Lost history – Gangster by day, collector by night: Edward G Robinson’s obsession with art

Alongside James Cagney, Edward G Robinson epitomised the prohibition-era gangster. The convincing quirks and ticks Robinson (and Cagney) transmitted to the silver screen from the bustling streets of Chicago and New York lent a fresh verisimilitude to the new realism of 1930s cinema. He pulled the trigger of his six-shot pistol with the confidence of Capone, he cracked wise with fellow film hustlers as easefully as a bona fide “made man” would, but his fictitious demeanour belied his sensitive nature.

Like Cagney, the personality behind the tough persona was quiet, domestic and interested in beauty. He was more likely to be found leafing through a French novel than socking a hostile bootlegger on the jaw. Over his seventy-nine years, Robinson went from Romanian émigré to Hollywood star, and from Hollywood star to renowned art collector. The collection he acquired included monumental pieces of Impressionism and Post-Impressionism by some of the most accomplished artists associated with those movements. His European acquisitions may have singled out his reputation on the Hollywood art circuit, but he also had the historic distinction of being one of the first international collectors of Frida Kahlo’s exuberant body of work.

When Edward G Robinson arrived in New York aged ten, he said he felt like he had been born again. Initially, he wanted to be a criminal attorney but his desire to perform attracted him to the dramatic arts. He was soon awarded a scholarship by a prestigious New York conservatory to study acting. After serving in the navy throughout the First World War, Robinson launched his film career with several successful silent movies. In the early 30s, he gained serious critical acclaim with the advent of sound cinema and its sponsorship by the big studios. His podgy face effortlessly expressed the ubiquitous apathy that loured over the American dream in the 1920s and 30s, and his idiosyncratic register and rough but clear accent made him an instantly quotable character-actor.

Following the Wall Street Crash and the imposition of prohibition, audiences had had enough of big business, law enforcement and government telling them what to do. The anti-heroics of underworld figures suddenly possessed a novel appeal. On this wave of social discontent, Robinson rose to the highest rank of fame in Hollywood. A few years before his iconic portrayal of Enrico “Rico” Bandello in Warner Brother’s classic, Little Caesar (1931), Robinson purchased his first painting – a simple portrait of a cow. It remained in his collection even after he assembled an impressive array of Matisse’s and Cezanne’s. The cheap pastoral was eventually relegated to a back room where Robinson was able to admire the bovine portrait for its sentimental merit without being distracted by vicinal masterpieces. The success of Little Caesar ensured a long and lucrative career for Robinson and the money he made gave him the freedom to amass an original assortment of sumptuous works. Renoir, Toulouse-Lautrec, Gauguin, Van Gogh, Chagall, Boudin, Monet, Picasso, Pissarro, Seurat and Vuillard all featured in his purpose-built gallery that stood adjacent to his Tudor-style mansion.

Once Robinson decided to open his private gallery to the public, every member of the household, from the butler to the baby, were taught how to give thorough tours of his world-class collection. His often-spontaneous approach to procuring paintings might have seemed eccentric or even excessive at times. He once said “to mark suitably the birth of my son, I bought a good-sized Degas of two dancers and a lovely Pissarro – oh, such a lovely Pissarro – and a Monet painting of some willows. The next afternoon, in my heady and nutty joy, I bought still another Pissarro.” One hell of a spending spree.

His accrual of extraordinary art, however, did not stop at established masters. While on holiday in Mexico City with his wife, Gladys, Robinson picked up some pieces from celebrated muralist, Diego Rivera. Rivera led the Hollywood couple to the studio of legendary Frida Kahlo who at that point was still unknown in the United States. Amazed by her mesmerising originality, Robinson bought four paintings from her. “For me,” Frida recalled, “it was such a surprise that I marvelled and said: “This way I am going to be free.”” In the 1950s, Robinson was unfortunately forced to sell much of his collection to settle his divorce with Gladys. For an eye-watering fortune, shipping magnate, Stavros Niarchos, obtained the legendary Robinson collection on the condition that the impoverished actor could buy back his beloved paintings when he could afford to. Assisted by his second wife Jane, he repurchased fourteen compositions and began laying the foundations of his next collection. Some have speculated that losing his art collection incentivised him to keep working until the year of his death in 1973.

Quiet and cultivated in private, Edward G Robinson not only accumulated an incredible hoard of notable canvases, but he also championed contemporary painters who would go on to reach the same acclaim Robinson enjoyed at the start of the 30s. He was an understandably unorthodox figure in the art world. Unlike many other well moneyed film star collectors, Robinson seldom relied on professional advice. When one professional adviser spoke academically about the virtues of a Pissarro, Robinson replied, “I don’t need that talk. Let the painting talk for itself.” He knew what he wanted and could afford his fancy. No thought of financial expedience influenced his choices. He bought for sheer delight. Perhaps he was right when he said, “I have not collected art, art has collected me.”