Dear Robert Pattinson,
In light of the new much-buzzed agonized spread in Vanity Fair, WE GET IT. You have mixed feelings about the whole Twilight thing. On one hand it's gained you everything most people have ever dreamed of - fame, millions, an undeserved but unquestionably iconic place in movie history, innumerable fans who adore you with all their hearts and would conceivably lie down in the middle of the road if you asked (seriously. ugh). But the role has also "typecast" you and the celebrity limelight is doing weird things to your mind, and all you want is to be taken as a serious actor and also be able to sit down in a pub and toss back a drink without a riot breaking down, amirite.
But seriously. You've always come off as an intelligent, sincere young guy with an appealing and charismatic demeanor, even if I think you're not a very special actor. But seriously, I can't help but scoff when you have five bajillion interviews coming out per year where in each one, you whine to the interviewer about how you want your life to be more private and then spend the rest of the day strolling the streets with the interviewer and basically treating them like your new BFF and granting your rabid fanbase to an exclusive insight into A Day In the Life of Robert Pattinson. Even I admit to being totally riveted when I read your interviews, even though I think you're a terribly bland actor. Therein lies the problem. It's like you are disgusted at all the attention, but in reality all you want to do is show people that you really are a cool human being with a soul who does charming antics and even has a dirty sense of humor to boot, oh how precious of him!
Well, YOU CAN'T HAVE IT BOTH WAYS. If you really want to "prove yourself", giving interviews that are more far interesting than any of your performances is not helpful at all. You cannot whine about your privacy when, honestly, we don't need paparazzi or cameras in your situation - you give us all the dirt we need.
It's not exactly private when you present a near goddamn psychological case study of yourself in Vanity Fairy, causing fangirls to boo-hoo over your mental state and Roger Ebert to publicly express his sympathies. You claims to be protective of your life, but I swear there's almost nothing you haven't revealed to magazines, save your romantic life. You're neurotically open to interviewers (that's what a shrink is for, honey), and tells them things I wouldn't tell my casual acquaintances much less international publications, for god's sake. It's like, get a LOAD of this. With this outpouring of intimate and emotional details to millions of readers worldwide, you REALLY don't get why your fans become ever-increasingly obsessed about your life? Let me make it short: YOU SHARE TOO MUCH, DEAR. Stop with the telling. Get with the showing.
Pull your shit together and stop blabbing. As anyone knows, if you pick good movies that people want to see, then they will see it, regardless of whether you appear on that month's Vanity Fair or not. Christian Bale never does late-night talk shows hosts (much to my chagrin back when I was a huge devotee), and he seems to be doing okay. I know you really want to show off your intelligence and sensitivity and humor or whatnot, but no one really gives a shit except for the fangirls, and so it's only adding more fuel to the fire.
Btw, that cover really says "leave me alone, give me my own space" and not "look at me how fine I am with this alligator and smoldering glare". Goodness you are frustrating.
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