44 February 15th, 1947
This article is not available from the National Library of Israel. The article was obtained from the New York Public Library’s microfiche archives.
Ludwig Satz could have become a Mogulesko. How “starism” ran wild after Aaron Lebedeff’s success in Liovke Molodietz.
In those days, there was a new up-and-coming big star on the Yiddish stage: Ludwig Satz. Even in small roles, his acting was such a hit that everyone everywhere was talking about him, and it was said that he could end up being a second Mogulesko. Personally, I had no doubt that Satz possessed all the qualities to become a second Mogulesko. In my opinion, he was one of the greatest artists we had during the years he played on the Yiddish stage. Just like Mogulesko, he brought a world of charm with him on the stage, and he had an exceptional sense of rhythm. He had the talent of no less than ten actors combined, and that still wouldn’t be enough. But the trouble with him was that he didn’t know how to look after his talent, and he squandered his chances himself.
It also didn’t help that Satz became a “star” and started to get paid such huge salaries that he had to carry the entire theater on his shoulders wherever he played. This, I believe, led him astray, and because of this he could never become a Mogulesko.
Just when people in the theater world began talking about Satz becoming a big star, Yosl Edelstein quickly scooped him up to play in his Second Avenue Theater, just as he always did when he sensed a new rising star. Around the same time, Edelstein also engaged the talented actor Samuel Goldenburg, and as it usually went, the two stars couldn’t share the spotlight - when one appeared in a performance, the other would not play. Such a thing would not have happened in a theater whose troupe had both, let’s say, Mogulesko and someone like Adler or Kessler.
Generally speaking, this new “starism” wasn’t good for the Yiddish theater1. Instead, it was very harmful to those years of prosperity in the Yiddish theater in America. Once the “stars” started getting paid hundreds of dollars every week and were so pampered that they got everything they wanted, the theater could no longer be what it once was. The situation really got out of control after Aaron Lebedeff arrived on the scene in 1920 with his piece Liovke Molodietz. When Lebedeff first arrived to America, nobody knew who he was. The Jewish community in America had never even heard his name before. But after his first appearance in Thomashefsky’s National Theater, he immediately sent ripples throughout the entire Yiddish theater world. He became famous overnight. He was so successful with his performance in Liovke Molodietz that Thomashefsky gave the entire theater over to him and told him that he do whatever he wanted and put on any piece that he chose.
In those days, I wasn’t in New York; instead I was playing in Anshel Schorr’s Arch Street Theater in Philadelphia2. When I heard what a splash the new actor Aaron Lebedeff made in his play Liovke Molodietz, I asked Anshel Schorr if he’d let me take an evening off to go to New York to see Lebedeff perform. I was so moved when I saw him on stage for the first time in the role of Liovke Molodietz, and I felt I had to go see him in his dressing room and express my gratitude. And I’d like to say here, that not only was his acting excellent, but all the other actors in the play also had good roles and were excellent in them too.
Lebedeff’s unprecedented huge success in Liovke Molodietz made the other Yiddish theater “stars” so nervous that they started leveraging their privilege to land roles in plays that revolved all around them. If the “star” was a dramatic actor, then he would see to it that the entire drama was focused on him and the other actors would only be given given small roles, or they would only appear in scenes that weren’t part of the main story line. That’s how the “stars” wanted it, so that’s how had to be. There was no other choice but to appease them. And if the “star” was a comedian, then just like the tragedian, he saw to it that everything in the play revolved around him - he had to tell the best jokes, have all the best lines, sing all the good songs. He would even cut out parts of the play so that no other actor would be the center of attention.
They chased after plays that were written especially for them. Audiences were no longer interested in plays for their content, but rather for the “stars” appearing in them. The most important thing was that the “star” had a big role in the play, while others the troupe only served to support and create opportunities for him to stand out and shine…
That’s how it became, and as the momentum grow more and more, it was impossible to stop it. Whether they liked it or not, actors who were not “stars” had no real say in which theater they played, or in what kind of plays they appeared in. The actors in the troupe already knew that, no matter what kind of play they appeared in, they would never be more than a “middle player,” because everything had to be structured so that only the “star” stood out.
Lebedeff himself was certainly not to blame for what came of his great success in Liovke Molodietz and the direction it set the other Yiddish “stars” in. Even in the operettas and comedies that he performed after Liovke Molodietz, there were of course roles for other actors too. But nonetheless, after Liovke Molodietz, “starism” on the Yiddish stage in America got so out of control that no good could come out of it. The actors who weren’t “stars” but were still very good actors became very bitter, and rarely did they have the opportunity to create a rich character on the stage.
True, there were exceptions, but as always, the exceptions proved the rule even more. And believe me, this is something worthwhile for those who truly love the Yiddish theater to think seriously about.
In 1928, Sam in fact wrote an op-ed (see translation here) about his feelings on the decline of the Yiddish theater due, in part, to “starism”.↩︎
This article from February 20th, 1920, titled “Goodbye, Sam Kestin” announces that Sam will be leaving New York at the end of the 1919/1920 season to join Anshel Schorr’s Arch Street Theater in Philadelphia.↩︎