The 1974 letter Tom Hanks wrote claiming he should be “discovered”
Tom Hanks didn’t get his ‘America’s Dad’ moniker for nothing. Now something of an elder statesman in Hollywood with a body of work stretching back to the late 1970s, the actor embodies an everyman quality that we don’t often associate with superstardom yet respond to with insatiable fervour. Just look at his cumulative box office receipts for proof.
That’s why rare insight into Hanks’ pre-fame unshielded ambition is so interesting. A hand-written letter Hanks sent to a director he greatly admired in 1974 does exactly that, revealing that the star didn’t, of course, become famous by accident — it was something he badly wanted, like any wannabe performer in Hollywood.
The director in question was George Roy Hill, who’d just won the Best Director Oscar for The Sting, starring Robert Redford and Paul Newman. As Hill was reaching the pinnacle of his career, the then-18-year-old Hanks hoped he could be the spark that ignited his. Gushing to Hill about how much he enjoyed the film, Hanks boldly adds that it’d only be “fitting and proper that you ‘discover’ me”.
After this ballsy opening gambit, he’s quick to humble himself, however: “Now, right away I know what you are thinking (‘who is this kid?’), and I can understand your apprehensions. I am a nobody. No one outside of Skyline High School has heard of me. … My looks are not stunning. I am not built like a Greek God, and I can’t even grow a moustache, but I figure if people will pay to see certain films … they will pay to see me.”
There’s that soft-eyed self-effacement we’re more used to. His self-awareness about his looks is particularly sweet: even as a teenager, he doesn’t think he’ll ever mature into heartthrob status (subjectively not true). Hanks then see-saws this back to his initial cockiness, suggesting two ways that Hill might ‘discover’ him in person.
“Let’s work out the details of my discovery. We can do it the way Lana Turner was discovered, me sitting on a soda shop stool, you walk in and notice me and — BANGO — I am a star,” he concludes.
“Or maybe we can do it this way. I stumble into your office one day and beg for a job,” the pre=fame star says with a charisma he had not yet earned. “To get rid of me, you give me a stand-in part in your next film. While shooting the film, the star breaks his leg in the dressing room, and, because you are behind schedule already, you arbitrarily place me in his part and — BANGO — I am a star.”
There’s a subtle flexing of insider knowledge here. Additionally, the way Hanks spins this potential Cinderella tale for himself demonstrates a flair for storytelling even just on the page. He finishes the letter balancing both these tones, presenting himself as someone seeking fame for its romantic purposes rather than its hollow indulgences.
“All of these plans are fine with me, or we could do it any way you would like, it makes no difference to me! But let’s get one thing straight. Mr. Hill, I do not want to be some big-time, Hollywood superstar with girls crawling all over me, just a hometown American boy who has hit the big-time, owns a Porsche, and calls Robert Redford ‘Bob’”, Hanks then signed off the letter with “your pal forever”.
It’s remarkable how much phrases like “hometown American boy” and “your pal forever” have wound up typifying Hanks’ cosy brand image. Either he’s always been a marketing genius, or simply someone who was always true to himself from the get-go. The letter is on display at the Library of the Motion Picture Academy in Los Angeles. BANGO!
