There’s a scene in nearly every biopic where the protagonist walks through a sun-drenched street, gazing introspectively into the distance while Edith Piaf or some soulful acoustic tune swells in the background. I’ve always imagined that if my life were a movie, I’d have several of those scenes. Only instead of Paris, it would be the cobblestone streets of Old Montreal, and the soundtrack would be something achingly Québécois, like Coeur de pirate’s "Place de la République."

Of course, every good film needs a cast. And if I’m casting the inevitable “Juliette Bouchard Story” (working title: Croissants and Chaos), every actor, every scene, and every offbeat montage has to strike the perfect balance: introspective but humorous, a little messy but ultimately heartfelt. Lean in, my mon ami(e)s—let me take you behind the scenes of this not-so-Hollywood production.

Protagonist: Me (Obviously)
Here’s the thing about self-casting: you want to aim high but stay realistic enough to avoid total delusion. In my case, I’d choose Mélanie Laurent. She has the kind of quiet charisma that feels effortless, and I like to think she’d capture both my love of slightly overcomplicated pastries and my ability to turn mild existential crises into quirky self-reflection. Plus, her dual-language cred (French AND English) is a must—after all, you can’t make it through a day in Montreal without peppering your sentences with Franglais.

That said, if Mélanie’s too busy filming something painfully avant-garde, I’d accept Kat Dennings as my English-speaking substitute—and hope she brings her trademark dry wit to all my “staring wistfully at the Lachine Canal” scenes.

The Love Interest(s): A Rolodex of Chaos
Let’s be real, no one starts as Ryan Gosling in your life story. In my movie, we’d have a rotating cast of flawed but charming romantic leads showing up for cringe-worthy meet-cutes, awkward text exchanges, and the occasional rooftop argument about whether love is an art or science. (Spoiler: it’s neither when you’re hangry.)

The "early twenties mistake" guy—a brooding poet who’d definitely wear turtlenecks indoors—would be played by Timothée Chalamet, partially because his cheekbones intimidate me. Picture this: we’re arguing over the nuances of Camus vs. Sartre in a smoky Plateau café, unaware that my oat milk latte is forming an embarrassing foam mustache.

Then we have the "on-paper-perfect but tragically boring dude," portrayed by Armie Hammer circa the Call Me by Your Name era. Everything’s great until we discover he microwaves his pasta sauce in the jar. The horror.

Finally, the mature, endgame romance role calls for a blend of humor, reliability, and last-minute dancing in the kitchen at 2 a.m. (Think Mark Ruffalo with a Québécois accent.) He’d love cats and tolerate my tendency to correct people’s French grammar—what’s not to adore?

Supporting Cast: The Scene-Stealers
No life movie would be complete without the MVPs: the friends who generously supply comic relief and wine-fueled pep talks.

For my best friend, I’d cast Florence Pugh. Mostly because I’d trust her to help me dissect texts from would-be suitors with hilarious candor (and possibly a knife emoji). She’d also deliver iconic one-liners when I spiral into overthinking like, “Juliette, mon dieu, it’s not that deep. He ghosted you because he’s a coward, not because your profile pic wasn’t artsy enough.”

The quintessential nosy-but-loving family members? Picture Olivia Colman as my mother—perfectly delightful until she casually drops, “Have you considered you might be single because of all that eyebrow furrowing you do?” And Antoine Bertrand (the Québécois teddy bear of my dreams) as the older cousin who tried to set me up with a high school hockey coach because “he seems sturdy.”

Settings: The Places That Shaped Me
A movie might be about people, but the backdrop of my life has always played a starring role. The majority of scenes would take place in Montreal, of course. Picture sprawling shots of Mount Royal in autumn, snow-covered alleyways turned festive with fairy lights, and neon-laden late-night diners where I’ve had some of the deepest, weirdest 2 a.m. conversations.

There’d be a transitional move-to-Paris montage—cue accordion music and me attempting to look chic while awkwardly unfolding a map. But inevitably, we’d land back in Montreal, because no matter how charmed I was by Parisian elegance, nothing beats my city’s brash mix of beauty and grit.

Don’t forget the recurring motif of a timer going off in my oven, followed by me scrambling to save a sad, slightly burnt croissant. Romance, schmomance—this movie’s most reliable love story is between me and flaky pastry.

Montage Moments: Lessons in Love (and Laundry)
Every life movie needs a montage, and mine would be one of those bittersweet compilations:

  • Me at 16, holding back tears after my first breakup while dramatically blasting Avril Lavigne’s “Nobody’s Home” on repeat. (Teen melodrama is mandatory viewing material.)
  • A first date gone comically wrong—like when he suggested we split the bill after ordering for both of us because “it’s a power move.” Spoiler: it was not.
  • The patchwork of healing: laughing uncontrollably with friends at brunch, dancing to Stromae in my tiny apartment, writing love letters to myself because no one should wait on someone else to make them feel adored.

The theme here? Growth is awkward, often messy, and never as polished as the movies promise. But sometimes, the imperfect parts are the best ones.

Ending Scene: A Question of Contentment
Unlike a Hollywood rom-com, real life rarely ends with grand proposals or perfectly timed epiphanies. If my life were a movie, I’d want the ending to reflect the beautiful in-betweenness of it all—walking home through a soft Montreal drizzle, laughing at some wonderfully absurd thought, and feeling, for the first time, completely at peace in my own skin.

It wouldn’t be about finding “The One” or ticking societal boxes. Instead, it’d celebrate everything I’ve learned about what makes me happy: connection, creativity, and the ever-elusive art of baking something edible.

And just before the credits roll, Mélanie Laurent (or Kat Dennings, budget permitting) would smile knowingly at the camera, reminding you that every film worth watching leaves room for a sequel.

Cue the music, dim the lights, and let’s toast to our own beautifully imperfect movies-in-progress. After all, nobody has to play the “perfect lead” to deserve a standing ovation.