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Part-time labor, full-time dreams: extras, actors, and Hollywood's on-screen talent

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Part-time labor, full-time dreams: extras, actors, and Hollywood's on-screen talent

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Part-Time Labor, Full-Time Dreams:
Extras, Actors, and Hollywood’s On-Screen Talent

by

Kate Fortmueller

A Dissertation Presented to the
FACULTY OF THE USC GRADUATE SCHOOL
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
(CRITICAL STUDIES)

August 2014

Copyright 2014 Kate Fortmueller
Acknowledgements
The acknowledgements page is a unique space where readers gain insight into the
years of labor, both on the part of the writer and on behalf of the committee members,
archivists, friends, and family members that support the dissertation writing process.
This dissertation has benefited from generous colleagues and supportive friends – I am
appreciative of all the help along the way.
I am especially grateful for my outstanding committee all of whom have
challenged my thinking and been extremely generous with their time over the years. I
have been tremendously fortunate to have Ellen Seiter as my chair. Her work, and
especially her course on Political Economy, helped shape my thoughts on labor. Ellen’s
status as an award-winning mentor is well-deserved. She is a tireless reader, able to read
multiple drafts and ready to recommend books related to any topic - this ability has
benefited me at all stages of my graduate career. Priya Jaikumar was the first person to
give me an article on extras. Over the years, she has inspired my thinking and some of
the work I produced for her courses was foundational for this dissertation. Steve Ross
has always challenged my ideas and helped me clarify my writing for a broad audience. I
was fortunate that Laura Serna joined our faculty before I completed my dissertation. She
has given me primary sources, been a great source of conversation about extras, and a
willing and helpful reader (even before she joined my committee). David James and
Rick Jewell, both provided helpful feedback and direction on this project during my
qualifying exams.
Thank you to the members of Ellen’s dissertation group. The group has changed
over the years, but Leah Aldridge, Ghia Godfree, Eric Hoyt, Taylor Nygaard, Brett
i
Service and Stephanie Yeung have all offered valuable feedback in our group meetings.
A special thank you to the last iteration of the dissertation group: Patty Ahn, Lara
Bradshaw, and Shawna Kidman. This group provided crucial encouragement (in addition
to feedback) to help me through the last months of revisions.
Thank you to the wonderful Critical Studies office staff who have helped me
throughout graduate school. Bill Whittington, Linda Overholt, Sherall Preyer, Alicia
Cornish, Jade Agua, Kim Greene, and Christine Acham have all provided crucial
administrative support that has helped me make a living from my own creative labor. I
am also grateful for my two wonderful friends (who happen to be staff members),
Alessandro Ago and Andrew Richards, who always make life and screenings at USC
more enjoyable.
This dissertation would not have been possible without the assistance and
generosity of various Los Angeles archivists; Barbara Hall and Jenny Romero at the
Margaret Herrick Library, and Jonathon Auxier at the Warner Bros. Archive pulled
anything related to extras. Rochelle Rose and Davidson Lloyd at the SAG Foundation
generously gave me access to filmed interviews and the SAG documentary. Eric Hoyt’s
Media History Digital Library was also an immensely useful resource. Lauren Perez-
Rangal has given me unique insight into the role of SAG-AFTRA organizers.
Elizabeth Affuso, Kristen Fuhs, Alison Kozberg, Luci Marzola, Jess Paga, Paul
Reinsch, Jennifer Rosales, and Suzanne Scott have helped me keep perspective
throughout the dissertation writing process, encouraged me to keep writing, but most
importantly helped me keep life fun throughout my graduate school career. Thank you to
ii
my extended L.A. family: Lovida Gallie, Dan Broussard, and Teresa, Ron, and Nicole
Riddle for lunches, dinners, and unwavering support over the years.
I am immensely grateful for David Lerner’s support throughout my entire
graduate career. He has always been my biggest supporter and best reader and I cannot
imagine this process without him.
This dissertation is dedicated to my mothers, Beth Fortmueller and Jeanne
Holden, who have always instilled in me that we are a union family and told me stories
about how my resourceful grandfather, William Fortmueller, helped support his single
mother with extra work during the Depression. They have inspired my thinking and
supported this project in countless ways.

iii
Table of Contents

Acknowledgements i

Introduction 1

Chapter One: Organizing Extras and the Screen Extras Guild 40

Chapter Two: Hollywood’s Margins: Runaway Production and the 92
‘Cast of Thousands’

Chapter Three: Reality TV and On-Screen Labor: It’s not work, it’s real life 138

Chapter Four: The SAG-AFTRA Merger: 169
Union Convergence for the Labor Elite

Conclusion: Hollywood’s Marginally Employed 218

Bibliography 231
iv

Introduction
In 1933, my grandfather, William (Bill) Fortmueller, had to figure out how to
contribute to his household. Bill was 12 years old and his single mother had recently
moved him from Cincinnati, Ohio to a house in Hollywood on Martel Avenue (half a
block south of Melrose). He was already selling newspapers on Hollywood Boulevard
between Grauman’s Chinese Theater and then industry hot-spot, Musso and Frank’s, but
needed to figure out something else he could do while still going to school. Extra work
in motion pictures proved to be a convenient option. The actors and producers he met
selling newspapers took note of his red hair, freckles, and somewhat mischievous smile
and gave him a bit of background work (without requiring him to register at Central
Casting). Working in the movies was not his life’s dream (although he would have
happily taken more jobs in the movies), but as a young boy growing up in Hollywood this
was an easy way to earn some additional money while he was still in school.
In 2009, my cousin, Whitney Fortmueller moved to Los Angeles from San Diego
to try to break into acting. Unlike our grandfather, Whitney had a range of experience,
including community theater, dance lessons, and voice coaching. Rather than registering
at Central Casting, she took several waitressing jobs that would give her flexibility in her
schedule as she went to auditions. In the first couple of years she had a lead on an agent
and successful auditions for productions (including one with the Weinstein Company)
that unfortunately never came to fruition. She has never worked as a background actor,
in part because she does not see how it benefits her as an actress (or helps her pay her
bills).
1

Almost 80 years after my grandfather worked as an extra, I went to Central
Casting to sign up for work as a background actor, both as research and as a possible way
to supplement my graduate assistant stipend. In 2011, I immediately learned that for
union members doing this work, the preferred designation is “background actor” (rather
than “extra”). For the purpose of this dissertation I will use the preferred term
“background actor” in examples after 1994 (which is when the Screen Extras Guild
folded into the Screen Actors Guild). The name change, from “extra” to “background
actor” only marked one way that background acting had changed. The registration
process was formal and involved multiple forms that catalogued physical characteristics
and skills. The initial registration form required a tremendous amount of detail and also
self-reflection. I found myself staring blankly at categories that I rarely contemplate,
such as “age range” or “waist (in inches).” The list of skills and the write-in section made
me feel inadequate. I found myself overwhelmed with regret that I never took salsa or
swing dancing classes and I felt boring that in a list of skills that included “fire-eating”
and “fire-breathing” the only box I could check was “yoga.” Registering with Central
Casting required me to actively catalogue my own appearance and skills, finding parts
required a similar commitment on my part.
After I registered I had to call the Central Casting job line at least once a day. If I
felt something was appropriate for me (and I could make the call time), I was instructed
to leave a message with the casting agent who would verify that I fit the role. Calling in
for work was surprisingly time consuming and the casting agents rarely call registrants.
What I learned in my brief career of checking the Central Casting call service was that it
takes commitment to get extra work. Versatility, an array of unusual skills, and useful
2

goods (extras might get calls to use their cars) help because casting agents might seek
people out with these assets. All of these things require an investment from background
actors (whether it is simply maintenance of a skill or regular car upkeep). In essence,
background actors are effectively asked to absorb some of the costs of their labor. This
also translates into appearance. In 2011, “18+ looks younger,” meaning adults who could
play teenagers, were in high demand for programs like Glee (2009--), which is set in an
high school. Shooting with people under 18 requires parents and tutors to be on-set, so it
is cheaper to use adults whenever possible. Background actors who can help producers
save money are the real hot commodities, not, as Hollywood mythology suggests, those
who are most talented and destined for stardom. Ultimately my lack of unusual talents,
age appropriate appearance, the limits of an academic schedule (classes, teaching, and
writing) and the difficulty of negotiating a shared car made it difficult to pursue extra
work. Extra work had minimal barriers to entry, but registering did not guarantee work,
and, in my case, it produced none.
My family is not a show-business family by any stretch of the imagination, yet
since 1933, several of my family members have briefly worked in or adjacent to the film
industry. While these three examples are personal and anecdotal, they trouble some of
the assumptions about extra work and the rise to stardom. Extra work is not the only path
to a career as an actor. My grandfather and I both saw extra work as casual labor that
could produce supplementary income. My cousin Whitney pursues a career as an actress,
but has never worked as an extra. While these stories from my family demonstrate that
people have diverse points of entry into acting, my grandfather’s casual entrance into
extra work was markedly different than mine, differences that reveal some of the
3

significant ways in which the media industry has evolved. This dissertation considers
what it has meant historically and currently means to break into the rapidly changing and
growing entertainment business, whether it is film, television, or new media content.

Breaking into the Business
Film and television depictions of extra work offer insights into the business of the
media industries and their labor by narrativizing the position that has come to connote the
lowest rung on the ladder to stardom. In 2005 Ricky Gervais wrote and starred in Extras,
a BBC/HBO black comedy that explores the fictional lives of working background actors
and the slow rhythm of labor on film and television sets. Although the first season ends
with Gervais’ character Andy Millman writing and starring in his own show and
transcending his lowly extra status, the show’s misanthropic tone mocks the aspirations
of extras and the success of stars (by featuring stars playing themselves as cruel or
moronic). In season one Andy Millman discusses work with several other extras. The
scene opens with his friend, Maggie Jacobs (Ashley Jensen) asking “What is your day
job?” One of the other extras responds that she works in a pub and quickly throws the
question back to Millman who responds, “I’m an actor. […] this is just pocket money.
I’m actually an actor.”
1
The declaration “I’m an actor” recurs throughout multiple
episodes and is always met with scoffs and reminders that he is “background.” Part of
the humor from this line comes from the idea that defining oneself as an actor is
somehow sufficient evidence to assume this vocation. However, this raises some
important questions about acting as a profession; if an extra is not “an actor,” why is it so
easy for Gervais’ character to make this claim? What exactly is an actor? How are
4

actors and their labor defined? And how do actors define their own labor? How are actors
defined by their labor and roles?
Individuals approach background work from a variety of perspectives, from the
desire to become stars or gain on-set experience, to more practical applications like using
the work to join the union for health benefits or supplementing their income with part-
time work. Thus the title of this dissertation, Part-time Labor, Full-Time Dreams can take
on multiple meanings. “Part-Time Labor” refers to the sporadic nature of extra work
(differing from white- and blue-collar jobs with more regimented schedules). However,
“Full-Time Dreams” evoke a wide variety of associations. The “Full-Time Dreams”
could be dreams of stardom, desire for full-time work, a living wage, or a better wage.
The title also signals important considerations about the relationship between work and
time for actors; while acting might be a full-time aspiration, the paid working time is
structured differently from that of white-collar jobs and many blue-collar jobs, as the
example from Extras illustrates, there is often down-time on-set. This dissertation looks
at the ways that Hollywood has depicted, managed, regulated, and exploited aspiring
actors and would-be celebrities.
Location and location shooting also play a significant role in this dissertation and
how I approach film and television labor. Historically speaking, location has mattered for
aspiring film workers. Work in the film industry took place in Los Angeles, or maybe
New York and aspiring toward work in film meant moving to one of those urban centers.
As a result, entertainment labor laws, regulations, and protections developed on the
assumption that these cities are the entertainment centers.
2
Union bargaining agreements
also have historically had geographic boundaries. After WWII, film production moved
5

abroad to capitalize on tax incentives and cheaper labor – especially in the form of extras.
Location shooting in the U.S. (outside Los Angeles and New York City) is desirable for
similar reasons. Recently, in an effort to bolster failing state economies, an increasing
number of U.S. states have passed “right-to-work” laws (approximately half of the U.S.
states currently have these laws). Anti-union “right-to-work” laws allow businesses,
including production companies, to hire non-union workers. Cheap labor is not the only
incentive to move production; for example, productions in Georgia do not need to obtain
filming permits for most locations, and the state offers a 30% tax credit.
3
As film and
television production moved outside of the historical production centers (and continues to
spread to new locations), labor has struggled to adjust with aspiring film and television
workers scrambling to develop stable work opportunities in the media industries.
Although many above-the-line jobs are mobile, below-the-line background actors lose
opportunities for work.
This project is an intervention in how we think about stars and actors, their labor
and its potential rewards. Existing literature on actors is dominated by the work of star
studies, most notably stemming from Richard DeCordova,
4
Barry King,
5
and Richard
Dyer
6
and examinations of on-screen performance and acting, often emerging from James
Naremore’s foundational Acting in Cinema.
7
Danae Clark’s Negotiating Hollywood –
The Cultural Politics of Actor’s Labor provides an analysis of labor and functions as an
alternative to both studies of stars and performance, but it stands as an anomaly within
scholarship on actors.
8
There are a number of articles (which I will discuss in greater
detail later in this introduction) that provide valuable contributions to the study of
character actors and extras at various historical moments, but this work does not coalesce
6

around a specific methodology nor do these articles cover the historical expanse of this
dissertation. All of these studies focus on film actors. This project intervenes in the
existing literature by putting histories of actors and their labor at the center of the project
while also expanding the terrain of discussion to film and television actors.
Since extras work in film and television, I weave together both histories to paint a
broad picture of Hollywood as a media industry. This dissertation engages histories of
and scholarly work on extras from 1910 to the present. The ensuing chapters will explore
the role of unions as a professionalizing force for performers; the impact of location
shooting on extras in the U.S. and abroad; increased points of entry for aspiring actors;
and SAG-AFTRA’s attempts to remain powerful and relevant amidst rapid industrial and
technological changes. Since the demise of the vertically integrated studio system
Hollywood, like many other industries, has moved toward an increasingly flexible
workforce. Although Hollywood labor practices have changed and moved away from the
regimented and rationalized Fordist system that characterized much of the studio system,
I argue that the history of labor for actors (below the level of stars) and extras is one of
continuity rather than change and transformation. I propose that extras should be central
to our understanding of Hollywood precisely because their work is temporary (work one
might do for a brief time) and casualized (part-time work that one might do for a brief or
prolonged period of time). The shift toward increasingly temporary or casual labor is not
unique to Hollywood but is typical of the broader economy of creative industries such as
literary publishing or video games.
Hollywood differs from other creative industries because it has a long history of
unions. Yet, knowledge of unions and their history is waning amongst film students. As
7

Ellen Seiter and Miranda Banks’s 2007 survey of USC students points out, 90% of
surveyed students characterized their knowledge of entertainment unions as “little.”
9

Lack of knowledge from the younger generation of film students coupled with the wide
array of non-union jobs in the industry paints a troubling picture for future media makers.
Andrew Ross and Sarah Banet-Weiser have noted the disjuncture between a unionized
industry and the industry that produces more recent non-unionized content. Andrew Ross
says of reality TV production, “The labor infractions in these old media sectors are
conspicuous because they take place against the still heavily unionized backdrop of the
entertainment industries.”
10
Sarah Banet-Weiser makes a similar point, suggesting, “[t]he
discourse of creativity obscures the continued exploitation of many labor relationships
and distances these creative types from the long history of labor unions and other efforts
to protect workers from exploitation.”
11
Ellen Seiter, Miranda Banks, Andrew Ross, and
Sarah Banet-Weiser all note that movement into creative fields has not been accompanied
by knowledge of exploitative histories or awareness of unions. As increasing numbers of
people try to move into creative fields it becomes imperative to shed light on the
conditions of entry-level employment in these fields and realign creative work with
histories of labor unions.
For professional actors, these various titles (extras, character actors, reality
performers, and stars) have ramifications in relation to compensation and treatment on-set.
Since actors can move between levels, these terms can be slippery in part because an
actor’s status is largely understood based on intangible concerns, such as narrative
function, cultural capital, and/or bankability rather than hours worked on-set. Terms and
classifications based on performance clarify who is included (and excluded) as members
8

of collective bargaining agreements in the Screen Actors Guild (SAG), the union that
traditionally represented film actors, and the American Federation of Television and
Radio Actors (AFTRA), the union that traditionally represented radio, and later television
actors. Most film and television viewers have a common sense understanding of the
differences between extras, character actors, stars, and reality performers and can identify
these various roles on-screen. With the exception of reality performers, these on-screen
roles and off-screen distinctions have remained remarkably consistent throughout the
history of narrative cinema. However, recognition of these roles on-screen does not
necessarily translate into a clear understanding of the historical or material conditions of
the labor of acting, which varies based on the type of performer. The goal of this
introduction is to outline the various types of on-screen performers and how they have
been historicized and theorized.

Extras/Background Actors
Extras are uncredited, a distinction with material, symbolic, and historiographic
implications. Extra work has historically offered aspiring actors a paying point of entry
into the film industry. This point is particularly significant in the media landscape of the
21st century, where aspirant media workers enter the industry through unpaid internships
(often enabled or required by universities), and many aspiring actors build their reels
through unremunerated student films (in which the filmmakers are likely paying tuition)
or self-financed online webisodes.
12
Access to many opportunities in digital fields, as
Ellen Seiter points out, requires equipment and valuable social networks that necessitate
financial, social, and cultural capital.
13
Although work as an extra might also require
9

some financial capital, as I note in my personal experience at Central Casting, it is
minimal compared to other jobs in the media industries. In contrast, background work
has minimal barriers to entry.
The human background is realized in a variety of ways, but one of the most
important jobs of the background actor is to work in service of the central action on-
screen. On-set background actors are usually managed as a group and interact with the
assistant director; they need to do their jobs and, perhaps more importantly, not interfere
with or slow the film production. Background actors are not only in fictional media;
there are inadvertent background actors in documentary films or news footage, though
these are unplanned and unpaid. Inadvertent background actors are not directed, but like
actors in fictional films, they will ideally ignore the camera and not distract from the
central action or interview. There are also countless opportunities to be a paid seat-filler
as an audience member at a live sitcom taping, talk show, or game show. On-Camera
Audiences, one of the companies that casts audiences, sends me weekly emails with
subject lines such as, “We need your group on T.V. and we’ll give you TONS of
money!”
14
On-Camera Audiences offers money for “Group Fundraising” and will pay
between $10-$25 (and often the opportunity of winning big on a game show) per person.
Backgrounds can also be devoid of real human forms since there are ways to populate the
background with either digital animation
15
or inflatable people.
16

Even though extras play an important role in realizing the mise-en-scène, the term
“extra” signifies precisely that which is additional and in excess of a film or television
program. Despite their visual importance, individual extras do not propel the narrative
forward (although the masses might have some influence over plot points). Campbell
10

MacCulloch, General Manager of Central Casting in 1939, summed up this tension for
extras, stating, “[I]n Hollywood, no one is willing to admit that he is in the ‘excess class’
– no matter what his earnings or lack of earnings might be – and as a result, the situation
never attains anything near balance between demand and supply.”
17
This unequal
relationship between supply and demand kept labor costs low and stable. However, this
statement from 1939 sheds light on the negative implication of the term “extra” and
provides insight into why “extras” in the 2000s prefer to be designated as “background
actors” within SAG-AFTRA, the actor’s guild.
18

Fringe benefits make extra work alluring in spite of the many frustrations of being
low in the on-set hierarchy. Working on-set gives background actors the opportunity to
observe production while making money. There are additional benefits, such as styling
and make up tips, free haircuts (particularly enticing for period shows such as Mad Men)
and free meals on-set. However, even though they can get free meals, the hierarchy
remains evident - they are last in line for craft services. In Production Cultures, John
Caldwell uses an anecdote about extras to explain how the frustrations of low-level
workers play out in complicated on-set relationships.
‘[…] Movie extras are made to wait [to eat] while complete idiots do take
after take after take. We are rudely told what to do by nasty, power-
hungry production assistants. We are basically seen and treated as stupid,
willful cattle. Of course, there are much worse ways to make money than
spending a day watching a movie get made.’

While this excerpt from one of Caldwell’s interviews clearly articulates frustration with
being at the low end of the totem pole, it is still couched with a bit of ambivalence about
the work itself (“there are much worse ways to make money”). The language of this
extra reveals one of the key historical points about extra work, that it is passive labor, but
11

it also indicates a source of the job’s appeal. While some (better paying) jobs may be
monotonous, the myriad frustrations of being an extra on-set can be easily overshadowed
by the glamour and the excitement of making a movie.
For extras, the excitement of being on set stems from the rare, but real possibility
of meeting stars or being plucked from obscurity into stardom. There are many stars
whose career origins as extras are key parts of their biographies, and this fact continues to
fuel the fantasy of aspirant extras. Clark Gable, Clint Eastwood, Sylvester Stallone, Bruce
Willis, and Megan Fox are a few of the actors who got their starts as extras, but it is the
great myth of extra work that it is the bottom rung on a ladder toward stardom. Despite
all of these examples of stars who began their careers as extras, this is the exception
rather than the rule. Not all stars begin as extras. However, many stars may have used
extra work as day labor to help pay bills while they auditioned for bigger roles and took
classes (acting, dancing, vocal, etc.) to help build their skills.
In 2014, amidst an increasingly casualized work force (where workers are
employed under short-term contracts or on a part-time basis) and with numerous media
workers looking for compensation for their creative efforts, the myth of the extra as an
actor who can ascend to stardom seems dated. This seems old-fashioned precisely
because the idea of “working your way up” in one line of work is a foreign concept for
most people. This myth of working up to star status, or ascending from humble origins to
wealth and success, resonates strongly with the rhetoric of the American dream and
Horatio Alger stories. These types of stories have been part of Hollywood filmmaking
and advertisements throughout the history of narrative cinema, including in narratives
about the industry itself as a vehicle for these kinds of mobility. In some cases, such as A
12

Star is Born (1937, 1956, and 1976), the same story gets re-made with different actresses.
Since each version of this film was made in a different industrial context, this film seems
to reveal more about Hollywood ideology than the industry itself.
Stardom narratives, whether accurate or not, provide insights into the industry
imagination of itself and its infrastructure. The story of the extra moving from the crowd
to the spotlight (even if she does not always stay in the spotlight) has been retold in
various media productions.
19
The short film Hollywood Extra Girl (1935), which also
functions as a trailer for Cecil B. DeMille’s The Crusades (1935), provides a typical
example of both the themes and tropes of these films. Hollywood Extra Girl uses voice-
over narration to tell the story of Suzanne Emery, an extra on The Crusades. The short
opens with several questions that frame the film, “What about the extras, the faces in the
mob scene? Are they real these people who wear numbers instead of names?” The short
focuses on extra #1472, Suzanne Emery, as she proceeds through her morning, first
receiving the call from Central Casting about her job and heading to the studio for work
on set. Once she arrives on set, Emery accidentally meets DeMille who decides to use
her in a close-up in The Crusades the following day.
Emery had two chances at stardom: her close-up in The Crusades and her featured
role in Hollywood Extra Girl. Although neither of these opportunities vaulted her to
stardom, this short provides an example of how the labor of actors is narrativized in
Hollywood filmmaking. Emery’s work-day progresses in a realist style, outlining the
morning of an extra with several quick cuts. However, opportunity does not present itself
because of her ability or talent; it is merely luck that gives her the chance for a close-up
that could launch her career.
13

The role of luck in extra work is a critical piece of how Hollywood stardom
narratives mask power structures. Richard Dyer and David E. James explore how
stardom narratives like Hollywood Extra Girl function to conceal labor and Hollywood
labor relations. Richard Dyer focuses on the myth of success and the importance of
chance and being discovered, explaining that it is “grounded in the belief that the class
system, the old-boy network, does not apply to America.”
20
Dyer also explains that the
commitment to these narratives of star mobility assume particular societal and individual
values, claiming, “[t]he myth of success also suggests that success is worth having – in
the form of conspicuous consumption. […] What they [stars] earn (not class connections,
breading, education or ‘artistic’ achievement) gives them access to the world of good
living […].”
21
David E. James makes a similar claim to Dyer, but situates the ideological
function of stardom narratives in relation to how Hollywood envisions itself. James
claims, “films about Hollywood are a symbolic form in which the social relations of
capitalist culture are simultaneously narrated and concealed.”
22
Meaning that films about
the rise to stardom chart a path from little to no power in the industry. However, for
James, the power associated with stars is largely an illusion. As James, points out, “[…]
the apotheosis of the star as the pinnacle of the system of culture hides the ultimate
control of it by the owners of the means of cultural production.”
23
Both Dyer’s and James’
conclusions, that stars participate in a consumptive lifestyle rather than controlling the
terms of production and consumption, call into question how these narratives of mobility
obfuscate larger power structures (whether they are industrial power or societal “common
sense”). While Hollywood has its own self-serving reasons for concealing the labor of
filmmaking and the labor relations that constitute its capitalist structures, scholarly work
14

and histories of the film industry do not have the same need to conceal labor relations,
although they are often complicit. However, Dyer’s and James’ analyses do not account
for the gendered labor that stardom narratives conceal. Narratives about extras are not
evenly distributed between male and female protagonists; they focus almost exclusively
on women.
The large female population partially explains why fictional and historical
accounts of the extra in the 1920s and through the 1940s were largely dominated by
representations of women. According to Murray Ross’ 1941 study of extras there were
more female extras than male extras, despite the fact that most extra work went to men.
24

Historically, the disproportionate focus on the extra girl emerged from tales of the
downfall of young girls looking for stardom and anxieties about new and modern women
moving from their rural family homes to the city in search of work, independence, and
freedom rather than marriage and domestic life. However, there were also institutional
and structural reasons that stardom narratives became focused on women.
Female extra narratives specifically hide how Hollywood careers and
opportunities are gendered. Shelley Stamp points out that continuous emphasis on the
“extra problem” functioned as a means to shift focus on women in a manner that
excluded them from filmmaking. Stamp contends that the story of the extra, which writes
women out of the history of filmmaking and firmly locates women as glamorous objects
in front of the camera, was constructed by William Hays and has been retold by film
scholars.
25
Even though women continued to work in film, the focus on extras in the
popular imaginary de-emphasized the unique job opportunities for women behind the
15

camera and below the line and downplayed the impact and number of contracted non-
actor female workers in the film studios.
26

Extra work was not the only film work recognized or available for women. A
1926 Photoplay article recounts stories of “The girls who failed […] the girls who missed
out on incandescents [sic] but who came through to success in other film channels.”
27

This article proposes alternative careers to Hollywood stardom. Author Dorothy
Spensley tells the story of Dorothy Manners of Fort Worth, Texas, who never made it to
stardom, but rather worked as an extra and was cast in a few minor roles (one at Fox and
one with “Buck” Jones).
28
She also weaves in the story of “Pat” the Canadian woman
who worked as an extra before becoming a casting director.
29
Historian Samantha Barbas’
examination of female fans explains how studios and fan magazines (such as Photoplay)
initially offered young women a form of participation in the film industry through
screenwriting competitions, as a way to encourage continued engagement with films
without coming to Hollywood.
30
As screenwriting became professionalized as writers
began to work under studio contracts and form their own union, these competitions
disappeared and the number of female screenwriters dwindled. There were noteworthy
exceptions of women who continued to work in film. Directors Alice Guy-Blaché, Lois
Weber, Dorothy Arzner,
31
and screenwriters like Francis Marion and Anita Loos,
continued to write screenplays, work behind the camera, and form their own studios.
32

Despite these exceptions, opportunities for women diminished. Shelley Stamp attributes
the reduction of available jobs in the 1920s to the formation of Hollywood guilds (and the
exclusion of women from many guilds) and studio consolidations.
33
However, even as
filmmaking jobs dwindled, extra work remained an acceptable avenue for women trying
16

to break into film in an industry that had (and continues to have) clear barriers to entry
for women.
34

One of the reasons that extra work (and acting in general) has been more open to
women and people of color than other segments of the industry is because casting
requires diverse types,
35
even if the reality was that majority of extra roles (at least until
the 1950s) went to white men.
36
Industry discourse about casting has always
emphasized Hollywood’s need for a variety of people of all races, sizes, ages, and skills
for their changing aesthetic and entertainment demands. As Central Casting explained in
their 1936 pamphlet, “Generally speaking, extra work does not need TALENT; it needs
TYPE.”
37
What this meant for people of color was that they could find work, if they
were the right “type” for the film. By making broad statements about the availability of
extra work, industry discourse seems to suggest that Hollywood can potentially provide a
job for everyone regardless of race.
There was truth to the claim that Hollywood needed type, but not all types were
equally in demand. Anthony Slide details the array of different races and ethnicities cast
in Hollywood films from the 1920s through the 1950s. Slide notes that people of color
were often used in specific genre cycles (for example, Native Americans in westerns) and
often faced worse conditions on-set than their white colleagues. Slide explains,
When one such [Mexican] extra, working for $7.50 a day on Dancing
Pirates in 1935, was told to speak a line in Spanish, thus qualifying him
for an adjustment in pay, this adjustment was denied. The assistant
director excused the injustice by explaining, “because he [the extra] was a
Mexican…[and] he [the director] did not pay Mexicans for speaking
lines.”
38

This example highlights the overtly racist attitudes toward people of color working in
background roles. For African American extras, these conditions resulted in a strike in
17

1936.
39
Charlene Regester explores the specific limits of film and extra work for African
Americans in Hollywood in the 1920s and 1930s. Regester notes that during this period
the majority of African Americans working in Hollywood were only able to find work as
extras. Although these were not substantive roles that challenged regressive
representations, Regester asserts that for African American actors “[…] merely being
employed, regardless of the capacity, was considered advancement in this period of
American cinema history.”
40
While this may have served as an entry point, these roles
were unlikely to lead to more substantial roles in the future.

Character Actors
Character actors encompass the expansive “middle ground” between extras and
stars. A character actor, as succinctly defined by David Thomson, is “someone who is
not at the heart of a film, or, if at the center, not someone whose decisions are the crux of
the drama.”
41
Successful character actors might be able to make a living from their work,
receive screen credit, and potentially receive residuals (payment for reuse of material),
but their names are not bankable enough to launch a project or guarantee its funding.
42

In some cases, these individuals might still struggle to make a full-time living as
actors. One example of this is Misty Upham, an actress with speaking roles in Frozen
River (2008) and August: Osage County (2013). However, while Upham regularly took
auditions and got parts, she could only pay her rent by working as a housekeeper.
Speaking about her experience trying to make it in Hollywood, Upham explained,
Most actors in Los Angeles, even those of us who you may vaguely
recognize from a film or TV show, generally have very modest incomes.
It’s a secret kept alive by a media that equates all things Hollywood with
decadence and fortune. In reality, many working actors live with
18

considerable uncertainty, moving from job to job, often paid minimum
fees, and if we’re lucky, sporadic residuals. Health coverage is patchy, and
the ability to focus solely on our craft is a luxury we simply can’t afford.
Most of us have “rent jobs” to make ends meet.
43

Upham’s experience of job uncertainty and journeyman work is common for actors trying
to build their careers while also meeting minimum work hours to keep their union health
benefits.
Even though many actors struggle to make a living, their chosen vocation
structures their time so that they can do other things. Lack of productivity characterizes
the tedium of most film work. Down-time (or leisure) for actors is experienced in two
different ways: working actors, who have exceedingly busy schedules filled with
numerous projects and meetings, have downtime on-set; alternatively under-employed
actors might have downtime while they are looking for projects. Actors have an
unconventional relationship to leisure, in that it is never wholly unproductive. Harry
Braverman’s Labor and Monopoly Capital illuminates this notion in relation to industrial
labor when he asserts “[…] one cannot distinguish the unemployed from the leisure class
except by asking the individual whether he or she had been actively seeking employment
during the previous four weeks.”
44
Braverman pinpoints a key concept, mainly that it is
not “leisure” if you are pursuing work at the same time. However, people who work in
creative careers might simultaneously be working and looking for the next job – further
complicating the distinction between work, leisure, and job searching. In creative fields,
such as acting, the mark of success is that an actor does not need to pursue a job during
her downtime because other people court her for projects. Creative industries upend
traditional distinctions between work and leisure, and actors challenge these distinctions
further due to their unusual work hours and time between jobs. This is a different way of
19

structuring work time, which seemingly intertwines leisure with exciting and glamorous
work. Actors also find themselves cultivating skills through musical or voice training,
dance, sport, and even horseback riding – all of which are traditional activities of the
wealthy leisure class. From an outside perspective this unregimented time might appear
to be easier or more desirable than blue-collar or white-collar jobs that require one to
perform similar tasks on a daily basis. However, the blurred line between work and
leisure can also create a sense that one is constantly working.
For union actors, shooting days are regulated by their collective bargaining
agreements. In Haskell Wexler’s documentary about Hollywood working conditions,
Who Needs Sleep? (2006), Julia Roberts talks about how her 12-hour work schedule is
protected by the union. Similarly, Paul Newman mentions that during long days on-set,
actors can go nap in their trailers while the crew prepares for a shot. Since Roberts’ and
Newman’s working conditions are union protected, these apply to non-stars as well.
Time-off between shoots (and natural breaks between takes) do not necessarily need to be
used for rest.
Production schedules structure work time in unique ways that distance work from
associations with industrialized or mechanized drudgery, albeit in ways that are likely to
produce alternative forms of boredom or monotony. Production days for actors might be
characterized by periods of intense work and long breaks. For example, actors might be
waiting in their trailers while crew-members prepare for a scene and some actors may be
in a scene while others are off on a break. James Franco’s very public persona of
star/filmmaker/full-time graduate student is a key example of this unique way that actors
can structure their time according to multiple interests and jobs. According to Franco,
20

there was so much down time during the production on the effects-laden OZ: The Great
and Powerful (2013), that he simultaneously conceived, produced, and edited a film with
NYU students during the production.
45
These examples of work-days all come from stars,
however, the prevalence of uncompensated work time that can be used for professional
development, is a status equalizer for extras, character actors, and stars on-set. In some
cases, these breaks were the result of important union victories, such as the 12-hour
work-day regulation. The rules governing work-days for shoots may differ dramatically
for reality performers who do not fall under the same union protections.

Reality Performers
The growth of reality television since the 1980s has added a new category of on-
screen performer, “reality performers.” The work of reality television personalities might
often resemble the work of a card-carrying union actor. Reality performers might
perform versions of themselves (like Jon and Kate Gosselin on Jon & Kate Plus Eight
[2007-2009]), work from scripted dialogue or scenarios (like Lauren Conrad, Heidi
Montag, and Audrina Patridge on The Hills [2006-2010]), or try to launch themselves
into acting careers; however, like extras, they do not get included within the category of
“actor.” Yet, as Misha Kavka notes, “[…] reality television now self-consciously
functions as part of the celebrity-making apparatus, interacting with other media forms
and entertainment industries to promote fame.”
46
Thus even as reality programming
helps build media careers, the people on reality programming are not supported by the
same institutional structures that protect traditional actors.
21

While many reality performers are not universally covered by part of SAG-
AFTRA, or any other union, there are some performers on reality shows who are covered
under union contracts, such as hosts on competition reality programs (such as Ryan
Seacrest from American Idol [2002--]) and contestants on American Idol who make it to
the top twelve.
47
There have also been attempts to unionize reality workers behind the
camera, most notably by the Writers Guild of America (WGA) and the International
Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees (IATSE). The WGA’s reality organizing efforts
began in 2001, increasing in scale in 2005.
48
The WGA attempted to organize writers
and editors, since both are responsible for shaping the story on reality TV. One of the
most notable attempts was in 2006 when editors on America’s Next Top Model (2003--)
struck. Both IATSE and the WGA have reached agreements with some production
companies, but neither union has successfully brought reality TV production under their
jurisdiction.
49

Part of the logic that distinguishes reality performers from actors is that they are
not rehearsing, reciting lines, or being directed on camera. Even though reality
performers might not be taking explicit direction before every scene, their intuitive
knowledge of reality television and media likely informs how they will respond and
perform in a given scenario. Furthermore, reality performances take place in highly
mediated environments. As scholar Ken Miller points out, there is a wide range of reality
genres, but “the common factor to all of them is the presence of cameras and
microphones.”
50
Thus under these mediated conditions, reality performers might serve
both as actors and as their own kind of director. While the distinction between on-screen
actors who take direction versus people on-screen who do not take direction has been an
22

important difference for professionalization, there are many similarities between the work
of reality performers and actors - enough that working on reality has been and continues
to be seen as a viable starting point for people who want to launch their careers in the
entertainment industries.

Stars
Stars make a living from their acting and are hired to ensure audience interest and
sell movies because their names (usually) generate predictable box-office success.
Culturally however, stars are powerful and resonant beyond their commodity status. As
Su Holmes and Sean Redmond have observed, the term “star” reverberates with “auratic,
glamorous, and desirable connotations.”
51
For Richard Dyer, the “star” is something that
is beyond our grasp, that we can only understand stars through their images. Thus, the
study of stars is about understanding what they represent rather than who they are. As
Dyer points out, “A film star’s image is not just his or her films, but the promotion of
those films and of the star through pin-ups, public appearances, studio hand-outs and so
on, as well as interviews, biographies and coverage in the press of the star’s doings and
‘private’ life.”
52

Since we understand stars through a wide array of texts that are constituted by
many peoples’ labor, it is challenging to locate the particular labor of the star. Danae
Clark provides useful insights into the difficulty of understanding and writing about
actors’ labor. As Clark explains,
The discursive dimension of labor and the instability of labor as a fixed
characteristic of cultural production become clearer when labor is
examined in relation to subjectivity. For if a subject is always a “subject
in discourse,” then the labor role performed by that subject is discursively
23

determined. The case of screen actors throws this idea into high relief. As
subjects caught between their positions as laborers and commodity images,
they are involved in a conflict over the very terms of representation.
53

Thus the various texts that help us understand stars, actors, and their labor also makes
stars’ subjectivities elusive, as our understanding of them is always highly mediated and
often fragmented. Star studies, through Richard DeCordova’s and Barry King’s works,
was initially grounded in industrial analysis. In “The Emergence of the Star System in
America,” Richard DeCordova traces the shift in popular discourse after 1907 from the
apparatus to the actor, and concludes that the discourse on acting “was fundamental to the
institutionalization of the cinema […] and worked to resituate the site of textual
productivity in human labor.”
54
DeCordova frames acting as labor and positions popular
discourse about acting and actors as a professionalizing force. Barry King’s approach
combines the political economy of stardom with analysis of performance as a process of
signification. While DeCordova’s and King’s works established a foundation for the
marriage of political economy and the image, Richard Dyer’s Stars posits a semiotic
approach that considers stars within a system of consumption and commodification, as
texts that can be read and interpreted.
Textual reading practices can also have a bearing on political economy and legal
practices. Jane Gaines’ Contested Culture extends Dyer’s work by demonstrating how
the semiotics of stars has financial implications within the world of copyright law. Gaines
makes two clear interventions in the discussion of stars as labor: first, the importance of
interpretation as labor, and second, the body and voice as imagery.
55
While the
importance of interpretation as labor applies to background actors, character actors and
stars, all of whom perform “transformative action” on the scripted material, the second
24

point, which ascribes labor to imagery is limited to stars.
56
Gaines elaborates on this
point and explains,
[…] [U]nder the studio system, the natural signs of the private person
were produced as popular audio and visual images by the collective labor
of many others as well – agents, publicists, voice coaches, lighting
directors, make-up artists, and costume designers, as well as directors. In
short, the transformation of the physiognomy and psyche of a human
being by the process of industrial production for the purposes of cornering
a market has no equivalent at any other moment in history, nor can
manufactured stardom be found in any other society before its appearance
in the U.S.

Gaines admits that transformation of actors by a group is not “labor” in a conventional
sense. However, the production of stars as images generates crucial revenue because star
images can continue to be exploited and generate capital even when they cease to do the
interpretive labor of acting.
The notion of physical likeness as both private property and alienated labor are
expounded upon in Jane Gaines’s chapter, “Dracula and the Right of Publicity.”
Although Gaines’s concerns in this chapter relate to the tension between fixing meaning
and making signs in subversive works, her chapter provides important insights into how
legal principles (which Gaines points out reflect commonsense knowledge) support the
Hollywood myth that anyone can be a star. Gaines examines Lugosi v. Universal Pictures,
Inc to explore the issue of ownership over an actor’s image, the right to privacy, and the
right to publicity. As Gaines points out, the right of publicity recognizes that every
identity could be potentially exploited for value.
57
The representation of an identity is not
necessarily related to the labor of performance, but rather through the “labor of
promotion” becomes what Marx calls productive private property. Productive property is
a form of property that generates capital through alienated labor. It is this process, and
25

this recognition, that every person can potentially exploit his/her identity for profit that
makes acting an appealing career option.
All of these on-screen performers contribute to the ways that meaning is made in
films. As laborers there are material differences with respect to how these actors are
compensated. Extras are one particular type of performer amongst many on-screen.
However, they occupy a significant percentage of the total number of working actors in
Los Angeles (and they always have).
58
Although this dissertation focuses on extras (who
are explicitly not stars), work in star studies has provided an important foundation for
understanding on-screen labor. One of the crucial differences between studying stars as
opposed to extras is that individual stars and their texts are highly visible. The next
section asks: What are the challenges of considering the invisible labor of production in
relation to the visible medium of film?

Visible and Invisible Labor
Visibility and invisibility are crucial terms for understanding and discussing
Hollywood labor, specifically extras. As viewers, we watch the labor of performances
occur in front of the camera. When we watch a performance on-screen we are in fact
watching an actor work. As audience members we see a trace of the labor performed, but
the final product abstracts the work that actors perform - the minutes of on-screen time
are the result of many hours and days of work. However, the on-screen work is only a
part of an actor’s labor, actors engage in work off-camera that is often entirely un-related
to specific productions.
26

As Vicki Mayer points out in Below-the-Line, identity production is an important
type of invisible surplus of labor. Although Mayer is explicitly talking about film and
television producers who might “frame their work as extensions of their ethnic and
national identities,” the same logic can also apply to on-screen talent.
59
Since acting and
especially extra work is often about type, aspiring actors work to fit themselves into a
profitable mold. Mayer’s point about the dialectic between labor and identity speaks to
this tendency; she argues, “The dialectic between labor structures and identity work
captures the dynamic process by which political economies frame subjectivities,
producing capital for industries and contradictions for workers identifying with profitable
identities.”
60
In the case of extra work, profitable identities are those that are most
frequently cast in film and television.
Despite the enormous effort that fuels film and television production, the labor
that produces it lies largely outside of the popular imaginary (although not always outside
of academic discourse). Elena Gorfinkel describes the visibility and invisibility of labor
as paradoxical.
61
As Gorfinkel points out, this paradox comes from the fact that “[…]
although work is central to a collaborative, effort-intensive medium, human labor often
remains the repressed of filmic representation.”
62
David E. James resolves some of this
tension in his work on experimental films, claiming that avant-garde film practice
“internalizes the conditions of its production, it makes itself an allegory of them.”
63

James is specifically talking about artisanal and small-scale avant-garde films, which
often have unique low-budget production histories that differ dramatically from
mainstream Hollywood productions, which have professional crews and are subject to
studio over-sight. In general, Hollywood filmmaking tries to mask its own process. Yet,
27

it cannot always effectively diminish the process of production. Labor is often most
visible through flaws, for example, location shooting might cause inadvertent snags and
non-professional and over-enthusiastic extras might still make it into the final cut of a
film. Thus all films can, and I argue should, be connected to their labor.
Visibility and invisibility take on a tangible and practical valence in relation to
extras. The extra vacillates between visibility and invisibility – extras need to be visible
as a group (crowd scenes), but indistinguishable from others in the crowd. Extras are
also supposed to be anonymous and unrecognizable to the audience, however, there have
been “famous” extras like Bess Flowers, and extras do occasionally rise to stardom.
64
In
the case of these extras who become famous they become someone to look for in the
background on retroactive viewings (like Bruce Willis in the courtroom scene of The
Verdict [1982]).
The visibility or invisibility of labor has been a key concept for feminists seeking
to place value on the domestic labor (housework, child rearing, etc.) that enables men to
work in the public sphere. In “Developing a Theory of Capitalist Patriarchy and Socialist
Feminism,” Zillah Eisenstein, critiqued Marx and Engels for taking the sexual division of
labor for granted and defining productive labor as wage labor (or labor that takes place in
the public sphere). This limited definition neglected to account for domestic labor (or
labor in the home, or private sphere) and the precise ways that invisibility and
devaluation of domestic labor creates the continued oppression of women. As Eisenstein
pointed out, “Marx did not understand that the sexual division of labor in society
organizes noncreative and isolating work particularly for women.”
65
The idea of the
28

sexual division of labor helps account for the logic that feminizes certain types of film
industry work, such as extra work.
Invisibility is not only about how certain jobs can be categorized, but also how
this leads to different levels of compensation. In Chapter Two I show how the
widescreen spectacles of the 1950s and 1960s claimed that they needed people of color in
the background in order to enhance the realism of the scene. In these cases, people of
color were paid significantly less than standard or union rates for their work. As Evelyn
Nakano Glenn points out in Unequal Freedom, work performed by white men in
American society has been historically built on an expectation that women and people of
color will work for free or at a lower rate in order to enable men to make more. As Glenn
points out, there are ideological and structural reasons that people of color historically
earned less than white people. Glenn explains, “[t]he racial rhetoric – whether justifying
lower wages for people of color or blaming people of color for driving down wages – was
that blacks, Chinese, Mexicans, and other less evolved peoples could survive on next to
nothing.”
66
This sense of entitlement toward the labor of particular groups is clear in the
marketing for epic productions that advertise a “cast of thousands” that is invariably
constituted by people of color. Hollywood has historically extracted a surplus from these
workers, because the extras in these films are not simply background to enhance realism,
but rather a spectacle that has marketable value.

Making it in Hollywood?
In the introduction to Harry Braverman’s Labor and Monopoly Capital, John
Bellamy Foster laments how consumption obscures work. As Foster points out,
29

[…] consumption occupies center stage, while the more fundamental
reality of work recedes into the background, seldom depicted in any detail
[…] [E]xperiences of those forced to earn their living by endless
conformity […] divorced from their own creative potential […] seem
always just beyond the eye of the camera, forever out of sight.
67

Despite his “the eye of the camera” metaphor, Foster’s claims are not specifically about
media work, yet they seem particularly relevant for the analysis of media workers. Part
of the challenge of thinking about labor in relation to film and media studies is precisely
this tension between what is on-screen and what is beyond and behind the camera. Elena
Gorfinkel articulates this tension, asserting that “[f]ilms screen and also screen out the
labor that subtends them as aesthetic ‘works,’ as works of art.”
68
Gorfinkel’s point seems
to refer to the invisibility of film workers who produce specific media texts, however,
film and television texts are not only produced by individual laborers; they are also
developed within broader labor contexts and conflicts. While studios might try to “screen
out” the union disagreements and failed negotiations that produce runaway productions
and reality television, these business strategies occasionally seep out to the public and
inform public understandings of the media landscape.
This project explores the political economy of media work in conjunction with
textual analysis of films and archival documents. This combination of text and context
differs from many media industry studies, which focus on political economy, and often
ethnography. There are different ways to integrate textual analysis into analyses of labor
and film including studies of work, workers on film, union films and films made by
workers, such as Steve Ross’ Working Class Hollywood.
69
However, labor is also an
essential presence in films and television programs that narrativize aspirations toward
stardom, industry texts such as SAG-AFTRA YouTube films, the SAG Awards, and the
30

SAG-AFTRA merger information sheets. This dissertation draws on archival resources at
the Margaret Herrick Library and USC’s Warner Brothers Archives, as well as material
from the SAG Foundation. However, my project also incorporates participant
observation, such as developing connections with SAG-AFTRA organizers, registering
with Central Casting, and attending SAG-AFTRA information sessions.
Chapter One traces the history of the Screen Extras Guild (SEG) and extras as a
labor force. During the 1910s and 1920s extras occupied a position of cultural importance
in the popular press. The extra became increasingly significant in 1921 after the
Arbuckle-Rappe incident that prompted the Hollywood studios to figure out a way to
mitigate the exploitation of extras. However, by the late-1940s, at approximately the
same moment extras successfully unionized, the cultural importance of the extra declined.
By 1948 the heavily consolidated film industry was broken up by the Paramount Decrees,
the industry had moved beyond the moral concerns that were prominent in the pre-war
period, and the post-war industry and unions shifted toward the changing business terrain,
new technologies, and battles over compensation. The business of the industry had
changed dramatically and with the break up of the studio system, film workers were
increasingly trying to figure out how to share in some of the new profits generated by the
arrival of TV. Many of the new changes that faced the industry and its workers in the
late 1940s were largely irrelevant to the lives and work of extras. Throughout all of these
industrial changes, extras unions, such as the Screen Extras Guild, were often tasked with
collective bargaining, or negotiating as a group to improve conditions for workers for the
basic needs for extras. Unfortunately, extras’ needs were often eclipsed by changes in the
industry and advancements in technology, such as widescreen formats, television, DVDs,
31

and digital media, all of which shifted the bargaining priorities for the other entertainment
unions, such as the Screen Actors Guild (SAG), American Federation of Television and
Radio Artists (AFTRA), and the Writers Guild Association (WGA).
Chapter Two continues to explore industrial trends in the post-war film industry
by taking up extras and the Hollywood epic abroad. While extra work was traditionally
positioned to connote an avenue toward the American dream and its promises of wealth
and happiness, the post-war rise of location shooting threatened to take jobs (and the
possibility of being discovered) away from aspiring stars. Whether the discussion
focuses on scholarly criticisms of touristic or exoticized representations, the loss of
Hollywood jobs, or the material fact of managing productions in foreign lands and
collaboration with locals, Hollywood’s presence abroad is always a provocative and
uneasy topic. Issues of empire underscore the networks and industrial practices that
specifically produced MGM’s Bhowani Junction (1956). This chapter draws from
postcolonial theory, which provides a model for reading films and examining groups, like
extras, who do not have a strong archival presence. The margins of the film industry are
difficult to examine precisely because the powerful and successful decision-makers
usually keep more thorough records and donate archival material that illuminates creative
decisions. Thus the way that we study film is influenced by the kind of material present
in the archive as well as the way that it is organized (by individual donation or specific
film). Rather than understanding the history of extras through their own documentation
and personal narratives (which is typically non-existent), studying extras (especially
those outside of the United States) requires an examination of the way that Hollywood
reacts to extras and produces their traces.
32

As opportunities for extras began to decline in the 1960s and their union (SEG)
continued to lose bargaining power, a new opportunity for aspiring stars emerged.
Chapter Three jumps forward in time to consider a different point of entry for aspiring
on-screen talent. Reality TV, which emerged in the 1980s in part as an industry reaction
to strikes and demands from unions such as the Screen Extras Guild, offers a new point
of entry for would-be celebrities. Success from reality stardom might come with
financial rewards and various benefits (travel, home improvements, plastic surgery,
clothing, etc), yet all of the terms are negotiable, and reality stardom does not offer the
same securities of the actors’ guilds. This chapter is about how people try to achieve
success and a better life both within the narratives of reality programs and through
careers on reality television. Chapter Three also looks at a different perspective on
location shooting. After WWII, studios were able to take advantage of production
loopholes abroad to save money on on-screen talent. In the 2000s, production companies
have been able to access an array of tax incentives and loopholes within the U.S. Rather
than focusing exclusively on the benefits of location shooting, this chapter will consider
how variations in state child labor laws fuel opportunities for aspiring celebrities around
the U.S. This chapter will use TLC’s Jon & Kate Plus Eight (2007 -2011), a program
which became notorious for keeping child performers on-camera for long hours, Toddlers
& Tiaras (2009 – present) and its successful spin-off, Here Comes Honey Boo Boo (2012
– present), as case studies that situate reality television as a new point of entry into media
industries that train reality performers to work in an increasingly freelance industry.
Chapter Four takes up SAG and AFTRA’s 2012 merger. The idea of merging the
two actors’ unions began as a point of discussion in 1948, and there were numerous
33

attempts to merge the unions, but none were successful. Despite these failures, SAG and
AFTRA leadership positioned this merger as inevitable in its campaigns leading up to the
historic vote. I argue that the SAG-AFTRA merger in 2012 was not inevitable, but rather
it was distinctly related to the conglomeratization of media industries, and SAG and
AFTRA’s increasingly overlapping functions in the early 2010s. Using the popular
industry concepts of “transmedia,” or the expansion of narrative worlds through multiple
media, and “convergence,” the consolidation of diverse subsidiaries under one large
parent corporation, this chapter considers the problems and complexities of a “transmedia”
union. As of 2014, SAG-AFTRA has 165,000 members – and it continues to grow.
SAG-AFTRA is required to advocate for actors, journalists, and occasionally members of
the paparazzi with conflicting interests, not to mention the different classes of actors
among its constituents, from bankable stars and character actors, to aspiring actors and
those eking out a living as background actors. This chapter explores the hierarchies
within and between SAG and AFTRA and considers actors in relation to the distinct
conflicts that emerge from grouping disparate laborers and needs under one union.
It is my hope that this project provides a model for thinking about the relationship
between work, unions, industry, and texts (which encompass filmic and archival
documents). Extras, as both marginally employed and aspiring media workers, provide
an entry point to think about these relationships and the history of casualized labor in
Hollywood. This dissertation provides an in-depth examination of the various ways that
actors have attempted access to the media industry, and, in so doing, maps the barriers
and regulations that mediate interactions between aspiring actors and cultural industries.
34

1
“Ross Kemp,” Extras, directed by Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant, written by
Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant, HBO, 2005.

2
Controversy surrounding the policies of states and the film industry arose after Sarah
Jones’ death while trying to “steal a shot” on train tracks in Georgia in 2014.

3
Georgia Department of Economic Development “Georgia Film and TV Production,”
2014, http://www.georgia.org/industries/entertainment/georgia-film-tv-production/

4
See Richard DeCordova, Picture Personalities – The Emergence of the Star System in
America (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2001).

5
Barry King, “Articulating Stardom,” in Stardom: Industry of Desire, edited by Christine
Gledhill, 167-182 (London: Routledge, 1991).

6
See Richard Dyer, Stars, 2
nd
edition (London: British Film Institute, 2008) and Richard
Dyer, Heavenly Bodies (London: Routledge, 1986).

7
James Naremore, Acting in Cinema (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988).

8
Danae Clark, Negotiating Hollywood – The Cultural Politics of Actors’ Labor
(Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1995).

9
Miranda Banks and Ellen Seiter, “Spoilers at the Digital Utopia Party: The WGA and
Students Now,” FlowTV.org, December 7, 2007, http://flowtv.org/2007/12/spoilers-at-
the-digital-utopia-party-the-wga-and-students-now/.

10
Andrew Ross, “In Search of the Lost Paycheck,” in Digital Labor – The Internet as
Playground and Factory, edited by Trebor Scholz, 13-32 (New York: Routledge, 2013),
23.

11
Sarah Banet-Weiser, Authentic™ - the politics of ambivalence in a brand culture (New
York: New York University Press, 2012), 119.

12
For more on the role that digital content plays for aspirant media workers, see: Miranda
Banks and Ellen Seiter, “Spoilers at the Digital Utopia Party: The WGA and Students
Now,” FlowTV.org, December 7, 2007, http://flowtv.org/2007/12/spoilers-at-the-digital-
utopia-party-the-wga-and-students-now/.

13
Ellen Seiter, “Practicing at Home: Computers, Pianos, and Cultural Capital,” in Digital
Youth, Innovation, and the Unexpected, edited by Tara McPherson, 27-52 (Cambridge,
MA: MIT Press, 2008).

35

14
On-Camera Audiences, “We need your group on T.V. and we’ll give you TONS of
money!,” Personal Email from On_Camera_Audiences@mail.vresp.com, November 10,
2011.

15
Kristen Whissel, “The Digital Multitude,” Cinema Journal 49.4 (Summer 2010); 90-
110.

16
Lisa Freedman, “Air Crew,” Wired, September 2011, 38.

17
“Central Casting - An Interview with Mr. Campbell MacCulloch General Manager of
Central Casting Corporation.” It's Happening in Hollywood: Weekly News of Pictures in
Production,” March 27, 1939.

18
As I mention earlier in this Introduction, I am using union designations to mark a shift
between extras and background actors. Until 1994, extras were part of the Screen Extras
Guild (SEG). After 1994, SEG melded into the Screen Actors Guild (SAG), the shift to
background actor will signify this move into the broader group of actors.

19
Examples include: The Extra Girl (1923), Ella Cinders (1926), and Show People
(1928), Hollywood Extra Girl (1935) and Hollywood Extra (1936), and A Star is Born
(1937).

20
Richard Dyer (2008), 42.

21
Ibid., 42-3.

22
David E. James, The Most-Typical Avant-Garde – History and Geography of Minor
Cinemas in Los Angeles (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 47.

23
Ibid., 47.

24
Murray Ross, Stars & Strikes: Unionization of Hollywood (New York: Columbia
University Press, 1941), 68.

25
Shelley Stamp, “ ‘Exit Flapper, Enter Woman,’ or Lois Weber in Jazz Age Hollywood,”
Framework: The Journal of Cinema and Media 51.2 (Fall 2010), 380.

26
Shelley Stamp, “It’s a Long Way to Filmland”: Starlets, Screen Hopefuls and Extras in
Early Hollywood,” in American Cinema’s Transitional Era: Audiences, Institutions,
Practices, edited by Charlie Keil and Shelley Stamp, 322-352 (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 2004), 341.

27
Dorothy Spensley, “You are so pretty – You should go in pictures,” Photoplay 29.4,
(March 1926), 28.

36

28
Ibid., 29.

29
Ibid., 136.

30
Samantha Barbas, Movie Crazy (New York: Palgrave, 2001), 69-71.

31
For more on women filmmakers see Karen Ward Mahar, Women Filmmakers in Early
Hollywood (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006).

32
For a more extensive discussion of women’s roles in the film industry pre-WWI, see
Martin Norden, “Women in the Early Film Industry,” in The Studio System, edited by
Janet Staiger, 187-99 (New Brunswick: Rutgers UP, 1994).

33
Stamp, “It’s a Long Way to Filmland”: Starlets, Screen Hopefuls and Extras in Early
Hollywood,” 347.

34
For contemporary perspectives on women in the film industry this see Miranda Banks,
“Gender Below-the-Line,” in Production Studies – Cultural Studies of Media Industries,
edited by Vicki Mayer, Miranda Banks, and John Caldwell, 87-98 (New York: Routledge,
2009); and Ellen Seiter, “On cable, tech gods, and the hidden costs of DIY filmmaking:
thoughts on ‘The Woman with the Movie Camera’,” Jump Cut 53 (Summer 2011)
http://www.ejumpcut.org/archive/jc53.2011/seiterProdnTeach/index.html

35
For more on availability of jobs for people of color, see: Eithne Quinn, “Sincere
Fictions: The Production Cultures of Whiteness in Late 1960s Hollywood,” The Velvet
Light Trap 67 (Spring 2011); 3-13.

36
Murray Ross, 68.

37
“Central Casting Corporation - Facts About Extra Work,” August 1, 1936, Association
of Motion Picture and Television Producers Collection, Margaret Herrick Library,
Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

38
Anthony Slide, Hollywood Unknowns (Jackson: University of Mississippi Press, 2012),
189.

39
Ibid., 201.

40
Charlene Regester, “African American Extras in Hollywood during the 1920s and
1930s,” Film History 9.1 (1997), 96.

41
David Thomson, “The Lives of Supporting Players,” in Movie Acting – The Film
Reader, Pamela Robertson Wojcik, ed. (New York: Routledge, 2004), 207.

37

42
For example, in 2010 Vincent D’Onofrio explained in a Q&A at USC that despite his
famed role in Full Metal Jacket (1987) and his long running role on Law & Order:
Criminal Intent, his name is not “big enough” to guarantee film funding or success.

43
Misty Upham, “She Worked Hard for the Money,” The Daily Beast, January 17, 2014,
http://www.thedailybeast.com/witw/articles/2014/01/17/native-american-actress-misty-
upham-talks-about-her-role-as-domestic-worker-in-august-osage-county.html

44
Harry Braverman, Labor and Monopoly Capital: The Degradation of Work in the
Twentieth Century (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1998), 325.

45
James Franco, Interview with Leonard Maltin, CTCS 466: Theatrical Film Symposium,
University of Southern California, March 7, 2013.

46
Misha Kavka, Reality TV (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2012), 146.

47
David Lieberman, “ ‘Idol’ finalists now get paychecks as professionals,” USA Today,
March 16, 2007, http://usatoday30.usatoday.com/money/media/2007-03-14-union-idol-
usat_n.htm

48
Roger Armbrust, “WGA Vies with USA over Reality TV,” Back Stage, March 23,
2001, http://business.highbeam.com/3907/article-1G1-72523558/wga-vies-usa-over-
reality-tv

49
Todd Cunningham, “Reality TV: The Invisible Front in Hollywood’s Labor Wars,”
September 30, 2012, http://www.thewrap.com/tv/article/reality-tv-invisible-front-
hollywoods-labor-wars-58026

50
Ken Miller, More than Fifteen Minutes of Fame – The Changing Face of Screen
Performance (Bern, Switzerland: Peter Lang, 2013), 243.

51
Su Holmes and Sean Redmond, “Introduction,” in Framing Celebrity, edited by Su
Holmes and Sean Redmond, 1-16 (New York: Routledge, 2006),10.

52
Dyer (1986), 3.

53
Clark, 119.

54
Richard DeCordova, “The Emergence of the Star System in America,” in Stardom:
Industry of Desire, edited by Christine Gledhill, 17-29 (London: Routledge, 1991), 23.

55
Jane Gaines, Contested Culture (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press,
1991), 36.

56
Ibid., 36.
38

57
Ibid., 190.

58
Despite their numerical significance, most of the scholarship on actors is part of star
studies.

59
Gaines, 22.

60
Ibid., 17.

61
Elena Gorfinkel, “Introduction,” Framework 53.1 (Spring 2012), 44.

62
Ibid., 43.

63
David E. James, Allegories of Cinema – American Films in the Sixties (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1989), 12

64
For more on Bess Flowers, see: Will Straw, “Scales of presence: Bess Flowers and the
Hollywood extra,” Screen 52.1 (Spring 2011); 121-127.

65
Zillah Eisenstein, “Developing a Theory of Capitalist Patriarchy,” in Capitalist
Patriarchy and the Case for Socialist Feminism, edited by Zillah Eisenstein (New York:
Monthly Review Press, 1979), 11.

66
Evelyn Nakano Glenn, Unequal Freedom – How Race and Gender Shaped American
Citizenship and Labor (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002), 82.

67
John Bellamy Foster, “Introduction to the New Edition,” in Labor and Monopoly
Capital: The Degradation of Work in the Twentieth Century, ix-xxvii (New York:
Monthly Review Press, 1998), ix.

68
Gorfinkel, 44.

69
Steven J. Ross, Working Class Hollywood – Silent Film and the Shaping of Class in
America (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998).
39

Chapter One:
Organizing Extras and the Screen Extras Guild

On October 21, 1916 Leo Rosencrans of Findlay, Ohio arrived in Los Angeles,
California to break into the film industry. Like many men and women in the 1910s,
Rosencrans had what he referred to as a “malady after the movies.”
1
Rosencrans did not
want to live a fast or glamorous lifestyle. He had a college education and was a religious
man who often wrote home to his family about Sunday Bible classes and his hopes that
California would ban alcohol and become a “dry” state. But he was also an avid reader of
motion picture magazines, and it was his love of movies that drove him to Hollywood.
Leo Rosencrans was not naïve – he did not think it would be easy to break into
the film business nor did he expect to be discovered on the street. His first order of
business when he arrived was to meet with a friend of a friend, a production manager
named Nash. Nash worked at the Selig Polyscope Co., an Edendale studio that made
numerous jungle films and westerns from 1896-1918 (and notably launched Roscoe
“Fatty” Arbuckle’s career). Nash promised Rosencrans that he would call him if any
work opened up at Selig, but advised the inexperienced twenty year-old aspiring director
that he should find work as an extra and observe as much as possible before trying to find
a permanent job in the film industry.
2

Rosencrans was not prepared for the difficulty of obtaining work. On an average
day, Rosencrans would wake up in his downtown apartment at 6 a.m. and walk to the
nearby Free Employment Bureau, an organization that posted film and non-film jobs.
After checking the work notices, he would take a car to Hollywood and solicit six
different studios before catching the bus for Universal City. At 3 p.m. he would return to
Hollywood and revisit all the studios in search of work.
3
When Rosencrans was unable
40

to find work by visiting the various studios, he paid to join the California Motion Pictures
Producers and Actors Exchange (which claimed to be an employment agency for
numerous studios). Leo Rosencrans seemed to be doing everything correctly. He was
using his connections, diligently checking job postings, and making his rounds of the
studios. Unfortunately for him, getting work in the film industry was not simply about
hard work.
In 1916 work in the film industry was competitive and, for extras trying to launch
careers in the industry, poorly compensated. If an aspiring actor was lucky enough to get
work, he or she still might not be able to pay basic expenses. According to Rosencrans,
he could have made approximately $1 - $3 per day (plus lunch and car fare) – or up to $5
per day if he was willing to do dangerous stunts (which he was not willing to do), but
these rates were not reliable.
4
In a letter home to his parents, Rosencrans explained,
The wages paid to extras have been cut at least 1/2 in the last two or three
months. Instead of $3, they now pay $1.00 and $1.25 and dinner, and
carfare. I have earned altogether thus far $5.25 – not so much, but as Mr.
Nash said – I am going to school (practically) and getting experience, and
being paid for it at the same time.
5

When Rosencrans found work, his compensation was both meager and variable. Even
though he led a frugal lifestyle, his wages as an extra were not sufficient to rent a room at
the YMCA (which cost between $2.50 and $5 per week). However, his savings, extra
work and supplementary job earnings almost covered the rent of his small room ($1 per
week) and his food. Despite his struggle, Rosencrans still maintained an optimistic
outlook considering this work training rather than exploitation. Since unstable work as
an extra was not able to support him, he supplemented his income by working briefly in a
printing office and later by stuffing newspapers at The Los Angeles Times.
41

After almost a month of life as an extra, Rosencrans was already starting to get
frustrated. In a letter home to his parents, he explained,

I’ve lost a lot of the “romance” I entertained concerning the Movies, and
probably could settle down now into some “real work.” I should like this
business if I was one of the big ones, but the life of the extra is mostly, in
the parlance of the crew – “coffee, and -------.“ They mean, you have to
live on coffee and doughnuts.
6

Ultimately extra work could not support the lifestyle Rosencrans wanted. After four
months, Rosencrans returned home to Ohio.
Thousands of extras tried to break into Hollywood in the 1910s and Leo
Rosencrans is simply one example. Extras earned low wages (occasionally for dangerous
work) and often spent the little money they earned paying into exploitative agencies like
the California Motion Pictures Producers and Actors Exchange, which were ineffective,
but claimed to help actors find work.
In an effort to change the poor working conditions, organizers and unions tried,
and repeatedly failed, to help extras make a living in Hollywood. Even though the work
of an extra is below-the-line, uncredited, and devoid of any creative control or decision
making on-set, it retains an aura of glamour and desirability because it offers the potential
of above-the-line, credited creative control in the film industry – a myth that Hollywood
has perpetuated and narrativized. I argue that the repeated failure to organize extras in
Hollywood is structural because Hollywood needs cheap labor to support their
productions. Extras have failed to maintain an autonomous union not only because they
lack power because they are so easily replaceable, but also because extras do not envision
42

their work as a permanent and stable career, because they internalize the mythology that
extra work is a temporary position that is a launching point toward other career goals.

The Symbolic Significance of the Extra
Eventually extras’ working conditions would gain a great deal of symbolic value
in the United States during the 1910s and 1920s through fictionalized accounts as well as
real scandals involving the plight of young, usually female, actors in Hollywood. Since
extras were not celebrities, but rather could be a friend or a member of anyone’s family,
they became particularly sympathetic figures for the national imagination. Jackie
Stacey’s work on stars utilizes psychoanalysis and ethnographic evidence to point out
that audiences identify with stars in intimate ways that are often integrated in women’s
daily lives and identities.
7
Narratives about extras construct a different type of intimacy
because extras could have been someone’s real sister, cousin, or classmate – intimacy
without the “specialness” that distinguishes stars.
Although the working conditions were poor, the dangers for women were viewed
as deeply troubling -- a point that was only exacerbated in 1921 during the infamous
Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle scandal. The extra was thrust into the public eye after a party in
Fatty Arbuckle’s hotel room at the posh St. Francis hotel in San Francisco over Labor
Day weekend. Arbuckle went to San Francisco with two friends, director Fred Fishback
and actor Lowell Sherman, to get away from Hollywood, carouse, and, presumably, meet
women. Virginia Rappe, a former model and aspiring star, was also travelling to San
Francisco with two friends (Alfred Semnacher and Maude Delmont) to get away from
Hollywood. Fishback knew Rappe and when he realized that Rappe was also in town, he
43

invited her and her friends to a party in Arbuckle’s hotel rooms (he had booked several
adjoining suites) later in the day. The party lasted throughout the evening, and at some
point in all the revelry, Rappe ended up in a locked room with Arbuckle. The day after
the party Rappe was very ill; what happened in that locked room has since been a source
of misinformation and conjecture. After three days under the care of a physician, Rappe
died. The cause of death was later determined to be peritonitis, or a ruptured bladder.
8

The Arbuckle-Rappe scandal came to symbolize the horrible fate of the
vulnerable, small-town, and easily exploited “movie struck girl” wandering the streets of
Los Angeles (despite the fact that the alleged crime occurred in San Francisco). The
press perpetuated the story that Rappe’s peritonitis came from being raped with foreign
objects (including champagne bottles), a story that generated apprehension about the
safety of the young women who traveled to Hollywood to work in what was beginning to
seem like an immoral industry.
9
Historian Hilary Hallett explains, “Standing in as
modernity’s scapegoat, Hollywood represented the most powerful force luring the
nation’s daughters far outside the home.”
10
As Hallett indicates, the scandal surrounding
Rappe’s death was tied up with broader societal fears about the role of women in
modernity. The Arbuckle-Rappe scandal seemed to confirm that women’s participation
in modern culture (especially Hollywood culture) would inevitably lead to sexual
exploitation.
In an effort to protect women from lecherous filmmakers, studios started to keep a
tight watch on exhibition, salacious film content, and film labor. Greater control over all
of these facets of the industry required a consolidation of studio power. Thus, as
Adrienne McLean points out in Headline Hollywood, for film scholars, the Arbuckle-
44

Rappe scandal is often cited as an example of how Hollywood manipulated current
events to justify its actions toward control and self-regulation.
11
McLean argues,
“Scandals are thus always discursive constructions as well as events, and it matters who
controls the selection and omission of their narrative details.”
12
In the case of the
Arbuckle-Rappe scandal, the details of the evening were heavily publicized and
warped.
13
The scandal drew national attention and three years later incited a study by the
Russell Sage Foundation, an organization established to study working conditions across
the United States.
14
Their 1924 investigation resulted in a report entitled “Outstanding
Problems in the Human Relations and Employment Conditions in the Motion Picture
Industry” which called for a mechanism to track available workers and available jobs in
the film industry. A union could have fulfilled this function. However, the Motion Picture
Producers and Distributors Association (MPPDA) used the scandals and the resultant
study as justification for greater controls and moral safeguards over workers in the film
industry, which conveniently staved off unionization. SAG would eventually unionize in
1933, but the question of how to effectively organize extras lingered until the Screen
Extras Guild formed in 1947.
However, by the late 1940s, the cultural importance of the extra had declined: by
1948 the heavily consolidated film industry was broken up by the Paramount Decrees and
the industry moved beyond the moral concerns that were prominent in the pre-war period.
The post-war industry and unions shifted toward a changing business terrain with new
technologies, increased independent and runaway productions, and battles over
compensation.
15
The fact that the Screen Extras Guild was ever able to wield power at
the bargaining table is surprising. Extras have no say in the production of a film, and
45

their strikes did not have the ability to halt production like the strikes of other unions.
They were also a dispersed group that aspired toward steadier and full-time work. The
loss of consistent work and the new insecurity of studio jobs meant that above-the-line
workers had to spend more time negotiating new projects. As Janet Staiger points out,
“Directors or stars who had previously moved from shooting one film immediate to the
next, now took over a business function […]”
16
Below-the-line workers, however, relied
on collective bargaining to negotiate terms that would create greater stability. Since
extras never had the same job security of workers under the studio system, many of the
new changes that faced the industry in the late 1940s were largely irrelevant to the lives
and work of extras. They were also left in a more precarious position in the 1940s as
they struggled to unionize.
Despite the business and technological changes, Hollywood films still needed
extras to populate scenes and therefore extra work persisted as a possible entry point into
the industry that offered the promise of being discovered. Extras do not exist simply
because Hollywood wants or needs to preserve the myth that it is possible to rise from
nothing; they exist because studios need cheap labor to populate the background.
Hollywood studios were able to keep labor costs low by rationalizing casting processes.
The concurrent existence of stardom helps to sustain the myth that extras can rise in
Hollywood – even if this is an inadequate narrative or model for thinking about how
actors exist and ascend, fail to ascend, or make a living in Hollywood. Thus it is crucial
to consider how stars and its myth both contain labor and mask the structural changes that
keep labor cheap.

46

Early Organizing Attempts
Film extras, like Leo Rosencrans, were not the only actors struggling to find work
in the 1910s. Theatrical actors in New York and film actors in Hollywood all suffered
from poor labor conditions and exploitation. All actors and aspiring actors in the 1910s
faced harsh working conditions. However, the nature of the conditions that led New
York theatrical actors to unionize in 1913 under the Actors Equity Association were quite
different from those that inspired film actors to unionize. Kerry Segrave explains that
from 1880-1900 stage actors were often engaged for performances that were never
compensated, especially in the case of “additional” performances, such as Sunday
shows.
17
Even though many stage actors were based in New York, they were considered
difficult to unionize because continuous work often required travel around the country.
18

Labor organizers in the 1910s had already begun to note the exploitative
conditions film actors faced in Hollywood. As Steve Ross points out, the Industrial
Workers of the World (IWW) attempted to unionize extras at Universal Film Company as
early as 1914. The IWW led the extras to strike after Universal refused to increase wages
from $1 to $2 or $3 per day.
19
Low wages were not the only problem facing actors. All
film actors worked long hours with minimal breaks. The conditions for the extras who
wandered between the Free Employment Bureau, California Motion Picture and Actors
Exchange, and other private employment placement agencies in Downtown Los Angeles
in order to find background work, were especially bad. The late 1910s saw a variety of
“casting couch” scandals, in which directors and producers used their position to take
advantage of aspiring stars, positioning Hollywood as a predatory environment, with
47

young women as the prey.
20
By the late 1910s there were several groups vying to
organize actors and extras in Hollywood.
The IWW’s efforts to unionize extras were unsuccessful prior to World War I, but
as Steve Ross suggests, “increased production and wartime labor shortages prompted new
organizations […].”
21
Attempts to unionize extras coincided with the International
Alliance of Theatrical and Stage Employees’ (IATSE) successful strike in 1918, which
won them an increase in wages.
22
By 1918, a new group, the Motion Picture Players’
Union (MPPU) successfully rallied extras. Union organizer A.B. Dale, who had
previously attempted to organize the Los Angeles Street Railway (yellow car) workers,
led the initial organizing of the MPPU.
23
The MPPU was particularly concerned with
inconsistent wages; it advocated for a standard $3 per day rate, and criticized the casting
agencies that were taking a percentage of extras’ minimal wages.
24
In their October 1919
resolution (which had also been presented at the American Federation of Labor
Convention in June 1919), the members of the Motion Picture Players’ Union came out
against two particular agencies, the Motion Picture Producers Service Bureau (known
simply as the Service Bureau) and Screen Talent, both of which took a 7% cut of actors’
wages.
25
Both made similar promises to those of the California Motion Pictures
Producers and Actors Exchange, which Leo Rosencrans used in 1916, and provided little
by way of job support. Although the MPPU advocated for change in casting processes
and an increase in wages, they were not able to facilitate job placement for extras.
The Motion Picture Players’ Union wanted to eliminate exploitative casting
agencies, but the union could not garner enough support to maintain their status as an
autonomous union. Extras’ lack of power within the film industry made it difficult for a
48

union of extras to find a place at the bargaining table with the studios. Writing about
stars in the 1920s, Sam Stoloff notes, “[stars’] work cannot be reduced to an abstract
labor power precisely because their value as ‘stars’ depends on qualities that they
uniquely possess. They are simultaneously workers and branded products: their labor is
worth what their brand image will sell.”
26
Stoloff’s analysis of stars and their value
clarifies precisely why extras did not have power. Unlike stars, extras do not possess
unique qualities or brands. In fact, the labor of extras only has value if extras can blend
seamlessly into the background. In order for extras to achieve their collective goals, they
would need to attach themselves to actors with more power. Thus the MPPU’s work as a
separate entity for extras was short-lived. By February 1920, the Actor’s Equity
Association (AEA) subsumed the MPPU.
27
The Actor’s Equity Association continued to
advocate for extras in the face of these exploitative labor agencies, although with minimal
success.
Extras needed to find work, which often led them to casting agencies. The
Service Bureau and Screen Talent were the largest, but not the only extra agencies in Los
Angeles at this time.
28
All of the extra agencies claimed that they could help people find
extra work, but in reality extras usually found their own jobs with these agencies
primarily functioning as check cashing facilities. In the late 1910s (and into the early
1920s), extras were compensated with vouchers rather than legal tender (cash or checks).
Since the studios refused to pay extras in cash or check, they forced extras to use
agencies. Extra agencies acted as a middleman between the studios and the extras since
the only way to redeem these vouchers was to go to the Motion Picture Producers Service
Bureau (or similar organizations). In exchange for cashing these vouchers, extra agencies
49

like Screen Talent or The Service Bureau charged a service fee to the extras.
29
Extras felt
this fee took advantage of the fact that they did not have any other options for redeeming
the vouchers. Furthermore, this fee did not result in the development of additional job
and casting services that the agencies claimed to offer.
During this same period, AEA also tried to help with job placements for extras
and in many cases these casting agencies were undercutting the rates that AEA was trying
to establish. For example, a studio would ask AEA to provide a list of actors for $10 per
day and the Service Bureau would swoop in and find people to work for $5 per day.
30

This competition between AEA and the agencies demonstrated that AEA was still
struggling to figure out how to be an effective labor advocate for extras in the film
industry (actors had the same problems with AEA several years later in 1929). Rather
than taking a firm stance to advocate against these agencies, AEA offered the same
services as these agencies, but at undesirable rates for the studios.
The Service Bureau continued to charge extras service fees for voucher
redemption (regardless of whether extras used them as a casting service or not), and
frustration with the Service Bureau continued to mount. These feelings of
disenfranchisement led extras to file complaints with the State Labor Commission, the
majority of which were against the Service Bureau and Screen Talent.
31
The State Labor
Commission began their investigation in January 1923, and by March 1923 they resolved
that these agencies needed to reform in order to maintain their business licenses.
However, these businesses, especially the Service Bureau, maintained their shady
practices. On March 15, 1923, 200 extras went to the Service Bureau offices in
downtown Los Angeles to collect their daily wages. When they arrived, they were told
50

that they were going to receive $3 rather than $5 for their work. The angry crowd began
to protest outside the Service Bureau. The anger eventually escalated and resulted in
gunfire and several injuries.
32
It is worth noting that these riots happened over ten years
before the pro-union Wagner Act (1935), which would protect unions and the right to
organize. All of these conflicts between workers, extra agencies, and studios should have
galvanized workers. However, AEA’s failure to effectively unite their base against the
abuses demonstrates that this theatrical union was ineffective for film actors and, for the
moment, no other union or organizer emerged to compete with AEA for jurisdiction over
extras.
As labor tensions continued to mount alongside Hollywood morality scandals, the
industry looked for new ways to manage the image of their business – while still keeping
Los Angeles the “Open Shop,” or non-union town, center of the U.S. In April 1925, Fred
W. Beetson, Secretary-Treasurer of the Association of Motion Picture Producers
(AMPP), sent a letter to all AMPP members. Beetson had met with the California State
Labor Commissioner and determined that the studios needed to establish some kind of
non-profit casting agency. Since the for-profit agencies often had more members than
they could help place, they often took their cut without actually providing any services.
The AMPP was not particularly concerned with the plight of extras. Rather, violent
unrest and tales of exploitation were bad publicity for an industry trying to manage the
ramifications of various scandals. Beetson had to find a solution. In his letter to the
AMPP, he offered two choices. Each studio could maintain a single list of extras for
casting, or, they could do all of their casting through a centralized agency.
33
The
producers chose the latter, which became known as Central Casting.
51

Central Casting
One of the biggest problems facing extras in the 1910s and early 1920s was that
they were being exploited by several organizations simultaneously, including casting
agencies, employment bureaus, and acting schools, which all falsely claimed they could
help actors find work – for a fee or a percentage of their pay. However, with the notoriety
from the Hollywood scandals and the increased threat of government intervention, the
members of the MPPDA recognized that extras needed to be monitored. In 1925, in
order to resolve some of the problems with casting and standardized payments, the
studios cooperated through the Association of Motion Picture Producers (AMPP) to
develop the Central Casting Bureau (CCB) as an alternative to unionization (even though
AEA was not effectively organizing actors in the 1920s).
34
Central Casting would not be
their only attempt to prevent unions in Hollywood. Two years later the AMPP would
form the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS) to handle labor
disputes. The AMPP paid for Central Casting’s staff and overhead and in exchange
Central Casting maintained files on extras and handled all of the casting and payroll for
the extras. Thus Central Casting resolved the issues with casting agencies and acting
schools by effectively putting these agencies out of business. One of the key functions of
a union is to engage in collective bargaining with management in order to improve
working conditions by advocating for standardized pay for jobs and reduced (and
monitored) workdays. Central Casting could monitor labor conditions for the extras, but
without giving them any power to improve their own working conditions or advocate for
themselves independent of management.
52

In William Hays’ announcement of the opening of the Central Casting Bureau in
The Los Angeles Times, he celebrated the CCB for “do[ing] away with the evils of the
employment bureaus, which have extracted more than $500,000 a year from extras. This
[CCB] will cause the elimination of all make-up and screen acting schools.”
35
Although
Hays cited the financial manipulation of extras as one of the reasons for forming Central
Casting, the “evils” of employment bureaus and acting schools also evoke stories of
sexual exploitation and “casting couch” scandals, which posed a threat to studio
reputations and at worst, could lead to greater federal oversight of the movie industry –
something studio heads feared. Hays’ denouncement of employment bureaus is of course
evasive – he addresses various financial transgressions without acknowledging the role of
the studios in maintaining the low wages and long workdays. The CCB was tasked with
regulating studio exploitation by standardizing wages and preventing nepotism in casting.
However, Hays’ explanation displaces the blame from studio conditions onto the smaller
businesses that developed in and around Hollywood. Employment bureaus (claiming
they could aid with job placement), acting and make-up schools (which promised to teach
aspiring actors everything they needed to know about acting and enhancing their
appearances) may have taken advantage of aspiring actors trying to break into the film
business, but studio casting practices were certainly not beyond reproach.
36

In 1925 Central Casting was situated in a building on the corner of Hollywood
Boulevard and Western (centrally located for the studios) with a downtown office on 1
st

street (affiliated with the California Free Employment Bureau).
37
Fred W. Beetson, who
initiated the AMPP discussion about a centralized casting agency, was in charge of hiring
staff and overseeing general operations. Central Casting was subsequently divided into
53

men’s and women’s sections – each of which had numerous telephone operators to field
casting requests and placements. Dave Allen, the men’s section manager, previously ran
Screen Talent, one of the casting agencies that the Motion Picture Players’ Union was
trying to shut down in 1919. Marian Mel, formerly of the California Industrial Welfare
Comimssion (CIWC) (one of the organizations that investigated labor conditions in the
film industry) headed up the women’s section.
38
Central Casting used a call-in system:
studios called in to make requests for extras, and extras called a special phone number to
find out if there was any work. The call-in system eliminated the need for extras to walk
between studios (as Leo Rosencrans had less than ten years earlier), thus keeping would-
be stars and starlets off the Hollywood streets. Central Casting’s bureaucratic processes
parallel many of the changes in the industry at large. As Tom Kemper argues, data
collection and maintenance of data for agents was crucial for casting in the 1930s. Heidi
Kenaga concludes that the move toward rationalized casting was especially important for
the image of women in Hollywood, arguing,
In trade and popular discourse, the focus on the body of the extras as not,
in fact, extraneous but rather as a disciplined, desexualized effect of
modern corporate organization was designed to deflect suspicions that
sexual availability was a determining factor in whether a female extra
would be hired.
39

This represented a significant shift in the film industry as it industrialized.
40
For extras
and the public, Central Casting’s bureaucratic systems made extras’ casting appear more
professionalized than it had been in the past.
The efficiency of Central Casting was depicted in William Wellman’s version of
A Star is Born (1937). In A Star is Born, Esther Blodgett (who later adopts the stage
name Vicki Lester) arrives in Hollywood with dreams of making it in the movies.
54

Esther/Vicki achieves fame after she meets a famous actor, whom she will later marry,
while she is working as a waitress at a party. Central Casting appears as her first step
toward stardom.
41
After Esther finds an apartment in Hollywood, she immediately
registers as an extra. Esther’s registration process unfolds through a series of title cards
rather than dialogue. The Central Casting scene opens with a close up of hands holding a
card. This diegetic title card reads, “All extra talent is engaged by this studio, as by all
other major studios, through the Central Casting Corporation at 5504 Hollywood
Boulevard Hollywood, CA.” The image of the card dissolves into a medium shot of
Esther reading a sign on a wall. This sign, which is dated June 1935, claims that Central
Casting has 12,416 extras registered and bluntly states, “This is more than SIXTEEN
TIMES as many as we can use each working day.” Achieving success against all odds is
one of the pleasures of the stardom narrative; enumerating the precise odds makes the
success seem even greater. What is unusual about the opening of this sequence for a
Hollywood film is that it provides actual information about Central Casting, including the
address and the total number of extras as of June 1935. This detail lends authenticity to
the film that both educates audiences on the bureaucracy of stardom and also functions as
a warning for the Hollywood hopeful watching the film.
Not easily deterred, Esther Blodgett enters Central Casting – still hoping to
register. Upon talking to the secretary, she learns that Central Casting is not currently
taking applications for extra work. In an attempt to comfort Esther, the secretary takes
her into the back to show her the busy call center. A large blinking switchboard fills the
back room of the office while several busy women answer calls amidst an indecipherable
din of beeps and overlapping dialogue. The secretary contextualizes this scene by
55

explaining, “Every time you see one of those little lights flashing, it’s somebody asking
for a job.” While Esther looks momentarily discouraged, she leaves more convinced that
she is destined to become a star. This scene embodies the mixed message in all stardom
narratives. These narratives attempt to deter aspiring stars from over crowding the
industry while trying not to alienate fans invested in the myth that anyone could
potentially make it in the industry. This scene renders the casting process as daunting,
but not sexually threatening. The fictional Central Casting office is staffed exclusively by
women - from the secretary to the switchboard operators.
42
There are no lecherous men
waiting to exploit innocent women hoping to break into Hollywood. This scene serves as
an advertisement for Hollywood’s efficient bureaucratic methods and the newly
rationalized process of casting and placing extras enabled by the telephone.
Prior to Central Casting in 1925, extras had to physically move, often traversing
significant distances between studios (in Hollywood or Burbank) and employment
bureaus (Downtown) in order to check for work. Since actors had to physically gather,
there was always the risk that violence could erupt, as it did in 1923. While the AMPP
did not specifically talk about this incident in relation to the creation of Central Casting, it
is noteworthy that their solution minimized gatherings and opted to keep extras dispersed
around the city. This change also helped to keep women out of the street and inside their
(theoretically) respectable residences. The use of the telephone for casting extras kept
them out of the street, but it required that they have access to a telephone. As Claude
Fischer points out, wealthy families were still more likely than blue-collar families to
have telephones, and many working class individuals relied on pay phones to place
calls.
43
The importance of the telephone to casting was a new development and one that
56

would quickly become crucial to the daily functioning of the film industry. As Tom
Kemper points out, the film business developed a reputation for being “telephone crazy”
in the 1930s.
44
However, telephones were not ubiquitous in the 1920s.
45
Therefore, the
telephone may not have made it significantly easier for extras trying to obtain work, but
the phone-in system made extras easier to control and harder to organize.
Central Casting provided a reliable way to monitor extras and regulate wages and
payroll in Hollywood. Depending on the source, there were approximately 11,000 to
18,000 registered extras throughout the 1920s.
46
Looking back on the early days of
Central Casting, the general manager in 1939 claimed that there were 20,000 registered
extras in 1925 (when Central Casting formed).
47
These numbers vary widely between
sources and do not reveal what percentage of extras was using this work as their primary
source of income. What these numbers do indicate is that there was a sizable pool of
available extras. This benefited the studios because they had a diverse casting pool,
however, there was no way that Central Casting could find work for all of these extras.
Central Casting only dealt with the bureaucratic and structural problems that faced the
studios. Thus, Central Casting could regulate wages and payroll procedures across the
industry, but extras were still unable to work sufficient days to make a living. In the late
1920s the various jobs staffed by Central Casting were divided into six rate categories:
$3, $5, $7.50, $10, $12 and $15 per day. To put these wages in perspective, in 1920 a
waitress in Los Angeles made $12 per week.
48
Thus while these categories suggest the
potential to earn a great deal of money compared to other unskilled jobs, the reality of
extra work was that very few people were able to make a comfortable living working as
extras because there were so many aspirants.
57

Although Central Casting attempted to reduce the number of registered extras and
monitor working conditions, as an organization, Central Casting was not designed as the
advocate that extras desperately needed. Central Casting was also unable to eliminate
some of the key problems, such as nepotism in casting. Producers and directors would
still cast family members or friends in background roles rather than going through
Central Casting – leaving fewer jobs for those registered with Central Casting.
Production assistants, like Leigh Smith (who worked with D.W. Griffith) kept notes of
their favorite extras with names, ages, and phone numbers for quick reference.
49
Even
though Central Casting workers supposedly searched their files to assign extras at
random, in reality, they could not intervene if assistants or producers called specific
extras from the set. The only way to effectively advocate for extras would be through
union contracts.

Unionizing Extras
Central Casting rationalized casting procedures for extras, but changes in the
casting procedures did not resolve the problems for their working conditions. One film
that depicts the discouraging and dehumanizing nature of the Hollywood casting process
was The Life and Death of 9413: a Hollywood Extra (1928), produced only three years
after Central Casting was founded to great industry praise. The Life and Death of 9413: a
Hollywood Extra combines live action, animation, cut outs and abstract images in an
expressionistic vision to recount the trials and failures of an aspiring Hollywood actor
(distinguished only by his label, 9413). Managers at Central Casting regularly reported
the number of registered extras and their job placements in The Los Angeles Times in an
58

effort to both inform and most likely deter aspiring talent. The existence of that data also
proved that Central Casting was an organized and modern business that collected and
maintained data. The Life and Death of 9413: a Hollywood Extra troubles the use of
labeling and numbers and signifies how dehumanizing the bureaucratization process can
be. Being labeled “9413” is not his only demoralizing experience. 9413 arrives in
Hollywood and attempts to find work as an extra but is met with repeated rejection and
“no casting” notices. His life spirals downward as his bills come due, and the film ends
with 9413’s death and ascent to a heaven filled with glittering stars (where he finally
becomes something beyond his number).
As Ghia Godfree points out, The Life and Death of 9413: a Hollywood Extra is an
irreverent film both in terms of modernist film form (as opposed to the realist style
developing at the time) and subject matter.
50
But, although The Life and Death of 9413: a
Hollywood Extra presents a dystopian vision of the film industry, David E. James points
out that the film was a successful jumping off point for many of its creators: co-director
Robert Florey went on to direct movies and later television; co-director Slavko Vorkapich
worked on special effects at Paramount and MGM before going to teach at the University
of Southern California and the University of California, Los Angeles; and director of
photography Gregg Toland was one of the most respected deep-focus cinematographers
of the period for his work on Citizen Kane (1941), The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)
and many others.
51
The creators of this film went onto illustrious Hollywood careers,
however, this dystopian vision of Hollywood was only possible at the margins of
Hollywood filmmaking.
59

The Life and Death of 9413: a Hollywood Extra presented the dark side of the
modern and rationalized casting system that Hollywood and Central Casting were
celebrating. Although Central Casting readily acknowledged that extras might not find
work, Central Casting was supposed to offer a rationalized, yet not dehumanized, way of
assigning work. The depiction of extras falling through the system in The Life and Death
of 9413: a Hollywood Extra is also especially different from the industry-approved
depictions of numbers in Hollywood Extra Girl (1935), the short I discuss in the
Introduction, and the representation in Wellman’s A Star is Born. In the world of A Star
is Born nobody slips through the cracks and background work is always carefully
assigned through efficient office work. Numbers in these films indicate efficiency rather
than dehumanization.
Central Casting (as an extension of the studios) seemed to solve many of the
problems facing extras, but it was not enough to prevent actors from unionizing. Extras
had been incorporated into the Actors Equity Association (AEA) in 1920, but in an effort
to boost their prestige and expand their geographic reach, AEA wanted character actors
and film stars as well. In the late 1920s, AEA aggressively tried to incorporate film
actors into the union. The most significant attempt to integrate film actors into AEA was
a June 1929 strike led by one of AEA’s founders and new president Frank Gilmore on
behalf of screen actors, but the strike failed to bring film actors under Equity’s control.
According to journalist Morton Thompson, actors’ decision to separate from AEA
stemmed from the belief that AEA negotiators were not strong enough during the 1929
strike.
52
Los Angeles labor historians Richard Perry and Louis Perry attribute AEA’s
lack of success in 1929 to four primary reasons. First, many of the silent screen actors
60

remembered being ridiculed by theater actors (who devalued screen acting) about their
profession, and could not accept AEA’s claim over their profession. Second, AEA made
incorrect assumptions about the working conditions for screen actors; they assumed that
the poor working conditions were the same conditions that theater actors fought against.
Third, unlike stage actors who had support from other New York unions, film actors
could not rely on sympathetic strikes from other unions to help shut down production.
53

Finally, AEA severely underestimated the power of film producers to get low wages
accepted by desperate Hollywood actors.
54
Film actors perceived AEA as an east coast
union, despite their small office in Los Angeles, that did not fully understand the unique
conditions film actors faced. While theater actors were subjected to long rehearsals, film
actors dealt with long shooting days often in heavy make-up and on multiple locations.
For example, Boris Karloff complained that he spent 25 hours in his Frankenstein make-
up while shooting Frankenstein (1931).
55
Although this is (perhaps) hyperbolic,
Karloff’s anecdote points out that the specificity of non-linear film production lent (and
continues to lend) itself to longer workdays than are possible in the theater. By 1929 it
was clear that film workers felt that their labor and working conditions were dramatically
different from those of theater actors.
Although AEA failed to bring film actors into the union, many of the founders of
the Screen Actors Guild (SAG) emerged from its membership to form a separate union.
The theater/film actors who began organizing SAG were members of Hollywood actor’s
clubs including the Masquers Club (male), The Dominos (female), and the Hollywood
Cricket Club. These clubs were largely social clubs that had clubhouses for meals and
gatherings. However, since these were professional clubs, they provided the first spaces,
61

away from the supervision of producers, where actors began to organize. Like many
unions in the United States, organization and the formation of unions fully emerged with
the passage of Title 1, Section 7(a) of the 1933 National Industrial Recovery Act (NIRA),
which guaranteed workers the right to unionize and collectively bargain on their own
behalves (without repercussions from management). SAG officially formed in 1934 after
AEA relinquished any claim to screen actors.
The existence of SAG did not fully resolve what to do with extras, who were also
no longer affiliated with AEA. Part of the problem for SAG as they attempted to
negotiate their relationship to extras was that there were thousands of extras, many of
whom only worked sporadically and few who could make a living on their income as an
extra. In the early 1930s, Central Casting reported that there were approximately 17,000
registered extras.
56
On any given day, Central Casting was only able to find jobs for
about 4% of those extras.
57
Of the people lucky enough to get work, a very small
percentage were able to live off their wages as extras. By 1938, Central Casting reported
that 700 people were able to earn $17 per week, and 74 people were able to earn $38 per
week (most of whom were dress extras who were required to maintain their own
wardrobes).
58
Thus, even with Central Casting there to monitor how jobs were
distributed, thousands of extras still struggled to eke out a living.
In 1933, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS) initiated
their own investigation into extras and found that the biggest problem facing them was
still a disproportionate ratio of extras to available jobs. The AMPAS findings were used
to help establish the National Industrial Recovery Act’s (NIRA) Standing Committee on
Extras (a committee of five extras and five producers), which sought to regulate extra
62

work distribution and hours worked per day. Despite all of the studies on extras and their
problems, none of this information was incorporated into SAG’s unionization.
According to David Prindle, SAG’s mythology was that they formed, in part, to help
fight for the under-employed actors and extras, even if there is little truth to this rhetoric.
Prindle explains, “[working actors] didn’t know if the extras had problems because they
didn’t know any extras.”
59
As evidence, Prindle draws on an interview with Lyle Talbot,
a Warner Bros. B-actor, TV actor, and the star of several Ed Wood films. Talbot claimed
that he never heard any mention of extras at the early SAG meetings, and described the
relationship between on-screen labor: “There was this star, who doesn’t speak to the
supporting player, and the supporting player who doesn’t speak to the bit player, and the
bit player, who will have nothing to do with extras.”
60
Indeed, by 2004, when the SAG
Foundation started work on a documentary about the history of SAG, the extra was
written out of SAG’s founding mythology. According to the SAG Foundation’s
documentary, the union grew as actors talked to their friends who they knew and
trusted.
61
The disparity between stars and extras contributed to the rocky relationship
between stars and extras in the 1930s onward as SAG leadership tried to figure out how
to incorporate and manage thousands of extras.
In 1933, the year before SAG formed, there were a number of groups competing
for jurisdiction over extras. Film historian Anthony Slide identifies three of these: The
Hollywood Picture Players Association, led by J. Buckley Russell, who was also one of
the members of the National Industrial Recovery Act’s (NIRA) Standing Committee on
Extras; Cinema Players, Inc., led by Carlton E. Griffin; and Riding Actors, led by Fred
Burns.
62
Unlike the early efforts to organize extras in the 1910s, these groups were all
63

led by extras, not labor organizers. Russell, Griffin, and Burns were all extras competing
for jurisdiction among their peers in an effort to advocate on their own behalves.
In 1934, SAG leadership realized that they needed more membership dues to
support the union. The vast population of extras provided an easy solution for their
funding problem, but they did not want extras to usurp power in the union based on their
large population. SAG’s solution was to admit extras as members in a Junior Guild for
extras and bit players that would have limited voting rights. The Junior Guild was
affiliated with SAG, but votes were subject to vetoes by SAG members, and junior
members were not allowed to vote in SAG elections. Even though extras were part of the
union and covered under SAG’s collective bargaining agreement, they were not allowed
to influence key union decisions. This was an extremely undesirable position for extras in
which they paid dues but had no say in union decisions. J. Buckley Russell, a member of
SAG and founder of the Hollywood Picture Players Association, continued to try to
organize extras to split from SAG. SAG did not want another union coaxing members
away from their union, and in 1937, SAG fined Russell $1,000 and suspended him from
SAG for one year.
63
This incident suggests that many extras were not satisfied with
SAG’s representation.
At the same time as men continued to struggle for the unionization of extras,
Hollywood continued to propagate images of possibility for women. In 1936, MGM
made a one-reel short intended to represent a glimpse into the world of a “real life”
Hollywood extra. This short, entitled, Hollywood Extra!, depicts the life of Jane Barnes,
a “typical” Hollywood extra girl. Although the short makes claims toward documentary
authenticity (in its portrayal of the business of Hollywood), the film relies on
64

melodramatic narrative conceits to recount the protagonist’s story. This film provides an
abbreviated version of the oft-repeated Hollywood success story, opening with stock
footage of two large crowd scenes, identifying the extras as those who “dream and
believe that tomorrow their names will be written on the scroll of fortune.” This
introduction and flowery definition of the extra affirms that the goal of the extra is to be
discovered. The narrative assumption in the film is that extras are chosen by random
selection; in Hollywood Extra! “they” (the narrator who stands in for an abstracted
director/decision-maker) make the choice through a game of “eenie-meenie-miney-mo.”
By making the selection appear arbitrary, the film equalizes all extras. Thus when Barnes
is chosen out of a group of showgirls, she is not chosen because she possesses any special
skills or training. Jane Barnes was in fact an actual working extra, however, this short is
not an accurate depiction of her career. The ending of the film finds the fictional Jane
Barnes with a contract, yet there was no notable change in the real Jane Barnes’ career
after this film was made. Ironically, one year later she was still working as an extra in A
Star is Born (1937).
64

The Hollywood publicity machine also produced stories of failure, although these
stories did not serve as an indictment of Hollywood. “Confessions of an Extra Girl,” a
six-part story published in Modern Screen in 1935-6, warns Hollywood hopefuls to stay
away, but ultimately paints an ambivalent portrait of what it was like to struggle in
Hollywood. The story is written in first-person and the character proclaims, “No, girls,
take a tip from me. Don’t come to Hollywood. For the extra’s life is heartbreaking and
bitter. Instead of buying that ticket, stay at home with your dreams!”
65
This strong
warning about the hopelessness of life for aspiring stars was not uncommon in fan
65

magazines. On the surface this story seems to be a cautionary tale, however, throughout
the six-parts the author relays her experiences on-set, including the occasional brush with
stars. This mixture of humiliation and glamour ultimately produces a mixed message
about extra work.
Even if none of the facts are true, this story informs common sense ideas about
extras. According to Modern Screen, “a Hollywood extra girl who, since she is still
working in pictures, must not reveal her name” wrote this article.
66
For the purpose of
my analysis it does not matter whether the author was really an extra or even a woman;
what is important is the confessional tone and its desire to create a form of intimacy in its
narration. The article recounts a familiar story, and the author indicates this through
reflexive comments. The woman explains that her father was not supportive of her
decision to move to Hollywood because he believed that Hollywood was “sinful and
wicked.”
67
Despite her father’s warnings (and what she read in movie magazines) she
decided to go to Hollywood anyway. Her attitude was that Hollywood was like every
other place in the world, however, she quickly found out how wrong she was. As the
extra girl exclaims, “imagine my embarrassment or amazement or something when, a
week after I arrived in Hollywood, I had a proposition. And the man was a director,
too!”
68
Although the first installment presents many of the standard fears about young
women in Hollywood, the following five installments of the story recount the ups and
downs of the author.
“Confessions of an Extra Girl” differs from some of the cautionary tales (where
the failed extra returns home) because this extra girl chooses independence over the
security of her family home or marriage. In a later episode she refuses a marriage
66

proposal, her refusal of the marriage offer actually demonstrates resistance to this system
which seems to create inequity for female extras trying to make it in Hollywood. As
feminist economist Heidi Hartmann argues, “job segregation by sex […] is the primary
mechanism in capitalist society that maintains the superiority of men over women,
because it enforces lower wages for women in the labor market. Low wages keep women
dependent on men because they encourage women to marry.”
69
In this case the character
actively chooses the independence and excitement of a Hollywood life.
Even though the author expresses her frustrations with Hollywood, she explains
that she continues to live in Hollywood because, “[…] there is still a tremendous amount
of glamour in this business […].”
70
Based on her interactions with stars, impressions of
numerous actors on set, and even her inside information about an alleged affair between
two unknown stars, this author paints a picture of an exciting and independent life in
Hollywood. Even though she actually realizes the anxieties that her father projects on her
and never gets her break in Hollywood, she is able to scrape by while also living an
exciting life, seeing stars, and nurturing her dream of stardom.
Although these fictional portraits of extras presented ambivalence and possible
happiness, the real-life extras faced more dire conditions in the late 1930s into the early
1940s. Extras’ grievances continued to mount until May 13, 1941 when Harry Mayo, the
chairman of SAG’s Extras Advisory Committee, filed a complaint against SAG with the
American Federation of Labor (AFL).
71
Mayo, who advised extras in SAG, was also part
of the new union, the Screen Players Union (SPU), which was attempting to win
jurisdiction over extras. Mayo argued that SAG did not look after extras’ interests, which
67

meant that extras needed their own union. One of the chief allegations against SAG was
that when they negotiated rate increases, it did not affect the rates for extras.
72

In December 1944, the AFL decided to put the question of representation of
extras to a vote. In the election, 76% of extras voted to split from SAG in favor of
representation by SPU.
73
However, SPU’S jurisdiction over extras was short-lived. Even
though the National Labor Review Board (NLRB) granted SPU the right to bargain for
extras, the Associated Actors and Artistes of America (4 A’s) (the parent union for nine
branches of performer unions, including SAG, SEG, and Actors’ Equity Association), did
not. The 4 A’s claimed that SPU did not effectively or democratically represent extras.
In 1945, the 4 A’s decided to recognize a new union called the Screen Extras Guild
(SEG), instead of SPU.
74
SEG leadership claimed that they represented the majority of
extras, 2400 members versus SPU’s 600 members, and SEG claimed that SPU was
preventing extras from joining the union and voting in the SPU elections.
75

By 1947 the status of extras was resolved and the Screen Extras Guild (SEG) was
firmly in control of extras. The late 40s was the height of union participation throughout
the U.S., a trend that extended into Hollywood union activity.
76
Yet this increased
activity came at a particularly volatile time for the studios. The postwar formation of
SEG coincided with other significant shifts in Hollywood, most notably the steep
declines in movie attendance and box office revenue and the 1948 Paramount Decrees,
which resulted in the divestment of studio-owned theater chains and studios increasingly
looking to move productions overseas (to save on large scale productions and take
advantage of postwar frozen funds). In the midst of these dwindling profits, extras chose
to negotiate for rate increases at precisely the wrong time. Meanwhile the issue of
68

runaway productions had less of an effect on stars in SAG; they were able to take
advantage of some of the same tax benefits that studios and executives were exploiting in
foreign countries.
Over the next two decades SEG’s and SAG’s interests continued to diverge. The
Hollywood guilds have historically strengthened their positions by bargaining together
and supporting each other during strikes, but many of the unions were already beginning
to focus on the pressing issue of residuals, or repayment for the reuse of material, during
the late 1940s. SEG’s demands for fair compensation for a day’s work were superseded
by SAG’s request for compensation for previous work, which was increasingly relevant
because of the televised broadcasts of Hollywood films. Residuals, which cut across
multiple guilds became an essential bargaining goal for SAG and the Writers’ Guild of
America (WGA). Extras do not receive residuals and thus where excluded from these
negotiations. These shifts, especially the establishment of residuals, mark the 50s as an
important period in union priority reforms. Beginning in the 1950s SAG became
increasingly intertwined with television, and eventually the broadcast performers’ union,
AFTRA. However, the history of extras became increasingly complicated and fraught as
large film productions moved outside of the United States and extras continued to strike
for higher wages, with minimal leverage and little support from other unions. Television
eventually filled the void of some of the film production for many actors, but it never
offered the same opportunities for extras.

69

Actors and Extras After Television
The Screen Extras Guild resolved the question of who would bargain for extras,
but the arrival of television presented a new complication for SAG. The key question
that television raised for the unions was: Who retained the right to bargain for television
actors? The unions actually raised the question of jurisdiction over television after the
first demonstrations of television in 1938. Seven of 4 A’s nine branches, (Actors’ Equity
Association [AEA], Chorus Equity Association, American Federation of Radio Artists
[AFRA], American Guild of Musical Artists [AGMA], American Guild of Variety Artists
[AGVA], SAG, and SEG) began to claim bargaining rights for television. In these 1939-
1940 debates, union leadership, spearheaded by AEA’s President Frank Gillmore, began
to discuss the possibility and potential benefits of merging all of the unions.
77
The logic
for uniting all actors’ unions was that a larger union encompassing all actors in film and
television would have greater strength at the bargaining table and unified strike power.
In a 1939 letter to AFRA’s George Heller, Gillmore also explained that a merger between
unions would be beneficial because “members will no longer be faced with dual
membership and duplicity of dues.”
78
Gillmore’s argument was not convincing during
the 1939-40 negotiations, but as I discuss in Chapter Four, concern over duplicate union
dues would be a key concern for SAG and AFTRA members in the 2012 merger.
AEA’s Frank Gillmore and AFRA’s George Heller advocated for a merger
between all the performer’s unions, this fantasy of one union ended in April 1950 when
the 4 A’s voted to create “The Television Authority” (TvA), a separate group for
television bargaining. They reasoned that, “television cuts across all existing craft lines-
the stage, films, radio, vaudeville and night clubs. Thus, representatives from the 4 A’s
70

argued that, television should be covered by a separate ‘authority’ representing artists in
all acting fields.”
79
SAG further limited its membership boundaries, Rather than looking
for similarities that would potentially strengthen the unions, now SAG excluded both
background actors and television actors. The creation of the TvA seemed like a
resolution, but shifts in technology continued to spur debates over jurisdiction. These
debates were largely irrelevant to extras in the 1950s, because SEG represented them and
there were few opportunities for extras in the early days of television. However, the
jurisdictional boundaries for film and television actors would effect many of the labor
tensions I discuss in Chapter Four.
Earning the right to claim films made for television would boost the number of
available jobs for either SAG or TvA members. Later in 1950, SAG went to the National
Labor Review Board (NLRB) over the issue of films made for television.
80
The NLRB
collected testimony for the hearing and sent Chester Migden to investigate the working
conditions on filmed television sets. Only two years later Migden moved to Los Angeles
to work for SAG. Migden pointed out that in 1950, it was difficult to find people to
testify and describe filmed television, since most productions were live at this time.
Much of their testimony from filmed programming was based on Amos ‘n’ Andy (1951-
1953).
81

The testimony for this case consisted of expert opinions and detailed descriptions
of production methods. Representatives from the TvA made the case that television
closely resembled radio production, while representatives from SAG explained the
similarities between film and television production.
82
The NLRB decision ruled,
the same technical processes are involved in the production of motion
pictures whether the film is produced for the theatre, television, or other
71

type of market. […] acting abilities required of motion picture performers
are the same for all types of productions and that there is no separate
“pool” of actors which is drawn upon for the making of television
pictures.
83

While the NLRB focused on overarching similarities across actors in film and television,
the TvA representatives tried to draw attention to the specific working conditions that
characterized filmed television (also called telefilms) production in the 50s. The TvA’s
argument was not effective because this was not a battle over live programming
broadcasts, but rather television films, which were similar to genre films (westerns, crime
shows, sci-fi, etc.) in subject and production, as many were shot on “poverty row” studio
lots. The NLRB report summarized the TvA’s argument, explaining that the TvA
representatives focused on,
limited budgets of films intended for television release, and pointed to
certain differences alleged to exist in the working conditions of performers
on such films: Low wage rates; longer working hours; increased nervous
tension because of shorter shooting schedules; greater need to memorize
lines in advance of production; commercial advertising limits employment
by identifying performers with product; and, in the case of singers, the
necessity for greater precision because of the absence of musical
accompaniment and the use of smaller groups.
84

Ultimately this long list of labor conditions unique to television did not prove sufficient
for the NLRB to grant the TvA jurisdiction over projects filmed for television. The
NLRB explained that “most of these alleged differences do not in fact exist [and] many
of these conditions are present in the production of all low-budget films, whatever the
medium of release.”
85
The NLRB correctly noted the inherent similarities in acting labor
despite the technical differences in the delivery of the filmed content. The primary
difference between telefilm production and B-movie production was that as B-film
production declined, television demanded more content over the next several years. As
72

television scholar William Boddy points out, by 1954, Hal Roach Jr.’s telefilm company
was “consuming more film stock than MGM, Twentieth Century-Fox, and Warner
Brothers studios combined.”
86
However, all of these debates over medium specificity
were semantic battles waged in order for each union to maximize membership and dues.
Ultimately neither SAG nor the TvA saw this conclusion as a justification to merge
interests. The hearing resulted in a victory for SAG and their attempt to expand their
membership and jurisdiction into television.
By the mid-50s it was clear that film and television could coexist in Hollywood
and even share stars. As Chris Anderson and William Boddy have pointed out,
Hollywood studios quickly looked toward television production as a new revenue stream,
rather than a source of competition.
87
In the early 1950s television content was still
largely produced in New York (placing it geographically closer to performer’s unions
other than SAG), but limited studio space prompted networks to look for and acquire
studio space in Hollywood in 1948.
88
This NLRB case, which attempted to incorporate
filmed television programs into SAG (and thus weaken the TvA’s claims over television)
occurred simultaneously with the shift of television production to Hollywood.
Television’s move to Los Angeles and SAG’s attempt to fold more television
programming under their jurisdiction also coincides with the loss of local film work in
favor of runaway productions. Ironically, the differences in production needs created a
symbiotic (rather than competitive) relationship between film and television labor. As
runaway film productions were becoming a concern for Los Angeles film and television
workers and their unions, television became increasingly important for domestic
production jobs.
89
Christine Becker demonstrates how stars, now released from studio
73

contracts, were moving into television by the mid-1950s.
90
However, while stars could
leverage their popularity and celebrity status into television work, bit and background
actors did not have the same opportunities. Television productions had significantly
smaller budgets and were shot for smaller screens with lower definition images than
films. Therefore telefilms typically relied less on background or atmosphere and failed to
demand the large casts of films, which was especially notable during the 1950s cycles of
runaway productions and their casts of thousands.
Yet, shortly after the NLRB ruling, the various union representatives from the 4
A’s, the parent union that presided over SAG and the TvA, decided to roll the TvA into
the American Federation of Radio Artists (AFRA) to create the American Federation of
Television and Radio Artists (AFTRA). George Heller of the TvA wanted to merge all of
the performers’ unions, but this would have involved a great deal of logistics to merge
management, finances, and pension plans. However, both AFRA and the TvA, as
broadcast unions, were amenable to a merger and felt that the merger would make their
positions at the bargaining table stronger. This merger of AFRA and the TvA marks the
first time that entertainment unions merged to face the growing strength of Hollywood
management. There would not be another performers’ union merger until SEG dissolved
into SAG in 1992 and SAG and AFTRA merged in 2012.
In the midst of the SAG and AFTRA disputes over telefilms in the 1950s, SEG
continued to negotiate for increased compensation. In the 1950s the Screen Extras
Guild’s basic agreement consisted of a two-page list of jobs (and relevant details) and
their respective daily and weekly rates. The most immediate task for SEG was to
negotiate better compensation for working extras, however, in establishing this list of
74

jobs and rates, they also established a hierarchy of jobs, which often privileged “active”
(and typically male) work that was commonly peopled by female extras. Ann Chisholm
identifies this trend in her discussion of body doubles, explaining that Screen Actors
Guild contracts privileged active doubling (stunt-doubles) over the more common female
form of double work (body doubling).
91
Like SAG, SEG also compensated “active” jobs
with higher wages. SEG’s 1954 Basic Agreement presents the scale for extra work
(which is a list of jobs and their corresponding wages). A large portion of the list is
devoted to roles for cowboys and coach drivers in westerns, which favor male extras.
Additionally, the allowance for body make-up adjustments (increased compensation for
actors who donned make-up to look “tanner”), signal a privileging of roles for white
extras – even if it means that studios paid them more. While acting and performances are
often evaluated by intangible qualities such as emotional resonance, extra work is
evaluated (monetarily) by performers’ material contributions often at their own
expense.
92

Throughout the 1950s SEG effectively bargained and improved both income and
working conditions for extras, but failed to combat one of the most serious problems for
extras: runaway productions. In 1952, SEG lobbied for the 300-mile zone (the
geographic boundary, or 300-mile radius around Los Angeles, that governed all union
agreements) to extend to the entire state of California and for extras around the U.S. to
earn SEG scale.
93
The Association of Motion Picture Producers (AMPP) felt this request
was “excessive.”
94
During this same set of negotiations, AMPP lodged a complaint with
SEG regarding the lack of professionalism from the Guild members. Variety reported
that AMPP alleged that extras were intentionally ruining takes and slowing down
75

production so that they would get called back the next day for another day of work.
95

Neither AMPP nor Variety presented any evidence that this was in fact happening,
however, it is certainly conceivable that some underemployed extras could have tried this
approach for a callback. This claim signals two important points. First, it demonstrates
one way that extras’ professionalism, and thus ability to negotiate, was undermined.
Second, the plausibility of this claim provides an example of the desperation created by
dwindling jobs due to the increase in location shooting. According to Variety Hollywood
shot 19 films shot abroad in 1949, but in the subsequent years up until 1961 American
studios averaged around 46 runaway productions per year.
96
These films represented a
wide range of genres, but many of them were large-scale epics, which offered the
possibility of hundreds, if not thousands, of jobs for extras, but only if SEG could
somehow negotiate to keep production in the U.S.
Despite the clear financial advantages of shooting abroad, SEG successfully
negotiated with George Stevens Productions to keep production of The Greatest Story
Ever Told (1964) in the U.S. despite the financial costs of such an endeavor. The Los
Angeles Times reported that Greek extras made $0.50 per day on The Guns of Navarone
(1961), in contrast with the U.S., where non-union extras made $1.25 per hour
97
and
union extras made $24.50 per day.
98
However, Stevens wanted to counter the runaway
production trend and make the film in Hollywood. In an interview with Variety, Stevens
spoke of his decision to shoot in Hollywood saying, “[…] actors cost more, costumes cost
more, material will have to be imported for the costumes, horses cost more […] We feel
it’s all worth it and it’s a decision we were free to make.”
99
Stevens’ commitment to
keeping production in the U.S. contributed to successful negotiations with SEG on this
76

picture, but, as I explain in Chapter Two, it did not alter the runaway trend. By the late
1960s, SEG was facing severe financial troubles and was steadily losing bargaining
power.
Strength at the bargaining table for unions and a continued relationship between
studios and unions requires mutual respect and agreement. Robert Altman’s 1976
statement about SEG and union extras reveals the shift in perspective that led to SEG’s
desire to merge with SAG. Altman proclaimed, referring to unionized extras, “They’re
not necessary […] I see no point in hiring or signing contracts with unskilled people.”
100

Altman’s quote is indicative of an attitude toward SEG which made it increasingly
challenging for extras to reach agreements with studios and make strides in keeping
production in the U.S. Altman was concerned with the cost of his productions and did
not care to recognize that the function of the union was not simply to indicate a particular
skill level. The function of many unions, especially SEG, was to protect extras from
exploitative workplace conditions. As Hollywood realized in the 1920s, the industry as a
whole did not benefit from the bad publicity surrounding an exploited underclass.
However, SEG’s viability as an effective union still depended on the perception that its
workers were professional and worth the higher wages. As Altman’s statement indicates,
the understanding of an extra’s value had shifted.

SEG’s Slow Demise
The late 1960s and 1970s were a troubled decade for the Screen Extras Guild. In
1968, SEG attempted to raise its membership fees in order to alleviate some of its
financial troubles.
101
While many unions try to increase their membership base in order
77

to boost union revenue and bargaining strength, a larger membership would have had a
deleterious effect on extras since they were already struggling to find sufficient work for
their members.
102
In 1972, 500 members dropped out of SEG, diminishing the
organization’s membership fees, but also signaling that the union did not effectively
serve its base.
The decline in membership soon became the least of its worries when SEG found
itself amidst numerous scandals resulting in an IRS investigation and an FBI
investigation into the deaths of two SEG officials. SEG’s executive secretary, H. O’Neil
Shanks, was the source of a number of controversies that damaged the union’s reputation.
Shanks served as executive secretary for over 40 years, but in 1975, Shanks was forced to
pay back over $44,000 that he had illegally collected in fees from SEG.
103
The problems
for Shanks escalated when, only a year later, SEG’s vice-president, Val Loring, reported
irregularities to the IRS. According to Loring, a long-time critic of Shanks, there were a
number of questionable reimbursement checks that were paid to board members.
104

Despite all of these problems in the mid-1970s, Shanks remained executive secretary
until a 1980 piece on CBS’ 60 Minutes when he was confronted for concealing stolen
property - he had purchased four cut-rate IBM typewriters for SEG’s office.
105
All of
these problems with the union leadership, along with SEG’s ongoing financial troubles,
led to frustration and disunity amongst the membership. Ironically, while scandals from
the 1920s helped bring about positive change to Hollywood labor conditions for extras,
SEG’s own union scandals in the 1970s and 1980s only served to diminish its credibility.
By 1977 SEG was in active talks with SAG, and by 1980, SAG’s executive
secretary, Chester Migden (formerly of the NLRB) announced that SAG and SEG were
78

discussing a potential merger.
106
However, SAG did not put the merger with SEG to a
vote until 1982. In both 1982 and 1984 SAG narrowly rejected a merger with SEG. 60%
of SAG members needed to vote in favor to approve the merger. In 1982, 57% percent of
members voted “yes,” and in 1984, 52% voted “yes.”
107
After these two failed merger
proposals, SEG opened up conversations with the International Brotherhood of the
Teamsters in 1986. The Teamsters had 1.6 million members across various industries,
including 3,000 studio drivers.
108
Had SEG been able to successfully merge with the
Teamsters, this would have created a fundamentally different labor identity for extras that
situated them alongside blue-collar labor histories. Rather than being aligned as a point
of entry into the creative work of acting, extras would have been explicitly associated
with other below-the-line production workers, which could have given extras the support
they needed when the Directors Guild of America (DGA), AFTRA, SAG, and the Writers
Guild of America (WGA) struck for increased residual payments.
During the strikes of the 1980s, the majority of the unions had shared demands,
while SEG attempted to bargain from a completely different vantage point. SEG struck
to maintain jobs and wages while the DGA, WGA, AFTRA, and SAG struck for
residuals. Unfortunately for SEG, the other guilds did not support its positions (and SAG
had already refused to merge with them). This left SEG in a precarious position,
operating alone, without the backing or support from any of the other Hollywood guilds.
Left without the benefit of cross-union support, extras’ wages were reduced 25%, the
studios negotiated a higher number of non-union extras on productions, and overtime
regulations loosened.
109
These changes only re-emphasized what SEG leadership had
known for almost ten years: they needed to merge with a larger union as soon as possible.
79

Given their ambitions as above-the-line performers, extras would continue to look to
SAG rather than the Teamsters.
Through the end of the 1980s SEG continued to struggle financially, but was still
bargaining on behalf of extras. However, in 1990, when SEG failed to reach an
agreement with the Association for Motion Picture and Television Producers (AMPTP),
extra work became non-union by default. By 1990, the daily rate for a union extra was
$86 per day. Minimum wage in California at that time was $42 per day. When extra
work became non-union work, the daily rate for extras dropped to the minimum wage
rate, and studios no longer contributed to pension and benefits plans.
110
Between 1990
and 1992 for the first time since 1947 extras (in California) worked without any union
protections. In 1991 SEG officially had no contracts to enforce and began to close down
its offices.
111
In 1992 SAG finally agreed to takeover SEG.
112
Both merger attempts in
1982 and 1984 failed because, had they passed, SAG would have been required to take
on SEG’s assets and liabilities, which would have been a burden to SAG given SEG’s
financial state in the 1970s. The reason that SEG was able to successfully join SAG in
1992 was because it was not a merger, but rather a takeover. Since extras had been
working without a union contract, this takeover benefited extras by providing them with
representation and a new contract. The takeover required SAG to make room for extras
on their board, but overall this move benefited SAG financially because they collected
more membership fees without taking on additional liabilities.
Including extras in SAG dramatically boosted the guild’s membership. It also
reinvigorated some of the issues that SAG faced when it first formed in 1933. In the
1990s, SAG was comprised of a wide-range of voting members with many divergent
80

interests and values. This diverse population played an important role in the development
of political parties within SAG and it would also greatly influence the trajectory of the
SAG-AFTRA merger throughout the 1990s and 2000s. Even though extras failed to
achieve success at the bargaining table and do not have the ability to influence decisions
on set, as I discuss in Chapter Four, their sizable population allowed them to wield power
in SAG elections.

Conclusion
The failure of extras’ unions was structural. Extras’ unions such as the Screen
Extras Guild were often tasked with collective bargaining, or negotiating as a group to
improve conditions for workers for the basic needs for extras. These basic needs proved
challenging to fully understand because of the size and diversity of the extra population.
As Leo Rosencrans observed about extras in 1916: “There are applicants for extra work,
who skip school to go to the studios, and old men and women who can scarcely stagger
into the offices and all ages in between.”
113
Although diverse groups all competed for
background work, they likely concurred that their labor conditions could be improved;
whether that was in the form of more workdays, more money, or screen time. However,
striving for a better life did not necessarily lead to a coherent bargaining position. As I
will explore in the subsequent chapters, the absence of a coherent bargaining position has
continued to plague actors and extras. The particularities have changed as actors face
changes in production methods and technology, but finding a clear sense of purpose
amongst the large array of actors has been and continues to be a challenge.
81

When extras were at the center of scandals, such as the Arbuckle-Rappe incident,
in the 1920s, Hollywood studios were forced to figure out a way to mitigate the
exploitation of extras. Central Casting was only able to provide a minimal percentage of
actors with a livable wage, and SEG was not effective at creating more work for extras,
even if they were effective at getting daily rates raised. Unfortunately, extras’ needs were
often eclipsed by changes in the industry and advancements in technology, both of which
shifted the focus away from laborers and their conditions.
As the other entertainment unions shifted their bargaining priorities toward
residuals, it became increasingly clear that the Screen Extras Guild functioned more like
a blue-collar union than their fellow entertainment unions. SEG’s failure reveals that
collective bargaining for creative unions is fundamentally cast in different terms than
bargaining for blue-collar unions. For many unions, including the entertainment unions,
collective bargaining focuses on wages, workplace conditions, pensions, benefits, etc.
However, one of the benefits of blue-collar unions is that they also produce stable
employment – the entertainment unions cannot make the same promises. As attorney
Mark Grunewald points out, “traditional, full-time, long term employment […] has been
at the core for the development of collective bargaining […].”
114
Extras were never been
able to achieve stable or long-term employment, partially because there were too many
extras available for roles and given the minimal skills required, producers could and
would always be able to obtain extras from many sources.
Although actors work on discrete projects, often with significant breaks between
projects and no long-term contracts, unions have attempted to bargain for terms that
would create levels of stability in an inherently unstable industry. One of the ways that
82

SAG and AFTRA were able to offset the elimination of long-term contracts was to fight
for and win residual payments for the reuse of material. Extras do not receive residuals,
so SEG had to turn to other battles to generate more jobs for extras. SEG sought stable
employment for extras by trying to fight runaway productions and thus create more jobs
for union extras. As the next chapter explores, SEG was largely unsuccessful in its
negotiations and attempts to keep production in Hollywood.

1
Leo Rosencrans, “Los Angeles - October 21, 1916,” Leo Rosencrans Collection,
Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills,
CA.

2
Leo Rosencrans, “Los Angeles - October 24, 1916,” Leo Rosencrans Collection,
Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills,
CA.

3
Leo Rosencrans, “Los Angeles - October 29, 1916,” Leo Rosencrans Collection,
Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills,
CA.

4
Leo Rosencrans, “Los Angeles – November 2, 1916,” Leo Rosencrans Collection,
Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills,
CA.

5
Ibid.

6
Leo Rosencrans, “Los Angeles – November 15, 1916,” Leo Rosencrans Collection,
Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills,
CA.

7
Jackie Stacey, Star Gazing – Hollywood cinema and female spectatorship (London:
Routledge, 1994)

8
For an extensive account of the Fatty Arbuckle and Virginia Rappe scandal, see Greg
Merritt, Room 1219 – The Life of Fatty Arbuckle, The Mysterious Death of Virginia
Rappe, and the Scandal that Changed Hollywood (Chicago: Chicago Review Press,
2013).

83

9
Rick Jewell also cites a scandal involving Wallace Reid. See Richard Jewell, The
Golden Age of Cinema: Hollywood, 1929-1945 (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing,
2007).

10
Hilary Hallett, Go West, Young Women! The Rise of Early Hollywood (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 2013), 184.

11
Adrienne McLean, “Introduction,” in Headline Hollywood, edited by Adrienne
McLean and David Cook, 1-26 (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2001), 2.
See also: Sam Stoloff, “Fatty Arbuckle and the Black Sox: The Paranoid Style of
American Popular Culture, 1919-1922,” in Headline Hollywood, edited by Adrienne
McLean and David Cook, 52-82 (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2001).

12
Adrienne McLean, 2.

13
For a detailed analysis of how the details of this story was manipulated by various
news outlets, see Hilary Hallett, Go West, Young Women! The Rise of Early Hollywood
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2013).

14
It is important to note that the Arbuckle-Rappe scandal was part of a series of scandals
in Hollywood, including, Wallace Reid’s heroine overdose, Desmond Taylor’s murder
(and affairs with both Mabel Normand and Mary Miles Minter), and the alleged bigamy
between Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks.

15
For detailed analysis of post-war business practices and financing, see David Bordwell,
Janet Staiger, and Kristin Thompson, The Classical Hollywood Cinema – Film Style &
Mode of Production to 1960 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1985) and Tino
Balio, “Retrenchment, Reappraisal, and Reorganization, 1948--,” in The American Film
Industry, Revised Edition, edited by Tino Balio, 401-447 (Madison: University of
Wisconsin Press, 1985).

16
Janet Staiger, “The package-unit system: unit management after 1955,” in The
Classical Hollywood Cinema – Film Style & Mode of Production to 1960, by David
Bordwell, Janet Staiger, and Kristin Thompson, 330-337 (New York: Columbia
University Press, 1985), 334.

17
For detailed examples of exploitation in the theaters see: Kerry Segrave, Actors
Organize: A History of Union Formation Efforts in America, 1880-1919 (Jefferson:
McFarland & Company, 2008), 3-17.

18
Ibid., 3.

19
Steven J. Ross, Working Class Hollywood – Silent Film and the Shaping of Class in
America (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998), 62.

84

20
For detailed discussion of these scandals, see: Denise McKenna, The City that Made
the Pictures Move: Gender, Labor and Los Angeles, 1908-1917, PhD Dissertation, New
York University, 2008.

21
Steven J. Ross, 131.

22
Ibid., 132.

23
“Agitators Busy: Recently-organized Motion Picture Players Union Holds Meeting,”
Los Angeles Times, September 16, 1918.

24
Ibid.

25
“Motion Picture Players’ Union Resolution – October 27, 1919,” The Triangle Film
Collection, Harry and Ray Aitken Papers, Box 20, Folder 2, The Wisconsin Center for
Film and Theater Research, Madison, WI.

26
Sam Stoloff, 67.

27
“M.O. Players Union Gets a Separate Four A’s Charter,” The Billboard 32.6, Feb 7,
1920.

28
The Service Bureau was at the center of much of the controversy surrounding these
agencies because it was the largest.

29
“Extras Charge Illegal Ways: Methods of Payment and Discount Cited,” Los Angeles
Times, January 26, 1923.

30
Ibid.

31
“Change Extras’ Booking Rules: State Demands Clean-up by Service Bureaus,” Los
Angeles Times, March 25, 1923.

32
For more detail on the riot, see Kerry Segrave, Extras of Early Hollywood: A History of
the Crowd, 1913-1945 (Jefferson: McFarland & Co, 2013), Kindle Edition. See also,
“Actors Shot by Guard; Police Halt Lynching: Five Film ‘Extras Wounded After
Controversy Over Wages at Service Bureau,” The Los Angeles Times, March 16, 1923.

33
Fred W. Beetson, “Letter to all members – April 22, 1925,” Document ID #234,
MPPDA Digital Archive, http://mppda.flinders.edu.au/records/234.

34
MPPDA consisted of the fifteen members: Christie Film Co., Cecil B. DeMille Pictures
Co., F.B.O. Studios, Inc., First National Productions Co., Fox Film Co., Samuel
Goldwyn, Inc., Harold Lloyd Co., MGM Co., Paramount-Famous-Lasky Co., Hal Roach
Studios Inc., Mack Sennett Inc., United Artists Studio Co., Universal Pictures Co.,
85

Warner Brothers Pictures, Inc., Jack White Comedy Co. and the three associate members:
Kane Productions, Inc., Sam E. Rork, Inc. and Asher, Small & Rogers. For more
information on the MPPDA see: Fred Beetson, “What the Association of Motion Picture
Producers has Accomplished for the Industry,” Los Angeles Times, 18 April 1928.

35
Hays Lauds Film Bureau,” Los Angeles Times, 24 January 1926.

36
According to Murray Ross, many of the make-up schools actually worked with the
employment bureaus. See Murray Ross, Stars & Strikes: Unionization of Hollywood
(New York: Columbia University Press, 1941), 70.

37
Anthony Slide, Hollywood Unknowns – A History of Extras, Bit Players, and Stand-
Ins (Jackson: University of Mississippi Press, 2012), 67.

38
Heidi Kenaga, “Promoting Hollywood Extra Girl (1935),” Screen 52.1 (Spring 2011),
84.

39
Ibid.

40
Tom Kemper, Hidden Talent – The Emergence of Hollywood Agents (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 2010), 35.

41
It is worth noting that Central Casting does not appear in either the 1954 or 1976
remake of A Star is Born.

42
Switchboard work, like extra work, was a job open to women with few barriers to
entry. For more on women working on the switchboard, see Brenda Maddox, “Women
and the Switchboard,” in The Social Impact of the Telephone, edited by Ithiel de Sola
Pool, 262-280 (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1977).

43
Claude S. Fischer, America Calling – A Social History of the Telephone to 1940
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992), 112.

44
Tom Kemper, 35.

45
Fischer, 108-111.

46
See “Brows to Lose Wrinkles” Los Angeles Times, December 9, 1928. which cites
11,000 registered extras or Fred Beetson, What the Association of Motion Picture
Producers has Accomplished for the Industry, Los Angeles Times, April 18, 1928. which
cites that there are 18,000 registered extras.

47
“Central Casting - An Interview with Mr. Campbell MacCulloch General Manager of
Central Casting Corporation.” It's Happening in Hollywood: Weekly News of Pictures in
Production,” March 27, 1939.
86

48
California Bureau of Labor Statistics, Nineteenth Biennial Report, 1919-1920
(Sacramento 1920), 118-119.

49
Leigh R. Smith, Date books, Series III – Date books and professional resources (1910-
1929), CalArts Library and Information Resources, Department of Special Collections,
Valencia, CA.

50
Ghia Godfree, “Empty Threats: The Collision of Aesthetic, Industrial, and
Revolutionary Imperatives in Montage,” Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Southern
California, 2013.

51
See David E. James, The Most-Typical Avant-Garde – History and Geography of
Minor Cinemas in Los Angeles (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 43.

52
Morton Thompson, “Hollywood is a Union Town,” The Nation 146:14, April 2, 1938,
381.

53
Sympathetic strikes and union agreements were, and continue to be, one of the most
valuable negotiating weapons for unions and have been the source of strength (or failure)
in SAG and AFTRA negotiations well into the 2000s.

54
Louis Perry and Richard Perry, A History of the Los Angeles Labor Movement, 1911-
41 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1963), 342.

55
Screen Actors Guild Foundation Presents: Behind the Masks – The Story of the Screen
Actors Guild – Part 1, directed by William Gazecki (2007; Los Angeles, CA: Screen
Actors Guild Foundation), DVD.

56
John Scott, “Central Casting Bureau Extras’ Only Hope for that Long-Awaited
‘Break’,” Los Angeles Times, April 8, 1934.

57
Ibid. Central Casting noted that they averaged about 700 job placements per day.

58
“Central Casting - An Interview with Mr. Campbell MacCulloch General Manager of
Central Casting Corporation,” Central Casting Subject Files, Margaret Herrick Library,
Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA, 2.

59
David Prindle, The Politics of Glamour – Ideology and Democracy in the Screen
Actors Guild (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1988), 20.

60
Ibid., 20.

87

61
Screen Actors Guild Foundation Presents: Behind the Masks – The Story of the Screen
Actors Guild – Part 1, directed by William Gazecki (2007; Los Angeles, CA: Screen
Actors Guild Foundation), DVD.

62
Anthony Slide, 209.

63
“News of the Screen: Three Openings Here Today – Four Films at Venice Exhibition –
DeMille Birthday Celebration,” The New York Times, August 13, 1937, 12.

64
In addition to the 1937 version there is the popular 1956 Judy Garland version and the
1976 Barbara Streisand version. In 2011 Beyoncé was rumored to be producing and
starring in yet another version.

65
“Confessions of an Extra Girl, part 4,” Modern Screen 12.2 (January 1936) 79.

66
“Confessions of an Extra Girl, part 1,” Modern Screen 11.3 (August 1935), 30.

67
Ibid.

68
Ibid.

69
Heidi Hartmann, “Capitalism, Patriarchy, and Job Segregation,” in Capitalist
Patriarchy and the Case for Socialist Feminism, edited by Zillah Eisenstein, 206-47
(New York: Monthly Review Press, 1979), 208.

70
“Confessions of an Extra Girl, part 4,” 79.

71
Anthony Slide, 209.

72
“Guild Defends Its Effort for Screen Extras,” Los Angeles Times, April 4, 1944.

73
“Film Extras Vote to Break from Screen Actors’ Guild: Defeated Union Pans Fight for
Bargaining Power,” Los Angeles Times, December 18, 1944.

74
“AAAA Backs Film Extras’ Guild In Row with Screen Players Union,” The New York
Times, May 18, 1945.

75
“Screen Extras’ Guild Asks Bargaining Rights: A.F.L Group Petitions N.L.R.B to Set
Aside Independent Screen Union’s Certification,” Los Angeles Times, October 2, 1945.

76
For more on union activity in the 1940s, see George Lipsitz, Rainbow at Midnight –
Labor and Culture in the 1940s (Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 1994).

88

77
Rita Morley Harvey, Those Wonderful Terrible Years – George Heller and the
American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (Carbondale: Southern Illinois
University Press, 1996), 47-48

78
Ibid., 47.

79
“Actors and Unions Break Over Television,” Los Angeles Times, April 20, 1950.

80
The Screen Extras Guild excluded itself from this decision since their agreements did
not expire until 1953.

81
Chester Migden, “Interview with SAG Foundation,” SAG Foundation, Los Angeles,
CA, May 1989.

82
Harvey, 124.

83
Television Film Producers Association, 93 NLRB 929 (1951)

84
Ibid., 932

85
Ibid., 932.

86
William Boddy, Fifties Television (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1993), 72.

87
See Chris Anderson, Hollywood TV: The Studio System in the Fifties (Austin:
University of Texas Press, 1994); and William Boddy, “The Studios Move into Prime
Time: Hollywood and the Television Industry in the 1950s,” Cinema Journal 24.4
(Summer 1985), 23-37.

88
Lynn Spigel, TV by Design – Modern Art and the Rise of Network Television (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 2008), 118.

89
Cecil Smith, “Runaway Films Tide Turns as Hollywood ‘Comes Home’: Big Studios
Revive with Help of TV,” Los Angeles Times, June 14, 1964.

90
Christine Becker, It’s the Pictures That Got Small – Hollywood Film Stars on 1950s
Television (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 2008).

91
Ann Chisholm, “Missing Persons and Bodies of Evidence,” Camera Obscura 15.1
(2000), 135.

92
I have a more in depth discussion of extras and working for scale, see Kate
Fortmueller, “Measuring Invisibility and Working for Scale: Extras and the Screen Extras
Guild,” Media Fields 4, http://www.mediafieldsjournal.org/measuring-invisibility

89

93
“Untitled,” Variety, February 22, 1952, 8.

94
Ibid.

95
Ibid.

96
“Economics, Not Patriotism – Since 1949: 509 U.S. Films Made O’Seas,” Variety,
December 6, 1961. This article points out that the majority of overseas production took
place in England, but a number of films were also shot in Italy (approximately 31 films
during this period).

97
Tom Andre, “Discussion between Ray Gosnell and myself on notes relating to the
March 7th meeting with O’Neil Shanks and Cesar Sortino for the Guild, and Frank Davis,
Dean Johnson, Dick St. John, Tom Andre, and Ray Gosnell – March 8, 1962,” George
Stevens Collection, Box 76, Folder 890 – The Greatest Story Ever Told - cast, Margaret
Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

98
Producers – SEG Agreement of 1960, Folder 1215 – The Greatest Story Ever Told – F.
Davids (SEG), Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences,
Beverly Hills, CA.

99
“Untitled,” Variety, June 14, 1960.

100
“Altman Vows He’ll Never Utilize SEG,” Variety, January 9, 1976.

101
“Screen Extras Guild Finances Need Fixing,” Variety, May 29, 1968.

102
Historically, SAG has increased their membership in order to gain membership fees.
The battle over jurisdiction for TV demonstrates this practice.

103
“Warn SEG to Collect Illegal Funds Paid to Nat’l Exec Secretary,” Variety, May 7,
1972.

104
“IRS Conducting Investigations of SEG’s Finances,” Variety, June 2, 1976.

105
“SEG’s Shanks is Targeted by CBS Stolen IBM Report,” Variety, November 25,
1980.

106
Chester Migden joined SAG in 1952 amidst the first negotiations for residuals, would
remain with SAG until 1982. He contributed to a number of major decisions for SAG
that sought to both expand SAG’s power and its membership base, including the VHS
residual formula and the 3-phase plan to merge SAG and AFTRA. His long tenure with
SAG made him a key player in the major changes that the union faced after the arrival of
television, including the addition of extras to their membership.

90

107
Harry Weinstein, “Teamsters Court Screen Extras Guild for Merger,” Los Angeles
Times, November 23, 1986.

108
Ibid.

109
Chad Raphael, “The Political Economic Origins of Reali-TV,” in Reality TV –
Remaking Television Culture, 2
nd
edition, edited by Laurie Ouellette and Susan Murray,
123-140 (New York: New York University Press, 2009), 128.

110
Ken Orsatti, “SAG: Most Extras Got Pay Raise, Not a Cut,” Los Angeles Times,
March 2, 1992.

111
“SEG near fadeout,” Variety, August 5, 1991.

112
Steve Coe, "Actor groups and alliance reach tentative pact," Broadcasting, March 2
1992.

113
Leo Rosencrans, “Los Angeles - October 29, 1916,” Leo Rosencrans Collection,
Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills,
CA.

114
Mark Grunewald, “Regulatory Future of Contingent Employment: An Introduction,”
Washington and Lee Law Review 52 (1995), 726.

91

Chapter Two:
Hollywood’s Margins: Runaway Production and the ‘Cast of Thousands’

Featuring a Cast of Thousands! The phrase conjures up images of throngs of
slaves, neat lines of military regiments headed off to battle, or densely populated and
bustling urban centers. Historically associated with post-war Hollywood epics such as
Quo Vadis? (1951), The Robe (1953) Around the World in Eighty Days (1956), Bhowani
Junction (1956), War and Peace (1956), The Ten Commandments (1956), Ben-Hur
(1959), 55 Days at Peking (1963), Cleopatra (1963), and The Greatest Story Ever Told
(1965), the “cast of thousands,” connotes grand scale and implies a human landscape of
epic proportions, “a sea of people” that stretches across the screen and threatens to spill
out of the frame; in its focus on scale and mass spectacle the phrase renders differences
within the group unimportant.
The films listed above were often referred to as epics in the popular press, trade
journals, and marketing material, yet the term “epic” does not denote a coherent genre.
Rather, it establishes a set of expectations, including casts of thousands, foreign (or at
least non-studio) locations, long runtimes, big budgets, and bankable stars. The diverse
subjects and absence of genre signifiers in postwar Hollywood epics are one tangible
result of the break-up of the studio system, which in its heyday housed sets, props, and
other production necessities, contracted staff writers, costumers, and production designers,
among many other positions, and epitomized the efficient model of Classical Hollywood
genre filmmaking. The inability to categorize these films based on genre signifies a
critical shift in how films were made and who they were made for in the 1950s and early
1960s. As the American film industry expanded to new markets and cheaper production
centers, large-scale epic productions became a part of this growth and global transition.
92

Epics also take up international subject matter aimed at both an American and a global
audience. Vanessa Schwartz has called this type of film “the cosmopolitan film” in order
to encapsulate a mode of production and distinctly global consciousness that “attempts to
get beyond the nation as an essential limit to identification.”
1
The cast of thousands is an
essential element of the production and global address of these films.
Due to the Biblical or Orientalist settings of many of these films, the cast of
thousands often consisted of people of color. If production could not go to them through
location shooting, they were transported to the set for the occasion, such as the thousands
of Chinese immigrants shuttled to the Spanish set of 55 Days at Peking or the 1,200
Navajo extras brought to the U.S. set of The Greatest Story Ever Told.
2
The interest in
watching a spectacle of people of color is not new or unique to the 1950s and 1960s, but
the growth of widescreen technologies, fascination with foreign locales, and economic
imperatives that drove location shooting combined with a number of postwar shifts in the
balance of global power to make the cast of thousands both a pragmatic and compelling
box office draw.
The phrase “cast of thousands” was popularized in advertising and marketing for
epic films of the 1950s and 1960s. For example, the one-sheets advertising MGM’s
Bhowani Junction, proclaim “ ‘2 Years in Production!’ ‘Cast of Thousands!’
‘Ava…enticing…primitive…she must choose…one world to live in…one man to love.’”
In this way, Bhowani Junction eschews traditional studio system marketing based on
genre and star, and foregrounds information about the film’s production and narrative.
3

Films featuring a “cast of thousands” are exceptions to a point I make in the Introduction
as films in which extras are not meant to remain unnoticed in the background. As
93

noteworthy example of the typical representations of extras on-screen, these films are
important texts for a study of extras.
This chapter engages the margins of Hollywood film production and Hollywood
films. The margins encompass a range of elements including minor cast members, the
geographic outskirts of Hollywood, the filmic background, and the way that these
elements of production and background produce different (or non-dominant) readings.
This chapter will interrogate the effect of location shooting in two productions, one shot
in Pakistan and England and one in the U.S. Bhowani Junction and its “cast of thousands”
provide a case study to anchor the discussion of these margins within a specific context
of foreign location shooting and casting practices from the 1950s, which used people of
color to fill widescreen expanses but none of the above-the-line roles. The Greatest Story
Ever Told, which was shot entirely in the U.S. (in Los Angeles and on-location), will
serve as a counterpoint to foreign location shooting and casting practices. Even though
one film was shot abroad, and the other was shot in the U.S., I argue that their
exploitative labor policies share more similarities than differences. I conclude this
chapter with an analysis of Bhowani Junction’s crowd to consider how the contextual
economy and textual representations of race and nation converge. I argue that Bhowani
Junction’s crowd differs from other cinematic crowds and consider some of non-
dominant readings of the crowd, to demonstrate how the cast of thousands opens up
alternative positions of identification for viewers.

94

Cinematic Crowds
In production histories and on-screen representations, extras are most visible in
large crowds. When they populate sidewalks, lobbies and hallways they tend to go
unnoticed, simply enhancing the realism of the scene. As evidenced by the evacuated
post-apocalyptic street scenes in films like 28 Days Later (2002), vacant streets are
unnerving. Although extras are present in most films they are not always narratively
important. However, when extras are featured in groups they often fulfill important
symbolic and narrative functions.
It should not be surprising that large crowd scenes are a common and consistent
image in cinema, an art form closely aligned with modernity, mass culture, and its
technological developments. In their study of crowds, Jeffrey Schnapp and Matthew
Tiews have pointed out that “[i]n some deep and essential sense, crowds are modernity.
Modern times are crowded times.”
4
Large groupings of people were required for
industrial production, and standardization of workdays meant that people commuted en
masse at the same hour, thus the crowd became connected not only to modernity, but also
to urbanization, progress, and development.
Crowds are endemic to depictions of modernity and urban life, but their
depictions are not always positive. Historian Steven J. Ross traces the association
between crowds of workers and unwieldy mobs to the Chicago Haymarket Riots of 1886,
which, Ross explains, “generated a wellspring of images that associated anarchists with
labor leaders, and large crowds of workers with unruly mobs.”
5
Although crowds,
especially of workers, have a long history of visual associations with violence, this is not
the only way the crowd has been visualized in cinema. The meaning of the filmic crowd
95

has shifted since the silent era depending on whether the meaning is symptomatic of
growing urbanization and modernity or symbolizing Communism and the collective will
(as opposed to elite rule). The crowd can take on different meanings in films, and in the
following sections I outline the differences between crowd as singular will, excess, and
revolutionary force in order to set-up points of contrast for the depiction of the crowd in
Bhowani Junction.
The choreography of crowd scenes also contains important ideological messages.
Large crowds serve a variety of narrative and ideological purposes with most arguments
about the ideology of the crowd stressing that crowds visually express singularity of
purpose. This argument is best exemplified by Thomas Hobbes’ Leviathan figure, the
singular sovereign comprised of the masses. Jeffrey Schnapp’s article, “Mob Porn,”
which traces history through still images of crowds, explains that the crowd is either the
end point of a narrative that brings the crowd of people together or the source of political
action. Kristen Whissel parallels this argument in her article on the digital multitude,
which focuses on computer generated crowds rather than human crowds. Both Schnapp
and Whissel conclude that in visual representations of the crowd, the crowd symbolizes a
single-minded will. According to Whissel, “the digital multitude is a multiplicity that
functions as one, a heterogeneous mass that functions homogeneously.”
6
Schnapp and
Whissel’s conclusions could be applied to the crowds in the Nazi films Triumph of the
Will (1935) and Kolberg (1945) where the crowd symbolizes fascist ideals and
demonstrates Nazi control over the masses, equating organizational power with political
power.
96

Narrative function of the crowd is only one way to account for the ideological
function of the crowd. In his interpretation of Griffith’s Intolerance (1916), Kenneth
Anger notes that the crowd functions as the epitome of Hollywood excess because
Griffith was able to assemble and pay thousands of extras for a single scene.
7
Anger
locates Hollywood excess in this particular example in the availability of workers and the
abundance of money. In Hollywood Babylon this example works in juxtaposition to real-
life Hollywood sex scandals and the sordid gossip which emerges out of a system of
artistic production that both exploits both the land and the masses of aspiring stars. In all
of these examples, from the documenting of fascist crowds to the Babylonian excess of
Intolerance, the singular purpose is not the “will of the people” in a revolutionary sense,
but rather the human embodiment of an external power.
The revolutionary crowd is a staple of Sergei Eisenstein’s films, such as
Battleship Potemkin (1925) and Ten Days that Shook the World (October) (1927). For
example, in the famed Odessa Steps sequence, Eisenstein depicts a clash between a
crowd of Russian citizen and tsarist military forces. In his formal examination of
Eisenstein’s films, David Bordwell observes that Eisenstein made a form of “plotless
cinema” that did not entirely eschew narrative, but instead focused on the mass as the
protagonist and originator of action.
8
Eisenstein often included shots of individuals, but
these people are never exclusively propelling narrative action, and as Bordwell explains,
individualized crowd members “lack psychological qualities” in Eisenstein’s films.
9

97

Film, Cultural Policy and the Production of National Ideology
National policies that encourage location shooting and foreign investments are
responsive to capital flows and the expansion of markets; they also generate unique sets
of interactions and points of contact between individuals. Melani McAlister, Christina
Klein, Priya Jaikumar, and Peter Limbrick all discuss how these points of contact,
economic relationships, and their connections to texts construct, refine, and occasionally
reinvent national and colonial ideologies.
10
All of these scholars are concerned with how
film texts function in conjunction with policy as producers of national ideology.
Jaikumar and Limbrick specifically consider how film productions and location shooting
affect (or fail to affect) local populations.
Work on colonialism offers a way to expand on media industry studies and
histories, by theorizing the relationships between texts and contexts and demonstrating
how texts and visual objects are produced and circulated within uneven power relations.
In her study of colonial travel writing, Mary Louise Pratt coins the term “contact zone” to
describe “[…] the space of colonial encounters, the space in which peoples
geographically and historically separated come into contact with each other and establish
ongoing relations, usually involving conditions of coercion, radical inequality, and
intractable conflict.”
11
Even though the exchange is not always made on even terrain,
this distinction illustrates a point scholars of media audiences have been deftly making
within media studies, mainly that the dominant ideology is not imposed upon viewers,
but instead it is negotiated through active reading practices. For Pratt the idea of the
contact zone is crucial because it provides a means to discuss colonial encounters in more
nuanced and intimate terms; as Pratt explains, this term allows her to “foreground the
98

interactive, improvisational dimensions of colonial encounters so easily ignored or
suppressed by diffusionist accounts of conquest and domination.”
12
Given the imperialist
relationship between Hollywood and its global sites of production, Pratt’s concept seems
particularly germane for the kinds of interactions and points of interaction that occur on-
set and in film productions. These interactions are part of broad globalizing shifts and
trends, but they take place on a much smaller scale than the discussions that are engaged
by many media industry studies. An approach that includes colonial methodology and a
focus on textual readings can complement the understanding of Hollywood
internationalism and transnational production by helping to consider how points of
contact construct a distinctive (and mutually constituted) discourse of global interaction
and exchange.
Location shooting stimulates and permits some forms of contact and interaction
between extras, actors, and producers that are not represented in the film narrative.
Nations and cities encourage location shooting because Hollywood productions can
provide an injection of capital into their economies, but location shooting enables more
than financial transactions.
13
From the perspective of studios and filmmakers, location
shooting often offers two heterogeneous benefits: financial incentives and an authentic
and marketable backdrop to their film. This notion of location shooting as backdrop to a
film has been visually rendered in different ways – either as stock footage between
sequences (to establish a sense of place), rear projection footage, or the setting for a scene.
In Cinema at the End of Emipre, Priya Jaikumar discusses these interactions in her
analysis of Zoltan Korda’s Sanders of the River (1935), a film in which ethnographic
footage of African tribes (specifically the Acholi) is combined with studio footage of
99

Paul Robeson and the lead British actors via rear projection. The only physical
interactions that took place during the production were those between the Acholi and
Zoltan Korda when he went to Nigeria to shoot footage of the Acholi dances. By
separating the narrative and ethnographic filming and incorporating the ethnographic
footage, Korda guarantees that Robeson occupies a different time and space from the
Acholi and prevents any spontaneous interactions between the Acholi and the cast. As
Jaikumar points out, “[t]here is no contact between real and ‘studio’ Africans, no tribal
dancers with speaking parts, no black British or African American actors in the
documentary sequences […]”
14
She describes this narrative separation as a “politico-
visual experience” and concludes that films which combine ethnographic footage with
classical narrative realism prevent exchange and development which can stem from
cross-cultural interactions. Jaikumar makes her argument in relation to ethnographic
films from the 1930s that were combined with fictional footage; however, the
technological advancements of the postwar period allowed filmmakers to become
increasingly mobile for narrative film production. Even though Hollywood shot large-
scale productions outside of Los Angeles using thousands of people from the local
populations, divisions between the local and the filmmaking populations were still
maintained.
Peter Limbrick’s Making Settler Cinemas explores on-set colonial relations
further, thinking about how film productions and texts move between different locations
and nations. Limbrick explains that, “No matter what kinds of colonial contact filmic
narratives might present, the very practices of producing, making, distributing, and
watching films within histories of empire and settler colonialism include […] encounters
100

[…].”
15
For Limbrick, the encounters enabled by film practices produce the ideologies of
settler communities via cultural negotiations rather than strict imperialism, a point that
further complicates the assumption that Hollywood texts impose a monolithic ideology.
Limbrick demonstrates the need to take a closer look at industrial trends and examine the
messy and often incoherent ways that decisions, policy, and ideology play out in specific
contact zones and encounters.
Bhowani Junction involved collaboration between the United States, England,
India and Pakistan and generated different points of contact. While it is tempting to look
at this brief narrative of a Hollywood film made abroad and read location shooting as a
conscious act of American imperialism, the reality of Bhowani Junction’s production
reveals that the laws and regulations which drive production finance are not always
reflective of an ideologically coherent or clear imperialist drive. The Greatest Story Ever
Told also provides an example of how financial imperatives do not necessarily create a
clear imperialist position. The decision to shoot The Greatest Story Ever Told in the U.S.
was an explicit reaction to the trend of runaway production. Stevens and his assistants
were clipping articles on runaway productions from Variety and various newspapers,
tracking these trends as they were in preproduction.
16
In a memo to his production team,
Stevens told them, “we want to have the opportunity to bring ‘The Greatest Story Ever
Told’ back to Hollywood.”
17
As both Bhowani Junction and The Greatest Story Ever
Told demonstrate, American cultural productions do not always reflect a coherent
ideological position. In particular, the production of Bhowani Junction illustrates how the
fracturing of one particular colonial relationship (between England and India/Pakistan)
101

generates and enables other uneven relationships – whether they are one-time interactions
or ongoing partnerships, exploitative or cooperative.

Runaway Production in the 1950s: Bhowani Junction, Postwar British Film Policy,
and American Studios

The goal of British film policy was to protect the national film industry and keep
money within the U.K. Decolonization and the end of World War II contributed to the
implementation of British protectionist film policies in an effort to support the British
film industry, such as the Cinematograph Films Act of 1948, the National Film Finance
Corporation (incorporated in 1948 to distribute funds to British studios) and the Eady
Levy (1950). The Cinematograph Films Act replaced the distributors quota with a screen
quota. The Eady Levy (which remained in place until 1985) was a plan in which a
percentage of box office earnings were placed into a domestic production fund. Although
these were protectionist policies, they ultimately created an unintended relationship with
Hollywood.
After World War II, the American and British film industries became increasingly
enmeshed, both on the level of production finance as well as actual film production.
18

As a supplement to the policies that were in place, the British Government signed an
agreement with American studios that prohibited any profits earned in Britain from
leaving the United Kingdom, meaning that American studios needed to continue to shoot
in England or any of its remaining colonies in order to gain access to their profits. Thus,
American film studios began shooting in England after World War II to access these
“frozen funds.” This arrangement provided aid to the British film industry, but the
policies that attracted American film funding and production were controversial in
102

England because they created some jobs for British film crews and actors, without
helping to strengthen an autonomous domestic film industry. Ultimately these policies
failed to achieve their national agenda. In the 1950s American studios produced more
films (170 total) in England than Alexander Korda’s struggling British Lion studio.
19

American studios further institutionalized their position abroad by setting up production
wings in the United Kingdom. Thus the implementation of these policies enticed
American production, accommodated American industry and capital, and increased
American rather than British production.
20
These British policy changes were
fortuitously timed for Hollywood film studios that lost their exhibition wing (and an
enormous source of profit) in the 1948 Paramount Decision.
Bhowani Junction provides a clear example of how British and American
production became intertwined, both on and off-screen. Set in 1947 against the backdrop
of the British departure from India, MGM and George Cukor’s Bhowani Junction uses
political tension to elevate the central romantic melodrama of the film. The political
drama that plays out between the Congress Party of Gandhi sympathizers and the radical
Communists takes place largely at the titular Bhowani Junction train station. Victoria
Jones (Ava Gardner), an Anglo-Indian member of the Indian Army, struggles to find her
place as an Anglo-Indian in a dramatically changing country. Jones’ exploration of her
racial identity and national allegiances in this transformative time is dramatized through a
love quadrangle composed of Jones and three ethnically distinct men: Patrick Taylor (Bill
Travers), an Anglo-Indian; Ranjit Kasel (Francis Matthews), an Indian Sikh; and Colonel
Rodney Savage (Stewart Granger), a white British Colonel. The screenplay was based on
a 1952 novel by British author John Masters. MGM purchased the property in May 1954
103

to produce through its British production wing (MGM Britain) and shoot in England and
India. Due to disagreements about the ending of the book and the original draft of the
screenplay, the Indian government did not permit MGM and George Cukor to shoot in
India, so shooting moved to Lahore, Pakistan. Newspaper accounts claimed that the
Indian government denied the request for the use of the Indian army based on the fear of
mixing state and private interests.
21
Ava Gardner’s memoirs presented a slightly
different picture of the move to Pakistan. According to Gardner, the Indian government
wanted to impose a number of taxes, including a twelve percent tax on global profit,
while Pakistan was willing to waive all taxes.
22
More significantly for the U.S.-Pakistani
relationship, 1954 was also the year that President Eisenhower decided to provide
military aid to Pakistan. In any case, Indian Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru desired to
stay out of Cold War conflicts and focus on long-term development (keeping interests
separate or generating on-going profit), rather than luring a quick injection of cash into
the economy.
23
Bhowani Junction’s production moved to Pakistan for an array of
political and financial reasons. However, finances would have been sufficient rationale
to move production abroad.
24

Tax breaks, government subsidies, and rising union salaries made runaway
productions a smart financial decision and explain why runaway productions doubled in
the 1950s.
25
Runaway productions also benefited stars, who could use foreign residency
as justification to avoid paying their income taxes.
26
Bhowani Junction’s producers
benefitted from both financial incentives and the absence of unions in Pakistan. Location
shooting was common in the 1950s, especially for so-called epic films. Some films such
as Around the World in Eighty Days (1956) took the world as their subject and
104

necessitated global locations. Others, like Mogambo (1953) and The Nun’s Story (1959),
made use of British colonial connections in Africa, and The Barefoot Contessa (1954),
Helen of Troy (1956), War and Peace (1959), and Ben-Hur (1959) all took advantage of
the preexisting infrastructure at Cinecittà and its vast and inexpensive supply of Roman
costumes and props in Italy.
27
One of the major financial benefits for studios shooting in
foreign locales was access to cheaper labor – especially the casts of thousands formed by
extras.
Bhowani Junction took full advantage of the reduced rate for extras, and
reportedly used the highest number of extras (10,000) for any MGM film since Quo
Vadis?.
28
Although there were enough extras in Hollywood to fill this level of need,
extras in Los Angeles were not necessarily cheap. As described in Chapter One,
beginning in 1947, the Screen Extras Guild (SEG) monitored extra work in and around
Hollywood. By the time Bhowani Junction was in production in 1954-55, SEG had
negotiated the daily wage for extras up to $19.43 per day (which was almost a $4.00
increase from 1948).
29
When studios employed thousands of extras there was a great
deal of money at stake. If MGM had paid its extras the union rate on Bhowani Junction
they would have spent almost $200,000 for the extras needed for just one day of
filming.
30

For workers in the U.S., shifting production abroad meant fewer jobs and
available work-days. This was especially pronounced for epic films with long production
schedules. According to pre-production estimates, The Greatest Story Ever Told could
provide approximately 20,000 man-days for extras (“man-days” are calculated by
multiplying number of workers by number of days needed) on location and 10,000 man-
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days in the studio.
31
The loss of jobs was especially troubling for extras and other below-
the-line workers. Greg Elmer and Mike Gasher articulate some of the reasons for this
anxiety, stating, “[…] ‘runaway production’ prompts considerable angst, not only from
below-the-line workers and ancillary service providers who don’t have the same mobility
as their industry and thus fear for their jobs [...]”
32
Elmer and Gasher make the important
observation that mobility is a concern, however, for U.S. productions in the U.K, job
quotas were also a barrier for below-the-line workers.
33

Although the policies that enabled runaway productions provided a number of job
opportunities below-the-line (both as extras and behind the camera), they did not allow
for foreign actors to get their chance at Hollywood stardom.
34
American productions
using British funds were technically considered American films, even though there were
a number of restrictions imposed on the percentage of foreign (i.e. American or any non-
British) cast and crew-members. Casting restrictions guaranteed jobs for British actors,
but many of the American-British co-productions, including Bhowani Junction,
maintained key roles for American stars. Casting for the supporting roles in Bhowani
Junction turned out to be particularly difficult. U.K. film policies only allowed a small
number of non-British above-the-line cast and crew (on Bhowani Junction all of these
spots went to Americans), which dramatically restricted the opportunities for casting non-
British actors.
As George Cukor navigated the rules and restrictions placed on casting, the
rationale for casting English actors was not always transparent, which occasionally led to
misplaced critiques of the casting process. In her autobiography Ava Gardner addressed
Ranjit’s casting when she declared, “I was always amused that with eight hundred million
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Indians around, MGM went and employed a goddamn Englishman, Francis Matthews, in
that role. But he did an excellent job, and, after all, they hadn’t cast an Anglo-Indian in
my part, had they?”
35
Gardner’s brash comment demonstrates the confusion about the
casting process for major roles. They could not cast an Indian citizen as Ranjit because
Americans (Ava Gardner, George Cukor, and Pandro Berman) had already filled the
spots for foreign actors and above-the-line crew. The emphasis on realism and
authenticity for location and background actors could not, by law, extend to the more
substantial roles in the films. Production correspondence indicates that Cukor was
looking for an Indian actor. The process and frustration of these casting policies is
manifest in Cukor’s letter to MGM India representative, Irene Howard. Cukor implored,
“What about Ranjit?!? Any brilliant suggestions? Have any handsome, experienced,
honest-to-goodness-Indian actors turned up of late?”
36
Even as location shooting opens
up a wider pool of actors (in the case of Bhowani Junction, Cukor was looking at both
British and American actors to meet quotas), Gardner’s quote (unknowingly)
demonstrates how film policies that work to benefit national interests (in this case British
casting interests and American financial interests) also place restrictions on other places
and populations (American, Pakistani, and Indian casting).
During pre-production George Cukor received letters from a number of aspiring
Indian actors who wanted to be involved in Bhowani Junction. The letters that Cukor
saved in his files primarily argue for a racially authentic vision of India. One woman
concluded her letter by saying, “If you want your picture to be successful, you must come
out East and get in a few really Indian characters, otherwise, it can never ring true.”
37

Several Anglo-Indians also contacted Cukor about potential roles, offering their ethnic
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backgrounds as qualification for involvement. One of these letters came from Terrence
Lawrie, a young Anglo-Indian man. Lawrie begins with a physical description of himself,
laments his low paying job (approximately $8 per month) and summarizes his experience
as an Anglo-Indian after the end of British rule.
38
His four-page letter tried to appeal to
Cukor’s sympathies to no avail.
Cukor saved a number of letters from aspiring actors, like Lawrie, with no acting
or film experience as well as letters from experienced working Indian actors. Early in
1954 Indian actress Khurshid Mirza (film alias: Renuka Devi) wrote Cukor about her
interest in the part of the Sandani. In her appeal to Cukor, Mirza explained that she
speaks English fluently and “loves to play forceful characters;” however, Mirza also
attempted to present herself as a more well-rounded individual by including photos from
some of her social welfare work.
39
Irene Howard also contacted Cukor regarding Zahur
Raja, the President of the Pakistan Motion Picture Producers Association, who wanted to
be involved in the film in some capacity. None of these actors wound up in the film.
Nationalistic British policies, interlinked political and cultural changes related to
the end of World War II, and the emergent global power shifts of the Cold War
ultimately combined in the 1950s and 1960s to produce the epic film and its characteristic
cast of thousands. From the standpoint of the American studios, British film policy not
only opened up a variety of potential locations in England, but it also enabled them to
shoot anywhere in the Commonwealth and take advantage of preexisting colonial lines of
communication and infrastructure. Since Bhowani Junction was produced through
loopholes in British film policy and with the permission of the Pakistani government, it
offers hard evidence of how the film industry interacted with the state and functioned
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across nation states. In addition to keeping production costs down, runaway productions
opened up new markets and audiences for Hollywood films.

The Greatest Story Ever Told and Location Shooting in the U.S.
In contrast to Bhowani Junction and other films shot outside of the U.S. in the
1950s and 1960s, The Greatest Story Ever Told provides an example of an epic
production filmed wholly in the U.S. (although not entirely in Los Angeles). Making a
spectacle film in the U.S. within a reasonable budget required negotiations and
concessions from select below-the-line unions, especially the Screen Extras Guild (SEG).
When SEG and George Stevens Productions finally reached an agreement in May 1962,
Variety proclaimed that this agreement was “SEG’s ‘Greatest’ Victory in ‘Runaway’
Fight” because it created a great deal of jobs for Hollywood extras. Many of the other
Hollywood guilds were universally pleased with Stevens’ efforts to keep production in
the United States despite the increased overall costs. The Motion Picture Costumers gave
him an honorary Fig Leaf award, the American Federation of Labor’s Film Council
honored him with a luncheon, and the Screen Actors Guild wrote an editorial in their
newsletter praising his successful ability to keep production in Hollywood - or at least
using Hollywood cast and crew. However I argue that these accolades overstate his
accomplishment: this film did not change production practices and, with respect to extras,
even the short-term effect was minimal – Stevens still employed thousands of American
non-union extras.
Since location shooting is justified based on the financial savings and realism that
it can provide, George Stevens was often tasked with justifying why he wanted to make a
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more costly film that did not privilege geographic realism. In a 1960 interview with
Variety, Stevens provides some commentary on his decision to shoot in the U.S.,
explaining, “None of the Holy Land areas shape up with the excitement of the American
southwest.”
40
Stevens made two westerns, Shane (1953) and Giant (1956), around the
time he began pre-production for this film, both of which may have inspired his location
choice. However, the word “excitement” is abstract and somewhat confusing in this
context. What would make the Southwest more exciting than the actual setting?
However, this explanation makes sense if one assumes that Stevens wanted to make a
Biblical film that combined stories from the Bible with themes and images from the
western. What is also clear is that this was not only an aesthetic choice but also an
ideological one, despite the production’s increased costs. Stevens explains the
particularities of shooting in the U.S., saying, “[…] actors cost more, costumes cost more,
material will have to be imported for the costumes, horses cost more […] We feel it’s all
worth it and it’s a decision we were free to make.”
41
These comments do not offer
specific insights into his reasons for shooting in the U.S., but they indicate that Stevens
had a larger ideal in mind beyond profit or historical accuracy in this film – as he said, it
was worth the higher cost.
Stevens was forthcoming with Variety about the on-screen elements that needed
to be imported for the production, but did not address the cost of setting up production in
remote areas of Utah, Arizona and Nevada. When directors filmed abroad they were
often able to utilize pre-existing studio infrastructure (as George Cukor did through
MGM Britain and MGM India). However for The Greatest Story Ever Told, Stevens had
to build the infrastructure, which meant installing phone lines, roads, a pump for water,
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cabins for the cast and crew, large tents for rehearsal spaces, and small tents for extras.
The memo between George Stevens and his production manager, Nate Barragar, details
some of these costs for the camp that they built near Pyramid Lake, Nevada. In order to
set up for production in Nevada they spent $87,701 on trailers, $78,229 on water and
sewer hook-ups, $22,653 on electrical hook-ups (although Barragar noted that they ended
up spending $4,810 for electrical hook-ups for projection and cutting rooms), $6,000 on
telephone installation, and $5,000 to finish a road and a parking lot.
42
In short, the George
Stevens Production Company spent over $200,000 on infrastructure for one location.
In some of the cities, George Stevens Productions was able to convince local
governments to assist in road development based on the promise of jobs and the influx of
money for the area. In a letter to the County Manager of Washoe County in Nevada,
production manager Tom Andre sells this point with gusto, claiming, “It occurs to me
that the Commissioners of Washoe County might not be fully aware of the economic
impact […] No picture of this magnitude has been made in the United States in many,
many years.”
43
After Andre explained all of the immense benefits for the Reno area, he
asked for help with road development, explaining, “[…] counties in Arizona and Utah
where we contemplate other locations have been definitive in their offer to put in roads
for us to inaccessible locations […].”
44
In 1962, George Stevens Productions had to
convince county authorities that a film shoot provided countless economic benefits, and it
was worth investment from state or local agencies in order to bring in this influx of cash.
Infrastructure was expensive and The Greatest Story Ever Told still required an
enormous number of extras for an extended period of time in these remote locations. In
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order to keep production within budget, Stevens needed full cooperation and concessions
from the Screen Extras Guild. As Variety pointed out,
It appears that success of this effort to keep ‘Story’ in Hollywood hinges
primarily upon the extent of cooperation which Screen Extras Guild
regarded as possible because of unusually large number of extras picture
will require over an extended amount of time.
45

SEG leadership and membership knew that this production would secure a lot of jobs,
and they needed the work. In order to keep production in the U.S., SEG needed to make
some allowances to their basic studio agreement.
In January 1962, George Stevens Productions began a negotiation process with
SEG that would go on until May. An early pre-negotiation memo between production
managers Tom Andre and Ray Gosnell outlined the production company’s two key
requests: 1) 50-60 people (non-SEG extras) who could perform all of the same things that
Guild extras performed; and 2) Permission for extras to walk barefoot on location (which
was something that the SEG agreement explicitly prohibited).
46
Throughout January
George Stevens Productions circulated internal memos detailing their exchanges with
SEG and their own shifting priorities as they attempted to figure out additional ways to
cut costs. One memo between production staff members Frank Davis (who also acted as
legal counsel to the production) and Tom Andre, explains all of the waivers that they
needed to discuss with both SEG and another below-the-line union, the International
Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees (IATSE). In this memo, Davis and Andre
clarified that they needed different waivers for their outdoor crowd extras between and a
waiver allowing them to house four extras to a cabin.
47
Lumping these below-the-line
unions into one memo affirms that these unions have to make sacrifices when production
moves out of Los Angeles.
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It turned out that in order to hire union extras, George Stevens Productions needed
to make sure that they had a group of extras who they could pay below union scale. On
March 7, 1962 several members of Stevens’ production team sat down with SEG
representatives, including executive secretary H. O’Neil Shanks, to discuss terms. SEG
unofficially offered a few concessions. First, they allowed for George Stevens
Productions to interview non-union extras and provide them with beards and wardrobes if
they also hired 150 union extras (rather than the contractually regulated 125 union extras).
Secondly, they agreed that the production would only need to hire 100 union extras
(rather than 125 union extras) for distant locations (which were still within the 300-mile
zone, or the geographic boundary around Los Angeles where union contracts apply).
Lastly, they would be allowed to employ a group of 50 non-union extras who they could
use like union extras and pay minimum wage, or $1.25 per hour.
48
Essentially SEG was
offering to loosen up some restrictions on what non-union extras were allowed to do, in
order to boost the number of union jobs available when the shooting was in Los Angeles.
George Stevens’ production team concluded that this first unofficial offer from
SEG was not sufficient. In the notes assessing the offer, the production team concluded,
“[…] SEG has offered us no essential relief, and as of these proposals, are only horse
trading with us as though it were a producers’ Studio negotiations.”
49
The George
Stevens production team was happy that SEG was willing to let them costume and beard
non-union extras, but in order to reach an agreement SEG would need to do a lot more
than add and subtract 25 extras from different locations.
Although their initial offer was unsatisfactory to George Stevens Productions,
SEG made a number of concessions in later meetings. SEG agreed that Stevens would
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have to hire 125 union extras at the union rate of $24.50 per 8-hour day (although SEG
initially wanted them to hire 150), which was consistent with their agreement within the
300-mile zone. Stevens also agreed to use union extras for close-ups and bit parts.
However, Stevens’ production company was also able to get SEG to allow them 50 non-
union extras that could work more than one day on-set and who they could costume,
apply beards, etc. – essentially 50 non-union extras who he could treat like union extras.
In addition to losing what could have been union jobs, the union extras would not be
eligible for any of the usual pay bumps for beard make-up or bits, and they waived their
hazard pay for barefoot scenes.
50
They also made some concessions regarding lodging
and agreed that the production company could house the extras in tents – up to four
people to one tent.
51
These concessions worked against SEG’s logic that there are
particular things that professional extras can do that non-professionals cannot. However,
extras needed work and the union could not afford to lose more productions of this scale
overseas.
In the case of The Greatest Story Ever Told, the use of casting “type” was
strategically deployed to reduce production costs. The George Stevens Productions
meeting notes from March 12, 1962 explained, “We have right as producer to interview
people and decide whether we find the type that we want.”
52
This notion of “type”
demonstrates one of the reasons that it was difficult for SEG to maintain bargaining
control. One of the ways to skirt union quotas was to request a large number of people
with a highly specialized look or skill. By using large numbers of specialized types,
productions could not only avoid union quotas, but in many cases could avoid the pay
bumps included in the union scale. In the 1960s, some skills and characteristics were
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more highly valued for extra work. For example, a ballet toe dancer earned $6.21 more
per day than either an ice skater or someone employed for square dancing.
53
However,
there were certain physical characteristics that would also trigger a pay bump for extras.
Amputees, for example, received $20.50 more per day for their work as extras.
54
This is
a steep raise for amputee extras; however, the union might only have a small number of
extras that fit producer needs. This means that the producers are not required to hire the
union extras and instead can find additional extras that suit their needs. Although the
raise comes from scarcity within the union, producers are not necessarily required to go
through the union for their specialty extra needs because of this scarcity. Ultimately this
undermines SEG’s ability to place extras since producers can find ways to work around
union requirements. Producers could work around union extras for creative reasons, such
as realism. However, the need for specific types seems unnecessary when considered in
relation to Stevens’ choice of locations. George Stevens was vocally not concerned with
geographic realism, instead preferring the backdrop of the American Southwest, but he
was concerned with the realism of the background actors.
In one of the planning memos, Stevens’ Production Company made a note about
special extras that SEG might not have in their ranks. The note read, “re (sic) crippled
people, we have a real advantage here. The Guild obviously doesn’t have the maimed,
crippled and blind people, so we can go outside for them.”
55
The advantage for the
producers is clearly financial. However, the bargaining advantage that this note is
referring to is that they have an artistic (or realist) justification for using non-union extras.
This note demonstrates how the use of type helped filmmakers skirt union quotas. This
also demonstrates the language of casting, which privileges prominent visible
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characteristics and focuses on obvious types or physical characteristics. If Stevens could
identify enough specific types (like this) he could justify more non-union extras and
reduce the cost of extras on set.
As Stevens would soon find out, the cheapest extras would be the Navajos living
on and around the Southwest locations. Non-union extras received between $10.00-
$18.50 per day as opposed to the $24.50 per day for union extras. Even though Stevens
was celebrated for using union talent, he still reaped some of the cheap labor benefits that
would be available to films shot in foreign locations. In February 1962 the production
staff talked to several people from employment offices regarding potential extras in
Arizona and Utah. According to George Stevens Productions’ contact, their cheapest
option would be to use members of the Navajo tribe to populate their scenes, and Stevens
Productions could have “as many as [they] want.”
56

Extra roles were positioned as an additional bonus for the Navajo who agreed to
let Stevens shoot on their reservation. By orienting extra work as a reward rather than
work, George Stevens Productions appear to be benevolent masters rather than the
financially savvy Hollywood producers they were. George Stevens Productions explicitly
cast the Navajo because they could get away with paying them $10.00 per day. In
correspondence with a Utah employment company, the employment agent explained that
the rate for extras on foot would be $13.50 per day, and extras on horseback would be
$18.50 per day (rates that were significantly lower than union rates), but the Native
Americans would be paid at a rate of $10.00 per day on foot or horseback.
57

In addition to the lower rates, George Stevens Productions had other ways to save
money on the Native American extras. As an additional cost and time saving measure,
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Stevens Productions employed what they called the “Italian” or “captain” system of
hiring. This meant that they hired one member of the Navajo tribe to interpret and
monitor 50 other tribesmen/extras and make sure that they all arrived on set on time.
58

These captains were paid more for their services than the regular extras. Additionally,
they required the Native Americans to bring their own bedding and cooking utensils.
59

Stevens Productions ended up using 1,200 Navajo as extras in the film.
60
The Navajo
extras were paid at the reduced rate, which meant that they were cheaper than cardboard
cutouts – an alternative to extras that was rejected because cardboard cutouts would cost
$10 plus the additional cost of transportation.
61
In this sense, The Greatest Story Ever
Told was truly a Biblical western set in the Southwest and produced on the backs of
exploited Native Americans. This particular choice also deflates Stevens’ grand patriotic
gesture. Even though he made The Greatest Story Ever Told in the U.S., his strategy with
extras mimicked that of runaway productions. He was only able to make his film by
using the Navajo like Hollywood used extras in foreign nations.
Bhowani Junction and The Greatest Story Ever Told bookend the period of the
Hollywood epic, and, although they differ in subject matter (contemporary versus
Biblical) and shooting locations (foreign versus domestic), both films looked to extras to
cut production costs. In both cases the exploitative labor practices were re-imagined and
re-cast as opportunities for charity. The publicity material for Bhowani Junction
connects local extras to a sense of developing nation poverty when it asserts that: “In its
cast of thousands are many whose futures are dependent upon current development in
uneasy Asia.”
62
This statement from the marketing material positions extras and
temporary casting as economic development and humanitarian aid under the patronage of
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Hollywood. This sentiment is echoed in Ava Gardner’s biography, which asserts that the
daily rate for an extra was the equivalent to the average weekly salary in Pakistan.
63
The
film industry receives credit for playing a paternalistic role in Pakistan’s development.
Thus the implied linkage between the use of thousands of local extras and the economic
development of a nation transforms a film which could be considered the pinnacle
achievement of capitalist Hollywood excess into a film which is viewed as contributing
to the well-being of Pakistani citizens. Similarly, in February 1963, the crew on The
Greatest Story Ever Told organized a clothing drive for the Navajo who lived near their
Glen Canyon location. The flyer for the clothing drive, which was presumably posted
around the set, read, “Tribal leaders have indicated that the Navajos are appreciative of
the thought and will accept the gifts of clothing from members of the Stevens company
[sic] with thanks. (They frankly are in need of wearing apparel.)”
64
Rather than paying
the Navajo extras a similar rate to non-union extras, Hollywood provided Native
Americans with low wages and used clothing. Ultimately producers justify the lower
wages through the assumption that a low wage is better than no wage. On a very basic
level that is true, but when states or governing bodies employ this logic they fail to create
better working conditions for their constituents.

George Cukor’s Vision of the Indian Masses
The Cold War era produced different anxieties about the crowd because of the
association between Communism and the masses. One of the ways that Cold War politics
are articulated in Bhowani Junction is through the containment of large on-screen crowds.
However, the unanchored purpose of a crowd and the sheer number of people in a given
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crowd scene ultimately make the crowd seem like a threatening body, which created
some concern for George Cukor during the production. Thus the crowd is situated as a
constant site of tension – on the one hand demonstrating mastery over Communist forces
on-screen, while existing as a potential source of threat off-screen and on-set.
Given the political reality of Pakistan in 1954 (when Bhowani Junction began
production), it is unlikely that the crowd of extras in Lahore would have had a uniform
will amongst the cast of thousands. Partition, the violent break-up of British India into
India and Pakistan, displaced 13 million people - Lahore received one million refugees
(approximately two fifths of Lahore’s total population).
65
In contrast to other Pakistani
cities, Lahore attracted a significant number of upper class, artisanal, and professional
migrants, and it seems likely that these refugees would have formed some portion of the
cast of thousands in Bhowani Junction.
66
Moreover violent conditions that forced people
into Lahore helped create some of the crowding that is visually replicated in the film.
Bhowani Junction takes place in a moment of sweeping political change, a change
that is dramatized through Victoria Jones’s relationships. While all of her love interests
represent different racial groups, none are connected to communities or organized
political groups. Victoria Jones is an Anglo-Indian officer, torn apart by her split racial
identity, and occasionally emotionally distraught by the horrifying situations she is forced
to witness as a member of the British Imperial Army. There is no visible Anglo-Indian
group in the film, and she does not identify with the only other Anglo-Indian character,
Patrick Taylor (although she does end up with him in the novel). This detachment from
the politics or general interests of larger groups is most notable in Ranjit. Ranjit’s mother,
Sandani, is an activist connected to the radical communists, but she repeatedly criticizes
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Ranjit and threatens to disown him because she thinks that he is not politically engaged
and that he is a weak man (since he is unable to pursue Victoria Jones without help).
Establishing each character as “exceptional” in some fashion makes it possible for the
film to establish a connection to politics without permitting those politics to taint the
characters or the relationships.
Col. Savage is a more significant character within the film. Savage is the main
love interest (which is set up in the opening scene), but also the narrator and voice of
reason in the film. Although original drafts of Bhowani Junction contained alternating
voiceover between Victoria Jones and Col. Savage, the final version of the film is told
strictly through Savage’s narration. Col. Savage explains any relevant details about the
Indian political situation and the differences between the political parties. Col. Savage is
an exceptional figure within the army; he never seems to be blinded by national interests,
and he is able to see the truth in all situations and be (somewhat) sympathetic toward the
Indian struggle.
The opening sequence establishes the distinct groupings, main political actors and
the political sympathies (aligning with the Congress Party) of the overall narrative.
Bhowani Junction opens on a shot of the “Bhowani Junction” sign and tilts down to a
wide shot of the crowd gathered on the platform. Visually speaking, the film begins with
a series of crowd shots. The film cuts between the establishing shot of the crowd on
Bhowani Junction’s platform, to shots of groups moving in different directions, to small
groupings. None of the shots are static and both the camera and crowd movements
contribute to the chaotic sense of the group established by the shifts in the framing and
defy a coherent sense of space. While the film visually emphasizes the sheer number of
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people, Colonel Savage’s dialogue narrates the political history – the Communist
insurgency, patriotic protests, and passive resistance he encountered during his tenure at
Bhowani Junction. For Savage, mass resistance is both powerful and hard to manage; a
point he clarifies by explaining that arresting people does not work because it clogs up
the jails.
Cukor’s desire for realism and his detailed notes about train stations in Pakistan
and India often seem like an amateur anthropologist’s field guide. George Cukor visited
Bombay on two different occasions, and during his October 1954 trip Cukor stopped at
the train station to observe the crowd. Cukor’s notes (dictated to his assistant) are a
seventeen point list that detail the specificities of the crowd’s behavior at the train station.
They include points such as “Children around trains, and dogs,” “Some children in
European dress – some men in European dress,” “men with babies,” and “train was
crowded with people.”
67
Cukor’s observational process suggests an ethnographic
impulse. But rather than filming the local population (as Priya Jaikumar discusses in her
work on Zoltan Korda), Cukor carefully observed Indian people in order to recreate their
behavior in a carefully controlled environment.
In order to generate ideas about how to visualize collective action, George Cukor
rented Sergei Eisenstein’s Battleship Potemkin and Ten Days that Shook the World
(October) from the MoMA Film Library.
68
Unlike Eisenstein’s films, Bhowani Junction
does not feature a mass protagonist driving the narrative, but formally, elements of
Eisenstein’s graphic montage are present in the framing and construction of the crowd as
a distinctive character in the film. A number of Cukor’s shots demonstrate Eisenstein’s
ideas of conflict within a shot, as well as conflict between shots. The crowd sequences,
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such as the railway protest (the first example of passive resistance in the film) are
assembled as montages. The sequence builds through a series of crowd shots taken in
different places and of different crowds and finally results in the Bhowani Junction
protest. For example, in the first shot of the Congress party protestors, the train tracks
run along a diagonal starting in the lower left-hand corner of the frame demonstrating
what Eisenstein identifies as a conflict between planes. The following shot is
significantly closer and changes the orientation of the train tracks, which now begin in
the upper left-hand corner of the frame and fill the frame on a diagonal to the lower right
corner.
George Cukor and Sergei Eisenstein’s crowds serve dramatically different
functions. The principles underpinning Eisenstein’s theories of montage are
fundamentally different from those that fuel Hollywood films. Eisenstein posited that “art
is always conflict […] because: It is art’s task to make manifest the contradictions of
Being.”
69
Even though Eisenstein saw montage as an extension of Dialectics, Cukor’s
ability to usurp Eisensteinian film form to depict a political crowd in a Hollywood film
demonstrates some of the flaws in over-investing in the radical politics of form as well as
Hollywood’s skills at cooptation. In Bhowani Junction, montage demonstrates mastery
and control. The conflict of Eisensteinian montage does not reflect haphazard choices,
but rather careful staging, framing, and a meticulous eye for geometric patterns.
Eisenstein’s films are overtly political, about the collective, and like the multitudes in
Kristen Whissel’s discussion of digital crowds, present groups that have a unified and
singular focus – for Eisenstein, a revolutionary focus. However, while Eisenstein’s visual
principles have been taken up for their aesthetic content, Cukor uses Battleship Potemkin
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and October merely as historical records of Communism and revolution, rather than as
revolutionary embodiments of film form. Eisensteinian montage could create conflict
and stir the revolutionary spirit, but in Bhowani Junction montage helps create an
embodied landscape.
The production notes for Bhowani Junction demonstrate how aesthetic decisions
in film also function as disciplining forces. George Cukor and Gene Allen assiduously
thought out the various ways to visually distinguish between each group (Sikhs,
Communists, the Congress Party, etc). The significance of the crowd is demonstrated
from the film’s opening title sequence, which is superimposed over a series of crowd
images. Gene Allen wrote several impassioned letters to George Cukor regarding the
opening title sequence and asked, “Would this not be one of our best chances to show a
Teeming India […].”
70
In a later letter, Allen explains that “[…] we must carefully
design the shots over which appear the titles, so that they show all that is intended and yet
not be so busy that the technical credits will be unreadable.”
71
Cukor, Allen and George
Hoyningen-Huene (MGM Color Consultant) met with liaisons from the railroad, police,
military, and Crime Investigation Department (CID) to understand the structure and
organization of political protests and railway crowds. This meeting was a combination of
discussions about aesthetic matters and crowd management, which are interchangeable
from the perspective of a film production. Hoyningen-Huene was especially concerned
about costuming for the extras (he wanted them to be wearing white or light pastels), and
Cukor was concerned with the logistics of making the crowd scenes look like a
purposeful convergence of people. In response to Cukor’s concerns, Habibullah Malik
(CID) advised:
123

police can generally tell Congress Party agitators among a crowd – they
are usually toward the rear and never go to forefront (they are organizers
not the ruffians). Police would attack from the rear to try to disperse this
rear party, because front party would then be easily dispersed as they are
usually under mob frenzy and become physically inactive. Congress
Leader always crying “Shanti” and for peace and no violence – he would
speak in Hindustani to his own people although in English to railroad
personnel.
72

As the meeting went on Malik elaborated on his experience with crowds and his
knowledge of the crowd psychology that the police used. From the perspective of the
police, in addition to attacking from the outside, he explained that it would also be
important to stay in the open, stay in a large group, avoid contact with the mob and
ultimately use force (if necessary). From a logistical standpoint, all the people involved
stressed that it was important to cast the bit players very carefully because these crowd
roles should be played by “intelligent and well-behaved people.”
73
This sentiment about
the casting alludes to an underlying concern that any large crowd is always capable of
losing control, creating chaos, and seizing control of any situation.
74
The concern about
unrest on the set collapses anxieties about revolutionary Indian masses onto the Pakistani
extras on a film set – the implication here seems to be that Cukor and his colleagues
needed to make sure that they did not cast a politicized group.
The Production Code Administration (PCA) noted the articulation of the crowd as
character. In the “Analysis of Film Content,” the PCA administrators assign the film’s
characters into categories that distinguish between “sympathetic” and “unsympathetic”
depictions. These basic categories give an indication as to how the PCA interpreted each
character; each character’s race and national origin are also considered in any given film
within the regulatory and interpretive framework of the PCA. According to the PCA’s
reading of the film, Bhowani Junction focuses on the relationships and interactions
124

between three races or nationalities (labeled “race” or national) – White (British), Anglo-
Indian and East Indian. Within each racial category there are several different characters
listed, including the “East Indian group.” The PCA determined that the portrayal of the
“East Indian group” (which is comprised of the Congress party who practice passive
resistance, and the Communists) was “sympathetic and unsympathetic.” This ambivalent
depiction of the crowd is fitting for a 1950s American production about Communists, but
it also characterizes the crowd in Bhowani Junction as multivalent and open to multiple
readings and interpretations, a distinctive contrast to Whissel’s characterization of the
crowd as reflecting a single and unified purpose.
Rather than positioning the crowd as a homogenous mass, Bhowani Junction
distinguishes various groups within the crowd and treats the masses as an ambivalent
political force. Distinguishing between groups divides the crowd so that politics of the
masses never threaten to take over the film. In the opening train conversation with Gen.
Agavy, Col. Savage explains that the Communists were the enemy of both the British and
the Congress party. This early conversation sets up the nefarious plot in the second half
of the film, which culminates in a kidnapping and a race to a train tunnel to prevent the
Communist, Davay (Peter Illing), from blowing up a train. This violent political act is
different than the organized act of civil disobedience earlier in the film when people lay
on the train tracks. Even though Ranjit’s mother (Sandani) facilitates Davay’s plan, it is
separated from any organized Communist group action. Davay’s plot is thwarted when
Col. Savage kills him, and as the train rushes by it is revealed that Mahatma Gandhi is
seated in one of the passenger cars. Col. Savage’s voiceover clarifies that this plot was in
fact an assassination attempt, and that the course of Indian history could have been
125

transformed by this terrorist act. Thus while Bhowani Junction illustrates the importance
of the crowd as a political force, the film ultimately reduces the politics of the nation to a
discussion of great men and sinister villains. The clear split between the beginning of the
film, which works to characterize the masses, and the end of the film, which evacuates
them from the narrative, reflects the distinctly American concern about the influence of
Communism. The film could not end with mass revolution, but it could end with the
assertion of a single great man and the potential of a mass market in the future. India and
the United States had a strained, but amiable relationship that was based on the hope that
India would develop as a capitalist rather than socialist nation. Instead of offering up the
United States as the answer to all problems (and a replacement for British imperialism),
the film affirms Gandhi and the Congress Party as an agreeable alternative to the
Communist groups in the film or any kind of mass revolution.

Watching Extras/Reading the Margins
In Bhowani Junction, the political power of the crowd is visually and narratively
restrained. Although the crowd does not offer revolutionary potential in the film, the
photographic record of Pakistani citizens provides an alternative site of engagement for
viewers. In Culture and Imperialism, Edward Said explains how the background in
Western literature can provide a way to access and understand colonial networks and the
relationship between the metropole (urban center) and the periphery. Analyzing the
casual references to Antigua in Mansfield Park, Said posits that the relationships between
spaces are often understood in Western literature through brief references rather than
fully developed plot points.
75
As Said argues, “[…] there is the hierarchy of spaces by
126

which the metropolitan center and, gradually, the metropolitan economy are seen as
dependent upon an overseas system of territorial control, economic exploitation, and a
socio-cultural vision […].”
76
Said suggests that being attuned to issues of empire in
literature requires a reading strategy that “places emphasis not so much on how to read,
but rather on what is read and where it is written about and represented.”
77
Said’s point
also indicates that reading the background is not simply about bringing it forward, but
acknowledging its placement as background. In film the location is always on display.
Even if location does not drive the narrative action (which is the primary constructor of
meaning in Hollywood film), it is always on display and always present and accessible
for viewer engagement. In Bhowani Junction, extras embody the location and provide a
site of access for audience attention and interpretation.
Extras are typically instructed to blend into the scenery, but differently situated
audiences have related to Bhowani Junction in personal ways. For example, some
Pakistani viewers have watched it with an eye toward identifying family, friends and
specific locations. The message board connected to the website, “All Things Pakistan”
shows how Pakistani viewers use Bhowani Junction as a historical document, an archive
of family members and locations. “All Things Pakistan” is a website founded by Boston
University Professor Adil Najam that is broadly dedicated to anything related to Pakistan;
topics and discussions on the website range from popular culture to political debates.
The website has been recognized with several awards, including the “Best South Asian
Blog” distinction from the Brass Crescent Awards (an organization that awards Muslim
blogs). The website editors have said that they want to present a version of Pakistan that
127

resists its representations in the mainstream media and to use the website as a forum for
discussion about Pakistan.
78

The postings on Bhowani Junction align with the goals of the website. The
primary entry summarizes the film, provides brief anecdotes about the production, and
gives information on how to find and purchase the film (which was only available on
VHS until the Warner Archive release in 2009).
79
Many postings on the message board
lament a bygone era of Lahore, while others use the forum to discuss their family’s brush
with fame, such as Moeen’s post, “[My father] and many of his friends took part in the
movie, the scene was [sic] they had to stop a train. My father tells me that he could be
seen in this movie […].”
80
Thus for some, the film acts as an archival document and re-
orients their viewing habits to focus on the background rather than the narrative or stars.
Most of these posts tend to reorient the film and make the background central to
the overall meaning of the film, yet the comments are also mindful of how the family
members and their contributions to the films get occluded. Tahira Rana laments this in
her response when she comments:
[…] it is sad to note that the man who actually was the Production
Manager of this film in Pakistan at the time is no where to be mentioned
[sic]. […] My father AH Rana was the Production Manager and co
ordinated [sic] all the Lahore station scenes. […] I stumbled upon your
site, as I was looking for pictures of George Cukor in Lahore, possibly
with my father […].
81

Although the film opens with an acknowledgement of members of the Pakistani military
who contributed to the production of the film, the archival material for Bhowani Junction
does not mention any specific below-the-line workers in Pakistan. Thus this blog and the
user-generated contributions function recuperatively for extras and family members of
extras (and below-the-line workers). In this way, recuperating the background becomes
128

part of an interpretation of the background as personal and meaningful rather than
ornamental and begins to contextualize the encounters that occur during location shooting.

Conclusion: Hollywood on Location
I have elected to include (and conclude with) the recuperative reading practices on
“All Things Pakistan” because they present an alternative to looking at extras as
exploited and anonymous faces in the crowd. This is one of the unique qualities and
possibilities of film and photography. In films shot on location in the 50s and 60s, like
Bhowani Junction, the marketing material, use of space, and local populations encourage
viewers to think about place, travel, and possibly even Hollywood’s position in global
culture. The human cast of thousands in Bhowani Junction (and other epics) functions as
a counterpoint to the digital crowds common in films from the 1990s and 2000s as
discussed by Kristen Whissel, who suggests, “[…] CG images allow us to perceive past
film history in new ways […].”
82
I argue that one of the primary differences is that film
provides a visual record of its own labor and can invite us to reflect on that labor. While
media scholars and viewers (who were attentive to the simultaneous promotion of
Wellywood alongside Lord of the Rings) are aware of the way that CG technology is
often outsourced or generated outside of Hollywood, the army of Orcs in Lord of the
Rings does not immediately evoke “New Zealand,” nor does the digital crowd necessarily
carry distinctive cultural resonances or represent a population of people being archived
for their ancestors. Yet even as Lord of the Rings effaces its labor, Wellywood and Weta
Workshop are clearly branded and more identifiable than other non-U.S. companies that
129

provide digital effects and crowd sources. Regardless of where these crowds are
produced, the digital multitudes function to erase the specificity of labor and place.
The fact that media texts obfuscate much of the creative labor of filmmaking has
been a hallmark of Hollywood filmmaking. Masking labor also enables flexibility and
changes in personnel. While many filmmakers (George Cukor and George Stevens
included) develop long-term partnerships and working relationships with some crew-
members, the cast and crew will shift on any given production, thus the nature of
filmmaking accommodates the growth of flexible labor. The artistic and creative nature
of media will always necessitate certain shifts in personnel, but these organic shifts based
on personality and collaboration are different than the ones imposed by national laws (as
in the case of the British regulations on American productions shooting in the U.K.). The
opening of new locations (and new markets) suggested an array of possibilities, as
represented by the number of aspiring and experienced actors seeking jobs from George
Cukor; but the reality of these productions is evident in the credits for this film, which are
exclusively populated with British and American actors and crew members.
Increased flexibility has historically contributed to Hollywood’s hegemony and
inexpensive labor in the U.S. and abroad. How the on-screen talent (or aspiring talent)
handles Hollywood’s predictable and consistent efforts to save money, reduce labor costs,
and increase profit has varied and the runaway productions of the 1950s and 1960s are
one episode in this dissertation’s longer history of how actors have attempted to
participate in Hollywood profit. As the authors of Global Hollywood 2 succinctly explain,
“Hollywood’s hegemony is built upon and sustained by the internal suppression of
worker rights, [and] the exploitation of a global division of labour […].”
83
Global
130

Hollywood 2 considers many of the ways and reasons that production went overseas, but
as evidenced by The Greatest Story Ever Told’s production history, Hollywood did not
necessarily need to leave the country to find cheap labor. As I explore in Chapter Three,
many of the trends of location shooting established in the 1950s and 1960s are present in
contemporary media production. Although a significant percentage of contemporary
films are shot overseas, domestic television is still largely shot in and around the U.S. as
states try to court jobs to replace the blue-collar factory work that has, like many film
productions, gone overseas. Hollywood has been able to take advantage of conditions
established by colonialism, but this argument about labor in and out of Hollywood cannot
be separated from textual meaning and audiences. All of these elements - policy,
production, text, and audience response - define the contact zone initiated by location
shooting, the “Hollywood” encounter.

1
Vanessa Schwartz, It’s so French! Hollywood, Paris, and the Making of Cosmopolitan
Film Culture (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007), 159.

2
Sheldon Hall, “Selling Religion: How to Market a Biblical Epic,” Film History 14.2
(2002), 170.

3
Bhowani Junction Press Book, Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture
Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

4
Jeffrey Schnapp and Matthew Tiews, “Introduction: A Book of Crowds,” in Crowds,
edited by Jeffrey Schnapp and Matthew Tiews, ix-xvi (Stanford: Stanford University
Press, 2006), x.

5
Steven J. Ross, Working-Class Hollywood – Silent Film and the Shaping of Class in
America (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998), 64.

6
Kristen Whissel, “The Digital Multitude,” Cinema Journal 49.4 (Summer 2010), 103.
Whissel’s conclusion speaks directly to crowds that have a narrative function, rather than
stadium or background crowds.

7
Kenneth Anger, Hollywood Babylon (New York: Bantam Doubleday Dell, 1975), 3.
131

8
David Bordwell, “Monumental Heroics – Form and style in Eisenstein’s silent films,” in
The Silent Film Reader, edited by Lee Grieveson and Peter Kramer, 368-88 (London:
Routledge, 2004), 370-71.

9
Ibid., 371.

10
See Melani McAlister, Epic Encounters (Berkeley: University of California Press,
2005) and Christina Klein, Cold War Orientalism: Asia in the Middlebrow Imagination,
1945-1961 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003).

11
Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation (London:
Routledge,1992), 6.

12
Ibid., 7.

13
For further discussion of how cities, states, and nations court Hollywood production,
see: Susan Christopherson, “Divide and Conquer: Regional Competition in a
Concentrated Media Industry,” in Contracting Out Hollywood, edited by Greg Elmer and
Mike Gasher, 21-40 (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, 2005).

14
Priya Jaikumar, Cinema at the End of Empire (Durham: Duke University Press, 2006),
133.

15
Peter Limbrick, Making Settler Cinemas (London: Palgrave MacMillan, 2010), 7.

16
George Stevens Collection, Box 214, Folder 2500 – The Greatest Story Ever Told –
runaway productions (clippings), Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture
Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

17
Tom Andre, “Notes from meeting with George Stevens, Frank Davis, Max Hamilton,
Tom Andre and Ray Gosnell – March 13, 1962,” George Stevens Collection, Box 76,
Folder 890 – The Greatest Story Ever Told - cast, Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of
Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

18
In his article about the Eady Levy and runaway productions, Jonathan Stubbs explains
that the necessity of American funding in the British film industry created an unstable
identity for the British film industry, which made it difficult to distinguish where the
American film industry ended and the British film industry began. See: Jonathan Stubbs,
“The Eady Levy: A Runaway Bribe? Hollywood Production and British Subsidy in the
Early 1960s,” Journal of British Cinema and Television 6, (May 2009), 1.

19
Sue Harper and Vincent Porter, British Cinema of the 1950s: The Decline of Deference
(London: Oxford University Press, 2007), 114.

132

20
A more detailed discussion of British film policy and finance can be found in: Sarah
Street, British National Cinema (London: Routledge, 1997).

21
S.S. Pani, “India Inklings,” FEFN, November 12, 1954.

22
Ava Gardner, Ava: My Story (New York: Bantam Books, 1990), 214.

23
For further discussion of India’s position on the Cold War, see: M. Srinivas Chary, The
Eagle and the Peacock – U.S. Foreign Policy Toward India Since Independence
(Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1995).

24
According to Janet Staiger, “seeking the best financial arrangement regardless of
country.” Was a hallmark of production in the 1950s. See Janet Staiger, “The package-
unit system: unit management after 1955,” in The Classical Hollywood Cinema – Film
Style & Mode of Production to 1960, by David Bordwell, Janet Staiger, and Kristin
Thompson, 330-337 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1985), 333.

25
“Economics, Not Patriotism – Since 1949: 509 U.S. Films Made O’Seas,” Variety,
December 6, 1961. This article points out that the majority of overseas production took
place in England, but a number of films were also shot in Italy (approximately 31 films
during this period).

26
For more details on tax exemptions in the 1950s, see Eric Hoyt, “Hollywood and the
Income Tax, 1929-1955,” Film History 22.1 (March 2010), 15-16.

27
According to the production file on The Greatest Story Ever Told (which was
ultimately shot in the U.S.), a single Roman soldier in the U.S. cost $250 more than
renting one costume in Rome. See Tom Andre, “Notes from meeting with George
Stevens, Frank Davis, Max Hamilton, Tom Andre and Ray Gosnell – March 13, 1962.”

28
“10,000 Natives Used as Extras in New Feature,” Los Angeles Times, June 9, 1956.

29
For details about the 1954-55 rate see: Thomas Pryor, “Film Extras Get Wage Rise of
5%,” Los Angeles Times, January 4, 1954, 23. For information about the 1948 rate see:
“New 5-Year Extras Deal Set for Membership Approval - $9.45 Mob Rate Yet to be
Agreed Upon,” Hollywood Reporter, December 16, 1948.

30
This figure would have been a substantial portion of the $3,637,000 budget. For details
on profits and losses on Bhowani Junction, see: Eddie Mennix Ledger, Margaret Herrick
Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

31
“SEG’s Greatest Victory in Runaway Fight,” Variety, May 16, 1962.

133

32
Greg Elmer and Mike Gasher, “Introduction,” Contracting Out Hollywood, edited by
Greg Elmer and Mike Gasher, 1-20 (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers,
2005), 3.

33
Janet Staiger also points out that multi-national crews also redefined certain
responsibilities for below-the-line crew. See Janet Staiger, 334.

34
Louis Berg, “Hollywood Discovers Asia,” Los Angeles Times, September 11, 1955.
Berg’s article lists three notable exceptions (Shirley Yamaguchi, Win Min Than, and
Mitsuko Kimura). The other noteworthy exception is Jean Renoir’s casting choice in The
River (1951).

35
Gardner, 213.

36
George Cukor, “Letter to Irene Howard – January 7, 1955,” George Cukor Collection,
Folder 22 – Bhowani Junction, Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture
Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

37
Bapsey Sahavela, “Letter to George Cukor – November 2, 1954 (from Bombay, India),”
George Cukor Collection, Folder 22 – Bhowani Junction, Margaret Herrick Library,
Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

38
Terrance Lawrie, “Letter to George Cukor – October 28, 1954,” George Cukor
Collection, Folder 22 – Bhowani Junction, Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of
Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

39
Renuka Devi, “Letter to George Cukor – March 11, 1954,” George Cukor Collection,
Folder 22 – Bhowani Junction, Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture
Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA. The academy does not have copies of the
photographs mentioned in this letter.

40
“Untitled,” Variety, June 14, 1960.

41
“Untitled,” Variety, June 14, 1960.

42
Nathan Barragar, “Pyramid Lake Camp Costs – February 22, 1963,” George Stevens
Collection, Box 77, Folder 1778 – The Greatest Story Ever Told – Locations (Pyramid
Lake), Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly
Hills, CA.

43
Tom Andre, “Letter to Mr. C.B. Kinneson – August 7, 1962,” George Stevens
Collection, Box 203, Folder 2433 – The Greatest Story Ever Told – Pyramid Lake
(County Commissioners), Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts
and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

134

44
Ibid.

45
“Stevens’ Talks with Unions on Making Pic Entirely Here could Ease ‘Runaway
Tension’,” Variety, May 11, 1962.

46
Tom Andre, “Letter from Tom Andrew to Ray Gosnell – January 8, 1962,” George
Stevens Collection, Box 76, Folder 890 – The Greatest Story Ever Told - cast, Margaret
Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

47
“Waivers to Discuss with Guilds – January 15, 1962,” George Stevens Collection, Box
219, Folder 2571 – The Greatest Story Ever Told – Unions & Guilds, Margaret Herrick
Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

48
Tom Andre, “Discussion between Ray Gosnell and myself on notes relating to the
March 7th meeting with O’Neil Shanks and Cesar Sortino for the Guild, and Frank Davis,
Dean Johnson, Dick St. John, Tom Andre, and Ray Gosnell – March 8, 1962,” George
Stevens Collection, Box 76, Folder 890 – The Greatest Story Ever Told - cast, Margaret
Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

49
Ibid.

50
H. O’Neil Shanks, “Letter from SEG regarding waivers – May 14, 1962,” George
Stevens Collection, Box 76, Folder 890 – The Greatest Story Ever Told - cast, Margaret
Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

51
Ibid.

52
“Rough Notes on Meeting Re: S.E.G. – March 12, 1962,” George Stevens Collection,
Box 76, Folder 890 – The Greatest Story Ever Told - cast, Margaret Herrick Library,
Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

53
“Producers – Screen Extras Guild Agreement of 1960 – Minimum Wages and Working
Conditions,” Box 219, Folder 2571 – The Greatest Story Ever Told – Unions and Guilds,
Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills,
CA.

54
Ibid.

55
“Rough Notes on Meeting Re: S.E.G. – March 12, 1962.”

56
“Memo for the files – February 23, 1962,” George Stevens Collection, Box 76, Folder
890 – The Greatest Story Ever Told - cast, Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion
Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

57
Ibid.
135

58
“Subject: Local Extras, Page Location,” George Stevens Collection, Box 76, Folder
891 – The Greatest Story Ever Told - cast, Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion
Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

59
Ibid.

60
Hall, 172.

61
Sam Gordon and Ray Gosnell, “Memo for George Stevens, Re: Cutouts for Location
Shooting,” George Stevens Collection, Box 77, Folder 902 – The Greatest Story Ever
Told - cast, Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences,
Beverly Hills, CA.

62
Bhowani Junction Press Book, Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture
Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

63
Lee Server, Ava Gardner:“Love is Nothing,” (New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 2006),
315.

64
“Old-Clothes Drive Launched by ‘Greatest Story’ Company to Help Our Navajo
Friends,” George Stevens Collection, Box 77, Folder 1077 – The Greatest Story Ever
Told – Davis, Frank, Indians, Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts
and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

65
Ian Talbot, Divided Cities – Partition and its Aftermath in Lahore and Amritsar 1947-
1957 (London: Oxford University Press, 2006), xvii and xix.

66
Ibid., 155-6.

67
George Cukor, “Notes dictated by George Cukor – October 13, 1954,” George Cukor
Collection, Folder 31 – Bhowani Junction, Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of
Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

68
Jack Rogers, “Interoffice memo to George Cukor – August 25, 1954,” George Cukor
Collection, Folder 23 – Bhowani Junction, Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of
Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

69
Sergei Eisenstein, “A Dialectic Approach to Film Form,” in Film Form, translated by
Jay Leyda (Orlando, FL: Harcourt Inc., 1977), 46.

70
Gene Allen, “Letter - January 25, 1955.” George Cukor Collection, Folder 29 –
Bhowani Junction, Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and
Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

136

71
Gene Allen, “Letter - January 20, 1955.” George Cukor Collection, Folder 29 –
Bhowani Junction, Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and
Sciences, Beverly Hills, CA.

72
“Notes on meeting held Tuesday morning February 22
nd
with Liaison Officers and
Technical Advisors: Railroad, Police, Military also Mr. Habibullah Malik S.P., CID, and
Mr. Butt - February 22, 1955,” George Cukor Collection, Folder 31 – Bhowani Junction,
Margaret Herrick Library, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, Beverly Hills,
CA, 4.

73
Ibid., 7.

74
Elias Canetti describes destruction as the crowd’s “most conspicuous quality.” See
Elias Canetti, Crowds and Power (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1960), 19.

75
Ibid., 59.

76
Edward Said, Culture and Imperialism (New York: Vintage, 1993), 58.

77
Ibid., 59.

78
For more information about the goals of the website, see: http://pakistaniat.com/about/.

79
Production information includes stories from one Pakistani actress and several
translated passages from Mustansar Hussain Tarar’s book, Raakh, which discusses
Bhowani Junction’s production.

80
Moeen, “Untitled post – March 8, 2008,” http://pakistaniat.com/2008/03/02/ava-
gardner-in-lahore-for-bhowani-junction/comment-page-3/#comments.

81
Tahira Rana, “Untitled post – August 26, 2008,”
http://pakistaniat.com/2008/03/02/ava-gardner-in-lahore-for-bhowani-junction/comment-
page-5/#comments.

82
Kristen Whissel, 110.

83
Toby Miller, Nitin Govil, John McMurria, Richard Maxwell, and Ting Wang, Global
Hollywood 2 (London: BFI Publishing, 2005), 131.

137

Chapter Three:
Reality Television and On-Screen Labor: It’s not work, it’s real life
In 2009 the Pennsylvania Department of Labor launched an investigation into
whether or not TLC obtained proper work permits for the Gosselin children on Jon &
Kate Plus Eight (2007-2009).
1
At the center of this investigation was a question about the
intersection of labor and location, namely whether or not the Gosselin children were
performers under Pennsylvania labor laws. In order to answer this question, the labor
investigation delved into the nature of on-screen work on reality TV, asking: Were the
children playing or working on-screen? Were the children receiving direction, or was the
show merely documenting their lives? Although this was an investigation of child labor
on reality TV, the tensions explored between play and work and the relationship between
direction and documentation explain some of the broader justifications for why reality
TV performance remains unrepresented by Hollywood performers’ unions.
Previous chapters considered how extra work offered (and continues to offer) a
paid point of entry into the media industries. Rather than focusing on present day extras,
this chapter considers reality work as a point of entry for aspiring on-screen talent. The
differences between reality performers and background actors are important. Unlike
extras, reality performers usually have lines and occupy a great deal of screen time on
television programs; extras have always remained in the background. However, the
conditions for reality TV performers (such as long hours, variable pay, lack of benefits,
and no collective bargaining) share more in common with the historical conditions of
extras than they do with stars or actors because their positions lack the securities
available to members of the entertainment unions.
2
Unlike present-day background
138

actors, reality performers are not covered by the SAG-AFTRA collective bargaining
agreement.
This chapter will focus on the scandal over the Gosselin children in Jon and Kate
Plus Eight and the resultant labor dispute in order to demonstrate how the media industry
and state definitions of labor distinguish reality performers from professionals in the
media industry and exclude them from stable employment. The primary case study will
be augmented by examples from Toddlers & Tiaras (2009--) and Here Comes Honey Boo
Boo (2012--) all from Discovery Communications’ TLC (formerly The Learning
Channel).
3
Debates over professionalization and whether or not reality performances
constitute work have ramifications for the eligibility of reality performers in performers’
unions. The common sense understanding of reality TV performance and work, as
evidenced by popular discourse, differs from the current legal definitions of work and
employment. Children provide unique examples because, unlike adult performers, there
are broader concerns about the well-being of children that garner public attention and
demand state inquiry. Rather than simply focusing on children and well-being, I am
suggesting that the labor conditions for children and those for adults are similarly
exploitative and both a result of larger trends in media industry employment and labor
structures exacerbated by the reality TV genre.
4

From an industrial and legal standpoint reality TV performances are not work.
5

Law professor Kimberlianne Podlas explains that establishing whether on-screen
performers are employees is central to an understanding of what reality performances are
from an industrial standpoint. In order to determine whether or not someone is an
employee, the Supreme Court must “ascertain whether the purported employee is
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working for or controlled by the purported employer, another party, or himself.”
6

Because reality performers consent to filming, their on-screen behavior is not directed,
and reality performers ostensibly control their actions and participation on camera; thus it
is possible to argue that they do not meet the legal definition of employment. Podlas
concludes that the television industry has a firm legal basis to prevent them from paying
on-screen reality participants even though reality TV’s profit is based on this talent. Legal
terms use labor or employment as categories. However, I argue that these laws,
precedents, and legal scholarship differ not only from common-sense definitions of work,
but, more practically speaking, the ways in which people make their livings through
reality TV. I also assert that an understanding of performance that conflates work and
play and reflects gendered assumptions about what constitutes work reflects studio and
producer imperatives to keep reality work non-union,

Work versus Play: The Shirley Temple Act and Exemptions for Entertainment
Prior to the enactment of the Fair Labor Standards Act (FLSA) in 1938, which
regulates work hours, pay, and labor conditions in the United States and includes
provisions for child labor, the concerns for child labor in the U.S. centered on factory
work. Work in the entertainment industry was, and is, considered to be more closely
associated with play, and therefore, fundamentally different than blue-collar labor.
The conflation of work and play for child actors paralleled a tendency in
consumer culture to frame children’s toys as educational and position play as work for
children. As Ellen Seiter points out, Parents, a magazine about child-rearing, had a
history of conflating play and education, which “[…] was tied to the metaphor of play as
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work for children.”
7
The association between play and work also pre-dates the FLSA.
Seiter explains, “Before child labor was formally outlawed in 1938, a new strain of
Puritan work ethic reasserted itself in the notion that play was work and that all play
could pay off in the future.”
8
However, the association between play and work that Seiter
discusses is metaphoric; it was training for work, since from a legal standpoint play is not
work. Parents were encouraged to spend money on toys for childhood development, and
children did not earn money while they played. Even though play was not work, the
association between these activities existed before reality TV transformed play into a
source of revenue. In many ways, this was made possible when child acting was
detached from child labor.
The federal and state governments have regulated child labor in the U.S. since
1938, with the exception of acting. Shortly after the FLSA was signed, President
Roosevelt (and Shirley Temple) signed what has come to be known as the Shirley
Temple Act, which allowed children to work on films. It is worded as an exemption to
the child labor laws and declares that the FLSA does not apply to “any child employed as
an actor or performer in motion pictures or theatrical productions, or in radio or television
productions.”
9
Although the Shirley Temple Act pertains to children, it demonstrates one
of the ways that acting is legally differentiated from other types of work. I interpret this
law as one of the ways that acting, as one type of creative labor, is differentiated from
blue-collar work.
Unlike manual or blue-collar labor, acting, as a form of creative labor, is
collapsed with play. Historian John Kasson argues that the Shirley Temple Act
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undermines the actual labor that child actors perform. Speaking specifically of Shirley
Temple, Kasson says,
It was the ability of her parents, the film industry, journalists, moviegoers,
and even the president to confuse performing childhood with being a
child. Not only did they ignore the gulf between child’s play and the work
of acting, but they also minimized the radical transformation of her own
life in the service of her career. In addition, they strenuously denied any
suggestion that a child actor was in any meaningful sense a child laborer,
however anomalous and highly paid. The considerable labor she
performed to make such films was physically and emotionally demanding,
and those demands extended far beyond the requirements of acting to
public appearances and commercial endorsements to her family
relationships and sense of self.
10

I am quoting at length from Kasson’s analysis of Shirley Temple because his description
of her work as a professional actress highlights several key tensions for child actors: the
construction of childhood, the collapse between work and play, the high rewards, and the
intensity of the off-screen labor. As Kasson points out, play is not the same as the work
of acting, but this becomes confusing when an actress is performing play. Kasson’s
point, that child acting is labor intensive both because of on-set responsibilities and off-
set commitments, applies to all film and television acting. However, this tendency to
collapse children’s play and work takes on a new meaning on reality TV, where play
might generate profit for producers, but potentially no remuneration for the children.
Play and fun are important words for the children and parents of Toddlers &
Tiaras as they aim to explain the pageant world. Children like 4-year-old Mikayla
explain that they like to “play in make-up.”
11
Parents also frame practice as play, as
Ingrid, a mother from season 2 explains, “We play pageant for about 20 minutes.”
12
The
play seems to quickly deteriorate into a chore when Ingrid’s 4-year-old daughter Rylan
refuses to practice her “beauty walk.” Toddlers & Tiaras is littered with similar examples
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of parents explaining that their children enjoy pageants while these explanations are
juxtaposed with images of tantrums. Whether the kids love or hate pageants, the fun on
pageant days is positioned as part of weeks of training and is often linked to potential
fame and profit. As pageant-dad Dwayne explains in a season two episode of TLC’s
Toddlers & Tiaras, “I see pageants as an investment because there could be a lot that
could happen, you know? You may meet with a modeling agency that wants to see a
portfolio or see your kid. There’s [sic] all kinds of possibilities out there.”
13
The
collapse of play with work has historical antecedents, but as Ellen Seiter points out, the
emphasis is often on how “play could pay off in the future.”
14
Dwayne sees an almost
immediate profit potential from his daughter’s pageants. Rather than considering
pageantry as an activity that aids development, in the current media climate his
daughter’s “play” could help pay bills. Even though play can be profitable, it is not
work, which makes it is a useful activity and term for reality producers looking to define
how children’s reality work differs from acting.
The language of play and its assumed connection to “fun” have been instrumental
in creating a sense that on-screen reality appearances are not work. However, the most
extreme example of how the language of play masked the work of film production was
CBS’s Kid Nation (2007). Kid Nation, a reality show about forty kids (ages 8-15) living
alone in New Mexico building an adult-free society, stirred up a great deal of controversy
prior to its air date. The controversy ranged from critiques of the show’s premise to
outrage over CBS’s exploitation of New Mexico’s complete absence of child labor
laws.
15
According to the Director of the New Mexico film office, Kid Nation was pitched
as a filmed summer camp.
16
By framing the production in terms of summer camp, which
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is both a place of education and leisure, the producers avoided questions and
investigations during production. However, unlike a summer camp, the kids on the show
were reportedly paid $5,000 each. Since reality TV production relies on non-union work
(both on and off-screen) the activities that produce reality programming need different
linguistic framings, although “play” is important for distinguishing between what
children do on reality, adult reality work is framed differently.

Reality TV Performance
The claim that reality talent are not performing, like the myth that child
performers are simply playing, has been central to keeping reality TV labor distinct from
other on-screen labor in the television and film industry. Reality TV’s spontaneous and
amateurish aesthetic often encourages viewers to read reality performances as wholly or
partially authentic.
17
“Real” people or non-actors are a key generic element of reality
TV. As media scholars Anita Biressi and Heather Nunn explain, that all reality programs
contain “[…] the representation of ordinary people and allegedly unscripted or
spontaneous moments […].”
18
Michael Curtin and Jane Shattuc claim that “the
unscripted use of non-actors marks [reality TV] as a salient shift in US programming.”
19

The result of using non-actors, many of whom are compensated for their appearances,
muddles distinctions between real people (or social actors) and actors. For scholars,
critics, and audiences the blurred line between professional (compensated) actors and
social actors can make these performers subject to legal debates, social critiques, or
inevitably snarky comments about the overly constructed world of reality characters.
20
In
this section, I expand the scope beyond my previous discussion of children, and argue
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that reality performances are distinguished from film and television performances in two
ways: first, by minimizing the potential creative decisions and control for on-screen talent
in pre- and post-production; and second, by exploiting specifically gendered forms of
labor as the subject of reality programming.
Reality programs often move outside of traditional production centers to shoot
people who are explicitly positioned as more authentic because they are not actors or
workers in the entertainment industry.
21
These advantages often come in the form of
“right to work” laws, which vary by state and allow producers to work with non-union
crews, and with less stringent regulations on child labor. These specific benefits of
shooting outside of Los Angeles have given rise to more developed production
infrastructure around the U.S. in areas where the policies are particularly industry-
friendly. Dispersed reality television production presents new job opportunities for some
of the U.S. states suffering from high unemployment rates, but these new pockets of
production around the U.S. in states such as Georgia, Louisiana, Michigan, and New
Mexico are notably non-union. And even if reality production was covered under guild
agreements, these are far from the powerful Hollywood guilds that can monitor payment
and working conditions.
Despite the legal justifications which distance reality performers from the notion
of work, the criteria used in casting reality performers demonstrates that reality producers
do believe that there is performance on screen. Vicki Mayer’s ethnographic study
explains how reality TV casters select performers who appear “real or authentic,” while
also responding appropriately to the emotions of a given scene. Mayer summarizes her
research, stating, “Casters want someone foreign to the industry who also understands
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implicitly how to talk around a camera, move through a planned space, and interact for
the best sound bite.”
22
Thus casters seek out ordinary people with extraordinary intuition
for how to behave on camera, which is not the same as “the aspiring actor who fakes
ordinariness.”
23
In other words, a good reality performer absorbs production costs
because she does not need direction to emote on screen. As Mayer explains, “Casters
need nonunion talent to read and respond to the production cues that demand emotion:
whether that is a relieved grin or a good cry.”
24
Rather than getting direction on-set, a
good reality performer, ideally, can already perform on-screen.
25
The concept of an
ordinary person who intuitively understands how to behave on camera seems like an
oxymoron. However, as Laura Grindstaff suggests of people on reality programs,
“ordinary people typically know the rules of the game.”
26
In part this is because, as
Grindstaff points out, “the ‘authenticity’ of a character or storyline does not preclude the
performance of cultural clichés.”
27
Of course, even if reality performers know the “rules”
and can play to the emotional cues, there is still less pressure on reality performers to
produce perfect material on a tight shooting schedule because their work-days are not
monitored or regulated. As a result, reality programs film more and produce more raw
footage than scripted programs.
Camera-people play a significant role in eliciting or identifying “authentic” or
“natural” entertaining reality performances. Vicki Mayer’s ethnography of soft-core
cameramen filming women at New Orleans’ Mardi Gras illuminates the role of the
cameraman in building narratives. Mayer writes, “Rick [a soft-core cameraman]
differentiated his choices from those of Nate [a soft-core colleague] in that, as a
professional, he had to satisfy his audience first and foremost.”
28
As Mayer goes on to
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describe, Rick was particularly adept at balancing both the needs of production
companies (avoiding potentially underage girls and women who would want to negotiate
a price to flash the camera) with audience interest (finding thin women with real, rather
than fake breasts).
29
In this way, Rick the cameraman crafted the range of possibilities
for his particular soft-core company. By shooting a large quantity of footage, he also
gives the editors a lot of options to present a diverse view of Mardi Gras and its party
culture, without running the risk of promoting any single person.
Behind-the-scenes reality workers put a lot of work into casting talent and
capturing their performances, but in the final product, many shows are structured to
eschew individuality. The narrative structure of reality TV shows like Toddlers & Tiaras
can often hinders the kind of self-promotion that could be leveraged into a career in the
media industries. Each episode of Toddlers & Tiaras focuses on three different children,
their families, and pageant preparations. The pageant world is small and girls from
previous episodes are often in the background of later episodes, but only a select few are
featured more than once (and never within the same season). By focusing on different
children in each episode TLC effectively avoids creating long-term characters, and thus
stymies any performer’s attempt to capitalize on her newfound visibility. This strategy is
immediately evident in the credit sequence, which rhythmically combines facial features
from multiple little girls (eyes of one girl, a nose of a different girl, etc.) into an exquisite
corpse of a face.
In some exceptional cases popular characters have leveraged their appearance on
Toddlers & Tiaras into individual shows. Alana Thompson (a.k.a Honey Boo Boo)
became famous in part because of her tendency to add “honey boo boo” or “honey boo
147

boo child” to the end of statements. Her delivery of phrases like, “A dollar makes me
holler honey boo boo child” made her a viral Internet phenomenon, which fueled the
spin-off, Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. Eden Wood, one of the select girls featured on
multiple episodes of Toddlers & Tiaras also translated her reality appearances into other
on-screen work: Eden’s World (2012), a short lived reality show on Logo and a starring
role in the straight-to-video The Little Rascals Save the Day (2014). However, out of the
over 300 children who have appeared on Toddlers & Tiaras, few have achieved notice
beyond their single episode.
There is a very fine line between unionized performers and non-union performers
on reality programs. On some shows, such as American Idol, union and non-union talent
coexist; the non-union contestants perform for the union hosts. Contestants on Idol also
become SAG-AFTRA eligible (i.e. they become professionalized performers) if they
advance to the final twelve at the end of the season.
30
AFTRA representatives in 2007
claim that in the early episodes of American Idol they are merely singing, but in the later
episodes (once they make the final twelve), they are performing bits.
31
While this may
seem like an arbitrary distinction, from a legal standpoint, the American Idol example
affirms the distinctions between directed performances (in service of a script) versus
responses that are prompted by situations (which may or may not be artificial).
32
The
difference between union and non-union cast members in Idol also demonstrates a shift in
professionalism and professional responsibility. Idol performers in the top twelve
contribute to the show’s advertising spots and might also become part of the legacy of the
show. This shift also affirms the mythology of American Idol, that part of the journey on
the show is growth and training. Whereas early performances might represent some kind
148

of natural ability, they work up to a position that gains them access to health insurance,
pensions, and a new tier of work and productions. This work also marks the Idol
performers as different than other reality performers who might earn more over time, but
an increase in television earnings is based on increases in advertising revenue not growth
or professional accomplishment, which is built into the structure of the show (on- and
off-screen) as contestants progress.
Much of the labor on reality programs that is not considered to be work aligns
with historically gendered ideas of labor and compensation. Feminist scholars, such as
Zillah Eisenstein, have theorized that there are two forms of labor in society: wage labor
and (unremunerated) domestic labor.
33
As feminist scholars Zillah Eisenstein and Jean
Gardiner assert, women’s unremunerated domestic labor enables men to work in the
public sphere by caring for children and managing other domestic matters while men
leave the home to work.
34
Although men’s wages have historically been inflated to
accommodate the work in the home, as Jean Gardiner points out, this has made it largely
impossible to measure the value of women’s work in the home.
35
Since this work
remains uncompensated, women’s domestic work (outside of feminist scholarship and
activism) remains invisible within discussions of labor and wages.
The domestic labor that is present in reality TV, whether it is parenting or putting
on make-up, is an example of the everyday performances of gender theorized by Judith
Butler. In Gender Trouble, Butler argues, “As in other ritual social dramas, the action of
gender requires a performance that is repeated. This repetition is at once a reenactment
and reexperiencing of a set of meanings already socially established; and it is the
mundane and ritualized form of their legitimation.”
36
For Butler, gender is an ongoing
149

performance. Drawing on Judith Butler’s work, media scholars and critical theorists
alike have expanded the definition of performance to include everyday performances of
gender, sexuality, ethnicity, professionalism, or even passion for their careers,
performances that are particularly challenging to quantify or even to determine the extent
to which they are calculated or authentic.
37
These everyday performances are part of how
we understand and theorize race, gender, sexuality, and social relations. From a
theoretical perspective, the degree to which performances are or are not intentionally
performed is less important than the recognition that all people engage in a kind of
performance.
In many cases, reality TV directly engages with this logic by making women’s
invisible domestic labor visible on-screen. Domestic labor does not only mean parenting
and caring for children, although Jon & Kate Plus Eight, which follows the domestic
work of parenting eight children, focuses solely on child rearing. Domestic labor might
also include the labor of beauty culture and the production of gender. For example,
make-over shows like TLC’s What Not to Wear deconstruct the labor of beauty culture
and provide a model for viewers to live by, and Toddlers & Tiaras highlights the array of
work (from rehearsing routines, to making clothes and tanning) that goes into beauty
pageants. Women’s work, especially beauty rituals, are often subjected to ridicule and
mockery. Reality programs such as Toddlers & Tiaras naturalize some beauty rituals,
such as make-up application, but contrast it with more overtly performative beauty acts,
such as spray tanning, insertion of “flippers” (fake teeth), and fake hair. The show often
derives humor from parents directing their children’s pageant routines by including (out
of context) footage of shimmying parents in the pre-episode trailers. All of this work,
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from grooming to parenting, is historically unremunerated women’s work. Thus reality
TV producers have figured out a way to monetize this labor while still limiting the profits
to be seen by those actually performing it.

TLC and Jon & Kate Plus Eight
Beginning in the mid-1990s, TLC started focusing on domestic reality series, such
as, A Baby Story (1998--) and A Wedding Story (1996 – 2007). The success of these
episodic shows, along with some of their specials led TLC toward programming centered
on families, often in unusual or extreme situations, in the mid-2000s, Jon & Kate Plus
Eight became one of their most successful shows. Jon & Kate Plus Eight demonstrates
how reality TV producers capitalize on legal and societal understandings of both play and
domestic labor as “not work.” However, this does not mean that the show’s audience has
always accepted what is on-screen as “not work.” Audiences have interpreted play and
labor differently. While some have claimed that the Gosselin kids are in fact working
(not playing), Kate Gosselin is not acknowledged for any of her domestic efforts, but
instead criticized for profiting from her children.
In 2006 the Discovery Health Channel aired the first of two specials on the
Gosselin family, Surviving Sextuplets and Twins. It was so popular that they aired a
second special, Surviving Sextuplets and Twins: One Year Later (2007) and created a
reality series, Jon & Kate Plus Eight, about the family of ten. Jon & Kate Plus Eight
situated the Gosselin family as the stars of the program, while also positioning the family
within TLC’s network brand. The concept of “brand” is fairly expansive; it is not simply
a way to describe aesthetic characteristics or consistencies across products (such as one
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might see in a franchise television shows like the Law & Orders with their similar
narrative formulae and opening themes), but a way to encompass intangible qualities
associated with networks, products, etc. Sarah Banet-Weiser defines brands as “[…] a
perception – the series of images, themes, morals, values, feelings, and sense of
authenticity conjured by the product itself.”
38
Since 1999 the cable network TLC has
developed its network brand around family-based reality programming. Despite their
name change and programming focus, TLC has never wholly abandoned the rhetoric of
education and learning.
39
According to Discovery Networks President Billy Campbell,
TLC programming is based on a broad idea of learning, asserting “[…] all learning is
wide open.”
40
Thus Jon & Kate Plus Eight, which often focused on overcoming
parenting challenges, was perfectly situated for TLC’s brand identity.
By the time TLC aired Jon & Kate Plus Eight, the show was already a pre-tested
and sold product. The first season of the show focused on the daily challenges of feeding
and clothing the children, while trying to keep them entertained and out of fights with
each other. Season one placed a great deal of emphasis on cleaning, home organization,
and thrift. In “Garage Makeover” Jon and his brother-in-law assemble storage racks in
the garage to help get things off the floor and create more play space for the kids.
“Shopping for Ten” featured a trip to the grocery store with Kate who demonstrates the
most effective way to use coupons. It is also important to note that in the first three
seasons of Jon & Kate Plus Eight, Jon still had a job (beyond his performance on the
TLC show), which means he was in fewer episodes. Kate Gosselin appeared to be a
socially conscious parent with a commitment to Christian values, cleanliness,
organization, organic food, and green living.
41
Kate Gosselin’s domestic work often
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conveniently dove-tailed with other Discovery programs and TLC’s specific network
brand. These values take center stage in some episodes, including season one’s “Cow
Purchase,” when the whole family travels to an organic farm to buy fresh meat, and a
special Earth Day episode in season three, “Jon & Kate Plus Eight Go Green.” This latter
episode featured a guest star, Steve Thomas, who is a former host of another Discovery
program, the eco-friendly renovation show, Renovation Nation (2008-2009). In this
episode, the kids paint recycling bins, and Kate learns how to make environmentally
friendly cleaning products. “Jon & Kate Plus Eight Go Green” demonstrates how the
Gosselin family enabled intertextuality between different programs in the Discovery
universe and fit within Discovery’s broader network branding strategy. Thus the popular
Jon & Kate Plus Eight could act effectively as a promotional vehicle for other Discovery
programs.
The Gosselins were paid for their show (which is not uncommon for reality
performers),
42
however, this is the source of debate and vitriol from bloggers and
reporters who feel that the Gosselins should not profit from their children.
43
The tagline
for the blog “15 Minutes, Gosselin Style” typifies some of this hostility, declaring itself
as a blog committed to, “chronicling every move Kate, Jon and TLC make on their
relentless quest to further fame and fortune on the backs of eight kids.”
44
However,
claiming that the Gosselins simply exploited their children undermines the importance of
Kate Gosselin’s domestic work within the show. On Jon & Kate Plus Eight, Kate
Gosselin is the star and, for the most part, the kids function as background actors. In fact,
the show is more about parenting and domestic challenges than the children. In many
episodes the Gosselin children merely provide background noise and chaos to the
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domestic order that Kate Gosselin attempts to impose on her household. Season one’s
“Housekeeper Hunt” details Kate Gosselin’s cleaning routines as the Gosselins try to hire
a housekeeper to offset some of the work in tending to eight young children. The show
repeatedly draws attention to the work of raising children through on-screen lists, which
might, for example, enumerate the number of diapers, bottles, and changes of clothing
that the Gosselins pack for a single outing.
Of course their income was not tied to their work on the show, but rather the
popularity of the show. In the first season, the show only paid for a few activities, with
the Gosselins reportedly earning $2,000 per episode; they were not solely making a living
off the show.
45
In the first season the show revealed the need for thrift, but by the second
season the episodes began to feature more activities and travel. The Gosselins were
forthcoming about some of the remuneration they received for the show.
46
Seasons three
and four both feature contain episodes where Jon and Kate Gosselin answer selected
“frequently asked questions.” In both episodes the Gosselins are forthcoming about the
generous gifts that allow them to travel, although they do not mention their income per
episode.
Over the course of four seasons, Jon and Kate Gosselin developed lucrative
reality careers. On their first major trip is in Season 3’s “Gosselins Go Skiing,” both Jon
and Kate repeatedly note that the Utah resort sponsored their vacation. In later seasons
the Gosselins go on sponsored vacations and outings and the family’s lifestyle and
socioeconomic class has visibly changed dramatically. In the first season they are
clipping coupons and Jon is still working. However by the fourth season when they are
participating in a garage sale, rather than selling their baby items in an attempt to
154

recuperate costs for their family, they donate all of the proceeds to Pediatric Cancer
research.
47
In season four Jon quit his job and began to do freelance work, which means
that he is in more episodes (and his work ceases to be a plot point). However, the exact
amount that TLC paid the Gosselins’ per episode has been subject to a great deal of
speculation.
48
Neither the Gosselins nor Discovery Communications have confirmed this
information, but sources have claimed that the family started making $5,000 per episode
in seasons two and three, and up to approximately $22,500 per episode in season four.
49

In the last season, Jon and Kate Gosselin decided to renew their vows in Hawaii
with their whole family present (unsurprisingly TLC’s Say Yes to the Dress [2007--]
featured an episode of Kate Gosselin’s wedding dress shopping). Unfortunately for the
Gosselins, this vow renewal was ill timed and they filed for divorce shortly after. Their
divorce also coincided with the beginnings of the investigation into whether or not TLC
or Figure 8 Films (the production company that produced Jon & Kate Plus Eight and
other TLC shows like Sister Wives [2010--] and 19 and Counting [2008--]) obtained
appropriate permits for their children on their reality show. In the wake of this
investigation Kate Gosselin’s brother and sister-in-law (both of whom were featured on
episodes of the show) came out vocally against the show. As her sister-in-law lamented,
“no one is looking at these children as what they are going through and the life
consequences they are going to have as they get older."
50
In a fashion befit for reality
TV, their marriage was falling apart, their family was speaking out against them, and the
fate of their show was threatened.

155

Labor Versus Reality TV
Although Jon & Kate Plus Eight’s labor woes made the tabloids (the results of the
investigation were eventually published on gossip site TMZ.com), the show was not
unique in its labor troubles. Reality TV productions have a history of contention with
labor productions. From its inception, reality TV has been at odds with organized labor.
In the 1980s, the Screen Actor’s Guild (SAG) the American Federation of Radio and
Television Artists (AFTRA), the Writers Guild of America (WGA) and the Directors
Guild of America (DGA) all went on strike over residuals. The Screen Extras Guild
(SEG) also followed with a strike over extras’ daily wages. The rising demands from and
cost of union labor meant that television was getting more expensive to produce which
coincided with a diminution of network profits as cable networks expanded, creating
more choices for consumers, but smaller shares per program. By the end of the 1980s,
U.S. homes had access to anywhere between 12 and 140 channels,
51
resulting in a loss of
viewers for the big three networks (NBC, CBS, and ABC) and increasingly dispersed
viewership across networks. As a result, individual programs were no longer able to
generate the same level of advertising revenue. All of these economic changes set the
industrial conditions for reality TV. In an attempt to recuperate some of the lost profit,
television producers needed to find a cheaper mode of production. When networks and
production companies looked to labor for their budget cuts, they found aesthetic solutions
that minimized use of union talent. Early reality programs such as America’s Most
Wanted (1988 - 2011) and Cops (1989 --) used drama and suspense derived from real-life
crimes and visualized the material with found footage and non-union talent. The
landscape of reality TV subgenres rapidly expanded to include competition (American
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Idol [2002--], The Voice [2011 --], Survivor [2001--]), make-over shows (What Not to
Wear [2003-2013], Queer Eye for the Straight Guy [2003 – 2007], Extreme Make-Over),
and shows that build drama through surveillance and confessional interviews (The Real
World [1992--], Big Brother [U.S. 2000--]). As Mark Andrejevic points out, reality TV
often costs a third of scripted television programs, with the potential of enormous returns
if the franchise can be spun-off internationally (like Big Brother).
52
Most of the people
working on these shows (both on- and off-screen) are not part of television unions.
The Writers Guild of America (WGA) and the International Alliance of Theatrical
Stage Employees (IATSE) have, since 2001, attempted to unionize behind-the-camera
reality workers.
53
The WGA has focused on organizing the writers and editors who
shape reality TV storylines; IATSE organized crews and drivers. The organizing attempts
made headlines in 2006 when editors on America’s Next Top Model (2003--) struck.
During the WGA strike in 2007-2008, rights over reality TV writing was one of the
sticking points in the negotiations, however, the WGA dropped their claim for reality in
favor of gaining residual rights for digital content. While IATSE and the WGA have
agreements with some production companies, reality TV is non-union work, for the most
part not universally unionized.
54

Although the struggles for off-screen reality workers have resulted in strikes and
attempts at unionization, most of the struggles over rights for on-screen talent have
centered on children. Scholars and bloggers alike express concern for the well-being of
child reality performers and shift the debate of children on reality TV toward ethical
issues of representation and labor.
55
However, in most U.S. states, children on reality TV
are not technically working and therefore are not subject to the same legal protections.
157

Kimberlianne Podlas’ analysis of child labor and reality TV demonstrates that there is no
legal precedent to establish children as employees or protect them as reality performers.
As a result, she concludes her study with a call to action for parental responsibility,
stating, “To the extent that we focus on the child labor implications of reality television
as a means of preventing child exploitation, we divert the focus away from reality
television parents, enabling them to avoid responsibility and risk the welfare of their
children.”
56
Other viewers of reality programming echo Podlas’s conclusion. Jon &
Kate Plus Eight blogger and counselor Polly Kahl advocates on her blog for both parental
responsibility and changes in state policy, “The bottom line is parents need to make their
kids, not income provided by their kids, a priority. We can legislate how many hours of
work adults are allowed to squeeze out of minors, but we can’t legislate human values
[…]”
57
In the case of Jon & Kate Plus Eight the concern for the children originates from
the fact that the kids did not choose to work on television. I do not want to diminish the
importance of this point, or the fact that the parents are profiting not simply from their
own performances but also from their children’s performances. However, focusing
exclusively on children in reality TV deflects attention away from the overall conditions
on these programs. The concerns over workdays and labor on reality TV should reflect a
general understanding that reality TV should be monitored and regulated like its scripted
counterparts. If working conditions change for all reality performers, conditions will also
change for children on reality TV. However, the impassioned pleas from bloggers,
journalists, and scholars to create safer working conditions have generated attention from
state lawmakers and state departments of labor, which have led to changes in labor laws.
158

The investigation into Jon & Kate Plus Eight began as an anonymous complaint
in 2009, but the investigation was not resolved until the following year. Similar to the
National Labor Review Board (NLRB) investigation into telefilms I discuss in Chapter
One, this state investigation had to delve into the particularities of production. The
distinction between documentation and direction was central for Pennsylvania’s labor
investigation. In order to prove that the children were in fact “working,” the
Pennsylvania Department of Labor needed to prove that they received direction on set
from someone other than their parents. Although the producers of Jon & Kate Plus Eight
often set up activities (going to a farm, visiting Hershey, PA, etc.) and incorporated hosts
from other Discovery programs into episodes, the show was still considered
“spontaneous.” What the investigation rightly picked up on were the transitions to
commercials and episode introductions, which regularly featured the Gosselin children
announcing “On the next episode of Jon & Kate Plus Eight” in unison. These brief
moments, investigators determined, were directed, scripted (albeit minimally), and staged
explicitly for television.
Although much of the public outcry against Jon & Kate Plus Eight was based on
fear for the well-being of the children, none of these concerns made it into the final
report. The Pennsylvania Department of Labor investigated the labor conditions and
whether or not the production company complied with Pennsylvania labor laws. Since the
children were directed for these brief segments, the Pennsylvania Department of Labor
ruled that the production company would need to obtain different permits going forward,
but decided not to pursue any legal action based on the previous episodes. When the
159

show resumed in 2010, after the separation and divorce, under the name Kate Plus Eight
(2010-2011), the producers obtained appropriate permits for all of the children.
The Pennsylvania Department of Labor ruled that Jon & Kate Plus Eight was not
in violation of Pennsylvania child labor laws. However, as a result of the findings,
Representative John Murt felt that Pennsylvania needed more stringent laws. In 2012, he
passed a bill (Act 151) that tightened and clarified entertainment child labor laws in
Pennsylvania. Murt’s initiative garnered recognition from SAG-AFTRA, which honored
him with a “Friend of SAG-AFTRA Award” in 2013.
58
Most notably, this act defined
and included an array of media including documentary and reality programs and what
constitutes work in each instance. According to this recent Pennsylvania law, production
companies must obtain proper permits if, “[t]he minor participates in a reality or
documentary program that expressly depends upon the minor's participation, the minor's
participation is substantial and any person receives remuneration for the minor's
participation.”
59
Pennsylvania now has a bill that mirrors the child labor laws in
California and New York. Reality TV’s exploitative child labor practices have forced
other states besides Pennsylvania to adjust their child labor laws; as I note earlier, New
Mexico lawmakers had to implement new laws in response to the Kid Nation
controversy. However, this law was implemented after Kate Plus Eight went off the air
and will not affect policies in other U.S. states. Unless other states follow suit, the only
likely impact this law will have is to prevent future productions from shooting in
Pennsylvania.

160

Conclusion
The moral outcry that emerged from concerns about children on reality TV
neglects the fact that labor issues in reality TV are widespread and not simply restricted
to children. In a sense the controversy surrounding child labor scandals in reality TV
hearken back to the controversy surrounding women in Hollywood in the 1910s and the
1920s, in both cases centering on the moral outcry over innocents in the threatening and
exploitative entertainment industry. The result in each case was very different. As I
discuss in Chapter One, industry fear of unionization led to self-regulation. In the
controversy over children in reality TV, the producers simply do not produce another
season and states are left scrambling in the wake of scandal to implement new labor laws.
If policies have the capacity to change it needs to happen on a widespread level rather
than simply state to state. However, there is much to learn from how politicians such as
Pennsylvania’s John Murt respond, who have effectively reoriented labor laws to include
reality TV. Murt rightly understood that it was necessary to construct the law to include
the elements of reality production that feed off ambiguity and keep it classified as “not
work.”
Reality TV and its failure to offer the long-term job opportunities or benefits
(health care, pensions, etc.) offered by guilds fails to offer the kind of mobility that it
promises. Select reality performers, such as Bethany Frankel from the first two seasons of
The Real Housewives of New York (2008--) and Nicole “Snooki” Polizzi from Jersey
Shore (2009-2012) may have been successful at leveraging their own brands for lucrative
careers on reality TV, but it is important to note that these are exceptions. Reality TV is
supposed to fail its workers. From the studio and network perspective, reality television is
161

a success because it reduces labor costs and allows them to produce cheaper content to
fill airtime. Reality TV performers often have the same goals as those of many aspiring
actors: to launch on-screen careers. Even if reality appearances do not conform to legal
definitions of employment or fall within the boundaries of the unions, they are still work.
Performers like Kate Gosselin recognize the work involved in reality representations. In
response to TLC’s cancellation of Kate Plus Eight, Gosselin said, “When [the children]
were 15 months I was back at work. I have always worked and I am a worker. And I love
to work. I love to put my brain toward a project and creating so this is really hard.”
60
Kate
Gosselin has attempted to leverage her fame into work as a talk-show host with no
success, but she has maintained a career in the public eye through appearances on ABC’s
Dancing with the Stars (2005--) in 2010 and ABC’s Celebrity Wife Swap (2012--) in
2013. Kate Gosselin’s failure to find a place in the media industries following her
successful reality show reminds us that reality success is usually short-lived and future
employment is contingent and offers few securities.
This chapter has focused on the exploitative labor conditions of reality TV both
for children and adults. I argue that reality performers lack many of the securities
available to other on-screen talent because they are not unionized. Although union
membership offers many benefits, SAG-AFTRA is responsible for a diverse population
of on-screen talent – a population with a large array of needs and desires. If reality
performers were incorporated into SAG-AFTRA they would need to find a place within
the pre-existing union hierarchies. As I discuss in the next chapter, the hierarchies within
the union have long histories and contributed to the long and tumultuous history of SAG-
AFTRA merger attempts.
162

1
The Department of Labor refused to disclose who filed the initial complaint against the
Gosselin family and TLC. See Michael Rubinkam, “PA labor officials probing ‘Jon &
Kate’ complaint,” Connecticut Post Online, May 29, 2009.

2
For further discussion of reality TV labor conditions, see: Andrew Ross, “In Search of
the Lost Paycheck,” in Digital Labor – The Internet as Playground and Factory, edited
by Trebor Scholz, 13-32 (New York: Routledge, 2013), 23.

3
While I could have also included contestants on competition reality shows, I have
specifically avoided shows such as The Voice (2011--) and American Idol (2002--)
because their famous hosts are union members and contestants eventually become union
members.

4
Several legal scholars have written about children on reality TV. See: Christopher
Cianci, “Entertainment or Exploitation?: Reality Television and the Inadequate Protection
of Child Participants Under the Law, Southern California Interdisciplinary Law Journal
18; 363-94; Courtney Glickman, “Jon & Kate Plus…Child Entertainment Labor Law
Complaints,” Whittier Law Review 32 (2010-2011); 147-170; and Kimberlianne Podlas,
“Does Exploiting a Child Amount to Employing a Child? The FLSA’s Child Labor
Provisions and Children on Reality Television,” UCLA Entertainment Law Review 17.
There are also general advocacy groups for children on reality programs, see:
http://www.minorcon.org/

5
Kimberlianne Podlas, “Does Exploiting a Child Amount to Employing a Child? The
FLSA’s Child Labor Provisions and Children on Reality Television,” UCLA
Entertainment Law Review 17, 51.

6
Ibid., 46.

7
Ellen Seiter, Sold Separately – Parents & Children in Consumer Culture (New
Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1995), 66.

8
Ibid, 66-7.

9
29 USC 213 (c). Full text of the FLSA and the Shirley Temple Act exemption is
available from the Department of Labor, see:
http://www.dol.gov/whd/regs/statutes/FairLaborStandAct.pdf

10
John F. Kasson, “Shirley Temple’s Paradoxical Smile,” American Art 25.3 (Fall 2011),
18.

11
“Kentucky Southern Celebrity,” Toddlers & Tiaras, TLC, March 3, 2009.

12
“National Gold Coast,” Toddlers & Tiaras, TLC, August 19, 2009.
163

13
“West Virginia Walk of Fame Pageant,” Toddlers & Tiaras, TLC, August 5, 2009.

14
Ellen Seiter, 67.

15
State officials re-examined and revised laws in light of the controversy. For more on
this process, see: Edward Wyatt, “New Mexico Looks Again At Show’s Use of
Children,” The New York Times, August 24, 2007.

16
Nikki Finke, “Moonves Should Pull the Plug on Kid Nation,” LA Weekly, August 29,
2007, http://www.laweekly.com/2007-08-30/news/moonves-should-pull-the-plug-on-kid-
nation/

17
Citing and interview with Big Brother producer Gary Carter, Mark Andrejevic makes a
similar point: “[…] low production values can themselves be deployed as one more
strategy for cultivating the illusion of authenticity.” In Mark Andrejevic, Reality TV: The
Work of Being Watched (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2004), 16.

18
Anita Biressi and Heather Nunn, Reality TV – Realism and Revelation (New York:
Wallflower Press, 2005), 11.

19
Michael Curtin and Jane Shattuc, The American Television Industry (London: Palgrave
Macmillan, 2009), 106.

20
Critiques in the popular press might be as simple as journalist Mark Lisanti’s comment
in Grantland. In response to The Bachelor finale, Lisanti quips, “[…] you’re starting to
wonder if this is a man to whom you’d like to be pretend-engaged for the suggested four-
to-six post-show months.” Although this is a brief and snarky comment, it acknowledges
the role that production rules infiltrate whatever “reality” might exist in this competition.
In Mark Lisanti, “The Bachelor Finale: What to do When the Whole Damn Thing Comes
Crashing Down,” Grantland, March 11, 2014, http://grantland.com/hollywood-
prospectus/the-bachelor-finale-what-to-do-when-the-whole-damn-thing-comes-crashing-
down/
21
Examples of this trend include, but are not limited to, Jersey Shore (in New Jersey),
Jon & Kate Plus Eight (in Pennsylvania), and Toddlers & Tiaras (various states). Vicki
Mayer discusses the casting process outside of Hollywood in Vicki Mayer, Below-the-
Line – Producers and Production Studies in the New Television Economy (Durham: Duke
University Press, 2011).

22
Mayer, 110.

23
Ibid.

24
Ibid., 109.
164

25
This is not to say that reality performers might not want or need a bit of coaching. In
2008 Robert Galinsky founded the New York Reality TV School (defunct as of 2014) to
help aspiring reality performers. In 2010 his program was offered as a continuing
education course through the School of Visual Arts.

26
Laura Grindstaff, “Self-Serve Celebrity – The Production of Ordinariness and the
Ordinariness of Production in Reality Television,” in Production Studies – Cultural
Studies of Media Industries, edited by Vicki Mayer, Miranda Banks, and John Caldwell,
71-86 (New York: Routledge, 2009), 81.

27
Ibid.

28
Vicki Mayer, 78.

29
Ibid., 79.

30
David Lieberman, “ ‘Idol’ finalists now get paychecks as professionals,” USA Today,
March 16, 2007, http://usatoday30.usatoday.com/money/media/2007-03-14-union-idol-
usat_n.htm

31
Ibid.

32
Michael Rubinkam, “PA labor officials probing ‘Jon & Kate’ complaint,” Connecticut
Post Online, May 29, 2009.

33
Zillah Eisenstein, “Developing a Theory of Capitalist Patriarchy,” in Capitalist
Patriarchy and the Case for Socialist Feminism, edited by Zillah Eisenstein, 5-40 (New
York: Monthly Review Press, 1979), 31.

34
See Zillah Eisenstein, “Developing a Theory of Capitalist Patriarchy;” and Jean
Gardiner, “Women’s Domestic Labor,” in Capitalist Patriarchy and the Case for
Socialist Feminism, edited by Zillah Eisenstein, 173-89 (New York: Monthly Review
Press, 1979).

35
Jean Gardiner, 175.

36
Judith Butler, Gender Trouble (New York: Routledge, 1990), 191.

37
For more theoretical interventions on the role of performance and performativity see:
Andrew Parker and Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, editors, Performance and Performativity
(London: Routledge 1995).

38
Sarah Banet-Weiser, Authentic™ - the politics of ambivalence in a brand culture (New
York: New York University Press, 2012), 4.
165

39
For more on TLC’s origins as an educational cable network and its evolution, see:
Cynthia Chris, “All Documentary, All the Time?: Discovery Communications Inc. and
Trends in Cable Television, Television & New Media 3.7 (2002), 13-14.

40
Linda Moss, “TLC’s Open Curriculum,” Multichannel News, February 21, 2005.

41
Her values have been called into question after the labor scandal and her 2013
appearance on Celebrity Wife Swap (2012--).

42
According to the reality TV casting calls on Backstage.com on April 14, 2014, 45 out
of the 55 reality casting calls were listed as “paid.” See: “Auditions and Open Casting
Calls,” http://www.backstage.com/casting/open-casting-calls/reality-tv/.

43
For examples, see: Polly Kahl, Small Town Gosselins,
http://smalltowngosselins.squarespace.com/ and Anonymous, 15 minutes, Gosselin Style,
http://www.realitytvkids.com/. In the years after the divorce, Jon Gosselin has also
contributed to the public critique of Kate Gosselin profiting from their children. See
Perez Hilton, “Jon Gosselin SLAMS Kate Gosselin…AGAIN! Says She’s Exploiting
Their Children,” Perezitos on Perezhilton.com, January 9, 2014,
http://perezhilton.com/perezitos/2014-01-09-jon-gosselin-says-kate-gosslin-is-exploiting-
their-children-interview#.U1WHuyhU7ao.

44
Anonymous, “Home Page – 15 Minutes, Gosselin Style Blog,”
http://www.realitytvkids.com/.

45
“Kate Gosselin’s Earnings Reported in New Book,” The Huffington Post, October 15,
2012, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/10/15/kate-gosselin-
earnings_n_1967633.html.

46
The sponsorships and support do not receive the same attention in season 4 and
beyond.

47
“Yard Sale,” Jon & Kate Plus Eight, TLC, November 24, 2008.

48
In an article from The Washington Post in 2008, TLC confirmed that the Gosselins
were paid a fee per episode, and they also provided “perks” such as tummy tucks and hair
implants. See: Sandra Boodman, “For This Brood, It’s Chaos Times Eight,” The
Washington Post, August 3, 2008.

49
The $22,500 per episode information came from a report in the Huffington Post about a
tell-all that was never published. In 2012, Robert Hoffman tried to publish an e-book,
Kate Gosselin: How She Fooled the World. TLC and Kate Gosselin stopped the
publication because Hoffman was going to publish confidential documents (reportedly
from hard drives he found in the Gosselins’s trash). For details on their rumored income,
166

see: “Kate Gosselin’s Earnings Reported in New Book,” The Huffington Post, October
15, 2012, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/10/15/kate-gosselin-
earnings_n_1967633.html.

50

Michael Rubinkam, “PA labor officials probing ‘Jon & Kate’ complaint,” Connecticut
Post Online, May 29, 2009.

51
John Downing, “The Political Economy of U.S. Television,” Monthly Review 42.1
(May 1990), 30.

52
Mark Andrejevic, 11.

53
Roger Armbrust, “WGA Vies with USA over Reality TV,” Back Stage, March 23,
2001, http://business.highbeam.com/3907/article-1G1-72523558/wga-vies-usa-over-
reality-tv

54
Todd Cunningham, “Reality TV: The Invisible Front in Hollywood’s Labor Wars,”
September 30, 2012, http://www.thewrap.com/tv/article/reality-tv-invisible-front-
hollywoods-labor-wars-58026

55
The Internet and popular press abound with stories and commentary on sexualization
of children in Toddlers & Tiaras (as of April 2014 a Google search for “Toddlers &
Tiaras and Child Exploitation” generates 89,900 hits). Therapist (and Pennsylvania
resident) Polly Kahl has actively blogged about the Gosselins, child exploitation, and
child labor. See Polly Kahl, Small Town Gosselins,
http://smalltowngosselins.squarespace.com/; and her self-published book, Polly Kahl, Jon
& Kate Plus Eight: Reality TV & the Selling of the Gosselins (Kahl Counseling Press,
2011). 15 minutes, Gosselin Style (http://www.realitytvkids.com/) is another blog
devoted to detailing the ways that Kate Gosselin exploits and abuses her children.

56
Kimberlianne Podlas, 57-8.

57
Polly Kahl, “This is Not Child’s Play,” Small Town Gosselins Blog, September 10,
2010, http://smalltowngosselins.squarespace.com/blog/2010/9/20/this-is-not-childs-
play.html.

58
“Murt honored by SAG-AFTRA for reforming Child Labor Laws,” Pennsylvania
House Republican Caucus Website, May 14, 2013,
http://www.pahousegop.com/NewsItem.aspx?NewsID=17422

59
“2012 Act 151,” Pennsylvania General Assembly,
http://www.legis.state.pa.us/cfdocs/legis/LI/uconsCheck.cfm?txtType=HTM&yr=2012&
sessInd=0&smthLwInd=0&act=151&chpt=0&sctn=5&subsctn=0

167

60
“Kate Gosselin Talks Money After ‘Kate Plus 8; Cancellation,” Huffington Post,
November 13, 2011, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/09/13/kate-gosselin-plus-8-
cancelled-money-income_n_960536.html
168

Chapter Four:
The SAG-AFTRA Merger: Union Convergence for the Labor Elite
In its commentary on the 19
th
Annual SAG Awards in 2013, the Los Angeles
Times characterized the SAG Awards as “notorious for union-thumping and guild
genuflection.”
1
Award shows, while often critiqued as being overly self-congratulatory,
are also a venue for Hollywood to air complaints, concerns, and the internal politics of
the business. However, the 19
th
Annual SAG Awards seemed to fall outside of those
truisms. References to the union seemed to be implied rather than overtly stated. The
first 30-acceptance-speech-filled minutes consisted of jokes about dental plans and stories
about when actors got their SAG cards before anyone mentioned the word “union.”
Moreover, the 19
th
Annual SAG Awards were held less than one year after the
2012 SAG-AFTRA merger, yet they continued to call the program “The SAG Awards”
and foreground the SAG identity among actors. The SAG Awards have always been an
occasion for actors to honor performances in film and television, so integrating AFTRA
into the show’s title would not have required a significant change in the award categories
or the structure of the show. The 2013 SAG Awards show could have been a time to
celebrate the culmination of over 50 years of merger discussions and attempts. However,
if one didn’t listen closely to the 2013 SAG Awards show, it would not be apparent that
SAG and AFTRA merged less than a year earlier.
Distinctions and hierarchies, rather than affinities and convergence, have
traditionally defined the relationship between SAG and AFTRA. Although SAG was
considered the film actor’s union and AFTRA was usually referred to as the television
actor’s union, the divisions were not always this precise with regard to studio-union
contracts for television (specifically digitally-shot primetime and basic cable programs).
2

169

The split over media also carried distinctions of quality. SAG was traditionally
considered the more elite union, while AFTRA had a reputation for being less aggressive
at the bargaining table than SAG.
3
Of course some of these assumptions about the unions
are attributable to historical notions about the quality of film versus television (and the
opportunities for actors that work in one or the other) rather than any clear difference in
the labor performed by film or television actors.
Snobbery around union membership haunted both organizations, but it never
interfered with their ability to bargain together. Their partnership was friendly, intended
for the mutual benefit of the members of each organization. It was not a binding contract
and there was always the possibility that the joint negotiations could end at any point.
When the division between SAG and AFTRA became particularly contentious following
the 100-day Writers Guild Association (WGA) strike in 2007-2008, SAG and AFTRA
broke their bargaining truce and fought separately over their own respective needs to set
the terms for residuals, health care, and pension plans.
4
For supporters of a SAG and
AFTRA merger, the disintegration of the bargaining agreement clarified that if SAG and
AFTRA were going to successfully work together they needed to form a single union.
The merger was a point of discussion amongst the actor’s unions since 1948, and
there were numerous attempts and failures. This chapter historicizes SAG and AFTRA in
relation to each other and demonstrates how increased technological and textual
convergence in media industries in the early 2010s contributed to the SAG-AFTRA
merger that union members, scholars, popular critics, and journalists advocated for over
many years.
5
Thus, the conventional wisdom holds that SAG-AFTRA is now better
equipped to address technological advancements and the rapidly changing media
170

industries. However, this particular understanding of the SAG-AFTRA merger operates
under the assumption that a larger union is inherently more powerful, without considering
the specific histories of these two unions. The merger does not obliterate pre-existing
differences between the unions, nor does it further equip union leaders to address the
problems that face the increased membership and diversity of actors in SAG-AFTRA.
As of 2014, SAG-AFTRA has 165,000 members – and it continues to grow.
SAG-AFTRA is required to advocate for actors, journalists, and occasionally members of
the paparazzi with conflicting interests among the different classes of actors among its
constituents, from bankable stars and character actors, to aspiring actors and those eking
out a living doing background acting. One of the primary concerns from anti-merger
groups was that this new breadth of actors would prevent the union from taking a strong
stance at the bargaining table and might make organization more challenging. Pro-
merger groups argued that a broader base of actors would make the union’s position
stronger. The merger, which expands the membership base, will undoubtedly give actors
greater negotiating power and leverage with the studios – a SAG-AFTRA strike would
create significant work stoppages in the media industries. However, members must vote
to strike, something difficult to achieve in a membership with such varied needs and
interests. It will be challenging to effectively bargain for the diverse needs of all of SAG-
AFTRA’s members. Thus, in an effort to compete with the scope and scale of
conglomerates, actors have created a larger, but potentially weaker, collective bargaining
advocate to help them make acting a viable career choice within the fiercely competitive
media industries. The merger answers many concerns raised by the growth of
conglomerates and the rise of unremunerated digital technologies. However, I argue that
171

the larger union will not alleviate the cultural tensions that emerge from trying to help
creative workers to think of themselves as laborers working within a corporate system
that is intellectually and creatively stimulating, but also exploitative.

SAG-AFTRA: One Union for the Era of Transmedia Narratives and Convergent
Industries
In its 40
th
anniversary issue in 2000, Back Stage gave a 40-year history of Actor’s
Equity Association (AEA), SAG, and AFTRA’s achievements, changes, and failures.
Each decade was given a subheading, but the most decisive heading was the one for the
90s: “Corporations Merge, Unions Don’t.”
6
This heading succinctly demonstrates the
difference between corporate and union strategies in the 90s. Corporations merged and
brought assorted media properties under a single conglomerate. The entertainment labor
unions, however, did not merge, even ones like SAG and AFTRA that had agreements to
bargain together and shared membership. SAG and AFTRA were still divided along
medium specific lines as the film and television unions. Retaining separate union
identities made it increasingly hard for the unions to confront the rapid changes that
convergence brought.
Corporate convergence, or the process of bringing diverse subsidiaries under a
single corporate umbrella, generated new narrative forms. Throughout the 2000s the
terms “transmedia” and “convergence” became increasingly popular buzzwords to
discuss shifts in corporate structures and concomitant shifts in storytelling strategies.
Transmedia is typically used to describe how ancillary properties expand narrative
worlds. Transmedia storytelling extends the narratives of film and television beyond the
172

boundaries of the initial medium into novels, games, comic books, etc. Henry Jenkins’
description of The Matrix (1999) gives an outline of what seemingly constitutes an ideal
model for transmedia storytelling:

[…] a story might be introduced in a film, expanded through television,
novels, and comics; its world might be explored through game play or
experienced as an amusement park attraction. Each franchise entry needs
to be self-contained so you don’t need to have seen the film to enjoy the
game and vice versa.
7

Transmedia stories of this scope are complex and have the potential to generate a great
deal of money from a singular concept.
The ability to spin media properties (such as The Matrix) into multi-platform
narratives (and a range of commercial outlets) becomes increasingly profitable when the
work can be divided amongst (and capitalized on through) various subsidiaries.
Conglomerates and consumers have accepted convergence and cross-media texts as
commonplace. Yet the labor that produces the content has not smoothly assimilated these
common practices into their bargaining agreements. The strategy of using technology to
create opportunities and exploit new markets is not unique to the era of convergence.
However, convergence and especially transmedia models have been effective in part
because they generate excitement in consumers and often offer producers the chance to
develop more complex narratives. The transmedia model accommodates conglomerates
and capital, which seek new markets for the properties they own. And the narrative
expansion inevitably extends into mediums that have yet to be covered under collective
bargaining agreements, which saves the producers money and leaves guilds scrambling to
reach agreements at the negotiating table. The corporations are always able to stay one
step ahead, moving quickly in order to bypass costly agreements with labor.
173

From the positions of narrative investment, textual analysis, and fan engagement,
the expansion of content beyond traditional narrative venues is exciting and generative;
but for media workers seeking compensation for their work, narrative expansion presents
challenges for union organizers and bargaining teams. This bargaining is also
challenging because it is speculative – it is difficult to predict the success of a product
once it is re-distributed. As of 2014, the proliferation of transmedia content has not
necessarily resulted in large profits. However, new media forms do offer new
possibilities for monetization once studios figure out a way to profit from the content that
is likely to re-use and re-distribute characters and material without paying residuals in the
absence of labor agreement.
The challenges are not only related to media forms left outside of preexisting
agreements, but also the increasingly fluid roles that media workers occupy, as writer-
producers, actor-producers, etc. As actors begin to take on multiple roles on any given
production, they also obtain greater control and ownership over projects (something that
actors are not granted through residuals). These varied roles and hyphenate positions
suggest that some media workers can potentially identify as both labor and management
on a given production, troubling the usual bargaining relationships as new labor
agreements emerge.
Despite the increased consolidation of corporations and the growing opportunities
to monetize content across multiple platforms, media guilds have been relatively slow to
converge. In their 2008 study of labor convergence, The Laboring of Communication:
Will Knowledge Workers of the World Unite?, Vincent Mosco and Catherine McKercher
posit some potentially strong benefits to the idea of collective bargaining from the
174

position of a larger collective. Mosco and McKercher explain that each union has a
unique set of motivations and expectations regarding convergence of unions, including,
protecting members from the growing power of companies that employ
them, […] protection from governments that have taken a probusiness
position, […] as a way of strengthening labor’s voice in the policy arena,
[…] and as an attempt to take advantage of synergies brought about by
growing convergence in their work and workplaces.
8

For SAG and AFTRA there are two key issues here: 1) larger unions wield more power at
the negotiating table, a position that SAG, AFTRA, and Unite for Strength (the pro-
merger party within SAG and AFTRA) echoed in their pro-merger campaign in 2011-
2012. 2) As the histories of SAG and AFTRA have demonstrated, it can be potentially
difficult (and occasionally impossible) to bring workers together in a merger – even if
they perform similar jobs.
Union convergence makes sense for unions facing increasingly consolidated
businesses, but even as entertainment unions like SAG and AFTRA converge they
remain at a disadvantage relative to the consolidated corporate power. As Jonathan
Handel explains, union bargaining in Hollywood is always relational – meaning that, for
instance, WGA demands impact SAG-AFTRA’s bargaining power. During the WGA
strike, the writers requested an increase from under $0.05 per DVD sold to $0.10 per
DVD; however, residual increases are all connected, so the writers cannot get an increase
unless the actors and directors also receive a proportionate increase.
9
The entertainment
unions tend to support each other, especially during strikes, but these cooperative
relationships always have the potential to fall apart. Thus the similar interests (such as
residuals) of these diverse groups (writers versus actors) have the potential to work
against the interests of labor.
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SAG and AFTRA had a history of cooperation, but cooperation is different than
the consolidation of interests that characterized corporate convergence. The shift from
two to one union was an act of convergence. This change was crucial for SAG and
AFTRA in order to keep them from working against each other and ultimately breaking
their deals. Convergence has been theorized in terms of texts and corporations, but the
implications of convergence are also important in considerations of labor. However,
these unions had fraught histories that are not easily merged or soothed. Despite their
newly converged identity, SAG-AFTRA still needs to contend with its hierarchies which
are not only related to actors as public figures, but also extend back to the choice of the
distinction of “guild” rather than “union.”

An Aristocracy of Labor?: Organizing Creative Workers
The history of union and guild formation in Hollywood is more a history of
divisiveness and exceptionalism than a history of coalition building and convergence.
Throughout the early 1900s and into the 1920s, Los Angeles had a reputation as pro-
business and viciously anti-union, or “open shop” city. This position, which was
propagated by Harry Chandler of The Los Angeles Times, was seen as one of many
favorable reasons for entrepreneurial film producers to pick up and move their businesses
to Southern California.
10
This pervasive anti-union attitude stemmed from fears that
Hollywood would begin to form guilds and that Hollywood guilds would potentially
glamorize labor and union organizing. Advocates for an open shop in Los Angeles did
not want unions to look more appealing to workers. As Louis Perry and Richard Perry
point out in their 1963 study of Los Angeles labor movements,
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Collective bargaining victories in the studios would certainly contribute to
organized labor’s prestige because of the economic importance of the film
industry in a southern California dominated by the open shop. The
characteristics of the industry, however, were such that most of the work
in its studios, shops, and offices had little connection with the activities of
unions elsewhere in Los Angeles, even those in the same craft.
11

Although the visibility of Hollywood unions was a way to boost labor’s prestige, the
specific characteristics of studio labor and the disconnect between Hollywood guilds and
other unions were the most important characteristics for this rapidly growing industry.
12

This point is underscored by the decision to incorporate the “Guild” title rather than
“Union” in the dominant labor organizations of the film industry. As David Prindle
points out, actors followed the lead of the Screen Writer’s Guild and adopted the “guild”
title to eschew the activist and progressive connotations of the title “union.”
13
Beyond
the political distinctions between the terms “guild” and “union,” there are also clear class
distinctions. The word “union” connotes a blue-collar and working class group, whereas
the term “guild” is aligned with educated white-collar workers (that might also provide
training and apprenticeships for members).
14

The movement away from a progressive union identity highlights the hesitance to
identify as “labor” and resonates strongly with Vladimir Lenin’s idea of the “aristocracy
of labor.” In the preface to Lenin’s Imperialism: The Highest Stage of Capital, he
describes labor leaders and the upper levels of labor as those who can be (and are) bribed
by the excessive capital produced under capitalism. Lenin argues that the aristocracy of
labor comprises “the real agents of the bourgeoisie in the labor movement, the labor
lieutenants of the capitalist class, real channels of reformism and chauvinism.”
15
What
this concept underlines is the distinction between (and within) labor unions – not all
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unions are leftist and not all unions benefit equally; some will ultimately work with
capital to exploit the bottom, even under the auspices of a “guild” or “union.”
SAG and AFTRA, and their diverse populations, demonstrate Lenin’s point and
provide a clear example of how unions (and union members) often act in service of
capital. This argument should not undermine the important work that SAG and AFTRA
have done for actors. SAG and AFTRA have provided better conditions and wages for
all members, including those who worked sporadically. They also provide an array of
benefits to members through health care, pension plans, and residuals that can provide
some stability within an extremely unstable career. However, the structure of the guilds
was contingent on a large membership base, which resulted in irregular work and less job
security for actors. This has not changed since the merger. As an organization SAG-
AFTRA’s funding is still reliant upon keeping a large membership base, which means the
fact that some members are not working regularly is a foundational assumption.
The presence of dramatically different careers (and competition) within the same
union means that actors also have very different self-interests at the bargaining table. For
example, an actor who is not working might be more inclined to vote for a strike in the
hope that anything won might benefit him in the long-term. Actors also have different
access to union benefits, such as residuals, and might want to take a stronger position in
certain contracts based on their individual access. Lastly, since job security is difficult to
attain, union members are often in the position of competing against each other for roles,
disallowing the possibility that everyone in the union will always work cooperatively.
All of these are realistic differences that can exist within this one union. Despite the
different interests most actors are trying to work for the betterment of their collective
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lives as actors. However, making it big as an actor means transcending the bargaining
power of the union as an above-the-line actor who negotiates his or her own salary or as
someone who occupies multiple roles or hyphenate positions (for example, “actor-
producer” or “actor-director”). These actors, who are also SAG-AFTRA members,
provide the clearest example of aristocracy of labor that Lenin writes about. Their
interests are divided between their work as actors and their additional roles, which
provide other financial rewards distinct from what they receive through SAG-AFTRA.
These hyphenate roles that allow actors to share in the profit of their product as
management are unique opportunities within Hollywood. Few actors wield enough
power and influence to command these dual positions. However, many more actors have
access to residuals.

Residuals: Setting the Stage for Union Conflicts
Residuals have been and continue to be one of the key material distinctions that
separates different tiers of actors. Residuals are actually one of the unifying forces for
creative workers across various media, but they have always been a contentious
bargaining point with studios. The terms of residuals have been contested and
renegotiated since 1948, and have often functioned as an issue that unions rally around
for sympathetic strikes.
The fierce competition amongst journeymen actors means that they cannot count
on stable and consistent paying work. In the absence of job stability, residuals have
provided a modicum of income security for above-the-line talent. Residuals are a form of
payment for the re-use of material, but they do not imply or signify any proprietary rights
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over media properties. The fact that residuals do not grant any ownership is significant
because it means that labor’s claims to media properties is tenuous (based solely on
bargaining agreements). This also explains why these rights need to be constantly
renegotiated as technologies and distribution methods change. Although residuals are
hotly debated, they are necessary because of the sporadic nature of employment for
actors, writers, etc. and they provide long-term wages, even if actors do not have long-
term employment. While residuals signify an important part of union negotiations, for
the numerous background actors paying SAG-AFTRA dues, residuals are merely
aspirational. Background actors do not receive residuals, but they are invested in the
union position on residuals because they hope to earn them in a future role. This is
significant because it creates different bargaining stakes for different guild members:
those who get residuals (actors with speaking roles) and those who do not (non-speaking
background actors). Thus residuals are not only unique to media guilds, but in the case of
SAG and AFTRA they provide a key distinction among guild members.
The development of residuals demonstrates one of the ways that professionalism
evolved for actors in the media industries. While residuals have positive and important
material consequences for the actors who receive them, they also have rhetorical
significance. Residuals can be interpreted as a means to identify a professional actor.
Writing in 1958, Robert Gilbert outlined the legal and contractual details that gave actors
a legal right to residuals in 1952, explaining, “[…] actors who have acquired residual
rights under these collective bargaining agreements range from lesser performers to
stars,” but extras were (and are) excluded from SAG and AFTRA contracts.
16
In this
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case, professional actors could be distinguished from background actors based on their
rights to residuals.
Unlike benefits, pensions, or even wages and working conditions, residuals are
extremely sensitive to changes in technology and the addition of new media outlets. The
concept of residuals emerged from a 1930s radio practice in which performers were paid
when their recordings aired. Managers were concerned about airing recorded programs,
so they asked performers to be on hand during taped recordings in case there was a
problem with the tape and the performance needed to be re-created live.
17
The standard of
residual payments remained long after the practice of keeping performers on-hand
stopped. SAG began raising the issue of residuals in 1948, and actors began receiving
residuals for kinescope reruns (live shows recorded on the east coast and replayed on the
west coast) in 1952. Since television broadcast networks, production, and genres all
emerged out of pre-existing radio practices, it seems logical that a radio practice would
find its way into television. However, in the 1950s television programming was not
simply original content. Hollywood studios had discovered that TV networks needed
content and they needed new avenues to distribute their content in the wake of the
Paramount Decrees and the divestment of their theater chains. Thus, in the spirit of
convergence (before this term had any currency), film and television came together to
profit from this pre-existing content. Film studios rented their older product to networks
and networks were able to fill their programming hours. Both film studios and television
studios won because they did not have any labor costs. The labor that produced these
films was cut out of the profit because there were no residuals for feature films. This was
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an early example of a time that the unions needed to confront the new (studio dictated
and created) economic relationships that emerged from new technology.
In an attempt to share in these profits, both SAG and the Writers Guild of
America (WGA) went on strike to fight for residuals in 1960. Even though actors had
gained the legal right to residuals, the unions needed to expand these rights through a new
agreement as the studios reaped increased profits from the re-use of media content. The
strike lasted 33 days, but it was not particularly disruptive - the studios only had to pause
production on eight projects.
18
While the strike certainly did not turn Hollywood upside-
down, it did successfully establish a more robust residual payment structure, one of the
most important financial changes for actors, writers, and directors. During the 1960
contract negotiations, SAG negotiators requested residual payments for all televised films
dating back until 1948 (or a lump sum credit on films from 1948 onward) and a 5%
contribution to the SAG pension, health and welfare program.
19
When studios refused
(based on the logic that actors should not be paid twice for one job), 83% of SAG
members voted to strike. Eventually they reached a compromise: residuals would be paid
on films from 1960 forward with an additional $2.5 million paid toward the SAG pension
and health care fund. The real importance of the strike in 1960 was that the residuals
reflected SAG’s ability to win some of the profit that studios generated through
convergence strategies. This was an important precedent for future dealings as new
technologies emerged. It is also important to note that the 1960 strike was successful
because SAG and the WGA (Writers’ Guild of America) went on strike together. The
importance of sympathetic strikes is something that SAG would recognize on and off in
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the next major set of negotiations in the 1980s. However, in the 1980s they would be
partnering with AFTRA, which would be a much more troubled relationship.
While residuals were, and as of 2014, remain a source of conflict between guilds
and studios, it is important to note that this is purely a debate over profit sharing. Studios
do not provide or pay for any of the infrastructure that is necessary to distribute residual
checks. In this sense, residuals have been an instrumental demand in helping to affirm
the importance of all of the entertainment unions. As Archie Kleingartner pointed out,
“[t]he above-the-line unions have taken on certain functions that typically are viewed as
core managerial tasks. […] This can clearly be seen in the administration of residuals.”
20

Most employers pay their employees directly, however, the unions make the payments
for the studios. In order to make residual payments, the studios pay the unions, which in
turn distribute payments to their members. The studios, networks, and payroll companies
all send residual information to SAG-AFTRA using different payroll software, which
means that data needs to be verified and often input by hand.
21
Distributing residuals has
become an increasingly time-consuming process. In 2012 SAG-AFTRA sent out 2.9
million residual checks and members earned $639 million in residual payments.
22
This is
an extremely high volume of checks that are handled by 28 full-time SAG-AFTRA staff
members.
23
SAG-AFTRA attributes a large percentage of this increase in volume to the
increase in cable programming (more networks require more programming and reruns to
fill time slots) and the growth of new media. Thus the unions are indispensible to both the
membership and the studios, because they handle the processing and distribution of
residuals.
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Residuals are an important part of entertainment bargaining and signify one of the
important ways that Hollywood guilds are considered the exception rather than the norm
for national unions, but they also divide the membership. Some union benefits are
accessible to all consistently working actors, such as health care and retirement benefits,
but residuals are connected to above-the-line status within a film or television program
and its continued reuse. Despite the centrality of residuals within entertainment
bargaining, residuals are mailed sporadically and are not sufficient to replace an annual
income; they simply supplement income. Extras never receive residuals, which means
that this even though this is an important issue that unites workers across the
entertainment unions, it actually divides the membership within SAG-AFTRA.

SAG and AFTRA – Hierarchies and Hostility, Cooperation and Mergers
Unionization of actors in Los Angeles began as a fight over jurisdiction over the
right to claim film actors and later television actors as a dues-paying membership base.
In the midst of these battles over jurisdiction, the issue of hierarchies within unions has
been a persistently sensitive issue. At some junctures, SAG voted against mergers with
both SEG (the Screen Extras Guild) and AFTRA that would extend their dues paying
base in order to preserve their status as an elite union. SAG and AFTRA have been
sporadically trying to reach a merger agreement since 1960, and the dream of merging
performers’ unions predates AFTRA.
24
The merger agreement on March 30, 2012 was
the product of many years of discussion and failed merger attempts. However, as SAG
and AFTRA increasingly faced media conglomerates with interests ranging across
various media, the leadership and membership concluded that a broader membership base
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could present a stronger position than a smaller base with homogenous interests. Of
course, expanding the base does not necessarily mean that the union will be able to more
effectively bargain for its newly increased membership. In order to merge these two
unions, the leadership and membership of both unions needed to figure out a way to
overcome their previous failures, which created tensions between the unions that made it
seem like the unions would never merge.
SAG and AFTRA have a history of joining forces. In 1980 both unions joined
forces on the issue of residuals (like SAG and the WGA did to expand residuals in 1960).
The 1980 negotiations marked the next major expansion of residuals after the 1960
contract. In this case, the renegotiations accompanied the popularization of VHS
technology and the home video market. Studios and unions finally reached an agreement
after a 95-day strike (almost three times longer than the 1960 strike). At the time the
contract was considered a success because it established that actors would receive a
percentage of the home video distribution profits.
25
The original formula for VHS
residuals was based on the knowledge that cassettes were expensive to manufacture, and
the cost of producing physical media was at the center of this initial agreement.
However, this formula remained when DVDs (which were significantly cheaper to make)
replaced VHS, vastly increasing the profits for the studios. Ultimately this agreement
proved a frustrating precedent for unions that has lingered throughout the various digital
media discussions. However, the perceived success in 1980 prompted SAG and AFTRA
to consider a merger.
SAG and AFTRA leadership developed a three-phase plan to implement the
merger. Phase 1 was to combine negotiations, Phase 2 was to combine union governance,
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and Phase 3 would implement the merger. One particular group that emerged in support
of the merger was the Caucus of Artists for Merger (CAM). CAM expressed support for
this merger implementation in weekly advertisements in Back Stage, a journal for actors.
This 1980 plan is the origin of the frequently discussed “Phase 1” agreement. Phase 1
passed, but SAG and AFTRA remained in this phase until 2008 when they abandoned it.
Even during these negotiations, 31 years before the SAG-AFTRA merger, SAG
leadership felt that a united union would be the only way to face media conglomerates.
SAG’s Executive Secretary Chester Migden justified the 3-Phase merger plan saying, “I
am convinced that we cannot confront conglomerates with fractionalized forces. It takes
all the unity and strength we can find.”
26
Chester Migden was a labor lawyer, not an
actor, but he was instrumental in establishing the VHS residual formula. Migden’s
legacy to SAG and AFTRA was the residual formula, but his 3-Phase merger plan was
the action that more acutely foreshadowed the future of the unions.
27
However, this
merger process was slow and the decision to try to merge with AFTRA came at the same
moment that SEG (Screen Extra’s Guild) was trying to merge into SAG.
In the 1980s SAG split into factions amidst discussions of two different mergers
with AFTRA and SEG. The Screen Extras Guild (SEG) handled collective bargaining for
extras, which left all of the other film actors under the jurisdiction of SAG. SEG had
been struggling to reach satisfactory agreements with studios and continued to lose the
battle against runaway productions. As I discuss in Chapter One, SEG wanted to merge
with SAG, but SAG was not interested in assimilating extras into their union.
28
In 1982
and 1984 SAG voted against a merger with SEG (primarily because SAG members did
not want to takeover SEG’s assets and liabilities). Given the historically contentious
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place of extras within SAG, their absence from the union eased some of the membership
tensions that arose from hierarchical ideas about labor in SAG. This difference in
membership base generated a different set of issues and stakes than those that
characterized later merger attempts. This expansion of the union increased SAG’s
membership and shifted some of their interests. If the SAG and SEG merger was slow
and rocky, the 1998-1999 attempt to merge SAG and AFTRA was disastrous - a divisive
failure that would haunt merger attempts over the next 13 years.
SAG and AFTRA had been bargaining together since 1981, but had failed to
move beyond Phase 1 of their 3-Phase merger plan. In January 1998 SAG and AFTRA
both began to discuss how to merge their unions. One of the key leaders in this merger
attempt was executive director Ken Orsatti, who had worked for SAG since 1961, and
became its executive director in 1981, the same year the 3-Phase merger plan was
implemented. The discussion of how to implement the plan reached a sticking point
around merging pension plans, but they still proceeded with the merger vote.
29
In order
to pass the merger both unions needed to reach 60% approval from the membership.
67% of AFTRA members approved the merger, but it was rejected when only 46% of
SAG members voted for it.
30
After years of discussing merger, this vote finally put it to
the test, and the merger failed. Despite the lack of support for the merger, SAG
leadership responded that they would continue to work closely and negotiate with
AFTRA.
31
SAG’s leadership interpreted the failure of the merger as a desire to remain an
independent union rather than a decision to sever relations with AFTRA. This move on
the part of SAG leadership to continue AFTRA negotiations demonstrated the union
staff’s strong belief in the power of cooperative negotiations, even if it meant acting
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against the wishes of the membership. This response to the failed merger in 1998 kept the
unions working together and set them up for the final (and successful attempt) fourteen
years later.
SAG and AFTRA leadership kept the unions together, but after the failed merger,
the membership became more divisive. In the 2000s, select SAG and AFTRA members
wanted to differentiate between those who work regularly and those who do not. One of
the unique characteristics of SAG (relative to other Hollywood Guilds) is that the vast
majority of its 165,000 members do not work regularly as actors (in many cases,
members have not been hired for a new acting job in years). In order to qualify for health
care and pension benefits actors are required to work a minimum number of days per
year; the non-working actors continue to receive benefits in the form of the opportunity to
work more jobs and receive better treatment on set than non-union members. For
working actors, the un- or underemployed SAG members, who possibly earn their
livelihoods in other industries and supplement their income with non-union background
work, are a liability because they have little to lose if the union goes on strike yet are
often more willing to vote for a strike, knowing that this might yield a larger paycheck if
and when they do find work.
The issue of willingness (or unwillingness) to strike was especially relevant in the
2000s as the Hollywood guilds began to think about how to renegotiate their residuals in
light of the boom in DVD sales. The WGA was the first guild to raise the issue of DVD
residuals in 2004. Studios assumed that they could use the previous VHS formula as a
model for future agreements, however, unions, who were unhappy with the original terms
from 1980, continued to try to change the agreement. Although the WGA eventually
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chose to emphasize health care rather than fighting for these residuals, the seeds of
change and discontent had been planted (and would come up again four years later).
32

The original studio argument for maintaining the same level of residuals was that DVD
sales were the only way to recuperate costs from big-budget films. While this is clearly
not the only way to recuperate costs, studios were not interested in sharing more of the
profit. The DVD residual formula is another example of how studios profit from new
technology, leaving labor scrambling to justify precisely how and why they deserve a
share of the profit generated from the content they helped produce.
Since residual payments are made for re-use of material, this form of payment
needs to be renegotiated as media and modes of distributing and re-playing media
proliferate. Unions have been largely successful at expanding residual coverage to
various media outlets, however, union members (and leadership) have not always been
happy with the percentage members received. As Jonathan Handel points out, the entire
residual formula (and division of money) is “based on the assumption that home video
devices – videotapes, at the time – are expensive to manufacture.”
33
DVDs were cheaper
to produce and buy and streaming media can be distributed without any production cost.
In 2013 media that is consumed at home is increasingly purchased through streaming
devices and digital content sales have increased as DVD and Blu-Ray sales continue to
decline.
34
As media consumption has shifted from VHS or DVD to streaming and digital
content, this formula based on manufacturing prices is becoming increasingly irrelevant
to the way that media is sold and consumed. The changes in content distribution require
unions to organize effectively – sometimes in anticipation of changes in technology - in
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order to make sure that they can participate in the profits generated by the media
industries.
Thus unions and union members are constantly struggling to balance present
interests, whether that means individual jobs or current technology, while anticipating the
future, be it future career prospects or the profit potential of new technology. While all
unions are tasked with balancing collective interests (both present and future), the fact
that SAG and AFTRA actors might make decisions based on their future jobs rather than
current jobs provides insight into some of the unique qualities of SAG and AFTRA.
These issues are most acute in relation to background actors. However, not all
background actors are captivated by dreams of stardom and think about their future jobs.
The casual nature of the work and the accessibility of non-union background jobs make
this an appealing way for underemployed people to supplement their incomes. In 2014,
non-union background work has surprisingly few barriers to entry. Potential background
actors need transportation, both to get to the isolated Central Casting office in Burbank,
and to get to jobs, but there is no cost to register with Central Casting (or other extras
casting centers); all it requires is a bit of free time for registration and a commitment to
regularly check casting calls.
Registering with Central Casting, however, does not guarantee that extras will
earn union membership. As per the 2014 regulations, there are three ways to earn SAG-
AFTRA eligibility.
35
The most common way for background actors to earn eligibility is
to work for three days on a union shoot. In rare cases, non-union members can become
eligible for SAG-AFTRA by becoming “Taft-Hartleyed,” which allows for immediate
eligibility.
36
The anti-union Taft-Hartley Act of 1947 established a series of restrictions
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placed on the New Deal’s pro-union 1935 Wagner Act. One of these restrictions banned
unions from setting up “closed shops,” or exclusive agreements that prevented non-union
workers from accessing jobs in those fields. From the perspective of blue-collar unions
trying to establish bargaining power with employers, this change weakens their position.
However, this has different implications for actors. The Taft-Hartley Act allows studios
to hire a select number of non-union actors under special circumstances. For example, a
film or television shoot might need a fire-eater for a circus scene, but if a union fire-eater
cannot be found, the production can hire a non-union actor. Similarly, studios can hire
new talent for speaking roles and help them gain entry into the union. In order to work as
a principal performer on a SAG-AFTRA shoot, the producer needs to file a “Taft-Hartley
Report” with SAG-AFTRA explaining the unique reasons a non-union actor was hired in
place of a union actor.
37
Thus, for aspiring actors, the Taft-Hartley Act allows for them to
“break-in” to the union and gain access to union roles. The third way an actor can be
eligible for SAG-AFTRA membership is when a performer is a member of an affiliated
union, such as Actor’s Equity Association (AEA), The Alliance of Canadian Cinema,
Television and Radio Artists (ACTRA), The American Guild of Musical Artists
(AGMA), or the American Guild of Variety Artists (AGVA), and he or she works one
day on a SAG-AFTRA shoot.
Once an actor becomes eligible to join the union, he or she still needs to pay
union dues and, of course, none of these avenues of union entry guarantee long-term
success. Actors can enter SAG-AFTRA with a range of experience. An extra who
earned his or her SAG-AFTRA card after working on three union shoots likely has
different concerns than an actor from ACTRA who has been working for several years in
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Canada. This diversity of membership contributes greatly to the competing camps that
have become characteristic of both SAG and AFTRA throughout their respective
histories.
The varied membership base in SAG and AFTRA has generated parties within
each union. These parties are not institutionalized or created by the union leadership, but
instead ones that emerge organically from within the membership - a situation that
Vincent Mosco and Catherine McKercher have dubbed, a “de facto party system.” This
contentious party system is unusual in North American trade unions because most
address the needs of the members through an oligarchy. Rather than engaging in active
debate between two sides, most unions have elected officials who stay in power over long
periods of time. In fact, the only other example of a union with a two party system was
the International Typographical Union (ITU), the union of print and typesetters for
newspapers.
38

In 1956 Seymour Lipset, Martin Trow, and James Coleman conducted a historical
and sociological study of the ITU’s two-party system. They suggested that most unions
have an oligarchy because of bureaucratic structure, members’ limited access to
communication platforms, and the fact that most “rank and file” members do not have the
political savvy or have not developed the public speaking skills necessary to run for
office.
39
Even though most unions exist in an oligarchic system, ITU was an exception,
demonstrating a vibrant democracy through a two-party system and annual turnover on
the executive board. In their explanation, Lipset, Trow, and Coleman explain that the
composition of the membership was important for this democratic system. According to
Lipset, Trow, and Coleman, “The borderline or marginal status of printing between the
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middle class and the working class insured the value cleavage which provided the content
of politics and evenly split the union into ‘radical’ and moderate camps.”
40
They also
explain that ITU members identified strongly with their craft (which created an interest in
union participation). While this does not fully account for why ITU developed a
democracy and other unions did not, it is clear that a committed base with diverse
interests is certainly important to fuel union activity.
Lipset, Trow, and Coleman’s discussion of why oligarchy appears in unions also
reveals why SAG and AFTRA retained a robust internal two-party system for decades.
Bureaucracy, limited access to communication platforms, and minimal training as public
figures are not obstacles for a union of actors. Within SAG and AFTRA, the bureaucratic
system is large, but also functional because the union processes and distributes residual
payments. Actors also have a number of platforms from which to speak, organize and
comment on their union beyond official union publications. In 2014, sagaftrawatch.com
(formerly www.sagwatch.com), SAG Watchdog (www.sagwatchdog.com), and The SAG
Actor Bulletin Board (www.sagactor.com) are all sites for actors to find relevant union
links, engage in online debate, and ask questions outside of the official union
publications. Both SAG and AFTRA parties (Membership First and Unite for Strength)
also retain their own sites. Lastly, SAG and AFTRA were and are comprised of people
who make a living or aspire to make a living as public figures. Beyond their filmed
work, actors are often required to give interviews, speak at press junkets, and make
statements on the red carpet, and as public figures they might also work on charities that
require public appearances and speeches, which means that transitioning to public
speaking for their union is not a significant shift in their daily work.
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Since SAG and AFTRA include actors who have achieved varying levels of
success, their members often seek different benefits from their union. Historically these
factions have been divided between groups who want to take a more aggressive
bargaining position with a smaller membership base of working actors versus a group
that favors merging to create a broader base of actors.
41
The names of the two parties in
SAG have changed, but the opposing positions have remained relatively consistent.
Many of the recent failed merger attempts were a result of factions within the unions,
specifically the conservative Membership First faction, which was the strongest anti-
merger group.
Membership First positioned itself in opposition to the merger because they
wanted a smaller membership base in order to strengthen their position at the bargaining
table. In order to reduce the heavily bloated membership base, they advocated for a
minimum number of days worked as a precondition of union voting rights. Membership
First’s most active members during the early 2000s (the most successful period for this
party) included Elliot Gould, Valerie Harper, Alan Rosenberg, and Kent McCord, all
consistently working character actors (at this historical moment) who rarely landed
starring roles but maintained steady work. Membership First, like the Performers
Alliance before them, advocated for a narrower base that was more aggressive at the
bargaining table and believed that a more homogenous group of working actors had a
better chance of reaching a consensus and would have an easier time achieving their
demands. Expanding the union to incorporate AFTRA would only make this process
more difficult.
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Membership First gathered most of its strength after the failed 2003 SAG-AFTRA
merger attempt.
42
By 2005 Membership First had won control of SAG’s executive board
and fired National Executive Director and Chief Negotiator Greg Hessinger (only six
months after he accepted the position).
43
Greg Hessinger was a labor lawyer, the former
Director of Labor Relations for CBS, Inc., and the former National Executive Director of
AFTRA until 2005. All of these credentials were meaningful for a union that was trying
to merge with AFTRA, but Hessinger was not seen as a strong advocate for film actors.
His role was to bring the unions together rather than to fight for a better contract for SAG
members. Membership First was particularly critical of Hessinger because of his former
position at AFTRA and Hessinger’s decision to try to bring former AFTRA board
members over to SAG (therefore further tightening the relationship between SAG and
AFTRA).
When Membership First gained control over SAG’s executive board, they
immediately fired Greg Hessinger. In an effort to shift SAG’s political direction,
Hessinger was replaced by Membership First’s choice, Doug Allen. Whereas Hessinger
was a labor lawyer who had previously worked for a studio, Doug Allen was known as an
advocate for union members. Although Allen did not have connections to Hollywood, he
had a labor pedigree that made him seem like an ideal candidate for SAG’s high profile
negotiations. Allen received a B.A. from Penn State’s Department of Labor Studies and
Employment Relations and as a former Buffalo Bills’ linebacker, he also served as
Assistant Executive Director of the National Football League (NFL) Players Association
from 1982-2007. Prior to Doug Allen, SAG had never hired someone outside of
Hollywood. However, as a union representative from the NFL Players Association,
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Allen had experience with high profile union members, management, and labor disputes
– including a major strike in 1987. The NFL Players Association does not have the wide
range of members that SAG represents (there is no equivalent of a background actor in
the NFL), but like SAG, the NFL Players Association has a divide between lower-paid
young players, journeyman players, and highly paid celebrity members, many of whom
might also bargain separate contracts beyond their collective bargaining agreements.
44

Allen’s take on the similarities between SAG and the NFL Players Association was
slightly different. Allen claims, “there are a lot of similarities between actors and football
players. They’re performers who are in a highly competitive business who are only as
good as their last performance and who are represented by agents.”
45
Although Allen
does identify some of the peculiarities of actors and athletes as laborers, his assessment
neglects to mention the potential for substantial contracts.
Hiring Doug Allen represented two significant shifts for SAG as they prepared for
the 2008 contract negotiations. First, replacing Hessinger with Allen signaled a shift in
SAG’s relationship with AFTRA. Allen would not be as AFTRA-friendly as Hessinger
and the people Hessinger tried to bring into SAG leadership. This set in motion the
breakdown of the longstanding Phase 1 agreement, which kept SAG and AFTRA
bargaining together. Hiring Allen was also a sign that SAG wanted a stronger negotiator.
Allen was known for taking an aggressive approach as a negotiator; SAG board member
(and former star of Rhoda) Valerie Harper declared shortly after he was hired, “He’s
brought back the mission of the union to focus on the working actor…We have a real
unionist at our helm.”
46
Harper’s message about Allen affirms that it was more important
for them to hire a strong negotiator than an actor. The goal for SAG leading up to the
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2008 negotiations was to hire someone who could speak to the needs of SAG actors,
however diverse those needs might be. The message SAG sent with this hire was that
they were going to attempt to strike a better agreement than the one that the Writer’s
Guild of America (WGA) achieved and that they thought they would maintain a better
bargaining position independent from AFTRA.
The breakdown of the Phase 1 agreement in the wake of the 2007-2008 WGA
strike was a volatile time for SAG and AFTRA. At the center of the negotiations and
pending strike were Doug Allen as National Executive and Chief Negotiator and Alan
Rosenberg as SAG President (also affiliated with Membership First). Alan Rosenberg is
a character actor, most well-known from 1990s TV shows such as Civil Wars (1991-
1993) and L.A. Law (1986-1994). Rosenberg was President of SAG for two terms (2005-
2009) and won based on a platform of stronger negotiations for actors. Like Allen,
Rosenberg was committed to advocating aggressively for actors - after he was elected he
promised to take a stronger position during the next set of negotiations.
47
Rosenberg
believed strongly in the importance of on-screen talent, declaring, “We are the product.
They can’t do without us.”
48
Based on Rosenberg’s promises and position it should not
have come as a surprise that SAG would reach an impasse with their negotiations in
2009. However, as SAG’s negotiations continued to fall apart, AFTRA reached a
favorable agreement. It became apparent that SAG’s bargaining agreement with AFTRA
provided them with increased strength at the bargaining table.
The proliferation of television shows and resultant increase in jobs on television
shifted the power dynamic between SAG and AFTRA. SAG’s executive board did not
account for AFTRA’s growing prominence and influence in the mid-2000s as more
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television shows worked under AFTRA contracts. As Jonathan Handel points out, a
major impetus for the merger stemmed from SAG’s contract negotiation conflicts in
2008-2009, which ultimately weakened SAG’s hold on many television programs (90%
of pilots were covered by AFTRA in 2009) and resulted in shifts in union power and
attitude toward AFTRA (AFTRA has always been willing to negotiate a merger, while
SAG has been resistant).
49
Given the importance and prominence of television for on-
screen talent, losing pilots signified a significant loss in power. SAG attempted to
strengthen its bargaining power by bringing in a new director and negotiator, but this
maneuver still did not redress the shift in the balance of power. Ultimately the executive
board was still operating on the increasingly shaky assumption that they were the most
powerful actors’ union.
In January 2009, frustration and anger over a pending strike reached a breaking
point amongst union and board members. SAG board member Paul Christie compared
Rosenberg to Nixon and explained, “This was truly the guild’s little Watergate moment,
and just as shameful. This entire organization and its over 100,000 members are being
held hostage by Alan Rosenberg and Doug Allen.”
50
The frustration and feelings of
stagnation ultimately led the board to fire Doug Allen in 2009. Alan Rosenberg continued
to be one of Allen’s strongest supporters, even after the board voted to fire him. As
Rosenberg described in his letter of support of Doug Allen, “[m]any of us believe that
Doug Allen was fired because he was simply too good, too strong, and too much a
unionist.”
51

Alan Rosenberg and Doug Allen both wanted to take a hard line in negotiations,
but when they were not effective, it was attributed to their break with AFTRA and their
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inability to recognize AFTRA’s growing influence in Hollywood. Their failure caused
support for Membership First to erode and shifted the balance of power in SAG toward
Unite for Strength and renewed attempts at a SAG-AFTRA merger. In the 2010 elections
Membership First lost all of its board seats, including the Presidency, which was won by
Ken Howard. Howard is an Emmy and Tony-award winning actor known for his work
across media, with performances on film, television, and stage, making him an ideal
candidate for Unite for Strength’s platform. Howard ran on a platform of building
strength through unity with AFTRA and other entertainment unions. This position
diverges from Alan Rosenberg’s idea of strength, which was to emphasize the importance
of SAG actors as separate from (and, implicitly, superior to) other actors and other
entertainment guilds. By 2011 the Membership First group had lost enough support
(losing in three consecutive elections) that they allowed their website domain name to
lapse, and they deleted their blog.
52
Membership First was revived in the 2013 elections,
now going by a different spelling as “Membership 1
st
.” Membership 1
st
’s current
platform is based on transparency within the union and an emphasis on member needs
rather than union staff priorities.
53
Membership 1
st
has continued to stress the importance
of actors and their needs, but without the merger to rally against, their platform seems
like a diluted version of what it was in the early 2000s. Even with this softer position,
they still failed to win key seats in the fall 2013 election.
Membership First was a highly politicized group that wanted to advocate strongly
for journeyman actors. However, their approach was divisive and also criticized for
“trying to seek a better deal than other unions.”
54
This hubris, that SAG somehow
deserved more than the WGA, DGA, or AFTRA, has been characteristic of SAG
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throughout numerous decades. When Unite for Strength (UFS) formed after the SAG
and AFTRA phase 1 agreement collapsed in 2008, its primary mission was to recognize
the strength of other unions and organize the membership base in favor of a merger
between SAG and AFTRA.
Ironically SAG’s attempt to distance itself from AFTRA and be tougher at the
bargaining table only strengthened AFTRA’s influence in Hollywood as the preferred
and less demanding union. While SAG’s negotiations stalled in 2008-2009, AFTRA was
able to dramatically increase its television contracts during pilot season. Approximately
90% of the pilots from 2008 were covered under SAG contracts, but when they failed to
reach contract agreements in 2009, the majority of pilots had to be covered under
AFTRA contracts – a trend which continued until the 2012 merger.
55
However, many of
the SAG shows on the air in 2009 were older established shows, such as the CSI and Law
& Order franchises, while AFTRA dominated the contracts for new shows. Since
television is the main source of work for union members, the union that controls the bulk
of television production becomes more important and central for actors. 83% of the new
shows in 2009, including Modern Family (2009 --), The Good Wife (2009 --), and
Vampire Diaries (2009 --), were covered under AFTRA contracts. Since the majority of
new shows were AFTRA shows, it was only a matter of time before the majority of TV
contracts were dominated by AFTRA. By 2010 AFTRA’s growing dominance was
already visible. In 2009, only 37% of the shows on NBC, CBS, ABC, Fox, and the CW
were AFTRA shows, but by 2010, 54% of the shows on the same networks were
represented by AFTRA.
56
The trend toward AFTRA’s dominance over television
contracts indicated that SAG ultimately needed AFTRA as a bargaining partner. As
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AFTRA grew in strength and influence, they became a more desirable merger partner for
SAG. SAG has only recently been forced to contend with the reality that they are not the
only actor’s union in Hollywood. Ultimately both SAG and AFTRA are uniquely
prestigious and powerful unions, however, the shift during the 2009 pilot season
demonstrates AFTRA’s changing presence and influence in Hollywood.
57

The fatigue from the 2008-2009 negotiations and the rising importance of
AFTRA was not enough to ensure a smooth transition to one union. The success of the
merger was also the result of a well-organized publicity and educational campaign from
Unite for Strength, the SAG Communications Department, and AFTRA Organizers.
Although this campaign reiterated some of the rhetoric that merger supporters used in the
recent failed merger attempts, this campaign was diffused across print media and various
social media platforms to effectively convey the pro-merger rhetoric. The result was a
campaign that appeared to have overwhelming grassroots support, a welcome contrast
from SAG’s isolationist culture during the 2008-2009 negotiations in which members
complained that the leadership had hijacked the negotiations to serve their own agendas.
The merger campaign adopted an important change in rhetoric, one that attempted to
harness togetherness rather than divisiveness and exceptionalism.

SAG-AFTRA: Merger Media
The negotiations in 2008-2009 were prolonged and not as successful as any of the
Membership First board members promised in their campaigning. It was clear that the
unions were more successful together. As part of this merger push in 2010, AFTRA
increased their organizing department, indicating that this new merger attempt in 2010
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would be a more cooperative and organized effort. In October 2010 representatives from
SAG and AFTRA resumed meetings to discuss the potential merger, yet the prospect of a
SAG-AFTRA merger stirred up lingering tensions and divided the membership base.
58

The respective SAG and AFTRA boards approved the merger proposal (which
included details about the merger plan, dues, finance structure, and membership
requirements) in January 2012. Following the board approval, SAG, AFTRA, and the
faction within both unions, Unite for Strength, began a campaign to raise awareness
about the benefits of the merger. One of the critiques of previous merger attempts was
that SAG and AFTRA failed to educate their members about the benefits of merging. In
2012, Unite for Strength (and many AFTRA organizers) rectified this by creating a
number of promotional materials linked through their respective websites, YouTube, and
the SAG-AFTRA Facebook page.
The SAG-AFTRA films and documents develop common sense logic about how a
united union is the best way to meet the changes in the industry and maintain adequate
working conditions for actors. There are 57 short videos on the SAG-AFTRA website
that support the merger, most of which were uploaded to YouTube in February 2012.
The videos range in production quality and style. Many of the videos feature talking
heads with black backgrounds, sporting “SAG-AFTRA One Union” pins, while some
videos are user-generated and feature a single actor (or several actors from a television
cast) making a statement of support. Other videos, such as “Actors from Castle Urge
You to Vote Yes for the SAG-AFTRA Merger,” appear to be taken on-set or in offices
with lower resolution devices. These films also range in duration; rather than discussing
the reasons for voting yes, these shorter films, such as “Members in Arizona are Voting
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Yes for the SAG-AFTRA merger” simply constitute a statement of support. The videos
cover actors with disabilities, non-white actors, and young actors in order to suggest that
this merger benefits everyone. This show of support across multiple local union chapters
demonstrates Unite for Strength’s far-reaching efforts. Even though these films feature
well-known actors, they reflect a grassroots approach toward organizing. By presenting a
wide-range of actors in these films, the aggregate of the films reflects a populist message
that is distinctly different than the exclusionary message propagated by Membership First
only a few years earlier.
The films focus on specific issues relating to benefits and pension plans that are
relevant to actors across mediums and pay grades, while still emphasizing the value of
bargaining power rather than applying activist rhetoric that looks toward the future.
Although the videos are not activist in nature, they do deploy protest rhetoric in the video
“This is what leverage looks like.” As Mosco and McKercher pointed out, AFTRA
Magazine deployed this argument prior to the 2003 merger vote, declaring, “While
AFTRA and SAG have been thinking about consolidating, our employers have actually
done it. The industry already has consolidated.”
59
The 2011 video conveys this
information through a stark visual representation of the way that media consolidation
crosses mediums. Even though the disruption over new media residuals in 2008 suggests
that unions need more bargaining power in order to tackle issues that may arise, it avoids
any discussion about specific issues such as runaway productions, residuals, or new
media. The discussion is limited to a statement that a larger union will mean greater
bargaining power in a vaguely imagined future.
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SAG-AFTRA clearly produced a great number of videos to garner support for the
merger. Given the multiple failed merger attempts in the past, this campaign was
important to demonstrate widespread support across the SAG and AFTRA membership
bases. These videos also offered actors a chance to state and communicate their own
reasons for supporting the merger and take a more active role in their union politics.
Demonstrating support for the merger was only one step in the process of the merger.
Organizers from Unite for Strength also needed to make sure that this merger attempt was
not plagued by the same amount of misinformation that had helped defeat previous
merger votes.
In addition to the videos, SAG-AFTRA and Unite for Strength produced a
number of written documents to educate the membership on merger issues and mitigate
the misinformation circulating on the Internet. These documents range in length (from 1
to 18 pages) and are primarily lists focusing on debunking common myths about the
merger. While the videos focus explicitly on issues that cut across pay grades, many of
these documents are targeted at specific groups within SAG and AFTRA. The document
directed at background actors reiterates points that apply to almost all actors, such as the
ability to count all days worked (splitting days between unions often prevented
background actors from qualifying for health and pension benefits) and reduced dues
(since members will only pay one membership fee). The document also mentions certain
issues that can now be addressed through the larger unions, such as expanding available
jobs, taking on calling services, or organizing for higher minimum daily rates. This
document is meant to be persuasive, so it does not mention details that might complicate
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their decision. For example, it does not explain which membership fees actors would pay
- the SAG membership fees were higher than AFTRA’s fees.
By making the merger look like an act of grassroots and membership action,
Unite for Strength was able to unify the base and successfully usher in the merger.
Throughout SAG and AFTRA’s history of merger attempts it seemed like the union
leadership wanted the merger more than the membership wanted it. In the early merger
attempts, non-actors such as Chester Migden and Ken Orsatti played significant roles in
advocating for the merger. But the visible advocates for the 2012 merger were actors
from Unite for Strength.
Although the active participation of union members helped make the merger
successful, it is unclear whether the membership will come together at the bargaining
table. SAG and AFTRA merged to meet consolidated management who had singular
interests. When a larger union, like SAG-AFTRA, meets conglomerates at the bargaining
table they pose a greater threat because they can shut down production of various media
(rather than simply film or select television shows). In order to strike, the membership
will need to vote in favor of action and hope that some of the pre-merger tensions do not
re-emerge.

SAG-AFTRA: Tensions resolved?
The success of the merger signifies an end to at least some of the tensions that
have haunted SAG and AFTRA. As the editors and administrators of sagaftrawatch.com,
the online site that monitors SAG-AFTRA actions, explained in their April 2012
inaugural posting,
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[…] [I]n recent elections the membership at large spoke clearly that it
wanted the warfare, both within SAG and between SAG and AFTRA to
end. With the overwhelming vote in favor of the merger, announced on
Friday, March 30
th
, the members effectively signed the armistice.
60

This pronouncement of peace amongst the unions suggests that the merger was an easy
and inevitable decision for all members. This depiction glosses over the misinformation
that circulated prior to the merger vote. Like many of the celebratory narratives at the
19
th
Annual SAG Awards, the statement from sagaftrawatch.com assumes the merger
will bring peace to the unions. However, it is still unclear how this transmedia union will
effectively handle the challenges that digital content poses toward their structures of
residuals and compensation. As of January 2014, SAG-AFTRA’s approach toward new
media has been to simply establish a baseline contract rather than separate contracts
based on different budget levels like they have for features. This contract is intended to
work for every type of new media project, from a low or no budget web series to higher
budget online projects like Netflix’s Arrested Development (2013) or Orange is the New
Black (2013). Since this contract encompasses a wide range of entertainment projects,
the contract is very loose – all of the compensation terms are negotiable and actors are
only eligible to receive residuals for projects that cost $25,000 per minute and play on a
consumer pay platform (such as iTunes) for over 26 weeks.
61
Given the budget
requirements, very few web-based programs meet all the criteria to trigger residuals.
Thus the new media contract expands SAG-AFTRA’s reach and makes it possible for
actors to work on new media projects without violating their union membership
agreement, but the contract will not help actors if a low-budget project becomes lucrative
or if producers figure out a way to more effectively monetize new media projects.
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However, the new media contract does provide an additional point of entry for actors
looking to join the union.
In the months following the SAG-AFTRA merger, the union’s organizing
department was busy working to expand their membership base by reaching the first
music video contract for dancers in June 2012.
62
By the end of 2013, SAG-AFTRA
reached their first touring agreement for dancers on Justin Timberlake’s 20/20
Experience tour.
63
By expanding their membership to on and off-screen dancers, SAG-
AFTRA moves further away from Membership First’s ideal of a smaller base of working
actors, and toward an expansive membership. By expanding SAG-AFTRA’s membership
base further, they ensure greater financial stability (because they have more dues paying
members) and they have a potentially wider reach if and when they decide to strike.
Despite their broadening membership base, the SAG-AFTRA merger resulted in
lay-offs and regional office closures as the union consolidated and centralized their
power. In April 2013 the SAG-AFTRA board approved staff lay-offs (despite the fact
that the merger campaign claimed they would not be necessary) and voted to close 10 of
the 25 regional SAG-AFTRA offices.
64
Portland board members opposed these closures
stating that closing regional offices would diminish any state political clout.
65
Despite
SAG-AFTRA’s claims to the contrary, the lack of local staff support will inevitably
affect the actors in cities with closing offices. Although this was not part of the merger
rhetoric, these decisions were made with an eye toward streamlining the union and its
staff as the union continues to transition from two unions to one. One of the additional
staffing challenges SAG-AFTRA has faced was in the residual processing. The increase
in membership resulted in slower processing (in 2013 it took a record 91 days to process
207

residual checks).
66
Two years after the merger, SAG-AFTRA continues to try to manage
its new identity and huge membership.
In winter 2013 the base continued to grow, but the success of the new leadership
will only be clear after the spring 2014 contract negotiations. In SAG-AFTRA’S first
major post-merger election in September 2013, the merged union experienced some
difficulties blending the various union factions.
67
The 2013 elections ultimately produced
a board comprised of members with diverse allegiances and interests. One of the notable
additions to the board is the newly elected Executive Vice President Gabrielle Carteris –
one of the more vocal members of Unite For Strength’s merger campaign.
68
Carteris,
who is most well-known as an actress for her role in Beverly Hills 90210, was involved
on the boards of both SAG and AFTRA throughout her career and served as President of
the Los Angeles Local of AFTRA during the merger, and since 2012 she has been the
Executive Vice President to the California Labor Federation (the state lobbying group
which represents 1,200 separate California unions). After Carteris was elected to the
National Board, she was allowed to appoint her replacement as President of the Los
Angeles Local. Carteris chose David Jolliffe, a member of the Membership 1
st
party in a
decision that seemed to be building bridges between the parties. The re-assembled
Membership 1
st
party also won several seats on the SAG-AFTRA executive board, but
their candidates could not unseat Ken Howard as SAG-AFTRA President. The future of
SAG-AFTRA seems to be more about coalitions across the Membership 1
st
faction and
Unite for Strength, but it is still unclear how this will impact contract negotiations.

208

Conclusion

Award shows are typically about highlighting accomplishments and unique
achievements, but in the opening of the SAG Awards actors are asked to identify with
each other as a collective. Since the first SAG Awards in 1995, the award show has
opened with a segment titled “I am an actor.” This segment has evolved from featuring
one actor to its current form, which utilizes a range of actors telling pithy stories, or
simply explaining the array of roles played over a career (Angela Lansbury’s inaugural
speech was, “I've been Elizabeth Taylor's sister, Spencer Tracy's mistress, Elvis' mother
and a singing teapot.”).
69
Although these stories highlight the many different roles and
career paths that actors take, the concluding line unites their work. However, this moment
of unification does not change the fact that the diversity of jobs covered by SAG and
AFTRA including extras, stunt performers, dancers, voiceover actors and television
hosts, made the merger a complicated process. The future of the union will continue to
be complicated as the union navigates change with this diverse population while also
trying to bring in those who are not currently covered under a more inclusive bargaining
agreement.
As I highlight throughout this dissertation, Hollywood studios have historically
been proficient at consolidating interests and evading labor costs through innovative
production and distribution strategies (from overseas shooting to reality based
programming), and unions have struggled to keep up with these industry changes. Studios
attempt to innovate whether it is through new methods of production or technology, while
labor can attempt to anticipate, but cannot always direct these innovations. Even though
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the entertainment guilds do not always drive changes in how technologies are adopted,
the unions have been able to keep themselves from forced obsolescence.
Hollywood unions have been incredibly adept at survival and while the merger
may not make them stronger, it will keep them at the bargaining table. The SAG-
AFTRA merger certainly consolidates power and will prevent bargaining breakdowns
like the one in 2008. In the 2008 SAG negotiations Alan Rosenberg and Doug Allen
assumed that actors were the irreplaceable “product,” but without AFTRA’s support, this
was not a safe bet.
70
As one union they will need to bargain together and cannot split
without undermining the entire union. However, SAG-AFTRA will need to continue to
rely on their relationships with other guilds for effective bargaining – even if this
threatens the image of glamour and prestige historically cultivated by the actors’ unions.
Fragmented interests and distinctive hierarchies have marked SAG and AFTRA’s
respective histories. AFTRA’s growth in 2009 and the increase in split earnings between
SAG and AFTRA ultimately highlighted the need to merge the unions and at least
superficially eliminated any distinction between the two unions. As Jonathan Handel
speculates in his one-year report card for SAG-AFTRA in 2013, there is still tension
among board members. He explains that, “[s]ome point to a lack of respect on member
committees and jockeying for position.”
71
The decision to retain the name of the SAG
Awards in 2013 and 2014 illustrates how the commitment to SAG’s brand of prestige still
haunts the organization. SAG’s commitment to its original name and award show
perpetuates the idea that SAG is glamorous and distinctive from other unions – it is a
brand as well as a union.
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Although SAG-AFTRA is a glamorous “guild” representing high-profile
members, it is important to remember that it is a union. Every year the SAG Awards
clarify how actors understand the value of the union, whether through their red carpet
interviews, acceptance speeches, or the films produced for the program. The 20
th
Annual
SAG Awards in 2014 featured a brief montage of actors talking about their union
throughout the award show’s history. Rather than focusing on changes in technology or
residuals, some of the issues that are unique to Hollywood guilds, the film focused on
union benefits that are consistent across blue-collar unions and guilds: collective
bargaining, limits on work hours in a day, and health care.
72
This film made up mere
minutes of the two-hour broadcast, but it provides a reminder of what SAG-AFTRA is
and what they can do for actors, even though the SAG Awards exclusively highlight the
elite members of the union.
For actors and SAG-AFTRA, this history needs to put internal tensions and
snobbery aside and be cognizant of how actors and the union have responded to new
media and technological changes so that SAG-AFTRA can continue to make acting a
viable career. The majority of SAG-AFTRA’s 165,000 members are not high-profile
stars who can negotiate their own contracts, invest their money for comfortable
retirements, and pay for their benefits out of pocket. Work as an actor, like most work in
the creative industries, is casual and temporary. Entertainment unions help their workers
supplement their income during down-time with residuals and help them stay insured.
Unions have been the only effective means to protect workers in the media industries
from exploitation; they also provide workers with a sense of collective history.
Hollywood’s interests, to keep labor costs low, are predictable. However, actors’
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interests have historically been less predictable. The histories of unions I trace both in
Chapter One and this chapter demonstrate how the union expanded and the composition
changed based on various desires that range from increasing membership dues, to
strengthening bargaining positions, to providing more jobs for members. As much of the
work both for aspiring and even some established actors moves online and falls under the
very flexible New Media Agreement, the actors in SAG-AFTRA are faced with another
juncture where they will need to define their collective interest. Online content provides
more avenues for work and visibility, but actors need to make sure that this work is
compensated.

1
Steven Zeitchik, “SAG Awards 2013: The big moments, from Fey quips to Lawrence
rippage,” Los Angeles Times, January 28, 2013.

2
Jonathan Handel, Hollywood on Strike!: An Industry at War in the Internet Age (Los
Angeles: Hollywood Analytics, 2011), 17.

3
Ibid., 141. As Handel points out, all the locals outside of Hollywood were more aligned
with the more moderate AFTRA.

4
Brian Fredrick, “SAG declares war with AFTRA over Hollywood Strike Battle,” in
Hollywood Today, June 9, 2008.

5
Jonathan Handel has written extensively on his blog (digitalmedialaw.blogspot.com)
about why SAG and AFTRA should merge, but support for the merger can also be found
in Lois Gray, “Entertainment Unions Tune up for Turbulent Times,” New Labor Forum 9
(Fall – Winter 2001); 122-131; and Sharlene A. McEvoy and William Windom, “SAG
and AFTRA: The Case for Merger of the Entertainment Unions,” University of Miami
Business Law Review 12 (2004), 59-76, and Vincent Mosco and Catherine McKercher,
The Laboring of Communication: Will Knowledge Workers of the World Unite? (New
York: Lexington Books, 2008).

6
Roger Armbrust, “Equity, SAG, AFTRA: Unity through 40 Years on Stage, Set, and
‘Walking the Line’,” Back Stage, December 15, 2000.

7
Henry Jenkins, Convergence Culture – Where Old and New Media Collide (New York:
New York University Press, 2006), 96.

212

8
Mosco and McKercher, 110.

9
Handel, Hollywood on Strike!: An Industry at War in the Internet Age, 32.

10
Other reasons include year-round sun, vast tracks of available (inexpensive land), and
distance from the Trust monopoly on the east coast. For more discussion of the
development of Hollywood see Steve Ross, “How Hollywood Became Hollywood,”
Metropolis in the Making – Los Angeles in the 1920s, edited by Tom Sitton and William
Deverell, 255-276 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001)

11
Louis Perry and Richard Perry, A History of the Los Angeles Labor Movement, 1911-
41 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1963), 318.

12
Mike Davis explains how industry in Los Angeles has been selectively centralized and
decentralized. While this should not underestimate the particularities of media labor, this
is another factor that could have historically contributed to labor divisions. Mike Davis,
“Sunshine and Open Shop” in Metropolis in the Making – Los Angeles in the 1920s,
edited by Tom Sitton and William Deverell, 96-122 (Berkeley: University of California
Press, 2001), 100.

13
David Prindle, The Politics of Glamour: Ideology and Democracy in the Screen Actors
Guild (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1988), 22.

14
SAG and AFTRA were not the kinds of guilds that offered training for younger or less
experienced actors hoping to ascend the ladder. In 2014, SAG-AFTRA does offer
workshops that can keep actors updated on technological changes in the industry.
Awareness of technology might help actors to monetize their work in different ways, but
this is not the same as an apprenticeship and it is not necessarily going to provide them
with steady work.

15
Vladmir Lenin, Imperialism: The Highest Stage of Capital, Kindle Edition.

16
Robert Gilbert, “’Residual Rights’ Established by Collective Bargaining in Television
and Radio,” Law and Contemporary Problems 23:1 (Winter 1958), 107.

17
Brooks Barnes, “In Hollywood, a sacred cow lands on the contract table,” New York
Times, August 5, 2008.

18
Penelope Houston, “After the Strike,” Sight and Sound 26.3 (1960), 108.

19
For further details, see Howard Kennedy, “SAG, Studios Recess Talks Over Week
End,” Los Angeles Times, March 19, 1960 and “SAG Package Plan Weighed by
Producers,” Los Angeles Times, March 21, 1960.

213

20
Archie Kleingartner, “Collective Bargaining: Hollywood Style,” New Labor Forum 9
(Fall – Winter 2001), 118

21
Ibid.

22
Dave McNary, “Actors Play Waiting Game for Residuals,” Variety (June 5, 2013),
http://variety.com/2013/tv/news/actors-play-waiting-game-for-residuals-1200491945/.

23
Ibid.

24
Rita Morley Harvey, Those Wonderful Terrible Years – George Heller and the
American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (Carbondale: Southern Illinois
University Press, 1996), 47-48.

25
“Performers Will Be Getting Fairer Share of ’81 Profits,” Back Stage, October 31,
1981.

26
Sherry Eaker, “SAG’s Migden Offers 3-Phase Merger Plan,” Back Stage, February 6,
1981.

27
Migden’s obituary focuses solely on his role in establishing residuals. New York
Times News Service, “Chester Migden, 78 – Headed Screen Actors Guild 30 Years,” The
Chicago Tribune, May 30, 1999.

28
According to Anthony Slide, the idea of a SAG-SEG merger was raised in 1977, 1981,
and 1989, but SEG finally merged into SAG in 1994. See Anthony Slide, Hollywood
Unknowns (Jackson: University of Mississippi Press, 2012), 217.

29
David Robb, “SAG, AFTRA stalled on pension issues: leaders polarized over whether
they should merge,” Back Stage, January 30, 1998.

30
“Screen Actors Guild rejects proposed AFTRA Merger,” The Wall Street Journal,
January 29, 1999.

31
Roger Armbrust, “With No Merger, What Lies Ahead for SAG, AFTRA?” Back Stage,
February 7, 1999.

32
“No New DVD Rates for Directors, Writers,” Medialine, October 2004.

33
Handel, Hollywood on Strike!: An Industry at War in the Internet Age, 31.

34
Joanna Sulakhyan, “The Digital Entertainment Group’s Third Quarter 2013 Home
Entertainment Report,” November 1, 2013, http://www.degonline.org/wp-
content/uploads/2013/10/DEG-Third-Quarter-2013-Home-Entertainment-Report.pdf.

214

35
The eligibility requirements for SAG-AFTRA in January 2014 are similar to the
eligibility for SAG and AFTRA before the merger.

36
For an anecdote relating to the process of being “Taft-Hartleyed,” see Steve
Guttenberg, The Guttenberg Bible: A Memoir (New York: Thomas Dunne Books, 2012),
19.

37
SAG-AFTRA, “Taft-Hartley Report,” SAG-AFTRA Website,
http://www.sagaftra.org/files/sag/documents/Taft-Hartley%20Report.pdf

38
Due to technological advancements, this position and the ITU became obsolete. Some
members merged into the Communication Workers of America and others merged into
the International Brotherhood of Teamsters in 1986.

39
Seymour M. Lipset, Martin A. Trow, and James S. Coleman, Union Democracy,
(Glencoe: The Free Press, 1956), 9.

40
Ibid., 395.

41
For details on how these positions manifested in SAG, see David Prindle, The Politics
of Glamour – Ideology and Democracy in the Screen Actors Guild.

42
Jonathan Handel, “The SAG-AFTRA Merger Attempt: Why is it Happening Now?”
Backstage, July 12, 2011, http://www.backstage.com/news/the-sag-aftra-merger-attempt-
why-is-it-happening-now/

43
Kim Christensen, “Actors Guild Ousts Chief; Greg Hessinger’s firing by a divided
board continued upheaval in the union,” Los Angeles Times, October 24, 2005.

44
In addition to sharing similarities with the NFL Players Association, SAG and AFTRA
also share similarties with the Major League Baseball (MLB) Players Association. For
more on the history of negotiation within the MLB Players Association, see Malcolm
Gladwell, “Talent Grab,” Gladwell.com, last modified October 11, 2010.
http://gladwell.com/talent-grab/

45
Richard Verrier, “Playing his role off field, off screen,” Los Angeles Times, September
2, 2007, http://articles.latimes.com/2007/sep/02/business/fi-sunprofile2.

46
Richard Verrier and Claudia Eller, “Actors guild’s heavy hitter,” Los Angeles Times,
March 24, 2008, http://articles.latimes.com/2008/mar/24/business/fi-allen24.

47
Mosco and McKercher, 134.

48
SAG-AFTRA, “Alan Rosenberg Biographical Statement,” SAG-AFTRA Website,
http://www.sagaftra.org/alan-rosenberg.
215

49
Jonathan Handel, “The SAG-AFTRA Merger Attempt: Why is it Happening Now?”
Backstage, July 12, 2011, http://www.backstage.com/news/the-sag-aftra-merger-attempt-
why-is-it-happening-now/

50
Dave McNary, “SAG moderates fight on,” Variety, Jan. 14, 2009,
http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117998572.html?categoryid=1066&cs=1

51
Alan Rosenberg, “A Message from National President Alan Rosenberg,” SAG-AFTRA
Website, January 27, 2009, http://www.sagaftra.org/a-message-national-president-alan-
rosenberg.

52
SAGWATCH.NET, “Membership First Disappears from Web,”
http://www.sagactoronline.com/2011/08/membership-first-disappears-from-web.html.
This was a reposting from sagwatch.net, which was abandoned in April 2012 in favor of
a new site sagaftrawatch.com. As of November 2012 the domain name “sagwatch.net”
has expired.

53
Membership 1
st
, “Membership 1
st
Mission Statement,” Membership 1
st
Website,
http://www.membership1st.org/mission/.

54
Dave McNary, “SAG’s Doug Allen out as negotiator,” Variety, Jan. 12, 2009.
http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117998416.html?categoryid=1066&cs=1

55
Jonathan Handel, “Pilots Overwhelmingly AFTRA for 4
th
year in a row,” The
Hollywood Reporter, February 5, 2012, http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/live-
feed/aftra-television-pilots-sag-287161.

56
For lists of these shows, see: Nikki Finke, “SAG vs. AFTRA In Television: Show by
Show,” Deadline Hollywood, August 12, 2009, http://www.deadline.com/2009/08/sag-
vs-aftra-in-television-show-by-show/; and Nellie Andreeva, “AFTRA Tops SAG in
Primetime Next Season,” Deadline Hollywood, July 14, 2010,
http://www.deadline.com/2010/07/aftra-tops-sag-in-primetime-next-season/.

57
What was not clear in 2009 and in 2010 when SAG and AFTRA started talking more
seriously about a merger was AFTRA’s dire financial position. See Jonathan Handel,
“Audit Reveals Pre-Merger AFTRA was plagued with financial issues (Exclusive),” The
Hollywood Reporter, September 9, 2013, http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/audit-
reveals-pre-merger-aftra-624083.

58
“AFTRA – Screen Actors Guild Presidents’ Forum for One Union Meets in Los
Angeles,” AFTRA-Screen Actors Guild Website, October 22, 2010,
http://www.aftra.org/B72AB808E5C647AC87880B4A9DAF305A.htm

216

59
“AFTRA and SAG boards approve consolidation plan,” AFTRA Magazine, Winter
2003, Vincent Mosco and Catherine McKercher, The Laboring of Communication: Will
Knowledge Workers of the World Unite? (New York: Lexington Books, 2008), 133.

60
SAG-AFTRA Watch editors, “SAG-AFTRA Watch Hangs Out Its Shingle,” SAG-
AFTRA WATCH, April 4, 2012, http://www.sagaftrawatch.com/2012/sag-aftra-watch-
hangs-out-its-shingle/.

61
“SAG-AFTRA New Media Contract Workshop,” January 14, 2014, SAG-AFTRA
offices, Los Angeles, CA.

62
Jonathan Handel, “SAG-AFTRA Reaches Industrywide Music Video Deal,” The
Hollywood Reporter, June 1, 2012, http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/sag-aftra-
music-video-deal-332238.

63
SAG-AFTRA, “Justin Timberlake and SAG-AFTRA Reach Agreement on 20/20
Experience World Tour Dancers,” SAG-AFTRA Website, November 22, 2013,
http://www.sagaftra.org/justin-timberlake-and-sag-aftra-reach-agreement-2020-
experience-world-tour-dancers.

64
Jonathan Handel, “SAG-AFTRA Confirms Layoffs as Board Approves Commercials
Contract,” The Hollywood Reporter, April 21, 2013,
http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/sag-aftra-confirms-layoffs-as-443657.

65
Jonathan Handel, “SAG-AFTRA ‘Occupy Portland’ Seeks to Keep Office Open,” The
Hollywood Reporter, April 25, 2013, http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/sag-aftra-
occupy-portland-seeks-446595.

66
Jonathan Handel, “SAG-AFTRA Slashes Residuals Processing Time,” The Hollywood
Reporter, March 27, 2014, http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/sag-aftra-slashes-
residuals-processing-691550.

67
Jonathan Handel, “Secrets of the SAG-AFTRA Convention (Exclusive),” The
Hollywood Reporter, September 30, 2013,
http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/secrets-sag-aftra-convention-639136.

68
For more on Gabrielle Carteris and her experience in the union, see Rebecca Band,
“One Big Union: Q & A with SAG-AFTRA’s Gabrielle Carteris,” Labor’s Edge Blog,
August 6, 2012,
http://www.calaborfed.org/index.php/site/page/one_big_union_q_and_a_with_sag_aftras
_gabrielle_carteris.

69
SAG Awards Press Kit, “Actor’s Stories SAG Awards Tradition,” January 23, 2013,
http://www.sagawards.org/media-pr/press-kit

217

70
SAG-AFTRA, “Alan Rosenberg Biographical Statement.”

71
Jonathan Handel, “SAG-AFTRA’s Year One Scorecard,” The Hollywood Reporter,
March 28, 2013, http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/sag-aftras-year-one-scorecard-
431382.

72
“The 20
th
Annual SAG Awards,” broadcast on January 18, 2014 by TNT and TBS.
218
Conclusion:
Hollywood’s Marginally Employed
In my early years living in Los Angeles, I often pondered the erratic traffic:
Where could all these people be going at 11 a.m.? I was also baffled by all of the
beautiful people who could sit near the pool in my apartment complex throughout the
weekdays. How, I wondered, could these people afford their rent? I mention these initial
questions because they fueled some of my curiosity about the political economy of
Hollywood and especially actors. I moved from New York, where people always seemed
to be working, to one where people were (presumably) making a living and seemingly
never working. Thus this dissertation emerged, in part, from one of the most
fundamental questions that Los Angeles transplants ask: What does “work” for all of
these people entail?
Although my initial questions were cultivated from observations of life in Los
Angeles, actors became the specific focus of my questions in 2009, just as SAG and
AFTRA’s Phase 1 agreement disintegrated and SAG faced a potential strike. As I
discuss in Chapter Four, at the center of the controversy were the thousands of actors who
were members of SAG who did not work regularly. As actors geared up for a strike
which never materialized, the story that emerged in the media was that the stakes for
working actors versus non-working actors were dramatically different. As I watched the
drama unfold during the 2009 negotiations, I was struck by the resonances between my
own precarious labor as an academic and the conditions of actors. As a graduate student I
also kept irregular hours – leaving for classes in the late afternoon and occasionally
reading by the pool during the day. Like many people working in Hollywood, I was
piecing together a living through a variety of jobs. I found that I could empathize with
219
actors’ erratic schedules and the intense competition for a limited number of jobs, even if
there were distinct interests within the SAG and AFTRA. My initial observations were
that precarious workers shared similar daily conditions to my own.
As I will explain in the next section, actors and extras have not reflected the move
from Fordism to Post-Fordism, but instead have been a source of flexible labor
throughout the history of the film industry. One of the key commonalities throughout the
history of extras and actors has been the on-going attempts to professionalize both as a
group and as individuals. Although professionalization is important for establishing a
reputation and status within the industry, these goals are often at odds – what needs to be
done for the group might undermine an immediate individual goal and vice versa. In this
conclusion, I will look to some of the key changes currently facing actors, specifically,
how new media content and local productions offer areas for future research on extras
and aspiring actors.

Fordism, Post-Fordism, Professionalization, and Actors
The reality and conditions of making a living in the film and media industries has
changed throughout Hollywood’s history. These changes and affinities across different
types of work are largely a result of the evolution of late capitalism and contemporary
labor practices. Throughout Hollywood’s history, the film industry has morphed from a
Fordist mode of production characterized by division of labor both between craft and
creative tasks, but also within craft shops. Under the Fordist system, many workers were
also kept under contract. Division of labor, as well as the profit generated from vertical
integration, enabled the conditions for mass production in the film industry. After the
220
break-up of the studio system, it was inefficient to keep workers under contract and the
industry began to move toward a flexible post-Fordist industrial structure.
Fordism, which emerged in the U.S., is a mode of Taylorism, another form of
“scientific management.” Harry Braverman explains that, “scientific management […] is
an attempt to apply the methods of science to the increasingly complex problems of the
control of labor in rapidly growing capitalist enterprises.”
1
Although job responsibilities
were highly rationalized and perhaps monotonous, the role of the worker was clearly
defined. Taylorism defined ways to organize production, however, as David Harvey
points out, Fordism was totalizing. Harvey argues, “Mass production meant
standardization of product as well as mass consumption; and that meant a whole new
aesthetic and commodification of culture […].”
2
The post-Fordist industrial structure,
which David Harvey argues begins in 1973, is characterized by increased industrial
mobility, fewer full-time job opportunities, and immense growth in casual or part-time
job sectors. Harvey explains,
Faced with strong market volatility, heightened competition, and
narrowing profit margins, employers have taken advantage of weakened
union power and the pools of surplus (unemployed or underemployed)
laborers to push for much more flexible regimes and labour contracts.
3

Although Harvey is explaining economic and labor trends that occurred after 1973, his
statement could easily apply to earlier eras of the film industry. Each chapter of my
dissertation presents an episode in the history of actors and extras from the 1910s up to
and including the SAG-AFTRA merger in 2012 in order to illuminate the history of
flexible labor in Hollywood.
221
The terms “Fordism” and “post-Fordism” encapsulate management and labor
practices and correspond with historical periods and trends. David Harvey asserts that
the “symbolic initiation date of Fordism must […] be 1914, when Henry Ford introduced
his five-dollar, eight-hour day […].”
4
However, as the Chapter 1 story of Leo
Rosencrans’ quest for work in 1916 indicates, the introduction of a measured workday
and the scientific assignment of tasks did not characterize all U.S. industries in the 1910s.
Rosencrans, like many of his contemporaries, struggled to find stable work and establish
a professional identity in the film industry. Labor conditions for actors and extras
(anyone below the level of star) were historically out of sync with the dominant industrial
structures and are more accurately aligned with what we would now consider to be post-
Fordist practices.
Unions had a strong presence in the Fordist era, however, the emergence of new
modes of production gave rise to a more flexible (and non-union) workforce. The surplus
of labor and the competition of the post-Fordist era failed to offer the same kind of job
stability that industrial workers achieved through their union negotiations. As work
became more casualized, workers (in this case actors) needed to find other ways to
establish their own professional identities that help establish a sense of purpose and
emotional connection to their chosen vocation.
For actors as for other white-collar workers, professionalization often occurs
through a process of self-definition. Both actors and extras have struggled to assert their
professional identities within the media industries. In relation to media industries, Vicki
Mayer has noted that the concept of the “professional” or “professionalism” is hard to
define. “Unmoored from any objective criteria,” she writes, “the word professional […]
222
has rather served as a historical articulation of status and privilege in relation to changing
labor markets and their organizing hierarchies.”
5
In the absence of universal ideas of
what defines a profession, workers often develop a professional identity collectively.
Sociologist Martin Oppenheimer explains, “A profession is an occupational grouping that
defines itself as a profession, declares membership limited to those meeting qualification
set by itself […], creates for itself a ‘rationale’ […].”
6
Oppenheimer points out that many
professions use education (and specialized degrees) as a barrier to access for jobs.
Casting calls do not list criteria such as “BFA required,” but they do specify whether a
job is union or non-union as a tangible barrier to entry.
In a city where thousands of people aspire to be actors, a SAG union card
signifies a shift from casual to professional employment. The importance of the union in
the professionalization process gets reasserted every year on the SAG Awards red carpet.
During the 2013 SAG Awards, Jessica Chastain passionately recounted her earliest acting
jobs and how hard it was for her to “find her place in the industry” prior to getting her
SAG card.
7
Union membership has historically been one of the ways that The Screen
Actors Guild (SAG) and the American Federation of Television and Radio Actors
(AFTRA) have been successful gatekeepers to professional acting jobs. As discussed in
this dissertation, the plight of the background actor can be directly linked to the
unsuccessful attempts of the Screen Extras Guild (SEG) to develop and define a
professional identity.
In Chapter One, I explored how the Screen Extras Guild attempted to
professionalize extras by rationalizing and defining roles and differentiating scale
accordingly. The terms defining scale had a scientific precision that could seemingly
223
make casting and compensating union extras a more efficient process than bringing in
non-union extras. SEG’s basic agreement established terms that distinguished
professional extras from the average non-actor on the street. From the union’s
perspective these rules distinguished the professional extras from amateurs and defined
what they could offer to productions; professionalism was crucial for the SEG to retain
bargaining power and their reputation with the studios. However, these specific union
requirements were not enough to make extra work into a professional career.
The challenges of professionalization can help sum up how and why background
actors and aspiring actors faced many of the same challenges throughout history, despite
significant changes in policy, business practices, and technology. Professionalization is
not simply a challenge for individuals attempting to assert their own careers; it has been
an ongoing struggle for extras (as a collective), unions, actors outside of Hollywood, and
reality performers, all of whom have attempted to find a place at the bargaining table. In
Chapter Two, I provide examples of how Indian and Pakistani actors struggled to
translate and leverage their professional identities into work on U.S. film productions.
The reality actors in Chapter Three are not struggling to define themselves as
professionals, but they are struggling to sustain careers in an industry that has worked to
position their performances outside of established Hollywood hierarchies. Chapter Four
addresses some of the challenges for actors within their own professional organization as
they attempt, as a merged union, to soothe some of the hierarchies and differences within
their union. As content moves to the internet and aspiring media workers attempt to
develop online projects to launch their careers, actors (not just background actors) will
continue to struggle with crafting professional identities in light of the proliferation of
224
content that accompanies these technological changes. Increasingly background work
does not need to exist as a profession, but rather can function as one of many part-time
jobs for people working in the media industries in Los Angeles and wherever film and
television are produced.

Digital Labor
Hollywood has often used technological advancements as an excuse to bypass
labor agreements. This point has not been lost on SAG-AFTRA as they look to craft
agreements for new media content. As delivery methods change and more content moves
to online platforms, SAG-AFTRA has worked to put in place a contract for new media
that will give them a baseline once new media content starts to generate more profit.
In January 2014, I attended an information session about SAG-AFTRA’s New Media
Contract. Producers, directors, and actors representing a range of projects from
individual one-person shoots for YouTube to a CW webseries to flagship Netflix series
such as Arrested Development (2013) and Orange is the New Black (2013) attended this
session. Since much of the content produced for online platforms does not generate a
profit, all of these diverse workers were trying to make sense of the terms of this new
contract and the value of signing it when no money will be exchanged.
Filing a contract with SAG-AFTRA requires time and effort for producers. In an
effort to convince new media content producers to use SAG-AFTRA actors, the union
representative immediately pointed out the importance of professionalism on-set and
underscored this with a PowerPoint slide that enumerated the benefits: “Professionalism:
Access to world’s best talent, making your production stand out, it is also more cost-
225
effective (fewer takes).”
8
If producers want access to professional SAG-AFTRA actors,
they need to file a new media contract or risk getting their actors in trouble if anyone
finds out. This is a big “if.” Given the amount of content online, it seems highly unlikely
that a small project would generate enough attention to get an actor in trouble with the
union. However, the size of the project is irrelevant to SAG-AFTRA’s Global Rule One.
Global Rule One proclaims, “No member shall work as a performer or make an
agreement to work as a performer for any producer who has not executed a basic
minimum agreement with the guild which is in full force and effect.”
9
This rule was
implemented to protect members in an increasingly globalizing film industry, however, it
also applies to new media projects. Thus SAG-AFTRA needed to create a new media
contract that would allow for unionized actors to work on no or low budget projects
without being penalized by their union. This contract needs to work for independent web
productions as well as larger budget web-based series, such as Netflix’s fourth season of
Arrested Development. Since most of SAG-AFTRA’s contracts are specialized
(commercial, theatrical, music videos, etc.), this contract stands out because it is broad in
its scope and encompasses all web-based content rather than distinguishing between one-
person YouTube shows and larger budget Netflix shows.
The terms differ greatly from other SAG-AFTRA contracts; all terms are
negotiable as long as they comply with State and Federal laws.
10
This is not true for
theatrical releases where actors work for scale (or whatever rate they negotiate above
scale). Most new media content is not generating a profit in 2014, but even if it did, it is
very unlikely that workers will obtain residuals. Residuals kick in only for projects that
cost over $25,000 per minute that are on a consumer based platform (like iTunes) for
226
over 26 weeks.
11
Although these contract distinctions seem unimportant, the terms
establish a base-line for future contract negotiations. These new media contracts, which
can offer low-cost labor only make web-based programming more appealing as streaming
platforms offer more venues for high-profile and quality programming.
In 2014, the popular streaming platforms Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon all produce
original streaming content. The quality of original content has been one of the strategies
by which these platforms have attempted to increase their memberships and visibility in
the post-cable television era. Scholarly works such as Michael Curtin and Jane Shattuc’s
The American Television Industry, Jason Mittell’s Television and American Culture,
contributions to the University of Texas, Austin’s online journal Flow, and a number of
well-researched pieces of journalism have all explored the implication of streaming
platforms as networks.
12
However none of these works have considered how the growth
of highly visible streaming programs will impact actors or unions despite the key
differences in how labor is structured in the production of this content.
The SAG-AFTRA new media contract, helps independent producers and studio
producers who do not turn a huge profit, but it also leaves contract terms wide open just
as avenues for distribution are contracting. 2014 brought the end of net neutrality with
mergers between cable and Internet giants Comcast and Time Warner, events that will
continue to impact individual access to Internet content. The combination of
consolidating opportunities set against a wide-open labor contract seems troubling, and
over the next few years we will see if the guilds will be able to keep pace with these
changes. However, even if SAG-AFTRA can keep up, there are no guarantees that extras
or aspiring performers will benefit from the developments. There are still too many ways,
227
such as webseries and reality TV, to produce content without establishing minimum
terms. In an effort to train and educate actors on the future potential of new media
content, SAG-AFTRA hosts classes and panels on digital content production and career
development in new media. Future work on actors and web labor should also look to
these training opportunities to consider how the actors’ union encourages and cultivates
hybrid careers for its members – especially through digital content.
Even as new media and non-union reality content proliferates, these are not the
only forms of entry-level work for people trying to break into the media industries. There
are many businesses that still support and exploit extras in film and television, such as
casting bureaus and call-services (which act as a middle man between extras and Central
Casting), as well as other ways to make money as paid seat fillers or members of a live
studio audience. Although financial exploitation of extras seems like a thing of the past,
it is not. In 2011, the Los Angeles City Attorney forced Central Casting to stop charging
registrants for headshots as a condition of registration.
13
All of these examples indicate
that even though technologies change and production values improve, labor conditions
and modes of exploitation stay the same.

Geographies of Labor
Historically speaking, Los Angeles has been the dominant location of production
throughout film history, but not the only site of production. In the early 1900s the east
coast dominated film production until it moved to the open shop city of Los Angeles. As
I point out in Chapter Two, there was an increase in international location shooting for
228
Hollywood films after World War II. As I discuss in Chapters Two and Three, producers
benefit from reduced labor costs when they move production outside of California.
Simply reading industry practice as exploitation leaves out the varied reasons that
people accept underpaid positions. Vicki Mayer’s research on background actors in
Treme (2010-2013) accounts for the affective connections the media industry cultivates
with short term and underpaid workers.
14
Mayer points out that while hiring local
background actors for Treme provides tax benefits, it also helps local communities form
an intimate affection for the show that is not based on whether or not one likes or dislikes
the program. Mayer concludes that many of the background actors were drawn to Treme
because of its depiction of New Orleans and its “appeal to the real.”
15

These responses to working on Treme are resonant with my own discussion of the
blog responses to Bhowani Junction (1956), in which relatives of extras looked to the
background to develop personal connections and find their family members. My own
family has also engaged in similar conversations. My mother, uncle, and their cousins
have been trying to weave family history and memories to come up with the film titles in
which my grandfather appeared. All of these stories suggest how extras connect to films
and how they allow their family members to connect to films beyond the intended
narrative. Future ethnographic research on background actors and entry-level workers
should also consider these affective connections to media texts and media production
function for aspiring workers as well as producers. Considering the role of affect
complicates arguments about Hollywood hegemony and creates a different understanding
of productions that take place outside of unionized Hollywood and what they mean to on-
screen workers.
229
Workers in the creative industries are largely unaware of their histories and
struggles. I have approached my study of actors and extras historically, tracing trends for
laborers since the 1910s, and finding significant commonalities across the history of
actors in the hope that this project and research can be useful in thinking about the
possibilities and pitfalls of work in the media industries. As the history of the extra
reminds us, there are many ways to be on-screen, yet still marginally employed and
struggling to make a living in the media industries.

1
Harry Braverman, Labor and Monopoly Capital – The Degradation of Work in the
Twentieth Century (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1974), 59.

2
David Harvey, The Condition of Postmodernity (Cambridge, MA: Blackwell Publishing,
1990), 135.

3
Ibid., 150.

4
Ibid., 125.

5
Vicki Mayer, Below-the-Line – Producers and Production Studies in the New
Television Economy (Durham: Duke University Press, 2011), 66.

6
Martin Oppenheimer, White Collar Politics (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1985),
137.

7
“E! Live at the Red Carpet: 19
th
Annual SAG Awards,” broadcast on January 27, 2013
by E!.

8
SAG-AFTRA New Media Contracts Meeting, SAG-AFTRA Headquarters, Los
Angeles, CA, January 14, 2014.

9
“Global Rule One,” SAG-AFTRA Website, http://www.sagaftra.org/production-
center/globalruleone.

10
For example, union contracts determine a scale that is above the state and federal
minimum wage limits. In the new media contract, all terms are negotiable, which means
that producers can set up a contract to pay if and when the online content turns a profit.

230

11
SAG-AFTRA New Media Contracts Meeting, SAG-AFTRA Headquarters, Los
Angeles, CA, January 14, 2014.

12
See Ken Auletta, “Outside the Box: Netflix and the future of TV,” The New Yorker,
February 3, 2014, 54-61; Michael Curtin and Jane Shattuc, The American Television
Industry (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009); Derek Kompare, “Streaming as Shelving:
The Media Past in the Media Future,” Flow, May 5, 2014,
http://flowtv.org/2014/05/streaming-as-shelving/; Derek Kompare, “Adverstreaming:
Hulu Plus,” Flow, February 24, 2014, http://flowtv.org/2014/02/adverstreaming-hulu-
plus/; Jason Mittell, “Three Evasions of the Future of Television,” Flow, January 20,
2014, http://flowtv.org/2014/01/three-evasions-of-the-future-of-television/; Jason Mittell,
Television and American Culture (London: Oxford University Press, 2010); Thomas
Schatz, “HBO and Netflix – Getting Back to the Future,” Flow, January 20, 2014,
http://flowtv.org/2014/01/hbo-and-netflix-–-getting-back-to-the-future/;

13
The Deadline Team, “Casting Companies Warned Over Fees,” Deadline.com,
http://www.deadline.com/2011/05/casting-companies-warned-over-fees/.

14
Vicki Mayer, “Extra-ordinary Talk,” (Paper presented at University of California –
Santa Barbara’s Precarious Creativity Conference, Santa Barbara, CA, 2014).

15
Ibid., 3.

231

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Abstract (if available)

Abstract Part‐Time Labor, Full‐Time Dreams: Extras, Actors, and Hollywood's On‐Screen Talent, traces the political economy of on‐screen labor in the film industry from the beginning of narrative film in 1910 through the 2012 SAG‐AFTRA merger. Since the demise of the vertically integrated studio system Hollywood, like many other industries, has moved toward an increasingly flexible workforce. Although Hollywood labor practices have changed, I argue that for actors, the exploitative conditions and the struggle to find work in this glamorous field remained consistent throughout Hollywood's history. The large pool of actors is important because it helps keep competition high and wages low. ❧ This project relies on archival research, analysis of industrial documents and film texts, and participant observation in order to make its intervention in existing scholarship on stars, actors, their labor and its potential rewards. Each of the four chapters presents an episode in the history of actors and extras, including the struggle to unionize extras

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Asset Metadata

Creator Fortmueller, Kate (author)

Core Title Part-time labor, full-time dreams: extras, actors, and Hollywood's on-screen talent

School School of Cinematic Arts

Degree Doctor of Philosophy

Degree Program Cinema-Television (Critical Studies)

Publication Date 08/05/2016

Defense Date 05/20/2014

Publisher University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag Actors,extras,film,Labor,location shooting,media history,OAI-PMH Harvest,production studies,television,unions (entertainment)

Format application/pdf (imt)

Language English

Contributor Electronically uploaded by the author (provenance)

Advisor Seiter, Ellen (committee chair), Jaikumar, Priya (committee member), Ross, Steven J. (committee member), Serna, Laura Isabel (committee member)

Creator Email fortmuel@usc.edu,kfortmueller@gmail.com

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-c3-452678

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Access Conditions The author retains rights to his/her dissertation, thesis or other graduate work according to U.S. copyright law. Electronic access is being provided by the USC Libraries in agreement with the a...

Repository Name University of Southern California Digital Library

Repository Location USC Digital Library, University of Southern California, University Park Campus MC 2810, 3434 South Grand Avenue, 2nd Floor, Los Angeles, California 90089-2810, USA