Motion Picture (Aug 1937-Jan 1938)

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Please send free booklet and 32 sample lesson pages. Name City. . State Age. By Way of Russia [Continued from page 49] in New York, I was speechless. I knew what I couldn't say, but not what I could. 1 finally learned dining room English by the process of leaving out the words I already knew." There was a time when Tamiroff felt he must perfect his English. "Because it was so awful, nobody could understand a word I used to say. So I got an idea of saving money, say four or five thousand dollars, and to go to university and learn the English language. So for this purpose I went to Chicago and joined a night club and saved that money. And I lost it on the stock market. You know why ? I am a great saver, and I was sitting in the dressing-room and everyody made fun of me. They are making money and I am putting mine in the bank. So I was tempted, and I bought stocks and it was in 1929 and — foof ! Then came Ratoff with a play called Candlelight, and he had to go to New York, and he put me in that play to play his part. So I engaged a teacher and tried my best with the English. After the first performance came the manager : 'We are paying you money for your accent, therefore do not do so with your mouth'. So I thought: What for go to university? If they pay me for my broken English, let it be broken." THERE is a curious analogy between the movie careers of the two men. In picture after picture, Auer played freak heavies and attracted little attention. "I knocked down old ladies and stepped on cats, and I was always killed in the second reel. I was so bad that if I stayed for the third, there would have been nobody left to finish the picture. I would have murdered them all." Till Mrs. Eric Hatch suggested to her husband, who was working on My Man Godfrey, that Mischa would be good for Carlos. Hatch relayed the idea to Gregory La Cava, the director, and he snapped it up. "We'll put in the gorilla act," he said, having more than once watched Mischa slay private audiences with that piece of imbecility. "That's for crazy people, not for pictures," Auer protested. "Maybe there are crazy people outside your circle of friends," La Cava soothed him. "If not, we can always cut it out." Thus did Auer, the heavy, crash through in one picture by virtue of his comedy gift. Tamiroff, on the other hand, played comic bits during his period of screen obscurity. When Paramount offered him the part of the General, "I was scared to death to play this part. I thought I am just a regular comedian. 1 could not even suspect that I had menace or power in myself. And I realized, too, with Milestone, that this part was one step from being a burlesque thing. I was walking just on the sharp edge of the knife. Imagine, for ten minutes, a dying scene. One step, and they would have laughed at me." But they didn't laugh. And Tamiroff, the comic, in that subtly sinister portrayal, emerged as a dramatic figure second to none. It is Auer, the funny guy, whose way to this country led through tragedy. His father, a naval officer, was killed in the RussoJapanese war the year Mischa was born. During the revolution, he and his mother were with friends in the country, when word came that their apartment had been sealed. This was tantamount to a death order, for the mother at least. They escaped to the south, where Mischa joined the British Army as a messenger boy, and learned "soldiers' English." His mother, trained in two wars to Red Cross work, busied herself with nursing. Eventually they were evacuated to Constantinople, where the refugees were herded together under such unspeakable living conditions that a typhus epidemic broke out. An emergency hospital was organized, with Mischa's mother as head nurse. She caught the disease and died. SHOCK drove from the mind of the fifteen-year-old boy all recollection of names and places. He knew that his grandfather lived in America, but that was all he knew. Then he remembered that a close friend of his mother's had married an Italian lawyer and gone to live in Florence. If he could find her, she would help him find his grandfather. He sold two rings, taken from his dead mother's hand, and went to Florence. He knew only the maiden name of his mother's friend. But in Florence, as in all European cities, a detailed record is kept of everyone who settles there. A city hall official, with a heart above red-tape, led Mischa up into a medieval tower where once upon a time the books of the Medici were kept. Sure enough, they found the lady's name and then the lady. She welcomed him, cabled his grandfather and, when the time came, saw him off to America. His grandfather was in the country, and sent an assistant to meet him. This story Auer tells with a kind of baleful glee. "The assistant, being a Russian, missed the boat, and I was sent to Ellis Island. So my first impression of America^ the goal of freedom after my odyssey, was iron bars and a half hour's walk every day, under guard of a guy with a gun. It took that dope three days to find me and get me out of hock." He was sent to the Ethical Culture School. At one time his family had musical ambitions for him. "But I played for my grandfather, and he said better skip the whole thing. It was okay with me. Imagine how good a musician I'd have to be. If I didn't play better than Heifetz, which is practically impossible, they'd all yell : Ah, feh !' Anyway, I wanted to be an actor. In his room he rigged up a camera, stuck pounds of putty on his face, and took snaps of himself, making appalling grimaces. He wangled an interview with Dudley Digges, remained unimpressed until Mischa pulled out his snapshots. Then "he died laughing — thought it was so cute, you know," says Auer, leering — and engaged him as an extra for The Wild Duck. He raced home to his family with the news. "Holy mackerel ! I'm in the profession." Eventually a tour with Bertha Kalich, "who taught me damn near everything I know," brought him to Hollywood. A studio executive invited him to return when the tour was over. The day before he went back, the executive was fired. Mischa went looking for extra work, and finally got a job in a Russian picture. He was fired that night because he wasn't the Russian type. And so the grind began. TAMIROFF had smoother sailing. As a Moscow Art actor, the revolution touched him more lightly. "Of course we lost the money, but everyone lost his money. Of course we starved, but everyone starved." He came to America with the company, and decided to stay, because I was young, and another thing — I must confess. I stayed because I fell in love. — Wait a minute," he 74 Accept No Substitutes! 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