Casting Celebrities to Make Them a Hit on Political Stage

WASHINGTON — An actress who shall remain nameless came to Washington recently to raise the national consciousness about women’s health. Political and medical luminaries turned out in force. The first lady attended the luncheon, and all was going splendidly until the actress ducked into a Capitol Hill bathroom to sneak a smoke.

Alma Viator, a theatrical agent who had arranged the appearance, nearly passed out. She stationed herself in front of the restroom door while the actress puffed away, calling upon the gods and her wits to keep anybody else from walking in.

“That’s the kind of thing that makes you do your homework a little better the next time,” Viator said.

It would not have been the first time Hollywood and Washington got up to waltz and the music went flat.

Like when Jessica Lange, Sissy Spacek and Jane Fonda tried to explain to a House committee the plight of the American farm wife and were greeted by several congressman, one of whom sniffed: “I don’t have time to play ‘Hollywood Squares.’ ”

Or when Barbra Streisand and David Geffen took an interest in the Clinton presidency after helping raise millions to get him elected, only to be dismissed as “insulated and bubble-headed,” in the words of one commentator.

“If you go out there and speak on anything, you are going to get attacked about how you say it or whether you have the right to speak,” said Andy Spahn, political advisor to DreamWorks SKG founders Geffen, Steven Spielberg and Jeffrey Katzenberg.

The odds are so high that something will go very publicly wrong when these two industry-dominated and egocentric towns team up that Viator and her partner, public relations specialist Robin Bronk, have built a business on it.

Cause Celebre is a unique Washington firm that matches celebrities with political and social causes--for fees as high as $50,000--then makes sure nobody looks bad.

“When a star wants to talk about substance abuse but has been drinking again for two years, you say maybe we should start somewhere else,” said Viator, who has been working with celebrities for years and is married to Ben Jones, an actor (“The Dukes of Hazzard”) and ex-congressman (two-term Georgia Democrat).

Her firm is the newest element in the bicoastal relationship built on two whopping inferiority complexes: Actors know most people like them but hardly anybody takes them seriously; politicians know most people take them seriously but hardly anybody likes them.

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For many celebrities, Washington can be an intimidating place to navigate without help, a schizophrenic, high-minded town that doesn’t mind inviting a famous face to a party as long as the face doesn’t talk about policy. Increasingly, actors are deciding they need help to figure it all out.

Consider the view from Hollywood:

President Clinton is friends with Streisand, put up Spielberg at the White House when he came to town this month for the premiere of “Amistad” and is a movie buff who admits he can’t wait to see the seedy saga of ‘70s porn, “Boogie Nights.”

Meanwhile, Vice President Al Gore has been scolding the film industry for glamorizing cigarette smoking, while last year, former Senate Majority Leader Bob Dole blamed Hollywood for American social violence.

The Washington Post devoted a recent column to “How to Say Hello to a Celebrity”--the same Washington Post that once decreed on its opinion pages that “the Hollywood mind is simply incapable” of understanding issues of substance.

Washington begs to get famous faces at parties, and senators pile up for autographs when a movie star comes to town.

“Look at the White House correspondents’ dinner. They make this all-out effort to get celebrities there, and then when they get them there they make fun of them,” said Los Angeles entertainment publicist Stephen Rivers, who has been involved in politics for more than 20 years and helped organize the Farm Aid event.

“There is a priesthood in Washington and if you are not part of it, then you are not considered knowledgeable enough or serious enough to tell anybody else about a candidate or an issue. It’s not like members of Congress are all Rhodes scholars,” he said.

Still, Washington and Hollywood seem forever bound by mutual fascination and an abiding need to be loved, or at least validated, by the other.

“By and large, people who are famous feel the need to use that fame in responsible ways and take advantage of their celebrity,” Rivers said. “When they go to do charity events, nobody says, ‘What does she know about multiple sclerosis?’ But get into an issue like global warming or reproductive choice and it’s, ‘What does she know about that?’ ”

Enter Viator and Bronk, experts at demystifying Congress for celebrities and putting wingtipped politicians and sober foundations in touch with the in-crowd.

“The bottom line is the actor has to feel some compelling reason to be involved. This is not just a public relations vehicle for them,” said Bronk. “We keep our ears to the ground, do research, make background checks to be sure the client isn’t embarrassed.”

For years, such activity was handled by agents and publicists. But a handful of big names--Streisand, Richard Dreyfuss, Kim Basinger, Jimmy Smits--are turning to private political consultants to help them navigate the sometimes mean and unpredictable Washington current.

Actor James Cromwell--best known as Farmer Hoggett in the movie “Babe”--had never set foot in the nation’s capital when he decided he needed federal support for his project to build an arts college on a South Dakota Indian reservation. Not only did he have no political contacts, but his previous involvement with civil rights issues brought him in contact with groups such as the Black Panthers and taught him to view the Washington establishment as the enemy.

He came to town this fall anyway and, during a two-day trip arranged by Viator, chatted with Gore at the White House, met with two key members of Congress and schmoozed with Health and Human Services Secretary Donna Shalala at a glitzy Washington bash. He came away with a list of contacts and some names worth dropping as he pursues his proposal.

“I had no idea how the process worked,” Cromwell said. “Often when people from Hollywood go back to Washington, they not only don’t know what strings to pull, but they are ill-informed. It was suggested to me that [Viator] could put me in touch with people who were interested in what I was interested in. To a person, they were generous and open.”

Celebrities have been embracing candidates and causes for years. But the farm hearings of 1985--when Lange, Spacek and Fonda went before the House Agriculture Committee--burned into the Hollywood conscience the reality that even actors with the best intentions could get pilloried in the federal city.

Lange was moved to tears during her testimony. Still, the press questioned her sincerity. Congressmen suggested that the presence of actresses could trivialize a serious issue.

Yet the event succeeded beyond anyone’s expectations in bringing attention to a cause. Television camera crews elbowed each other for space in a committee room that would have been empty if not for the Hollywood presence. Reporters outnumbered congressional members 5 to 1. Spectators lined up out the door, some standing on chairs, for a glimpse of Lange. That night, farm aid made the evening news.

“When it comes to the people of the entertainment industry, there is no greater power nationally or internationally. There are so many causes and special interests in the country--whether it’s cancer or saving a forest--and there is an awful lot of competition for attention. The right kind of celebrity can set you apart,” said Heather Paul, executive director of the National Safe Kids Campaign.

Cause Celebre is helping the group assemble an entertainment alliance that includes singer Kenny Loggins and “Friends” star David Schwimmer.

Such groups naturally worry about actors who might have skeletons in the closet or, almost equally unpleasant, a short shelf-life.

And the risk runs both ways. Former “Tonight Show” sidekick Ed McMahon endorsed a Tustin homeless shelter whose director was later accused of fraud.

Still, every foundation worth its salt searches for a celebrity name to put on its board.

Said Ruth Cohen, ex-associate director of the Creative Coalition, a celebrity-run organization that supports many causes: “At the end of the day, we all want to go home and say, ‘I had lunch with Melanie Griffith.’ ”