If there's been a defining shift in commercial casting over the past several years, it’s not just who gets seen, it’s what casting is actually looking for.

In commercial casting, certainty is a myth.

“You get that client spec and think in your head, OMG, how am I going to find this person?” says Casting directors Sam Hersey & Jamie Nelson from Vancouver Casting. “And then actually delivering at the end of the day… it’s like winning the lottery.” 

That tension between impossibility and instinct defines the work coming out of Vancouver Casting, a company that has quietly expanded beyond its regional roots into a casting hub servicing national and international campaigns. Alongside associate casting director Jamie Nelson, Sam Hersey operates at the intersection of scale and specificity, where thousands of submissions funnel toward a handful of decisions and where the definition of “talent” is actively shifting.

Who is Vancouver Casting?

For a company built on finding the right people, Vancouver Casting has spent decades refining what that actually means.

Positioned as one of the city’s premier commercial casting companies, the team brings more than 30 years of industry experience, working across union and non-union projects, as well as voice, motion capture, print, and increasingly, “real people” casting. 

Founded by Murdine Hirsch, the company has grown alongside Vancouver itself, now firmly established as a global production hub with a reputation built on both scale and specificity. 

At its core, the company’s role is deceptively simple: match the right person to the right project. But in practice, that can mean sourcing anything from trained actors to highly specific individuals, “parkour athletes, quirky collectors… you name it”, depending on what a campaign demands. 

Operating out of Vancouver’s Olympic Village, the company runs full-service casting sessions, from in-studio callbacks to location casting, all designed to streamline the process between production and performance. 

It’s a model built not just on access to talent, but on deep familiarity with it, knowing the market well enough to push beyond it when needed.

A Bigger Pool, A Broader Lens

The Vancouver market has long held its place as one of North America’s most reliable commercial production hubs, a city where infrastructure, talent, and volume intersect at scale. But while production has remained steady, the way casting directors access and think about talent has undergone a quiet transformation.

What was once a largely localized ecosystem, built on in-room auditions, familiar faces, and proximity, has expanded into something far more fluid. The boundaries that once defined who could realistically be considered for a role have softened, replaced by a casting model that is increasingly borderless.

“We do publish quite a few national breakdowns as well as some international breakdowns,” Hersey explains. 

That expansion isn’t just about reach, it’s about necessity. As client requests become more specific, more nuanced, and often more reflective of real-world diversity, the traditional talent pool doesn’t always suffice. Casting, in turn, becomes less about filtering what’s available locally and more about actively searching for what might exist elsewhere.

When a role calls for something hyper-specific, whether it’s a look, a background, or a lived-in quality that can’t be easily manufactured, the search widens. Across British Columbia. Across Canada. And increasingly, across communities that previously sat outside the industry’s immediate line of sight.

That shift has been accelerated by remote casting and the normalization of self-tapes, which have effectively removed geography as the first barrier to entry. Talent no longer needs to be in Vancouver to be seen by Vancouver.

“We’re seeing a lot of agents pick up rosters from Kelowna, Victoria and all over BC,” Hersey says. “It really benefits us at the end of the day because we even have a wider pool to then pick from.” 

For casting directors, that wider pool represents more than just volume, it’s variation. A break from the cyclical nature of seeing the same performers over and over again, and an opportunity to bring forward faces that feel genuinely new.

For an industry historically built on familiarity, that expansion has introduced something closer to discovery, a shift that doesn’t just change who gets seen, but what casting itself can look like.

The Self-Tape Trade-Off

But access doesn’t always translate to advantage.

The rise of self-tapes, accelerated out of necessity and now fully embedded in the casting process has reshaped how actors are seen, evaluated, and ultimately remembered.

On paper, it’s an equalizer. Anyone, anywhere, can submit. The barriers that once limited access to major markets have largely dissolved.

But in practice, something has been lost in the exchange.

The audition room, once a space defined by immediacy, adjustment, and human connection, has been replaced by a more isolated experience. Actors perform into a lens, often without context, without feedback, and without the ability to pivot in real time. Casting directors, in turn, sift through an overwhelming volume of submissions, searching for something that cuts through the uniformity.

“The biggest thing… is an actor who really knows themselves well… and is confident about that,” Jamie says. 

That quality, self-awareness paired with confidence has become more valuable as the process has become more distant. Because without the benefit of in-room direction, what an actor brings into the frame is often all there is.

And that’s where the tension emerges.

Without feedback, actors can begin to second-guess their instincts. Performances become calibrated toward what they assume casting wants, rather than what they naturally offer.

The result is often a kind of uniformity, technically sound, but lacking distinction.
“We still get so many actors… you can tell they’re really trying to do it right or give the client what they want,” she says. 

It’s a logical response to an opaque process. But increasingly, it’s not what casting is responding to.

What stands out now isn’t precision, it’s clarity. The ability to present something specific, unforced, and grounded in who the actor actually is. In a system where everyone has access, differentiation no longer comes from opportunity.

It comes from presence.

The Authenticity Economy

If there’s been a defining shift in commercial casting over the past several years, it’s not just who gets seen, it’s what casting is actually looking for.

The idea of a “perfect fit” has become more fluid. Less about matching a rigid brief, and more about discovering something that reframes it entirely.

“You can change the client’s mind,” Jamie says. “A lot of times the client is so inspired by the uniqueness that an actor has brought to a role that they actually make adjustments.” 

That kind of flexibility marks a departure from older casting models, where alignment with the brief was the primary goal. Now, the brief itself is often a starting point, something that can evolve in response to the right person.

In commercial work, that evolution is tied to a broader shift in what’s being communicated on screen.

“We’re actually just selling the experience of using a product rather than selling the product itself,” Hersey explains. 

It’s a subtle distinction, but one that changes the entire equation. If the goal is to sell a feeling — a moment, a sense of relatability — then the performance needs to feel less like performance and more like reality.

That’s where the rise of “real people” casting comes into focus.

Rather than relying solely on trained actors, casting increasingly looks to individuals whose credibility comes from lived experience, people who already inhabit the world the commercial is trying to depict. Whether it’s a skateboarder, a chef, or someone with a highly specific skill set, authenticity becomes something that can’t be easily replicated.

“There’s no ego really involved with a real person,” Hersey says. “It’s more like, hey, I’m going to give this a go.” 

That lack of self-consciousness, the absence of trying to “get it right” often translates on camera. It reads as natural, unforced, and immediate. And increasingly, that’s what clients are responding to.

For actors, the implication isn’t that training is less valuable, it’s that the application of that training needs to shift. The work is no longer about building a character from the outside in, but about understanding what already exists and bringing that forward with clarity.

The adjustment isn’t about doing less.

It’s about doing differently.

Rethinking Success Metrics

For most actors, the most difficult part of the casting process isn’t the audition itself, it’s what happens after.

Or more accurately, what doesn’t.

“The hardest thing… everybody wonders, well, do they even watch my tape?” Jamie says. 

It’s a question that sits at the center of the modern audition experience, particularly in a self-tape era where submissions disappear into what can feel like a void. Without direct feedback, without acknowledgment, and without visibility into the decision-making process, it’s easy for actors to equate silence with rejection, or worse, irrelevance.

But the reality is far less personal, and far more logistical.

They do watch the tapes. Often more than once. And often with multiple stakeholders involved, casting, directors, clients, each reviewing from a different lens. What actors are experiencing isn’t indifference. It’s scale.

“We will get hundreds, sometimes thousands of submissions for a role and we will pick maybe 100 people to tape… that’s 10% of people,” she explains. 

That statistic alone reframes the process. To be selected for an audition isn’t a small step, it’s a narrowing of a massive field. A signal that something in the submission worked, even if the outcome doesn’t immediately follow.

And yet, because the industry rarely communicates that context, actors often miss it.
Which is where a different metric of success begins to emerge.

“The biggest feedback you can get is if you keep getting auditions from the same casting director,” she adds. 

In a system where direct feedback is limited, repetition becomes the indicator. Being called in again, and again suggests trust. Recognition. A sense that casting sees something worth continuing to explore.

It’s not as immediate as booking the role, and it’s not as visible as a callback. But over time, it’s far more telling.

Because in casting, momentum rarely announces itself all at once.

More often, it builds quietly, one audition at a time.

Geography, Flexibility, and Access

For decades, the path into the industry was often defined by geography. To be considered, you had to be there, in the room, in the city, within reach of the opportunity. Vancouver, like Toronto and Los Angeles, functioned as both a gateway and a filter.

That equation has shifted.

“There’s really no need… in this day and age,” Hersey says of relocating immediately. 
The rise of self-tapes has effectively removed the first barrier to entry. Actors no longer need to live in a major market to be seen by it. A submission from Kelowna can sit alongside one from Vancouver, evaluated on the same screen, in the same batch, under the same criteria.

In that sense, access has become more democratic. Geography is no longer the gatekeeper it once was. But the shift isn’t absolute.

As the casting process moves beyond the initial stages, from first-round tapes to callbacks, chemistry reads, and client sessions, the practical realities of production begin to reassert themselves. Timelines tighten. Logistics matter.

And proximity, while not required, becomes advantageous.

“You do have to be prepared to travel on your own dime, at the last minute,” Jamie says. 
That expectation introduces a different kind of threshold, not one based on location, but on flexibility. The ability to move quickly, to show up when needed, and to adapt to the pace of production becomes part of the equation.

And when the process reaches its most critical stage, the value of being physically present becomes even more apparent.

“An actor who attends a callback in person… always has a leg up.” 

It’s not just about performance. It’s about interaction — how someone responds in the room, how they take direction, how they connect with the people making the decision. These are variables that don’t fully translate through a screen.

So while geography may no longer define who gets in the door, it still plays a role in who moves forward.

Access, in this version of the industry, is no longer fixed.

It’s conditional, shaped by readiness, responsiveness, and the ability to meet the moment when it arrives.

Reframing the Casting Room

For many actors, particularly those early in their careers, the casting room carries a kind of mythology. It’s often imagined as a space of judgment, where decisions are swift, stakes are high, and the people behind the table hold all the power.

That perception, while understandable, doesn’t fully reflect the reality.

“We’re really the biggest cheerleaders for the actors coming in the room,” Jamie says. 

Behind the volume of submissions and the pace of decision-making is a process that is, at its core, collaborative. Casting directors aren’t looking to eliminate options, they’re looking to find them. To build a group of strong, viable choices that can be presented with confidence to clients.

Which means every good audition isn’t just a win for the actor, it’s a win for casting.

“When an actor does a great job, it makes us look awesome,” she adds.

That alignment shifts the dynamic in a way that isn’t always visible from the outside. The success of one side is directly tied to the success of the other. When an actor comes in prepared, grounded, and connected to what they’re doing, it elevates the entire process, not just the individual outcome.

And yet, because so much of casting now happens remotely, that relationship can feel distant. Without the in-room experience, the adjustments, the conversation, the energy exchange, it’s harder for actors to see that support in action.

Which is why the moments that do happen in person carry added weight.

They offer a clearer picture of what the casting room actually is: not a place designed to filter people out, but one built to bring the right people forward.

And in a process that can often feel opaque, that clarity matters.

The Work Beyond the Wait

For many actors navigating the commercial space, especially those just entering it, the instinct is to focus on access. Getting an agent. Getting submissions. Getting in the room. Each step feels like a gate that needs to be unlocked before anything meaningful can happen.

And to a degree, that’s true.

“If you’re someone who’s kind of on the fence… search up some representation… have some conversations with some agents,” Hersey says.

Representation remains one of the most direct pathways into the casting ecosystem, a way to move from the outer edge of the industry into a position where opportunities begin to circulate. It creates visibility. It opens doors that are otherwise difficult to access independently.

But infrastructure, as both Hersey and Jamie suggest, is only part of the equation.

Because once the opportunity arrives, whether it’s an audition, a callback, or a meeting. What matters most isn’t how it came to you. It’s what you bring into it.

“Know who you are. Be confident in who you are. Don’t try to be somebody else,” Jamie says. 

That directive cuts against one of the most common tendencies among actors, particularly in commercial work, the impulse to adjust, to fit, to anticipate what’s being asked rather than present what’s inherently there. But in a landscape increasingly driven by authenticity, that instinct can blur the very thing casting is trying to find.

Which leads to a more fundamental shift in approach.

Not just waiting for the next opportunity, but creating one.

“Stop waiting and start creating your own work.” says Hersey & Nelson.

It’s a simple directive, but one that reframes the entire process. Because waiting, in this context, can become passive, an indefinite pause between auditions, between responses, between moments of validation. Creating, on the other hand, builds momentum. It develops voice. It sharpens perspective.

And perhaps most importantly, it gives actors something tangible to draw from — a clearer sense of who they are, what they offer, and how they show up.

Because in a system defined by volume, competition, and variables outside an actor’s control, the most reliable advantage isn’t access.

It’s clarity, and the ability to bring something that already exists.