Strike One

Here’s what the writers strike is like, for those of you who were wondering. It’s festive. Outside CBS Studios in Studio City, a Gatorade truck pulls up and delivers bottles for free to picketers. On Veterans Day, writers brought their children to the picket line. If you approach these strikers you will hear, mixed in with the chants, the unmistakable murmur of gossiping and, yes, networking. For those on the ground, the strike seems to be about, as much as anything, the rare chance in this impenetrable city to see people outside in large groups.

This is not to say that the strike isn’t being taken seriously. If there’s something a little unreal about the middle-class marchers enjoying their free food outside the studio gates, the fearful undertone of murmured conversations in Hollywood coffeeshops is real indeed. In fact, no matter where you go, it's difficult to escape discussion of the strike. Everyone, including people uninvolved in the industry, is talking about it, because in LA everyone is ultimately involved in the industry. Some of these conversations are amusing. When you overhear gas station attendants and maintenance men discuss residuals, you feel like you’ve learned something about the character of Hollywood.

My reaction to the strike can be characterized as mild dismay. As fate would have it, I arrived in Los Angeles on the very day that talks between the Writers Guild and the Alliance of Motion Pictures and Television Producers (AMPTP) broke down and hours before writers “walked off the job.” This was not the full-steam-ahead start I’d hoped for in Hollywood.

It has not, however, been uninteresting. One learns, among other things, how begrudgingly close the filmmaking community actually is. It is, in fact, a little like attending a large university, with Daily Variety and The Hollywood Reporter as the student newspapers. Gossip flies, even among friends of mine I’d never suspected were privy to much insider information. They aren’t really, of course; it’s just impossible not to overhear certain things. Four people, for instance, assured me within days of the strike’s initiation that on the last day of talks the writers and producers “were really close” to a deal.

“They came very close,” one friend said, “and then everything fell apart.”

Another friend told me, “You know, they nearly made a deal and then it fell apart.”

Later, when I found myself speaking with someone else about the strike, I made my own contribution to the narrative.

“You know,” I said, “Apparently, they were really close to making a deal before things fell apart.”

“That’s right,” my friend nodded sagely. “They were really close.”

I felt like I’d learned a lesson not only about how word gets around in the entertainment industry, but also about how to appear like you’re a part of things when you’re really not. And, at this point, I, of course, am decidedly not. Not that I’d necessarily hoped to be “above the line” within two weeks of setting up shop, but when the walk-out was announced, it was as though I could see my prospects visibly dim. The longer the strike goes on, the longer it will take the industry to recover once the strike is ended. And that, I assure you is not simply the popular line that I’m regurgitating.

Thankfully, today it was announced that the warring parties have agreed (much earlier, it should be noted, than many had anticipated) to go back to the table. This comes within days of the announcement that Local One, the Broadway stagehands guild that’s also currently striking, and the League of American Theatres and Producers have decided to start negotiating again. It’s too early to tell, but perhaps this won’t be the winter of our discontent after all.