I am writing this entry in response to Rob Kendt’s thoughtful, two-part history of Equity Waiver theatre in Los Angeles. Initially, I was just going to leave a comment after his article, but I have too much to say about it. What else is new?

I’m glad I wasn’t around for the Waiver Wars, because I think I would have combusted. As the daughter of a professional Chicago actor who continues to work and collect his Equity pension, and the granddaughter of union organizers, I am horrified by the notion of people choosing to do their work for free (or nearly), particularly when there is a union - however effective, or not - in place to protect them from such exploitation. Not only that, but you’ve got to appreciate the irony of actors paying dues into that assumedly protective organization, the amount of which could quite possibly exceed the amount they’re making for their work.

I know that as a director I make the same fee from a 99-seat theatre here as I do at a CAT I (the lowest tier) theatre in Chicago. The fee doesn’t make me rich, but it’s reasonable. But the Equity actors at a CAT I theatre make about five to seven times more per week than they do here. Why are LA actors giving it away? It’s not as if all the little storefront companies in Chicago started out with endowments. Those companies worked at raising funds, educating their audiences and building bases, and grew into effective organizations. Or didn’t, and now they don’t exist. Survival of the fittest, and all that.

Over the years, Chicago has been able to legitimize a tiered system, based on budget. Companies are classified under one of several tiers, and based on that classification, they pay their actors a certain weekly amount not less than about $153. Rob’s history tells us that Equity wouldn’t have a conversation with LA about a tiered system. That was many years ago, and there’s no reason they should refuse a tier system with us at this point, when it’s been proven to work. Yes, the 99-seat plan changed the landscape of theatre in Los Angeles, and now that landscape should change the 99-seat plan into something that more closely mirrors the professional contracts in other major cities.

Speaking of which, Rob also tells us that the movement originated with actors who wanted to be showcased. So let’s talk about the New York showcase contract, which sets out to accomplish exactly that. That contract allows only up to 12 performances, which must happen in 4 consecutive weeks, half of which must occur on weekdays. Admission is capped at $18. Comps are available to all those who are targeted within the industry: casting directors, playwrights, directors, etc., and actors are given a list with contact information of who in that category has attended. So, we’re truly talking about a showcase. We know that lots of showcasing goes on in Los Angeles, and so does a lot of theatre, and the two should not be defined in the same way.

Actors who want to be showcased are not engaged in theatre. They’re engaged in a prolonged audition. There’s an ongoing complaint in LA that theatre lives in the shadow of TV and film. Well, clearly we’ve made it that way. If actors are doing theatre just so they can break into celluloid, then yes, we’re directly in the shadow. Of course, we know that there are actors - and all kinds of other theatre artists - who are dedicated to making theatre here, and they’re not only getting a bad rap from being associated with the showcasers, but they’re often subjected to working with these showcasers, which downgrades the entire experience, both for the artists and the audience. Theatre in its purest, most righteous form is about give and take. The narcissistic act of showcasing is all take. (As in, you took away two hours of my life.)

(Full disclosure: In my first year out here, back when I was an actor, I produced and acted in a showcase. It was marketed as a showcase, ran for two or three nights, and only industry was invited. Thank goodness for personal evolution.)

In lots of ways it sucks to be an actor in Los Angeles if your eye is on that world of movies and television. Everything about that life presents itself as a catch-22. In order to get work, you have to be seen by the producers, and in order to do that, you have to get in to see the casting directors, and in order to do that, you have to have an agent… who actually works for you… and in order to get an agent, you have to be a working actor. I used to be there, and I remember feeling cornered into the option of pay to play. That is, pay to “take a workshop” from a casting director, in hopes that they’ll throw an Under 5 your way, or do Equity Waiver theatre and spend your $8 a show ($7 back in my day… we’ve come a long way) on postage, mailing invitations to “The Industry.” So I get the beaten-down psychology of the actor.

But let me take a step back. I want to know why this conversation centers around actors. Yes, actors are the public face, but making theatre is a collaborative activity - or should be. Theatre isn’t all about the actor, though it may seem that way to the layman. (Or the actor, depending.) Among other definitions, it’s the collaboration of various artists who illuminate our understanding of a story through setting, language, sound, movement, light, emotion and dress. And yet we have allowed the actors - actors who may not be fully dedicated to the stage - to dictate the terms under which theatre gets made in this city. I don’t begrudge actors wanting to land a series, I just don’t think those are the people who should be leading the conversation about stage work. (In the same way, perhaps, that actors/stars who produce shouldn’t have led the conversation about SAG’s latest contract, but that’s a different story. Or maybe it isn’t.)

So I think a paradigm shift is necessary in this conversation. I don’t want to stop actors from being able to showcase themselves if that’s their desire, but the real work of the theatre has at its core collaboration among different artists. Any future conversations with Equity should bear this distinction in mind.

As should theatre companies. Instead of fretting over the cost of paying actors a respectable (if not livable) wage, the LA theatre owners and operators and producers should be focused on educating and cultivating their audiences. A theatre - and its budget - can grow only from a loyal base. And running a theatre means much more than surrounding yourself with like-minded artists. It means running a functional organization that engages with the community; defining your mission with honesty and specificity; going after grants that encourage and allow growth; and knowing that reaching a comfortable plateau is a sign of a denoument. If it seems reasonable, within a producer’s budget, to pay actors $8 a show, then that producer is not reaching high enough.

Yes, the quality of work in a storefront can equal the larger theatres in certain respects, and if it does, you can bet that within a few years, that company won’t be in a storefront any longer.

In the end, if actors want to work for peanuts, I suppose that’s up to them. But back in Chicago we had a name for that. We called it Community Theatre. There are those of you who may take offense to that. But I hope there are many more who call themselves professional, and respect themselves and their own work to a degree that mandates reasonable compensation. Nobody should be giving away their work for gas money. I, for one, respect the actors I work with enough to fight the good fight on their behalf. It’s a big leap, but one this city is ready for.