Is Running from Zombies Ruining My Career?
I’ve become wealthy as the lead in a successful horror franchise. When I signed on, I had two young kids and needed the steady work. I figured I’d do one film, take the check, and then get back to more ‘serious’ roles—period 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 has been buried alive, held hostage in a haunted silo, and trapped in a paranormal pocket universe where everyone was half bee, half human. I’ve perfected the art of running like my life depends on it, but somehow just slowly enough for a reanimated corpse to catch up. My mid-scream face is now a meme that’s been used on every continent and featured on Leno.
I’m stuck. The worst part? I know I’m good in these films. They’re well-made, and I give it my all, but horror doesn’t get the respect it deserves. At awards season, horror movies are always woefully overlooked. I trained at Juilliard, and I can scream on cue while dodging zombies, but it feels like I’m forever the ‘scream queen.’ Should I fight for horror to be taken seriously, or try to break out into something else?
Scream Has-Been
Dear Scream Has-Been,
You’ve got a successful franchise, recurring work, and you’ve been featured on Leno—this is the kind of steady work and profile most actors dream of. But it sounds like your frustration isn’t with horror itself; it’s with how the industry—and perhaps you—perceive your role in it.
You’re right—the industry doesn’t appear to embrace horror like it does other genres (perhaps they’re just collectively wimps), which means it needs a champion. Could that be you? What would happen if you embraced your position as a pioneer in elevating horror? Do you think the respect you’re seeking might come if you stop viewing your success as a trap and start seeing it as an opportunity to redefine the genre’s potential?
And on finding your way into other genres: would a period-horror piece be a good stepping stone? Would wearing periwigs while dodging poltergeists be your thing?
Until your next incarnation,
Remy
Help! My Podcast Partner Keeps Editing Me Out
Dear Remy,
I’ve been co-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 we’re getting tens of thousands of downloads a month. Here’s the problem: my friend edits the podcast, and he’s turned it into the ‘Me Show.’
If I mispronounce something—like that time I pronounced the ‘H’ in Rihanna—he makes sure to leave that in. But when I make a great point about how Reddit’s algorithm is destroying society or suggest Billie Eilish is a music industry plant, those bits disappear.
Meanwhile, he edits himself to sound like the Oracle of Los Angeles. His voice gets all the gravitas, while I sound like the guy who’s there via the Make-A-Wish Foundation.
What do I do? I don’t want to start a feud, but this is getting out of hand.
Man of Pod
Dear Man of Pod,
You’ve been keeping a mental scorecard, and that’s rarely a sign of a healthy partnership. Before confronting your co-host, could you ask yourself if this is truly about airtime, or is it more about feeling like your voice isn’t valued?
What would happen if you both sat down and had an honest conversation about how each of you sees your role in the podcast? You could frame it as a broader conversation about the direction of the podcast overall: should you be looking at the editorial, revitalizing the format, or maybe even launching a line of merchandise—perhaps oven mitts with your faces on them?
Could it be that he’s just as unaware of how much airtime he’s taking as you are of how much resentment you’ve 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 views on the Reddit algorithm, so I would 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’m a top set designer in Hollywood, working with the biggest studios and most celebrated directors. But I can’t stop rearranging everything—my friends’ living rooms, their nurseries, even their meeting rooms. Once, I couldn’t leave an exec’s office without reorganizing the trophies on his shelves. Two friends actually cut me off after I repositioned their baby’s nursery according to Vastu Shastra principles… at their baby shower.
My wife won’t let me invite people over anymore because I spend half the time testing out color schemes and the other half explaining Feng Shui. I once upcycled my mom’s favorite rocking chair into nesting tables while she was at the grocery store—she still hasn’t forgiven me. I’m brilliant at what I do. Shouldn’t everyone just appreciate my genius?
Set in My Ways
Dear Set in My Ways,
You sound like a sound engineer who adjusts the volume of people’s conversations at dinner or a lighting director who dims the lights at brunch. You’re brilliant, but there’s a difference between being good at your job and bringing it into places where it’s unwanted.
Have you considered that your need to rearrange isn’t 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 as driven to adjust everyone’s surroundings if you could learn to let go in your personal life? For the sake of your wife—who must be constantly disoriented by the ever-moving furniture—these are things to consider.
Don’t curb your creative impulses, but perhaps offer up your help to your friends when it comes to their interior design choices before launching into your Feng Shui shuffles. Like a vampire—perhaps you need to be invited in first?
Sending you best wishes from my perfectly positioned armchair,
Remy
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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: guru@vitality.guru.
Questions edited by Sarah Mills.
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