- How old are you really? I'm trying to be patient. How old are you, hmm? I'm 65. How old are you? Well, if you can't say your age, then you can't accept my play. - I accept my age. - Why can't you read my lines? - Listen, Sarah. Every playwright writes a play about herself. You've written a play about aging. I'm not your age. - What is your age? - I am aware that, uh, playing an older woman is part of my problem. I have no illusions about being a teenager. But on stage, you have Virginia having hot flashes. I don't have hot flashes. I'm not going through menopause. I'm not ready to play grandmothers yet. You know, you're very clever. If I'm good at this part, my career is severely limited. - Limited to what? - Once you're convincing in a part... the audience accepts you as that. - As what? - As old, that's what. Old.
Opening Night, John Cassavetes (1977)