Broadcasting Telecasting (Oct-Dec 1957)

1% <"V w TALENT AGENTS m 10% tv, may find talent — and clients — in diverse places. In a television program profiling the Ashley-Steiner operation a couple of years ago, A-S's Leonard Sittomer was said to have been impressed when he happened to catch "Remarkable Incident at Carson's Corner" on Studio One one night. The script turned out to be the product of an unknown brassiere-firm copywriter who wanted to write more television scripts but didn't have time. A-S persuaded him to give up his job, then persuaded CBS-TV to take him on for something akin to a year's salary in exchange for first refusal on his output — and Reginald Rose ("Twelve Angry Men," "Crime in the Streets," etc.) was on his way. Conscientious agents do more for their clients than get work for them. They study scripts, they keep an eye on the program planning of networks, advertising agencies and independent packagers (and, no doubt, that of other agents). They watch constantly for jobs particularly suited to their own clients, and betimes they create jobs by creating ideas for programs. If the client is a performer big enough to command a number of offers, they weigh one job against another to decide which would be better for him in the long run. Should he do it live, or on film where there are residual rights? Should he do it as an employe, or as a corporation? Should he appear in a regularly scheduled series or limit his exposure to guest shots — or is he over-exposed already, and better off to get out of television for a while? Are there any special circumstances that require some specific and prompt action, and if so, what is the answer? William McCaffrey, an independent operator with a relatively small but premium list of clients faced up to that last question toward the tail end of last season. The Jackie Gleason Show, on which client Art Carney was a featured player, was going off the air and Mr. McCaffrey figured that ending the season on a downbeat note would do Mr. Carney's career no good. So he started casting about for something upbeat, landed Mr. Carney the lead in Playhouse 90's "The Fabulous Irishman," and all ended well. "Irishman" and Mr. Carney were a success and out of it came a Broadway offer which Mr. Carney accepted because he and Mr. McCaffrey thought it would be good for his career, even though he stood to make more by staying in tv this year. If the client is a writer, the agent may advise him on the current and probable future market for scripts of a specific type, and if the writer runs into snags on a script, the agent may help slant and polish it. When it's finished the agent figures in the decision as to which producer it should be submitted to — and after it's sold he may take up( cudgels for his client in defense against changes the buyer may wish to make but which the writer fears will "ruin" it. Conversely, knowing the buyer's problems, too, he may help to work out a compromise with the writer. Sometimes the agent feels he should get his clients into the right places geographically, as well as into the right jobs. This is especially so in the case of writers. As West Coast television activity increased, it became important — in the minds of many agents — for writers to be on the scene where they could discuss their scripts and script ideas with the buyers personally. Ashley-Steiner, for one, set up a regular crash program to get some of its writers transplanted to California. Here the agent would concentrate first on getting them initial script assignments to pay the cost of moving, then put practically its entire West Coast office to work lining up additional writing jobs that would both tide them over and get them established. Then there are always the extra-curricular services that an agent is called upon to perform. Talent takes some hand-holding, and the agent is a built-in handmaiden. No sensible agent would want 10% — or any other part — of some of these gambits. For example, clients in trouble, or who think they're in trouble, usually don't hesitate to call on their agents to get them out, just as they don't hesitate to call for more pleasant favors. Getting tickets to plays to which it is impossible to get tickets is a common demand. More than one agent has had to talk a client out of suicide notions. and agents hear almost as many marital problems as bartenders. Through the whole gamut of services, few will deny that agents are essential to talent. Deals are seldom simple any more. Instead, they call for the services of salesmen, attorneys, business managers, tax lawyers — the whole works. A big agency can supply all of them, and the smaller one will know where and how to get those it cannot supply itself. Yet there are those who question whether, for all the services he performs, the agent may not still be overpaid. For in the complexities of the current package system, it is conceivable — given the right circumstances — that an agent's 10% can come out equivalent to the star's income from a series. To see how 10% can equal 100%, con sider this arithmetically over-simplified example: Say a $5,000-a-week star decides to build a film series. Through his agent he sells the idea to a network which, as financier, agrees to pay the star $3,000 a week and gives him 50% of the profits on the program. Program costs come to $40,000 a week before the agent's commisson (one-ninth, or 11.1%) is added in. So the total cost is $44,444 a week; but for easy arithmetic let's say the agent charged a little less than his full commission and the total cost came to an even $44,000. Next assume that the network sold the show for $40,000 net, taking a weekly $4,000 loss (which is undesirable, to be sure, but not unheard-of) In the course of a 40-week season, this becomes a $160,000 loss on a season's gross of $1.6 million. During this period the star has been getting his $3,000-a-week salary for a total of $120,000 for the season. The agent has been taking down his 10% of the package gross for a total of $160,000. At this point the agent is $40,000 ahead of the star. Then the film goes into syndication. Say it gets hot — for the star's sake in this comparison it had better get hot, because the agent is going to stay ahead of the star until that $160,000 loss on the network sale has been recouped. So assume that the 40 films in the series gross $20,000 apiece in syndication, a total of $800,000. Of this the agent still gets 10%, or $80,000. Cost of film prints, distribution, etc., will run to about 50%, or $400,000, of the syndication gross. Then deduct the $160,000 loss experienced in the network sale, and the profit on the venture comes to $240,000. Under the original agreement, the star gets 50%, or $120,000, of the profits and the network as financier gets the other 50%. So between network run and syndication the star has received: $120,000+$ 120,000= $240,000. The agent has received: $160,000+$80,000=$240,000. Even if the network had sold the series at full cost originally, taking no loss, the agent still would have received $256,000 to the star's $320,000. This parlay of 10% into 100%, or even into 80%, is one example cited by third TALE OF TWO HORSES AND AN AGENT Walter Schwimmer, Chicago tv producer, sums up the feeling in some quarters about the talent of talent agents with the following tongue-in-cheek tale about one of the big agencies. It appears in his recently-published memoirs, What Have You Done for Me Lately? "It seems that the two most famous performing horses in the world were booked at the Palladium in London; and, after their engagement ended, one of the horses received an attractive offer to play the provinces. He played the entire British Isles, then Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa with great success; and, finally, he received a handsome offer from Madison Square Garden in New York City. "The horse often wondered what had become of his illustrious partner, probably the greater of the two, so you can imagine his amazement when, after landing in New York, he accidentally bumped into his old companion touring Third Avenue whilst attached to a conveyance known as a milk wagon. " 'Why, Joe!' exclaimed the visiting equine, astonished. 'What a surprise! Unquestionably, you are the outstanding performing horse on this universe, and here you are pulling an ordinary milk wagon down Third Avenue! How come?' "The second steed shrugged. 'Oh, you know the William Morris office,' he sighed." Page 38 • October 21, 1957 Broadcasting