Photograph by John Clark __If the entertainment __industry implodes in a paroxysm of labor disputes this fall, blame Tyra Banks. Last summer, the 34-year-old supermodel turned TV host unwittingly became the eye of a highly publicized storm. The writers of her reality show, America's Next Top Model, staged a mini-strike, claiming that, even though contestants are making up their own words, the ideas and the structure of the series belong to the writing room. The ANTM staffers wanted to be recognized as television scribes by the Writers Guild of America, with union pay and benefits. At one major rally, nearly a thousand West Coast WGA members turned out in support. But the wordsmiths' rhetoric strayed from the issue at hand into a Network-style rant about the real anxiety among all show-biz creatives. "Digital downloads! Internet video-on-demand! This is the future!" shouted Phil Alden Robinson, screenwriter of Field of Dreams. "If we're not united, we're not going to get a good deal!"
What do they want? Residuals. Specifically, they want a piece of the new-media pie. That's online reruns and secondary content like webisodes, mobisodes, minisodes, and character blogs — all the goodies you can get on your laptop, cell phone, and iPod. When do they want it? By October 31, when the WGA's current three-year contract with the studios expires. And if the parties can't settle, the WGA has threatened to strike — and possibly take the Directors Guild of America and Screen Actors Guild with it. In response, producers are stockpiling scripts like canned goods, and studio execs are furiously slogging through piles of unproduced projects*.* "It's like a Rocky montage," says Michael Kernan, a vice president at talent agency ICM. "They're prepping for a fight."
But here's what the WGA needs to know before stepping into the ring this summer: The studios are still groping for a way to make money on digital media. Like the music industry, they've been too busy fighting piracy and filing lawsuits to figure out a business plan. "They say, �'We can't predict the future, so let's stick with the old model,'" says Peter Guber, head of Mandalay Entertainment. "The guilds are saying, �'We can't predict the future, but the old model sucks.'"
Surprise twist: The WGA brought this predicament on itself. The last technological shift that rocked Hollywood — the advent of home video — led to a series of strikes in the 1980s. Studios rejected the WGA's overreaching demands, and the guild's 9,000 members all walked out. After six long months — and millions in lost wages — the guild agreed to an embarrassingly bad deal — 0.3 cents on the dollar — for home video revenue. The DVD market has since boomed into a $24-billion-a-year industry, but studios are already bracing for the coming decline of the DVD. "The home-video pie is shrinking," says one studio exec. "The WGA's demand for more money right now is like a teenager asking for a new car the day after dad lost his job." And when the DVD goes the way of the laserdisc and we're all streaming Die Hard 9: Ouch, My Back! directly into our visual cortices, writers will still be stuck with a fraction of what they want — unless they can push the studios to get creative. And here's another subplot: All free online material is considered promotional, stuff that writers are expected to churn out without any residuals at all.
It's not hopeless. For TV writers, anyway. Online sites like YouTube track viewers with precision — even better than Nielsen. But to turn numbers into money, they'll need to steal a trick from Google. Most Internet content comes with ads, so an argument can be made that it's not promotional — it's just TV on a different box. So here's a thought: Writers and networks could share online ad dollars. After all, more views of Web faves like The Office means more ad impressions and more profit. It'd be win-win, but it's an unlikely outcome. Networks sharing ad revenue with writers? Cue the laugh track. Remember, the network fronts all the costs and bears the financial risk. Would keyboard jockeys be willing to take a hit if a show bombs?
Actually, a handful of Hollywood heavyweights are ready to do just that. John Wells, screenwriter, director, and producer (*The West Wing, ER), *created the Writers Co-Op in March, cutting a deal that lets top-tier writers trade one-time, up-front payments for a share of the gross. It's riskier, but the potential payoff is massive, as bankable actors like the Toms — Cruise and Hanks — discovered years ago. The WGA should grab a piece of this action. If the guild can turn itself into a broker for such deals, it could increase its power; otherwise, it faces obsolescence.
Unfortunately, we may be in for a third-act complication. If negotiations stall in October, the WGA's smartest move is to beg off till next summer, when, say, Kiefer Sutherland and the rest of SAG demand their cut of digital profits. At that point, the scribes could try to piggyback on the actors' sweeter deal. Don't be surprised, however, if the creatives and the suits agree only to resume negotiations when contracts come up again in 2010. That's Tinseltown for you: Even the offscreen action is a setup for a sequel.
Nancy Miller (nancy_miller@wired.com) is a senior editor at *Wired. *
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