Old Friends Bar.
Adam's words hit Joey hard, making him second-guess himself again.
The risks involved? Yeah, those had always been Joey's biggest worry.
He couldn't shake the memory of playing a cool doctor who suddenly got killed off. After that, he couldn't find work for ages, forced to drop his "status" and claw his way back up from nameless side roles. Brutal times.
Back then, his acting career tanked so bad he lost his health insurance.
He ended up with a hernia—pain so bad he could barely stand it—but surgery out-of-pocket? Way too pricey. He toughed it out until he landed another gig, got insurance again, and finally went under the knife.
That kind of misery sticks with you. 😖
"Joey, when you dream of being Al Pacino, is it for the fame or the fortune?"
Adam decided to check in on the last single guy in their friend group.
Emmm.
Sure, Chandler and the gang considered Adam part of the crew, and he was single too, but when they talked about "single dogs," Joey never lumped Adam in with him.
"I don't even know," Joey said, scratching his head. "Maybe both?"
"Hmm." Adam nodded. "Honest answer. If you're chasing fame and fortune in this acting game, I don't think the Al Pacino route's for you."
"What? Why not?" Joey blinked, shocked. "You might not know this, but Al Pacino's, like, the idol in our circle. Tons of people dream of being the next him!"
"That's just rigid thinking," Adam pointed out. "You're Joey, not Al Pacino, right? And if everyone's trying to do the same thing, why follow the crowd? You're Joey Tribbiani—you should find the path that fits you best."
"The path that fits me?" Joey looked totally lost. "What path?"
"TV shows, dude. American TV," Adam said with a grin. "I get it—in your world, movie actors look down on TV actors, and TV actors are jealous of movie stars, feeling like they're less-than.
But is that really true?
Movies do have bigger budgets and production value, no doubt. In the short term, they bring actors more fame and cash than TV.
But here's what you're missing:
A hit TV show can keep going forever. It digs into the characters' personalities and growth from every angle—it's like a living, legendary biography.
Can a movie's runtime do that?
Ten, twenty years later, new viewers watch those old, fancy films and go, 'The effects suck, and who's that actor?'
They might look him up, see he was huge back in the day, say 'Oh,' and move on.
Half the time, they don't even bother checking.
No matter how great a movie actor's skills are, the story and runtime limit how much they can show.
Sometimes, short is the original sin.
But a mega-long, iconic TV show?
Every inch longer makes it stronger!
With enough time and rich, real stories—pulled from the hot topics of the day—it stays appealing for decades, even generations.
It's like a history lesson, a snapshot of that era's vibe, preserved in video form.
The next generation watches and pictures these vivid, three-dimensional characters—some might even feel like they really lived.
People get curious about their stories.
That kind of fame? It blows movie stars out of the water, doesn't it?"
"Whoa, he's got a point!" Phoebe piped up. "I didn't know filming TV shows had perks like that!"
"But it's gotta be an iconic show," Joey said, shaking his head.
"Nope," Adam countered with a smile. "An iconic show's not enough. It's gotta be an iconic sitcom. Humor and laughs don't fade as fast.
Plus, classic sitcoms are all about the characters' everyday lives—perfect for fleshing them out from every angle, making them feel real.
That's character-driven storytelling.
Other plot-driven iconic shows don't have that edge.
I've only talked about how, over time, a hit TV show can bring you fame way beyond movies.
But what about the money?"
"Money?" Joey froze. "You're not saying a classic TV show could out-earn movies, are you? No way!"
"Why not?" Adam shot back. "In showbiz, fame and fortune go hand in hand. If a classic show gives you bigger, longer-lasting fame, why wouldn't it bring bigger profits too?"
"But…" Joey stammered, still stuck on old-school thinking.
"How do you make your income?" Adam asked.
"Paychecks, ads, live gigs—mostly those three," Joey listed.
"Nah, you're forgetting something: merchandise," Adam said. "Everything we're talking about—fame, fortune—it all revolves around a classic TV show. That's the key.
Paychecks, ads, and gigs are short-term. But royalties from a show's merchandise? That's a steady goldmine."
"Merch? Come on, that's a joke," Joey laughed. "That's the juiciest cut—the studios never share that with actors!"
"Why not?" Adam grinned. "Picture this: a classic sitcom airs, and everyone falls in love with the main cast. A few seasons in, swap out one actor, and fans riot—ratings tank. Swap two, and the show's toast. But if the whole cast teams up and pushes the studio for a merch cut, what then?"
"Hiss!" Joey sucked in a breath. "It'd be a standoff—either the show dies, or the studio caves. Probably the latter, 'cause no one's dumb enough to ditch a cash cow. If the cast walks, the show's done, and all that future merch money's gone too."
"But only if the cast can stick together," Chandler cut in, shaking his head. "Studios love to divide and conquer. Convince one to break, and the rest fall apart. People are selfish—it's tough!"
"That's where someone's gotta step up and see the big picture," Adam said, smirking. "Joey could lay it all out for everyone, even take a pay cut to rally the team. Trust me, a little less now for years of merch royalties? It's a no-brainer.
The yearly merch haul from a classic sitcom is beyond what you can imagine.
Joey, you dreamed of being Al Pacino 'cause you heard he raked in tens of millions per movie, right?
But if you lock in with a classic sitcom this way, you could kick back, not work a day, and still pull in more each year than those movie bigshots you envy—and they're busting their butts for it!
You'd be crushing them yearly, just chilling.
That's the real winner's life!"
"No way, really?"
Everyone turned to stare, jaws dropping. 😲
"Trust me, it's legit," Adam said with a calm smile.
In the future—twenty years from now—the Friends crew would still be pocketing $20 million each per year from royalties. Can you even imagine?
By then, how's Al Pacino supposed to compete with Joey?
Who's envying who?
(Chapter End)
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