I’ve been getting calls lately from actors who want to know if it’s them. Is it something I’m doing wrong? they ask. Should I fire my representation? Am I missing something? I tell them the same thing every time: it’s not you. And it’s not your rep.
What’s happening right now in this industry is real, it’s widespread, and it has nothing to do with your talent or your hustle. The strike hollowed things out in ways that are still being felt. The LA fires hit an industry community that was already on its knees. Actors who built their lives around a certain volume of work are finding that volume doesn’t exist the way it did. Some have packed up and moved to New York, where there does seem to be more activity — but not nearly what it was before COVID, and not enough to absorb the influx.
The sadness in the industry right now is neither dramatic nor performative. It’s quiet and grinding, and it’s real. And it goes deeper than actors. The entire ecosystem around production in Los Angeles — the caterers, the dry cleaners, the lumber yards, the makeup suppliers, the drivers, the crew — all of it contracts when the work contracts. This is not just an actor problem. It’s a community problem. Which doesn’t make it easier to pay rent, but it does mean you’re not crazy for feeling it.
Here’s something specific that’s getting worse and that people aren’t talking about loudly enough: the money is being compressed. Offers are going out to co-star-level actors for what used to be guest-star roles. What was once you, being bought as a full guest star but working only two or three days of that eight-day contract, is being repackaged as a one-day guest star booking. The rates are being squeezed from every angle, and the people doing the squeezing know exactly what they’re doing. This is not accidental. When the labor pool is desperate, the people holding the money take advantage of that.
Meanwhile, movie stars are returning to the stage. I don’t begrudge anyone their craft — working in the theater is a legitimate choice at any level of a career. But let’s be honest about what it does to the working theater actor who has been building relationships and reputation in that world for twenty years. When a name above a certain size enters the room, it changes the room. That’s not a conspiracy. It’s just the market, and the market doesn’t care about fairness.
So what do you do with all of this?
First: you don’t pretend it isn’t happening. The actors who are struggling the most right now are not always the ones dealing with the worst circumstances — sometimes it’s the ones who can’t admit that the circumstances are real. They keep pushing the same levers expecting the same results, or they internalize the slowdown as personal failure. Neither of those helps you.
Second: you do not make panicked decisions. Do not fire your rep because you haven’t booked in four months. Your rep is working in the same climate you are. Unless there is a specific, articulable reason your representation is not doing their job — no submissions, no communication, no strategy — sit still. Panic-firing your agent in a down market is like throwing your umbrella away because it hasn’t rained in a while.
Third: get practical about your finances. As of this writing, you need to earn $27,540 in covered SAG-AFTRA earnings within a twelve-month period to qualify for health benefits. A full guest star books at around $11,000 per episode. So three bookings per year at that level, and you’re just squeezing by. The math is not kind, and the industry is actively working to compress even that number. If you don’t have a financial plan that accounts for this reality — some form of income that doesn’t depend entirely on booking — now is the time to build one. Not because you’re giving up on your career. But because you’re protecting it.
Fourth: keep working. Not auditioning — working. The class you’ve been putting off. The project you could initiate. The scene you could be running with someone. The writing you keep almost starting. The slowdown is real, but it doesn’t mean you stop being an artist. It means the external machinery that sometimes validates the artist has slowed down. The artist is still there. Keep that part alive.
There is no inspirational ending to this one. I’m not going to tell you the industry always bounces back, because I don’t know when it will, and neither does anyone else. What I know is that the actors who come out the other side of contractions like this with their instruments intact are the ones who found a way to keep doing the work — on their own terms, with reduced external support, without waiting for permission or validation from a business that is, at the moment, not in a position to give it.
It’s a hard time. You’re not imagining it. Now figure out what you can actually control, and do that.