Invasion of the Body Snatchers

By Gerald Clarke

How casting directors go about finding tomorrow's stars

Not too long ago, moviegoers knew, or cared about, only the big stars--Streisand and Newman, Fonda and Redford. Now the directors are often just as famous: Francis Coppola, Stanley Kubrick, Steven Spielberg, George Lucas. But who has heard of Reuben Cannon, Michael Fenton and Partner Jane Feinberg, Jennifer Shull, Lynn Stalmaster or Joyce Selznick? Almost 50,000 members of the Screen Actors Guild, that's who. For these are the casting directors, the silent powers who put the sparks into most of those stars way back when and who often mean the difference between a smash and a bust at the box office.

The producer and director pick the stars, of course: a John Travolta to put on his jeans for an Urban Cowboy or a Brooke Shields to take hers off for a Blue Lagoon. Sometimes the stars pick their producers and directors; in a Streisand production the only thing Barbra does not control is how much butter a patron pours on his popcorn--and she probably has firm opinions on that too. But in both television and films there are dozens of smaller roles that only the casting director can fill. For ABC's The Winds of War, one of the biggest mini-series ever made, Reuben Cannon is now filling 400 parts.

In the old days, each studio had its own casting department, and in most cases all that a casting director had to do was pick someone from the studio's stable of contract actors. When the studios cut back in the '60s, that system was largely dismantled. Producers had to find actors on their own, and they began to depend on a new group of independent casting directors. Explains Urban Cowboy Producer Robert Evans: "I don't have the time to go to off-Broadway plays and little theaters or to watch hours of television."

A good example of the casting director's art is Urban Cowboy itself. Unable to find the right woman to play the part of Travolta's wife, Evans called in Michael Fenton; he suggested Debra Winger, who had appeared in two little-known films. She was an inspired choice. Her restless sexiness enlivened an otherwise tedious film--and stole the spotlight from Travolta. Joyce Selznick found Kurt Russell, who, after losing 20 lbs. and dying his hair black, played the great pelvis in ABC's Elvis. When Elvis was shown in February 1979, it drew higher ratings than CBS's rerun of Gone With the Wind and NBC's showing of One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest.

Depending on how many actors are needed, a casting director can charge from $15,000 to $25,000 a picture. A mini-series can bring up to $50,000, but most of the casters turn down ordinary series, which are made in such a hurry that they have little time to do a good job. "You get the script three days before production starts," complains Caster Joyce Robinson, "and you have to work 17 hours a day."

Some, like Robinson, work alone with their files and Rolodexes; others, like Lynn Stalmaster, have as many as half a dozen people on staff. Even after rent and salaries, however, an oldtimer like Stalmaster can make about $150,000 a year. That is enough to have attracted several dozen highly charged, highly competitive people to the job of caster. With a few exceptions, none of them is secure, and almost on a whim a producer can dump an old hand for a new one.

For every Winger or Russell, a casting director may have interviewed dozens of candidates and culled from memory hundreds more. Most of the directors, like Fenton, attend as many plays as they can in Los Angeles and make regular tours of off-Broadway. "We have a standing rule in our office that each person must go to two or three theatrical productions a week," says Jennifer Shull, casting director for Coppola's new Hollywood studio. "The job requires thoroughness. You have to look where others don't."

Perhaps the most celebrated casting director is Selznick, who has been matching actors with parts for almost 40 years. She can still remember young Bernie Schwartz crossing West 57th Street in Manhattan 34 years ago. She followed him into an office building, and soon he was on the phone with his mother in The Bronx. "This crazy lady here says she's going to make me into a movie star," said Bernie, who was, in fact, already thinking along those lines. "Bring her home for dinner," said Mamma, and Selznick made her pitch. It took three years, but eventually Bernie did become a star--and Tony Curtis at the same time.

Selznick came across Colleen Dewhurst in a theater, but on the wrong side of the footlights. "How would you like a thousand dollars a week?" she asked her. Dewhurst, who had already appeared in an off-Broadway play, allowed as how she would not mind, and Selznick landed her a big role in Man on a String (1960).

Like the early explorers or like prospectors trekking through the dusty gold fields, each casting director cherishes his discoveries. Selznick also claims Richard Dreyfuss, Candice Bergen and Telly Savalas. "She's discovered the world," says Competitor Jane Feinberg with the most delicate hint of sarcasm. Marion Dougherty, who has been in the business 31 years, gave Warren Beatty his first TV role, in the old Kraft Theater. Says she: "He was a terrible actor then--we laugh about it now--and totally charming." Dougherty also turned up Al Pacino and Dustin Hoffman. Stalmaster's finds include Jon Voight (four lines in Hour of the Gun), James Caan (a silent reaction in Irma La Douce) and Gilda Radner (an other silent bit in The Last Detail).

Certain actors, like Travolta, are claimed by nearly everybody. Cannon got him his first TV role as an awkward kid with a sprained ankle in NBC's Emergency! Stalmaster got him his big break, the part of chief sweat-hog in ABC's Welcome Back, Kotter. Feinberg almost got him his first movie. She had him fly from New York to California to audition for Coppola's Godfather II. To no avail; Robby Benson was given the job, and then cut out in the editing room.

What qualities are Hollywood's body snatchers looking for? They are apparently hard to pin down. Says Shull: "It's very elusive. Sometimes you'll see an actor who seizes your attention because of some special quality, regardless of talent or looks. Call it charisma." Cannon believes charisma is the result of hard work, and he prefers someone with a background in the theater. Though he was awkward when Cannon first saw him, Travolta nonetheless had stage experience, and that is what persuaded Cannon to choose him for his first TV role. "No matter how small the part on TV is," he says, "an actor has to infuse it with some personality, much as he would in the theater. It's not luck that gets roles; it's preparation. If you see talent, there is usually ten years of work behind it."

Even after an actor is chosen by a casting director, he does not necessarily have the role. The casters can only recommend; final say belongs to the director and the producer. But, says Evans, "casting directors are more important now than ever. There is nothing more exciting than finding a new actor who is exactly right for an important role.

With reporting by Robert L Goldstein

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