“Dear Remy”: Hollywood Career Coach Gives Advice to Theme Park-Allergic Author and Kid-Hating On-Set Tutor

Remy Blumenfeld
·6 min read

Child Actors Are Ruining My Career Plans

Dear Remy,

I’m in my dream industry, but my nightmare job.

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Getting into the movies was always my goal — even when I was 5, I used to set up my stuffed toys as if they were on the set of a film and play at being Tarantino (I had quite laid-back parents). Long story short, I’ve found my way in — but as a child chaperone. And I hate it.

After completing my BFA, I struggled to make ends meet, especially as a lot of my income was being spent buying equipment for my short films. I was also receiving rejection after rejection for even the most entry-level roles (did you know there’s such a thing as a wig-wrangler?).

Then, a friend suggested chaperoning.

I’m very bright academically and so was a shoo-in for the role (you’d be surprised how many pushy theater moms simultaneously think their kids will go to Harvard). My plan was to get on set and start networking with the directors and decision-makers so I could side-step over to the creative side.

But the reality is, there hasn’t been a chance to speak to the director about the slasher thriller I’ve been nurturing since college. Instead, my days are spent talking about long division or with my hand up an Elmo puppet. The kids are mini-divas — one even questioned the way I had sliced his apple for him the other day (he wanted circles rather than moons).

Imagine a nightmare where you find yourself trapped within the Mickey Mouse Club universe, day in, day out. That is my life. It’s also been troubling to me to find that I clearly hate children. I always thought I’d make a great father one day. After I’d won a few Oscars.

Remy, what should my next steps be? Accept my fate or find an escape before I get buried in gel pens?

Sincerely,
Mickey Mouse Club Survivor

Dear Mickey Mouse Club Survivor,

First off, kudos for landing in the industry! Even if you’re currently navigating the kiddie pool rather than the Oscar stage, getting your foot in the door is a huge accomplishment.

Let’s break this down:

1. You’re Not Alone: Many in the industry start in roles that make them question their sanity. Hollywood is full of “it’s not right, but it’s OK” scenarios. The trick is leveraging this stepping stone without getting stuck in the quicksand.

2. Maximize Your Exposure: Even in your current role, there are ways to subtly network. Directors and producers are more approachable than you think — especially when they’re not being pitched at every turn. Can you find moments between apple slices to mention your slasher thriller casually? Perhaps during a coffee break or while discussing the kids’ schedule? (You can leave the little ones with a particularly difficult quadratic equation if it helps).

3. Build a Portfolio: Use your off hours to continue building your portfolio. Enter short film contests, collaborate with indie filmmakers and keep creating. Show your passion through your work, even if it’s on weekends.

4. Communicate Your Goals: It might be time to have a candid conversation with your supervisor about your career aspirations. Frame it in a way that shows you’re dedicated to your current role but eager to grow within the industry.

5. Stay Humorous and Resilient: Your sense of humor is your secret weapon. Use it to get through the day and to build rapport with colleagues. Everyone loves someone who can make them laugh, and that could be your in with the decision-makers.

Hang in there. The Mickey Mouse Club might be your current gig, but it’s not your final destination. Keep your eyes on the prize and your wigs wrangled.

Break a leg (not literally),
Remy

illustration of Remy Blumenfeld
illustration of Remy Blumenfeld

I Don’t Want People Riding My Characters

Dear Remy,

This is the strangest problem I’ve ever had, but I find myself with a multi-million dollar deal on the table — and there’s a chance I’m going to walk away.

I have written a series of fantasy novels that have been developed into a movie franchise. So far, so good. But now a high-profile leisure and entertainment company has reached out with a plan to launch a chain of theme parks based on my books.

Remy, I am a humble girl, and the books were based on an internal world I escaped to as a child growing up in Midwestern suburbia (for example, the flying weevils with their wings shaped like shoulder pads are based on the jocks who bullied me). The fact my stories sold, and even became movies, has taken me wholly by pleasant surprise. I have been buoyed along by the momentum of my reps and producers, but this offer has finally stopped me in my tracks.

A theme park, to me, represents a sort of disposable excess I don’t think I want to put my name to. I couldn’t stomach seeing my half-human, half-mythical protagonist — with all the texture, nuance and backstory I have loaded him with over the years — turned into a teacup ride. My fans tell me they love my world-building — that it’s a fantasy land superimposed onto the real world that we cannot see, with an ecosystem of magical species — can this really be captured in sing-song animatronics? There is no part of my imagined landscape that can be turned into either a log flume or a runaway train, and that’s before I’ve even started to think about themed Slurpee stands.

Remy, would I be crazy to turn the money down? I am no Walt Disney. I have no interest in building my empire to financial excess, or in being cryogenically frozen.

Yours,
Tilt-a-Whirl Girl

Dear Tilt-a-Whirl Girl,

Thank you for sharing your dilemma. It’s not often we encounter such unique challenges, but it’s a testament to your success and the impact of your work.

Being swept along by your own success is both thrilling and daunting. Hollywood can exert immense pressure, especially for those of us from more modest backgrounds who aren’t used to saying no. It’s crucial to remember that you have the power to control your narrative and make choices that align with your values.

Ask yourself: Will this theme park honor the spirit of your world, or will it dilute the magic you’ve created? If you feel it compromises the essence of your work, it’s okay to walk away. Your integrity and the authenticity of your universe are worth more than any financial gain. And it sounds like the stories you’ve created would not be easily transmuted into a carnival float.

On the other hand, if there’s a way to creatively influence the project, ensuring it stays true to your vision, it might be worth exploring. You don’t have to become Walt Disney, but you can set boundaries that make you comfortable. Is it possible your fans would enjoy walking through the world you’ve created, jock-weevils and all?

Ultimately, trust your instincts. Your success was built on staying true to yourself and your stories. Don’t let anyone pressure you into a decision that doesn’t feel right.

Keep your world magical,
Remy

How Do I Pitch a Reality Show That Defies Reality?

Dear Remy,

Have you ever been asked to pitch a show that doesn’t exist?

I’ll start from the beginning. I exec for a big studio on the West Coast, and our bread and butter is reality TV. My boss has always had his head in the clouds (sometimes literally since he lives on the top floor of the Radziner), but I largely manage him through a mixture of good humor and the odd Charleston Chew when he’s particularly in need of distraction.

But this week I hit a roadblock, as he has demanded I pitch a show that doesn’t exist. He has bought the IP for a popular dating app and wants me to see if I can garner any presales to European territories for a format based on the app. He says that it will pique the interest of U.S. buyers if they think it has traction elsewhere.

The only thing is, there is no format. Whenever I ask him how the show will work, he repeats that it will work “just like the app,” or gazes out the window before asking for the scores on the Dodgers game.

Remy, I believe in my own talents, I really do. I have been able to turn literally anything into a pitch document in the past — an argument I overheard between a couple browsing at Macy’s, rumors from my old high school about the head cheerleader, even a recipe for an ice cream sundae. But this feels like I’m working with a whim, and my inspiration has vanished.

I only recently came across the term “gaslighting” (forgive me Remy, I’m nearly 50), and I think that’s how I’m feeling now! I can’t possibly pitch a show that doesn’t exist — can I?

I came into the industry to create formats that shine a light on our humanity — foibles, frictions, fixations, all of it — and I firmly believe that reality TV can do that. But this latest episode makes me feel more like I’m in an MLM or a member of the Ghostbusters — trading in products that don’t exist.

What would your advice be here, Remy? I’m desperate!

Yours,
The Format Whisperer

Dear Format Whisperer,

First off, managing your boss with Charleston Chews and a good sense of humor? You deserve a medal — or at least a spot on a reality show yourself. It sounds like you’re more a dog-wrangler than an exec, keeping your boss on track and distracted with treats! (Is he chipped? That might help if you ever lose him).

Now, pitching a show that doesn’t exist? Welcome to Hollywood, where reality is often more fictional than our scripts. Your situation may seem like gaslighting, but it’s also a unique opportunity to flex those creative muscles that got you this far.

Here’s what you do: Embrace the chaos. Create a pitch that outlines the potential of the dating app format without getting bogged down in specifics. Highlight the human connections, the drama, the unexpected twists — everything that reality TV thrives on. Think of it as a skeleton that you can flesh out later once you have a clearer direction.

Show your boss a rough concept that demonstrates you’re moving forward. Sometimes, giving them something tangible — even if it’s a bit of smoke and mirrors (or contour sponges and infinity pools) — can be enough to get the ball rolling and to steer the conversation towards more concrete ideas.

Remember, your strength lies in your ability to transform the mundane into compelling TV. You’ve done it before, and you can do it again. And who knows? This whimsical pitch might just turn into the next big hit, proving once again that reality is what we make of it.

So, grab that metaphorical proton pack, and go bust some ghosts—erm, I mean, pitch that non-existent show with confidence.

Pitch perfectly,
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: guru@vitality.guru.

Questions edited by Sarah Mills.

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