A Masterclass in Casting: Why “The Commitments” Matters

The element of casting in films is so often overlooked. It’s like good music in that if it works, you don’t notice it and its implementation is presumed easy. Like the foundation of house, we assume the work has been done and its solid - until its not. We’ve all seen films where we are knocked out of the suspension of disbelief - not by a plot point or a bad line of dialogue – but by an actor that just doesn’t fit.  I’ve personally miscast roles in both fiction and non-fiction over the years so this is not coming from a place of superiority.  It’s coming from a place of admiration for casting directors that do it perfectly.

Bad casting can degrade a film’s value.  Christopher Nolan’s finest work, “The Prestige,” doesn’t quite deserve a ten due to the wretched casting choice in the role of Olivia.  There must have been thousands of real British pinups with real British accents to slide into that part, but Nolan or the financiers opted for the “it girl” of the moment.  With every word she speaks it bumps the viewer out of an 1890s London slum and into a present-day Los Angeles espresso bar.  But you can recover with a miscast supporting character. Not the case with “I, Tonya” where awful casting is in almost every frame.

Occasionally there are films that get every single hundred or so casting choices right - from the boisterous leads to the extras on a bus - and turn a forgotten film into a Top 10 for Lock S-Foils.

Exhibit A when it comes to perfections in casting is Alan Parker’s 1991 masterpiece “The Commitments.”  I will give a stick tap to the efforts of John and Ros Hubbard whose pre-production work made what could have been some silly experimental footnote into a film the ages.  Every single role; I’m talking the leads, to the supporting players to the scattered extras in bars and churches is note perfect.  And that attention to detail plants a permanent smile on the viewer for the entire runtime.

The concept of Irish slum dwellers attempting to resurrect 60’s soul is amusing in itself, but Parker and company take this throw-away pitch and mold it into one perfectly executed scene after another.  Known for his gritty dramas like “Midnight Express” and “Mississippi Burning,” Parker’s goal as a filmmaker was allegedly to try and make a picture in every genre.  I greatly admire that. His other near perfect attempt at horror noir “Angel Heart,” carries the same effective use of precise framing and deep brown hues. Rainy sidewalks, textured tenements and sweaty, awkward sex are oddly comfortable in both. “The Commitments” was his attempt at a musical-comedy.

The decision was made to cast musicians and singers and then teach them to act. Fifteen years later “Miracle” would take a similar approach when casting the 1980 Olympic hockey team.  But none of those players possesses the intangible charisma of “The Commitments” cast.   Aside from Jimmy Rabbitte, most of the band is given equal screen time.  I won’t rattle off each member’s name and real-life equivalent.  Curious minds can easily find it.   There are no big speeches.  No forced backstories. The dialogue is precise and simple. And we know each of them instantly.  And for some reason swearing doesn’t feel like swearing when delivered by those thick Irish accents.

I contend none of the film’s sage commentary on the power of music to lighten the unrelenting burden of life would hit as hard were there a casting misstep. When asked if they’re a little white to be playing soul music, Jimmy explains that every society has its oppressed underclass.  Soul music speaks to that, not race, not skin color but circumstance. 

Do you not get it lads?  The Irish are the blacks of Europe.  And Dubliners are the blacks of Ireland.  And northside Dubliners are the blacks of Dublin.  Beautiful.  The manager insists on a steady diet of Otis Redding, Aretha Franklin, Wilson Pickett, James Brown, Smokey Robinson to free them from the era’s computerized pop music. Real voices.  Real instruments.  What a concept.

“The Commitments,” sums up why humans yearn for a creative release – whatever your medium of choice. It feels much better being an unemployed musician, than an unemployed pipe fitter. 

Using the precisely assembled parts Parker and his flawless collection of misfits perform an endless collection of glorious soul amidst the poverty and decay of late 80’s Dublin.  A socialist doldrum where kids look to melody as a form of escape.  How music is as critical to our existence as food and water.  And how being a part of something creative makes the crying babies and concrete shacks tolerable.  I need something to look forward to.

Were it not for each of these astute casting choices, the consistent hilarity and ultimately poignancy would be lost.  The film builds with a soundtrack that identifies the point of art even when crushed by unrelenting failure. And in the end – “You raised their expectations of life.” – What a statement.  What a cast.