Newspaper Page Text
Page 6
The Southern Israelite
A Jew /f ho Became “Little Caesar ”
* A Self-Portrait of a Famous Movie Character
By EDWARD G. ROBINSON
£ DWARD G. ROBINSON has come to be acknowledged as
America s finest character actor. During his work with the
Theatre Guild he created dramatic portraits which stage his
tory will cherish as the finest in their genre. Then Hollywood
appropriated Robinson and gave full play tot his extraordinary
ability. His career on the screen has been a success on of notable
portrayals, which were climaxed by his recent appearance in the
movie version of “Little Caesar”. Robinson's impersonation of
the gangster brought him the most fervent critical acclaim that
a screen player has enjoyed in years. In this brief self-portrait
written for the Seven Arts Feature and THE SOUTHERN ISRAELITE
Robinson gives some of the highlights of his amazing career.
—The Editor
I am an actor. Of this I am quite
certain as I face the typewriter. On
the stage or before the camera it would
he much easier, I’m sure. If I have to
I can even look intelligent, toss hack
my hair as if awakening from profound
meditation and speak in the lingo of
an author, as if I were an old habitue
of the Algonquin Hotel of New York.
But in my Hollywood den, all alone
with myself, it is difficult. If you have
any kick coming blame it on Little
Caesar, my latest gangster character,
and not on Edward G. Robinson.
I was born at Bucharest, Rumania,
thirty-seven years ago. Not that I re
member much of the old home town.
When I left the country whose women
arc supposed to he the most beautiful
in tbc world and where gypsy music
flourishes more than elsewhere my his
trionic abilities were limited to the ut
terance of gurgling noises, supposed to
represent a desire for food. My child
hood days, those which I remember
vividly, were played—I mean, enacted
—no, no—I mean actually lived in New
York. There I attended the public
schools, and later Columbia University,
where I obtained my Master of Arts
degree. It’s unnecessary to tell you
that my parents—and, for that matter,
1 also—were extremely proud of my
educational achievements.
My earliest ambition was to become
a rabbi. 'This was before my collegiate
days. Why? I imagine because of the
rather Orthodox religious atmosphere
that prevailed at home and because 1
was very much thrilled by tales of the
beneficial influence exercised by min
isters. As 1 grew older l thought that
the legal profession was my vocation.
So I decided to become a lawyer—and
became an actor.
Just between you and me, I confess
that I always was passionately fond of
the stage. At school I participated in
amateur theatricals with great gusto.
Oratory also held a fascination for me.
Perhaps because acting and public
speaking are so closely related—this
with all due deference to our great
public men. I had made up my mind to
learn all there is to know about the
stage and the art of acting, to acquire
all the technique the dramatic profes
sion demands. Paranthetically, I do be
lieve in technique. Actors are born, it
is true, but it takes technique to make
them. When the great war took the
center of the world’s stage I enlisted
in Uncle Sam’s Navy.
Nothing startling so far. I heg your
indulgence. If I were a real author I
might have described my early days
with pathetic and thrilling sidelights
that conventionally accompany the
story of one’s youth. It was a time of
dreams, day-dreams, in which I saw
myself a leader of men, firing multi
tudes to action with my oratory, shap
ing a niche in the Hall of Fame for
myself. That time seems so far away
now—and stripped of the enthusiasm of
youth it appears a little silly.
Like most actors nowadays I began
my stage career in vaudeville. The act
was written, staged and played by me.
It bore the rather melodramatic title
“The Hells of Conscience,” and was
designed to give the star—myself—
Edward G. Robinson
every opportunity to show the range of
his dramatic talent. He took full ad
vantage of the opportunity offered.
As I look back upon my experiences
in the American theatre I realize, to my
own amazement, that I have no exciting
up-the-latter story to tell. I never sold
newspapers; I never starved or slept on
park benches; nor did I get my chance
because the star fell ill suddenly and
I was called upon to jump into the
breach. After I tried Hollywood eight
years ago I associated myself with the
Theatre Guild, and after that with some
independent producers. I appeared in
“The Man with Red Hair,” “The
Brothers Karamazov,” “Juarez and
Maximilian,” “Right You Are If You
Think You Are,” “Peer Gynt,” “The
Adding Machine,” “The Firebrand,”
“The Deluge,” “Night Lodging,” “Laun-
zi,” “The Idle Inn,” “Under Fire,”
"Under Sentence,” "Kibitzer”—of which
I was a co-author—and “Mr. Samuels.”
Whatever success I have had I owe
to a large degree to my luck with the
plays in which I have appeared. Not
that I am morbidly modest. But I do
feel that the dramatic pieces in which I
played were of exceptionally high qual
ity. powerful works that brought aut
the best I had to give.
The critics have always been kind
and generous to me. They made me
feel that I was on the right path, that
mv efforts were appreciated. Before
I knew it I was classified as one of
"the finest actors on the American
stage” and commended for my “versa
tility." That versatility was merely my
desire to explore human characters, to
create different types, to try my hand
at every imaginable characterization.
When recently I landed in Hollywood
for the second time—no longer
Shadowland, but Talkie-land now—I
jumped at the chance to play gangster
roles. Why? Simply because I hadn’t
tried it before.
I am often asked how I achieve my
characterizations, the implication being
that my portrayals of types are very
realistic. I acknowledge the compli
ment, and in return will reveal to you
my secret. It can be stated in two
words: Hard work.
Ascript is given us. First I read it
just as any other reader would, letting
the story effect me if it can. A few
days later I start my study. I examine
the character I am to play from the
point of view of the doctor, the psy
chologist and the simple human being.
I analyze the character’s actions, weigh
his motives. I try to understand what
trait in his nature compels him to act
as the author makes him.
\\ hen I feel that I understand the
character I begin gathering realistic
material. For example, before taking
over some gangster roles I freqn
various underworld resorts. I li
to the lingo of the gangster-
watched their mannerisms, tried t
the men behind the mannerism-
I looked about for types who f
part. When I found the type I
ized him in the role. Finally 1 went
back home and began to work i vself
into that role—or, rather, to g* t the
role under my skin.
I don’t know whether I’ve been dear.
To you the foregoing must read like
the hazy tongue-waggling of a age-
addict. But it isn’t. I simply wan
show you the consecutive stages of the
development of a character. It is only
gradually, after weeks and often
months of concentration, that I suc
ceed in killing off Edward G. Robin
son and resurrecting from his ashes—
let us say—Little Caesar, the gangland
chief. Now you know something about
the labors of an actor. This life means
continuous work, incessant self-criti
cism and self-testing. The more so
since I abhor make-up and play with
my own face as much as possible.
This being supposed to be a self-
portrait, I shall enumerate for your
benefit some of my qualities and fail
ings. I like to learn languages. In ad
dition to English I can speak, quite
fluently, Spanish, Italian, French, Her
man, Hebrew, Yiddish and Rumanian.
My favorite screen actors are Marie
Dressier, Wallace Beery, George Ar-
liss, Norma Shearer, John Barramore.
Marlene Dietrich and Maurice Cheva
lier. Of the stage stars I particularly
admire Pauline Lord, Helen Hayes.
Alfred Lundt, Lynn Fontaine and
Gladys Lloyd (the last-named, by the
way, being Mrs. Robinson, my own
bass). Speaking of favorites—Sidney
Howard is the man for me. I want him
to read this and settle down to write
a play for me.
. Of all the arts allied to the drama
I like music best. Music is the basis
of all art. Nothing in the world of
art can compare with Richard W agner -
music. No, I can’t play any instrument
except the player-piano—but once I
created an entirely original musical
composition by cutting up forty piano-
rolls and pasting the pieces together
again. I called it the Robinson Svm
pbony. Mrs. Robinson, though, didnt
take kindly to my musical ‘ rt ' at ’ u
genius, and so it was never published..
My rules for health are: lots of
sleep, lots of fruit and lots ui go -
and motoring. I am five fo’ ^ [
inches tall, weigh a hundred a
eight pounds, have brown e
black hair. I am not good-lex * 1 ->
I know I can do a lot with I
If you still don’t know what •
man I am go see my last pictu e
you will surely—not know how 0
son behaves at home.
(Copyright, 1931, S.A.F.S.