ACTING
Ferocity and fragility.
Mary Sarah is drawn to characters who live at the crossroads of grace and ache— her earlier life as a trauma therapist and UN Delegate to the Commission on the Status of Women made sure of that. These experiences gave her an unflinching closeness to the raw, unpolished edges of the human spirit, which now animate every role she inhabits.
Audiences and directors alike have been captivated by her ability to breathe both ferocity and fragility into her characters.
Helmed by three-time Emmy Award-winner Andrea Campbell, she led the film Death Valley: A Love Story, as Carol Emerson, a bereaved artist teetering on the edges of creation and collapse. In The Honor, which took home Best Film (CINEFEST), her raw, disquieting portrayal of a zealot mother unraveling was chilling. In Parallax, she appeared as Lucia Carnia, an unapologetically sharp, truth-hunting researcher, which won Best Screenplay (Emerging Artist)—infusing the film with a spark that both unsettles and seduces, and her wild rendition of the neighborhood confidant, Desiree in, Call it in the Air, allowed her to be a part of a sizzling entourage that won Best Ensemble Cast (POCO Film Fest).
More than 400 worlds and counting.
From Shakespeare to SOVAS-nominated performances, Mary has narrated more than 400 audiobooks and shaped worlds across film, video games, and animation. Her work has earned a Voice Arts nomination for The Longing, an Independent Publishing Award as part of the narration of Corona City, and a 2025 Best Short Film award for The Burden.
She has worked with Tantor Media, Penguin Random House, HarperCollins, Highbridge, and more than 20 independent publishers.
As an Expressive Arts Therapist and Trauma-Informed Practitioner, she explored the rawest corners of human emotion. Now, she channels that depth into every performance. Whether it’s a whispered secret, a battle cry, or a lullaby edged with sorrow—you feel it.
Mary Sarah’s childhood was basically a nonstop musical—except with more noise complaints. She sang for hours on end until her family resorted to chucking pillows at her bedroom door in a valiant but ultimately futile attempt to silence her. She danced outside until her feet were scraped and sizzling, directed (and likely strong-armed) neighborhood kids into her self-written plays, and filled every 1970s spiral journal she could find with songs—songs she’d later belt out on stage with a touring band by the time she was 15.
As her musical journey took off, so did her voice—straight into the ears and hearts of audiences. A decade-long collaboration with Montreal producer Danys Levasseur solidified what she had only begun to suspect: her voice wasn’t just loud—it could inspire, and occasionally was capable of reducing grown adults to puddles of emotion.