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Stuck in actors' purgatory

The pros and cons of typecasting

Pug Bujeaud (rabbit ears) seen here in Theater Artists Olympia's "Poona the Fuckdog." Photo courtesy of Bujeaud's Facebook site.

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"I was typecast as a lion," Bert Lahr once said of his post-Wizard of Oz career, "and there just weren't many parts for lions."  If actors have one universal gripe, it's typecasting, the process by which actors are limited to a single kind of role. Actors with limited range sometimes wonder why they've been locked into a particular type, when it's really the only type at which they've demonstrated any proficiency.  But often, actors are typecast because they were so successful in one role that directors and audiences have difficulty imagining them doing anything else.

An actor's patience with typecasting depends largely on which type of role he or she gets typecast in.  Tom Hanks, for example, has never griped about being "stuck" in nice guy roles.  If an actor gets tired of playing hunky guy or pretty girl parts, all he or she needs to do is wait around, and before long those roles will be gone forever.  But for "character" actors trapped in roles other than Lovable Protagonist, the "Skeevy Old Guy" type or "Sassy Gal Pal" can begin to feel like a black hole.  I've been acting since I was 7, but I've never been anyone's optimal choice for romantic lead.  As one director helpfully explained, I have features that make me look guilty of something the second I walk onstage.  Worst of all, audiences and even other actors can begin to assume an actor is an unattractive person offstage, as they've only seen that actor enacting undesirable character traits.  For all we know, Steve Buscemi is the most proficient ladies' man in the Western hemisphere.  In Germany, young Peter Lorre was seen as a romantic lead.

I recently had a chat on this topic with experienced local directors Pug Bujeaud (Inherit the Wind) and Tom Sanders (Take Me Out).  Both have experienced periods of being typecast as actors, and both admit they've been responsible for it as directors.  I've done it myself.  We all have, so my first question was, "Is typecasting good?"

"It makes your job easier," Bujeaud admitted.  "I've got a mental skeleton of a cast for every show I'm directing this year."  She says it's based almost entirely on typecasting, and it ensures she won't agree to do a show she can't possibly cast from Olympia's talent pool.  But she always winds up casting the actual production based on auditions, so her ensemble never winds up matching her imaginary cast.

"I think it's more ‘character casting,'" Sanders mused.  "I cast a part more from an actor's style of performance and what I know of their personality, to match my vision as closely as possible.  But some people are completely different onstage."

I asked the directors whether it was their job to help actors develop range, or if their first and highest responsibility must always be the success of the show.  They agreed it's a little of both.  "You have to go for the better show, and along the way, if you can work on those things, it's good," Sanders said, "but it's better if the learning work happens in a class."

"All of us actors could use some help," Bujeaud said.  "It depends on how complex the show is and how much time you need to develop those skills."

As a critic, I watch the results of typecasting, both positive and negative, in one show after another.  There are actors I see playing the same character every four to six weeks, and I'm obliged to wonder whether they can play anything else.  Some of that, I know, is because directors trust those actors to play the type responsibly and with minimal backstage conflict.  But Bujeaud and Sanders believe typecasting can atrophy an actor's skills over time.  Without naming names, there are actors in this area whose range has probably been diminished by years of typecasting.

"That's why those actors should show up to a rehearsal and kick ass," Bujeaud says.  "Do something nobody expects you to do.  That's your job!  Go balls to the wall.  Throw it out there, in a direction nobody expects you to go."

"Or become a director," Sanders laughs.  "That's your revenge.  You cast someone else as the weirdo so he can see how it feels!"

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