Who is the Hardest-Working Person in Showbiz?
February is a short month but it’s big in entertainment. The month is bookended by the Grammy Awards at the beginning and the Academy Awards at the end. In between, we have the Super Bowl — the most highly watched show of the year — where a good portion of the audience is more interested in the rendition of the National Anthem and the half-time show (guilty!).
It’s a good time to ask, “Who is the hardest-working person in showbiz?” Every once in a while you hear names getting thrown around.
They used to say it was Michael Jackson. He certainly got a big push from his hard-driving, often tyrannical father Joe Jackson, who pushed the Jackson Five to astonishing success. Michael was only eleven when the group of brothers landed four #1 singles in 1970, and he launched his solo career just a year later.
Michael was clearly one of the great talents of the 20th Century, but let’s face it: If you are making millions by the time you are twelve, you have all day to work on your dance moves, your songwriting, your singing, what-have-you. He may well have worked himself to death but he never had to work his practicing around a day job.
Then some said it was Prince. Prince truly was a hardworking genius. He played just about every instrument, produced his own music, sang, and worked his dance moves. But Prince had his first hit when he was twenty-one. He was on his way; he could work in his studio sixteen hours a day if he wanted to (and he probably did) — that’s a lot of time to work on a catalog of songs.
My point is this: Even if you come from a humble background, if you are lucky enough to hit it big when you are young, the obstacle of a day job getting in the way of your creative work is removed. That’s about 2000 hours a year freed up.
The columnist Ann Landers used to say that the ABCs of success were Ability, Breaks, and Courage. (I might also add another A: Ambition. We all know of some famous people who overcame somewhat limited ability with a limitless supply of ambition and gall and rose to the top. And then they got better at the craft — one hopes — because they then had money and time enough to work their craft all day long.)
And then there are famous talents who worked hard but they also had a leg up by being born wealthy or at least upper middle class enough to get the best schooling. Or they already had parents or close relatives in the business. These things don’t detract from their talent or even their hard work, but they are huge advantages to getting in the door of the room where it happens, so to speak.
There are also those stories we love and cling to, about the ones who rose up out of poverty or had a difficult childhood and overcame the odds and made it big. These include folks like Dolly Parton, Oprah, Leonardo DiCaprio (who lived in a van), Jennifer Lopez, Jay-Z, Eminem, Hillary Swank (trailer park), Viola Davis, and countless others. But somehow, eventually, each one got the needed Break.
Yes, there are countless such stories — they are built into our American Dream DNA — but that doesn’t mean there are a lot compared to the millions who pursue a career in entertainment and never truly make it. (We don’t hear their stories unless it’s one of our relatives.) And most of them work no less hard than their peers who became rich and famous. They comfort themselves with having had great experiences to talk about; with not ever having had to “sell out”; with having made great friends; with having the assurance of a burnished talent. These are no small things.
I lived in New York for thirty-five years pursuing a showbiz career, working a day job (or two) the entire time, save for a season of summer stock when I was in my twenties. As hard as I worked, I was never going to develop my talents enough doing a half dozen concerts or nightclub appearances a year the way I would if I had booked a tour for two hundred dates in a year. I look back and realize I didn’t work smart very often, but I did work hard.
I recently relocated to a very small town. Last year I auditioned for a role in a community theater production of The Laramie Project. I hadn’t done actual acting in a stage play in a couple of decades. I was cast and each of us actually played multiple roles. I have never worked so hard in my life! And I loved every minute of it. And, believe me, there was some major talent on that stage — folks who will likely never win a Tony Award (although I’m holding out hope for one of the teenage actors).
I was paid nothing and I did it while holding down a rather demanding corporate day job. I did it for love. I’d do it again, but it sure would be nice to get paid and not have to do the day job.
A few years ago, I visited my dear Aunt Frances who lives in Vermont. She has painted her entire life and now, in her eighties, she paints eggs with great precision. She has a studio filled with her work.
I said to her, “You could take this to galleries and markets and make money on this!”
She waved me away. “That would take all the fun out of it.” I’ll never forget that.
For all my years in New York, and having met and worked with hundreds and hundreds of actors, singers, dancers, musicians, writers, directors, producers, and such, I can count on one hand the number of people who became famous or rich at their craft. If they merely made a living at it, that was a major success in my eyes.
In my mind, the hardest-working people in showbiz are the people the world doesn’t know.
To the standup comic who goes out and tries his material in front of strangers in a bar night after night: I hear you; I see you.
To the singer in the piano bar who gives her all to the tourists and drunks until 4:00 a.m. closing time and still rouses herself up for an afternoon audition the next day: I hear you; I see you.
To the musician who plays for tips on the subway or for $100 a night as part of a jazz trio and still makes time to sit down and write the musical he’s been working on for five years: I hear you; I see you.
To the actress who proofreads copy by day and then by night plays a riveting Blanche DuBois in an off-off-Broadway theater in front of an audience of twenty-five: I hear you; I see you.
To the kid who delivered pizza and used all his money to buy equipment so he could produce music and now deejays on the side while he tries to come up with the killer mix: I hear you; I see you.
To the boy and girl in the inner city who can’t afford musical instruments or lessons and don’t have music programs in their school, but have learned to make beats and rhymes with their voices in hopes of becoming the next Kendrick Lamar or Cardi B: I hear you; I see you.
To those middle-class kids who are lucky enough to have parents who believe in them and are taking out huge loans to major in creative writing, filmmaking, voice, and theater: I hear you, I see you.
I salute those who win the big awards this month or land a coveted spot performing for the world’s largest audience at the Super Bowl. I know how hard it is to get there.
But the ones who continue, year after year, creating art for their entire lifetimes, without great financial gain or shiny statues . . . they are my heroes.
They are the hardest working people in showbiz. I know many of them and you likely know at least a few.
If the opportunity comes up, go see them. Throw them a few dollars.
But most of all, show them respect. They’ve earned it.
