Representation
This week I was let go by my agent. I have a couple of interviews with other agents next week.The beginning of my sixth year in Los Angeles comes on October 2. In the five years I've spent here, I think I've made about six months' rent in the performing arts (and not at the same time). That even that is a good record, considering the competition, is disheartening. In my first two months here I attended three going away parties for people who'd given Hollywood their best shot and were now going home.
Beginning late last year, I started actively going on auditions for things. In quick succession I landed a national commercial, a guest spot on a cable show, and a print campaign. As this represented an audition-to-booking ratio of 1:1, I thought it best to get an agent and maximize my phenomenal potential. Dizzied with my own power, I signed some papers with a firm firmly rooted in Beverly Hills-adjacent.
For the next two months I proceeded to go out for (audition for) and get called back to (be shortlisted for consideration for) several low-paying projects. That these auditions also seemed inappropriate to the types of characters I usually play (Greek fishing magnates) confused me. What's worse, I wasn't booking anything. I called my agent and asked what I might do differently, to change my routine callbacks to routine paying jobs.
On the other side of the line, it seemed like another person had walked into the room and my agent, distracted, spoke to him instead. She said:
"Your job isn't to think."
There was a pause as I waited for her to get back on the line. Then another question occurred to me.
"Did you just say that to me?" I asked. In fact, she had.
A week later a writing job opened up that would make me unavailable for most auditions. I took it without hesitation because my agency didn't seem to be delivering for me. I was also unwilling to track down auditions for myself, because scoring jobs would still mean paying some commission to these guys. So I gave up.
And check this out: Agents usually take 10 percent of an actor's wage. This is to cover all the phone calls and paperwork an agent does on behalf of the actor. For print jobs, an agent takes 20 percent. This is standard. Usurious, but standard. All agency commissions can be justified with the simple understanding that, if it weren't for an agent, an actor wouldn't have gotten the job in the first place.
But in the case of the last job I got before signing with my agency, my friend had recommended a stratagem. The friend who referred me to the agency, to whom I am grateful for sending a lot of work my way in my consulting business, suggested that I bequeath the commission of my final, pre-agent print job to the agent as a sort of dowry gift. The best thing about it was that the 20 percent agent fee would be on top of my wage, rather than a 20 percent deduction from it.
"Excellent thinking," I said to my friend, and my new agent was well pleased with the arrangement.
Since I had done the legwork for this print job (rather than an agent), I knew all the telephone numbers and contact people of the firm that was running it (it was a Microsoft campaign; perhaps you've seen my picture in your local airport), so I knew the payment schedule.
When I hadn't received a check in a long time, I called the New York firm who'd hired me. "We sent the check to your agent a month ago," they said.
I called my agency and they denied having the check. They said the company hadn't issued the checks yet. I told them I was just on the phone with the company in question, who had said different. My agent put me on hold and found my check. It was then that I had the conversation that ended in my being told not to think. Then my agent told me I could come and pick up my check the next day.
"Can't you mail it to me?" I asked.
"Did you leave some SASEs when you were here last?"
"You can't put a 37-cent stamp on an envelope?" I asked.
"We send out so many checks a week that that would be a big drain on resources," she said.
I regret to admit that the obvious response to this didn't occur to me until later 1.) because I am mostly non-confrontational (that is why I have a blog) and 2.) because I am only bright half of the time. The other half I divide between sleeping, drinking, and being not bright.
The obvious response would have been, "If each check represents a job you received a commission on, your begrudging a starving artist 37 cents is the most ghetto thing I've heard of next to LA Family Magazine."
So the next day I drove down to BH-A to pick up my check. I suppose I could have saved the gas and sent several pre-stamped envelopes, but the way things were going, the postage rate would rise by the next time I landed work and then I'd have to send those two-cent filler stamps to be paid.
My agent (there are two people in the office, one who works as the agent one week and one who works as the agent the next. The man and woman alternate with, I guess, general secretarial duties when the other gets to be the agent) handed me the check while he was on the phone. It was one of those things. Not even a "Hey, can I call you back? I need to reassure someone about my competence."
Back in my car I opened my envelope and quickly discovered that not only had the agent taken 20 percent on top but 20 percent out of what I had been led to believe was my cut. I called New York to confirm that I was right about the numbers, then called my agent who confirmed that, yes, he had taken 20 percent above and 20 percent below, for a total of $1,000 for, very simply, opening the mail.
I called all the working actor friends who weren't jealous that I was working, too, and they all agreed that that was bullshit. Still, I did nothing but quietly take myself out of availability.
After four months and freelancing again, I was very reluctant to rejoin my agency so, when I got a notice for an audition for some inappropriate, low-paying part that would shoot, if I landed it (which I wouldn't because even I knew I wasn't right for it) on the day I'd be flying to my gig at the Austin Improv Festival, I sent a tactful e-mail to my agent saying that I would be unavailable for this part but more available in the next few weeks and, if they would spend some time thinking about it, could they please send me out for more appropriate things?
I'll only say that it's a little head-scratchy, most of the stuff they sent me out for while I was active with them. It was as if they'd forgotten what I looked like, what I'd done, and who I was.
They severed my contract immediately, what with my outlandish request and expectations of them. I sent off another e-mail, just to see what they'd say, suggesting they refund my dowry gift, minus a little commission for all their hard goddamn work.
"The contract was quite clear," came the response. I forget what the contract said, but I believe that I am well shut of them.
This was my first go-round with representation. People I know have been through several agents. I like to think that, even at my low level, they are not all bottom feeders and that, when I start paying commissions again, I won't feel like I'm being robbed.
posted
by Marty Barrett at Sunday, September 04, 2005
2 Comments:
May I suggest seeking representation by an attorney prior to seeking, negotiating, or accepting any form of representation by an agent. At leaast you have some recourse with the attorney if he tries to screw you (law suit, disbarrment, etc.). There is no real ethical enforcement of agents.
Agents suck.
Post a Comment
Links to this post:
Create a Link
<< Home