Dear David J. Castillo,
I’ve been thinking a lot about your being an utter waste of space.
Now, while I believe that that is true for most people in the world, I think it is especially true because lately, you’ve been acting pretty recklessly. You’d think that after four years of training within a BFA Acting program at one of the best acting schools in the country, several of which you’ve had Ilana Brownstein as a teacher during, you’d realize that your audience is not stupid. But you haven’t. Or maybe you have and your thesis, and the amount of existential questions that plague you while rehearsing for it, have extracted that from your memory. Either way, breathe. Please; it benefits me. You have worked incredibly hard to create a world in which a story that you want to tell—a tragic, cyclical, and pretty important one—lives hilariously and heartbreakingly. I mean, you’ve extracted me from the depths of your intestines. Trust your instincts. Trust your training. Trust your aesthetic. Trust your artistry. Stop worrying about whether or not your audience will “get it.” Those that do will have just as many questions to ask as those that don’t. So, let the text do the work it was meant to do. Let your body and your voice tell the story you’ve curated. And remember, for God’s sake, that your audience is not stupid.
Stanley—the physical embodiment of your loss and cynicism—your ever-critical clown.