Help! I just released my masterpiece and it was crushed at the box office by a cartoon
Dear Remy,
This week I introduced the world to my most important work: a film that transcends simple narrative. It's a tour de force of cinematic mastery, fusing ancient texts and philosophical reflections with cutting-edge audience interaction. Imagine the vastness of Homer, the intellectual rigor of Dante and the cinematic flair of Kubrick, but modern and for the people. The film tackles humanity's darkest desires: the corrupting nature of power, the danger of being discovered, and, of course, the existential terror lurking in our souls. I meticulously crafted each frame as if it were a brushstroke on a canvas destined to hang in the Louvre. This wasn't just a movie: it was art.
And yet… somehow, this week's blockbuster is an animated film, complete with talking animals. I'm baffled. My film has been shunned by a population that prefers brightly colored pixels to the heavy introspection of my masterpiece. I had already planned the party: nine Veuve Clicquot Jeroboams ready to toast its inevitable rise to number 1. Instead, once again, I was left neglected. My only comfort is that, perhaps decades from now, my film will be unearthed by a future civilization that, living in dystopian ruins, will finally grasp the depth of my work while watching it on hand-cranked devices during a toxic atmosphere. sandstorm.
How can I face this grave insult from a world that fails to appreciate my vision? Must I, like Van Gogh, wait for posthumous vindication?
Your,
An exhausted genius
Dear Jade Genie,
Your passion for your film is undeniable and yes, your project seems… monumental. But perhaps you've spent so much time meticulously crafting this masterpiece that you've forgotten the key ingredient of cinema: connection. Did that animated film engage viewers in a way that your work didn't? Is it possible that, in your search for depth, you have missed the simple joy of telling stories?
Thinking too much can sometimes be the enemy of impact. Consider that your audience might be looking for something a little lighter right now: less brooding nihilism, more talking birds. What might this teach you about brevity and accessibility?
The animated features are, overall, simple. And this may be their beauty. They have a singularity of thought that is easy to follow for their target audience, but packs beauty for moms and dads. On the other hand, you've presented a list of influences – from Dante to Van Gogh – that's longer than a CVS receipt.
Finally, those Jeroboams will drink no more. Maybe invite some friends over, watch that animated movie, and remind yourself that not all art has to change the world to be loved.
Improve,
Remy
Did my husband just get enlightened? Do I have to do it too?
Dear Remy,
My husband and I always had a pact: We would grow old shamefully, laughing at the passing time as we sipped Kristal and reminisced about the heady, hedonistic nights of the 2000s. We both lived fast, partied hard, and somehow, miraculously, emerged with all our teeth intact and just a slight softness around the edges. I have always agreed with this, embracing the “Macrame Scarecrow” look, as I like to call it, a patchwork of life experiences.
But out of nowhere, my husband caught me by surprise with a middle-aged “glow.” He's been cast in an action-comedy movie and suddenly he's fasting, downing raw egg yolks, and exercising with a fervor that's starting to scare the neighborhood dogs. His goal? Getting “cut” – which I have since learned is the desire to have one's nerves visible, like the statue of David or a malnourished iguana.
Now I find myself next to this Adonis and, honestly, I feel like a crumpled grocery bag flapping in the wind. While he's out here lifting the bench with his body weight, I'm contemplating a second pack of Cheez-Its. Should I try to enlighten myself too? I honestly would rather chew on a carb.
Your,
Glow-Stationary
Dear Glow-Steady,
First, we appreciate your ability to embrace the Scarecrow Macramé aesthetic – it's an art and it looks like you nailed it. The pressure to “keep up” with your newly sculpted husband is real, but the decision to shine should be yours and yours alone. If you'd rather indulge in carbs than cardio, then go for it.
The hassles can be exhausting, both physically and mentally. Ask yourself, are you happy with your skin? If so, why chase something that doesn't feel authentic? Your shine doesn't have to be external. Perhaps you shine best from within, radiating the wisdom and humor you've gained from a life well lived (and well celebrated).
The idea that a couple has to be coordinated in the way they appear makes no sense. You and your husband are not a matching set of Bergdorf salad tongs: you are two human beings. Your bodies should serve you as individuals first, and if your husband wants to do burpees on your way to Bordeaux, there's nothing wrong with either choice.
Your husband may be chiseled now, but in the long run, it's laughter and shared experiences — not egg yolks — that truly bond you.
Improve,
Remy
My Old Writing Partner Wants to Reunite: Good Idea or Bad?
Dear Remy,
My old writing partner and I were Hollywood's dynamic duo, until one fateful day at The Polo Lounge, an argument got out of hand and he threw a scampi at my head. Yes, we were young, volatile, and competitive, and our breakup was tabloid-worthy. I will never forget the waiter's face when my partner, in a fit of rage, knocked over the table and stormed out.
Fast forward 10 years, and out of the blue, he emailed me, suggesting we get together. It's been through some tough times, and even though I've been successful on my own, there's a part of me that wonders if a comeback would be profitable. Could we be the Liam and Noel Gallagher of the writing world? Or would this reunion reignite old tensions that had us fighting over a makeup artist we both had a crush on (who, by the way, has since left Los Angeles to start a woodturning business in Santa Fe)?
Should I reunite with him for old times' sake or continue riding alone?
Your,
Duo Remake?
Dear Duo Redo?,
Ah, the shrimp toss at the Polo Lounge: the hallmark of a creative partnership on fire. It's understandable that after such a legendary breakup, a reunion could sound just as electric. But here's the question: What has fueled your success since then? Has independence allowed you to thrive, or are you lacking the collaborative spark (minus the seafood onslaught)?
There's always the chance that this reunion could reignite the magic – or the madness. Consider whether this partnership would be useful to you now or whether it's simply nostalgia calling. Nostalgia is great, but we still have to carefully choose the parts of the past we want to relive: leg warmers and 80s neon? Bring it back. 80s wood paneling and gelatin? Leave it behind.
So ask yourself: Could this collaboration become a revitalizing chapter, or would it be like reviving a sitcom that should never have made it past season four?
Whatever you decide, remember that your success is self-sustaining. If you team up again, make sure it's not for tabloid headlines, but for the creative synergy you once shared. And maybe keep all seafood well away from the table.
Improve,
Remy
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.