn move—each angle is a potential fork on the board. I line up the crew like rooks, the lights like bishops, and the actors as my knights, so I can shift a line of sight or a dolly with the same grace as a bishop’s diagonal. I keep a color‑coded binder of scenes, like a chess notation sheet, so I know exactly where each piece sits and when I can castle into a tight shot. When a constraint comes up—say a tight hallway—I improvise a flank attack, using the walls as my opponent’s king’s corner. The trick is to plan the endgame: maximize coverage, keep downtime like a king in check, and always have a backup mate ready. It’s the same rhythm I use in rehearsal rituals, and it keeps the set from feeling like a check‑mate for the director.

Absolutely, I always keep a hidden move—like a backup script or an unscripted monologue—ready in case the director drops a surprise check. Keeps the game fair and the drama flowing.