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 A couple of years ago, I found myself face to face with one of my greatest fears: taxes. It was my first solo foray into the dark, dark world of 1099s and 1040s. Being that I am not a total nincompoop, only a partial one, I went to a tax preparer. I sat at her desk and unloaded a large pile of official tax forms. “Here’s my 1040 from my acting job. Here’s another form for residuals on my cartoon. Here’s my form for the other theater I work at. Here’s for my retail job. Oooh, this one is from the college I direct improv at and this is last year’s tax form. I’m not sure if I listed my game show winnings right on that. Can you take a look?”
The eyes of the woman helping me grew large as she sifted through all of my papers. At the end of the session, she said “My, what an interesting life you have!” It’s a refrain I hear a lot from H&R Block. Last year, after my tax preparer did all of the paperwork for my jobs in three states, she shook my hand a little TOO heartily. “Wow. Come again! Please!” They like you when you drop $400 on your tax prep alone. She said that she hardly ever saw any actors who ever MADE any money by acting.
We’re like an Olympic curling team, we actors. We struggle and strive and bust our asses to do what we love and to do it better than almost anyone without many chances for remuneration. Think about it, kids: when have you ever seen a curler with an endorsement deal? Nike doesn’t make sweepin’ shoes.
According to the US Bureau of labor statistics, there were 157,000 jobs available for actors, producers and directors COMBINED in 2004. The median hourly wage for these people was $11.28 an hour. The middle 50% of the earners are making between $7.75 and $30.76 an hour. I don’t know about you, but I make $12 an hour at my temp job punching numbers into a computer. For that, I’m not required to memorize anything, learn how to dance or sing and I put in enough hours per week to actually pay my rent. The US Bureau of Labor Statistics goes on to say that “Only performers with the most stamina and talent will find regular employment.” Thanks, US Bureau of Labor Statistics. I bet a lot of people would be made really happy if the government allocated 1% of your annual budget to start the Bureau of Paying Actors for Their Work.
I have met many people throughout the years who have had an “eyes on the prize” mentality about working as an actor. It’s all about the Broadway play or the movie deal or the sit com pilot. They spend their LIVES in pursuit of that one goal, but no one ever stops to tell you that getting there doesn’t mean that you’re set for life. It means you’re set for as long as that project lasts, but so many films don’t get distribution deals, so many plays open and close in what seems like minutes, so many pilots don’t get picked up.
A friend of mine was ecstatic to finally be cast in a Broadway play. When the show closed, however, he had to move back to Texas to live with his parents because he couldn’t aff ord to live in New York anymore. The standard Broadway contract is $1422 per week. Whereas that would be a mortgage payment in most parts of the country, in New York, that salary means you’re likely going to be living in a studio with a hotplate and a half a fridge. You made it to Broadway? Great! Don’t get rid of that case of Top Ramen just yet. You may still need it.
I’ve been on television. I’ve gotten paid to perform. I’ve done movies. I haven’t “made it,” nor am I likely to in the traditional sense. After a long, hard lesson, I’ve learned that I’m not so much concerned with making “it” as I am concerned with making a living doing what I love.
For every actor out there in Bumblefuck, Utah (population 971) packing their suitcase and buying a one-way bus ticket to LA, there is a job. An acting job. I swear. You just don't THINK of them as such. I should know...I've had nearly every one of those jobs in my life.
My first professional acting gig was as a monster in a high-budget haunted house. There was immense satisfaction in scaring someone so badly that they dropped to the floor. Then, I started working at trade shows for a dating service company and got the pleasure of asking random strangers if they were single. Later, I began doing corporate improv shows, memorizing scads of company-specific acronyms for use in the shows. I probably know more about the asphalt manufacturing process than most actors...whether that's a help or a hinderance, I'm not sure. Evantually, I began teaching improv skills to businesses in an effort to help them be more productive, communicate better, build teams, etc. When I am fortunate enough to do this, I get to stay in really nice hotels that have superb bottles of tiny shampoos which I sometimes steal off the housekeeping cart.
I don't think actors tend to think of ways they can be employed in a semi-creative way much. I think there's a large part of us that wait tables or temp and are just biding our time until our big break happens or we give up and go back to school to become an actuary. Don't be an actuary. Please. Take the weird little gigs here and there because creativity breeds creativity. That kind of work is like training for a marathon; standing at a trade show booth doing a comedy routine about Voice Over Internet Protocol isn't going to win you an Oscar, but it'll build your endurance.
After all, Brad Pitt's first paid acting gig was wearing a chicken costume to promote a fast food restaurant. Look where he went from there.
--Amy Roeder is an improvisor, actor and producer based out of Chicago. She loves to hear other people's stories.
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