When I asked my college directing professor for his thoughts about teaching directing, he mentioned a tendency in all of his students to believe in happy endings. He notes that they all thought if you worked hard enough and were a good person that everything would work out in the end. When I was one of his students, I believed the same thing.
I thought my good will and enthusiasm and my talent would save me and I would float, like a balloon to the loftiest heights. I thought the good and the smart and the nice people would be elevated and I would be among them, a handful of beautiful colorful brilliant balloons bouncing around on the palace’s gold-trimmed ceiling.
But I’ve seen the stupid thrive. That one girl at our college who seemed to not have three brain cells to rub together was the first to find success. I’ve seen the mean, the cruel, the hard, rise to the top of the pile. I’ve seen the authors of some of the most insipid, confused, messy, nonsensical, artless works find themselves with awards and great reviews.
And I’ve seen the kindest, the most brilliant, the most innovative, the most spirited artists consigned to artistic ghettos.
I’d like to be that naïve student I once was, believing that the good and smart will have happy endings but experience does not bear this out.