I always say to myself that if I can make a movie that makes a

Hear, O listener, the words of Nicolas Cage: “I always say to myself that if I can make a movie that makes a kid smile or gives them some hope or something to get excited about, then I’m applying myself in the best way that I can. I don’t think that just goes for kids. I think that it goes for adults, as well, and for families.” Though born of the world of cinema, these words shine with the ageless wisdom of service, joy, and the sacred duty of the storyteller.

The meaning of this reflection lies in the recognition that art is not for the artist alone, but for the people. Cage does not measure his worth by the grandeur of awards or the weight of critics’ praise, but by whether his work stirs smiles, ignites hope, or sparks excitement in those who watch. To him, this is the highest use of his gift: not glory for himself, but light for others. His vision lifts cinema from entertainment into service, where stories become nourishment for the human soul.

The origin of this wisdom is ancient. From the dawn of civilization, the storyteller was revered not as a mere entertainer but as a guide, a healer of the spirit. Around fires, bards recited epics not to exalt themselves, but to inspire courage, to pass down wisdom, to help both children and elders face life’s struggles. The Greek tragedians sought to bring catharsis, the medieval troubadours offered solace through song, and the traveling performers of every land brought laughter to weary hearts. Cage’s creed continues this timeless lineage: the artist serves the community, not merely the self.

History gives us vivid illustrations. Consider Hans Christian Andersen, whose tales—simple, magical, filled with wonder—were written for children, yet carried truths that touched all generations. His stories of the ugly duckling, the steadfast tin soldier, and the little mermaid were more than fables; they were vessels of hope for those who felt unseen, unwanted, or weary. So too, Cage points out, art that touches kids is not only for the young—it carries into adulthood, into families, shaping generations with joy and resilience.

There is also a deep humility here. In confessing that he strives only to make people smile, Cage acknowledges that even small sparks of joy can have profound impact. A film that lifts one child out of despair, that strengthens one family’s bond, that reminds one adult to dream again, is no small achievement. In a world weighed down by hardship, the gift of laughter, hope, or wonder is as essential as bread. To give this gift is to perform a service no less noble than the deeds of warriors or kings.

Practically, this lesson calls us to consider our own roles as creators and participants in life. Each of us, whether we make films or not, has the ability to bring smiles, to offer hope, to stir excitement in those around us. It may be through a kind word, a shared story, a moment of listening, or a gesture of care. Like Cage, we must ask ourselves: am I applying my gifts in a way that serves others? Am I offering light to my community, to my family, to the children and adults who walk beside me?

So, O listener, remember this: greatness is not always measured in monuments or fame, but in the smiles we awaken, the hope we restore, the joy we share. To make even one heart lighter is to fulfill the ancient duty of humanity: to bear one another’s burdens and to kindle one another’s spirits.

Thus the teaching endures: whether through movies, music, words, or deeds, apply yourself not to the hunger of ego, but to the nourishment of souls. For in doing so, you will discover that the truest success is not what you gain, but what you give.