If My Life Were a Movie
Opening Scene: Wide Shots and Close Calls
If my life were a movie, the opening scene would be set at dusk, the golden desert sun sinking behind mountain silhouettes, and a honey-colored light tracing the edges of my childhood cul-de-sac. Cue the smoky vocals of Frank Sinatra crooning “Come Fly With Me” in the background. Because, obviously, we’re setting a tone here—bittersweet and glamorous, with a sprinkling of chaos.
But don’t be fooled by the cinematic beginning. This “movie” wouldn’t be a sleek art house film, and it certainly wouldn’t qualify as an Oscar-baiting biopic. Nope. Think of it as a rom-com dramedy hybrid sprinkled with unexpected glitter bombs, awkward stage exits, and costume changes aplenty. Sort of like a love child between Almost Famous and Mamma Mia!, with a little La La Land thrown in for flair.
Casting myself and the people in my life is a perilous task, but hey, art requires sacrifice. Here’s my lineup.
The Leading Lady: My Flawed but Fabulous Protagonist
I’m tempted to cast Scarlett Johansson as my stand-in because, well, why wouldn’t I? But in all honesty, this role isn’t meant for bombshells or someone who screams Old Hollywood perfection. No, the part calls for an actress who can nail the subtle facial expression that says, “I am absolutely faking it, but I’m trying REALLY hard”—someone who inherits Audrey Plaza's deadpan delivery and Emma Stone’s stumble-chic energy.
Maybe Jessica Barden (from The End of the F*ing World) could pull it off. She’s got the nerve to show both the quirks and quiet desperation lurking under this desert veneer. My character would need that duality, too—half glammed-up Vegas girl in a sequined dress, half small-town dreamer grappling with imposter syndrome while carrying three iced coffees at once.
And as an essential accessory? A suspiciously tall stack of books she hasn’t read, a perpetually “low battery” vibe, and the lingering sense she’s running late to an emotional epiphany.
Supporting Cast: Heroes, Villains, and Cameos
My life’s other players would require just as much nuance as the leading role. Because we all know no movie is as good solo—you need a fabulous supporting cast for depth and drama.
The Best Friend(s): The Scene-Stealer(s)
Every movie needs a sidekick who serves as both comic relief and grounding force. Enter my real-life BFF: a Las Vegas native who’s not afraid to point out that my wardrobe leans a little too much toward sequins. Casting her would require someone who’s a straight-talker with an undercurrent of wisdom—Mindy Kaling channeling a no-nonsense bestie vibe would be pitch-perfect.
She’d be the one delivering lines like, “Yes, you can text him back—but make sure you’re wearing heels when you do.” Practical yet poetic. Also, add in at least one monologue about the merits of cheap tacos at 3 a.m.
The Almost-But-Not-Quite Love Interest
This character enters in Act II, all mysterious charm and the kind of charisma that makes you more confused than excited. Think of him as the Epcot version of New Romance—he’s great in theory, but totally underwhelming upon closer inspection. Casting this role? Let’s go with someone like Theo James. He’d look phenomenal leaning against a Las Vegas streetlight but would have just enough smoldering indifference to remind me where the story is headed… away from him, obviously.
The Mentor/Eccentric Parental Figure
Remember Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting? Yeah, that’s the energy I’d want for my dad’s role—someone warm, witty, and capable of slipping life lessons into casual conversation the way most people slip sugar into their coffee. My real dad’s action-packed tales from the world of backstage performances would write themselves in this script. But casting him? I have my eyes on someone like John C. Reilly—unexpected, sincere, and never losing his humor, even when the stakes are high.
Defining Moments: The Slow Burns and Grand Gestures
Movies about life aren’t just about characters, though—it’s the moments we’re all chasing that give the film its charm. And oh, my movie would be an absolute highlight reel of romantic hope, existential dread, and slight absurdity.
The Meet-Cute, Vegas Style
Picture it: It’s late February, and I walk into a jazz lounge wearing heels I can barely stand in. He’s at the bar, sipping an old-fashioned and wearing something utterly nondescript, like a button-up that says, “Not Trying Too Hard.” We exchange glances. A waiter drops a tray nearby. Chaos! Except instead of leaning into the cinematic swoon-worthy moment, we both laugh too hard and spend 30 minutes debating whether to share an overpriced charcuterie board.
The Mistake Montage
Ah, the ill-advised missteps in my love life—or, as I prefer to call them, character-building side plots. This montage would showcase an eclectic mix of misguided decisions: texting someone who hasn’t responded for over a week (rookie mistake), agreeing to go on a date with a magician (truly, I should’ve known better), and somehow convincing myself that watching The Bachelor together qualifies as “bonding.”
Every mistake deserves some boppy indie music in the background and me side-eyeing the camera like I’m in on the joke. Because life might be messy... but at least it’s self-aware.
Set Design: A Love Letter to the Strip
Las Vegas would be the undeniable star in all of this. We’ve got the vibrant night skyline, the hushed mornings when the casino glow dulls, and the unassuming desert trails where real conversations happen away from all the noise.
The Strip would shine in moody establishing shots, perhaps as I’m staring out a car window contemplating my next questionable life decision or nervously rewriting a text for the thirtieth time. Meanwhile, the quieter neighborhoods and local diners would provide balance, reminding the audience that Vegas isn’t all neon lights; it’s also hometown warmth, Stardust memories, and roots... if you bother to dig.
The Big Finale: Lessons Learned (Kind Of)
If Hollywood insists all movies need a character arc, my film would end with me finally leaning into uncertainty. Maybe I’m gazing out at the sprawling city from Sunset Park, letting the chaos breathe while Sinatra hums in the background. The final scene isn’t tied neatly with a bow—instead, it’s left intentionally messy, because relationships, like life, are less about cinematic perfection and more about figuring out which scenes are worth rewinding.
Because, let’s be honest, when we’re writing our own movies, we don’t need them to be squeaky-clean. We just need them to feel real.
So here’s my reminder to all of you: Whether your “movie” unfolds at a romantic jazz lounge or during a Target run where you lock eyes with someone in the cereal aisle, lean into the imperfection. Some of the best scenes are the ones you never see coming.
Now—lights, camera, reality. It’s your turn.
