Peter Meyer’s passing at 68 didn’t just dim a light; it removed a stabilizing force from an industry addicted to volatility. He was the quiet center of countless storms, the one who understood that panic is contagious and calm is a currency. Executives came to him when the numbers were bad, actors when the reviews were worse. He listened more than he spoke, and in a town of amplifiers, that made him indispensable. His absence is a silence people can feel.
While candles burn in Santa Monica, Kevin Costner rides straight into uncertainty with Horizon, staking his own money and late-career capital on a Western no studio truly wanted to own. It is either a final, defiant masterpiece or an expensive mirage. Between Meyer’s protective guidance and Costner’s reckless faith lies Hollywood’s real heartbeat: the fragile, irrational conviction that some stories must be told, even if they break the people who tell them.
