The sun over Los Angeles had a way of making everything look like a postcard, even the greasy exterior of a deli on Fairfax.
Duke sat in a corner booth, the vinyl sticking to the back of his shirt.
The door opened, letting in a blast of heat and the sound of traffic, and Gary Kurtz walked in.
Gary didn't look like the man who would eventually help build the Star Wars empire.
He was wearing a plain short-sleeved shirt and carrying a briefcase that looked like it had seen a few wars.
"Looks like soone got his funding," Gary said, sliding into the booth.
"Eight hundred thousand," Duke said, sliding the pad across the table. "That's the number, my agent and Levine settled on. It's a joke of a number, but i have to make it work."
Gary pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket and studied the sheet. He didn't wince. He didn't laugh.
"It's just a puzzle. Most people in this town try to solve things with more money. We're going to solve it with ti and location."
"Location?"
"We cannot shoot in LA," Gary said, looking up. "We can only shoot in Boston, New York or well you know, the East Coast, we can shoot on the street in the actual cold."
"If we stay, just the unions here will eat up this budget. If we take a skeleton crew east, we can stretch a dollar until things either fall apart or work out sohow."
Duke leaned back, his cane hooked over the edge of the table. "I want it to look like a million-dollar picture. I want the soft light, the deep focus."
"I want people to see the Harvard brick and feel the texture of the scarves. If it looks cheap, the sentintality becos parody."
"Then we spend on the glass," Gary agreed. "We'll need a cinematographer who knows how to do things with natural light."
"We don't have money for a lighting truck, we bring a few bounce boards and a fast lens. But Duke, if we actually do this, there's no safety net. You can't afford a single day of 'figuring things out' on set."
"I won't need to," Duke said, "I know exactly where the cara goes. I've seen the dailies in my head for weeks."
Gary watched him for a long beat. "You say things like that, and I almost trust you. Look, just rember, the weather doesn't care about the dailies in your head. If it rains in Cambridge, we can only shoot in the rain."
"Even better," Duke said. "Gray skies are free production value."
The waitress dropped two plates of Reuben sandwiches on the table. Duke picked up a fry but didn't eat it.
"I'm moving Doubleday to a new na for the book. I'm done with the Blackwell brand for this one."
"What's the na?"
"Gregory House," Duke said.
Gary frowned. "Sounds like an English professor. Why House?"
"Because the story is about the things we build to keep the world out," Duke lied smoothly.
The real reason, was a private joke about a diagnostic doctor genius from a future television show that used a cane too. "It's a sturdy na. It feels like it's been around since the turn of the century."
"House," Gary repeated, testing the weight of it. "And when the press finds out it's you?"
"By then, the movie will be in theaters and the book will be on every nightstand in the country. We could even reveal my identity as the director and Author as marketing."
Later that afternoon, Duke was back in his living room.
He had dozens of 8x10 glossy headshots across his couch. They were spread across the floor like a deck of cards.
Casting was the one thing his mory of the future couldn't fully solve.
In his original tiline, Ali MacGraw and Ryan O'Neal were the faces of Love Story. They seed perfect because they were what people rembered.
But here, in the late sumr of 1967, Ali was still a model and a very small ti actress. anwhile, Ryan was a television actor on Peyton Place, a nightti soap opera.
He picked up a photo of a young woman with a sharp, intelligent gaze. It wasn't MacGraw. It was a girl he'd seen in a play recently.
"She's too smart," Duke muttered to the empty room. "Jenny needs to be smart, but she needs to be... more girl next door."
He looked at a photo of Ryan O'Neal. The jawline was right. The "preppy" arrogance was there. But was it too safe?
He also subconsciously didn't want to hire Ryan O'Neal cause he might be expensive.
He stood up, his leg protesting the movent. He paced the small space of the room, his cane thumping against the hardwood.
He thought about Harrison Ford. He'd seen him around, a carpenter who did small parts, a friend of Gary's.
Harrison had that rugged, internal quality. But was he too "blue collar" for Oliver Barrett IV?
Then there was Diane Keaton. She was doing theater in New York. She had that beautiful, eccentric energy.
If he cast her, the movie would probably feel less like a lodrama.
He realized for the first ti why lodramas are so difficult.
In his past life he used to watch Moonstruck(1987) and wonder how the director even though of hiring Cher and Nicholas Cage on a Rom-com together.
But if you watch the film it's clear, their chemistry is just off the charts.
Moonstruck is a movie about a widowed bookkeeper who agrees to marry the uninspiring Johnny, only to find herself in an affair with his unhinged, bread-baking brother, Ronny.
Ronny has a wooden hand from a bread slicer accident, there's family curses and also a glowing moon that drives people into a frenzy of passion.
"The chemistry," he whispered. "I need to check their chemistry and comfort with one another."
He sat back down and grabbed a pen. He began making two lists. Not of actors, but of energies.
Jenny: Brash, working-class, musical interest, terminal ending but not tragic.
Oliver: Stiff, burdened by legacy, needing to be softened.
He needed to see them together. He didn't want a sterile audition room at Embassy with assistants hovering in the hallway. He wanted sothing real.
As the week wound down, Duke found himself back at the LA Zoo location for The Graduate. He agreed to et with Nichols here to talk about casting.
"You're overthinking the casting," a voice said.
Duke looked up. Mike Nichols was standing there, watching the lions.
"How did you know?" Duke asked.
"Gary told ." Nichols turned to him. "If you're looking for the perfect actors. Stop cause they don't exist."
"Look for the people who embody the character. If you cannot see them as the character from behind the cara, the audience won't see them as their characters from the seats."
"I'm worried about the chemistry since the movie will rely a lot on it," Duke admitted. "If they don't click, the 800k budget is just money thrown away."
"Then don't audition them," Nichols said. "Take them to dinner. See if they interrupts you. See how they look at the waiter. I could reccond an actor if you want, Harrison Ford, he auditioned for The Graduate but i ended up going with Hoffman."
After talking for a while, Nichols clapped him on the shoulder. "Now go on. Get out of here.
Duke laughed. "I'm getting out of the state next month, Mike. Finally i'm going to be a director."
Nichols winked. "Good. One of these days, I might end up being the one asking you about casting."
That night, Duke sat on his porch.
He had a notebook open. On the left side, he had the budget breakdown Gary Kurtz had helped him refine.
On the right, he had the contact info for three actresses and four actors.
He looked at the na "Gregory House" written at the top of the page.
He picked up the phone and dialed a number he'd morized from a headshot file.
"Hello?" a young woman's voice answered. She sounded tired, probably just back from a rehearsal.
"Is this Blythe?" Duke asked. "My na is Duke Hauser. I'm directing a picture for Paramount. I'd like to talk to you about a girl nad Jenny."
He sat back, listening to the person on the other side of the line.
---
Vote:
Role of Jenny Cavalleri:
Blythe Danner
Sissy Spacek
Marilyn Burns
Role of Oliver Barrett IV:
Jas Caan
Harrison Ford
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