Dear M. Night Shyamalan,
I think you are a brilliant man! I think your character development is deeply amazing and superb! And the actors chosen to play the characters are unbelievably perfect for the parts! You are clearly a man who knows about life. You present the real struggles of people in the throes of battle, not only in the terrestrial and the heavenly things, but all those that lie between. It is truly a pleasure to be thrilled by your thoughts! To have my senses tingled and teased by your implications! You bring me to the point of… oh my… titillation… the point of… well… the point of… anti-fucking-climax! What the hell happened? You’re like a seer! Like a prophet! A man with eyes open to the universe, open to hell, open to inner and outer beings! Did you stop searching just short of finding? Every single time you tell a story, you draw me in. You make me be there with you. You drive me along the path you’ve trodden. I can’t wait for the next step. And bam! Brick wall! Every single fucking time! Stop that! Please. I beg of you. Stop telling stories until you really know how to follow through with something that is really going to mean something. Don’t show me meat, if it’s going to just disappear as I reach for it, mouth a-watering. If all you have to offer is straw, then just tell me up front. I can’t take the disappointment any longer!
I’ll be waiting right here to hear from you when you have finished with some things that have some finishings.
Your devoted servant,
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