“When an actor comes to me and wants to discuss his character, I say, ‘It’s in the script.’ If he says, ‘But what’s my motivation?, ‘ I say, ‘Your salary’.”
– Alfred Hitchcock

Would a technician do a large job for nothing? Would a plumber not charge you? Would a lawyer kindly forget to send you a bill? Probably not. For these are deemed to be ‘skilled professionals.’ Yet time and time again actors (and not just the young, sprightly ones) are offering their services for free or for the bare minimum wage.
For those of you who chose to take the university or drama school route, you will be the proud owner of that official piece of paper that declares you have a degree in your chosen subject. Does that not imply that you are skilled?

The competitive nature of the acting profession has made it an oversubscribed market where continuous waves of new drama graduates join the battle. The ferocity of the competition means that sometimes the sector will take advantage. This unfortunately can stem from as early as the initial drama school auditions. We’ve heard many tales of shocking auditions (and have a few scars of our own) – a familiar story is the scenario where you pay £30 for the privilege of being eyeballed by a panel for all of 25 seconds. This already sets up a feeling that the students should be honoured to apply let alone dream of winning a place. This for many can be a tough financial sting, particularly if applying to several schools. This places these establishments on even higher pedestals as hundreds of hopefuls grapple for limited places at the schools. Already we have a fierce battle on our hands.

Then once you have completed your degree, you enter the big bad world. Outside the drama school bubble, jobs are inevitably thin on the ground. Again, performers are expected to offer their services for free or for the promise of a profit share which is likely to equate to double figures, for hours and hours of hard work and dedication. It doesn’t make the performer feel like a professional, as they are clearly not being treated as such.

We are a small company with very little money. We put in many hours for free, as we see it as investment in the future of the company and ourselves. We hold the belief that one day we will be able to work full time, for Filskit. This is the aim, and it should, eventually, be an achievable one. However, when we work with others, wherever possible, we make it a priority to pay them. It stands as a mark of respect to those we work with, whose skills we require, just as we need to pay the lighting technician, the printing company for our posters and flyers, and all the others who are needed to make things happen.

We have to be honest that we are not always able to pay for rehearsal periods, unless we have supported funding, and as a result we minimise our cast numbers and intensify our rehearsal periods to help make this a minimal encumbrance to everyone involved.

Groups like Equity and ITC draw out clear guidelines for Equity minimum payment, whilst Arts Council England exists to support artists and make sure they get paid for their work. So why is there still such expectancy to work for free?

We were prompted to delve into this subject after reading an anonymous article on Ideas Tap. The contributor admits they have “a company of over 30 members, who work free of charge because they share our passion”. This may appear dedicated but at the end of the day “passion” doesn’t pay the bills. It is an unsustainable way of working and ultimately limits growth. We were guilty of performing for free when we first formed as we felt honoured just to be performing. But there comes a point where you have to see the value in what you are doing, or who else will? Maybe it is our responsibility as a young company and members of the theatre community to promote payment for services rendered, and offer performers the professional status they deserve.

Image: Little known JOBS PROGRAM provides plenty of work for everyone

This month Spotlight is hosting a consultation with its members, both actors and casting professionals alike, on the much discussed “low pay/no pay” debate.

In recent years a culture of internships has become the norm in a number of British industries. Having struggled their way through three years of higher education (and now paying £27,000 in tuition fees for the privilege), university graduates are commonly expected to then volunteer in their chosen sector for an indeterminate amount of time until they have sufficient experience to progress to paid work.

Such poorly paid positions are often thought to be vital exposure for a fresh face in the industry and a valid way into projects of a higher profile, but, for a lot of us, working for nothing is simply not an option. I’ve never been able to afford it. My only foray into the London fringe was in 2011 when I undertook a profit share production with a group of fellow graduates. In this instance I had to save the money from six months of hard touring to pay my way through it, and I only took it on as I felt the material and production team were of a bankable quality. The company’s accounts were clearly made available to all involved so we were assured that we would be receiving an equal share of the profits. However, many actors are not treated in this way. Taking on a fringe production is often nothing short of a gamble for a young actor: they have no creative control, the shows are often under-rehearsed, and the production is usually reviewed early in the run before the piece has had a chance to settle. There is never a guarantee of it leading to any further work and the (very poor) majority of actors end up working overtime at day jobs to fund such endeavours. Alternatively, to some, the option of performing in a profit share piece is an elitist thing, available only to actors with rich benefactors to fund it.

Above all though, it is thoroughly unfair that actors are always the last people to be paid in these arrangements. Because producers know that so many actors out there are desperate to perform, they are certain to find those who will work for free. They end up paying the director, the designer, the venue etc. and leaving only the actors to work for nothing. This is unacceptable. We are highly trained professionals in a skilled, competitive industry and we deserve to be valued just as much as anyone else. It’s bad business sense to give something away for free, and acting for free devalues us all as performers. For this reason it is especially upsetting to hear that many producers make a lot of money out of not paying their talent properly. The Menier Chocolate Factory is a venue I’ve heard accused of this, despite the fact that it sells out regularly and a lot of its shows transfer (Mark Shenton wrote a brilliant piece in the Stage about this). In these circumstances to refuse to pay a living wage is nothing less than exploitation.

Theatre is a heavily subsidised industry and cuts have hit us all hard. There is an argument that exciting new work is generated on the fringe and we would miss this if creatives weren’t prepared to offer their services free of charge, but I believe it is only by Equity and Spotlight members standing together that we can stamp out this kind of manipulation. We need the government to make a bigger investment in this country’s theatre, which is not only (let’s face it) the best theatre in the world, but pays its investment back twice over into the UK economy every year. It is also of utmost importance that we continue to campaign for Equity Minimum Wage for all performers across the board. This requires something of a leap of faith for all those that rely on low pay/no pay work to get a foot on the ladder, but one we all have to make together, a bold new commitment to stand strong and learn to value ourselves more highly.

Image: Images_of_Money

New York is one crazy place. I recently submitted myself for a non-paying gig and could not get an audition slot. Yes, you heard that correctly: the show was unpaid, but the competition to work for no money is so steep that they didn’t have time to see everyone. And we’re not even talking about competition for a role, we’re only talking about competition to get in the door. It’s a madhouse.

Recently, though, I was lucky enough to not only get in the door but to actually book a national children’s theatre tour. In fact, I’m writing this on the road – we’re currently driving through scenic West Virginia. Hour five and counting. Oy.

Luckily for me, the company I’m touring with treats its actors pretty well. We’re entitled to a decent weekly pay and per diem, overtime, and even rest invasion, or extra compensation for any hour worked that encroaches on the required 12-hour break between the time you arrive at your hotel for the night and the time you have to be at the van and ready the next morning. Touring can be difficult and exhausting, but this company has really done everything in its power to make things manageable for its actors.

This should be the norm, but unfortunately, it’s not. Every actor in the city is clamouring for a chance to perform, and many are willing to accept less than ideal working conditions to get that chance. It’s a city full of scabs. But, honestly, who can blame an actor for taking work? After spending four years and thousands of dollars on training, and busting your butt at a thankless day job, any role seems like a miracle.

There are some opportunities that seem too good to be true – showcases throughout the city that promise an audience full of agents and other theatre professionals scouting new talent. All you have to do is sell or buy a certain number of tickets (and, in some cases, pay your accompanist), and you will get to sing or do a monologue for these industry insiders.  Now, I don’t want to completely knock these showcases. They give actors a chance to practise their craft in front of an audience, and they also make decent quality video recordings of the performances, which are a life saver when it comes to submissions. And, while I don’t personally know anyone who has landed an agent from this type of performance, I would assume that someone, somewhere down the line has got work from this type of performance opportunity, or no one would do it. I can’t help but wonder, though – if the performers are the ones selling the tickets, who is inviting the agents and casting directors? Won’t it just be an audience full of the actors’ friends?

Theatres everywhere are struggling, and I understand the need to cut corners just to keep companies alive. But it does seem unfair to take advantage of actors who are just anxious for a chance to flex their creative muscles. Still, we actors don’t always help ourselves. It sometimes feels as though we push down our asking price by taking any job that comes our way, regardless of how terrible the contract might be. It’s difficult to say, and at its core it’s probably just a very vicious cycle that can only be solved by more money going into the arts, either through patronage or governmental support. Because, in order to survive, theatres need to make money, and actors need to act. Unfortunately, actors also need to eat and pay their bills. These are the pesky facts of life.

Image by Monica Reida.

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An actress I’ve recently been working with has been regaling me with some wonderful tales of a lifetime in theatre. Hers is an illustrious career which has provided her with a surfeit of anecdotes ranging from the hilarious to the downright bizarre. Her stories have helped to pass long journeys on tour, and I’ve been entertained, enthralled and at times, amazed.

One of the more poignant insights she has shared has really got me thinking about the nature of our profession as a lifestyle choice. On this very platform Filskit Theatre recently wrote very eloquently about the fading novelty of the artist on the road – forced to adjust to a diet of Boots Meal Deals, he has an encyclopedic knowledge of the standard room layout of budget hotel chains and longs for a home-cooked meal in the company of his loved ones.

It’s a way of life I have come to know well and accept as an inescapable part of the actor’s profession. The sad truth my colleague had observed was that in all her years in theatre she had seen a real shift within the creative community. No one was settling down anymore. No one was getting married, having children or getting mortgages – the actor’s way of life had become solitary, even anonymous. Collectively we had compromised for our art and subscribed to the bohemian existence of the wandering minstrel, with no ties to bind us either geographically or emotionally.

Now it must be said that this is not a universal truism. Many of us have strong relationships and family support networks and are able to strike a healthy balance. I’ve also met actors who claim to love the touring lifestyle. It’s a great way to see the world, to learn your craft and to gain a variety of experiences, but I’ve always needed stability. As an actor I am characteristically insecure and I need the love of my family infinitely more than the adulation of an audience. The uncertainty of my future is the cross I have to bear and it will always be difficult for me to promise the security my loved ones deserve.

The real problem is the lack of understanding and support of these needs in the industry. Equity fights for us to receive approved contracts and pension plans, and to stop people selling their services for free in an attempt to stamp out the exploitative elements of the business; in essence, it campaigns for actors to receive the rights of any other working professional. But the self-employed will always live a precarious existence, in which it is impossible to plan more than a month in advance and every opportunity must be seized to prepare for a potential dearth of options in the future.

My associate’s personal experiences as a wife and mother were what really hit home for me. Whether it was the community spirit of actors bringing their children to rehearsals in days gone by (evidently commonplace back then, but hard to comprehend by today’s standards) to babysitting for each other, even popping backstage to feed a baby mid performance, there is no provision for this kind of behaviour in modern theatre and as a result, people simply don’t do it.

The decision to perhaps take a couple of years out to have a baby can be a career-crippling move for an actress still making a name for herself, and with no maternity cover specified in short term contracts it’s often an option which is completely unviable. Relationships between actors on either side of the country in separate touring jobs can easily become strained, not to mention the professional jealousy that can often spring from such partnerships. It’s a sad thought that one can easily enjoy a successful lifetime in the arts and retire having never made any meaningful commitments along the way.

So ours is a vocation riddled with compromise, but a career is only what you make of it. You don’t have to live entirely at the mercy of fate – each decision is yours and yours alone. There are surely more creatives in the world now than there have ever been and the competition is fierce, but there’s an equally large support network out there if you want to engage with it. Whether it’s through online forums such as A Younger Theatre or making friends within the business, there are others everywhere sharing the same woes. For us to be an acting community again, we need to pull together – by offering a sofa to friend in need, helping to publicise a fringe production, even babysitting each other’s kids. In my experience actors are the most incredibly supportive people onstage, and it’s a virtue we must espouse offstage too.

Image credit: Sarah Macmillan.