A constant headache-creating piece of anguish. Worse than taxes. Worse than sex. Oh, yes. It is the Grim Reaper. This horror for the actor, simply stated in a word, is: casting. How do I get this part? What part should I do? How do I get better parts? How do I get parts for which they never think of me? The classic: What’s my casting? How do I get any part at all? How? How? How? It’s a subject that often brings the onward rush of the actor’s career to a sputtering, clanking, I’m-never-gonna-work-again halt. Nightmarish or not, being knowledgeable about casting is part of your acting technique. The understanding of your casting, and being able to execute it, is a big part of the whole equation. If you don’t think so, put Lawrence Olivier in High Noon and let Gary Cooper play Richard III.
First off, look at movies, television, plays. But keep in mind you’re no longer a civilian spectator, just enjoying the ride. As you watch a movie, find your part. Be honest. And don’t be greedy. Pick the part that’s right, that you can play, that you could be cast in for real—not the lead role every time. Maybe there’s a one-scene part for a lawyer and you’re good at lawyers. Pick that part and do it in class so you feel you’re as good as you can be, and you can honestly compete for this role. Get real. Get clear. This is part of administration. I love dreams, but I want doable dreams.
A longtime student went on this casting trip in class with me where all she wanted to play were romantic leading roles, á la Joan Crawford. But this was a character actress, a down-to-earth woman who could easily play the common folk. We went back and forth—she fought me over this issue. Finally, she gave in. Now, years later, it seems almost every other movie I see, she’s in it, playing interesting character parts. She finally realized her casting and started working professionally nonstop.
Acting is extremely personal—it’s you. To look at the issue of casting is not about invalidating your personality or your physicality or your dreams. I don’t want you thinking to yourself, “I’m too big/small/old/young/tall/short/pretty/not pretty, etc., to play that role.” No. It’s about understanding in a simple, direct way what roles you’re currently right for, those roles that fit you like a glove, what I sometimes refer to as the “first circle” of casting. The role that the actor can just step into with little effort. You need to know what your first circle is, and recognize that industry people will probably see you a certain way at first. Once you understand that, accept it, and you’ve nailed these parts in class, then go for that dream role you’ve always had in mind to play.
A Korean-American actress in my class was, early on, very uptight about being cast only as an Asian. She was really waving a flag for race-blind casting, and it was sometimes just a bit much. When we thought of scenes where she would play an Asian part, she rolled her eyes. Then, she was asked to play a waitress in a Chinese restaurant in a scene in class. She decided to play it as the epitome of the stereotypical owner of a Chinese restaurant. You know what happened? She was hilarious. She was a scream. She stole this scene so thoroughly.... Then she played the lady whose purse was snatched in Detective Story as a Korean immigrant with terrible English—brilliant. Within a year after that, she had developed an entire comedy act about a Korean immigrant who wants to be a standup comedian, speaking in horribly broken English, who only knows the corniest and most insulting race jokes. The act won a bunch of awards, big ones. And then she booked television roles. Yeah, some were cliche Asian roles, but also some that were not specifically Asian. But she works all the time. This is what I mean about finding your first circle and having some humor about it all.
But as is often the case with acting—there’s another story, another angle on it. Because I don’t want to pigeon-hole you in this first circle. I have often found that when an actor tries out those “stretch parts,” the ones that are actually away from that first circle—this can often be an important moment in training. I assign the blue-collar guy who never went to college to play a fancy lawyer. I force the character actress to be the femme fatale, like in Fatal Attraction. It’s an interesting deal—you give them permission to explore a whole different area of their talent, and that exploration tends to affect the first circle positively as well.
When you audition, understand they have a problem: They have to cast this part. So walk in with the idea that they don’t have to look anymore. You are the ticket. Through your audition, let them know, “I’m it. I’m the answer.” Some actors bring a bunch of apology into their auditions. It’s as if they’re apologizing for being there. A doctor I know, meeting a friend of mine for the first time, said as he was examining him, “Why don’t you stop apologizing for the fact that your father is a bricklayer?” You want to know something funny? His father was a bricklayer. It was so ingrained in my friend’s behavior and attitude, that it was quite readable to someone with a bit of perception.
You can’t be limited by the idea of where you came from, or what your parents were like, all that baggage. You have to move beyond your past. If you don’t, and you allow yourself to feel a certain shame about it, or the reverse, like a stubborn pride that prevents you from, say, dressing well for certain roles, or just looking your best in general, it can create a feeling of negativity that isn’t true to who you really are. You’re an artist. You have talent. You have imagination. You have to go beyond the mishegas, the negative thoughts that you’ve held knowingly or unknowingly. So, if you’re apologizing because of your family, or your looks, talent, or lack of education, realize that it shows, it’s oozing all over the place, and people are picking up on it. This is where attitude hits you as you try to do your administration with regard to casting. You’re an actor. Make choices that move you beyond your limited conception of yourself. I once bought an Armani suit that I couldn’t really afford because I loved the way it made me feel—you sometimes need to give yourself a little jolt in life to break out of the box you may have put yourself in, and you have to do it in your acting as well.
Remember in school when you had a substitute teacher? The substitute, a little weaker in skill, and seeking to be liked, didn’t command your attention or respect. Well, don’t send in a substitute actor for yourself, a weak, ineffectual, mousy, ingratiating actor, so all they see is this apology. They may not know why, but they don’t hire you.
By the way, sometimes beautiful people apologize because they’re attractive. Weird, huh? They come to class and try to look unattractive. “I’m not attractive. Please, don’t think that I’m handsome or beautiful, because that means I’m not talented.” The world has a prejudice that handsome, beautiful people are not talented. When Robert Redford first appeared on Broadway, we, the splendid cogniscenti, the smart-asses, thought, “He’s that handsome? And talented? No way.” Or they hide their beauty or handsomeness because they’re trying to avoid unwanted attention. No good. They’re apologizing for the very radiance that may be a key part of their casting. They make this a habitual way of behaving and being. They may think, “Oh, I’ll just turn it all on tomorrow at 2 p.m. for my audition.” I don’t think so. The hiding becomes a habit that bleeds into the acting, and the auditions.
As I mentioned before, Cary Grant spoke to the classes here and said, “All you have is you.” So bring all of you to the party, each time. As if you’re saying to the audience, “It goes like this, folks. Watch me. This is how it’s done.” No apology.
I remember directing After The Fall. I had Jose Ferrer in the lead role, and was desperately, for weeks, looking to cast Maggie. The word was out that we were frantic. Then one day, while casting in a place near 50th Street in New York, in walked Karen Black. And she said quite simply, “You don’t have to look anymore.” Those were the first words out of her mouth. I asked if she could sing, and she dropped the books in her hands and broke out singing. Then I had her read about two lines of the first scene, and that was it. I gave her the part on the spot. She did it. And she did a great job. Your talent needs to be backed up by certainty and a sense of humor. It doesn’t mean you’ll get the job, but it sure does help to present yourself as the solution to their problem.