Theresa Helburn Founder of the Theatre Guild - Talks About Casting

THERESA HELBURN'S VIEWS ABOUT CASTING ARE RELEVANT TODAY.  SHE WAS A PIONEER, A TRAIL BLAZER AND A VISIONARY.

To learn more about Theresa Helburn, Cheryl Crawford and Jean Dalrymple,

The League of Professional Theatre Women and Legendary Lives will present:

 Visionary Producers of the 20th Century
on Saturday, May 30, 4:30-7PM 

with Mari Lyn Henry, Milly Barranger and Nancy Rhodes.

Manhattan Theatre Club, 8th Floor, Studio 3. 

 Admission by donation. RSVP: marilyn.henry2@gmail.com

THERESA HELBURN,  A FOUNDER OF THE THEATRE GUILD

 Autobiography: A Wayward Quest Chapter 9, “Cast and Miscast” an excerpt

ON CASTING      

     In 1921, Ms. Helburnʼs duties as executive director included attending to the preliminary casting for the board which, under the Guild system, was responsible for each play.

     “I had the conviction that I was no good, and the curious thing is that, in spite of this--for I believe in the value of self-confidence--I worried through. It was an absolute surprise when I found some instinct in myself for picking actors for parts.

     Casting is a seeking, unsure thing. One lies awake nights trying to think of the man or woman inevitable for a particular part, or sad because of the hurt that must be inflicted on an actor who hasnʼt proved right for the part and must be told. One strains for a purely impersonal viewpoint; executive work must be so. But I donʼt think I ever reached the impersonal absolute where disappointing a fellow actor was all in the dayʼs work.

     One of the most interesting features about casting was the exciting results that came from trying actors out in roles that were totally new to them. Often the results were amazing and we learned--and the actor learned too--that he had talents none of us even suspected.

    Once I took a little comedienne who had been playing in sex farces for years and put her in an emotional role. She proved that she could reduce her audience to tears more effectively than she ever had to laughter. Again, in desperation I picked an unknown girl out of the acting course of a new teacher, for the road tour of a S. N. Behrman play with Ina Claire. This was Anne Meacham, who turned out to be excellent and to have an extraordinarily promising acting career ahead of her.

    I am usually cautious about taking credit for giving actors their start, for the matter of credits in the theater is one of the most interesting, subtle and dangerous of all its pitfalls. There is never a successful choice that isnʼt claimed by somebody other than the director or producer, and time is too short to track down rumors and evidence to an authentic conclusion.

MEETING WITH MAE WEST 

    One of the most unexpected requests that ever came my way in casting was from an agent named Baldwin. At my office at the Guild one day, he asked:

    “Do you have a good part for Mae West?” “In the Theatre Guild?” I exclaimed, startled. “Well, no, but she is looking around for a play with a good part for her.” “Iʼll think about it,” I promised him. “Oh, I know of a part in which she could make a sensational entrance. What's that?  Mrs. Warren's Profession I told him. He did not know the play; neither, it appeared, did Mae West, so I gave him a copy.

      After an interval he came back. “Will you talk to her about it yourself?” My memory of that meeting with a typical American phenomenon is bolstered by a copy of my letter to George Bernard Shaw in which I described it.

      I went to her dressing room, where I found her resplendent in a white satin negligee and unsubdued by the jail term she had just served. The huge vaudeville house in which she was playing was packed. Every few minutes during our interview she had to go to the window and throw pictures of herself to the mob of admirers who were blocking traffic below. Her public, she told me, expected a certain line of work from her and she indicated the line most graphically by one of her characteristic gestures.

      “What did you think of the play, Miss West?” I asked her. " “Well, Iʼll tell you, dear, “ she replied. “I feel I owe it to my boys not to play the part of a mother.”

CASTING GEORGE M. COHAN

      One of my favorite casting jobs was putting George M. Cohan in Ah, Wilderness! People were amused at the idea of Cohan appearing in a Eugene OʼNeill play but it proved to be, without doubt, his greatest role. I have never known any other actor who understood an audience as well as Cohan. Before he went on the stage he watched them, sensed their mood. He played them for laughs like a fisherman. He could stretch out a laugh as long as he wanted. By the time I caught up with the play on tour it was running a half-hour long. I was frantic. Oliver, who was with me, said. “Donʼt worry. The audience is having a marvelous time.” They were too.

CASTING METHODOLOGY 

      People have asked me about my method. I do my casting from the pit of my stomach. If it feels hollow, I know that the actor is not convincing in the part. If there is a more rational approach to casting, some infallible rule of thumb, I donʼt know it. It is a kind of empathy, an awareness of the actorʼs potentialities that grows while you watch him and listen to him. After interviewing in excess of ten thousand applicants for roles in the theater, I still canʼt say more than that about my method.

MISTAKES ACTORS MAKE WHEN AUDITIONING 

      Inexperienced actors almost always make the same serious mistake. You ask them to read a bit of the script and they try to give a complete, well-rounded performance instead of merely indicating the character. I donʼt want a finished performance at an audition. The actor who gives a detailed performance at the outset is more than likely to be incapable of growth. I listen to the audition, instantly alert if the actor appears to be reading too well, giving too finished a performance. A good actor gropes around, he feels his way, his mind meanwhile working at the meaning of the character. So the strongest audition may mean the weakest performance; it may mean the actor has not the strength we need for the part, that he is soft to the core.

     What I look for are general qualities. Since speech is the actorʼs major tool, slovenly or artificial diction ruins his chances immediately. If he cannot articulate clearly or his voice is bad, there is no earthly point in his trying to become an actor. He is attempting to live beyond his artistic means.

     Overacting is another serious mistake for an actor to make during the audition. The more quiet, relaxed, and simple he is, the better one is able to judge his potentialities without his own personality intruding too much. Experience is not essential; it may be bad experience.

     Appearance also has its effect. When Celeste Holm came to try out for a part in one of our plays, she found out from the other actors who were waiting for an audition what the play was like. She promptly went to the washroom, where she changed her hair-do and make-up to fit her better for the part. It helped land the job for her.

MEETING KATHARINE HEPBURN 

     On the other hand, the first time Katharine Hepburn came to my office to discuss an acting career she was carelessly groomed and she had taken no pains at all with her appearance. Still an undergraduate at Bryn Mawr, she was an odd-looking child. But when she opened the door it was as though someone had turned on a dynamo. The air vibrated with the electric force of her personality. She lacked any vestige of humility. When the young people who later founded the Group Theatre first began to hold their meetings, Katie attended. She listened to their plans and then she stalked out.

“Thatʼs all right for you,” she told them, “but I intend to be a star.”

THE ELECTRICITY OF LAURETTE TAYLOR 

     Getting across the footlights--an intangible quality--but it is the difference between life and death on the stage. How often two girls have come in to try out for the same part. One is pretty, she looks like the type we need, she reads adequately. Then the other, with a fraction of her looks and not a type I would have imagined suitable, begins to read. Something electric comes through, something I call “released vitality.” That is the thing I mean by personality.

     I suppose the actress who possessed it to the greatest degree of anyone I ever knew was Laurette Taylor. Laurette, helpless and loving. Her inner radiance fell like moonlight on an audience without the use of any stage tricks that I could detect. In my day there has been no other such radiant personality as hers. She had a quality--oh, call it an ability to love, for I canʼt think of anything closer to it--which got across the footlights and aroused an immediate response. And without it there is nothing. What you look for in the audition is that electric quality though you donʼt always find it. You do get a general feeling of the way an actor attacks a part, of the intelligence with which he searches out its meaning. Of the truly great actors and actresses of the theater today few are exceptionally good-looking, but all of them can create an illusion of irresistible charm. That is what counts.

FINAL THOUGHTS ON CASTING

     What I looked for in auditions was potential, appearance, diction, humility of approach to a role and the power of projecting personality. I donʼt believe in casting to type, particularly if the role is a strong one. In such a case, the character is apt to be overstressed so that it throws the whole play off balance.

 
    The most fascinating part of casting is fitting a man or woman into a totally new kind of part, which widens his versatility and deepens the scope of his technique.

     There was one casting difficulty which rarely faced us. Because we did not appeal to investors for support in producing plays in those early years, we had the freedom of action that comes of using oneʼs own money, however little it may be. One of the bugbears attached to money that is advanced is the strings that go with it. For instance, money is often forthcoming if a manʼs mistress can be cast in the leading role. Fortunately for us we were independent enough never to have to compromise by taking an inadequate actor for the sake of financing.

     Our worst problem came from a distinguished drama critic who became permanently embittered because we would not give his temporary mistress a part for which she was clearly unsuited. He waged verbal warfare against us for years. My complaint is not a moral one; it is an artistic one. There is no possibility of maintaining acting standards as long as players are featured not for their abilities but for their extracurricular activities.

 
     Looking back over these pages, I am uneasily aware how vague they sound, as though the thing we seek in an actor is so intangible we canʼt pin it down. Well, it is, in a way. Itʼs the fluid thing that makes one person stand out in a room, even when he may be the least impressive physically. Call it personality or what you will.