Picture Play Magazine (1932)

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35 HOT FEET George Raft's dancing won him success on the stage, but he's now headed for greater success in pictures. H EL-LO, ba-bee ! You look hot!" sings George Raft on meeting a girl friend — By Madeline Class any girl friend. Formerly a dancer and now a sensational screen gangster, George likes hot music, hot dancing, and a hot time generally. I don't know how he manages in a town where having a hot time is synonymous with getting drunk, for George — don't talk back to me ! — does not drink. This revelation was not surprising. Our most sinister movie characters are portrayed by actors who, off-screen, likely as not are addicted to playing the zither or collecting rare lace. You know the saying, "An actor plays best that which he is not." So for all his gory deeds in "Scarface" and "Dancers in the Dark," it was only fitting that George Raft should turn out to be a polite and circumspect young gentleman whose soft voice barely carried above the turmoil of the Paramount restaurant, and who ordered tomato juice, milk, and two medium-boiled eggs. "I'm never hungry," he explained when I offered him some of my creamed chicken. "When I was dancing I had to keep my weight down to one hundred and thirty pounds — I now weigh one hundred and fifty-five — and I got used to going without food. At that time I always ate at midnight, after my dancing was over. Now I'm trying to break myself of the habit of eating so late." George has been touted as a dead ringer for Valentino, and the resemblance is rather striking. He also looks like Robert Armstrong, yet remains entirely individual in manner and personality. His slightly oblique eyes are framed in straight black lashes. He had just come from the set and was as innocent of make-up as a turtle is of whiskers. One instantly perceives a Latin strain — particularly noticeable in his hands — and wonders about his nationality. "Are you an American?" I asked curiously. "Yes. My mother is Italian and my father German." I soon found out, among other things, that George was born on Forty-first Street, New York City, that he has no brothers or sisters, that he has been a newsboy and an electrician's helper, and that his education suffered when financial reverses assailed his father. "I know my English isn't perfect," he observed. Photo by Eicliee Like Valentino, George started his career playing villains. 'Who's is?" I inquired, cal error in his speech. I didn't detect any grammati "When I was fifteen," he continued, "I had to go to work, so I decided to be a prize fighter. I stuck to the ring for two years." "Why did you give it up?" "I wasn't a success at it," said he. "Twenty-five fights and seven knock-outs — look at my ear !" I looked. There is a slight notch in the rim of the left one put there by an opponent. "You're lucky it isn't a cauliflower," I said. "Then what?" "I tried professional baseball, but I wasn't very hot at that. I gave it up — rather it <jave me up — after two seasons.' Through all these shifting scenes and occupations, George was trying to find his proper place in the world. His energy and zest for living are tremen' dous. In the vernacular of the race track, he has a running heart. "Every morning when I wake up," he told me, "I say to myself, 'America, I love you!' — and I thank God for being alive and able to work. "As I'd always been crazy about hot music and hot dancing, I started out as a hoofer, beginning with Churchill's and Rector's." And in that field George's success exceeded all expectations. During the next five years his amazingly fast feet and running heart took him through most of f)|m the night clubs, musical shows, and picture theaters of New York and the Pacific Coast, and sent him to the capitals of Europe. Throughout his career in the States, George was rewarded with thunderous applause, but Old World audiences were not so responsive. True, the Prince of Wales patronized a cafe where he danced and sought out Raft for a few lessons in the strenuous art of performing the Charleston and the Blackbottom, which were then in vogue. The Prince and the hoofer got along nicely and the former gave his teacher a cigarette lighter. But Raft missed the chandelier-shaking applause which he had known at home. "This," said he, thinking over the situation, "isn't so hot. Trick dancing seems to be losing its appeal over here." He may even have added, "America, I love you!" And forthwith he returned to his old Broadway haunts. "I thought about the movies, but I didn't know any one in Hollywood, and I didn't know a thing about acting. So I went on dancing." [Continued on page 66]