I can pinpoint the exact moment I knew I wanted to be a film-maker. I’d received The Fellowship of the Ring extended edition DVD for my 11th birthday and devoured the behind-the-scenes footage faster the film itself. I felt my chest flutter with excitement as I watched the crew recount how important the experience was to them. I wanted to follow in their footsteps and make people feel the way I had watching that film.
Years later, that ambition became a reality. But now, when I think of film-making, I feel knots of dread in my stomach instead of excitement. I’m one of the thousands of workers in the UK who have lost their jobs as a direct result of the actors’ strikes in the US. In July, actors joined writers on the picket line fighting for more equitable residuals in an ever-changing streaming landscape, and for fair compensation for the use of their likeness by AI.
A recent survey of members by the UK Broadcasting, Entertainment, Communications and Theatre Union (Bectu) revealed that three-quarters of us are now unemployed. As a contractor on a large US production shooting in London, it felt inevitable. Somehow, we’d survived writers going on strike but you can’t shoot a TV series without actors.
Industry freelance contracts give just one week’s notice of termination. Our workforce is ineligible for severance or redundancy pay. So, once negotiations broke down between the joint Screen Actors Guild and American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (Sag-Aftra) and the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers (AMPTP) in the US, 200 crew members on our production here in the UK received our notice. With just one week’s pay and unused holiday leave, we then faced a seemingly endless period of uncertainty.
It was so depressingly familiar. When Covid hit, our industry was the first on the chopping block. We were deemed “non-essential workers” while locked-down audiences devoured content at unprecedented levels. Many left the industry. A year on, we’re collateral damage again. For a country with such a rich cinematic history, Britain is precariously dependent on the Hollywood machine.
Film and TV work no longer feels viable to me. I’m a millennial who works minimum 50-hour weeks (longer during filming) but struggles due to the contractual nature of my income, especially during the cost of living crisis.In the UK, Bectu recommends entry-level roles start at £12.50 an hour. It’s technically above minimum wage, but doesn’t go far when a contract only lasts a week or a month and it takes another three months to secure the next one. God forbid I should ever apply for a mortgage or become a mother, without paid parental leave or part-time options.
My spare time now – and there’s a lot of it – is spent hopping between temporary admin jobs and pursuing entry-level roles in advertising. Now in my thirties, I’ll be starting at the bottom again. Other friends are working in cafes, or as receptionists. We feel as if we’re regressing, but at two months out of work and counting, we have little choice – 35% of UK crew are struggling to pay household bills, rent or mortgages.
The most frustrating aspect is how little the outside world understands. Most people I speak to are vaguely aware of the strikes, but admit they had no idea it affected those outside Hollywood’s elite. “Tone deaf rich celebrity complains about being less rich,” says one comment under a social media post about the strike. “Nobody gives af,” says another. It’s one thing to lose your job through no fault of your own. It’s another to have that experience invalidated.
There is one way in which the commenters on Instagram are right: this industry is for the rich, but the studios are the ones hoarding the wealth. If they continue prioritising greed, more workers will leave. The elite will stay and call the shots as they always have; AI will replace writers and those in power will churn out uninspired, unoriginal content as disconnected as the people greenlighting it. Audiences will lose more respect for the industry, and the cycle will endure.
I’ll always love cinema and the transformative power of storytelling. But not this storyline. Without change, workers like me will continue to be discarded on the cutting room floor. Another grim reminder that this industry, frankly, my dear, doesn’t give a damn.
Elise Tyson is a film-maker and writer from Australia. She lives in London
