I want to be like Tom Cruise from 'The Outsiders' and go on and

Host: The Los Angeles night shimmered with the electric pulse of ambition — streetlights reflected off wet asphalt, billboards flickered like moving constellations, and the distant hum of a studio backlot rumbled like a heartbeat under the city. Down an alley lined with faded movie posters and the faint scent of rain, popcorn, and exhaust, a small neon sign buzzed: The Projection Room.

Inside, the bar was dim — its walls plastered with framed film stills and old scripts, each yellowed and precious like scripture. The projector light flickered faintly across the smoky air, looping an old scene from The Outsiders. Young faces on screen — hungry, fearless, immortal.

Jack sat at the counter, nursing a whiskey, his grey eyes reflecting the flickering light of a young Tom Cruise leaping from a car. Jeeny sat beside him, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. Between them, a single quote glowed on a napkin, scrawled in ink:

“I want to be like Tom Cruise from The Outsiders and go on and do amazing movies for a long time.” — Ashton Kutcher

Jeeny: (smiling) “It’s strange, isn’t it? The way ambition always sounds simple when you’re young. ‘I just want to do amazing movies for a long time.’ Like time itself will wait while you chase it.”

Jack: “It’s not strange. It’s honest. That’s what makes it beautiful. It’s not about fame — it’s about endurance. Wanting to last in a business built to forget.”

Host: The film reel clicked — the sound of motion and memory colliding. The young actors on screen laughed in slow motion, cigarette smoke curling around their faces, the world still wide open in front of them.

Jeeny: “You know what I think Kutcher saw in Tom Cruise back then? Not stardom. Permission. Proof that someone could start small, rough around the edges, and become a symbol of longevity.”

Jack: “Yeah. Cruise wasn’t born the myth. He built it — brick by brick, frame by frame. Every role a new version of himself. That’s what longevity really is — evolution disguised as persistence.”

Jeeny: “And Kutcher wanted that. The transformation. To be part of something that keeps moving forward.”

Jack: “To keep creating without becoming a cliché.”

Host: The bartender switched projectors, and another reel started — Top Gun, the screen flashing with jet engines, sweat, and defiance. The glow from the film danced over their faces, turning the bar into a kind of small, cinematic cathedral.

Jeeny: “You know, that’s what’s amazing about Cruise — and about people like Kutcher, too. They both treat the camera like a covenant. It’s not worship, it’s work. Endless, consuming work. But also — possibility.”

Jack: “Possibility. That’s the real addiction.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The idea that one more movie could change everything. That one more role could rewrite your legacy.”

Host: The film light dimmed, flickering as the reel caught. For a moment, Tom Cruise’s young face froze mid-smile, burned into the frame — untouchable, eternal.

Jack: “You know, people mock ambition, call it ego. But there’s something holy in wanting to create something that outlives you.”

Jeeny: “Especially in film. Because film doesn’t just record time — it traps it. You make a movie, and you freeze a version of yourself forever. Kutcher’s talking about immortality, whether he knows it or not.”

Jack: “That’s the irony, isn’t it? He’s chasing longevity in an industry obsessed with youth.”

Jeeny: “But that’s the challenge every artist faces. How to grow old in a world that worships the new.”

Host: The soundtrack shifted, soft piano notes drifting from an old jukebox. Jeeny leaned forward, eyes thoughtful.

Jeeny: “You know what’s really powerful about his quote? The word amazing. It’s not about perfection. It’s about awe. He doesn’t just want to work — he wants to be amazed by what he makes.”

Jack: “And by what he becomes in the process.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s the artist’s hunger. Not to repeat, but to rediscover.”

Host: The camera panned around the bar — faces half-lit by the movie playing behind them. A few film students whispered over their drinks. A man in a director’s cap scribbled notes on a napkin. The air felt charged — as if everyone inside believed, just a little, in second chances.

Jack: “You ever think about how every generation has its own version of Cruise? Someone who shows that ambition can be both exhausting and sacred?”

Jeeny: “Yes. And they all start the same way — with a dream that sounds too simple to be profound. ‘I want to do amazing movies for a long time.’ That’s the seed. The rest is faith.”

Jack: “Faith in what?”

Jeeny: “In momentum. In the idea that forward motion itself is meaning. Because the minute you stop chasing, you start fading.”

Host: The film reel snapped — the screen went white. The bartender sighed, reaching to replace it. The light from the projector cut across the room, illuminating Jack and Jeeny’s faces — two quiet believers caught in its beam.

Jack: “You know, Kutcher’s quote — it’s not about wanting fame. It’s about wanting to stay curious. To never outgrow amazement.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because the day an artist stops being amazed is the day their art stops breathing.”

Jack: “So maybe longevity isn’t about time at all. It’s about wonder.”

Jeeny: “And courage. The courage to keep starting over.”

Host: The new reel spun to life, projecting a montage of decades — from The Outsiders to Risky Business, from That ’70s Show to Jobs, faces aging, eyes staying alive.

Jeeny: “That’s what he’s chasing. Not just a career — a continuum. A line that connects who you were to who you still dare to be.”

Jack: “And if you can do that long enough, if you can keep believing, then maybe you don’t just make movies. Maybe you become one.”

Host: The camera pulled back, through the open doorway, out into the glowing city — streetlights flickering like spotlights for a million untold stories. The projector light spilled out after it, bright and unwavering.

And through that glow, Ashton Kutcher’s words echoed, simple yet profound — a love letter to longevity, and to every dreamer who refuses to fade:

That the true art of living isn’t found in fame,
but in the discipline of amazement —
to build a life that keeps creating,
keeps learning, keeps risking,
until time itself becomes your audience.

Because to do amazing work for a long time
isn’t to chase immortality —
it’s to keep falling in love
with the possibility of yourself.