A Reenactment of the Casting Meeting for the Versailles Series
“Here are the headshots of the actors we are considering.” The casting director placed a stack of folders on the table before she took a seat. “Please pass these around.” Once everyone had their copies, she said, “Let’s start with the king and his brother. The prime candidates are on the top.”
“They look too similar,” the producer said.
A hush fell across the room. The producer had the final say in casting decisions.
“They’re supposed to be brothers,” the writer spread his hands wide and scanned the room for support.
“Of course.” The producer tapped his pen on the table. “How is the audience to tell them apart?”
“Hairstyle?” the makeup artist suggested.
“From the script, everyone in the show, male and female, all have long flowing hair,” the producer said.
“Facial hair?” the makeup artist said. “Give one a mustache.”
“I hate mustaches,” the producer said.
The writer cupped his chin in his hand, hiding his mustache and beard.
“Pencil thin?” the makeup artist said. “But big enough to see.”
“Okay,” the producer said.
“We’ll go with those for the King and his brother,” the casting director said. “Next we’ll consider the Queen, the ladies in waiting, and the King’s mistresses.”
Everyone spread the headshots on the table.
“They’re all gorgeous.” The producer shook his head and pursed his lips.
“And that’s a problem?” asked the writer.
“These women all look alike.” The cinematographer placed her glasses on her head and pulled the photos closer. “They all look like the King.”
“Exactly,” the producer said as he shuffled the photos in front of him. “How will the audience differentiate them?”
“Attractive actors look alike,” the writer said. “Viewers like to watch attractive actors. It’s never been a problem with a Hallmark movie.”
“I didn’t realize we were doing a Hallmark movie,” the producer said. “This is a complicated long-running series. Our audience needs to keep track of individual characters.”
“One could have blonde hair,” the makeup artist said.
“One could have a darker complexion.” Realizing everyone was staring at him, the writer continued. “But not too dark.”
“This one.” With a look of triumph, the producer held up a headshot.
Everyone looked at him expectantly.
“She has a mole under her left eye.”
Everyone continued to look at him expectantly.
“That’s how the audience can identify this one.”
“Except for -” the writer began.
“Remove your hand. Nobody can hear you,” the producer interrupted.
The writer placed his hand on the table, revealing his facial hair. “What about the ball, gala, and banquet scenes where all the women adorn fake moles?”
“Blast it. He’s right.” The producer slammed the photo back on the table. “We can’t very well have them all wear name tags.”
“I have an idea.” The writer held his arm aloft with a finger pointed to the heavens.
“What?” the producer asked.
“We’ll have them do every third scene naked.”
“Brilliant!” everyone said.
