Sometimes the best actors are the most terrifying ones. We forget that they are not their characters. We forget that they do not hold all the answers like the teachers and fathers and therapists and captains and genies that they play. We forget that though his character is confident that true happiness is waking up next to the same woman every day and still being totally vulnerable and naive with her, in reality, his actual self has no fucking clue what it is. We forget that when he tells us to seize the day and smell and taste and love with all our hearts those very things may be the ones slowly ripping him apart. We forget that even though he lets us see every nuance of the people he portrays, the best actor never really lets us see him. And we may feel like we are his best friend and his patient and his student and his daughter because of the way he delivers those lines and the way he tells those stories and the way he makes us laugh. It’s hard to realize he’s hurting. It’s hard to realize that. Good actors make it hardest to remember that in the end they are so fucking human and so fucking lost like the rest of us.