SOTD! KEVIN COSTNER NEWS
Peter Meyer spent decades moving quietly but decisively behind the scenes of Hollywood, shaping careers while sidestepping the spotlight he helped others stand in. When the news broke that he had died at 68 after a five-year battle with sarcoma, the industry felt it like a punch to the ribs.
He wasn’t a celebrity, but he was one of the people who kept the machine running—steady, loyal, unpretentious. His sister put it simply: after fighting with everything he had, he passed surrounded by the people who mattered most. No dramatics. Just a man closing out a long, heavy chapter with dignity.
Meyer’s path in entertainment wasn’t loud or flashy. He built his name the old-school way—patience, grit, and an instinct for reading people better than they read themselves. He spent more than ten years at the William Morris Agency, navigating egos, scripts, and the churn of an industry that burns through talent managers as casually as new coffee pods. Anyone who’s worked at a major agency knows the pace is brutal. You survive if you’re sharp, and you succeed if you’re sharper than the next person in the hallway. Meyer did both.
In 1989, he took the leap and launched Meyer Management. Starting an independent management firm back then wasn’t trendy; it was a gamble. But Meyer always had a gambler’s calm—the kind of guy you couldn’t rattle with a bad deal, a studio meltdown, or a client in free-fall. He built a roster that spanned A-listers, character actors, comedians, and writers. He didn’t chase the loudest stars; he gravitated to people who actually wanted to work. Tom Hanks, Kevin Costner, and others stayed loyal to him for years, and that loyalty doesn’t happen by accident. In Hollywood, loyalty is currency, and Meyer earned it in stacks.
He wasn’t the type to waste time pretending to be something he wasn’t. He didn’t need the big persona, the manufactured mystique, or the empty bravado that packs the parties on Sunset. His clients knew he’d tell them the truth, even when it sucked. That’s why they trusted him. That’s why he lasted.
A memorial service was scheduled for June 13, 2023, at St. Monica’s Catholic Church in Santa Monica—a fitting place for someone who spent decades operating at the edge of the spotlight without ever stepping fully into it. The crowd likely spanned everyone from former studio heads to assistants who’d once relied on a quick call from Meyer to save their job. People like him tend to leave a longer shadow than anyone expects.
While the industry mourned Meyer, one of his most prominent former clients, Kevin Costner, was fighting his own battles—very different ones, but heavy in their own ways. Costner has always had the reputation of a guy who bets big on what he believes in. Sometimes it pays off. Sometimes it detonates. Right now, he’s in the middle of one of the most personal and public stretches of his life: a drawn-out divorce from Christine Baumgartner, plus a massive financial commitment that makes most Hollywood budgets look like grocery lists.
Costner didn’t just invest in his latest project, the Horizon franchise—he threw himself into it with a kind of reckless conviction most people lose by middle age. The man literally mortgaged a 10-acre waterfront property in Santa Barbara to make the film happen. That’s not pocket change territory. That’s “if this goes sideways, you’ll feel the tremor in your bones for years” territory. Reports put his personal contribution as high as $50 million—half of the entire $100 million budget. That’s not something actors do. Studios do that. Financiers do that. People with a safety net do that. But Costner stepped into the storm anyway.
Why? Because he thinks the story matters. Because he thinks the idea is worth the hit. Because, for better or worse, he’s always been the kind of guy who pushes the chips to the center of the table and dares the universe to blink first. And he’s blunt about it—he said straight out that he’ll never put his own money into another movie after these four Horizon films. You don’t drop a line like that unless you’re dead serious or dead tired.
The timing hasn’t been kind, either. Between the divorce, the press noise, the financial risks, and the weight of a franchise that hinges on both artistic ambition and economic gamble, Costner is walking a very thin line. And yet, he’s committed. He’s fully in. That’s something Meyer would’ve understood. Managers like him built their careers on clients who either played it safe or bet their lives on passion projects. Costner has never belonged to the first category.
When you look at both stories—the veteran manager who spent decades fighting for stability and the actor who’s burning through personal fortune to chase a creative vision—you see two very different faces of the same industry. One spent his career keeping other people’s chaos under control. The other is living in the middle of his own storm, still pushing forward because that’s who he is.
The contrast is sharp, but the connection is there. Meyer specialized in grounding people who dreamed too big or spiraled too fast. Costner is the type who dreams big even when it costs him. The industry needs both kinds to function: the stabilizers and the dreamers, the ones who push and the ones who pull back. Meyer spent his life being the anchor. Costner, right now, is the ship fighting waves that don’t care how famous he is.
Hollywood’s memory is short, but its grief is real when it hits the right people. Meyer wasn’t a household name, but he shaped the careers of people who are. That’s impact without the ego. And even as the headlines move on to Costner’s divorce filings, property assessments, and franchise budgets, Meyer’s absence will echo in every meeting, every contract, every moment when someone thinks, “Peter would’ve handled this better.”
He won’t be there to offer advice, to rein in a client, or to push them out of their comfort zone. But the people he guided will keep carrying the lessons—sharp, simple, unromantic, and rooted in reality. The same way he lived.
Costner will keep fighting his ba
