He was never the headline, never the face on the billboard, but Peter Meyer was the pause between panic and collapse. In a town that monetizes every crack in a person, he was the rare one who stayed when the cameras cut. He reminded stars they were not their last opening weekend, that the cruel math of projections and profit didn’t get to define whether they deserved another day. His legacy lives in the actors who didn’t quit, the directors who tried again, the broken people who chose to stay.

Far from the soft light of tributes, Kevin Costner stands in the hard glare of a different kind of faith, mortgaging comfort on Horizon with no promise the world will care. No test screenings can guarantee that kind of leap. Between Meyer’s unseen rescues and Costner’s public risk lies the thin, stubborn thread that still holds Hollywood together: the belief that a story, or a soul, can be worth more than what it earns.