I am a girl, asking a boy to love me. Specifically, I am a girl, protesting in front of a studio executive, demanding fair pay. Imagine John Cusack holding a boom box that plays “What do we want? Contracts! When do we want them? Now!”
I work in late-night comedy, but I’ve always seen my life through the lens of film tropes. These past two and a half months of the Hollywood writers’ strike have felt like I’m trapped in a rom-com about a labor dispute. I know it may sound like a stretch, but please understand, I’ve been picketing in sweltering New York heat, so my logic may be a bit delirious.
Like many rom-coms, the story begins with two people searching for what will complete them. In “She’s All That,” Rachael Leigh Cook thinks she just needs to paint, but she also needs a good prom date and contacts. Meanwhile, Freddie Prinze Jr. believes he only needs to win a bet, when in reality, he needs to win the love of a good woman in overalls. It’s the same in “American Pie,” where Jason Biggs believes he needs a foreign-exchange student with unconventional beliefs, but what he truly needs is an innovative flute player who loves camping. In my rom-com, the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers plays the role of the clueless jock, or perhaps Mr. Big – someone who fails to recognize that they need a smart writer by their side.
Hollywood writers, and now actors, have gone on strike for various reasons, but one of the most pressing issues is the studios’ eagerness to downsize writing teams and explore replacing writers with artificial intelligence (AI). AI is portrayed as young, fun, and willing to work around the clock. She’s like Sarah Jessica Parker in a miniskirt, while the writers are the “First Wives Club” still fighting to save the marriage.
I understand the appeal of a computer that can generate 50 jokes about Mark Zuckerberg’s new abs. However, I can do that too! I am a joke machine, just like my colleagues. But unlike AI, I can also add jokes about Zuck’s Caesar haircut and cleverly reference Meta’s impact on democracy. I’m versatile! (Which is why I need health insurance.)
Writing for television has always been my dream. I left a stable job as a high school teacher and invested my savings in Upright Citizens Brigade classes, spending my nights performing at open mics in bars that have now been transformed into luxury dog spas. After more than a decade of hard work, I finally landed a steady gig on NBC’s “A Little Late With Lilly Singh.” To continue with the rom-com metaphor, I was head over heels, but NBC didn’t feel the same way. After months of being ignored, I was informed that there would be no Season 3. Heartbroken and in need of a rebound, I resorted to writing snarky responses for branded content, jokingly representing hot dogs and face creams with irreverent personalities. It was entertaining, but it wasn’t fulfilling. Late-night television still held my heart.
Finally, I secured a job on “The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon.” The first time a live audience laughed at a joke I had written, I cried tears of joy. Yet, amidst all the excitement, I couldn’t help but wonder about the residual check for $1.08. Residuals are the payments I receive when an episode is rebroadcast, and they are a major point of contention in the strike. Studios are refusing to provide adequate residuals for content streamed on platforms like NBC’s Peacock. The difference in payment between airing on Peacock and airing on NBC proper is as distinct as the transformation of Anne Hathaway’s character in “The Devil Wears Prada” before and after Stanley Tucci’s influence. Residuals are what support writers as they move from one project to another. Without them, writing ceases to be a profession and becomes just another gig, jeopardizing not only the careers of individuals but the livelihoods of an entire community.
Now, let’s address the villain because every great romance needs one: corporate greed. Corporate greed is like Sarah Michelle Gellar’s character in “Cruel Intentions” – a heartless beauty who gaslights you into believing she’s innocent. Don’t be fooled by the cross necklace; it’s filled with cocaine. By meeting our demands, studio executives would only lose a fraction of their immense wealth. When accounting for inflation, writers’ compensation has decreased by 14 percent over the past five years. A decade ago, only 33 percent of TV writers received minimum wages, but now that figure stands at 50 percent. This makes it increasingly difficult for me to stay in the industry and for aspiring writers to break through. Failing to invest in talent would be a tremendous mistake, akin to what Julia Roberts’ character in “Pretty Woman” would describe as a huge error.
I am immensely grateful to the writers, actors, and producers who have brought forth the romantic comedies I adore. “When Harry Met Sally” taught me about love and how to eat a sandwich. “Mrs. Doubtfire” displayed the power of family and the importance of embracing one’s true self. “Love & Basketball” gave me a chance to appreciate sports. It pains my heart to think that outstanding art is currently on hold due to the studios’ dismissal of the needs of writers and actors.
Despite the challenges, I remain hopeful that this drama will have a happy ending. That’s why I’m standing at the top of the Empire State Building, holding a red rose in one hand and a pencil behind my ear, awaiting a fair deal.
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