“Dear Remy”: Hollywood Career Coach Gives Advice on Box Office Blues and Mid-Life Glow-Ups

Help! I Just Released My Masterpiece — and It Got Crushed at the Box Office By a Cartoon

Dear Remy,

This week, I released into the world my greatest work — a film that transcends mere storytelling. It is a tour de force of cinematic mastery, blending ancient texts and philosophical musings 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 wrestles with humanity’s darkest desires — the corrupting nature of power, the danger of discovery and, naturally, the existential dread lurking in our souls. I painstakingly crafted each frame as though it were a brushstroke on a canvas meant to be hung in the Louvre. This was not just a movie — it was art.

And yet … somehow, the box office champion this week is an animated feature, complete with talking animals. I’m flummoxed. My film has been shunned by a populace that prefers brightly colored pixels over the weighty introspection of my masterwork. I had already planned the party — nine Jeroboams of Veuve Clicquot ready to toast its inevitable ascent to No. 1. Instead, I am left, once again, overlooked. My only solace is that, perhaps decades from now, my film will be unearthed by a future civilization, who, by then living in dystopian ruins, will finally grasp the profundity of my work as they watch it on hand-cranked devices during a toxic sandstorm.

How do I deal with this grievous insult from a world that cannot appreciate my vision? Must I, like Van Gogh, wait for posthumous vindication?

Yours,
A Jaded Genius

Dear Jaded Genius,

Your passion for your film is undeniable — and yes, your project sounds … monumental. But perhaps you’ve spent so long meticulously crafting this masterpiece that you forgot the key ingredient in filmmaking: connection. Did that animated feature engage viewers in a way your opus did not? Is it possible that, in your pursuit of profundity, you missed the simple joy of storytelling?

Overthinking can sometimes be the enemy of impact. Consider that your audience might be seeking something a little lighter right now — less brooding nihilism, more talking birds. What could this teach you about brevity and accessibility?

Animated features are, in the main, simple. And that can be their beauty. They have a singularity of thought that is both easy to follow for their target audience, but holds beauty for Moms and Pops. On the other hand, you’ve presented a list of influences — Dante to Van Gogh — that is longer than a CVS receipt.

Finally, those Jeroboams won’t drink themselves. Maybe invite some friends over, watch that animated feature, and remind yourself that not all art has to change the world in order to be loved.

Best,
Remy

My Husband Just Glowed Up? Do I Have To, Too?

Dear Remy,

My husband and I always had a pact — we’d grow old disgracefully, laughing at the passing of time as we sipped Kristal and recalled the heady, hedonistic nights of the 2000s. We both lived fast, partied hard, and somehow, miraculously, emerged with all our teeth intact and only a slight softness around the edges. I’ve always been OK with that — embracing the “Macramé Scarecrow” look, as I like to call it, a patchwork of life’s experiences.

But out of nowhere, my husband blindsided me with a midlife “glow-up.” He was cast in an action-comedy movie, and suddenly, he’s fasting, downing raw egg yolks and working out with a fervor that’s starting to scare the neighborhood dogs. His goal? To get “cut” — which I’ve since learned is the desire to have one’s sinews visible, like the statue of David or an underfed iguana.

I now find myself standing next to this Adonis, and, honestly, I feel like a crumpled grocery bag flapping in the wind. While he’s out here bench-pressing his body weight, I’m contemplating a second packet of Cheez-Its. Should I try to glow up too? I’d honestly rather gnaw on a carb.

Yours,
Glow-Steady

Dear Glow-Steady,

First, let’s appreciate your ability to embrace the Macramé Scarecrow aesthetic — there’s an art to that, and it sounds like you’ve nailed it. The pressure to “keep up” with your newly sculpted husband is real, but the decision to glow up should be yours and yours alone. If you’d rather indulge in carbs than cardio, then own it.

Glow-ups can be exhausting, both physically and mentally. Ask yourself, are you content in your skin? If so, why chase something that doesn’t feel authentic? Your glow doesn’t need to be external. Maybe you glow best from within — radiating the wisdom and humor you’ve gained from a life well-lived (and well-partied).

The idea that a couple must be coordinated in how they appear is nonsense. You and your husband are not a matching set of salad tongs from Bergdorf’s — you’re two human beings. Your bodies should serve you as individuals first, and if your husband wants to burpee while you reach for the Bordeaux, there’s nothing wrong with either choice.

Your husband may be chiseled now, but in the long run, it’s the shared laughter and experiences — not the egg yolks — that truly bond you.

Best,
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, when an argument got out of hand and he launched a shrimp scampi at my head. Yes, we were young, volatile and competitive, and our breakup was tabloid-worthy. I’ll never forget the busboy’s face when my partner, in a fit of rage, toppled the table and stormed out.

Fast forward 10 years, and out of the blue, he’s emailed me, suggesting we reunite. He’s hit hard times, and while I’ve had success on my own, there’s a part of me that wonders if a comeback would be lucrative. Could we be the Liam and Noel Gallagher of the writing world? Or would this reunion reignite the old tensions that had us brawling over a makeup artist we both had crushes on (who, by the way, has since left L.A. to start a wood-turning business in Santa Fe)?

Should I reunite with him for old times’ sake, or keep riding solo?

Yours,
Duo Redo?

Dear Duo Redo?,

Ah, shrimp-throwing at The Polo Lounge — the hallmark of a creative partnership on fire. It’s understandable that, after such a legendary breakup, a reunion might sound equally electric. But here’s the question: what has fueled your success since? Has independence allowed you to thrive, or do you miss the collaborative spark (minus the seafood assault)?

There’s always the possibility that this reunion could reignite the magic — or the madness. Consider whether this partnership would serve you now, or if it’s simply nostalgia calling. Nostalgia is great, but we still need to pick and choose carefully the parts of the past we want to reexperience: ’80s leg warmers and neons? Bring it back. ’80s wood paneling and aspic? Leave it behind.

So ask yourself: Could this collaboration become a revitalizing chapter, or would it be like reviving a sitcom that never should’ve gotten past its fourth season?

Whatever you decide, remember that your success stands on its own. If you do team up again, ensure it’s not for tabloid headlines, but for the creative synergy you once shared. And perhaps keep all seafood well away from the table.

Best,
Remy

Remy Blumenfeld is a veteran TV producer and founder of Vitality Guru, which offers business and career coaching to high performers in media. Send queries to: [email protected].

Questions edited by Sarah Mills.