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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.