Michael Schulman on the Writers’ Strike, and Samantha Irby with Doreen St. Félix
33:50 Share

This is the New Yorker Radio Hour, a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker. This is the New Yorker Radio Hour. I'm David Remini.

When the Writers Guild of America went on strike earlier this month, we saw the effect immediately on the late-night comedy institutions, which went dark right away. This show will be interrupted and we won't be here to spend time with you. But as the strike goes on, the future of many scripted shows will also become uncertain. At issue is the revenue generated by streaming services.

On the one end of the bargaining table, the big studios don't seem inclined at all to capitulate to the WGA's demands. The last time the Writers Guild hit the picket line, it was 2007, and that strike carried over into the following year and lasted 100 days. It reportedly cost the city of Los Angeles hundreds of millions of dollars. And this year's strike has the potential to last even longer.

Once the studios broke our business, we've been left with crumbs, and we have to say no to that. We have to stand up together, and we are united. Staff writer Michael Schulman has been covering the strike for The New Yorker, and he recently spoke to Laura Jackman, a veteran TV writer and a strike captain, about the stakes. Well, tell me about what the scene is like on the picket line. Where were you picketing?

I was mostly at Amazon slash Culver Studios this week. So you're passing both studio people and you're passing just people on their way to lunch. And it's electric. The mood is electric. You know, we're walking in circles, but we're also getting cars honking at us as we pass. We're doing our chants. The solidarity has been incredible to see and to experience. Yeah.

So getting a little more serious about what this strike is actually about, when we spoke a week or two ago, you said this is an existential fight for the future of the business of writing. And if we do not dig in now, there will be nothing to fight for in three years. What do you mean by that?

So we're on strike for a fair deal from the studios that is going to allow us to share in the success of the content we create and something that makes writing a sustainable career. It has been chipped away at is one way of putting it. Eviscerated is another way of putting it. So this month marks my 10-year anniversary in the Guild. I'll have been a Guild member for 10 years in just a couple weeks.

And I've seen the offers for staffing go from 20 weeks extendable to 15 weeks, 12 weeks, 10 weeks, 8, 7, 6. So the same amount of television is still being written. The same amount of television is still being produced. But they're asking us to write more of it.

in a shorter time period for significantly less money. And that, I think, is the thing that really represents the threat to our business overall.

And how does that translate in terms of how a writer makes a sustainable living? Like if you it seems like it used to be when you were on, you know, a network show, you had a 22 episode season and you were basically employed for an extended period of time and then you get residuals. This doesn't seem like that at all.

No, our structure of compensation used to be that you were getting paid to do the writing in the writer's room. You were getting paid to cover prep, production, and post-production.

And then on the back end, you were getting something called residuals, which is the money that you make as long as the studio is still making money off of that content. So any rerun that you see on television, you know, months or years after the fact, a writer is getting paid for that. Those are things that we struck for. And they have sort of said,

Okay, now that we're all streaming, now that we've broken the business of how your compensation works, we're going to ask you to accept a lesser residual or almost no residual. We're not going to pay to have writers cover prep production and post-production.

And we're going to whittle down these rooms into something called mini-rooms. Right, mini-rooms I've been hearing a ton about. Yes. Can you explain what those are, what that means, mini-room? So there is no such thing as a mini-season of television, right? When we watch a season of television, we're watching a beginning, middle, and end, whether that's eight episodes, 10 episodes, or 22 episodes. And they're saying...

We want the same amount of episodes. We want a full season. But we want you to do it way faster. And we want you to sort of come in, give us a blitz of content and scripts, and then we're going to cut off your pay. Now, this is very different than the concept of the television writer's room that I think a lot of people forget.

thought existed. And I want to go back and talk about your earliest experiences working in TV. So you came out to Hollywood about 10 years ago, right? Can you tell me a bit about what brought you there and what your first job was like?

My first job was an ABC Studios, ABC Network show called Lucky Seven. And the process of getting staffed is, you know, you pay on your own dime to fly out to L.A., you do a water bottle tour, so you go around, you take all these meetings with studios and networks and producers and showrunners, and then hopefully at the end of it, you have an offer to staff.

So that's what it was like for me. I spent weeks doing these meetings. And then at the end of it, I had less than five days to pick up my whole life, fly out to Los Angeles. I was in Chicago at the time. Working as a playwright, right?

And it was come out to Los Angeles, find a second apartment to sublet because I still had my place in Chicago, and then sit in a room with a bunch of lovely people and break a series of television together. And it was exactly what a writer's room experience is supposed to be. Unfortunately, we got canceled after our second airing. We got canceled after our second episode. It's the full Hollywood experience for me inside of 20 weeks.

But it was the old model, which recognized that not only are we being compensated for our labor in the moment, but we're being trained for the future. We're being trained as up-and-coming showrunners on our own. Right. So in the intervening 10 years, a lot has changed about the TV industry. And one of the things seems to be that it's a lot harder for writers to get experience to be on set. Yeah.

Can you explain sort of how that has changed?

So part of that is because of the mini room. If you're only employing writers for six weeks, first of all, those scripts are not done. Those scripts are not locked and those scripts are not ready to shoot after six weeks. Many, many more things have to happen after that. And often it's on individual showrunners to be writing and revising those scripts on their own for weeks or months before prep starts in earnest. So the shorter the room, the

the farther apart it's separated from the process of production, the smaller the chance that those writers who wrote those episodes will get to engage in the full process of production. Right. And

Now, you're not only a longstanding member of the Guild, but you've also been a contract captain and now a strike captain. So you've been talking to a lot of members. Can you tell me about sort of what you're hearing from people and what you were hearing from people before the strike was called? Like, what's the mood? What are people bringing up when you talk to them?

The word that I would use in the lead up is desperation, that people are really desperate. And it has become what once was a path to a middle class career has really become a sort of moonshot that people are falling through the cracks, that they're not able to ascend that ladder, that they're not able to make a career out of this. And after three years of COVID going on four years of COVID,

I think the American public, I think the world has seen that companies are reaping massive profits off of the value of labor.

And our labor is standing up and saying, not on our backs. You've got to compensate us. You've got to pay us fairly. Now, in terms of how long this is going to go on, the previous WGA strike in 2007 and 2008 was 100 days. The one before that in 1988 was over 150 days. But

But the conditions are different this time. And people like Ted Sarandos from Netflix have said, well, basically, you know, we have a big backlog of stuff. We can just roll that out. And so there's a feeling that the studios might have more leverage than they even had previously and can kind of wait this out. Do you think that's true? And what do you see happening? When do you see this kind of hitting the point of, you know, we have no shows left to show? Yeah.

So they say a lot of stuff, right? They say a lot of stuff. They tell us that they can't afford the cost of us. And simultaneously, they're on their public earnings calls trumpeting bright financial futures to their shareholders. So they say a lot. And then we see that what they say might not be completely true. What I can tell you is we are shutting down productions daily.

We are halting productions and plans for production daily. We are turning back Teamster trucks. Local 399, we owe a huge debt to that they are driving up to the studio gates, they are seeing our picket lines, and they are waving and turning away. The brave IATSE members, right, who are not getting paid for that day that they were supposed to work are seeing our picket lines and turning around.

And the fact is, is that we are not alone this time. Every single Hollywood Guild and union has come out in solidarity. The DGA, SAG-AFTRA, IATSE, the laborers, the plasterers, the teamsters, they were all with us at the membership meeting at the Shrine Auditorium on Wednesday. And the Shrine has these old wooden floors, and people were stomping, people were clapping. It was ovation after ovation.

because we recognize the sacrifice in the solidarity that everyone else is pledging to us. And that is what is different this time. No contracts, no scripts! No contracts, no scripts! No contracts, no scripts! Laura Jackman's credits include the TV adaptation of Get Shorty and Netflix's Grace and Frankie. Michael Shulman is a staff writer for The New Yorker, and this is The New Yorker Radio Hour. More to come.

This is the New Yorker Radio Hour. I'm David Remnick. Ever since Samantha Irby emerged as a breakout star from the blogosphere, readers have loved her for being an unvarnished truth teller. On her blog and in her best-selling books of essays, Irby exposes a lot, from her battles with Crohn's disease to her addiction to QVC. My passion is to truly make, like, um...

dirtbag slacker black lady stuff because there is not enough like you know this black lady doesn't have ambition art in the world and I just I'm going to try and get it out there. Recently Irby made the leap into writing for television on shows like Hulu's Shrill and HBO's Sex and the City reboot and Just Like That.

Doreen Sanfelix, a staff writer for The New Yorker, sees Irby as the ideal chronicler of what she calls the malaise of the millennial condition. When Doreen sat down to talk with Samantha Irby, it was three days into the Writers Guild strike. What changes have happened in the industry that have caused, you know, writers to take the stand that they're taking?

I think the biggest change, and we all know it because it's changed our lives so much, is streaming and the way, and sort of the opacity that the producers and studios have.

under that. Like, you don't even know the ways you're being screwed, right? You just know that, like, your checks are smaller. But the other day, I got a residual check from... It was based on my episode from And Just Like That. So, big network. We know a lot of people watched it. My residual check was $40. Yeah.

It's like you hear about like people who work on who worked on like law and order, right? Like things that are like so syndicated and they're having a great they haven't written anything in 20 years, but they're having a great life off those residual checks. That is not possible for writers right now. And I think what makes me feel the the worst is.

It's like, there are, like, young, super young people in this industry trying to, like, cobble together, like, enough writing jobs to, like, have writing be their only job. And they can't do that. I was reading a thing about how, um...

This person, I can't remember who it was, this writer, the day they got nominated for it, the day they found out they got nominated for an Emmy, they were in Target applying for a job.

And it's like, we get that that is the reality. Like, I worked in, like, customer service for, like, 15 years, right? But I feel like when I was making $15 an hour, like, bagging donuts, my boss wasn't making $200 million that she refused to share with me. That would be a very weird donut shop. Yeah.

It was like, but you know, so like the disparity between you and your regular boss is one thing, right? It's like, maybe they have a newer version of the same car you drive, but the difference between the writers' take-home pay and the executives' take-home pay is bonkers. Because, you know, like Hollywood is weird. If they have their way, you would just move to LA immediately, be in meetings every five days,

minutes uh never sleep always be hustling but i think like one of the things about coming into this work at 43 i do not have the stamina to hustle i'm like oh i'll have one job and when that job ends

I'll wait till someone asks me to do another job. So I think all of, like, my fake curmudgeonliness and, like, physical distance has kept me feeling like the same person. Right, right. Even though, like, Cynthia Nixon texted me. You know what I mean? It's like...

That's her. She's fancy and she lives in my phone. That's not me. I'd be curious to hear about, you know, how being in the space of the writer's room where it's a collaborative environment kind of works with or maybe works against your very much one person kind of essay writing that you do. I... Okay, so I think that TV writing is...

but also is like maybe the easiest way

Because you have other people to bounce things off of. So, like, in my own work, I have complete confidence in my brain, right? I'm like, this is what I'm going to write about. This is how I'm going to form it. Like, this is the format that feels right, like a list or whatever. And then I write it, and then I fix it with my editor, and then it's good, right?

And I feel good about that. Like having a book out in the world, I feel good and confident in what's in it. With TV, because I don't fully understand TV and I haven't been doing it long enough to feel like I know what I'm doing. I appreciate the collaboration because I think it

It all helps to keep me from looking stupid, which is like my biggest fear is like looking like an idiot. So it's nice to have someone, like if I throw out an insane pitch, to have someone be like, well, that wouldn't work because this. Or an audience doesn't, you know, doesn't like that. Or, I mean, even something as basic as like,

you know, we have to keep this thread going throughout the episode and you forgot it. Also, like, the writer's room is just like the beginning. Then it's like the showrunner. And then it goes to the network. The first time I saw an episode of television, I wrote, there were lots of stuff. There was lots of stuff on the screen that I didn't write. And what episode was that?

Was it in Works in Tocran? It was Shrill. It was the pool party episode of Shrill. And there, when I wrote the script, and you write from an outline that kind of everybody puts together, there was no fight with the boyfriend in my episode. And I was like, good. You know?

We don't need any men. And then I see the episode and there's a scene I didn't write. And that just sort of, and I wasn't like offended or embarrassed or anything. It's just like, oh yeah, okay, that's how it works. What I turn in then goes through so many hands that like,

It kind of, I mean, it resembles what I wrote, but maybe not. Jokes get punched up and scenes get taken out, like, for time. So I think with TV, I enjoy the collaboration only because it further helps me, like, let go of...

control. But in TV, you're just going to get your feelings hurt over and over and over if you like stay married to literally anything you put in a script. Coming into this conversation, I had this idea that Sam Irby and I would begin by talking about her memoir and then talk seriously about writers rooms and just like that. And of course, all that went out the window as soon as she began to speak.

a real sticking spot for me, or like a real, not a real sensitive spot for me, is I have always felt, and it gets worse, I think, as my career gets better with not having a college degree, right? Like I just, it makes me feel, especially with writing, you know how writers are. They're like, what MSA program did you go to? And I'm like-

Oh, I went to high school. I don't even have a bachelor's degree. I certainly don't have an MFA. And like people who are all chummy from their grad school programs and, you know, they exclude. And then you add to it that I write a lot of filth and it makes people take me less seriously. I just...

So because I have thought of myself as like undereducated, whenever anyone has criticized my choice in book to read, I just, I have the feeling of like, oh, I guess I didn't know any better that this was a bad thing to consume. And I don't want to feel bad because some random person wanted to make me feel bad. Right.

Since I started doing I Like It, which is like, let's say you're reading Gone Girl, which is one of my favorite books. I don't think it's trashy, but some people do. And someone says like, oh, that book is bad for women. First of all, am I going to give a feminist lecture about

off the top of my head to some asshole who just wants to be rude to me. No, I'm physically incapable, but what I can do is go, oh, well, I like this book. And then the person...

does not expect you to say that. They're basically standing there waiting for you to apologize to them for liking something that they don't deem worthy. And then it gets a little awkward. And then I just keep doubling down. I just keep going, I like it. And it has been, it's a tiny, handy tool to just get people off you. I feel like

Right now, and I don't know if it's social media or just a general hostility in the air, but, like, everyone is just, like, waiting to judge you. But for something that doesn't matter. You know what I mean? Like, nobody's seen me...

kicking a puppy, right? Or yelling at a kid. Those are the kinds of things I'd be worried about, like someone finding out about me, not that I am deep into all the Real Housewives, you know? And like the fact that I also, this is the thing with you as a critic,

It's like, I know you, I trust you. If you say everything you say about a thing, I'm like, I know this person. I trust her. I believe what she says about this show. I trust her analysis, like the whole thing.

Joe Blow on the street, like, they're not a trained critic. They don't know how to consume things in a critical way. They're as stupid as I am. I'm going to feel bad because they, like, don't want me to read John Grisham. No, I refuse. I refuse. There are so many things to feel bad about, and I do. Taking back the...

My taste. Yeah. Defending my taste is a thing that is worth it to me. I'm going to start standing up for the things that make me happy. Yeah. I love Billions. Billions? I mean, I watch Succession, too. But Billions is good. Right. And they both are doing, like, actually very different things. And it makes me wonder, like...

what your relationship is to the real fever that got like you know created when and just like that came out because there was so and you talk about this in the essay collection as well but there was a real like you know this is our baby you have to do right by our baby even though you guys had a different mandate that you were pursuing even as a sex in the city like bonafide super fan I

I was not ready for, like, the fire hose of opinions and also, and, like, the bad, you know, reviews and recaps or whatever. Like, I truly, I am the last name on the writer list. Like, I decide nothing. I had to unsubscribe from people's newsletters. Oh, gosh. I was listening to...

this NPR podcast.

I was in the shower, so I didn't see it was going to the next episode, which was about and just like that. So I'm listening on my little shower speaker because I'm fancy. And at one point, like one of the women on the panel is like, were there any Black people in the room? And the host is like, you know, Samantha Irby was in there. She's Black. And the person says, well, all skinfolk and kinfolk.

When I tell you I almost fell out of the shower, I'm like, that is the kind, like, okay, I am not Black enough to this person who has no idea who I am, and I didn't bring any changing Blackness into the room. I have betrayed the entire race by not taking over this show and casting all Black people. And it's like,

When people go to things like that, it's like, what can you do? Right. I can't call that girl and be like, oh, so actually I'm a Black Panther. You know what I mean? Like, there's nothing to do. So it was so overwhelming. It was so overwhelming. You were so important in your anticipation of what body positivity did to a lot of people in terms of their, you know, actually...

making much more grotesque their relationships to their bodies because it did not allow them to have honesty about how it is that they feel about like living in this meat sack.

And one of your pieces that I love is your profile of Lizzo in time, because here's this person who is so, as you had, you know, really beautifully articulated this idea of body negativity, which is kind of tongue in cheek, but also very real. And then there, there you are being set against, you know, just like the absolute, absolute patron saint of body positivity. And

And I love that, like, little tension there. Yeah. That was tough for me because...

And I wonder, sometimes I vacillate between like, am I jealous or is what they're doing wrong, right? Because I would never be in my underwear in any photograph ever, right? Like, I would never be photographed with a tank top on. That is not the relationship I have with my body. And I have no problem with...

Other people who do like no outward problem, but I do feel like some resentment because I'm not that way. Right. I'm like, these people are out in bikinis and they're having a great time. I cannot do that. I hate her, you know, not hate, but you know what I mean? So when, when they approached me about talking to Lizzo, I was just like, I don't,

oh like i'm not gonna turn it down it's time magazine but also so this was a profile of of that time yes yeah it was their 100 notable something something like that the most important people in the world yes yes yeah and i'm certainly not going to inject a whole lot of

but you can't love your body all the time, right? You know, Time Magazine was not wanting that from me. And I still, I just...

I feel like if no one talks about the stuff that's bad or the stuff they don't like or that they woke up this morning and their shoulder hurts and they wish they had a different body, it's like there has to be space for all of that. The you-go-girl of it all, and this is not about Lizzo but just in generally, is

It's so hard, especially when you consider, like, accessibility for very fat people, right? Medical care for very fat people. I think that's a thing that we lose in the body positivity of it all is, you know, you see somebody with a burrito belly, you know, in a bathing suit, and it's like, oh, that's so brave. And, like...

Great. Maybe it is. But why are airplane seats so small? And why, you know, why are theaters, like, made for...

Like people in the 1920s or whatever. It's like... Vanity sizing is another thing, right? Oh my God, it's so real. And I just, I think sometimes that people think like the struggle is over because we see fat women in bathing suits or...

on our feeds and like old Navy is making, you know, Forex or whatever. And I think like with those kind of with putting the lipstick on the pig, as it were, no pun intended is great. I love the visuals. I went to target and saw my girl in one of their jeans ads on the wall. I was very excited. Um,

but then you can't like buy the size clothes she wears in the store because they don't stock the fat clothes so then as a fat person you gotta remember what you liked go home see if they make it in your size get it have it fit weird send it back you know what i mean it just is like it just

I don't, truly my only beef with the like love yourself of it all is that you're trying to in a society that hates your guts. I was listening to, I don't even know, some podcast and the host was talking about how like, you know, white men are the last people it's acceptable to make jokes about.

And I was like, okay, sir, there are fat jokes everywhere in everything that you watch all the time. There's no warning. You'll be watching a soap opera and then somebody will say something. It's like it's in the culture. It's people on the street will say things to you. It's just like...

I don't want everything to be boiled down to like whether you're okay wearing shorts outside in the summer. Because that's like the least of the issues. Sam, it was so great to talk with you.

This really made my day. You are the best. When are we getting a Doreen St. Felix book? Wait, what? What did you say? Sorry, the feed is dropping out. The New Yorker's Doreen St. Felix speaking with writer Samantha Irby. Irby's new collection of essays is called Quietly Hostile. HBO's And Just Like That returns for a second season in June.

I'm David Remnick, and that's The New Yorker Radio Hour for today. Thanks for listening, and see you next time. The New Yorker Radio Hour is a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker. Our theme music was composed and performed by Meryl Garbess of Tune Yards, with additional music by Ngo Phan and Putabuele and Louis Mitchell.

This episode was produced by Max Balton, Brida Green, Adam Howard, Kalalia, Avery Keatley, David Krasnow, Jeffrey Masters, Louis Mitchell, and Ngofen Mputubwele, with guidance from Emily Botin and assistance from Harrison Keithline, Michael May, David Gable, Meher Bhatia, and Alejandra Deket. The New Yorker Radio Hour is supported in part by the Cherena Endowment Fund.