Jimmy Donaldson, known as MrBeast on YouTube, is expanding his empire into reality television with Amazon. A creator and star of the largest channel on YouTube, with more than 310 million subscribers, Donaldson has built his audience with over-the-top challenges, such as staying in a nuclear bunker for 100 days or surviving prison, that test contestants’ mettle. Alongside his line of chocolate bars, action figures, and fast-food meals, his empire earns a reported $700 million a year in revenue. Now, Donaldson and his team at MrBeast are taking the next step.
With a $5 million prize and 2,000 contestants, Beast Games is set to be the largest reality show in history. The first 1,000 contestants were eliminated in a series of events in Las Vegas, with the tape filmed there reportedly cut into a video that will appear on MrBeast’s channel. The show itself films in Toronto and Panama, and, according to one crew member who spoke to Rolling Stone, is expected to wrap in mid-September. “Amazon gave me the creative control I need to try and make it happen,” Donaldson told Variety. “I hope to make the YouTube community proud.” In an interview with YouTubers Colin and Samir, Donaldson added that “six hours of content” should be “released later this year” for Amazon. “Money’s not a constraint and I could also just do anything,” Donaldson said. “From the first call [Amazon] was like, ‘Yeah that makes sense, you can have control.’ They were literally like, ‘We don’t want it, you’re the master.’” (A rep for Amazon did not respond to a request for comment.)
In Las Vegas, contestants reported having their medication withheld, being injured, and sleeping on stadium floors, with many saying they were speaking out in hopes that the production would improve. But according to six crew members who worked in Toronto, as well as several contestants, conditions on the reality show’s productions were dangerous.
Internal documents, NDAs, call sheets, and set photos obtained by Rolling Stone from crew members who worked on the Toronto leg of the event describe a potentially unsafe working environment that was “disorganized,” “wild,” and staffed with a crew with little experience on a project of this scale. But Beast Games has no precedent. “It’s a Fyre Fest kind of feeling,” one crew member who worked in Toronto and left the production early says. “There’s a reason why this level of production hasn’t been attempted before, and it certainly should never have been attempted without people that know what they are doing.”
“The MrBeast Las Vegas promotional video shoot, which included over 2,000 participants, was unfortunately complicated by the CrowdStrike incident, extreme weather, and other unexpected logistical and communications issues, which we reviewed, and we are grateful that virtually all of those invited to Toronto enthusiastically accepted our invitation,” a MrBeast spokesperson tells Rolling Stone. “We communicated directly with 97 percent of the 2,000 people who attended to ask for feedback, and took the necessary steps to ensure that we learned from this experience, and we were excited to welcome the hundreds of men and women who participated in the world’s largest game show in history.”
WHEN THE COMPETITION was first announced in March 2024, hordes of MrBeast fans — as well as those unaware of who he was — applied online. The application featured questions meant to test people’s personalities, like “Are you willing to be buried alive?” and ”Are you more of a hero or a villain?” According to Vital Vegas, the Vegas round also looked for challenge testers — guinea pigs who tried the challenge before the contestants — offering them “$150 cash” for roughly eight hours and a “free meal.”
Scott Leopold, an Austin-based actor who competed in the Vegas round of Beast Games, tells Rolling Stone that he “had no idea who MrBeast [was],” but he applied because “my kids said he’s all about helping people on philanthropic stuff.” Another contestant, who asked to have their name withheld for privacy concerns, thought Beast Games would offer “the most amount of exposure” and could be a great opportunity “to do more things in the game-show world.” “I grew up watching shows like Fear Factor, and the people that were casting for the show said that it would be the most difficult thing you’ve ever done, but also a really cool experience,” they tell Rolling Stone.
The first stop was in Allegiant Stadium in Las Vegas, where, starting on July 18, 2,000 contestants “ate, slept, and lived inside the stadium while competing in challenges, like moving heavy objects, and an extreme game of capture the flag,” according to a report from The New York Times. Per the Times, some contestants claimed that “they had not received adequate food or medical care, and that some competitors had suffered injuries from the physical challenges.” (A MrBeast spokesperson cited the “CrowdStrike incident” and “extreme weather,” among other issues.)
Leopold justified being in what he described as “deplorable conditions” because he thought being on a reality-television show “would be good for my acting.” But when he started to hear rumors from other contestants that his elimination in Capture the Flag would just end up on YouTube, he questioned why he was there. “We don’t even know to what extent it’s going to be used on his YouTube channel,” Leopold says. “At that point, we didn’t even know if we were getting paid. Why am I doing it?” According to a Contestant Agreement and Release seen by Rolling Stone, contestants were not promised payment, only “Prizes” from “playing of Challenges.”
As for the “chaos” of the competition, which led to six hospitalizations, both contestants acknowledged that production was put in a “bad position” when trying to bring Donaldson’s vision to life. One contestant who made it through the round to Toronto tells Rolling Stone that they “slept on the ground” of the stadium, and were “confined to their hotel rooms,” none of which they were warned of beforehand. “They were in over their heads and they didn’t know what to do,” Leopold says. “Like people were just doing things that they couldn’t control.”
After production wrapped, the MrBeast team sent out an email seen by Rolling Stone to knocked-out contestants, offering a “$1,000 payment” to all contestants as well as “an additional $1,000 payment” for those eliminated. “All expenses people took on due to travel hiccups with the CrowdStrike outage, and all medical needs either during or after the games will be fully covered,” it read.
Drone footage of ‘Beast Games’ in Las Vegas
AT THE END OF THE tarmac in an abandoned airport, a sprawling village was built for Beast Games, manned by about 800 crew members about nine miles from downtown Toronto. According to footage of the course captured by the CBC and confirmed by multiple employees who spoke to Rolling Stone, it consists of numerous airplane hangars, a line of houses, bleachers, and tables, as well as a large tower.
In Toronto, contestants tell Rolling Stone, their conditions improved immensely. One contestant in their early twenties, who was in both Vegas and Toronto, tells Rolling Stone that “it was a much better experience.… I think they learned from the mishaps and mistakes they made the first time around.” They speculate that contestants were “overfed because they were trying to compensate for what happened in Vegas.” They also claim that they slept in hotels where they had the “freedom to walk around.”
According to a private group chat of more than 350 Beast Games contestants seen by Rolling Stone, challenges consisted of games like trivia, taking bribes to eliminate others from the competition, and knocking down toy towers with dodgeballs. “This might just be me, but I don’t think there’s much to report on for Toronto other than we generally are not a fan of the challenges,” one contestant wrote in the chat.
Two contestants in the chat claimed to be “bruised” and have “muscle tears” from falling through a trapdoor after elimination. One contestant says that “everything seemed to be more in order,” but they did suffer minor injuries to their head and groin after their trapdoor unexpectedly opened. “I was able to come back in the games, but I was hurting badly,” they say. “I wanted to win the money, so I did my best to stay in, lying to the medics that I was fine.” (A source close to production says there was “a very robust, experienced safety team, which included coordinators for stunts, medication, medical, and pharmacists who had to adhere to all sorts of safety guidelines.” They added, “There were very few injuries relative to the people that went through it.”)
This leg of Beast Games was a nonunion production, which isn’t unusual for a reality show. According to YouTuber Rosana Pansino in a TikTok video, the film and television production-crew union IATSE deemed the show an “unfair production” and its union members would not be allowed to work. ACTRA (Alliance of Canadian Cinema, Television and Radio Artists) issued a do-not-work notice for the production and that it is “nonunion.” (A spokesperson for IATSE declined to comment to Time magazine and did not respond to a Rolling Stone request for comment. “ACTRA Toronto is unable to comment on non-ACTRA productions,” a representative told Rolling Stone.)
Toby Dormer, executive vice president of Beast Games production company Blink49, told Deadline that it was positive to see “such a large-scale production take advantage of Canada’s talented crews and competitive tax credits.”
All six Beast Games crew members who spoke with Rolling Stone, who all requested anonymity because of NDAs they had signed, confirmed that they and their co-workers were nonunion. One who worked in a hangar says their co-workers were “everything from seasoned professionals to people who just graduated from film school who had never stepped on a set before,” which they felt was an unusual mix for a production of this size.
“They were in over their heads and they didn’t know what to do. Like people were just doing things that they couldn’t control.”
The Toronto film industry still hasn’t recovered from Covid-19 or the Writer’s Guild Strike, with an 80 percent drop in the number of active productions year-over-year. “The union world has been hit hard and hasn’t recovered, so they had every opportunity to get talented pros for all aspects, but they didn’t want to pay,” the crew member who worked in a hangar says.
Starting in late July, casting calls for “Project Greenlight” — the code name for Beast Games — started to appear on Toronto-area casting websites and Facebook, calling for “nonunion males to play lead guards for various challenges” who needed to be between 25 to 50 years old, “ideally have a background in military training” and “must have strong body language and loud, intimidating voices” because the role will be “masked.” The pay would be a day rate of $475.
A few days later, on Aug. 4, Ontario’s JB Casting Services posted on Facebook and Project Casting that they were looking for another position of “talented background actors” and “guards/judges for reality-based competition series for $275 a day.” Those ranging in age from 18 to 50 needed to be able to “stand on your feet for extended periods of time” as well as being “comfortable wearing a full mask and bodysuit.”
“This nonunion opportunity is ideal for individuals with military or sports backgrounds who can maintain a strong presence and fairness throughout the competition,” JB Casting Services wrote.
There was also a post on the Ontario Paramedic Students Facebook page on Aug. 5 looking for “any medics” interested in a 24-hour shift paying $350 for a 10-hour day. When asked in the comments if the gig was “open to students” the poster said they could “make it work.”
On Aug. 6, a call went out on Facebook for “Challenge Testers” to “perform a variety of physical and mental challenges, including heights, small spaces, drops, and obstacle courses.” They would be paid $100 for six hours, or $200 for 12-hour shifts.
“We just weren’t seen as human beings; we were seen as a means to an end,” the crew member who worked in a hangar says. “Although, luckily, this production was able to move forward without any union behind it, it also makes the workers have to fight for their rights.”
The employees Rolling Stone spoke with describe an environment that was fast-paced, but loose when it came to safety. Days regularly went past 12 hours and employees were often tasked with working more than seven days in a row. Rolling Stone reviewed the pay stubs for one crew member who worked more than 80 hours in one week.
Three crew members describe not receiving enough adequate food while filming. One who left the Toronto production early says they received a single “scoop of rice” on their 15-minute break over a 16-hour shift. “There was either not enough food, they were running out, or it wasn’t ready on time,” one production assistant tells Rolling Stone. “It was just kind of crazy.” Another PA says that “catering ran out of food a bunch of times,” and at one point production asked their “department to police the lunch line so people didn’t take too large of a portion.” A source close to production denied that there was a shortage of food, calling it “bullshit” and saying “There were craft services available constantly…way more than even necessary to ensure that everyone was fed properly.”
(According to the Ontario Labor Board’s Employment Standards Act, there is no weekly limit on the number of hours a crew member can work or necessary eating periods.)
When temperatures hit upward of 90 degrees, two crew members tell Rolling Stone, production members in the hangar they worked in turned off “air conditioning and fans during certain challenges because they didn’t want to interfere with the atmosphere” and conditions “were not ideal.” “They are so disorganized that they keep people running around the clock,” a third crew member with a decade of experience in production says. Guards and contestant wranglers were required to wear suits and polyester hoods.
Four crew members Rolling Stone spoke with claim they were either paid late or not what they were owed. One PA says they didn’t receive a paycheck for the “first three weeks” they worked, and another says, “I never received one correct paycheck from the entire show.” According to the crew members, accounting used Revolution Entertainment Services (RES) for payroll, a company none of them had ever used on past productions. (The company did not immediately reply to a request for comment.)
Last week, a Beast Games producer emailed crew members sharing that RES had “set up a hotline email to assist with and correct the payroll issues our crew have encountered on this show,” and “With Revolution stepping up to assist directly with the software shortfalls, we hope to get through the backlog of issues faster.” (A source close to production admits that “there was some software issue converting the exchange rate and the email was acknowledging that error.”)
The show’s executive producers, according to a call sheet seen by Rolling Stone, worked on series like Deal or No Deal Island, Fear Factor, and Scare PewDiePie. Since its 2021 formation, the production company Blink49 has mainly worked on dramas, with no prior reality-show work appearing on IMDBPro. (A source close to production says that Blink49 “ran physical production, booked vendors, and was not involved in creative.” Blink49 did not return a request for comment.)
Most reality shows are produced on a much smaller scale, with “flashing lights and a stage,” one crew member with more than a decade in production says, and “at maximum, you are going to see something like Amazing Race or Survivor.”
“They were in over their heads and they didn’t know what to do. Like people were just doing things that they couldn’t control.”
On Aug. 17, Toronto experienced a large storm and record-breaking rainfall that flooded the set. They stopped actively filming for 36 hours but, says one production assistant, workers were “told to keep working with piles of electrical equipment literally submerged under water.” They “were squeegeeing hangars and trying to keep the water away from equipment,” and “the work definitely didn’t stop when the rain was on,” the PA says. “It was flooding from the floor up and from the ceiling down,” another PA says about one of the hangars. “We were bagging up electrical equipment, but it didn’t matter, it was pouring in everywhere.”
One picture, reviewed by Rolling Stone, shows a collection of plugged-in cables submerged underwater. Another showed a young man in one of the production facilities holding cables above his head while standing in at least an inch of water. According to the CalArts School of Film and Video, “using electricity of any kind in wet weather conditions is very dangerous and should not be done.” (A source close to production says that “as soon as it became clear that there was an issue with the rain and the water, the crew and production secured the equipment and then as soon as conditions improved, production continued.”)
On Aug. 22, Donaldson sent out a video (seen by Rolling Stone) to everyone working on the project. “I’m seeing how hard everyone is working and I just want you to know it means the world to me what you guys are doing to help pull off this show,” Donaldson says standing atop his concrete tower. “Once we get the contestants down to around 100, things should go a lot easier, I know the last day or two has been pretty long.”
EVERY PERSON WHO PARTICIPATED or worked on Beast Games signed an NDA. The crew member with more than a decade of experience tells Rolling Stone, “They spent more time reiterating that everyone was under an NDA. I’ve never experienced that before.” On Sept. 5, the Beast Games production office sent out an email to crew members reminding them that “any violations of the confidentiality policy contained in your deal memos will be strictly enforced.”
Rolling Stone viewed the NDA from a competitor as well as a crew member. Dr. Julie Macfarlane, a law professor at the University of Windsor in Ontario and co-founder of Can’t Buy My Silence, a campaign rallying against NDA abuse, says the NDAs are “extremely broad but not untypical.” According to the Contestant Agreement and Release, if a competitor divulges any “confidential information” before the last episode airs, they agree to pay $500,000 as well as any earnings. After airing, the fee is lowered to $100,000.
One crew member NDA Rolling Stone viewed says the “recipient waives any right to seek or obtain injunctive or other equitable relief against Producer or any Project,” and that they can’t talk about confidential information for three years. (This is a typical clause for the industry.)
A Beast Games deal memo — which is a standard contract used by film companies to hire freelancers — from earlier in production seen by Rolling Stone had a clause that “employee acknowledges that Employer may be exposed to provocative material and unique or unusual situations which may be considered offensive, indecent, or unacceptable by others.”
All six crew members tell Rolling Stone that having an NDA swinging above their heads made it difficult for them to come forward. Most had never heard of MrBeast before, but no longer wanted anything to do with his content. “Overall, I’m wondering why this kind of content is so important for the culture,” the crew member who worked in a hangar says. “That this much labor and complicated matrix of things even has to exist in the first place.”
