It’s a late Friday night, and I’m lying on my couch, a bowl of slightly burnt popcorn balanced precariously on my chest, when the thought hits me: If my life were a movie, who would I cast to play me? Not just the big moments—the heartbreaks, the triumphs—but the messiest, weirdest, and most cringe-worthy bits, too. The midnight Walgreens runs for dental floss. The hiking trip where I slid down a Wasatch Mountainside and ripped my pants. The time I misquoted a U2 song during a love confession.
You don’t need a Sundance pass to know that casting is what makes—or breaks—a story. It’s the heart of the thing. And while I’m no Martin Scorsese (and certainly no Greta Gerwig), I’ve spent way too much time pondering who would play me, my friends, and, of course, the people who’ve made my romantic history feel like both a coming-of-age drama and a slapstick comedy.
Let’s break it down.
The Leading Man: Finding My Inner “Me”
Every great movie starts with a protagonist, and I guess that’s me. But the “me” I see in the mirror isn’t always the same “me” reflected in my memory—or better yet, in the minds of everyone I’ve ever dated.
In reality, I am a not-exactly-tall guy with a perpetual five o’clock shadow and a talent for overthinking minor social interactions. But in my movie? Enter Andrew Garfield. He’s got the perfect mix of hopeful awkwardness and emotional depth (see: his endless heart-eyes in "The Amazing Spider-Man"). Plus, he’s got that “brooding over the sunset” energy that works whether you’re on a windswept canyon cliff or the back deck of a Salt Lake City diner.
Alternate choice? Paul Dano, because, honestly, some days I feel like a walking A24 screenplay—complex, a little confused, and lovingly odd.
Love Interests: A Rom-Com Carousel
This is where things get tricky because, let’s face it, love and cast lists have a lot in common—they’re messy, subjective, and depend heavily on the audition process.
Take Olivia, for example: my high school crush who once lent me her notes in AP Lit and became the reason I briefly attempted poetry. Margot Robbie would step into this role—not because Olivia looked like Margot (she didn’t)—but because Margot has a way of exuding both charisma and chaos that defined those teenage years of unrequited longing.
And then there’s Erin, a college relationship marked by late-night debates on morality, theology, and whether pineapple belongs on pizza (it does). Erin’s brilliance and intensity were a lot like Tessa Thompson—thoughtful, magnetic, and impossible to ignore.
Finally, there’s The One Who Got Away. For the sake of plot (and therapy), let’s cast Florence Pugh. Why? Because Pugh has the remarkable ability to look like she’s holding both your secrets and your soul in her hands—whether she’s chewing scenery in "Midsommar" or snapping your heartstrings in "Little Women." Every movie needs a heartbreak, right?
The Best Friend(s): Sidekicks Worth Watching
What’s a movie about relationships without the people who pick you up after they fall apart? My life’s script has featured a rotating cast of friends who’ve hauled me out of existential crises, usually with donuts or sarcastic one-liners in hand.
For Dan, my childhood buddy who once convinced me to dance in public for a free milkshake, we need someone effortlessly funny—Bill Hader, no question. Dan is the kind of guy who could pull off a knee-slapper even in the middle of a canyon thunderstorm, and Hader’s comedic timing would do him justice.
As for Kelly, my co-worker turned confidant who practically staged an intervention after my last breakup? Easy: Natasha Lyonne. She’s got the gravelly voice, the feral humor, and the no-BS attitude that screams, “Get up, Caleb. Life doesn’t stop because you have feelings.”
Conflict and Comic Relief: Shaping the Drama
In every romantic drama, there’s that one person who takes what should have been a smooth love story (ha!) and turns it into something delightfully absurd. Enter my old hiking acquaintance, Darren. Darren once led five of us on what he called a “short walk,” which turned into an eight-hour odyssey involving two blisters, one bee sting, and a philosophical debate over whether leaving the trail to pee counted as breaking LNT (Leave No Trace) principles.
Who plays Darren? Adam Devine. Nobody else can embody that particular blend of lovable chaos and relentless optimism that makes you want to scream—and laugh out loud minutes later.
And let’s not forget the obligatory parent characters. Mom would be played by Mary Steenburgen. She’s warm, kind, and charmingly perplexed by the fact that I’m still single, even though she’d tell you she doesn’t mind "as long as you’re happy." Spoiler: She minds.
Dad? Tom Skerritt. No explanation needed—he’s just got the Western stoicism required for an old-school LDS guy who secretly tears up watching home videos.
Utah as the Setting: Cinematic Beauty
Now for the real star of this movie: Utah. From Salt Lake City’s historic Temple Square to the sandstone cliffs of Arches and Zion, Utah would play a character in its own right. The sprawling landscapes mirror the biggest lessons of my life—the grandeur of taking risks, the daunting emptiness of heartbreak, and the grounding reassurance of feeling tethered to the earth (even when life feels untethered).
Can you picture it? That impossibly bright sunlight reflecting off fresh mountain snow while I’m telling my best friend about my latest relationship mishap? Or the bittersweet glow of a Moab sunset as I watch yet another almost-love slip away? (Cue Bon Iver on the soundtrack here.)
The Lessons: Rolling the Credits
If this imaginary movie ever came to life, I’d hope it ended with the kind of imperfect resolution that sticks in your throat a little. Not a grand "happily ever after," but something smaller. Real. Because relationships—romantic or platonic—aren’t about sweeping plotlines. They live in the grace of quiet moments: late-night phone calls, shared playlists, hiking blisters, and popcorn burned on both sides.
So here’s the thing. If my life were a movie, I wouldn’t watch it to see the heartbreaks or the missteps (although they do make for spectacular montages). I’d watch it for the little things—the way my friends laugh, the way my parents love me the best way they can, and the way all those past loves have taught me, piece by piece, how to show up for someone else. No big climactic ending—just the thoughtful, ongoing work of being human.
Maybe the real star isn’t Andrew Garfield or Florence Pugh. Maybe it’s the messiness itself. If you’re lucky, you learn to love the imperfect plot twists along the way.
