Hollywood's new reality
Agents pitching shrinking numbers to clients
The talent agent who told me this wore a rueful expression because he understands that the dialogue between client and agent is a staple of life in Hollywood, like a steady background hum. But here's the portent that neither side likes to admit:
The dialogue of gain has become a dialogue of pain.
"When I make a new deal for a client, the rule has always been, 'How much of a bump do I get?' " one agent told me. "The numbers always go north. That's a law of nature."
Talk to agents around town and you soon learn the revised law: The numbers are heading south. The writer who got $500,000 for his last script will now be offered $300,000. The star who was accustomed to 10% of the gross is now settling for 2%.
If this is the new reality, no one finds it welcome. "My shrink tells me he can't remember a time when so many patients needed anti-anxiety medication," says the chief of one agency. Of course, shrinks don't have to convey bad news. They're just paid to listen. It's the agents -- the princes of hype -- who find themselves in the uncomfortable position of telling clients they're going to be making less money next year (and the year after).
I've been asking veteran agents lately how they do it. How do you break the news to talent that they must lower their expectations?
"You have three choices," says one old hand at agenting. "You can lie. You can obfuscate. Or you can let them have it right between the eyes."
The agent who goes for the direct hit runs the risk of losing his client, to be sure. As evidence, there's been a record pace of agent switching over the past four weeks. The reason: Reps have simply told some clients, "Only the super-hot talent is getting a bump these days, and you're not super-hot."
The obfuscation road takes several turns. An agent explains that everyone on the show is also taking a cut, that the belt-tightening is temporary, that the client is really a genius and everyone acknowledges that fact.
The Big Lie is easier to deliver, but often deadlier. "A better deal is right around the corner -- that's a promise," the agent will say. "Don't worry your pretty little head."
How do the clients react to these varied fusillades? According to the reps, some listen in silent resignation, some start to cry and others promptly call their shrinks. "I often go home these days totally depressed," admits one female agent who is renowned for her toughness.
Here's one factor that's making things bearable: Some clients are sufficiently well informed that the bad news has been anticipated. Since the onset of the Writers Guild struggle, more actors, writers, and filmmakers have been reading their newspapers, checking the Web and studying industry trends. Warnings of belt-tightening trends, they realize, have been well advertised.
That doesn't make them easier to digest. A director may read a CEO's complaint that his margins are tightening, but he may also read about that same company's record earnings. So when his agent comes with reports that, say, Peter Chernin needs to buttress his bottom line, the director may shout "Chernin's making $30 million a year, so why should I reduce my paltry $3 million fee?"
Where will this dialogue of pain lead? The shrinks will continue to thrive, sales of medications will swell and more agents will get fired. In a town that's lived on limitless expectations, the New Reality is understandably difficult to digest.
