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THE SOUTHERN ISRAELITE
A Timid Soul On Broadway
A Portrait-Interview With Sam Jaffe, Broadway's Latest Find
By PHINEAS J. BIRON
Our Roving Reporter
Many months ago when Herman Shum-
lin was exploring the sidewalks of New
York for the cast of Vicki Baum’s cosmo
politan play, “Grand Hotel,’’ he. noticed
on the street the following creature: a tall,
high-shouldered, narrow-chested man, with
the bushy hair of a Hawaiian dancer, the
naive smile of a six-year-old, the high-
pitched voice of a Chassidic rabbi and the
face being a cross between a Swede and
a gypsy. He hailed him and engaged him
forthwith for the male stellar role of
“Grand Hotel.”
That is how a Broadway columnist might
describe the ascension of Sam Jaffe to a
star role in the sensational Broadway suc
cess. Between you and us, the columnist
would not be so far out.
Sam Jaffe was an actor who played with
more or less indifferent success in the Eng
lish versions of Asch’s “God of Vengeance”
and Hirshbein’s “Idle Inn” and in Raphael-
son’s “The Jazz Singer.” He was never
regarded as a star or even a potential head
liner. Jafre was just an actor who had to
amble along with the handicap of too
much intelligence and too little chutzpah.
You know what we mean. Jaffe understood
his parts perfectly, often even discovered
in them shades of nuances which the
author had never dreamed of. But his own
critical mind bothered him.
He was too intelligent to live his parts.
He was one of those actors who are af
flicted with brains and who usually wind
up by becoming directors and sometimes
playwrights but very seldom stars. But
Jaffe happened to have been noticed from
t he back by Herman Shumlin and the next
day he was rehearsing the role of Kringe-
Iem m Vicki Baum’s drama of contempo-
rary life as reflected in the lobby, grill
room, halls and private suites of a luxur
ious Berlin hotel.
Today Jaffe is generally recognized i
the outstanding character actor on Broai
way and a worthy successor to or colleagi
of Rudolph Schildkraut, Louis Wolheir
A c ? b *? en Ami Paul Muni. In other word
u is the Jewish actor of the day, Jewis
the sense that his mother was an actres
' A T defunct Yiddish Thalia Theatc
w'.s a v A'n an u- that his Erandfathc
'as a \enerable chief rabbi of Bialostol
an / «°?i,£ appen t0 see “Grand Hotel”-
ami as things go, you will not escape it-
you will be moved bv the tragedy Tftfc
gin Is" a b Sr Per * whose or
Kin is a small provincial German towr
slaved 6 so"thatch il ", 8 °° d t of hisTfl
dvea s0 l oat his boss could maninnlof
ever more stupendous business undertai
mgs—only to discover that ho K
to die within a few months L v . d T?
decides to take a (ling at life.' HeYTheYl
his life and sick insurance policies ' draw
his savings from the bank and with „ ?
thousand marks in his portfolio comes T
Grand Hotel, to end up his life b
Our Roving Reporter introduces you to
Sam Jaffe, whom the dramatic critics are
acclaiming as Broadway's greatest char
acter actor since Warfield. In this inter
view, you get the true story of the grand
son of a Bialostok rabbi and son of an
Bast Sule actress, ivho achieved success
suddenly after he had almost given up the
struggle for recognition.
SAM JAFFE
Broadway fell at his feet when he was
about ready to give up the struggle
lor recognition.
— vvi euurse, an kind
tragedies center around Kringelein
Russian dancer falls in love with a Ger
Baron who turns out to be a very
fellow, but a burglar, who, before the
curtain falls, gets killed; a German l
ness Napoleon who is revealed in all
Junkerish pettishness; a pale, beautiful
vate secretary who goes about selling
L° dy . and soul and her business serv
Vicki Baum, the 15 per cent German 1
ish femme de lettre, gives us L A,
panorama of modern life with all its sp
pettiness, tragedies and cruelty of flip
city Kringelein is the central figure ,
with his narrow chest and high-p’itc
voice, moves about the stem, ,,L i-
enjoy life before the Grim Reaper getel
We met Sam Jaffe after his snn+n
formanw of Kringelein. We asked h J
take off his make-up, which he refuspr
X* 7 Pr
ssssfaraS??*!
looking wife joined n* hi 18 Kc
was intensified. You see. beforeTaleL
picked up by Shumlin, Mrs. Jaffe for
rather Lilian Taiz—that’s her stage name
big success of the Jaffe menage
She had been a featured player in a num
ber of musical shows and her pleasing voice
was in demand by radio stations. Her ca
reer on the stage was generally regarded
as extremely promising. Sam was the good
fellow, always ready to be of service, play
ing the piano for Lilian whenever she was
coaxed to sing, and he himself singing the
eulogies of her last broadcast.
So Jaffe blushed when he introduced us
as a newspaperman who had come to in
terview him. He blushed and tried to be
flippant and very much disinterested in
discussing himself. It was only after per
sistent cross examination, interrupted fre
quently by the irrelevant stories from
Lilian Taiz’s charming little mouth that
we extracted something from Sam Jaffe,
born in Belfast, Ireland and canvassing the
brutal offices of Broadw r ay producers for
recognition.
“You don’t know what it is”—Jaffe’s
voice sounds as moving as Kringelein’s cry
that he wants to live—“to go from one
producer to another, asking, pleading, ex
plaining. One feels so small and futile. Af
ter a while one is ashamed of one’s self.
But there is that insane urge driving you
back because you feel that you want to
act, that the stage’s make-believe is real
life and that acting is the only thing that
you can do. I have been through it! What
a relief when the process is reversed and
the producer comes to you. It pays you
back for all the anguish, heartburn and
humiliation.”
Jaffe smiles with the same happy smile
used by Kringelein, the provincial book
keeper, when, for the first time, he drinks
champagne in the grill room of the Grand
Hotel.
“Are you tempted to play on the Yiddish
stage,” we inquire, as soon as Mrs. Jaffe
concludes her enumeration of who was
who at the dress rehearsal of Heywood
Broun’s “Shoot the Works.”
Sam Jaffe blushes. With a forced, non
chalant voice, he explains: “The Yiddish
theatre is dead. No, not sick—dead. There
is no more audience; there are no 11101,0
plays and there are mighty few ac ^. 0 P'
left. I have no desire to play in
although I speak it well. Hebrew tempts
me. An organization like the Habin mu>
attract any actor. It attracts me
I am drawn toward classic art. A
theatre that would play a reper.
Shakespeare, Molier, Ibsen and St
would be my real ambition. Then
few roles that can stand critical
in the modern drama, and one ca
ways shut off his intelligence, you
Jaffe tells us how it feels to ]
same role night after night. He adr
it becomes routine and that the
phase of acting is (Continued on
re oi
iberg
re so
; lysis
>t al
low!”
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