Workplace reviews and discussion: 汎宇電商股份有限公司

After staying with the troupe long enough, even an idiot can endure their way into becoming a veteran performer; and after veteran performers endure it long enough, they become specimens for people to admire.

The person in charge used to sell pastries. Now, even while running a theater troupe, they are still selling pastries. The only improvement is that the packaging is more refined; the filling remains completely empty.

As long as the pastry looks pretty, that's enough. Whether it can actually fill anyone's stomach is the actors' concern—the person in charge can't be bothered with it. They speak one way to people and another way to ghosts; to the audience, they say how classic the performances are, and to the troupe leader, they say how difficult these actors are to manage. They curry favor from all sides without letting a drop slip through, the very embodiment of “becoming one with the role.”

Choosing, revising, and piecing together plays should be professional work, but here, all that matters is who has the loudest voice.

The theater master is a half-baked amateur. How the script is pieced together and how the lines are rewritten all depend on their mood. If the actors ask too many questions, they get tossed a line: “Think less and do more—we understand the professional stuff.” As for whether the performance is any good? The audience is used to it anyway. As long as what's served up has novel packaging, even if it's reheated leftovers or a patchwork of bits thrown together, the audience will still applaud until their hands are sore—and might even be moved to tears.

In the end, the troupe belongs to the troupe leader. If the plays can make money, you expect a raise too? That's thinking too much.

Ask about pay? “It's not that we're refusing to give it; we're just not adding to it.” Keep asking, and you'll be subjected to a brainwashing lecture: “This is about a love of art, not coming here to demand wages.” If you still don't know your place, you'll be criticized: “You're not dedicated enough and have no craftsman’s spirit!” At the end of the year, there's even a performance of “entertaining one's parents in colorful clothes”: the actors stand in rows and shout in unison, “Thank you, troupe leader!” What a lively scene—as though merely surviving the year were itself a victory.

Of course, there are also actors with exceptional insight who have mastered the art of bootlicking. Even if they're only an extra, they can soar to the heavens and dive into the earth, becoming kings and lords. Pay their respects to a mentor, shout “boss” a few times, and perhaps one day they might even become the person in charge. But no matter how high they fly, in the end they still have to land on their knees. After all, in this troupe there have never been protagonists—only roles assigned by fate.

The veteran performers below mastered real skills long ago: they can act, swallow their anger, bring their own provisions, and even occasionally swallow a knife on the spot, putting on a vivid performance of “desperate survival.” Without them, this troupe would have disbanded long ago.

The lessons of the old hands are written in blood and tears; even crying has become part of their acting. No matter how miserably they leave, it looks like they are performing a tragedy—the only difference is that no one will ever call “cut” on this play.