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THE SOUTHERN ISRAELITE
The Symbol Of Womans Tragedy
A Closeup Of Sylvia Sidney
By PHINEAS J. BIRON
Our Roving Reporter
There is something pathetic and fragile
about Sylvia Sidney. She is but five feet
and four inches tall, and weights exactly
104 pounds. What she lacks in weight she
makes up in attractiveness. Her eyes, blue-
green with pupil points of golden brown,
look at you courageously, yet resignedly.
Her smile, whether she intends it or not,
is sad, wistful—and tender. She is the
woman-girl every collegiate likes to visual
ize as his “one great big love.”
We do confess that she is our screen
favorite. If you must know, we are rather
stuck on her. Don’t blame us. If you’d
meet her, as we did, in the flesh and in
natural colors—a symphony in brown and
blue (her hair is dark brown)—you’d fall
for her yourself.
Seven months ago Sylvia Sidney left
her good Jewish home in the Bronx and
ventured into Hollywood. It was not an
adventure, properly speaking, because Ben
jamin P. Schulberg, managing director of
the West Coast productions for Paramount,
saw her act in “Bad Girl,” and immediately
signed her to a long-term contract. The
rest is history, though it sounds like ro
mance. Sylvia went to Hollywood, just at
the time that Clara Bow gave up. A few
days after her arrival she was co-starred
with handsome Gary Cooper in “City
Streets.” So instantaneously did she click,
as the show people say, that she was moved
into dressing room No. 1, vacated by tem
pestuous Clara. Since then Sylvia is one
of the most-sought-after, look-up-to film
stars.
“Miss Sidney, tell us something about
yourself.”
Miss Sidney, believe it or not, blushes,
which makes her even more charming.
“About myself?” Her voice is young and
intelligent. You know what we mean by
an intelligent voice. Her words carry
meaning, even in intonation. To make it
clearer: she hasn’t got the voice of Janet
Gaynor, thank God.
“About myself? Is there anything to tell
you? I wanted to be on the stage ever since
I remember. It was an obsession with me.
My parents did not understand so easily.
They wanted me to go through a normal
education. I did till I reached the high
age of twelve. Then I succeeded in per
suading them that my destiny was on the
stage. I was not thirteen when I appeared
in a series of recitals at the Little Theatre
in New York. Was I happy? Yes and no.
I wanted to grow up fast, very fast, and
become a full-fledged actress. I wanted to
get over my girlhood years as quickly as
possible. I read a lot, perhaps too much.
I played little, perhaps too little, with girls
of my age. Af fifteen I entered the Theatre
Guild School and for a year forgot every
thing except my studies. The teachers were
a bit frightened at my intensity. They cau
tioned me: ‘Not so intense, Sylvia; not
so intense!’ No sooner did I graduate than
I jumped at the chance to play the lead in
A few shan’t years ago, Sylvia Sidney
was but one of many actresses on the
American stage. A year ago she came to
Hollywood. She had a type of beauty that
was strange. Moreover she had intelli
gence, which is often a handicap in movie-
land’s capital. Nevertheless she forged
ahead steadily. When it came time to select
the feminine star of Theodore Dreiser’s
“An American Tragedy,” Sylvia Sidney
was immediately selected. This biograph
ical sketch indicates why that high screen
honor came to her.
SYLVIA SIDNEY
. . . to her it was not
"An American Tragedy”
i x uiiujiit unuer me direction ot Winthro
Ames.”
We prompted gently: “And then you ha
arrived, Miss Sidney?”
A sad smile suffused her face. The kin
of a helpless expression that is particular]
her own and that makes her the outstanc
ing success she is in the screen version (
Dreiser’s “American Tragedy.” When Sy
via looks that way, you feel like taking he
in your arms and telling her that the worl
is not such a hard place to live in aft(
all, and that there are also some decei
people on this planet.
“Arrived?—not by a long way. I ha
just staited. Do you know how many gir
and boys try to get on Broadway? Did vo
ever make the rounds of producers? Thei
they sit in the large ante-rooms, the youni
hopeful would-be stars. Dressed up in the;
best. Many without the return carfare i
hen pockets. If the producers would kno
the individual tragedies of these applicam
they wouldn t need to investigate the
qualifications. These budding geniuses i
fni a ? t ? ro S m p ay t !? e nonc halant, succes;
ful, I-dont-care role of the youth wt
has nothing to worry about. At home-
lf there is a home—a sick mother or
younger brother waits anxiously for tl
result of his or her job-hunting. And whe
the casting director, after a perfunctory
glance about the room, issues his dictum
‘nothing today, ladies and gentlemen,’ their
jaws don’t drop. They smile, walk out and
repeat the performance in the next pro
ducer’s office. Do you realize what it means
to go day after day from one office to an
other with hopes and hear nothing but
‘nothing today.’ Not for a week, and not
for months, but often for years—and smile
through it all.”
And Sylvia Sidney smiles. It occurs to
us that her sad, so charmingly resigned
smile is the product of the anterooms of
Broadway producers. Little Sylvia went
through the mill. She searched Broadway
for a job. If she finally landed on the top,
it is because she has that iron-willed deter
mination and perseverance that one meets
only in a real personality.
“Yes, I did get into the cast of ‘The
Challenge of Youth,’ when I was about
eighteen years old. On the second night of
the try-out run in Washington I fainted in
the middle of the first act and was ordered
to undergo an immediate operation for ap
pendicitis.” But Sylvia is a trouper. She
refused, got to her feet and not only finish
ed the show but continued to play through
out the week, till it closed. Subsequent sur
gical examination revealed a torn ligament
in her right side, the result of a fall during
rehearsal. Sylvia spent the next four weeks
in bed.
Some years later, while playing in “That
Old Fashioned Girl,” she slipped on the
winding iron stairs coming down from her
dressing room and fractured a small bone
in her ankle. Did she quit? She completed
the run of the play with her foot in a cast
When you listen to Sylvia tell you about
her young life and of her tribulations to
beat Broadway, you develop a genuine af
fection for the little girl dressed in an
ankle-length evening gown and trying so
very hard to look grown-up. You are some
what puzzled why it was she who was se
lected to substitute for the flapper tyP-
Clara Bow. Clara and Sylvia are two poles
in contrast. Sylvia has the intensity of mn
Semitic race and an inborn sadness tna
grips you even, or rather particularly
when she tries to look happy. She gives y° u
the impression that a tragic fate hangs
over her head. Clara Bow is the twentietn-
century reincarnation of Eva Tanguay, P rl *
marily legs and sex appeal with a men
suggestion of brain.
We met Sylvia Sidney on August i * * * v tn. t
very day of her twenty-first birth ay. •
we tell you that her father, Dr. S ^ mun ‘
Sidney, dental surgeon, hails from [a] ? y -
nia you will understand where lift
got her histrionic abilities. She con
the land where the greatest Jewis acto ■
saw daylight. The Schildkrauts,
Robinson and others. ^ .
Sylvia Sidney is a genuine ar
will do much to make the talkies a
to the more discerning adult.
Copyright 1931 by S. A. F. S.