Exiting a stage life

Dozens of talented, up-and-coming artists leave the profession or simply disappear, quietly pursuing other work away from the spotlight

Armed with a BFA in acting from the University of Windsor, Eric Miinch arrived in Toronto on May 1, 2008, determined to become an actor. Exactly 10 years later, on May 1, 2018, he left and returned to the town where he grew up.

The bright, affable Miinch gave the profession his best shot. He took Second City classes, acted in several plays, including sold-out Fringe shows like “Caitlin and Eric Are Broken Up.” He was a regular on the improv scene and toured festivals with his sketch troupe Fratwurst. He booked commercials.

“I was making somewhere between $10,000 and $12,000 a year,” he said. He supplemented his acting work with at least one part-time job. “But it wasn’t feasible. I got to the point where I could go to a commercial audition that would pay $2,000 if I booked it, or I could work at a day job that paid a guaranteed $200. In the end, I had to pay my rent.”

Now, five years after leaving the industry, he’s happier than ever. After pursuing his lifelong interest in craft beer, he’s become the head brewer at the Banded Goose Brewery and Taproom in Kingsville, Ont.

He’s paid off the debt he racked up in Toronto. He and his fiancée (they’re getting married in October) have bought a house. And he’s the proud father of a one-year-old. He’s also begun doing community theatre — while playing “Guys and Dolls”’ he met his fiancée.

And recently he’s started producing and performing in improv shows nearby and feels none of the anxiety he experienced while doing it professionally.

As someone who’s monitored the performing arts industry for decades, I’ve seen dozens of talented, up-and-coming artists leave the profession. Or rather, I likely haven’t seen them. They’ve just disappeared, quietly pursuing other work away from the spotlight.

In the late 1990s and early aughts, Yashoda Ranganathan was one of the most promising actors on the scene, appearing in plays by awardwinning companies like Modern Times Stage Company, Aluna and Cahoots.

Now she’s a lawyer in the public sector. In her LinkedIn bio, she jokes that graduating from law school in 2008 was the best thing that ever happened to her father.

“I found two things frustrating about being an actor,” Ranganathan said. “The first was finishing a show and not knowing what the next job would be. The second involved the different jobs I had to take to make money. I’m an intelligent person. But these were lowlevel, part-time positions in which everybody treated you like you weren’t very smart or capable. And I would fight against that and try to prove myself, even though I always had one foot out the door and couldn’t fully immerse myself in that world.”

Throughout her eight-year acting career, she always had the idea of attending law school. And then came a fulfilling two-year period in theatre, in which she toured with a show to Iran, performed in a couple of Aluna shows and began rehearsing a new play called “Bhopal,” which got her profiled by my late colleague Jon Kaplan in NOW Magazine.

“I remember thinking, ‘OK, I could leave now and feel like I left a bit of a mark,’ she said. “I proved myself. I honed my craft. I felt I could take on any number of roles. So I wouldn’t be leaving feeling like I had failed. I achieved some success and could seek success in something else.”

The concept of success in the performing arts is misleading. You book a gig, and for a couple of weeks of rehearsals and a month of shows, you’re immersed in the art you studied and trained to do. But then what?

“It’s not feasible anymore for artists to identify live performance as how they pay their bills,” said Winnie (not her real name), a mid-career theatre artist.

“There are two exceptions. Either you are doing other work and are somehow balancing that — and by work I’m not talking about a couple of shifts at a bar or restaurant. Or you are living off generational wealth or partner wealth. If you’ve inherited money or have a husband or a wife who’s, say, a law partner, then your life as an artist is very different.”

Winnie has won major awards and worked at one of the country’s most esteemed theatre companies. She said it’s impossible to make a living in the theatre. She also has other responsibilities; she has parents who are getting older and she’s concerned about how she will care for them.

“I have some very successful friends whose names you would recognize — and they’re broke,” she said. “They are taking out lines of credit to do what they do. It’s not fair to be asking artists to do that. I looked at my income over the last 12 years, and if you subtract things like teaching and making TV, my income from theatre is about seven per cent.”

Winnie doesn’t see an easy solution to the problem, especially with rising housing costs in cities like Toronto. But she does think theatres should start understanding the limits of what they can offer their artists.

“It’s not responsible for theatres to encourage people to pursue this work as their sole means of subsistence,” she said.

“It’s not just about paying people a living wage for two or three weeks. It means removing the shame and stigma of needing other resources to get by.”

Winnie still believes you can make great theatre while holding down another job. But there has to be a reason why you take that time off to make art.

“What gives me hope is that we don’t have to let go of dreams like excellence,” she said. “Working under these circumstances could unlock a real urgency because it’s not just about making money. Artists will think about what story they want to tell and whether that story is worth making space for in their life.”

Actor and comic Paul Constable understands the need to balance two jobs.

“My son turns 12 this month, and I’ve had my real estate licence for 12 years, so you can do the math as to why I thought I needed some extra income,” Constable said.

A Second City mainstage cast member in the early aughts, Constable chose real estate as a second job for its flexibility. He remembers a couple of times when the two jobs jutted up against each other. Once, he closed on a house at 9:30 p.m. and then immediately got in his car to drive to North Bay because he had to shoot a commercial the next day.

Constable is widely known for being the face of Canadian Tire in more than 100 TV commercials. Most of his real estate clients recognize him from those spots, and he’s up front with them about the possibility of being pulled away to do something else. He estimates selling houses accounts for about a quarter of his working time.

The commercials gave him freedom and the ability to spend more time with his son.

“They allowed me not to have to worry about the next job — which a lot of actors or realtors do. They think, ‘I just sold a house, or I just wrapped a season on a show, or I’m at the Shaw Festival now but it’s November and I don’t know if I’m coming back next season.’”

One of the toughest professions in the performing arts is being a dancer. Unless you’ve got one of the rare jobs with a well-known company like the National Ballet of Canada or the Royal Winnipeg Ballet, you’re barely making a living at all. Worse, because of the nature of the work, and its physical toll on your body, your career will often be short-lived.

That’s one of the reasons behind the Dancer Transition Resource Centre, founded by Joysanne Sidimus in 1985 to help dancers transition to other careers. As outgoing executive director Kristian Clarke said, a lot of the organization’s recent work involves extending dance careers by opening dancers up to skilled training to develop parallel careers.

“This is something that complements your dance, so you can continue to pursue your first love, but also have another stream of income to pay the bills and support families as your life evolves.”

With the help of DTRC’s counselling and exploration grants, many dancers have taken up careers in body-based professions like physiotherapy, osteopathy and other jobs in the health sciences.

“But we’ve also had members who became accountants or got their MBAs,” Clarke said.

Even after leaving the performing arts as a career, many people have still found a way to connect with the arts in meaningful ways.

Steven Smits was the general manager of indie theatre company Volcano Theatre. During the pandemic he and his wife relocated to North Bay, where he’s currently the manager of alumni and advancement at Nipissing University. The pause gave the couple the chance to reassess their lifestyle and where they wanted to raise a family.

These days, Smits serves on the board of the local North Bay theatre, and volunteers at a regional theatre guild, sharing the expertise he’s honed over his career. It’s his way of giving back.

After leaving acting and becoming a lawyer, Ranganathan took a break from the stage. She also raised a family, so she didn’t have much time to go to shows.

Recently, however, she joined the board of Necessary Angel Theatre, whose artistic director, Alan Dilworth, had directed her in a show two decades ago.

Sitting in the audience at the company’s recent show “NEW,” Ranganathan remembered why she loved theatre.

“I forgot that connection you have in the theatre — that connection with the audience, and the joint decision you all make to enter into the world the playwright has created. I didn’t realize how much I had missed that.”