Terry Teachout wrote an editorial in the weekend edition of the Wall Street Journal concerning the Broadway crafts union strike.
Teachout wrote,
" I would gladly have paid a hundred bucks to see any one of these shows -- but would I have paid $1,800, not including dinner, to go to all of them with a date?
That last number came to mind as I read Mr. Brook's discussion of the high cost of playgoing in 1968. Even then, the curious, intelligent, nonconforming middle-class New Yorkers celebrated in "The Empty Stage" could still afford -- just -- to visit Broadway often enough to feel that they were keeping up with American theater. Now they're more likely to go once or twice a year, if that. Broadway is no longer a meaningful part of their cultural lives.
But Local One of the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees, which is currently picketing 27 Broadway theaters, has made one statement that seems to me incontestable: "Cuts in our jobs and wages will never result in a cut in ticket prices." Yes, it costs a whole lot more to do business on Broadway now than it did in 1968 -- but producers have discovered that there are more than enough people willing to pay a whole lot more to see big, dumb musicals like "Young Frankenstein" and "Legally Blonde," which is why such shows now dominate Broadway. No matter who prevails in the strike, that's not going to change.
What has changed since 1968 is that America's regional theater companies took a huge leap forward in seriousness and significance -- without pricing themselves out of the reach of ordinary playgoers. The top ticket price at most of the major big-city regional houses is roughly $60, which is what you would have paid last month to see Primary Stages' wonderful Off-Broadway production of Horton Foote's "Dividing the Estate." That's not cheap, but it's doable, and the further you venture off the beaten path, the less you'll pay to see shows for which no artistic apologies need be made. Triad Stage of Greensboro, N.C., charged a top price of $42 for the brilliant production of "Tobacco Road" I saw there in June. As for the unforgettably fine revival of Brian Friel's "Aristocrats" mounted by Chicago's Strawdog Theatre Company that I reviewed six weeks ago, it cost $20 a ticket -- $3.50 in 1968 dollars.
Don't get me wrong: I like musicals, the same way I like ice-cream sundaes. But man cannot live by dessert alone, and now that most of Broadway is shuttered, it has become clearer than ever before that there are better and cheaper places to get a steak."
So Teachout provides a nuanced view of this strike. The union members realize that cutting their wages or jobs won't affect the revenues of the producers and investors in Broadway shows. Profit, yes. Ticket prices, no.
So, in effect, they are using their only lever to force producers to pay them their due. Perhaps, though one doesn't know from this column, the union members realize they may well be the last generation to actually have these jobs in any significant number.
I liken these guys to the UAW members in Detroit. They fight for wages- in the UAW case, often obscenely high wages- from firms whose leaders aren't exactly giving them cause for hope that theirs will be a long-term profession.
They clearly are penny-wise. Might they be being pound-foolish, as well? From Teachout's insightful analysis of regional theatre, one surmises that they are. At least it'll be a unionized group of craftsmen on the Broadway equivalent of the Titanic as the last show closes for the last time near Times Square.
The writers strike, by contrast, is all about an informed union prudently surveying the broad technological landscape of the future.
Unlike the theatre union, which is pretty much more muscle and less brainpower, the writers are one of those vaguely white collar unions. They seem to share some characteristics with longshoremen, about whom I wrote some time ago, here and here.
I'll bet the best writers wish there wasn't even a union at all. Let's face it, writing is a 'craft,' in the sense of carpentry. But the very best carpenters and writers create their own demand.
You look at a beautiful piece of molding, or a clever piece of woodwork in a home, and you want to know who the carpenter was, so you could potentially hire him in the future.
The best television programs feature above-average writing. From above-average writers, of course.
Still, they have a union. So even the best writers have to put the pencils down. And, perhaps, in this case, wisely so.
One or two great writers might not get protection, going forward, for technologically advanced uses of their product. Together, they may, as a group, do just that.
Unlike the Broadway theatre-related union, which seems to be more or less uncaring that they work in a sector that is rapidly pricing itself out of existence, the writers are incredibly sensitive to the potential future ramifications of their contracts.
A few wealthy people missing Broadway shows won't draw all that much attention, outside New York City. Losing all new video programming material on various network and cable channels, movies, etc., will.
It goes to show that not all unions are alike. The craftsmen on Broadway seems fairly narrow-minded. The writers, on the other hand, look a lot more like the longshoreman's union- savvy and, ultimately, wielding substantial power.
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