And I thought, when I have kids, that's the sort of well told

Host: The movie theater was empty now — the floor littered with popcorn, the faint smell of butter and childhood still hanging in the air. The credits rolled silently across the huge silver screen, their white letters flickering like ghosts of laughter past. The only sound was the whir of the projector, still running, even though the film had already ended.

Host: Jack sat in the middle row, slouched comfortably, a box of candy half-open beside him. Jeeny sat a few seats over, legs crossed, eyes glowing faintly from the reflected light of the screen. Outside, through the high glass doors, twilight was falling — the blue hour, when everything looks both magical and a little sad.

Host: From the projector booth above, the sound of an interview filtered through the speakers — Mike Myers’ voice, warm, unguarded, tinged with sincerity and nostalgia:

“And I thought, when I have kids, that’s the sort of well told, silly, and fun fairy tale that I would want to take them to. But it was an amazing experience. And I think Shrek is a real classic, a fairy tale classic.” — Mike Myers

Host: His words hung in the dusty beam of light cutting across the theater — filled with humor, humility, and the strange magic of storytelling.

Jeeny: smiling faintly “You can hear the kid in his voice, can’t you?”

Jack: nodding slowly “Yeah. The part of him that never stopped believing in fairy tales.”

Jeeny: softly “That’s why Shrek worked. It wasn’t cynical — just honest. It made fun of the genre but still loved it deeply.”

Jack: grinning “Right. It laughed with fairy tales, not at them. That’s a rare kind of comedy.”

Jeeny: after a pause “And he’s right — it’s a classic now. The kind of story that holds up because it remembers what it’s mocking.”

Jack: smiling “A fairy tale for people who grew up but didn’t outgrow wonder.”

Host: The screen flickered, showing one of those freeze-frames from Shrek: the swamp, the moonlight, Donkey mid-laugh. The silence around it made it oddly sacred — a shrine to laughter and irreverence.

Jeeny: softly “You know, people underestimate how brave that movie was. It broke every rule — the hero wasn’t handsome, the princess wasn’t perfect, the villain wasn’t who you expected.”

Jack: nodding “Yeah, and still, it felt like home. Maybe because it showed us ourselves — awkward, stubborn, misunderstood — and still worthy of love.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “And that’s what makes it timeless. It told kids, ‘You don’t have to be beautiful to belong.’”

Jack: quietly “And adults needed to hear that just as much.”

Host: The projector light dimmed, and for a moment, the room was cast in that soft pre-darkness — the kind that feels like memory catching its breath.

Jeeny: after a pause “You think that’s what Myers meant when he said it was amazing? Not the fame, not the money — the feeling of being part of something that healed people with humor?”

Jack: nodding slowly “Yeah. Because comedy that endures always has heart. It’s not just funny; it’s forgiving.”

Jeeny: smiling “Forgiveness disguised as fart jokes.”

Jack: laughing softly “Exactly. Only a genius could make that noble.”

Jeeny: softly “But it was noble, in its own way. It gave joy to people who didn’t expect to see themselves in a fairy tale.”

Jack: quietly “And that’s what fairy tales were supposed to do from the beginning — remind us that the unlikely can be extraordinary.”

Host: The light from the screen washed over their faces, painting them green for a brief, playful moment — as if the story itself had reached out to include them.

Jeeny: grinning “You know, for all the irony, Shrek never forgot the power of sincerity. Beneath all the parody, there’s love.”

Jack: smiling “Yeah. Real fairy tales were always about love — not perfection, not castles — just finding someone who saw your truth and stayed.”

Jeeny: softly “Exactly. And I think that’s what Mike Myers meant. He wasn’t just proud of the success — he was proud of what it represented.”

Jack: after a pause “A world where even ogres can have happy endings.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “And where laughter is the bridge between difference.”

Host: The projector finally stopped, leaving the theater in near-darkness. The silence that followed was thick but kind — the kind that holds gratitude inside it.

Jeeny: softly “It’s strange, isn’t it? How we call stories like that ‘silly,’ but they’re the ones that last.”

Jack: nodding “Because silliness is truth without armor. It sneaks past cynicism.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “And it heals us while we’re laughing.”

Jack: after a pause “That’s what fairy tales really are — laughter teaching courage.”

Jeeny: quietly “And courage disguised as fun.”

Host: The camera would pull back, showing the two of them as silhouettes framed by the fading light of the screen. Outside, the world was quiet — streetlamps flickering, a breeze brushing through the open door.

Host: And as the night settled, Mike Myers’ words seemed to drift across the silence, not as nostalgia but as wisdom:

that the amazing thing
about fairy tales
is not that they’re perfect,
but that they evolve;

that every generation
writes its own magic —
some with dragons,
some with laughter,
some with green ogres
and stubborn hearts that refuse to give up.

that even in satire,
love can still be sincere,
and the most ridiculous journeys
can still lead to truth.

Host: The lights faded,
leaving only the faint glow of the exit sign —
the last little bit of magic
in an ordinary world
that still,
against all logic,
believes in happy endings.