A sprawling panorama of the Pacific Ocean was the first thing Chet saw when he opened his eyes. One hundred eighty-seven pounds of pure muscle, he always felt miniature in his beachfront Malibu home, like he was occupying a dollhouse. Miles of frantic blue waves rolled onto the sandy beach that doubled as Chet Hanks' backyard every morning. Something about the vastness of the sea humbled him, a nod toward his own mortality, a reminder of just how diminutive he was compared to nature. He was never at ease here, instead imbued with self-reproach that he felt anything but delighted by his situation. His father's chagrin echoed in his head.

"Most 30-year-olds would kill for a spot like this. And you just take it for granted. You take your mother and me for granted too.”

What Chet heard, however, was what he believed his father Tom must sometimes think, albeit with a comically villain-esque intonation: You'll never be as great an actor as me. You'll always be a disappointment.

Chet often felt that while his dad could bulk up, get inked, and speak in near-perfect Patois, his son could never land that famous line from Sully as well as the Tom Hanks: “I don't feel like a hero. I'm just a man who was doing his job.”

A man doing his job, Chet mouthed from under the covers. He fumbled around for a remote on his bedside table, fiddling with the buttons until his smart blinds closed, blocking the daylight from his bedroom entirely. Now five years sober, Chet wanted something different. He'd just turned 30 and longed to carve out space for himself — finally —and entirely on his own: no family help, no inebriants. Chet wanted to prove himself as an actor and make his family proud. He'd spent his 20's fucking up his and everyone around him's life and felt desperate to bring honor to the Hanks name. And he wanted to help people; he just didn't know how yet.

Most importantly, Chet wanted to be a good father, someone his little girl could look up to. He was tired of being a laughing stock. What Chet had not anticipated, however, was the help of a dead actor. A great, dead actor, sure, but still a dead one. A fucking ghost.

When exactly River showed up was unclear, but he seemed too entertained by the madness of Chet's life and his forthcoming, almost angelic nature, to move on to another protégé. This also wasn't his first time haunting a living actor. Or his second, third, or fourth. This was a business — River's business — run from the netherworld.

"River Phoenix's Paranormal Acting Academy, at your service," he'd told Chet upon their first encounter, extending his arm to shake the actor's hand. It was the polite thing to do, a common courtesy even among the dead, but River's hand went straight through Chet's, cold as ice, every time. Chet was used to this after three months working with River, but found himself flinching whenever his deceased buddy inched too close.

River found tremendous pleasure in helping actors hone their craft from beyond the grave. He tried to devote himself to one at a time but often found himself working with two, three, four actors around the clock.

A perk to not having to sleep anymore," he'd chuckle. "You can just do so much.

The Paranormal Acting Academy employed many dead actors, all of whom passed before they felt they'd adequately left their footprint on Hollywood or the world. Brittany Murphy, Bernie Mac, Chris Farley, John Belushi, Heath Ledger, Bruce Lee — they all worked under River, delivering acting tips and ideas through telepathic communications or working one-on-one with the rare few that could actually see them. Some of the best performances of the last decade were borne from the help of the paranormal. River often reminded Chet of his unique role in 'Hereditary', helping Toni Collette prepare for her scenes: "That was me!" he'd chortle. "Ah, man, was that some grueling shit. We workshopped those lines for days."

River liked to show up for actors who were going through it, to say the least, much like he was when 28 years prior, he passed from a fatal overdose outside of West Hollywood's infamous Viper Room club with only his brother and girlfriend by his side. He'd just returned to Los Angeles from Utah, where he'd been shooting the unreleased film 'Dark Blood'. While he'd struggled with addiction for years, he was sober throughout the shoot and felt at the top of his game. It was supposed to be the performance of his lifetime; a movie that, along with 'My Own Private Idaho', would have helped solidify River as a leading man and separate him from his squeaky clean child-star image. Dan Aykroyd, River's friend, and Sneakers costar, warned him about the crowd he was hanging around that week. Still, when River was offered, and encouraged, to take a lethal combination of cocaine and heroin on Halloween night of 1993, he acquiesced. "When in LA!" he'd joke. Those drugs were the last thing River would ever ingest or accept. As a living human being, that is.

"There are no drugs in the afterworld," he confessed a few nights prior as he watched Chet scarf down a yuzu truffle honey skirt steak from Nobu.

"But it's cool because when you're dead, you feel high all the time anyway. Not in a zonked way, just in a… there's no pain sort of way. Think about the best you've ever felt and just imagine that's the lowest bar. And you never feel worse than that. Ever. It's just happiness; love; joy," River paused, fixing his gaze on the folds of Chet's Wagyu dumplings like he was searching for a word in his head.

Elation. Yeah, that's it. Write that word down, man. We can use it later. I like that. Elation. Elation.

Chet was envious, of course. Happiness... all the time? No stress, no worry, no pain? He figured if everyone knew the truth about death, nobody would want to be alive anymore. And nobody would be afraid of dying. That was another intention of River's practice — he didn't want his students to be frightened of what comes next.

"I mean, who knows… maybe you can come work for me when you kick the bucket someday," he laughed.

But Chet wasn't thinking about death; his only focus was establishing a way to enrich, even change, people's lives. When he'd come up with the Chet Hanks 60-Day Challenge idea, River was supportive but continued to encourage Chet to invent some sort of program involving his acting skills.

You've got a gift; it's just no one's really seen it yet. No offense. I mean, you were pretty good in Shameless. Plus, you're totally choice. Look at your muscles, man.

"Choice?" Chet cringed. River had a habit of using the 80s slang he'd died before getting the chance to fully grow out of.

"Yeah, choice! You look good." He reached out his hand to grab at the skin on Chet's ripped torso. An attempt to prove how little there was to pinch, how swole Chet truly was, the gesture left him shuddering, eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the Antarctic chill of the dead to pass through him like a patient cowering at a doctor's office during routine blood work.

River ignored Chet's cold-intolerance. "Hey, isn't it funny we were both in Indiana Jones movies?" River had fond memories of his role as young Indie in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

"Yeah, that role of 'Student in Library' really revealed my acting chops," Chet rolled his eyes. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" As much as Chet loved River's guidance, he wasn't sure he'd ever feel comfortable with River's often totally random presence in his home. The first time River made himself known to Chet was during one of his bi-annual breakdowns. Chet was sitting on the living room couch with his head in his hands, scolding himself, over and over.

"You're not good enough, man. You're not good enough," Chet roared to himself aloud.

Shut the fuck up! Yes, you are!" A disembodied voice echoed down the hallway. "Aw, fuck. Sorry, ignore that. I'm not here. This is all in your head.

Chet was familiar enough with his inner monologue to know whatever was happening was not just in his head. He spent the next four hours crouched in the darkness with a baseball bat, convinced someone was in his home. River later apologized for this misstep, explaining he just couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Yeah, you're right. I've gotta get cracking. I'm helping Timothée with his West End acting debut… it was halted for Covid, but we're hopeful for the summer. 4000 Miles, Amy Herzog, heard of it? It’s about this kid with a bike and a Communist grandma…”

"Gotcha,” Chet cut River off. I'll be here. I'll think of something." Chet nudged a blue exercise ball with his foot, racking his brain for ideas. When River came over, there was always homework once he left.

Hey, guess how long it'll take me to get from here to the East Village?" River grinned. "My being dead and all.

"I dunno, how long?" Chet asked with genuine curiosity. River's smile grew wider.

"This fast," he smirked and vanished into thin air.

Not ironically, exercise was what always got Chet's creative juices flowing. He knew he'd have to power through a workout if he wanted to come up with anything worthy of running by his dead mentor. Chet begrudgingly re-opened his smart blinds and got to work. Squats. Deadlifts. Bench presses. And then it hit him. Taking a page from River's book, Chet could open his own acting school.

Yeah, no, I like that," River nodded as Chet imparted the news on him later that night. "No, I love that. Chet Hanks Acting Academy… just like mine except you're alive!

I'm actually thinking, like… Chet Hanks' Acting Advantage. Wait. No, no." Chet shook his head. "How about The Actor's Advantage with Chet Hanks? That sounds like exclusive-exclusive.

Huh!" River quipped. "The Actor's Advantage with Chet Hanks. I'm into it. It can be like a masterclass in acting, taught by you. I'll help, of course.

Chet scribbled furiously in a notepad, his chicken scratch overlapping the wide rule of the paper:

— One-on-one LIVE coaching
— Online course material
— Auditions/Self-Tapes
— Networking opportunities?

"One thing though," River added apprehensively. "You've gotta drop the Patois thing." He slapped Chet on the back, sending a wave of cold through his spine.

Chet was so overcome with satisfaction that he didn't even feel the cold-jolt. He felt that other way, the way River had described. Happiness; love; joy. Elation. And he wasn't even dead. In fact, Chet had never felt more alive. Sprawled on the floor cross-legged with his notebook in his lap, Chet looked up at River with a childlike grin. His blue eyes sparkled with pride.

"I think we're onto something," he said, material pouring from his pen like he was being channeled by some otherworldly being.

On Monday, March 8, a few days shy from the first anniversary of COVID lockdowns, Chet sent out an email. "Welcome to The Actor's Advantage," read the subject line.

"There's a lot coming, but since you're one of the first to pre-register," the email continued, "Here's a sneak peak at some of the features that will be available within this community:

— Regularly Posted Masterclass Content on a wide variety of topics (both artistic and business-related)
— Ebooks and online course material
— Laying out the exact starting steps for beginners (getting experience to creating your reel, getting auditions, an agent, etc.)
— Chet Hanks Vegan pre-workout powder (still in development)
— Working with current actors on their Auditions/Self Tapes
— Weekly LIVE Group Discussions with Q + A
— 1-on-1 LIVE Coaching (VIP Members Only - Limited Space)
— Network of like-minded creatives to collaborate with
— You might even see some of my celebrity friends pop in to share their knowledge and experience."

Chet did it. He created his own masterclass, eager to transmit his acting and industry knowledge to up-and-comers who might have otherwise turned down their Hollywood fantasies. Chet wants his students to lean into their dreams, to indulge in their ambitions instead of shying away. He really did it, and with hardly any help!

Except for a short sentence wedged in the body of the email — a blip that would be lost on you if you didn't know to look for it:
My support team and I have been putting A LOT of work into getting everything ready, and trust me, it will be well worth the wait.

"Support team,” River snorted, giving the email a second pass before pressing send. He looked over at Chet, who sat buried in paperwork at his kitchen table, pouring over the beginnings of the online course material he was eager to start sending out. Chet looked over at River and winked.

River Phoenix playlist:
Red Hot Chili Peppers - Transcending
Belinda Carlisle - California
Rufus Wainwright - Matinee Idol
Natalie Merchant - River
Nada Surf - River Phoenix
Stereophonics - Chris Chambers
R.E.M - E-Bow the Letter