Dear Ms. または Mr. Donna,
To you, 芝居 is a solo activity. あなた expect everyone to praise あなた and be at your every beck and call, regardless of your actual skill または talent in the area of performance. So let me tell あなた one thing right now: あなた are not unique.
Are あなた surprised that I would dare to call あなた something as offensive as "ordinary"? But it's true, and I have proof. I know this is true, because we have met before. I met あなた first in middle school, as the girl who was always used to getting the lead and then was suddenly cast as the understudy. She contemplated quitting, when she decided instead that she would get much もっと見る sympathy playing the martyr, and hanging around and sulking during rehearsals, taking every chance she got to remind the actress who "stole" her role that the only reason she had it is because she sucked up to the director.
I met あなた again in my first few years of high school as the senior who auditioned for Javert in Les Miserables and when he was cast as Enjolras, a perfectly interesting and respectable character, subsequently threw down his script and quit, leaving the director to cast someone else. He called his replacement "talentless," and while the replacement may not have been able to hit every pitch, he worked harder than the quitter ever did to get his part right. Subsequently, the replacement did a much better portrayal of the passionate student than the quitter ever could have.
I met あなた a third time in my junior 年 as the temperamental new guy, gay and proud, and that's why everyone hated him. Because Lord knows, the entire population of the drama department was homophobic. The 秒 anyone tried to give him constructive criticism, he immediately dismissed it as "haters" who despised him for being amazing. Whenever he worked in groups with others, he refused to listen to any other ideas and forced everyone to do things his way, which wasn't always the best way.
I met あなた once more, my first 年 of college. あなた were the sweet girl who delighted in impressing new freshman. But when one of the protégés she had taken under her wing got the part instead of her, she immediately started badmouthing the freshman behind her back to her peers.
But によって the time I reached the end of my sophomore 年 of college, あなた were nowhere in sight. Would あなた like to know why? Well, I have a few theories. あなた realized that your behavior garnered あなた very few real friends. あなた discovered that someone was actually better at performance than あなた were. あなた found that talent only gets あなた half way, and that "acting" isn't as natural as あなた previously thought. あなた learned that a "drama major" doesn't mean you'll only act, but you'll have to work in fields you're unfamiliar with, and gained new respect for directors, designers, stage crew and playwrights. All in all, eventually あなた realized that あなた weren't better than everyone else. That being the thirteen-year-old lead in the middle school play doesn't mean you'll be a movie star. That あなた couldn't become a 星, つ星 automatically just because あなた had talent. That there are others out there who want to work with you, not compete against you.
In the end, あなた realized that 芝居 is not a solo endeavor. It's about ensemble, a word that your drama teachers have been shouting at あなた for years that あなた finally understand.
The mark of a great actor is his humility. Remember that.
To you, 芝居 is a solo activity. あなた expect everyone to praise あなた and be at your every beck and call, regardless of your actual skill または talent in the area of performance. So let me tell あなた one thing right now: あなた are not unique.
Are あなた surprised that I would dare to call あなた something as offensive as "ordinary"? But it's true, and I have proof. I know this is true, because we have met before. I met あなた first in middle school, as the girl who was always used to getting the lead and then was suddenly cast as the understudy. She contemplated quitting, when she decided instead that she would get much もっと見る sympathy playing the martyr, and hanging around and sulking during rehearsals, taking every chance she got to remind the actress who "stole" her role that the only reason she had it is because she sucked up to the director.
I met あなた again in my first few years of high school as the senior who auditioned for Javert in Les Miserables and when he was cast as Enjolras, a perfectly interesting and respectable character, subsequently threw down his script and quit, leaving the director to cast someone else. He called his replacement "talentless," and while the replacement may not have been able to hit every pitch, he worked harder than the quitter ever did to get his part right. Subsequently, the replacement did a much better portrayal of the passionate student than the quitter ever could have.
I met あなた a third time in my junior 年 as the temperamental new guy, gay and proud, and that's why everyone hated him. Because Lord knows, the entire population of the drama department was homophobic. The 秒 anyone tried to give him constructive criticism, he immediately dismissed it as "haters" who despised him for being amazing. Whenever he worked in groups with others, he refused to listen to any other ideas and forced everyone to do things his way, which wasn't always the best way.
I met あなた once more, my first 年 of college. あなた were the sweet girl who delighted in impressing new freshman. But when one of the protégés she had taken under her wing got the part instead of her, she immediately started badmouthing the freshman behind her back to her peers.
But によって the time I reached the end of my sophomore 年 of college, あなた were nowhere in sight. Would あなた like to know why? Well, I have a few theories. あなた realized that your behavior garnered あなた very few real friends. あなた discovered that someone was actually better at performance than あなた were. あなた found that talent only gets あなた half way, and that "acting" isn't as natural as あなた previously thought. あなた learned that a "drama major" doesn't mean you'll only act, but you'll have to work in fields you're unfamiliar with, and gained new respect for directors, designers, stage crew and playwrights. All in all, eventually あなた realized that あなた weren't better than everyone else. That being the thirteen-year-old lead in the middle school play doesn't mean you'll be a movie star. That あなた couldn't become a 星, つ星 automatically just because あなた had talent. That there are others out there who want to work with you, not compete against you.
In the end, あなた realized that 芝居 is not a solo endeavor. It's about ensemble, a word that your drama teachers have been shouting at あなた for years that あなた finally understand.
The mark of a great actor is his humility. Remember that.