Today we’d like to introduce you to Kim Cavell.
Hi Kim, we’d love for you to start by introducing yourself.
Growing up, I had a lot of interests — I was athletic, artistic, competitive. I “played army and spies,” I wrote stories, drew, played sports. I remember writing a poem about abuse that was so convincing my high school teacher called my mum in for questions. That kind of imagination wasn’t always encouraged, but it never really went away.
Soccer-obsessed, people would’ve guessed that might have been my path. Me too — until I found out how little female players were paid. I thought, that can’t be the job for me. I want to be rich. When I was seven or eight, I visited a friend’s house — 6,000 square feet, six or seven bedrooms, big yard. That felt more like me. Not the status of it, but the freedom and possibilities. It’s taboo to grow up modestly and have ambitious ideas. It’s not encouraged. And in later life, I realized it irritates a lot of people.
Someone from the BBC spoke at our high school when I was 15 or 16. She talked about what she had loved growing up and how it had led to a career in film and TV. It got me thinking. So I applied to do Media Studies. My head of year and other teachers advised against it — I was “too academic” to “waste” a GCSE on something creative. I went back and insisted. He said the program was full. I found out two weeks later it wasn’t — but now it had closed.
I was secretly making little films and editing them on my camcorder, looking up the prices of LA apartments, and contacting production companies. A lot of acting programs in the UK didn’t quite resonate. But my real dream was film acting — and it was America.
I did well in school. I was on the gifted list, studied hard, and got into a top UK university to study Business. I could hear the sigh of relief from others. But as the end of year drew closer, I had a sinking feeling in my gut. This wasn’t for me. Outside of school I wasn’t making great decisions. My dad died suddenly when I was 16, and I felt misguided and alone.
Last minute, I switched to a media course — and after one week in university, I dropped out. I deferred a year to take some time to think. I got my old job back and saved to go to Australia. While working in a quiet hostel, I spent time on the beach, reading, thinking, healing. For someone who’s a slow reader, I was flying through acting books. It was a clear sign: I wanted to tell stories.
At some point not long after my dad passed, my family went to see a medium — not something we usually did. We weren’t raised spiritual, so it felt kind of random, like a favor to someone. But the moment I sat down, she looked at me and said:
“You have to go to America.”
No one knew I was planning that.
Then she said — your Dad says— “Don’t focus on boys or money. Just go for it. You might work for peanuts for a while, but you’ll make it.”
She said she saw me on television — not just here, but in Europe, in Asia.
She asked if I’d been on the news or something. I hadn’t.
But I told her I was planning to go to America to act.
She said, “That’s why.”
And then came the line I’ve never forgotten:
He’s saying “Make them see you as a star. Don’t try to blend in.”
That’s one of the only things I’ve ever treated like a rule.
I went back to university to do Media Production. Pitched a short documentary that got made — but I was frustrated to learn we couldn’t act in our own or each other’s fictional films. I took separate acting classes and also joined the drama society. That was completely out of my comfort zone. I didn’t fit in, but it didn’t matter — everyone was very welcoming. I auditioned for a play — based on a true crime case I actually knew a lot about — and something clicked. In the audition, I dropped in. I believed the words. I welled up. It was real, not forced, and I could feel it landed. That moment gave me clarity.
I started seriously considering acting full-time. But traditional acting schools were out of my budget.
Then I got an email about auditions in London for a school in LA. I went in thinking it was a practice run. I got in — on a talent-based scholarship.
I dropped out of university again, moved in with a friend’s parents, worked as their chef, and saved what I could.
I landed in Los Angeles. Something happened very early on that changed the roadmap. After a party I threw got out of hand — the cops showed up more than once and I was fined — I kicked people out. Abruptly. I wasn’t rude, but I wasn’t nice either. That pissed someone off, and for the rest of the year, I was iced out of everything. No roles. No real explanation. Just silence.
Was I not a good actor? Did I not look good on camera?
I decided to double down on my craft and trust what I thought. A blessing in self-regulation and belief — but it meant I graduated with only my in-class projects and not much else.
After graduation, I stayed in LA, lived off savings, and started making my own work. I burned through a lot of that money quickly — but I learned more than I ever could have in class. I learned what works and what doesn’t. I learned how to plan, how to fail, how to keep going.
I made a short film that made me eligible for the union. I shot a trailer for a feature I wanted to pitch. We raised money. We lost money. Another lesson. When 2020 hit, I started writing every day. I still do. I’ve probably written six or seven feature scripts. Some no one will ever see. Some scenes I’ll recycle. Some shots I’ll film eventually.
Yes — I am becoming Lara Croft. In what way and to what end? You’ll find out. I know it sounds crazy. But after one especially dark night — where I was seriously considering giving up altogether — I prayed. I got in the shower. I came out to a text from a friend who doesn’t even work in film.
He said he was sitting with one of the writers on the Lara Croft project, and that he wanted to talk to me.
It wasn’t an audition. It wasn’t a job offer. But it was a sign. A reminder that I wasn’t as far as I thought. And it came minutes after I told God, the universe, and my dad in heaven — I’m not giving up on this dream. And I’m not giving up on my life.
So how could I not give it a real go?
How could I, in the words of my dad — spoken through someone who’d never met me — not “make them see you as a star”?
Whether it’s Lara Croft or provocative boxer Vivian Banks (my next feature), an upcoming short or the pilot I’m writing — I don’t know which one breaks through first. But I’m here to make an impact.
And I’ll keep telling the truth. I’ll keep sharing the failures and the messy middle parts, too.
Not to impress anyone — but to inspire the little kid I used to be.
Or any kid — or adult — who’s afraid to fail.
Afraid to fail publicly.
I’m not.
I’m not afraid of anything.
Can you talk to us a bit about the challenges and lessons you’ve learned along the way. Looking back would you say it’s been easy or smooth in retrospect?
My biggest obstacle, me. It challenges my greatest strength. Belief. Believing your gut, when it tells you to write the story. Believing in your vision to go out and film it. Believing that if the camera rig breaks or the tide comes in, you’ll make it happen anyway. And also to believe in the magic of what if.
Can you tell our readers more about what you do and what you think sets you apart from others?
What sets me apart is, I don’t wait for permission. I don’t wait until I’m 15 or 20 years into my career with a stable footing to become a producer.
I operate with an understanding of filmmaking and business that, until you work with me, you might not expect. Animals aren’t set apart because of how fast they run or how big their bite — most are similar in that way. Most lions look and run the same. The magic — what sets them apart in their success — is how they crawl through the grass, silently stalking something. Think about it: lions look their smallest and least powerful in that moment.
The world sees the takedown. But your crew, your team — they see you in the grass.
My ability to get down low — in the grass, in the mud, all for a shot — that’s what I’m proud of. That’s why people like working with me. I’m not in it just for the show. I’m in it for the whole process.
How do you define success?
Leave it all out there with no regrets.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.instagram.com/kimcavell/
- Instagram: www.instagram.com/reel/DFdKXtuyGs4/?igsh=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ%3D%3D + 1
- Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@kimcavell/featured
- Other: www.instagram.com/reel/DFdKXtuyGs4/?igsh=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ%3D%3D + 1
Image Credits
The Studio photo of me wrapping my hands:
JeanPaul SanPedro
The photo outside Netflix with the script:
Victor-Gabriel Hofer
The remaining 3 (2 stills on film and 1 shot of BTS in my apartment) all 3 – Tim Coto
