It's fun when you start a movie, because it's kind of like you

Host: The soundstage was empty, but it breathed — a vast cathedral of shadows and light, the air still humming with the ghosts of past scenes. Cables coiled like snakes along the floor, spotlights hung from cranes like moons, and the smell of dust, coffee, and fresh paint lingered in the silence.

At the center, a wooden chair with a script on its seat. On the cover, one word: “Beginnings.”

Jack stood beside it, his hands in his pockets, his grey eyes reflecting the scaffolding lights. Jeeny sat cross-legged on the floor, storyboards spread around her like constellations — scribbles, faces, arrows, and dreams drawn in ink and hope.

Jeeny: (smiling softly) “Spike Jonze once said, ‘It’s fun when you start a movie… you get to make your wish list, and you start thinking about what each character needs.’ I love that. It’s like building worlds with empathy instead of rules.”

Jack: (low chuckle) “Empathy’s a risky investment in this business, Jeeny. Half the characters you create will end up broken before the credits roll.”

Host: The lights above them flickered, as if reacting to his cynicism. Dust motes floated through the air, dancing like tiny ghosts of ideas not yet born.

Jeeny: “But that’s the point, Jack. You don’t write characters to protect them. You write them so they can live, even if they hurt.”

Jack: “Sounds romantic. But let me tell you — a storyboard doesn’t care how alive your characters feel. It only cares if the budget fits.”

Jeeny: (tilts her head) “And yet, the stories that stay with people aren’t the ones that fit the budget — they’re the ones that fit the heart.”

Host: He looked at her then, the light from a hanging bulb skimming across his sharp cheekbones, turning his face into a portrait of conflict — the pragmatist, haunted by the dreamer he once was.

Jack: “You make it sound like filmmaking is a holiday wish list — all hope and wonder. But it’s not Christmas, Jeeny. It’s war. Every choice — lighting, casting, dialogue — it’s a battle between what you want and what you can afford.”

Jeeny: “And yet, even in war, people hope. That’s why Jonze called it fun. The start of a movie isn’t about money or constraints — it’s about possibility. It’s the only moment when everything can still be anything.”

Host: The camera in the corner caught them both in frame now — the light from above dividing the floor into two worlds: one cold, precise, shadowed — Jack’s; the other warm, scattered, alive — Jeeny’s.

Jack: (dryly) “Possibility. You say that like it’s a real thing. The moment you roll camera, possibility dies. You’ve made choices, and you’re trapped in them.”

Jeeny: (grinning) “No, Jack. You’re born in them. The scene begins, and you discover who you’ve become. That’s what creation is — a conversation between what you imagined and what you find.”

Host: A long silence hung in the air, filled with the soft hum of the stage lights. Jack turned his gaze toward the storyboards, kneeling to pick one up. It was a sketch of a young man, standing before a door, unsure whether to enter.

Jack: (studying it) “What’s his name?”

Jeeny: “I don’t know yet. He’s still deciding who he wants to be.”

Jack: (smiles faintly) “You sound like you’re talking about yourself.”

Jeeny: (shrugs) “Maybe I am. Or maybe I’m talking about everyone who ever started something new.”

Host: The sound of a generator kicked on, filling the space with a low hum. The light grew brighter, revealing the set pieces stacked along the walls — half-built houses, cardboard cityscapes, painted skies waiting for their purpose.

Jack: “You ever think this whole thing — cinema, art, life — is just wish lists that never quite get fulfilled?”

Jeeny: (softly) “Maybe. But that’s what makes it beautiful. We keep wishing anyway. Because in that act, we’re alive. The characters get to need, and we get to care.”

Jack: (quietly, almost tenderly) “And what do you think I need, Jeeny?”

Host: Her eyes met his — dark, warm, unflinching — the way someone looks at a mirror that tells the truth.

Jeeny: “To remember that even the coldest logic started as hope once.”

Host: The tension between them shifted — from argument to understanding, from flame to glow. The stage was silent, yet alive, like a sleeping heart that had just stirred.

Jack: (standing, looking around the empty set) “You ever think maybe the fun isn’t in starting the movie, but in not knowing how it’s going to end?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s why we create. That’s why we live. Because every beginning is a gift disguised as a risk.”

Jack: (smiling, softly this time) “You really believe that, don’t you?”

Jeeny: (nods) “Completely. The wish list isn’t just for the characters, Jack — it’s for us. What we need, what we hope, what we fear. We write it all down and pretend it’s fiction.”

Host: The camera crane began to move, slowly rising, as though lifting the moment into something larger. The lights warmed, painting them both in amber, casting long shadows that merged on the floor — no longer two worlds, but one story.

Jack: (softly, looking at the script on the chair) “Then maybe this one’s about us — about starting over.”

Jeeny: “Then let’s start it right. What’s the first wish?”

Jack: (thinking, smiling faintly) “That none of it feels like work — that it feels like Christmas again.”

Jeeny: (grinning) “Then we’d better start shopping.”

Host: The lights dimmed, and a soft hum of music began to fill the air — something nostalgic, playful, hopeful. The camera pulled back to reveal the soundstage in its full glory — an empty space on the verge of meaning, a canvas about to be painted.

In the glow of the spotlights, Jack and Jeeny stood side by side, their silhouettes touching, their shadows stretching into the distance.

Because, as Jonze said, starting a movie isn’t about certainty — it’s about wonder. It’s about the fun of imagining what each character needs, even if the characters are yourself.

And as the camera fades, the set breathes again — a living dream, waiting for its first line, its first heartbeat, its first miracle of becoming.