Once you saw Seymour Cassel in person—or in a movie or on TV—you never forgot that face. I first met him in New York in the 1970s as I remember it. But had seen him in films ever since 1960 when he first appeared on film in SHADOWS, his buddy John Cassavettes' (the godfather of independent cinema in the USA) first film. So when I ran into him in L.A. later I knew who he was.
He knew who I was too, and though he started right in making jokes about various and notorious aspects of my love life, we became instant friends. Every time I saw him he'd do his best to burst whatever bubble I was in about my latest companion, using his wit and personality to win whatever competition he saw us having. And I never pretended to be half witty as he was, which I know made him happy.
Here's one example of how he used his wits to his advantage. We were both in the film WHITE FANG around 1990, though we weren't in any scenes together so were not on location in Alaska at the same time. But when I drove out to the valley one sunny L.A. day to do some "looping" for the only scene I was in, I was surprised and delighted to find Seymour was still doing his scenes.
For those who may not know, "looping" is re-recording dialogue after a movie is made. It requires some skill to match your words as your film character is saying them while you're in a sound booth watching the scene as it plays out on a big screen. I got to watch Seymour do a scene with little written dialogue, but every time his character's mouth was turned so the audience couldn't see if he was talking or not, Seymour would add more dialogue on the spot.
Whether he'd prepared this ahead of time, or just thought to do it in the moment, I was struck by the brilliance of enhancing your character with more words than were written for him. The young woman who was running the session, and was the only other person there, pointed out his embellishments to Seymour suggesting he do the dialogue as written. Though I don't remember his exact words, he somehow convinced her, in fact flustered her, into allowing him to do it and let the director decide later.
I haven't seen the film in many years and don't remember when I saw it if Seymour's improvising was cut or not. But I totally understood the sound person's confusion. Seymour could convince you of almost anything. Or confuse you. Once he and I were auditioning for the same character for a TV show and while waiting were talking when my name was called. As I got up to go in, he made some joke about me and the role I was being seen for and I was so thrown, I couldn't shake it until I was well into the audition. When I came out I gave him some shit for it, but it only made him laugh as he was called in and of course got the role.
I was happy for him when he gained wider recognition and even more stand-out roles in later years. By then he'd become a little more merciful toward my slow witted attempts to save myself from his much more nimble mind, at least in Hollywood social situations. And in fact in my last years in L.A. at the end of the last century, he became very sweet and gentle with me and made it clear he was sorry to see me go.
He was an amazing character who I feel blessed to have been friends with though unfortunately I haven't seen him in many years. I hear his recent years were challenging so I'm glad he's at peace, though I am certain his spirit will continue to make mischief wherever it is.
