Can We Should All Be Millionaires Inspire Indie Film Adaptations?

The phrase 'We Should All Be Millionaires' could be adapted in so many clever indie directions that I get excited just thinking about the possibilities. I’d personally want a film that treats the idea like a provocation rather than a slogan: something that interrogates why wealth is idolized and what we lose chasing it. A dark comedy could riff on pyramid-scheme culture and influencer capitalism, while a slow-burn drama might follow three people whose lives intersect because of one viral spreadsheet promising sudden wealth. Crowdfunding fits perfectly here—fans who believe in the premise can become producers and community ambassadors.

Stylistically, I’d favor naturalistic performances and tight, economical writing. The script should resist easy moralizing; instead, it should present messy, empathetic characters and let viewers wrestle with the ethics. A documentary hybrid—mixing reenactments and real interviews with economists or activists—would also be powerful, especially for festival audiences interested in social issues. Personally, I’d attend the premiere and linger at the bar afterward to argue about the finale.

That idea is a goldmine for indie cinema: the phrase 'We Should All Be Millionaires' instantly sets a tone that can be played as satire, drama, or surreal fable. I can picture a low-budget film that leans into intimate character work—neighbors who pool schemes, a janitor who becomes a folk-hero symbol, or a town ritual where everyone pretends to be wealthy for a weekend. Visually, you could do gritty handheld close-ups mixed with dreamlike, oversaturated sequences when characters imagine their million-dollar lives.

Financial inequality is dramatic in itself, so the adaptation can focus on micro-conflicts—marriage strain, small-business owners versus gentrifying developers, or generational debates about risk and safety. Musically, a sparse score with bursts of pop cynicism would underline the contrast between aspiration and reality. I’d lean on festivals and word-of-mouth: a provocative title like that gets programmers talking, and grassroots marketing—zine collabs, benefit screenings, and lively Q&As—can turn the film into a community event. If I were involved, I’d push for casting real people from affected neighborhoods alongside rising actors to keep authenticity, and I’d sneak in moments of warmth so the message doesn’t feel preachy. Honestly, I’d be thrilled to see a film that balances sharp social critique with human tenderness.

I end up thinking about the human stories hiding behind that slogan: the yearning, the shame, the small wins. On a practical level, the phrase is fantastic source material because it’s provocative and emotionally charged—perfect for indie filmmakers who want to probe social values without big studio gloss. I’d want a film that doesn’t preach but instead follows people making messy choices: a gig worker paying rent, an elderly neighbor who achieved a modest comfortable life, a young founder who loses friends to ambition. The drama arises when you contrast systemic barriers with personal responsibility, and that tension can be rendered quietly powerful with simple production—close-ups, ambient city sounds, and scenes of everyday labor.

My hope would be to end such a film on a note that complicates the slogan rather than endorses it: maybe characters find dignity in mutual aid, or they realize that wealth isn’t the only measure of success. That kind of ambiguity sticks with me, and I’d happily sit through a two-hour indie that left me rethinking what it means to be rich in life, not just in a bank account.

Plenty of fertile ground exists when you take 'We Should All Be Millionaires' as a concept rather than a literal goal. I’d approach it structurally like a three-act indie: Act one humanizes the desire—introduce relatable protagonists stuck in precarious jobs; act two complicates that longing with schemes, community tension, and ethical trade-offs; act three forces a reckoning where money either solves nothing or reveals unexpected costs. Alternatively, an episodic anthology could explore different cultures and economies—one episode set in a Rust Belt town, another in a rapidly gentrifying city block, another among digital nomads chasing crypto dreams.

From a filmmaking perspective, using tight frames and saturated color during fantasy sequences can communicate the intoxicating pull of wealth, then pull back to muted palettes for everyday life. I’d also think about sound design: the clink of coins exaggerated, or the silence of an empty apartment amplified, to underscore emotional beats. Thematically, the film ought to ask who benefits when the dream of being a millionaire becomes a societal imperative, and whether alternative values—community care, time, dignity—can be celebrated on screen. I’d champion collaborations with economists, community organizers, and musicians from affected neighborhoods to keep the project grounded and resonant. If it were my choice, I’d aim for something that sparks conversation at dinner tables and on subway rides.

If I had to pitch three short indie treatments built around the phrase, I’d make them wildly different. First, a mockumentary following a charismatic coach selling seminars promising millionaire status; the film would skew sharp and comedic, exposing how motivational language can be repackaged as exploitative advice. I’d film it like a candid vérité piece with on-the-nose interview cutaways, letting the audience watch the con unfold and empathize with those who buy hope because the alternatives feel worse.

Second, a quiet two-hander about two roommates in a dying industrial town who split their dreams: one wants to escape and chase a startup exit; the other wants to build a cooperative bakery that keeps money local. The tension between personal wealth and community resilience becomes emotional, almost domestic. Minimalist staging, long takes, and natural lighting would center performances. Third, I’d do a short magical-realist road piece where a mysterious pamphlet promising millionaire status physically follows the protagonists, forcing ethical choices and small acts of generosity that shift outcomes. That one would be lyrical, scored with a simple piano motif, and would end ambiguously—are they richer in cash or in ties? All three are low-budget-friendly and festival-ready, and I’d lean into partnerships with local musicians and small-business coalitions to amplify release energy; I genuinely think films like these can spark nuanced conversations beyond box-office metrics and feel rewarding to make and watch.

That injunction—'we should all be millionaires'—hooks me like a late-night debate topic that refuses to leave the room. I get excited imagining how that line could seed an indie film: not as a straight finance lecture, but as a prism that fractures into character, community, and consequence. One obvious route is a character-led drama about ambition and disillusionment: follow a protagonist chasing quick wealth through side hustles, crypto, or a dodgy startup, then peel back the cost to relationships and identity. Visually, I’d lean into intimate, handheld camerawork, warm-but-gritty color grading, and a score that mixes synths with lo-fi acoustic pieces to capture the tension between hustle culture and human warmth.

Another phase is satire—think angry, absurdist riffs in the vein of 'Sorry to Bother You' or 'Parasite' where the slogan becomes a marketing mantra that spirals into surreal consequences. An anthology approach could also work beautifully: vignettes across different cities and classes, each interpreting the phrase differently—one as liberation, another as coercion, and another as a coping joke. That gives filmmakers room to play with tone shifts, from black comedy to tender social realism à la 'The Florida Project' or 'Shoplifters'.

Practicalities matter to me as much as vibe. Indie budgets invite cleverness: use non-actors, local music talents, festival strategies, and community screenings with panels on wealth inequality to build word-of-mouth. Crowd-funding and partnerships with grassroots organizations can turn the film into an event rather than just another release. Ultimately I’d want the finished piece to ask not only whether becoming a millionaire is desirable, but who the system rewards and who pays the bill—leaving viewers unsettled and oddly hopeful, which I love in a movie night experience.

Three quick pitches that get me excited: first, a tight character piece about two siblings who inherit a 'get-rich' letter and decide to fake being millionaires for a year to escape debt, only to discover how performative success bleeds into identity. Second, a satirical mockumentary in the style of 'Sorry to Bother You' that follows a charismatic life-coach selling the idea that everyone deserves millionaire status, with real interviews peppered in. Third, a quiet road movie where strangers travel together to a retreat promising millionaire transformation, and the journey exposes their real priorities.

Low-budget indie tactics—local casting, location authenticity, and a killer soundtrack—can make any of these feel immediate and original. I’d want the final film to leave audiences debating whether wealth is the problem or just the symptom, which is the kind of messy, satisfying ambiguity I enjoy.