All things considered, casting a movie would seem like a snap. A couple of stars, a brigade of familiar faces and maybe the odd unknown or occasional civilian hauled in off the sidewalk for special effect. How tough can it be?
Well, think again. Casting is actually among the most delicate variables in the celluloid equation. Neither a great script nor a great director can salvage a movie with actors who don`t fit their roles or stars who fail to shine in synch.
Each part, big or small, presents its own little web of intriguing possibilities, and the correct casting spin can turn an ordinary role into an unforgettable one. The right choice can launch a hit or blast a career into dazzling orbit. The wrong one sends up flares of despair. At best, the process of matching real flesh and blood to some words on a page is an educated craps shoot; at worst, it`s more like crapping out.
”There`s no formula,” emphasizes Jane Feinberg, who, with partner Mike Fenton, helped populate ”One Flew Over the Cuckoo`s Nest,” ”Norma Rae,”
and a succession of films either produced or directed by Steven Spielberg:
”Raiders of the Lost Ark,” ”Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom,”
”E.T.,” and this summer`s ”Goonies” and ”Back to the Future.”
”There`s no absolute guarantee in anything,” she stresses. ”It`s all difficult. It`s very hard to find actors that are interesting and have a personality on the screen and are really good actors. Even when you think it`s a lock, that you`ve got it made, you`re always at least a little surprised.” Indeed, the history of film casting is built as much on its surprises as what would seem like the obvious. In fact, the obvious is often nothing more than a surprise that managed to somehow work out. How different ”Casablanca” would have been with Ronald Reagan as Rick and Ann Sheridan as Ilsa, Warner Brothers` original choices, or even George Raft and Hedy Lamarr, the on-paper runners-up, instead of Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman, the duo finally agreed on when all else fell through.
Imagine, as MGM tried to, Shirley Temple as Dorothy or W.C. Fields as the wizard in ”The Wizard of Oz.” Or Eli Wallach instead of Frank Sinatra in
”From Here to Eternity,” or Sinatra instead of Brando in ”On the Waterfront,” or Brando instead of Sinatra in ”The Man With the Golden Arm.” All were what might have been.
Burt Lancaster as ”Ben-Hur”? Jimmy Stewart as 007? Robert Redford as
”The Graduate”? Tom Selleck as Indiana Jones? Meryl Streep as ”Norma Rae”? Richard Dreyfuss as ”Arthur”? Sylvester Stallone as the ”Beverly Hills Cop”? Inconceivable, right? Looking back, sure, but at the time, each led the run for those coveted roses, just as Bette Davis once prepared to bite into the Scarlett O`Hara plum.
The actors and actresses who eventually landed those roles–Charlton Heston, Sean Connery, Dustin Hoffman, Harrison Ford, Sally Field, Dudley Moore, Eddie Murphy, and Vivien Leigh–all seem so perfect, so undeniably linked to the characters they created–so, well, obvious–that you can`t help wondering how they weren`t the producer or director`s only choice to begin with. If it were all so simple, every movie would be a classic, and all casting directors would be running soup kitchens.
As it is, casting directors whip up a different kind of cuisine, serving, as they do, the squeezably fresh faces and traditional staples required to satisfy the appetite for talent rumbling through the guts of the producers and directors who hire them. They tend to cajole and mother–most, though not all, happen to be women–lobby and plead. They`re constantly on the phone with agents, constantly updating, constantly pruning, constantly interviewing, constantly on the lookout for the next bright nova on the horizon.
And, of course, they are constantly remembering. Their minds and file cabinets are filled with megabytes of names and faces, neatly catalogued and stored for immediate reference and miraculous retrieval. An actor who may be wrong for one role may be perfect for another, and it`s the casting director`s job to somehow make the projection.
Wally Nicita saw Mickey Rourke when she cast ”Urban Cowboy,” a film that managed to survive without him. His persona appealed to her, though, and she filed him away, never forgetting her first impression. In time, she helped orchestrate his breakthrough as the arsonist in ”Body Heat.” Similarly, when Fenton and Feinberg were asked to help Nicita nail down the increasingly problematic female lead–originally written for Sissy Spacek–in ”Urban Cowboy,” their faith in Debra Winger helped buck the role in her direction.
”We believed in her,” Feinberg says. ”We were bringing her in for everything.”
The best casting directors, like the best cinematographers and editors, work again and again with the same filmmakers. ”We become a film family in a sense,” says Nicita, who, like Fenton and Feinberg, is based in Los Angeles. In addition to ”Urban Cowboy” and ”Body Heat,” her credits include ”The Right Stuff,” ”The Big Chill,” ”WarGames,” and ”The Falcon and the Snowman.” ”If a director has come to trust you,” she says, ”all he has to get nervous about is the actual aspect of making his film.”
Over time, that learning process helps a casting director anticipate a director`s thoughts and needs, not to second guess, but to subtly plant the notions that can sprout into that director`s vision.
”My job is really to present the alternatives to a director,” says Juliette Taylor. Through the years, she has presented thousands of them to directors like Louis Malle, Paul Mazursky, Steven Spielberg and Jim Brooks. For Woody Allen alone she`s unearthed countless inhabitants for the often bizarre worlds of ”Bananas,” ”Love and Death,” ”Annie Hall,”
”Interiors,” ”Manhattan,” ”Stardust Memories,” ”A Midsummer Night`s Sex Comedy,” ”Zelig,” ”Broadway Danny Rose,” ”The Purple Rose of Cairo” and the upcoming ”Hannah and Her Sisters.”
”I can`t get someone a part,” she says. ”The director always makes that decision. But hopefully, I can exert some influence.”
Feinberg agrees. ”Our power is more in saying `no` than saying `yes.` We have the power of who we want to bring to a producer or a director. We have the power of saying `no` to an agent–`Your actor is wrong`–or `no` to an actor–`You`re not right for the part.` We can influence as best we can. We can give a strong opinion. But the final decision is with the producer or director.”
Feinberg offers her work on both ”Norma Rae” and ”Cuckoo`s Nest” as examples. When Meryl Streep, director Martin Ritt`s first choice for the factory firebrand, became unavailable for the project, Ritt asked Fenton and Feinberg who the good actresses were. They suggested, firmly and confidently, that he look at a TV comedian who had just stunned the industry with her remarkable television performance as the multi-personalitied ”Sybil.” ”We told him she was sensational,” says Feinberg. ”And I don`t think he even bothered to see the film we sent over. It was like he instantly knew she was right.” In time, Oscar would learn Sally Field was right, as well.
For ”Cuckoo`s Nest,” director Milos Forman wanted a star for the lead role–the logistics of filmmaking dictated that much–with most secondary casting to go to unrecognizable faces, the better to keep the illusion of asylum inmates intact. Fenton and Feinberg began by assembling a list of 25 potential male stars, five of whom were approved by Forman and the film`s producers, Saul Zaentz and Michael Douglas. When she checked on availability, only four were left, Jack Nicholson the first choice among them. They made an offer to Nicholson, and a year or so later, he was accepting his first Academy Award.
”Usually,” Feinberg explains, ”you start with the lead or the star, and once that`s set, you work around him or her. In this particular case, the rest were really ensemble pieces, and Milos had very specific ideas of what he wanted for each character, and we brought him actor upon actor upon actor for each character until he saw this was the face and personality and the type that he wanted.” Rounding out the ”Cuckoo`s Nest” ensemble took them more than half a year.
Woody Allen, like Forman, has definite images of the faces and personalities he`s seeking. ”He has a very strong vision of how the picture is going to look overall,” says Taylor. Still, he`s willing to listen. ”Even though it`s his own material, he`s very open-minded. He seems very unfixed in that sense, pretty objective. He`s not as wedded to his words as he is to his vision.”
And that vision often takes Taylor, operating out of New York, and her assistants on wild scavenger sprees throughout the metropolitan area. Allen, particularly, has a penchant for slapping onto his canvases the serendipitous faces of his city. If Allen mixes the paint, it`s Taylor`s job to supply the primary and secondary colors.
For ”Broadway Danny Rose,” Allen insisted on real faces, not film faces, for a large Italian wedding sequence. Taylor prowled through Little Italy searching around for just the right look.
”Like the two guys who come out when Danny pulls up at the wedding,”
she says. ”Those two guys are brothers, undertakers from New Jersey related to someone we actually know. People we know turned into a real pipeline for that film.”
Usually, the process is a little less adventurous. Actors stream in, and actors stream out. Some casting directors call out the cavalry. Others try to bring in only three or four options, a technique pioneered by Marion Dougherty, Taylor`s mentor.
”The idea,” says Taylor, ”is to present very different alternatives for a part rather than just repeating yourself. I think that`s the most helpful thing for a director because it provides all sorts of unusual angles. The fun for me, then, is to be really specific instead of cattle-call general.” It can also help challenge a director.
Finding the right star, even filling out the secondary roles around that star, is one thing. Ensembles, like ”The Right Stuff” and ”The Big Chill,” require a more sophisticated strategy. ”They provide more areas of concern,” says Nicita, ”and the casting becomes more of a balancing act.”
What are the hardest roles to cast? All three agree that nothing`s easy, but Feinberg zeroes in on ”the beautiful girl with humor” and the ”35-year- old leading man.” Comediennes, she says, are always tough. So is finding a post-pubescent male with any modicum of real talent whose face isn`t over-exposed.
”Even the one-liners can in their own way be difficult,” she adds,
”because an actor who`s called in for a one-liner wants to show his stuff rather than just do the line.”
Still, nothing hangs up a casting director more than seeing a part, for whatever reason, miscast–especially, says Nicita, ”when I know what another person could have brought to it, a different, less cliched, spin on the ball.”
Feinberg: ”I can usually realize at the time that a director`s making the wrong choice. But he`s the one who sees the way his movie wants to go. I can see what he`s going for, but I know it won`t work, and if that`s his decision, there`s nothing more I can do.”
”At a certain point,” says Taylor, ”you just have to let go, even when you keep seeing it up there on the screen in your imagination and saying `no.` It`s the director`s choice. But that`s when you tend to wake up and say, `I gave up last night. This morning, I want to fight for what I think again.` ”
