Michael J. Weithorn spoke about writing and directing the film “The Best You Can,” which is having its world premiere at the Tribeca Film Festival.
What inspired you to direct ‘The Best You Can’?
To the extent that I continue making films, I can’t really imagine writing something this personal and not directing it. For me, it’s all of a piece — I see it a certain way, and I want to bring it to life that way.
I’ve never approached my work by asking, “What are people buying?” or “What will networks go for?” I’ve always just tried to write things I would want to see, things that appeal to my taste and sensibility.
I’ve always hoped that if I do that honestly, others might respond the same way.
With this film, I knew what it needed to be in order to become the movie I would want to see. Another director might have done something great with it — maybe even better — but it wouldn’t be what I would have done.
So I suppose there’s a bit of selfishness in wanting to maintain control of the core creative elements.
That said, I’m also working on another project right now that I co-wrote with a partner, where I’m just the screenwriter. It’s interesting, but it’s not personal in the same way. This one was, and that made all the difference.
Also — life’s short. We should push ourselves and try new things. Directing doesn’t come as naturally to me as writing does. I’ve always considered myself a writer first. But learning how to direct, stepping into that pressure — the ticking clock, the intensity — it’s terrifying and exhilarating.
When you make it through to the other side, it’s one of those rare “I did it” moments. That’s deeply satisfying.
What was it like working with Kevin Bacon and the cast?
It really was amazing. And I know everyone says that — “What a great cast!” — but in this case, it’s genuinely true.
Kevin, Kyra, and Judd — as the senior members of the cast — brought so much craft, control, thoughtfulness, and authenticity to their performances.
I found myself marveling at it, honestly. I’ve never been an actor, never had that urge, and I still see acting as this mysterious, wondrous thing that some people can just do.
Judd made some beautifully subtle choices as his character moves in and out of dementia. They felt so real and specific.
My father had dementia in the last ten years of his life, so I knew what that looked like — and Judd just nailed it, even though he has no personal experience with it. He just got it.
Kevin and Kyra were total pros. So authentic. And in some cases, even though they were working with lines I’d written, there were a few moments where something didn’t feel quite as organic coming from them.
And in the edit, I had to let those lines go — no matter how clever they were or how much I liked them.
If a line felt false in the scene, it had to be cut, because it would take away from everything else that felt real. I had to trust that. And I knew if something wasn’t landing, the problem wasn’t with them — it was with me, as the writer.
That’s the whole “kill your darlings” thing. It’s absolutely true.
What did writing the screenplay teach you about yourself?
Even though this script has a very different rhythm and style from the kind of TV I used to do — like The King of Queens — I realized that all those years of storytelling still applied.
Over my career, I’ve written or overseen over 500 half-hours of television. And doing that, over and over, teaches you something about structure — about how to create characters, place them in situations, and build something complete from beginning to end.
Once I understood who these characters were and what they were dealing with, the story started to come naturally. For example, when Stan and Cynthia meet — well, texting became a natural conduit for them to get closer.
Then came the question, “What’s the conflict?” And the wrong text ended up being the thing that created it. That kind of cause and effect — building tension, paying things off — those instincts were still there.
Exactly how to execute it was still trial and error, but the storytelling muscles came back.
How does it feel to be a filmmaker in the digital age, with streaming and social media being so prevalent?
Honestly, I don’t pay much attention to any of that. I just love films and want to make them. AI, streaming, social media — I don’t know what’s going to happen.
Maybe the traditional methods of filmmaking will become obsolete. I hope not. Because I don’t think anything can match a film that’s truly a human creation.
I’m not even talking about my own work — I mean any great film that’s personal and honest and human. The film that really made me want to shift from TV into film was You Can Count on Me.
I loved it — not just because of the story, but because it showed how a simple story about regular people could soar. You don’t need spectacle. Anyone you pass on the street might have a story that’s worth telling.
As for social media — yeah, things are changing. Studios may become obsolete. People are finding ways to go direct-to-viewer, which is great if the work stays real and human.
That’s what matters to me. I’m just curious if I’ll live long enough to see where all this goes — and whether heartfelt storytelling still finds its place.
What is your advice for young and emerging filmmakers?
I actually teach writing — at Columbia’s MFA program in New York, and I just finished teaching a class at UCSB, where I live. So this comes up a lot.
What I always tell students is: you have to write. You have to write and write and write — a thousand bad pages for every hundred good ones. It’s never going to come easy, and it shouldn’t. Writing is rewriting.
But more than anything, you have to need to do it. There has to be a fire inside you. Because without that, the obstacles will stop you. There are too many of them.
The good news is, there’s so much more access now than there used to be. You can make something for next to nothing and put it out into the world.
I show my students examples like Broad City or Insecure — shows that started as web series shot on iPhones and ended up becoming massive hits.
That kind of opportunity didn’t exist when I was their age. You had to go through the system. Now you can bypass it.
So use that access. Keep making things. Be relentless. Believe in yourself.
Show business isn’t like other professions. You don’t send in an application and get hired. It’s unpredictable. It’s about relationships and timing and chance. But if you’re persistent, and the work is good — things can happen.
What does the word “success” mean to you?
In creative terms, I think success means having a vision and doing the hard work to bring it to life.
But then comes the question: if you finish something you’re proud of and no one ever sees it, was it a success? It’s subjective.
Obviously, we all want our work to be seen. And if someone puts money into making it, you want them to get a return. So there’s financial success and creative success — and ideally, you get both.
For me, there was a real sense of success just finishing the script. I thought, “I did it, and I think it’s good.” That felt great.
So maybe the best way to think about it is in stages. You succeed in one phase — the writing, the directing, getting it made — and then you hope to succeed in the next one. But it all has to start with something that’s truthful and personal and good.
What would you like to tell our readers about ‘The Best You Can’?
There was one write-up that described it as a rom-com, and everyone seemed thrilled — but I sort of cringed. Because that’s really not what this is.
My goal was to make a film for people who are open to a more reflective take on relationships. It’s not about the big, sweeping fairytale moment where two people run into each other’s arms in the rain and suddenly everything is perfect. That’s a lovely fantasy, but it’s not this movie.
What I wanted to do was explore the messiness, the imperfectness, of real life — the kind of connection that feels true, even if it isn’t tidy or idealized. If that’s something you respond to, I think this film might resonate.
Instead, I wanted to make something that reflects the real complexity of life. It’s messy. It’s imperfect. And there’s beauty in that.
If this film is exhilarating, it’s not because it transports you to a fantasy — it’s because it might hold up a mirror to your own experiences. And if that sounds appealing, I think this is the movie for you.
To learn more about “The Best You Can,” check out the official Tribeca Film Festival website.
