This is a very sad story, but also holy hell is there the seed of a fictional story in it:
nytimes.com/2018/07/28/the…
nytimes.com/2018/07/28/the…
Broadway actor has a small understudy part. His contract pays him six figures to be available as long as he checks in to see if he's needed.
The actor's contract, as is standard, is for the life of the show.
Which turns out to have the second-longest run in Broadway history.
Which turns out to have the second-longest run in Broadway history.
TWENTY YEARS of living close to the theater, checking in eight times a week, always being available at showtimes.
And then the people running the show decide they want him gone, but they're too cheap to buy him out.
THAT IS A THRILLER STORY, PEOPLE.
THAT IS A THRILLER STORY, PEOPLE.
In real life, the actor committed suicide, allegedly after pressure from the director. Terrible for him, his partner, friends, and family.
What strikes me about the late actor's career is not its tragic end, but its nature as existence. Constant check-ins, contrained movement.
Jeff Loeffelholtz spent twenty years making an excellent living in New York City, and the poor guy might as well have been in jail.
