Casting is like dating. Or should be.

Okay, stop it, you perv. This is not about the casting couch.

Get your mind out of the gutter and think about the person you want to be with. (If you're lucky enough to be happily married or in a long-term relationship, think about what you love about your partner.)

What came to mind? Age, height, weight, and ethnicity?

Didn't think so. And you know why? Because those things don't describe a person, they describe arm candy.

Guess what. Same goes for casting.

I'm sure you've heard it a million times –– story comes from character. I know I have. Well, creating a character is not just the writer's responsibility. It's the actor's, too. But mostly it's the director's.

So when you're casting, don't just put a call out for a "Male, 50s to 60s, caucasian." Fill in the details.

Here's the casting spec for one of the roles in the spot I'm casting right now:

CEO: Preston Beardsley III was born to be the CEO of a company like General Specifics. He has silver hair and a silver tongue, both cultivated deliberately over his 50-65 years. He wears expensive, conservative suits well and he’s generally serious –– some would say contemplative –– but he would tell you that his best features are his winning smile and firm handshake. They’ve done more than their share to close a lot of important deals.

See what I did there? I told the casting director and the actors who I'm looking for, not what the person I'm looking for looks like.

If you don't know who you're looking for, then don't waste your time (or your actors' or your casting agent's) bringing people in. Sure, somebody might walk in and hand it to you.

Somebody might walk in and hand you a chicken enchilada, too. But that doesn't mean you cooked it.

You can tell you've made it in Hollywood when you've become a "type".

A type is different from a role. A role is "young mom"; a type is Jennifer Anniston. When casting specs go out, they often mention both: "The role is for a young mom. We're looking for a Jennifer Anniston type." What it means has to do with the actor's voice –– and when I say voice, I mean not the way he or she talks, but the unique way in which he or she communicates.

This isn't limited to actors, by the way. You could be a Fellini-esque director. Or be a John Toll-like DP. Or a Charlie Kaufman-type writer. The thing about your voice is that a) you can't fabricate it and b) you only discover it after years of doing whatever it is you do. Once you find it (or it finds you), you can try to ignore it like Ben Affleck, work to counter it like Nicolas Cage, or embrace it like Jack Nicholson.

I vote for embracing it because if it's true to you, you're not going to fool anybody by denying it.

What's funny about types is that they don't necessarily spell success for the prototype. (That's where that word comes from, by the way. I just figured that out.)

Two examples:

I once directed a regional phone commercial that had a one-line role for a mailman. One actor who came in was amazing. He took that one line and gave it back to me dozens of different ways. He added not just an accent, but could dial in the amount of accent. He was an utter pleasure to work with and I knew immediately that he was far greater than the role.

I didn't recognize him, but it was Richard Sanders, who played Les Nessman on WKRP.

The other example is comes from a documentary I saw about Charlie Chaplin. Apparently, at the height of his popularity, Mr. Chaplain found himself inspired to enter a Charlie Chaplain Look-Alike contest. He didn't even make the finals.

Never underestimate some of the things actors will do to get a role.

I once had to cast a commercial that involved a comic misdirection: The spot featured an older man, and based on what he was saying on the phone, his kids imagined he had found a new love. The "reality" was that he'd gotten a dog.

There could be no misunderstanding what was required by the script. The stage directions explicitly stated that the man would call the dog over to him. Still, in order to find the best possible actor, I decided to eliminate non-dog people. Rather than ask whether each actor liked dogs--when you ask a question like that, there's only one answer you ever get--I figured out a more oblique approach: I asked each of the men auditioning the name of the first dog he owned. And just to be safe, whether he was allergic to dogs.

The man we eventually cast was great in the audition. His first dog was named Jerry and no, he wasn't allergic. But when he showed up on set and had to interact with the puppy, he froze. The poor man was terrified.

Silly me. It didn't occur to me to ask the actors whether they were afraid of dogs.

The puppy wasn't stupid. She figured out pretty quickly that even though the man was calling her over, he really didn't want her anywhere near him. Ultimately, I had to take the man through deep breathing exercises to help him deal with his fear. Then I had to smear his pant leg with bacon grease in order to coax the puppy to come over. The performance we finally settled for was disappointing, both on the part of the man and the puppy.

Why am I telling you this? Because some actors will do just about anything to land a role.

It would have been best all around if the actor had declined to audition when he realized he'd have to work with a dog. But I'm sure the allure of starring in a regional phone commercial was just too great. He convinced himself that he'd be able to overcome his fear, just as the woman who landed the role of the cowboy in another commercial I directed figured she'd have time to learn how to ride a horse like an expert between the time she was cast and the day we started shooting.

Over the years, I've developed some techniques that help flush out the liars. I've learned to bring a dog to the audition for roles that require interacting with them. And when it's impractical to have a horse at the casting session, I'll ask questions that only an experienced rider should be able to answer--for instance, about the his or her favorite type of saddle.

But there's another form of duplicity that in some ways is more insidious than claiming you can speak French, rappel down a mountain, or swallow fire.

Flirting.

I can't tell you how many actresses (and actors, too) have come on to me in the hopes of landing a part. Some have gone so far as to... well, I'll let you use your imagination. Let's just say that for an average-looking, kind of scrawny, balding, middle-aged guy, I'm incredibly sexy.

Only I know better.

I know that some actors will do whatever it takes to land a role. And I know that once they've landed it, it falls to me to get the most authentic performance I can from them.

Someday, I'll write a blog about the particular system I've developed for casting. For now, though, suffice it to say that as much as I love to believe that the Victoria's Secret model really would love to meet me for drinks afterward (and yes, this really happened on a beer commercial I directed), the reason I'm in the room is to determine whether she's going to create the most convincing portrayal for the role.

If she is, sure I'll go meet her for a drink. I mean, I'm not an idiot.