Hollywood (Jan - Mar 1943)

What makes Martin Kosleck one of Hollywood's authentic geniuses is his amazing four-way talent — acting, painting, designing, dancing. He's in Chetnik by JACK DALLAS H In Hollywood where everyone earning $1,000 weekly or better describes himself as a genius, Martin Kosleck, who shudders at the mere mention of the word, is probably the single authentic genius there. Hardly one of the seven arts eludes him. He paints well, dances brilliantly, designs and executes sets effectively, and writes (in three languages) skillfully enough to be included in a half a dozen anthologies. And his acting is so vivid that he was forced to go into hiding after etching so unforgettable a screen portrait of Joseph Goebbels in Confessions of a Nazi Spy that the Nazis bent every effort to discover his identity and whereabouts. Acting was his ambition from the very first, but curiously enough, it was the movies that held out. on him the longest. And, even more curiously, it was his talent for painting that eventually paved the way for his sortie into pictures. In 1932, with the menace of Hitlerism spreading its dark shadow over his native Pomerania where his Russian-born father had been State Commissioner of Forests, Martin came to America, where he went directly to Hollywood to launch his picture career. He arrived in the film capital full of high hopes. Had he not, at the tender age of 17, appeared on the German stage with Dietrich? Had he not done Shakespeare with Elizabeth Bergner? And had he not trouped with Albert Basserman under the aegis of the then-titan of the European theater, Max Reinhardt? It took him something like six months 64 to discover that his incredible background did him not a jot of good. Studio heads turned a deaf ear, agents quit trying to place him. His hopes momentarily dashed, he spent the next two years roaming up and down the California coast — mingling with the paisano fishermen, hobnobbing with Italian grape-growers, camping with Anglo-Saxon cowhands, and learning from all of them. He came back to Hollywood, tried the studios once more and was again rejected. As an artistic outlet, he opened a small studio, began painting like a man possessed, and completed enough work of merit in six months to be honored with a one-man exhibit at the Los Angeles Museum. The show was a sensation. Among its visitors was Gilmore Brown who was so impressed by the artist's sensitive interpretations that he looked him up and, without a word of inquiry about acting experience, offered him the difficult stage role of the priest in Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamzov. Martin turned in a magnificent performance. Nothing came of his triumph. True, he did get a half dozen calls from studios but they were from their foreign departments offering him part-time work translating English dialogue into German. He hung around Hollywood until the German picture market vanished, and then, chagrined but still hopeful, he headed for New York and the stage. Broadway was more hospitable than Hollywood. Martin landed a part in a play starring Walter Huston and was showered with praise. By now something of a name. he was offered the role of Shakespeare's most immortal clown, Launcelot Gobbo in a moderndress version of The Merchant of Venice. When the producer couldn't decide on a set designer he asked Kosleck for a suggestion. Kosleck recommended Kosleck. The Merchant of Venice was a collossal Kosleck field-day. When the play closed, he was invited by one of the largest Manhattan galleries to hold a one-man exhibit of his paintings. The show, attracted the notice of critics and collectors, one of whom was Director Anatole Litvak; another was Barbara O'Neill who had played with Kosleck in his first New York production. Barbara dragged Litvak over to meet the artist. Litvak at that time was scouting frantically about New York trying to find the right actors for his forthcoming production, Confessions of a Nazi Spy. He took one look at Kosleck and exclaimed, "Good Lord! This is Joseph Goebbels in the flesh! Does he act?" This question was definitely answered on the day Confessions of a Nazi Spy was released. So horrifying was Kosleck's portrayal of the Reichminister of Propaganda, that the Nazis protested to the State department about the unknown actor who had impersonated the warped little liemonger. During the furore, .Kosleck hid behind an alias. "I am a Russian and my name is Nicolai Yoshkin," he announced, and laid low until he managed to smuggle his mother out of Germany. Then he renounced Nicolai Yoshkin and became, once more, Martin Kosleck. Confessions of a Nazi Spy made Martin Kosleck, but almost too well. He became typed as the personification of Nazi inhumanity and evil. In Underground, he played the head of the Gestapo. In Foreign Correspondent he was a Nazi agent. In International Lady he portrayed a Nazi spy. After that he resigned himself to the inevitable. Thirty-five, unmarried, of medium height, and slender, Hollywood's authentic genius leads one of the most active between^picture lives of anyone in the industry. His latest picture over, he packs himself and his painting paraphernalia off to the desert, the mountains, or the fishing coves for a session of outdoor sketching. When he's in town, he gets friends to pose for him. An inveterate first-nighter, he is a fixture at concerts, symphonies, operas, and, above all, the ballet, for which he has a secret and frustrated passion. For a while, there was talk of producing a film based on the life of Nijinsky with Kosleck as the dancing star, but the project was finally shelved (temporarily, he hopes) when Nijinsky forbade the production of the film during his natural life. An American citizen for five years, Martin is active in all the European refugee movements, and gives lavishly of his money and unstintingly of his time. He doesn't even mind being typed as a professional Nazi. "Perhaps I can help teach the world to hate them," he says with quiet humor, "although I suspect the Nazis are doing a much better job of that than I ever could!" I .