I am 45 years old and I play the part of a grandmother. I finished?
Dear Remy,
I've been an actress for over 20 years and I just landed a role in a new TV show. Sounds great, right? Except they chose me for the role of grandmother. I am 45 years old. I still have abs, Remy! I do hot yoga four times a week and could probably lift my 30-year-old co-star, but instead, it seems, I'm spending my scenes knitting and reminiscing about “the good old days.”
The actor who plays my nephew is 30 years old. Thirty! I could date him in real life (and believe me, I've dated people in that age range—they just have a lot more zeal!), but instead I play his dear old grandmother. I half expect the next scene to be where I pass him a hard candy and tell him how I met Grandpa at Woodstock (spoiler: I wasn't alive during Woodstock).
I'm worried that's all. That I will soon be cast as the wise neighbor who hands out casseroles or the eccentric aunt who gives cryptic advice while pruning the roses? I've already accepted the role, but what does this mean for my future? Should I start buying cardigans and shawls now? Do you have a walker or two on standby?
Your,
Grandma, not grandma
Dear grandmother,
You're right: Hollywood has this charming habit of stuffing actresses into “older woman” roles long before they're ready. Once you join the granny club, you may actually get more offers for similar parts. It's not right, but it's reality.
However, since you have taken on the role, your focus now is how to own it. What can you bring to this character that makes her unforgettable? You have the opportunity to play this role in a way that completely overturns the usual expectations. Think of her as your grandmother, someone who does hot yoga, bench presses 200 pounds, and still posts thirst traps on Instagram.
It's also about thinking long term. Yes, this role may be the first of many grandma offers, but you can still control what you do next. Start strategizing roles that break the mold. A grandmother who conducts her own robbery? Who is the center of a quintal of love? Who is the president's bodyguard during an alien attack?
Stay vital but play versatile,
Your,
Remy
Illustration by Russ Tudor
Help! My instincts have abandoned me!
Dear Remy,
I've been a casting director for over a decade, and for the most part, I was the person everyone called when they needed an actor who could carry a film. I had an unshakeable instinct that I could spot talent from across the room, even if they were just there to throw headshots. I once chose a lead actor based solely on the way they carried a chair out of the waiting room (it was measured but soulful and put me in mind of a young Gregory Peck). I'm happy to say that the decision worked, just like all the others.
Then last year I made a huge mistake. We were casting the male lead for a big-budget musical adaptation and I thought I'd found the perfect guy. He cried during the audition—literally, with tears streaming down his face—and I was convinced we had struck gold. I thought to myself, “This man is going to get an Oscar. I'll get an Oscar. We're going to get all the Oscars,” like I'm channeling Oprah Winfrey.
But once we got on set and the cameras started rolling for real, it was like someone flipped a switch. His performance was so woodsy that I half expected him to start sprouting branches and a family of bullfinches to nest in him. It turns out that his big emotional audition was due to an aggressive bout of hay fever, not any real acting ability.
Suddenly, I lost all confidence in my decision making. Now I can't even decide if I want oat milk or almond milk in my milk, let alone choose the next star. Yesterday I stood in front of my closet for 15 minutes, debating whether my 2010 shoes were vintage enough to wear ironically or whether I should just buy new ones. What do I do, Remy? Is my career doomed because of a boyfriend and an incorrect pollen count?
Your,
Cast adrift
Dear Cast Adrift,
You're not done. Making casting decisions means taking risks, and sometimes those risks backfire. It's impossible to be right every time. If you were, you wouldn't be taking enough riskse.g.
This seems huge because the consequences are public, but let's be honest: You didn't make this decision in isolation. Directors and producers supported you, which means everyone saw what you saw. This should tell you something: your instincts are still strong. You were unlucky this time. Sooner or later we all have our day of reckoning, and perhaps you should be happy that the greatest adversary you've faced is pollen.
You're doubting yourself about everything because this big choice has put your confidence to the test. The best way to overcome it? Talk to your industry peers. Everyone, everyone, has made a bad choice at some point. Amy Heckerling bounced back from “Look Who's Talking,” the Wachowskis from “Jupiter Ascending” and Ang Lee from “Gemini Man.” It's not about the mistake; it's about how you recover from it.
You've built your career on trusting your instincts, and one misstep doesn't erase that. Get back out there and make the next big casting choice.
warmly,
Remy
I wish to be part of a power couple, so why am I stuck as a power single?
Dear Remy,
I'm a writer who's spent the last decade climbing the Hollywood ladder. I did the hard work: scripts for children's shows, soap operas, whatever I could get. And finally, I got into premium drama. I optioned a few things and one of my scripts actually got made into a pilot, which almost got accepted. If you squint, you can see me touching success.
But here's the thing: all the famous writers I admire are part of Hollywood power couples. You know, the ones who date A-list actors or are married to A-list producers. I'm not asking for much, just someone who can help me explore this city while looking fabulous in a designer tuxedo. Someone who my name can be linked to on Getty Images or who we can merge together, like “Brangelina”.
I've been scrolling through dating apps like a maniac, but it's all wrong. Real estate agents, software engineers – there was even someone really interested in making sourdough bread. How will sourdough bread help me get into Sundance, Remy? I'm looking for a guy who understands that I'm only two scripts away from becoming someone and who, preferably, has access to exclusive after-parties.
Am I superficial? Perhaps. But is it too much to ask for love and a career boost?
Your,
Single power
Dear Power Single,
If you're looking to be part of a power couple right now, you'll simply be someone famous's plus-one. Power couples are made up of two people who have both made it, and right now you're still on track. The best move? Focus on your career first. Build your name. Then, when you've made it, you won't need someone else's fame to strengthen you: you'll be equal.
In any relationship, especially one in the spotlight, balance and equality are crucial. If you rush into something where there is a significant imbalance, whether it's fame, success, or influence, you can create tension that undermines the relationship before it even begins. True power couples are built on mutual respect, and that respect comes from both people's ability to stand alone.
Career comes first. The right relationship will come when you're ready and it will be based on who you are, not who they are.
Your,
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.