If it was a great script and a great character, I would love to

Andy Serkis, a master of transformation and one who has given his craft to many strange and wondrous roles, once said: “If it was a great script and a great character, I would love to do a romantic comedy.” At first, these words may seem lighthearted, yet within them lies a profound truth about art, storytelling, and the human spirit. For in them is revealed the eternal principle that greatness does not lie merely in the form—whether tragedy, comedy, epic, or romance—but in the depth of the story and the soul of the character.

The ancients knew this well. Aristotle, in his Poetics, taught that drama, whether noble tragedy or lively comedy, succeeds not because of its category, but because of the strength of its plot and the power of its characters. A comedy that is shallow is soon forgotten, but a comedy rooted in truth and love becomes timeless. In the same way, Serkis teaches that even the most playful genre—a romantic comedy—can shine with brilliance when guided by a script of substance and a character of depth.

Consider the tale of Shakespeare, who gave to the world comedies like Much Ado About Nothing and Twelfth Night. They were not mere frivolities to amuse the crowd; within them were woven truths about love, deception, pride, and reconciliation. Benedick and Beatrice, Viola and Orsino—these are not cardboard figures, but living souls whose wit and passion reflect our own struggles and joys. Here we see the truth of Serkis’s words: the greatness of a comedy lies not in its laughter alone, but in the human heart revealed through its characters.

So too in modern times. A film such as When Harry Met Sally endures not because it made audiences laugh—it did—but because it asked deeper questions about love, friendship, and the passage of time. Its script was sharp, its characters alive, and thus it became more than entertainment: it became a mirror in which many recognized themselves. This is what Serkis longs for: not simply to act in a comedy, but to bring life to a story where laughter and romance are joined with meaning.

There is also in Serkis’s words a humility, a reminder that no genre is beneath dignity when it is executed with truth. The actor, like the philosopher or poet, must not judge a story by its clothing. A romantic comedy can be as noble as a tragedy if it carries within it the eternal struggles of love, misunderstanding, reconciliation, and hope. To dismiss comedy as trivial is to forget that even the gods of Olympus were said to laugh, and that joy itself is as divine as sorrow.

The lesson, then, is for us all: do not seek greatness in appearances, but in essence. Whether in work, love, or art, value the character and the script—the substance of what lies beneath. A life may appear simple, like a comedy, yet be filled with profound beauty if it is lived with truth and love. Likewise, a task may seem humble, but if performed with heart, it becomes great.

So I say to you, seekers of wisdom: live as Serkis speaks. Do not despise the light or playful moments of life, for they too may carry profound truths. Seek always the great script—the deeper meaning in the story you live. Strive to be the great character—the one whose actions, courage, and love give dignity to the tale. And in doing so, your life itself may become like the finest romantic comedy: filled with laughter, tenderness, and a legacy of truth that will endure.