And a Happy Fucking New Year to You Too, Alan Rosenberg

Is this what we have to look forward to in 2009?



"Fasten your seat belt, it's going to be a bumpy night.”

Margot Channing (Bette Davis), in “All About Eve.”


So it’s out with old and in with the new, and now the bright, shiny New Year lies before us, just waiting to be unwrapped.

Good riddance, I say, looking back at the smoldering wreckage of 2008 – but it’s useful to remember that things can always be worse. A lot worse, actually, so I’ll hope for the best while braced for the worst, and keep a jaundiced eye on events as they unfold.

As bad as 2008 turned out to be, 2009 is looking like her big ugly sister knocking on the door – a hulking brute with eyebrows like Leonid Brezhnev and a bulging suitcase slung under each hairy arm. With the economy going down in flames ala the Hindenburg, financial markets frozen in a wide-eyed panic, and unemployment roles rising to levels not seen in decades, it appears this ugly hag means to stay awhile – and at such a dismal time, it would seem unthinkable that any professional organization of highly paid workers could actually be planning to go on strike.

But we live in the age of the unthinkable, which might explain why the wild-eyed, spittle-flecked zealots currently leading the Screen Actors Guild seem so eager to call a strike. As the beaten and bloody mess of 2008 staggered towards the finish line, SAG president Alan Rosenberg and chief negotiator Doug Allen were forced to push back the strike vote by another two weeks. It seems the rank-and-file thespians finally pulled their heads out of their gym-sculpted and oh-so-perfectly botoxed asses long enough to take a good look at the headlines, then realized maybe now isn’t such a great time to walk away from jobs paying more than you or I can ever hope to make.

So the Dynamic Duo of Rosenberg and Allen -- who apparently can’t find anything useful to do in life – called a strategic retreat, pushed the vote, and brought in whatever big guns they could find to round up the stampeding herd and drive them back into the SAG corral. First to answer the call was Ed Asner, who issued his sermon-from-the-mount on radio and the LA Times*, declaring that “the only way to get what we want is to strike.” Doing his best two-fisted, tough-guy Norman Mailer imitation, Asner claims that calling a strike now is important not to protect the A List stars, but rather “the hardworking players whose faces you see in countless television shows and movies.”

Nicely put, Ed, but those are the same “hardworking players” who stand to lose their houses and health plan if SAG goes on a protracted strike in 2009. If you really want to protect them from this more immediate threat to their well-being, you’d do better to urge Rosenberg and Allen to sign that deal with the AMPTP, and keep their powder dry for another day.

I read his piece in the Times*, and although his arguments have an undeniably stirring Frank Capra/Tom Joad/I-stand-up-for-the-little-guy appeal, they really don’t hold much water on closer inspection. In making some very convenient, one-sided assumptions cloaked in a gratingly paternalistic tone, his screed boils down to this: “I’m older than you, so I know better. Now shut the fuck up and do what I say.”

It’s easy enough for Big Ed to take this stand. At 89 years and counting, his long and lucrative career is over and done, leaving him financially set as he wobbles off into the sunset. A strike, no matter how long and bitter, won’t touch him in the least. The vast majority of the rest of us – actors, production, post-production, and crew – are not in his fortunate position.

I checked the SAG website to see some recently posted videos of various actors urging their fellow thespians to support the strike vote. There were five of these videos on the opening page, only one of which rang with any real authority. Hal Holbrook made a compelling case that the only way to go into a serious negotiation is with a club in your hand, ready and willing to inflict serious damage on the opposition should push come to shove.

He’s got a point. I have no more faith in the good will of the AMPTP now than I did last year when the writers took them on. As an organization, they’re miserable, greedy sons-of-bitches happy to tell any lie that might help get them what they want – and what they want is to buy lower than low, then sell at the highest possible price. A vote to authorize a strike could be just the club SAG needs to fight on even terms in their battle to stem the economic tide for the membership. If Hal Holbrook was heading the SAG negotiating team, I’d feel a lot better about all this -- but he isn’t. Unfortunately, Rosenberg and Allen will be leading the charge against the AMPTP, and I have no faith whatsoever in those two clowns. Everything they’ve said and done thus far leads me to believe they can hardly wait to call a strike – indeed, that their massive egos need a strike, and all the flurry of press attention that would result. A strike would thrust them into the heat of the spotlight, suddenly elevating both men to the status of Important People in Hollywood -- and the longer a strike goes, the more important they become.

Still, Hal Holbrook made a good case that at least caused me to stop and think.

His compatriots, however, were pathetic. First up was an actress named “Alicia Witt.” I don’t keep up on who’s who in Hollywood, so it doesn’t mean much that I’ve never heard of her, but she’s a very attractive woman well versed in the art of manipulation that is acting. Her words sounded good so long as she kept talking, but reflecting afterwards, it was clear hers was an emotional appeal based on very little in the way of facts.

A craggy-faced actor named “Clancy Brown” sounded just as sincere, but even less convincing. His point was as simple as it was non-informative: “This deal stinks,” he repeated, over and over again. Uh, thanks for the input, Clancy. Don’t call us, we’ll call you. Next...

That would be “Justine Bateman,” a name that sounded familiar even if her face wasn’t. Her argument was similar to that of Alicia Witt, only much more specifically dire, claiming that under the proposed contract, actors working in “the new media” will get no meal penalties, no “forced call” protection, residuals, health plan, or pension contributions. “All the networks now have dot.com affiliates,” she went on, her limpid eyes brimming with fear. “What if CBS decides to release its entire pilot season on CBS.com?” she asked breathlessly, leaving the clear implication that in this tragic event, actors will be doomed to live in cardboard condos beneath the Hollywood freeway between day-playing gigs on “Two and a Half Men” and “Big Bang Theory.”

Jeeze, that sounds awful, doesn’t it? Nobody wants this to happen... and it won’t, for a number of reasons.

1) Yes, the networks all have an internet presence, but so does Joe the Plumber. Justine Bateman probably has her own website too. This doesn’t mean the Apocalypse Is Near because...

2) There’s no such thing as “releasing an entire pilot season” on the internet, the broadcast airwaves, or anywhere else. Pilot season results in a single episode of each proposed show. The only people who see these pilots are network executives and focus groups – lots of focus groups. Only if a pilot manages to run the gauntlet of multiple focus groups and the sharp knives of various warring network execs will it have a chance to go to series, at which point it is usually re-shot (often with new cast members) as the premier episode to lead off the season.

3) The notion that any network would release its new television season over the internet rather than the airwaves is beyond absurd. While it’s true that a few major network executives are overpaid fools, even the dumbest of them isn't stupid enough to ignore existing channels of broadcast distribution in favor of the internet. As things stand now, this would be a colossal blunder, smothering the entire new lineup in its crib. Tens of millions would be lost, and the exec who made that fateful call would be summarily issued his golden parachute and ejected from the corporate Gulfstream V.

Here’s how it works, Justine: when launching a new season, the networks need the widest possible audience to pay attention, and hopefully get hooked on the shows, thus providing lots of eyeballs for the advertisers who pay the bills. The only way to reach such a huge audience is over the airwaves. Someday (maybe), when every hamlet, village, and city across this great land has been fully wired up the wazoo for broadband, the internet might become the favored mode of new-content television distribution, but that day is a long way off. And since the SAG contract currently under consideration will last for only three years, there’s plenty of time to sort things out with “the new media.”

From what I’ve read, the vast majority of new internet-only productions are produced on shoestring budgets ranging from $15,000 to $30,000 per episode. Compare that to the typical network sit-com, which runs close to $1.5 million per show, or any of the high-gloss episodics, which spend a lot more -- two to four million dollars -- on each episode. How the hell is an internet show on a $30,000 budget going to pay full SAG scale, meal penalties, residuals, or anything else?

The ugly truth we all have to face is that as the old advertising-based network economic model crumbles, things are changing whether we like it or not. All of us in the Industry, across the boards, are taking hits from this ongoing revolution, and the actors don't get a pass this time. The gravy train we know is over, and we're all having to adjust to the new realities. I don't like either, but anyone who thinks they've got it bad working in Hollywood should be glad they don't have to sell cars or real estate for a living these days.

The last SAG video – and in some ways, the most galling to me – was the short clip of “Malibu” Martin Sheen droning “Let’s stick with the union.” No reasons given, no thoughtful arguments put forward, just a simple because-I’m-Martin-Sheen-and-I-say-so.

I’ve long admired Martin Sheen throughout his long and distinguished career, capped by his dominant presence as President Josiah Bartlett on “The West Wing.” Yes, he’s said some undeniably silly things at times -- declaring Malibu "a nuclear-free zone, a sanctuary for aliens and the homeless, and a protected environment for all life, wild and tame" during his tenure as honorary mayor of that fair city – but having made a horse’s ass of myself more than once over the years, I’m not about to throw the first stone on that count. Martin Sheen has always spoken up against the powerful, moneyed interests in favor of the working people of this country, and I respect that... which means I don’t really feel comfortable taking him on here, but some things just have to be said.

“The union?” Excuse me, but SAG isn’t the “Screen Actors Union” – it’s the Screen Actors Guild. A guild is a professional association of a few thousand high paid, highly skilled people backed by a hundred and fifteen thousand waiters and waitresses with a single credit to their name. That doesn’t mean they don’t work very hard – all of them -- or put everything they’ve got into building their careers, but they rarely get their hands dirty, and when they do, someone else is right there to clean all that dirt off. Like the writers (also a guild), actors create their own unique brand of magic on set, without which we couldn’t make movies or television, but they’re not members of a union, they’re members of a guild.

The dictionary might consider the terms “guild” and “union” to be synonymous, but here in Hollywood, the difference is as stark as night and day. Union members build, paint, dress, and light the sets. They hang the green beds, apply the makeup, push the dollies, record the sound, shoot the film/tape/hard drive, time the shots, edit the raw footage, record and add the music, then put the finished product up on the screen. Most of us really do get our hands dirty, busting our asses long before any actors step out of their air-conditioned trailers, and working long after every actor has wiped off the makeup and gone home.

That would be the little guys, ex-President Bartlett, the crew. We’re the ones who make it possible for you to look so good on the big and small screen, thus enabling you to earn the fantastic sums of money it takes to live in the sun-splashed paradise of Malibu. Let me put it in terms you can understand: none of your neighbors out there on the beach are working members of a union -- if they toil for the Industry at all, they’re members of a guild – and be it SAG, the WGA, or the DGA, they remain the highest paid workers in our business.

We who work below-the-line have been getting the short end of the stick on every new contract for the last fifteen years. You know what we lost in the latest round of negotiations? Up until now, we could maintain our health plan by working 300 union hours every six months. In fat times, this isn’t terribly difficult for most of us, but these are not fat times. Under the new contract, I’m told, we’ll now have to work 400 hours every six months to hang on to our health plan. Unless you happen to be on a show, getting 400 hours is no sure thing, especially in lean times – and there aren’t that many shows around these days. So now, right when we’ll be needing to bank all the hours we possibly can, Martin Sheen decides it’s time to call for a SAG strike.

The writers and directors already fought this battle. Whether they won or not is for history to decide, but we who work on the crews took a bath on the deal. Three months of lost work might not mean much to Martin Sheen out there on the beach, but it made the difference between a decent year and just barely breaking even. Thanks to the WGA strike, none of us who work below-the-line has much of a financial reserve heading into the new television season, which means we’re all counting on 2009 being a good year. That won’t happen if the SAG membership follows Alan Rosenberg off the cliff and into the abyss of professional suicide.

If "Malibu" Martin Sheen and Big Ed Asner manage to persuade enough of their fellow thespians push a strike vote through, Rosenberg and Allen are likely to push the button. In that event, we the crew people are among tens of thousands of non-combatants who will become collateral damage -- we'll be the apocryphal grass flattened by those fighting elephants. It that’s not bad enough, remember that things can always get worse: the state of California is currently on course to go broke by February, which means there’s no guarantee those of us thrown out of work by Martin Sheen’s strike will be able to receive those crucial unemployment checks. While he marches around the studio gates sipping Starbucks, carrying a picket sign, and grinning for the cameras, we may end up getting IOU's instead of checks from the state. If the Feds don't come to the rescue and bail out California’s EDD, there will be economic carnage in the ranks below-the-line. Meanwhile, after Martin Sheen's tough four hour stint carrying a sign, he’ll go home to Malibu for a fine supper while the rest of us -- those he helped put out of work -- contemplate another dinner of Ritz crackers and Alpo.

As I understand it, we have the New York branch of SAG to thank for forcing the hand of Alan Rosenberg and his band of headstrong fools. The New Yorkers aren’t stupid, they can read the writing on the wall, and unlike Ed and Martin, they know damned well this is the absolute worst time to go on strike. I don’t know what’s wrong with our West Coast actors – maybe too much of that botox leaked from their foreheads into their brains – but if they don’t wise up and listen to their East Coast brethren, we’re all going down together.

Well, everybody but Martin Sheen, Ed Asner, and the rest of their wealthy A list buddies who can easily afford a protracted strike.

How nice for them.

The rest of us? If SAG goes on strike, we're fucked, plain and simple. In that event, a happy new year is not in the cards.

Keep your fingers crossed.


*Read it here