Ah well… Some could argue the story is simple: “It’s basically just a Romeo and Juliet romantic drama about star-crossed lovers.”

And I would agree.

It merely follows: 'A desperate 21-year-old who hires a detached older escort to find escapism in Greece. But as time runs out, they find purpose… and grow deeply into feelings they weren’t meant to catch.'

We’ve known for 400 years that Romeo and Juliet’s solution is “simple”: they shouldn’t do it. But deep down, we all desperately want them to.

In our subtle and intimate, 15-rated, character-driven script, we follow:

Juniper. She knows who she is, only using her witty quips to hide what she’s not. At 30, it feels too late to change. It’s easier to just help Tristan become a policeman.

Tristan. He’s smart, only too smart for his own good. At 21, it feels too early to change. It’s easier to just help Juniper become a lawyer.

They’re both optimists trying to be pessimists, teasing and prodding each other. Which is all fun and games… until you remember: the more you take, the more you end up giving away.

That’s where flaws are revealed, vulnerable truths are admitted, and they find the hope they desperately need.

You see, our “Romeo” and “Juliet’s” biggest antagonist isn’t some elaborate conspiracy — it’s simply themselves.

It forces viewers to confront their own self-limiting beliefs if they want the characters to find this “doomed” love. Because it’s an allegory for finding purpose in uncertainty. And don’t we all secretly want that to be true?

So before they go home, will they listen to each other — or to society — and finally get their “dream lives”? Learning that success is about doing the right thing…

But does that mean giving up what feels right to them? Yielding to society’s disapproval of age-gap relationships — never mind escorts? Not living like we all should…

“Like As You Like It.” The title of this movie.

Underneath it all, it’s about regret. And about the small chances we never take.

When I was 13, I went on holiday to Greece. A girl liked me for two weeks, and I didn’t say a single word. That tiny regret stuck with me for ten years. We all carry some version of that — the conversation we didn’t start, the life we didn’t live.

I realized it’s easier to speak directly to those regrets and quiet desires we all know are there, rather than distracting people with plot tricks or shiny gimmicks.

The lessons I’ve put into this film are the same lessons I learned through rebuilding my own life: quitting empty jobs, rewiring my habits at 4am, freezing under cold showers, learning new languages just to get closer to these characters. That journey confirmed what I already suspected: most people aren’t truly hungry for the easy life — they’re hungry for the life they keep telling themselves they’re not brave enough to chase.

This film is here to challenge that — and quietly hand them the key they already had in their pocket.

When I was 13, I went on holiday to Greece. A girl liked me for two weeks, and I didn’t say a single word. That small regret stayed with me for ten years.

Later, I watched Call Me By Your Name in 2018 — that feeling of a fleeting summer, something pure and unfinished, haunted me.

But honestly, most of it came from where I’m from. The place where the audience actually goes back to sleep in their same houses, clock into their same offices, and drink in the same pubs with my friends.

Over time, you start to see it everywhere: this massive, quiet desire to do something real with their lives — to not just watch someone else live fully on screen, but to feel like they’re living it themselves.

Yes, they come to the cinema for escapism. But deep down, what they really want is to be found. That’s why the film’s core question is: Do we want to disappear? Or do we want to be found?

After seeing that over and over, I realised: these people don’t need more perfect, polished fantasies. They need a reminder of how they can change their own lives.

And that’s exactly the film I started writing.

Well, because I want to make this film not like I want to…but ‘Like as You like it’. 

I’m not kidding either. Because at the end of the day, that is the message. There are infinite ways to live. We can choose the safe path, the predictable one — and end up haunted by regrets we’ve all carried for years. Or we can take the leap, do something brave, even if it’s messy and unguaranteed. In fact, “the best things appear where you least expect them”.

So if my letter and gift were the surprisingly best thing you received that day — then even before making the movie, I’m happy to already be achieving my actual purpose.

Because my message in living ‘Like as you like it’ means not just doing what you “should” do — Doing the right thing in questioning this random gift, cautious of this keen stranger, glancing sceptically at his website because you’re a professional. What’s more is I invite it. I actually want you to question it all, not just me even, because I’d rather you make a choice you truly believe in than follow something you don’t.

But if this film, or any other leap you’re thinking about stirs something real inside you; then maybe that’s your sign. 

Because living “like as you like it” isn’t about reckless abandon. It’s about balancing what you should do with what you deeply “want” to do. It’s about choosing to do whatever the damn hell you want to do. Don’t let me or anyone else tell you otherwise - do anything including responding to me: ‘Like as you Like it’. 

That’s what the title means. And that’s what I want for the audience — to live their life, like as they like it too.

Let’s start with this: you don’t need me. The audience doesn’t need me either. In fact, they don’t need any of us.

The only person anyone truly needs in this life is themselves. But the tragedy is — most people have forgotten who that is.

Our job isn’t to save them. It’s to remind them. To help them remember that person deep down inside, so they can take back their own story.

I’m not here to force anyone into anything — not producers, not audiences. I’m not here to preach, or to tell people that their life is broken. I know they already carry their own struggles. And I know that because I’ve been there beside them.

I’ve heard their dreams during late shifts. Their fears spilled out over drinks at a noisy pub. Their quiet regrets out in the middle of nowhere, planting trees in the rain, asking themselves why they ever signed up for farm work in Australia.

I’m not offering them a fix or some heroic, glossy solution. I’m simply offering them a mirror. Because that’s all I’ve ever offered myself.

I’m not here to give them my point, and I’m not here to give them my question. I’m just giving them the tools — so they can ask their question.

Do I take the leap of faith? Or do I keep living in regret?

That’s it. That’s all this is meant to do.

I trust in you like a man trusts a king. Because of your trust in the industry — like a king trusting the gods above.

But what is a god to the masses that don’t believe in him? All titles and claims fall short if the ones in the dark cinema seats don’t believe in the film’s doctrine — because they don’t believe in themselves.

Maybe most moviemakers find it easier when people lack self-belief. It drives them into cinemas to escape that truth, to buy tickets to safe stories. But here’s what I’ve found: people will always end up believing in something. They will find their “true god,” their own story, and they will attach themselves to the narrative that makes them feel most alive — whether we offer it to them or not.

Even the richest empires and the grandest churches have always known this: they aren’t anything if they can’t convince others of their narrative. They knew if they didn’t step up, someone else would.

So, I leave these words to you — because someone else is already whispering them to other filmmakers. My reminder needs your voice, because I believe in your narrative. And I would much rather it be your story — the one they remember as helping them change their lives.

Ah… what makes this different?

We don’t chase the big wedding speeches or perfect sunsets. We don’t force sweeping musical swells to tell you how to feel. We focus on the small, criminally overlooked details — the micro-moments most films skip past: the shy shift of a hand, the awkward silence that says more than a monologue, the clumsy brush of a knee that changes everything.

Other films are busy building a glossy fantasy to help you escape. Ours is quietly asking you to stay — to stay with the uncomfortable truth, the missed glances, the tiny decisions that shape who we become. We believe the biggest transformations come from the smallest moments. Just like a single drop becomes an ocean, or a quiet wave can shape a whole coastline.

And beyond the story, this film refuses to hide behind perfection. The budget isn’t big. The cast won’t look like magazine covers. Our characters admit they aren’t role models. That rawness, that rough edge — it’s why you don’t leave saying “aww,” you leave saying “oh fuck.”

Because deep down, we don’t really want more sugar-coated reassurance. We want a mirror. A reminder that the tiny, overlooked parts of our lives might be the very things worth risking everything for.

Who’s this really for? It’s for the people around their quarter life crisis — the 15–19-year-olds feeling lost and curious as they approach it. The 20–30 year-old crowd stuck in the middle of it and the 30–35 year-olds starting to just give up on the whole thing and missing their window. 

These are the people still searching for meaning — often through temporary distractions, short-term pleasures, or endless self-development cycles that never quite stick.

And it’s not just a hunch. In 2022, Gallup asked adults worldwide if they felt worry, stress, sadness, or anger the day before. Over 40% said yes to worry and stress; 27% to sadness; 23% to anger. And the top Google search phrase in September 2023? “I am tired.”

This film is for the ones who are tired — of themselves, of their habits, of their regrets. It’s for the ones ready to watch something that doesn’t just entertain them for two hours but plants a seed they can’t shake off later.

I wish I could say this is some one-off golden window. But really, this problem — people avoiding change, numbing themselves, living smaller than they’re capable of — isn’t new. It’s always been here.

But right now, we’re in a rare psychological moment. We’re still close enough to remember life before Covid, before inflation and constant burnout. People are still joking about the rising prices, still making memes, still protesting — that’s proof they haven’t fully given up yet. They’re still hoping for something better.

Deep down, I believe people want to change. Our whole success relies on that. And when you give people even a small taste of hope, they chase it relentlessly, even if they know they shouldn’t. It’s why we romanticize doomed love stories. It’s why we go back to those films that hurt us in the best way.

I can’t tell you exactly how many people will walk out changed. I can’t promise every audience member will embrace it. But I can promise you this: no one, especially not me, remembers the safe, cautious investments I or others made 8 years ago for example. But we all remember Call Me By Your Name that came out then. I l remember the film that felt like a quiet revolution, not something keeping me static.

Legacy isn’t built by waiting for the perfect moment. It’s built by acting imperfectly in the messy “now.” 

That’s why it has to be now. Specifically because the times aren’t right and people aren’t naïve. 

Imagine your favourite holiday — the one you came back from and never saw your normal life the same way again. Everything felt amazing, almost like you slipped into a completely different, better life.

That’s exactly the tone I aim to capture. A nostalgic, beguiling haze that seeps into every shot and every sound, quietly reminding you how much more there is to life than you thought.

But just like the slogan asks: Do we want to disappear? Or do we really want to be found? Because at its heart, this isn’t just about romantic love — it’s really about seeking belonging and purpose.

The setting, the characters, the themes — they’re all designed to put both the protagonists and us into moments of deep relaxation and sharp discomfort. To force us to grow, to confront who we are, and to find a truer version of ourselves.

Sometimes that’s nature making us slow down and listen. Sometimes it’s an unexpected echo of ancient Greek philosophy reframing everything. Sometimes it’s art reminding us that imperfections are the most human thing we have.

And if you want to go even deeper into the details — the cinematography, shot styles, costume palettes — you’ll find all of that broken down clearly in my pitch deck, right here on the website.

We start in England — grey, muted, as dull as the elephant in the room. You can feel how tired the characters are of this life. The washed-out colour palette, the insipid lighting, the tight, suffocating shots — you’re meant to feel stuck with them.

Then we get to Greece… and it’s like a different planet. It’s beautiful. Every frame feels like a warm summer breath. You see those dreamy pastel palettes, the hazy light, and aesthetic, painting-like shots — enough to make Claude Monet blush.

But the visuals don’t stay static. As Tristan and Juniper grow bolder and more alive, so does the camera. The colours become deeper, richer, almost burning into the frame. Shots start to buzz with a secretive, electric intensity. Scintillating, fuzzy lighting seeps in, and the echoing sound design starts to hum like a distant memory.

It becomes less a "picture-perfect" world and more like a fading, romanticized memory — the kind you know is slipping away even as you try to hold it.

By the end, the visuals strike a delicate balance: part grounded, like England… and part hopeful, like Greece. A final reminder that beauty really is in the eye of the beholder — in this case, our camera’s eye, constantly finding new angles on what it means to be alive.

And if you’d like to see all these moods for yourself — colour palettes, frame references, and detailed visual breakdowns — it’s all laid out clearly in my pitch deck, right here on the website.

You could say Like As You Like It is in direct conversation with films like Call Me By Your Name, Before Sunrise, and Lost in Translation.

All three share that same heartbeat: two people, an unexpected connection, and a limited window of time that makes every small detail feel enormous. Our film leans into that same bittersweet, immersive atmosphere — the unspoken glances, the quiet meals, the small touches that stay with you long after the credits roll.

In Call Me By Your Name, it’s the subtle melancholy of knowing a summer can’t last forever. In Before Sunrise, it’s the haunting thought: “What if you had actually started that random conversation with a stranger?” In Lost in Translation, it’s the ache of wanting to be understood beyond words.

We’ve pulled the essential emotional architecture from each — connection, transience, unguarded moments — and rebuilt it with our own characters, under our own cultural and emotional lens. 

And yes, there’s evidence these stories resonate. After all, their three movies combined won over 170 awards, average a 96% Rotten Tomatoes score, and have around a 7.8 IMDb rating. Anyway the detailed market proof, numbers, and cultural timing analysis? All of that lives in my pitch deck, if you’re curious to dive deeper. 

But at the core: it’s about creating a love story that feels more lived-in than performed. One that doesn’t shout, but lingers quietly in your head for days.

Strategically speaking, I’m keeping fully in theme here. I’m not reinventing the wheel.

My plan is to attach Emilia Clarke as both lead and producer — and I’m already in the process of reaching out to her. From there, she reads the script, engages with my pitch package, and if she feels passionately aligned, she takes it on.

Emilia Clarke is really the only one who can truly pull this off, and that belief fuels my determination to make it so.

After that, we’d look to enter either a shopping agreement or, more likely, a flexible, unofficial development understanding. We’d do this while the project’s viability becomes clear and a co-production structure is finalized with partners in Greece, France, and the UK.

You can help with this as much or as little as you’d like — open doors, or simply watch it unfold. Either way, I’ll keep pushing this exactly as I have so far.

I hate to talk in generalities when it comes to money — which is why I’ve broken everything down comprehensively (with real sources and strategies) in my pitch deck, if you want the full detail.

But to give you the big picture: we’re aiming at around £2.25M / €2.67M / $2.97M. In broad terms, about 65% of that comes from “first priority” sources like public funding, production incentives, and broadcaster investments. Another ~30% would come from pre-sales and producer investments. And finally, private or other sources would only be used to fill whatever small gaps remain (ideally no more than 3–5%).

As for release strategy: yes, we start with the festival season, followed by a limited theatrical run in North America, the UK, France, and Greece — essential for building European credibility. But the real focus isn’t just “getting into theatres.” The real focus is acquiring our first 250,000–500,000 superfans — the audience segment most likely to deeply engage, revisit, and evangelize.

Based on research, each superfan influences roughly three additional people to watch. With that ripple effect, these early adopters alone can drive 45% to 81% of total admissions once we scale to a wide release. That organic, fan-driven momentum is what truly carries the film beyond its initial festival life.

Of course, this is only the high-level outline. The real nuance — all the schemes, co-production structures, regional funding breakdowns, and precise audience modelling — lives in my pitch deck, if you feel like diving in.

It would genuinely be easier to tell you what I haven't risked I've given that much to this project.

It's hard to explain in quantifiable detail the 1,856 days dedicated to this spec script. However, given the movie isn't made yet one thing I do know I've been waking up and trying to make this script, failing and doing the same thing all again tomorrow. 1,856x in a row.

Not many people in my position spend 7 months on a pitch deck, 12 months on preparing a pitch and Q&A, 18 months on a script, £8,000 worth of debt incurred. Honestly, I don't blame them either in fact I'm actually jealous. Yet, I'm jealous because I know no matter my 0.001% odds of success I can't help but still try to contact you even if it costs me more months or debt.

Look — I’m not denying there are other ways. Faster ways. Cleaner ways. Scripts that would be easier to sell or safer to pitch. There are people with bigger budgets, shinier equipment, perfect connections. I’m sure someone else could give you a prettier package.

But none of that would work here. This story demands patience, and patience demands sacrifice. It needs someone willing to do the slow, “boring” things everyone else avoids — the rewrites no one sees, the silent battles at 4am, the years of committing to something that offers no immediate reward.

I wish I could have chosen an easier path. I wish I could have picked a simpler, more obvious idea to pitch — something that looked perfect on paper. But the reality is, I couldn’t ignore this story. Every time I tried to walk away, it kept calling me back.

In a way, it feels like a burden. A quiet responsibility I didn’t ask for but couldn’t turn away from. Because this isn’t about finding the most perfect or marketable method — it’s about telling the story in the only way that stays true to its heart, no matter how messy, slow, or imperfect that looks from the outside.

Anyone could theoretically do it. But almost no one will. And that’s exactly why it has to be me.

Do you believe in destiny? I do — because this is one of the hardest industries to survive in, and coincidence alone doesn’t get you here. You took the leap of faith, made sacrifices, just like I did. And look at us: sitting here, with the privilege to talk about making films, while so many people are stuck just trying to survive.

If you’re anything like me, you don’t want to sit on past achievements forever. You want to share hope — so others might be as lucky, as happy, as deeply alive as we’ve been blessed to feel.

I want people to leave this film feeling like they’ve been given a quiet, steady flame inside them — a reminder that taking the leap, even if it’s foolish, might be the only thing worth doing.

That’s what I want them to feel. And that’s why I wrote this story.

Let’s be clear: I’m not here to direct. I’m not here to be some untouchable auteur.

I’ve written a script. I want to help produce it. And then act in it to bring it to life. I only intend to be a dictionary for how we produce and release a story like this — storing the knowledge and sharing it with the rest of you, so you can apply it how you see fit, with your own personal experiences.

Why act?

Well… how many mixed-race actors in the UK are fluent in French, learning Greek, have 15 years of acting experience from Disney’s Lion King UK tour to BBC’s Doctors — and have spent years living this exact life, from warehouses to muddy trenches? Probably just me.

You can watch my self-tape if you want to see for yourself.

The reality is: we need someone authentic, someone who feels like a real person rather than a movie star. You can’t ask an A-lister to cry about losing purpose and then watch them drive home to a mansion. I’m going back to minimum wage jobs, real debts, real stakes — just like our characters.

Why co-produce?

Because this film has to be rooted in real communities — in France and Greece. I speak their language, and even when I don’t, I’ve been exposed to their cultures for years.

If nothing happens? We walk away with respect. But if it lands… we might build something honest and rare. Together.

I believe the best response to this is linking you to the ‘Who the hell is in my office’ AI assessment of me. Where I explained in detail what I’m like, in set or in a crisis alike.

I’m not asking for an option or a fee. I’m asking for belief. A soft, non-binding development handshake that simply says, “We’re behind this, if it gets greenlit,” and helps open doors — to financiers, to actors like Emilia Clarke, to the next leap.

If nothing happens? We walk away with respect. But if it lands… we might build something honest and rare. Together.

If you say yes? Honestly… nothing really changes for me on the ground. I’ll keep doing exactly what I’ve been doing to reach you in the first place — relentless outreach, writing, refining, building.

Your “yes” doesn’t put me on pause waiting for you. It just opens doors that might otherwise take me years (or forever) to reach, especially since I’m not well-known or heavily represented. You’re my ticket into rooms I can’t knock on alone.

From there, you can help as little or as much as you like. Think of me as a passive investment if that suits you — or as a future partner if you want to get your hands dirty down the line. There’s no obligation, no forced commitment.

I’ll keep putting in full effort until a real conclusion is met, no matter what. You won’t need to worry about progress stalling; you can only accelerate it, never slow it down.

So it’s truly up to you. Any level of support — big or small — is welcome. No burden, no pressure. Just belief that moves things faster.

And if you want to see exactly how I plan to make this happen — who I’ll be approaching, why, and in what order — you’ll find all of that laid out in extensive detail inside my comprehensive pitch deck, available on this website if you feel like diving deeper beyond this overview.