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8 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!” ,* the : that ative e 14) *