When a young soap actor who originates a role is replaced does he or she have any legal recourse? That's the question posed in a new book, Outside Soap, by Charles Hamm, to be published tomorrow. The timing couldn't be better, as a case may soon be going to court: this week a former star has announced his intention to sue for loss of earnings, based on the number of years in which his successor played the role. And if the action is successful that may prove quite a tidy sum, so alarm bells must be ringing in the offices of television companies up and down the land.
For viewers of British soaps it's a familiar story: a young actor plays a character for ten or fifteen years, often right from the moment of his or her onscreen birth, only to be replaced by - well, not even a lookie-likey in many cases.
After the original actor's absence from the screen for several months, explained away by some convenient holiday abroad with a grandparent, suddenly we get a glimpse of a translated figure, a mini-Martin or Martina Guerre whose same-only-different features mysteriously attract no comment from family or friends, who have all instantly adapted to this parallel universe ... unlike the mind-boggled viewing millions. And so the soap trundles relentlessly on, some new and challenging storyline soon plopped into the lap of this young pretender whom we must learn to love.In time the audience will become less consciously aware of the revamp, to the point where even a character's original shade of hair will be but a distant memory. But in the event of a transplant not taking there is always the option of a Mark III model, or perhaps simply a shift in focus to other characters, other stories: a ratings-boosting death for the ill-fitting substitute can easily be written in, or maybe a permanent move away from the area - and hearse or taxi amount to the same thing for the bank balance of the unfortunate employee.
It's a phenomenon not unknown in other genres, such as sitcom, but why does such butchery/regeneration seem to occur with particular frequency in soaps?
That's easily enough explained: the pressure of producing six or seven episodes a week can defeat some younger actors, and as characters grow older in the show and face the prospect of more challenging storylines the limitations of their abilities may suddenly be exposed. Which may not necessarily come as any great surprise: having been thrust into the business literally from birth, some youngsters gradually discover that they are neither suited nor inclined to any acting career which demands more than a bit of gurning in a pram or being present in a scene as a glorified extra alongside their TV parents: as regular viewers of the genre will know, toddlers in soaps are forever being commanded to go to their rooms and play while the adults enact the serious business of the plot. In Soapland, with few exceptions, children tend to be of more dramatic use as objects - to be used in custody battles, say, or fretted over as victims of accidents or illness - than in their own right.
For some young actors, of course, those years of playing a supporting role prove instructive, allowing them to grow at their own pace into more fully rounded and convincing characters. Some even stick with their appointed soap well into adulthood, developing their skills until eventually lured by other film and telly offers.
For others, however, the outcome can be less happy: being jolted into an awareness of your limitations by the blunt fact of a contract not being renewed isn't easy. It doesn't apply to everyone in this category: many former soap stars whose talents didn't blossom over time have become self-aware enough to look back now with gratitude and fondness for what amounted to an unexpected bonus in their lives before entering some wholly different profession.
But that's not always the case. Some youngsters who assumed they were settled for life in the industry - and having been in the same part for over a decade or more it doesn't seem an entirely unreasonable supposition - have taken the parting of the ways rather harder than others. Advice from agents or parents has generally been to accept the situation and move on - and if the prudent, or their parents, have built up a nest egg over the years then the blow is softened and the transition to some more suitable endeavour made easier - especially if wiser juveniles haven't been neglecting their education in the meantime and taken care to shore up qualifications against that day when the cameras might stop whirring. Defeat has, in the main, been accepted gracefully, at least in public. Occasionally such people might be among the subjects of a "Where are they now?" documentary or magazine feature but by and large they sink from view.
This week, however, a former child soap star has taken the unprecedented step of announcing his intention to sue his former employers for compensation, and apparently a hefty sum is involved. It's not clear what the outcome will be, but if the case is successful this could open the floodgates for similar claims by aggrieved actors. I'm not sure what the legal situation is about naming the ex-actor or the soap at this point (he's not one of those mentioned in the book) so readers must forgive me if I err on the side of caution, especially as the significance of the case is less about its particular merits than its setting a precedent for other complainants.
For those who haven't yet read about it elsewhere the main points, as I understand it, are these:
- Actor A (let's call him) was in a long-running British soap until his mid-teens.
- There had been no hint of complaint about his work, nor had he attracted critical opprobrium.
- That said, he had not had any major storylines which necessitated a particular display of acting skills - as mentioned above, he was one of those kids who would go missing, or prompt some conflict between his parents.
- When he was effectively given his marching orders - ie, when his contract was not renewed, as usual - no explanation was given. The first he was aware of being replaced was reading an article about the soap in a listings magazine some eight months later.
- He - or his solictor - are now trying to sue for loss of earnings, based on the subsequent storylines in which his replacement played a prominent part over the subsequent fourteen years, before the character was written out of the series for good, in manner making no return possible.
- Anticipating that criticism of his acting abilities may arise during the court case (assuming TV bosses won't settle), the original actor - or his solicitor - seems to be claiming that that is irrelevant. No adverse comments on his acting, other than the customary notes given by directors during filming, were ever made: there had been no equivalent of a formal warning, such as might apply in other jobs.
- Besides - and this seems to be his key point - the TV company had a duty of care to ensure his acting was up to scratch and to provide extra coaching if not. This they failed to do, and thus Actor A was deprived for over fourteen years of potential income from further appearances in the series.
That is the nub and gist of the case, based on what I have read (online, that is: this particular actor is only mentioned in passing in the book).
I will be very interested to see how this turns out. It could be argued that a win will mean "A charter for the talentless" - which rather cruel phrase I understand the television company involved have already started to bandy about. Will the battle be worth it? I'm worried that if the case fails it could mean fresh humiliation heaped upon Actor A, not to mention a reopening of old wounds for any other former actors following proceedings who are entertaining thoughts of instigating legal proceedings for themselves.
I suppose the TV company, and others like it, will say that it's hardly reasonable to expect them to support young actors who don't make the grade, nor can such companies be expected to make an informed judgement when hiring actors who are only a few weeks or months old at the time, so must they then be saddled with them for life? If an actor is not "fit for purpose" where does the blame lie?
Against that, of course, is the "duty of care" question. Was the company negligent in not monitoring the development of Actor A's abilities more closely, and offering a great degree of support? The problem has perhaps been exacerbated in recent decades when a more punishing recording schedule for soaps because of the greatly increased number of weekly episodes has severely curtailed opportunities for proper rehearsal - and it could be argued it's the younger actors, without the benefit of previous experience, who have suffered most as a result of this.
Or will any legal decision boil down to that elusive thing called "talent"? If Actor A simply didn't have what it takes should that be laid at the door of the company? There is, after all, no guarantee that further training would have effected any radical change, given that the actor involved had ample opportunity over the years to observe and learn on the job from the example of older, more experienced colleagues. Should we dismiss this forthcoming court case as a product of its time, one more instance of the recent upsurge in entitlement culture?
I don't know the answer, and I'll be as fascinated as anyone else to see how things turn out. If the company does settle, it could prove a dangerous (for them) precedent. But will the glare of publicity which a court case might bring, the pulling back of the curtain on a make-believe world to which so many of us have developed a deep emotional attachment, be any less harmful for maintaining the mystique of soaps in the long run? Certain actors have been quoted as saying they like to hide behind their characters, which is probably a good thing for the audience, seeking to be immersed in the story; if, every time we gaze at the screen, we are distracted by thoughts of earnings and habitually compare individuals' acting abilities then surely disbelief is going to become that much harder to suspend, at a time when outside events mean we need that nightly escape more than ever.
It may be that the TV companies have done nothing wrong. Or nothing which can be quantified, anyway, at least not in a way which can easily be translated into amounts of cold, hard cash. But I do occasionally think about those who have been booted prematurely from their telly Eden and how hard it must be to come to terms with this very public evidence, early in life, that in one area - however superficial and unimportant it may seem to others - you failed. And more than that: someone took your place, someone deemed better than you.
There are, unlikely as it sounds, one or two soap survivors' groups in existence, according to Mr Hamm. I don't know what form these take though I believe some are monitoring developments in this particular case with considerable interest, but I do hope their focus is not exclusively on some concrete form of compensation.
Perhaps the last word is best left to Peter Brook. Not that that renowned theatre director has anything directly to do with soaps (though a near-namesake used to play the part of the postman in Crossroads) but he once took part in a TV documentary in which he was reunited with the former child actors who had taken part in his film adaptation of Lord of the Flies.
This wasn't one of those witless nostalgic jobs (as it might be, "Lord of the Flies Forever") which have been clogging up the ITV schedules in recent years, awash with strained reunions in situ of surving sitcom actors and crew members. A fair amount of awkwardness survived the edit of the Brook documentary. A few of the boys had gone on to professional acting careers but far more hadn't, and in a meeting one disgruntled group member, no longer in the business, seemed desperate to wrest more significance from the reunion than the others seeming willing or able to give. He read out what seemed to be a prepared speech about learning lessons; the others seemed uneasy, indifferent or just plain bored at this cri de coeur.
Towards the end of the film, Brook had a word with him on his own. A farewell party was going on shortly before all those boys, now men, temporarily back on the island where they once filmed, were due to sail or fly back towards to their regular lives again; Brook, forestalling further protests or appeals, said something to the effect of: "You are here and I am here, and this is either good or it is not. And that is all you need to know."
I do hope that all expelled soapsters - and not merely the one contemplating legal action - can be satisfied with such a simple answer.
Thanks to Charles Hamm for his assistance with the preparation of this piece. Outside Soap is published on April 1st. A review of his earlier book, Not About Nightingales, in which he interviewed guest actors in the cult sitcom, can be found here.
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