Six months in the past, Heather Fink hit a wall. After practically twenty years in Los Angeles, the NYU movie college grad had constructed a gentle, if unpredictable, profession as a contract sound utility employee on movie and TV units whereas chasing her actual goals of writing and directing. However with the twin strikes by writers and actors bringing manufacturing to a halt, the work dried up, her payments piled up and her anxiousness spiraled.
“I was in such a terrible place,” she says. “I needed anything to pick me up and pay off my debt. I couldn’t live that way anymore.”
In July, a good friend reached out with a possible lifeline: a full-time place within the sound division on ABC’s “Grey’s Anatomy,” now in manufacturing on its twenty second season. “I enthusiastically said yes,” Fink says. “I couldn’t feel more grateful.”
When The Instances first spoke with Fink in Could, she was nonetheless reeling from the fallout of the work stoppages, like hundreds of her fellow crew members. Now, because the trade struggles to regain its footing, we’ve checked again in together with her and some others from that earlier story to see how they’re faring. Some, like Fink, have discovered a measure of stability, nevertheless tenuous. However for a lot of below-the-line staff, the extended strikes and rising prices of residing have compelled troublesome decisions: leaving L.A., pivoting to new careers or scraping by with freelance gigs and facet hustles.
To maintain spirits up in a yr marked by unrelenting uncertainty, many crew members have clung to the mantra: “Survive till ’25.” However with 2025 quick approaching, even those that’ve stayed afloat are bracing for what comes subsequent.
Keith Dunkerley, a director of images and digicam operator, counts himself among the many fortunate ones. After working simply 18 days in the course of the first 5 months of the yr, Dunkerley, who supported his household in the course of the strikes by tapping financial savings and taking handyman gigs on Taskrabbit, landed a full-time job as B-camera operator on the medical drama collection “Doctor Odyssey.”
The challenges going through Hollywood’s workforce predate the strikes. Streaming platforms, squeezed by shrinking subscriber numbers, had already pulled again on unique programming, whereas studios slashed budgets and reduce jobs. The strikes solely deepened the slowdown: Movie and TV manufacturing in L.A. remained 5% decrease within the third quarter of 2024 than throughout the identical interval the earlier yr, in line with the nonprofit FilmLA.
Dolly grip Diego Mariscal, who created the Fb group Crew Tales in 2017, has seen the emotional toll of the slowdown firsthand.
(Jennifer Rose Clasen)
Diego Mariscal, a dolly grip with 25-plus years of expertise who has labored on “The Mandalorian” and “Spider-Man: No Way Home,” sees indicators of a rebound: full parking heaps at studios, soundstages booked strong. However the restoration is way from even.
“There’s work out there, but it’s not being spread around,” Mariscal says. He considers himself lucky to have stayed employed for the reason that strikes ended however says that hiring has been concentrated amongst a shrinking pool of staff, rolling again beneficial properties in range and shutting out newcomers.
“Coming off the #MeToo movement, people were specifically starting to make it a point to get women and people of color on their crew,” Mariscal says. “The doors were a little bit more cracked open earlier, and now they’re slowly closing more and more. I think it’s very subconscious. I don’t think people mean to do it, but it’s just going back to that people are starting to take care of their own.”
The shortage of alternatives has created palpable rigidity on set, Fink says: “People are getting meaner. Full-time crew members tend to be kinder because they know how lucky they are, but the ones who aren’t working as much — that’s all they can talk about. It’s deeply depressing and it’s dividing people.”
This yr, the pleas for assist have been relentless, with Mariscal typically juggling roles as “investigative journalist, detective and therapist.”
“Someone asked me to help with a GoFundMe to get their car out of an impound lot. An hour later, someone else is like, ‘I broke my back on a stunt and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to walk and I need stem cell [therapy] and I want to start a GoFundMe.’ It’s like, who do I help? In the end, it comes down to me.”
The emotional toll has rippled throughout the trade. Suicide amongst below-the-line staff is troublesome to quantify, and lots of imagine it’s under-reported. “I know people who killed themselves,” Fink says. “They didn’t see hope. They didn’t see a use for what they do anymore. You could ask around, and almost everyone knows someone.”
“One thing you never hear about, even with the suicides, is the impact it has on the people closest to them,” says Mariscal. “And [the despair] goes deeper. Someone gets hurt and they develop a drinking problem and start lashing out or hitting their spouse. It’s all very under-reported. You only hear about it if you’re inside the industry.”
These struggles are compounded by a rising divide between Hollywood’s artistic and dealing lessons, a rift widened by productions transferring abroad in pursuit of tax incentives and decrease labor prices.
“I believe in the power of unions, and I supported the strikes enthusiastically,” Fink says. “But on the other side of the strikes, we’re in a terrible place. The working class put their last good years on the line, and now productions are moving overseas. The people we fought for aren’t fighting to keep work here.”
Developments in AI and digital manufacturing are magnifying these anxieties. On tasks like Disney’s 2019 CG-animated “The Lion King” and the studio’s upcoming “Snow White” remake, Mariscal witnessed how digital environments changed conventional units, eliminating the necessity for whole crew departments.
“It was drastically different from what you would normally see on a film set,” he says. “They still needed the feeling of a human moving the camera around. I remember being like, ‘I guess I made the cut.’ But there was no sound team, no makeup, no construction — just the bare bones of what it takes to make something.”
Through the strikes, Mariscal thought-about leaving the trade altogether and explored the concept of beginning a power-washing enterprise. Having purchased a house in Eagle Rock on the backside of the market in 2010, he feels lucky for now however is aware of stability may vanish instantly.
“For now, I’m needed in that world,” Mariscal says. “But they’re going to have an AI program that can mimic handheld shots, crane moves — every camera move ever made. When that happens, I’ll be out of a job. It could happen in the blink of an eye. It might already be happening and I don’t know about it.”
Earlier this yr, Fink had been prepared to go away Los Angeles fully, planning to return to New Jersey, run for native workplace and use her artistic abilities to boost consciousness about caregiving after her father’s stroke. For now, her job on “Grey’s Anatomy,” which runs via March, has given her a reprieve.
“I’ll be covered for some time,” she says. “But I’m preparing myself for the unknown. None of this feels reliable — not my job, not my department, not even the country.”
As Hollywood adjusts to its new actuality, Fink is holding on the very best she will.
“I don’t have time for my dream right now when I’m just trying to survive,” Fink says. “But I’m not giving up. There’s too much value in what we do. We just have to adapt.”
