Dear Readers—It’s been a while since I wrote. Actually, that’s incorrect: it’s been a while since I published. I’ve written several articles for you, and never sent them. Why? Well, basically, it’s because all they said was “second verse, same as the first.” I was hoping this one would be different, but I’m afraid it isn’t.
The latest news is of yet another major theater laying off staff and reducing the number of production in its season: New York’s Public Theatre announced it would lay off 19% of its staff and reduce its upcoming season by more than half. No commentary needed beyond noting that all this is different than when a few small- or even medium-sized regional theaters were struggling in the past. This is hitting the biggest theaters in the ecosystem. Public. OSF. MTG. BAM. That’s significant, and should be alarming.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be.
Meanwhile, over in Hollywood, SAG-AFTRA has joined WGA on strike against the studios. The issues are spelled out clearly by Amber Tamlyn in her interview of Michelle Hurd, the National Vice President of SAG-AFTRA (Los Angeles chapter), and a member of the National Negotiating Committee, in the “Listening in the Dark” Substack Special Edition.
Is there a connection between these two situations that seem so different? From my perspective, yes. If you are part of a union, by definition you must consider yourself an employee, a “worker.” You sell your labor to owners, just like an auto worker, and just like an auto worker your union negotiates for salaries, benefits, and work conditions. And just like an auto worker, the owners will do their best to pay you as little as possible and, if they get the opportunity, replace you with new, cheaper technology.
SAG-AFTRA and WGA have both become aware that the studios have used a new technology that upends the economic system (streaming) as an excuse to pay workers less; and owners are also threatening to use another new technology (AI) to replace them entirely. This trend began with the use of CGI in film to replace extras and replace some of the work usually done by scenic and costume builders, and now apparently AI has become sophisticated enough to generate the formulaic scripts common to so much that the studios produce. AI can also replace living actors with their scanned digital image.
The issue that connects film, TV, and theater? Unsustainability for creators. Whether caused by AI, streaming, or “donor fatigue” combined with audience apathy, the result is less work for artists. And that makes an already ridiculous situation even worse.
Don’t believe me? Look at the latest Actors Equity report:
Even though the Earnings graph (top) is chilling enough—the last time earnings were comparable was fifteen years ago—the situation is actually even worse than it looks on the graph because the earnings are not adjusted for inflation. In today’s dollars, 2006-2007 earnings would have been $487,796,040, which dwarfs 2021-2022 earnings of $323,008,263.
It’s more important, however, to pay attention to the second graph, which shows member work weeks, because a work week is a stable number—a week in 2006 is the same as one in 2022. Leaving out the pandemic years of 19-20 and 20-21, this past year—the “we’re back” year—saw the fewest number of work weeks for Equity members in the last 40 years. As major nonprofit theaters close or reduce the number of productions they do in their season, does anybody really think that these numbers are going to get better in the future?
I don’t know how else to say it. I feel like Alex Baldwin at the beginning of the film Glengarry Glen Ross. “Oh. Have I got your attention now? Good. ‘Cause we’re adding a little something to this month’s sales contest. As you all know, first prize is a Cadillac Elderado. You wanna know second prize? A set of steak knives. Third prize is you’re fired.” Artists are currently trying to score some steak knives.
So the obvious question is what is to be done?
Well, the first thing ought to be the easiest, but is actually one of the most difficult: theater, film, and TV artists who aren’t willing to work for steak knives need to admit that the current boss-worker relationship just isn’t working for them, and that it’s unlikely to work for them in the future. This is hard, because it is directly tied to your superpower: you love the work itself.
For artists, creation is what is called an “infinite game.” James P. Carse, in his book Infinite and Finite Games, makes the distinction clear: “A finite game is played for the purpose of winning, an infinite game for the purpose of continuing the play.” For artists, the game isn’t won by being in a hit that pays you so much that you never have to work again; the game is won by continuing to create as long as you want to do so. Harrison Ford is 81 and has more money than he’ll ever need, and yet he’s still doing movies and tv shows. He’s playing an infinite game.
Ironically, this is your Kryptonite, and studio heads and theater administrators know it. Artists suffer emotionally when they can’t work, not just financially, and it is your love of the work itself that makes you exploitable. It’s what makes “The Music and the Mirror” so painful.
And you should never lose that. It is central to what defines an artist. But it is very difficult to do that within a system based on an adversarial relationship between those who have the money and those who do the work; a system based on a group of people playing a finite game, and a group playing an infinite game. When an anonymous studio head is quoted as saying that the plan is to hold out until artists start losing their homes, you should realize that you are in an abusive relationship.
That’s the first step: acknowledge that things are broken.