‘Honey, instead of eating and puking it up, couldn’t you just not eat
in the first place?” This was the money-saving idea that a film producer I
know recently suggested to his AMW (actress/model/whatever) girlfriend. He
had calculated that taking her to dinner at see-and-be-seen restaurants in
Los Angeles was £1,500 a month down the toilet. Literally.
With the Hollywood writers’ strike in its 12th week, he is feeling the pinch
and facing a decision: it’s either her or the Aston Martin. He can’t afford
both.
As a screenwriter, I’m glad to see that the strike is finally having its
desired effect. It’s one thing for agents and producers to struggle to
afford their cars, houses and children’s school fees. But it is raised to an
entirely more serious level when they struggle to make payments on their
girlfriends.
Some people in Los Angeles are finally having to cut back on the bare
necessities of life. I hear there has been a precipitous drop in business
for tanning salons, trichologists and pet astrologers. The already unstable
property market in the city is looking as shaky as the earth-quake-prone
ground the properties stand on. A television producer told me that he has
even made his wife stop her Botox injections. This measure has had the dual
benefit of cutting doctor’s fees and shopping bills since his wife now won’t
leave the house with her face in its natural state.
With the Oscars less than a month away, people are desperate to find a
solution. This annual back-slap-fest is a massive moneyspinner with benefits
well beyond the ceremony itself. Although four-fifths of the nominees
themselves are losers, in reality everyone is a winner with the Oscars: limo
drivers, make-up artists, florists, nail technicians . . . grief counsellors.
This is of course what the Writers Guild of America (WGA) wants. The more
people suffer, the more likely the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television
Producers (AMPTP) is to be reasonable. A recent estimate is that the strike
has cost the Los Angeles economy £800m. Cancelling the Golden Globes cost an
estimated £40m-£50m in lost revenues.
If the Oscars are cancelled it will cost Disney alone, which broadcasts the
ceremony through its ABC network, an estimated £40m in lost advertising
revenues. Incredible – considering that the new deal the WGA is asking for
will cost Disney just £3.2m more a year.
To put this in perspective, Bob Iger, president of Disney, recently received a
7% pay rise to put him on an annual salary of $27.7m (£14m). So Iger could
write a personal cheque to cover the increase and have more than £10.5m left
over per year, which to some people is still quite a lot.
Unusually, the people who are feeling the pinch least are the strikers
themselves. That’s because at any one time roughly 80% of members of the WGA
are not working – at least, not as writers. In fact each year about 50% of
the guild’s members declare no income whatsoever from writing.
It was hardly a shock when guild members voted overwhelmingly to strike. The
primary source of income for the majority of writers is tips, anyway. If
anything, being on strike legitimises their not having sold a script this
year.
For working writers, however, the strike sucks. I was in the midst of
negotiating to sell a television show to CBS when the strike pulled the
enormous dollar-shaped rug from under my feet. For those who have lost their
income, the only small solace is that, after paying 10% of every dollar we
earn to our agent, there’s a strange satisfaction that agents are now being
forced to take a salary cut.
They, of course, manage to figure out a way to pass on their losses. An
incredibly successful writer-director I know received a birthday phone call
last week from his agent, who apologised that the agency was, for the
duration of the strike, no longer buying gifts for clients. Commissions from
my friend had put more than £100,000 in his agent’s bank account last year,
yet it did not occur to the agent to buy a bottle of champagne for his
cash-cow client out of his own pocket.
There is, however, an upside to the strike for writers: we now have an
uninterrupted period of time with no distractions finally to write the
magnum opus that has been rattling around in our heads for years. Our very
own Citizen Kane meets Seven Samurai with a hint of Some Like It Hot and a
soupçon of Jean de Florette thrown in for good measure.
Either that or we’re going to set the world alight with undiscovered forms of
procrastination. At the best of times writers are masters of that art form.
Since the strike began it has gone into overdrive. A friend whose TV sitcom
has been cancelled is worrying that he is going crazy – he has just spent
three full days arranging his clothes chromatically and his kitchen
cupboards alphabetically instead of developing the pilot for a new show.
The most widespread form of writerly procrastination, however, is writing
personal journals on the internet. The striking miners of the 1980s lobbed
jagged projectiles and flaming bottles at the enemy. In this strike it seems
that blogs are the new bricks.
Last week the papers trumpeted an end in sight. The Directors Guild of America
(DGA) had signed a new deal with the AMPTP. The theory was that the writers
would soon follow suit. Very unlikely. You thought writers and directors
would be creative allies? Hardly.
This is how the relationship between writers and directors works. Writers
slave over scripts, often for years, honing every word, metaphor, detail and
piece of symbolism. When it finally sells, the producers hire a director
who, godlike, steps in and casually suggests “tweaks”, along the lines of:
“I admire the relationship you developed between the injured, homeless Iraqi
war veteran and the orphaned child . . . but wouldn’t it be stronger to
replace the orphaned child with a meerkat?”
Writers will argue for a moment, but ultimately have to agree or get fired
from their own project. I once received this script note from a director
(and I am not making this up): “Something needs to be more . . . something.”
Then, once they start shooting, the director will repay the writer for his
diligence by making him feel as welcome on set as syphilis.
Actors, too, have come out in support of the writers. There is no doubt that
the actors’ backing adds gravitas and urgency to the strike. Threatening to
boycott the Oscars and delivering doughnuts to picketers is much
appreciated. But the actors have an inflated view of their own importance.
For example, George Clooney has offered to set up an independent mediation
committee. Let’s see now: among the last causes that Clooney backed were
John Kerry’s 2004 presidential bid and Darfur. Not exactly resounding
successes.
The strike had better end soon. Research shows that we are losing public
support. Yesterday a nonwriter friend of mine asked me, in all seriousness,
how the WGA thinks it can possibly win a strike since surely there must be
tens of thousands of aspiring nonguild writers chomping at the bit to cross
picket lines and get the chance to prove themselves.
How hard can it be, he asked, to come up with the stupid ideas for the
programmes that fill our TV schedules?
If anything, my friend continued, the strike proves that people will watch any
old rubbish if it’s put on television. He has a point. The top-rated “new”
programme in America is American Gladiators, a show that was cancelled 12
years ago. Now, because – you guessed it – it needs no scriptwriters, it has
been revived in all its glory.
I now hear that Gladiators will be making a return to British television in
the near future. Rhino! Wolf! Dust off your pugil sticks and quit your jobs
as night security guards.
The viewing public can also look forward to Dlist celebrities and the
talentless children of famous people making asses of themselves on
television to prolong the 15 minutes of fame they so richly deserve. I’m
sure that television bosses are brimming with fresh, exciting ideas. After the
recent ratings successes of nonscripted entertainment such as celebrity
ballroom dancing and celebrity ice skating, look out for other surefire
blockbusters: celebrity skittles, celebrity arm wrestling and celebrity
dominoes.
Or, if reality TV doesn’t appeal, feel free to make up your own episodes of
your favourite cancelled shows: Jack Bauer has to track down a plumber on a
bank holiday weekend. Or Kate and Sawyer in Lost have a border dispute that
turns violent about an overgrown hedge. Or the Desperate Housewives go to
the bingo.
In all seriousness, the most important, insightful point that I can make from
this entire situation – and this is something that will change your life . .
. oh hell, you finish writing the article. I mean, honestly, how hard can it
be?
