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| William Petersen in 'Dublin Carol' at Trinity Rep (Providence RI) |
I realize a majority of actors or directors do not have the luxury of really selecting their projects... but even if you are not in that position, there probably still is some level of selection in what to audition for.
Let's say you are in the position to select your next project, your time is yours and the money is of no real consideration... you made your fame and fortune in tv and movies, you did not waste your hard earned Dollars, Pounds or even Euro's on dodgy investments, the wrong fellow humans, castles, cars or drugs. You can choose to work or you can choose not to, or even retire... yet as I've been told by people who should know, acting is in your blood... an actor often keeps working, but if in this luxury position, he can do so on his own terms (must be nice, I'm jealous!).
I wonder, what makes a project interesting?
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| Rhys-Ifans in 'Protest Song' at The Shed (NT) London |
Here's a 1981 article dealing with this same question... I imagine the situation has changed some, I think now even less plays are written with a specific actor in mind... more and more actors make their fame and fortune in tv or movies and venture (back) out to the stage, either because that is their first love, or because they have listened to their fellow actors waxing about how stage work is so different they want to experience it at least once (I haven't researched this, but I imagine that last category either falls in love or only does it once, as stage work definitely takes a different kind of dedication to the trade than tv or movie work).
a few quotes that jumped out for me (entire article included at the end of this post)
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| Krister Henriksson in 'Dr Glas' , Wyndham's Theatre, London |
In the first place, say actors and producers, there just aren't that many wonderful new plays around - even for a star. And wonderful new plays suited to a particular actor's particular talents are even scarcer.
True, but I wonder if our actor who has the luxury of choice, would choose to take a risk on a new play or would choose to play that classic character he always wanted to play? The offerings of brilliant new plays might be as scarce as it was then, the library of wonderful plays that were produced before just keeps growing.
''I'm always amazed when a critic says, 'why would so-and-so pick to do this play?' '' she says.''That statement should be cut from every critic's review. It makes the assumption that actors are reading wonderful plays all the time, and that out of six, they reached out and took the wrong one. It's difficult for actors like Gerry (Page) or Julie (Harris) or G.C. (Scott) to be attacked on that level, as though they hadn't used their heads. My main reason and theirs is that we want to come back to the stage - it's what keeps you alive. ''You get to the point where you have nothing and you just want to go back to work.
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| Fiona Shaw, Alan Rickman and Lindsay Duncan in 'John Gabriel Borkman' at The Abbey Theatre in Dublin |
To me the most important thing for our actor should be if he thinks he will have a good time working on the project, would the character push his buttons? make him flex his acting muscles, make him want to pull out all the stops to do it justice? does the story speak to him? of course our actor still would want the play to be a succes, draw in the audience because after all a lot of people make their living off the theater that will put up this play. But he is lucky enough to be able to wait until the right balance comes along.
William Petersen in 'Blackbird' (Victory Gardens Theater, Chicago)
There used to be a following of theater people who went to see great actors - certainly all the plays the Lunts were in were not of equal caliber. But in this town today, there are no actors with followings. If the play doesn't work, it doesn't matter who's in it.
there still is a following!
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| Daniel Radcliffe in 'Equus' NOT Harry Potter |
I think these days 'the followers' can be roughly divided into 2 categories, 1) the single focussed ones who are a fan of a Celebrity in another trade and follow him or her to the the theater - case in point, the Daniel Radcliffe/Harry Potter fans who flocked to "Equus" who may have left the theater in shock for not having seen Harry Potter but DR in a very different role... or the William Petersen/Grissom fans who overran the town of Providence RI when he took a break from the (then) hugely successful CSI to do a play.
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| William Petersen in 'Dublin Carol' at Trinity Rep, Providence RI NOT Grissom |
Where DR took to West End and Broadway, where the celeb fans were easily absorbed, WP found a small theater in a small town where all the celeb fans pretty much stood out.
.
And 2) there is the category of followers who fell in love with the theater at some point in their lives and will go to any play if it has certain cast members in it - usually following a number of actors who have proven themselves to have captivating stage presence, but will also go to great lengths to see plays by a certain playwright or director or sometimes even a venue or a production company (the Michael Grandage Company comes to mind), who keep an eye out on Fringe Festivals to see the new gems before they get discovered by the rest of the world... yes, we are not a club of millions, but we are here!
For the theater community, I'd say both categories are good, it would be a bonus if the Celeb fans who may find themselves in a theater for the first time following their celeb, like it enough to come back for other plays. I remember Timothy Dalton once saying during the press run for his first James Bond movie where he got criticized for doing a Bond movie while he was a 'serious' stage actor, 'wasn't he afraid now that people would come to the theater to see James Bond and not whatever Shakespeare character he was playing at the time?' his reply: of course it was a different thing to do, but if going to see his movie made a few of those people go to the theater, even if it was to see James Bond he would be happy... those people would NOT get to see James Bond (like many CSI fans were aiming to see Grissom at Triniy Rep in Providence RI), but they might see something they liked and come back for more...if not, at least a few more tickets were sold for that play, if they came back, more tickets! win win.
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| Judi Dench in 'Peter and Alice' Michael Grandage Company, London |
The 2nd categorie of followers are not so many that they make much of a difference as far as 'butts in seats' are concerned, but they are more vocal about their passion... they take to social media, blogs and in that small way contribute to the theater buzz.
Clearly most actors in these days of movies and television do not appear in the theater for money. Instead, many stars including Colleen Dewhurst, Ruth Gordon, Jason Robards, Laurence Olivier, John Gielgud, and Geraldine Page have used Hollywood as a means of financing their stage careers. By making the occasional picture - often a picture chosen with an eye toward making substantial money - they can be more selective when it comes to choosing shows.
There are a few directors such as Harold Prince and Mike Nichols whose reputation alone is enough to win over a reluctant actor. ''Actors will frequently go with Hal on faith,'' says Mr. Prince's casting director Joanna Merlin. ''Sometimes we won't have a final draft and the score's not completed, but they're willing to take a chance because they know his work.''
What's more often the case is that an actor develops a special working relationship with a particular director or producer, and feelings of loyalty and trust persist.
to illustrate, from a recent interview (2014)
(Bill Nighy, Carey Mulligan, Matthew Beard: interview The stars of David Hare's Skylight in the West End talk to Sarah Crompton about theatre, ideals - and cooking on stage)
SaraCrompton: So what’s the bit that pulls you back?
BillNighy: I don’t know, I’ve been trying to work it out. [He half-laughs] It’s more than usually possible that I won’t do a play again. But Skylight is one of the great plays in the English language. I was lucky enough to be a part of it at one point in its life, and it’s a timely thing to deliver it again in the modern world. We haven’t attempted to contemporise it or anything. It’s set firmly when it was written, in the Nineties, and to see how it resonates now is quite extraordinary.
When you are in something that you’re proud of and it’s funny and it’s a good night out and all of those things, there’s nothing quite like it. The rewards are proportionate to the amount of alarm and distress it causes you.
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| Bill Nighy in 'Skylight' at Wyndham's Theatre, London |
WHAT MAKES AN ACTOR CHOOSE A CERTAIN ROLE?
New York Times
Published: February 8, 1981
REGEN KAKUTANI By MICHIKO KAKUTANI
The theater has always been a whimsical business, and in no respect do things seem more whimsical than in casting. Why, for instance, is Richard Burton turning his back on King Lear, a role he's always wanted to play, just to tour the provinces in ''Camelot,'' a show he did 20 years ago? What gave Mary Tyler Moore, a Broadway veteran of one show, the prescience to replace Tom Conti in ''Whose Life Is It Anyway?'' after Jon Voight, Jim Dale, Anthony Hopkins, Dustin Hoffman, Richard Dreyfuss, Meryl Streep and Marsha Mason refused? How was it that three of the theater's leading actors - Julie Harris, Geraldine Page and Rip Torn - ended up receiving worse than mixed reviews in ''Mixed Couples''? And what was it about the part of Dr. August Browning, an East Side psychiatrist, that made George C. Scott accept the lead in ''Tricks of the Trade'' - a show that closed on opening night? In short, just why do actors choose the roles they do?
Most actors, of course, don't have much to chose from. Work is scarce, and a job, any job, represents a chance to gain experience and expertise. As for those few who are in demand, the question is somewhat trickier. The merits of the role and the play, the choice of director and cast, advice from agents and offers of money, as well as such incalculables as timing and family obligations - these are all part of a complex equation determining whether a star says yes or no.
Although the answer, in the end, is always visceral, it may still be useful to examine that equation, for it illuminates not only the dilemma of the actor but also the changing nature of the theater today.
In the first place, say actors and producers, there just aren't that many wonderful new plays around - even for a star. And wonderful new plays suited to a particular actor's particular talents are even scarcer. Consider Jim Dale, who won so much acclaim for his physical pyrotechnics in the 1974 production of ''Scapino.'' Afraid that an appearance in anything less spectacular might diminish his New York reputation, he waited six years to find ''Barnum'' and spent most of the interim acting in Walt Disney movies.
Most actors, however, aren't so patient. And if they want to work in the theater on any regular basis, chances are they will have to accept roles that are less than perfect. Like many of her colleagues, Colleen Dewhurst, for instance, receives five or six unsolicited plays a month, in addition to those recommended by her agent. She says she still has difficulty finding anything truly compelling.
''I'm always amazed when a critic says, 'why would so-and-so pick to do this play?' '' she says.''That statement should be cut from every critic's review. It makes the assumption that actors are reading wonderful plays all the time, and that out of six, they reached out and took the wrong one. It's difficult for actors like Gerry (Page) or Julie (Harris) or G.C. (Scott) to be attacked on that level, as though they hadn't used their heads. My main reason and theirs is that we want to come back to the stage - it's what keeps you alive.
''You get to the point where you have nothing and you just want to go back to work. Sure, I could do a revival every six months, but I also want to do a part that no one else has ever done, and that's very difficult. You read play after play and finally you say, 'This one really isn't so bad.' You're not saying this is the greatest play ever written. You're saying you think there are possibilities. Maybe it's a writer whose work you have confidence in, maybe you think something magical will happen in rehearsal.''
That there seem to be fewer ''good'' roles today is a result of changes in the theater and changing economics. For better and for worse, it is no longer an actor's theater. As Helen Hayes once observed, ''Roles aren't being fitted to the actors anymore; the actors are being fitted to the roles.'' This means, on one hand, that silly stage vehicles designed solely to show off a star's personality have mostly disappeared; on the other, that actors are increasingly vulnerable to their material.
In the days of Belasco, after all, many producers actually had arrangements with certain actors, somewhat the way Hollywood studios had contracts with their stars. Thus, an actor's career was nurtured and tended by someone in a position to select, even generate, his roles. What's more, dramatists frequently worked closely with individual stars: the English playwright J. Hartley Manners wrote a string of plays for his wife Laurette Taylor, including ''Peg o' My Heart,'' the show that made her famous in 1912; James Barrie became associated with Maude Adams, and Cole Porter with Ethel Merman. Even though collaboration still exists - Lanford Wilson wrote ''Talley's Folly'' for Judd Hirsch, and Samuel Beckett created his latest play, ''Rockaby,'' with Irene Worth in mind - it has become the exception, rather than the rule.
''There are just not as many opportunities today for the established actor,'' says the producer Elizabeth McCann. ''Look, there are theaters named the Ethel Barrymore and the Helen Hayes, but in our day what star will have a theater named after him? It should be a Colleen Dewhurst or a Jason Robards, but they aren't getting a chance to build up the kind of body of work that would get them that kind of recognition.
''Besides, there was a time when people would go to see a Julie Harris or a Geraldine Page - regardless of the show. There used to be a following of theater people who went to see great actors - certainly all the plays the Lunts were in were not of equal caliber. But in this town today, there are no actors with followings. If the play doesn't work, it doesn't matter who's in it. With free entertainment on television and the price of theater tickets, people don't want to just have a lovely evening in the theater; they want something they can kick and scream about.''
That being the sorry case, there are several factors that seem to influence the choices actors make.
I. MONEY
Clearly most actors in these days of movies and television do not appear in the theater for money. Instead, many stars including Colleen Dewhurst, Ruth Gordon, Jason Robards, Laurence Olivier, John Gielgud, and Geraldine Page have used Hollywood as a means of financing their stage careers. By making the occasional picture - often a picture chosen with an eye toward making substantial money - they can be more selective when it comes to choosing shows.
For others, Broadway has served as a means of revitalizing a sluggish film career - and making money in the process. Regarded as ''box office poison'' at the time, Katharine Hepburn left Hollywood in 1939 to star on Broadway in ''The Philadelphia Story,'' a show that Philip Barry tailored specifically for her. As part-owner of the play, she sold the movie rights, as well as her own services, to M-GM and promptly became a star.
George C. Scott, whose film career has languished since his great success in ''Patton,'' no doubt had something similar in mind when he recently bought part of a thriller named ''Tricks of the Trade.'' He and his wife Trish Van Devere also signed to appear in both the stage and movie versions. Unfortunately, things didn't exactly work out the way he'd planned: the show closed after one performance.
Because of just such vagaries in the profession, actors have occasionally succumbed to the temptations of security - whether it be the security of a television series, or, as in the case of Eugene O'Neill's father, the security of one popular role. Having achieved enormous success as the Count of Monte Cristo, James O'Neill ended up playing that role more than 6,000 times. Over a quarter of a century, he earned some $800,000, but failed to fulfill the bright promise of his youth and died a disappointed man. Although he regarded Monte Cristo as a curse, there are actors today who actually envy him his luck.
''Nowadays I think an actor would feel quite fortunate to get a character he could make a run of like that,'' says James Earl Jones, referring to O'Neill's Monte Cristo. ''Work is so hard to get today that some actors feel lucky to get such a break - especially if you've spent 20 years like I have trying to make a living.'' Mr. Jones, who recently appeared in the highly acclaimed play ''A Lesson From Aloes,'' acknowledges that ''an actor is only good for six months in a part - after that his impulses start burning out.'' Even so, he says he would be delighted to find a television series or an extended tour.
Indeed the most lucrative opportunities in the theater today are provided by national tours - in most cases, national tours of wellknown revivals. If the creative satisfactions of such endeavors are somewhat dubious, the material ones - at up to $50,000 a week - can be highly rewarding. These tours provide the kind of money to which actors, used to Hollywood salaries, have become accustomed. This season alone, Richard Burton, Rex Harrison and Yul Brynner are recreating their former roles in, respectively, ''Camelot,'' ''My Fair Lady'' and ''The King and I.''
Mr. Brynner in particular, it seems, has found his Monte Cristo. In addition to portraying the King in the original 1951 Broadway production, Mr. Brynner also starred in the 1976 revival and has already played the show more than 3,000 times. His producer Mitch Leigh estimates that this third and current tour should do at least as well as the recent national tour of ''Man of La Mancha,'' which grossed $24.5 million in two and a half years.
II. FORCE OF HABIT
It's easy, of course, for an actor to become trapped in a role, a kind of role, without repeating the same show at all. There was a time, in fact, when actors were routinely ''typed'': some specialized in villains, some in gigolos, others in avuncular neighbors. As Constantin Stanislavski once observed, ''There have appeared shirtsleeve lovers and earthy actresses, nervous roles, roles with tears, society and non-society roles, costume roles, Ibsen parts and brainy parts.'' ''It is not being a good fellow if you take the type part away from someone else,'' he wrote. ''That is why a tragic actor is eternally condemned to be wrapped in a costume cape and suffer and die on stage. The ingenue will have to play being naive all her life - she will skip around, clap her hands and babble sweetly.''
Obviously such rigid categories are long since gone. Still, many actors say they know that they are limited, that there are simply certain kinds of characters they are better at than others. Even Laurence Olivier, who once played a remarkable double bill of ''Oedipus'' and ''The Critic,'' has conceded that ''I've never felt sure of myself playing the lyrical parts.'' And John Gielgud, on his part, points out that he never even attempted the Falstaffs, the Sir Toby Belches, the Malvolios and Iagos. ''I can't suggest the coarsebred, lower-class bracket on stage, much as I would love to be able to,'' he explained. ''It isn't that I think I'm grand or aristocratic, but I know that I have that effect on an audience, whether it's true or not.''
To make matters worse, many actors find that casting directors and audiences are quick to pigeon-hole them further. One memorable role and that's their territory forever after. Helen Hayes recalled once that she was only in her 20's when she realized that she was playing ''one role after the other that suited the small capacities that I had developed, and they were using it over and over again.'' ''I had become the winsome girl until it seemed I squeezed cuteness out of my grease paint tubes and scooped charm out of my cold cream jar,'' she said following her performances in ''Bab,'' ''To the Ladies'' and ''Dancing Mothers.'' ''I wanted to get away from that and it became a compulsion.''
That impulse to play a variety of roles is shared by many actors. Blythe Danner went into Harold Pinter's ''Betrayal'' because ''I'd played a lot of vivacious, sweet young things and I thought this was a chance to do someone who was constrained and controlled.'' And Mary Tyler Moore decided to replace Tom Conti in ''Whose Life Is It Anyway?'' because she wanted to ''stretch'' herself with a serious dramatic role after years in television. Given talent and good fortune, this impulse, carried even further, can eventually lead to a career as a successful character actor. Robert Duvall, for one, has moved fluently from such film roles as Dr. Watson in ''The SevenPer-Cent Solution'' and Lieut. Col. Kilgore in ''Apocalypse Now'' to the lead in the Broadway production of ''American Buffalo.''
Just as often, though, the desire to demonstrate range makes for ill-fated and seemingly arbitrary choices. In the case of ''Mixed Couples,'' Geraldine Page acknowledges that it was variety that attracted her to the role of Elberta. ''I like to pick something that's really a strong contrast to things I've done before,'' she said, explaining that the part of a self-righteous hausfrau was ''about as far as you could get from Zelda,'' her previous role in ''Clothes for a Summer Hotel.''
Philip Anglim's unfortunate opening in the title role of ''Macbeth'' was similarly motivated. Eager to jettison his image as the Elephant Man, Mr. Anglim wanted to try a classic, and when the Lincoln Center Theater Company offered him ''Macbeth,'' he quickly accepted. ''An actor mustn't wait and say, 'When I'm 50 I'll be ready to play Macbeth,' '' he explained. ''Yes, at 50, you'll probably be a better Macbeth than you'll be at 27, but you must cherish your opportunities.'' And if his leap from a radically innocent freak to a guilty Scottish king seems broad, then consider Christopher Reeve's recent move from ''Superman'' to the part of a homosexual paraplegic in ''Fifth of July'' - a move that many critics wrote off as miscasting.
III. EGO
Preoccupied with their own ambitions, whims and predilections, many actors say they tend to focus on their part, rather than the play. Yet by doing so, they can easily end up being the centerpiece, even a good centerpiece, of a perfectly awful show. ''I think that maybe actors aren't good readers of plays overall,'' says the agent Stark Hesseltine. ''They can interpret the part, but they aren't good at being objective about the whole. Sometimes they get blind spots about a play or they think their name and magic will somehow keep it going.''
Those blind spots can be simple ones indeed: Perhaps the character is someone the actor has always wanted to play. Perhaps there's a wonderful bit of business in the third act that would be great fun to try. Or perhaps the performer simply identifies with the role. Such was the case with Liv Ullmann and the poorly reviewed musical ''I Remember Mama.'' ''The leading role of Mama was the role of 40-year-old woman of good Norwegian peasant stock who came to live in America,'' says the show's producer Alexander H. Cohen. ''And Liv was 40, Norwegian, of good peasant stock and living in America. It appeared to be a natural.''
For some, the size and flashiness of a role are important considerations as well. While it's not unusual in England to see John Gielgud or Ralph Richardson appear in a walk-on part, American actors, lacking repertory training and a national theater, are considerably less self-effacing. This is partly because of money and partly because of ego. ''Lot of plays I just wouldn't consider turned out to be big hits,'' says Ruth Gordon, recalling some of her choices. ''With Robert Sherwood's 'Abe Lincoln in Illinois,' I didn't think Mrs. Lincoln was as good a part as Mr. Lincoln so I didn't take it. Then there's the time they wanted me to play Olivia in Twelfth Night. I turned it down because Helen (Hayes) had Viola, and I wanted the lead myself.''
Clearly most actors in these days of movies and television do not appear in the theater for money. Instead, many stars including Colleen Dewhurst, Ruth Gordon, Jason Robards, Laurence Olivier, John Gielgud, and Geraldine Page have used Hollywood as a means of financing their stage careers. By making the occasional picture - often a picture chosen with an eye toward making substantial money - they can be more selective when it comes to choosing shows.
For others, Broadway has served as a means of revitalizing a sluggish film career - and making money in the process. Regarded as ''box office poison'' at the time, Katharine Hepburn left Hollywood in 1939 to star on Broadway in ''The Philadelphia Story,'' a show that Philip Barry tailored specifically for her. As part-owner of the play, she sold the movie rights, as well as her own services, to M-GM and promptly became a star.
George C. Scott, whose film career has languished since his great success in ''Patton,'' no doubt had something similar in mind when he recently bought part of a thriller named ''Tricks of the Trade.'' He and his wife Trish Van Devere also signed to appear in both the stage and movie versions. Unfortunately, things didn't exactly work out the way he'd planned: the show closed after one performance.
Because of just such vagaries in the profession, actors have occasionally succumbed to the temptations of security - whether it be the security of a television series, or, as in the case of Eugene O'Neill's father, the security of one popular role. Having achieved enormous success as the Count of Monte Cristo, James O'Neill ended up playing that role more than 6,000 times. Over a quarter of a century, he earned some $800,000, but failed to fulfill the bright promise of his youth and died a disappointed man. Although he regarded Monte Cristo as a curse, there are actors today who actually envy him his luck.
''Nowadays I think an actor would feel quite fortunate to get a character he could make a run of like that,'' says James Earl Jones, referring to O'Neill's Monte Cristo. ''Work is so hard to get today that some actors feel lucky to get such a break - especially if you've spent 20 years like I have trying to make a living.'' Mr. Jones, who recently appeared in the highly acclaimed play ''A Lesson From Aloes,'' acknowledges that ''an actor is only good for six months in a part - after that his impulses start burning out.'' Even so, he says he would be delighted to find a television series or an extended tour.
Indeed the most lucrative opportunities in the theater today are provided by national tours - in most cases, national tours of wellknown revivals. If the creative satisfactions of such endeavors are somewhat dubious, the material ones - at up to $50,000 a week - can be highly rewarding. These tours provide the kind of money to which actors, used to Hollywood salaries, have become accustomed. This season alone, Richard Burton, Rex Harrison and Yul Brynner are recreating their former roles in, respectively, ''Camelot,'' ''My Fair Lady'' and ''The King and I.''
Mr. Brynner in particular, it seems, has found his Monte Cristo. In addition to portraying the King in the original 1951 Broadway production, Mr. Brynner also starred in the 1976 revival and has already played the show more than 3,000 times. His producer Mitch Leigh estimates that this third and current tour should do at least as well as the recent national tour of ''Man of La Mancha,'' which grossed $24.5 million in two and a half years.
II. FORCE OF HABIT
It's easy, of course, for an actor to become trapped in a role, a kind of role, without repeating the same show at all. There was a time, in fact, when actors were routinely ''typed'': some specialized in villains, some in gigolos, others in avuncular neighbors. As Constantin Stanislavski once observed, ''There have appeared shirtsleeve lovers and earthy actresses, nervous roles, roles with tears, society and non-society roles, costume roles, Ibsen parts and brainy parts.'' ''It is not being a good fellow if you take the type part away from someone else,'' he wrote. ''That is why a tragic actor is eternally condemned to be wrapped in a costume cape and suffer and die on stage. The ingenue will have to play being naive all her life - she will skip around, clap her hands and babble sweetly.''
Obviously such rigid categories are long since gone. Still, many actors say they know that they are limited, that there are simply certain kinds of characters they are better at than others. Even Laurence Olivier, who once played a remarkable double bill of ''Oedipus'' and ''The Critic,'' has conceded that ''I've never felt sure of myself playing the lyrical parts.'' And John Gielgud, on his part, points out that he never even attempted the Falstaffs, the Sir Toby Belches, the Malvolios and Iagos. ''I can't suggest the coarsebred, lower-class bracket on stage, much as I would love to be able to,'' he explained. ''It isn't that I think I'm grand or aristocratic, but I know that I have that effect on an audience, whether it's true or not.''
To make matters worse, many actors find that casting directors and audiences are quick to pigeon-hole them further. One memorable role and that's their territory forever after. Helen Hayes recalled once that she was only in her 20's when she realized that she was playing ''one role after the other that suited the small capacities that I had developed, and they were using it over and over again.'' ''I had become the winsome girl until it seemed I squeezed cuteness out of my grease paint tubes and scooped charm out of my cold cream jar,'' she said following her performances in ''Bab,'' ''To the Ladies'' and ''Dancing Mothers.'' ''I wanted to get away from that and it became a compulsion.''
That impulse to play a variety of roles is shared by many actors. Blythe Danner went into Harold Pinter's ''Betrayal'' because ''I'd played a lot of vivacious, sweet young things and I thought this was a chance to do someone who was constrained and controlled.'' And Mary Tyler Moore decided to replace Tom Conti in ''Whose Life Is It Anyway?'' because she wanted to ''stretch'' herself with a serious dramatic role after years in television. Given talent and good fortune, this impulse, carried even further, can eventually lead to a career as a successful character actor. Robert Duvall, for one, has moved fluently from such film roles as Dr. Watson in ''The SevenPer-Cent Solution'' and Lieut. Col. Kilgore in ''Apocalypse Now'' to the lead in the Broadway production of ''American Buffalo.''
Just as often, though, the desire to demonstrate range makes for ill-fated and seemingly arbitrary choices. In the case of ''Mixed Couples,'' Geraldine Page acknowledges that it was variety that attracted her to the role of Elberta. ''I like to pick something that's really a strong contrast to things I've done before,'' she said, explaining that the part of a self-righteous hausfrau was ''about as far as you could get from Zelda,'' her previous role in ''Clothes for a Summer Hotel.''
Philip Anglim's unfortunate opening in the title role of ''Macbeth'' was similarly motivated. Eager to jettison his image as the Elephant Man, Mr. Anglim wanted to try a classic, and when the Lincoln Center Theater Company offered him ''Macbeth,'' he quickly accepted. ''An actor mustn't wait and say, 'When I'm 50 I'll be ready to play Macbeth,' '' he explained. ''Yes, at 50, you'll probably be a better Macbeth than you'll be at 27, but you must cherish your opportunities.'' And if his leap from a radically innocent freak to a guilty Scottish king seems broad, then consider Christopher Reeve's recent move from ''Superman'' to the part of a homosexual paraplegic in ''Fifth of July'' - a move that many critics wrote off as miscasting.
III. EGO
Preoccupied with their own ambitions, whims and predilections, many actors say they tend to focus on their part, rather than the play. Yet by doing so, they can easily end up being the centerpiece, even a good centerpiece, of a perfectly awful show. ''I think that maybe actors aren't good readers of plays overall,'' says the agent Stark Hesseltine. ''They can interpret the part, but they aren't good at being objective about the whole. Sometimes they get blind spots about a play or they think their name and magic will somehow keep it going.''
Those blind spots can be simple ones indeed: Perhaps the character is someone the actor has always wanted to play. Perhaps there's a wonderful bit of business in the third act that would be great fun to try. Or perhaps the performer simply identifies with the role. Such was the case with Liv Ullmann and the poorly reviewed musical ''I Remember Mama.'' ''The leading role of Mama was the role of 40-year-old woman of good Norwegian peasant stock who came to live in America,'' says the show's producer Alexander H. Cohen. ''And Liv was 40, Norwegian, of good peasant stock and living in America. It appeared to be a natural.''
For some, the size and flashiness of a role are important considerations as well. While it's not unusual in England to see John Gielgud or Ralph Richardson appear in a walk-on part, American actors, lacking repertory training and a national theater, are considerably less self-effacing. This is partly because of money and partly because of ego. ''Lot of plays I just wouldn't consider turned out to be big hits,'' says Ruth Gordon, recalling some of her choices. ''With Robert Sherwood's 'Abe Lincoln in Illinois,' I didn't think Mrs. Lincoln was as good a part as Mr. Lincoln so I didn't take it. Then there's the time they wanted me to play Olivia in Twelfth Night. I turned it down because Helen (Hayes) had Viola, and I wanted the lead myself.''
IV. PERSONAL RELATIONS
There are a few directors such as Harold Prince and Mike Nichols whose reputation alone is enough to win over a reluctant actor. ''Actors will frequently go with Hal on faith,'' says Mr. Prince's casting director Joanna Merlin. ''Sometimes we won't have a final draft and the score's not completed, but they're willing to take a chance because they know his work.''
What's more often the case is that an actor develops a special working relationship with a particular director or producer, and feelings of loyalty and trust persist. Meryl Streep, for instance, was first discovered by Joseph Papp, and despite a flourishing film career, she has frequently returned to work for him - most recently in ''Alice in Concert.'' Raul Julia and Al Pacino also maintain strong ties with the Public Theater, as do Trish Hawkins, Lindsay Crouse and William Hurt with the Circle Repertory. Ralph Richardson signed to star in David Storey's ''Home'' when he learned that he would be playing opposite his old friend John Gielgud. And Joan Copeland's decision to appear in ''The American Clock'' was obviously affected by the fact that her brother Arthur Miller was the author of the play.
Sentiment, it seems, was also involved in two of this season's disasters. Tennessee Williams's ''Clothes for a Summer Hotel'' brought the playwright together again with his old collaborators Geraldine Page and the director Jose Quintero. And Howard Sackler's ''Goodbye, Fidel'' served as a kind of reunion for the author, the director Edwin Sherin and the actress Jane Alexander, all of whom got their start 12 years ago with ''The Great White Hope.''
Miss Alexander and Mr. Sherin, who are married to one another, have actually worked together on some 15 shows. Such husband and wife collaborations in the theater are certainly nothing new: among others, there have been Laurence Olivier and Joan Plowright, Elia Kazan and Barbara Loden, Jules Irving and Priscilla Poynter, Robert Whitehead and Zoe Caldwell, Arvin Brown and Joyce Ebert, Harold Clurman and Stella Adler, Guthrie McClintic and Katharine Cornell.
This season in fact witnessed joint ventures by three husband and wife acting teams: George C. Scott and Trish Van Devere starred in ''Tricks of the Trade,'' Geraldine Page and Rip Torn in ''Mixed Couples,'' and James Mason and Clarissa Kaye in ''Partridge in a Pear Tree,'' which closed at the Kennedy Center. That the shows were neither popular nor critical successes obviously disturbed the actors. But just the same, they probably enjoyed the process. The aim of actors, after all, is not necessarily to appear in a hit. For many, the chance to work with colleagues they respect is reason enough to do a play.
''If you waited for the perfect part, you'd sit at home and never get a chance to practice your craft,'' says Geraldine Page. ''I always hope the play I'm in is a success, but in this business who can tell. So it's futile to turn down something just because you don't think it'll go. If you enjoy working on it, if you learn something - that's what's important in finding a role.''
There are a few directors such as Harold Prince and Mike Nichols whose reputation alone is enough to win over a reluctant actor. ''Actors will frequently go with Hal on faith,'' says Mr. Prince's casting director Joanna Merlin. ''Sometimes we won't have a final draft and the score's not completed, but they're willing to take a chance because they know his work.''
What's more often the case is that an actor develops a special working relationship with a particular director or producer, and feelings of loyalty and trust persist. Meryl Streep, for instance, was first discovered by Joseph Papp, and despite a flourishing film career, she has frequently returned to work for him - most recently in ''Alice in Concert.'' Raul Julia and Al Pacino also maintain strong ties with the Public Theater, as do Trish Hawkins, Lindsay Crouse and William Hurt with the Circle Repertory. Ralph Richardson signed to star in David Storey's ''Home'' when he learned that he would be playing opposite his old friend John Gielgud. And Joan Copeland's decision to appear in ''The American Clock'' was obviously affected by the fact that her brother Arthur Miller was the author of the play.
Sentiment, it seems, was also involved in two of this season's disasters. Tennessee Williams's ''Clothes for a Summer Hotel'' brought the playwright together again with his old collaborators Geraldine Page and the director Jose Quintero. And Howard Sackler's ''Goodbye, Fidel'' served as a kind of reunion for the author, the director Edwin Sherin and the actress Jane Alexander, all of whom got their start 12 years ago with ''The Great White Hope.''
Miss Alexander and Mr. Sherin, who are married to one another, have actually worked together on some 15 shows. Such husband and wife collaborations in the theater are certainly nothing new: among others, there have been Laurence Olivier and Joan Plowright, Elia Kazan and Barbara Loden, Jules Irving and Priscilla Poynter, Robert Whitehead and Zoe Caldwell, Arvin Brown and Joyce Ebert, Harold Clurman and Stella Adler, Guthrie McClintic and Katharine Cornell.
This season in fact witnessed joint ventures by three husband and wife acting teams: George C. Scott and Trish Van Devere starred in ''Tricks of the Trade,'' Geraldine Page and Rip Torn in ''Mixed Couples,'' and James Mason and Clarissa Kaye in ''Partridge in a Pear Tree,'' which closed at the Kennedy Center. That the shows were neither popular nor critical successes obviously disturbed the actors. But just the same, they probably enjoyed the process. The aim of actors, after all, is not necessarily to appear in a hit. For many, the chance to work with colleagues they respect is reason enough to do a play.
''If you waited for the perfect part, you'd sit at home and never get a chance to practice your craft,'' says Geraldine Page. ''I always hope the play I'm in is a success, but in this business who can tell. So it's futile to turn down something just because you don't think it'll go. If you enjoy working on it, if you learn something - that's what's important in finding a role.''
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