New Yorker returns to acting more committed than ever

Standing outside Vive la Crêpe in Lincoln Square, Merrill Joseffer shivers while tying a black apron around her waist. Goosebumps cover her arms as the wind picks up. Customers at the coffee shop next door stare at Joseffer and a cameraman, some ask what they’re doing. She’s acting in the student film “Aftertaste,” directed by Cristian Bing-Capiraso.

Joseffer walks inside, grabs a mug and places it on the table where a man sits reading a newspaper. She asks him what he’s doing. He says he’s looking at basketball game scores. “Oh I didn’t know they still put that in newspapers,” she says. “Maybe we can go catch a game some time.” She finishes her lines and adds how good it smells inside. “Just like cinnamon sugar,” she says with a soft smile. She discusses the weather with her co-star while rubbing her hands together, waiting for Bing-Capiraso to check the playback. He asks if anyone has coffee for the scene. Nobody does. The man at the table pulls out a bottle of tea and pours it into the mug.

Joseffer walks inside again and does the same thing, but more naturally. “Perfect! I loved it,” Bing-Capiraso says, looking at the playback again. “You’re good to go.” She throws on her scarf and denim jacket and heads to a tea shop on West 73rd Street.

Actress Merrill Joseffer is 26, living with her parents in Greenwich Village, and receiving $350 a week in unemployment. She dropped out of Hunter College after one semester and lost her restaurant management job in June but says these setbacks have fueled a refocus on her first love: acting. With classes and unpaid roles, she aims to rebuild her creativity after years of struggling with her mental health. The difficulties of finding an agent and breaking into the industry weigh on her mind, but she says she feels “lifted” this time around.

In third grade at P.S. 41, the Greenwich Village School, Joseffer volunteered to organize her class library and alphabetized the books by title, impressing her teacher. Such didn’t extend to her personal life, though. Growing up, she appeared as an extra in music videos and fashion campaigns. Throughout middle and high school, scouts approached her with compliments, asking whether she had interest in modeling, handing her business cards.

At the same time, depression, anxiety and insomnia led her to skip much of her sophomore year. “There’s this way of life that makes you feel like you’ve fucked up,” she says. “I really let my dreams die.” At 23, she felt lost, experiencing what she calls her “quarter-life crisis.” While peers attended college and worked, she contemplated her decisions.

One day in 2022, a former acting teacher from Matthew Corozine Acting Studio and Theatre reached out to check in. “You’re either a fucking psychic,” she thought. “Or you’re trying to get my money.” She took a leap of faith.

Joseffer often reflects on her past and what acting means to her. “The emotions we sometimes can’t feel for ourselves, we can feel through film,” she says. Still, her anxiety emerges, she says over a cup of inspiration tea. She calls it her “NBM”, short for nervous bowel movements. “I’m thinking of making a shirt,” she says with a laugh.

“Being able to accept that this is something that’s for me and that I love. This isn’t just something that I do,” Joseffer says. Her mother, Nancy, also wanted to be an actress, but her family discouraged her. Now, “I wanted her to follow her dreams,” her mother says.

Joseffer claims her unemployment check every week while living with them in her old bedroom. Her dad has warned that the checks won’t last forever. “Shh, don’t remind me,” she told him playfully, rolling her eyes. They last for up to 26 weeks. She started receiving them in July 2025, so they’re scheduled to run out in late December or early January.

Joseffer enters Theater for the New City in the East Village and heads downstairs. She stars in “Sacred Monsters” as Melvina Morales, the facilitator of a Dancers Anonymous support group. The walls and floors are black, with the bright purple stage lights the only pop of color. Joseffer and the other performers form a circle on the stage, close their eyes, place their hands on each other’s shoulders and slowly lean left, then right. Joseffer looks fully at peace. One after another, the performers share their thoughts about tonight’s performance. Joseffer went last. “For me, it’s about being present and being in the moment,” she says.

The support she receives extends beyond just family. “She’s a nice, grounding presence to work with,” says the Sacred Monsters stage manager, Mackenzie Grace. As Joseffer performs, sweat glistens on her forehead. She has worked hard for this moment. “She’s very empathetic in a deep way, and I was moved by that,” says playwright Devorah Shubowitz.

Earlier, Joseffer said that her relationship with her art is “heavy.” She doesn’t want her nerves to stop her from reaching her goal of acting in major films. “If I can even push past the anxiety I have now,” she says to herself.

Ninety minutes later, the audience shouts and applauds as the stage lights dim. Joseffer and her mother chat with other performers, then exit the theater, heading to Joe’s Pizza. They wave goodbye.

“Acting for me is more than a passion,” she said earlier. “It’s me trying to reestablish that life back into my life.”