Is running away from zombies ruining my career?
Dear Remy,
I got rich from the lead role in a hit horror series. When I accepted, I had two young children and needed a stable job. I thought about making a film, picking up the tab and then returning to more “serious” roles: costume dramas, corsets and petticoats.
But here I am, ten years later, with seven sequels under my belt and nothing else to show for it. My character was buried alive, held hostage in a haunted silo, and trapped in a pocket-sized paranormal universe where everyone was half-bee, half-human. I have perfected the art of running as if my life depended on it, yet somehow slow enough for a reanimated corpse to catch up to me. My freaking face is now a meme used on every continent and featured on Leno.
I'm stuck. The worst part? I know I'm good at these films. They're well made and I try hard, but horror doesn't get the respect it deserves. During awards season, horror films are always sadly overlooked. I trained at Juilliard and can scream on cue while dodging zombies, but I feel like I'll forever be the “scream queen.” Should I fight for horror to be taken seriously or try to break into something else?
The scream was
The dear cry was,
You have a successful franchise, recurring jobs, and you've appeared in Leno – that's the kind of stable work and profile that most actors dream of. But it seems your frustration isn't related to the horror itself; it depends on how the industry, and perhaps you, perceive your role in it.
You're right: the industry doesn't seem to embrace horror like it does other genres (maybe they're just wimps as a whole), which means it needs a champion. Could it be you? What would happen if you embraced your position as a pioneer in elevating horror? Do you think the respect you're seeking could come if you stopped seeing your success as a trap and started seeing it as an opportunity to redefine the genre's potential?
And what about your path towards other genres: would a period horror film be a good launching pad? Would wearing wigs while dodging poltergeists be your thing?
Until your next incarnation,
Remy
Illustration by Russ Tudor
Help! My podcast partner keeps editing me
Dear Remy,
I've been hosting a pop culture podcast with my best friend for two years. We started with ten listeners (all our moms, each with multiple accounts) and now get tens of thousands of downloads a month. Here's the deal: My friend edits the podcast and turned it into the “Me Show.”
If I mispronounce something, like that time I pronounced Rihanna's “H,” he makes sure to leave it in. But when I make a big point about how Reddit's algorithm is destroying society or suggest that Billie Eilish is a music industry plant, those pieces disappear.
Meanwhile, he modifies himself to look like the Oracle of Los Angeles. His voice has all the gravitas, while I sound like the guy who's there through the Make-A-Wish Foundation.
What should I do? I don't want to start a feud, but this is getting out of hand.
The pod man
Dear Pod man,
You've been keeping a mental scorecard and that's rarely a sign of a healthy partnership. Before you confront your co-host, you might ask yourself if this is truly about airtime or is it more about feeling like your voice isn't appreciated?
What if you both sat down and had an honest conversation about how you each see your role in the podcast? You could frame this as a larger conversation about the direction of podcasting in general: should you look at editorial, revitalize the format, or maybe launch a line of merch, maybe oven mitts with your faces on them?
Could it be that he is as unaware of how much airtime he is taking up as you are of how much resentment you have built up? And more importantly, what's really at stake for you if this continues? For what it's worth, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the Reddit algorithm, so I'd say be your own cheerleader here.
Wishing you smooth sailing as you navigate these uncharted airwaves,
Remy
I'm a brilliant set designer: why don't my friends believe me?
Dear Remy,
I am one of the best production designers in Hollywood, working with the biggest film studios and the most famous directors. But I can't stop rearranging everything: my friends' living rooms, their nurseries, even their meeting rooms. I once couldn't leave an executive's office without rearranging the trophies on his shelves. Two friends actually interrupted me after remodeling their baby's nursery according to Vastu Shastra principles… during their baby shower.
My wife doesn't let me have people over anymore because I spend half the time trying out color schemes and the other half explaining Feng Shui. I once recycled my mother's favorite rocking chair into stackable tables while she was out shopping—she still hasn't forgiven me. I'm brilliant at what I do. Shouldn't everyone appreciate my genius?
Set in My Ways
Dear Set in my ways,
You sound like a sound engineer adjusting the volume of people's conversations at dinner or a lighting director dimming the lights at brunch. You're brilliant, but there's a difference between being good at your job and taking it places where it's not wanted.
Have you considered that your need to reorganize is not about design, but about control? What if, instead of reshaping the world around you, you focused on why you feel the need to impose your creativity in spaces that aren't yours? Would you still be so driven to adapt to your surroundings if you could learn to let go in your personal life? For the sake of your wife, who must be constantly disoriented by constantly moving furniture, these are things to consider.
Don't hold back your creative impulses, but perhaps offer your help to your friends when it comes to their interior design choices before you launch into your Feng Shui shuffles. Like a vampire, maybe you need to be invited first?
Sending you best wishes from my perfectly positioned armchair,
Remy
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Remy Blumenfeld is a veteran television producer and founder of Vitality Guru, which offers business and career coaching to top performers in media. Send questions to: guru@vitality.guru.
Questions by Sarah Mills.