Everybody Wants to Be Cary Grant (Video Essay)

So, who exactly was Cary Grant? He was the very model of a man, the kind of guy you'd want to be or be with. He was the definition of the phrase tall, dark and handsome, impeccably dressed and almost unfailingly friendly to those around him. That is, until he wasn't. These characteristics formed the basis of Grant's persona. But what really made him who he was was his ability to break out of it from time to time. He was as daft as he was debonair, and it's this willingness to lose a little dignity that made him such an influential actor. I see him in George Clooney, in Hugh Grant, even in Harrison Ford. It's hard to say what masculine roles in cinema and television would be like if Archie Leach hadn't landed on our screens. Grant's persona, after all, was something of a fabrication. Archibald Alec Leach was born in Bristol, England, before becoming a traveling acrobat, eventually working his way to New York theaters and Hollywood soundstages. That's where Cary Grant was born. I was a straight man in vaudeville, which is perhaps the one who can learn the most about timing and comedy. I don't mean this immodestly, what can I say? But as a straight man, you time the laughs for the comic, and those are my early days. For the first stint of his film career, Hollywood didn't really know what to do with him. He was good-looking, sure, but so was Gary Cooper. He had charm to spare, but so did Clark Gable. Grant was relegated to flat supporting roles, playing love interests and friends to the bigger stars of the time, like Mae West. Why don't you come up sometimes, see me? He eventually graduated to leading man status, but even these roles didn't quite make use of his potential. And then this happened. Pauline Kael said it best. Farce completed Cary Grant. By using his vaudeville skills, Grant was able to bring a new comedic flourish to his romantic leading man. He was still as desirable as before, but he could now level his characters through ridicule. Cary Grant was no longer unattainably angelic. He was the everyman, just as capable of falling on his ass as we are. And in some cases, it completely changed how the audience would see his character. In Arsenic and Old Lace, for example, Grant acts out one of his broadest performances as Mortimer Brewster, a newly married man who discovers his sweet old aunts have a basement full of bodies. We get moments like this. And this. And like this. But neither the film's script nor the play it was based on featured any moments of slapstick. That's all Grant. I used to do in vaudeville as an acrobat, where you take the onto your knees and up onto your shoulders. And I showed it to Kate and we did it in the holiday. And then we do a rollover from that position. She did it. Just trusted me. Incredible girl. That's not to say that slapstick wasn't prominent on screen. Laurel and Hardy and the Three Stooges were reaching the peak of their popularity around the same time. But whereas those were funny men playing funny characters, Grant was a funny man playing the normal character. By using his influences like Harry Langdon and Harold Lloyd, he was able to distinguish his performances in a way that was visually different from the other romantic leading men of the time. It also developed his star persona. In the 30s and 40s, actors were often typecast as themselves, or at least as their persona. Bogart was the tough guy. Jimmy Stewart was the aw shucks nice guy. Even other comedic actors like Bob Hope and Jack Benny were largely known for playing ladies men and cunning cheapskates. What each of these men had in common, however, was that they were almost always the dominant character within their films. Now take a look at Grant. Johnny, what's the matter with you? Oh, well, I just hate the thought of sitting down with another man and being practical about you. Angel. Look, darling, it's got to be done now. From Grant's body language and speech, it's clear that Doris Nolan has the power in this relationship. Grant is almost reduced to a childlike state. As much as the prat falls and slapstick, this became a key component in the Cary Grant persona. Oh, well, that's a masterpiece of understatement. In other words, let the female characters have the power. In Bringing a Baby, Grant plays a respectable paleontologist who struggles to assert himself against not one, but two of his female co-stars. The cold, motherly Virginia Walker. Our marriage must entail no domestic entanglements of any kind. You mean, you mean... I mean of any kind, David. And the free-spirited Catherine Hepburn. I don't believe you, Susan. But you have to believe me. I've been a victim of your unbridled imagination once more. Is that all the way you're talking about? As with many screwball comedies of the time, innuendo supplies much of the sexual content. What's his name? It's, um... Bone. My intercostal clavicle. Well, one bone or two bones is a ridiculous name. But there's a subtler side to the sexual politics on display here. It's not enough for Grant to have his dominance reduced. He has to be entirely emasculated. Only then is he able to realize his dominant masculine potential. This functions as the central paradox to the Grant persona. There maybe hasn't been a better paradigm of masculinity while also being its antithesis as well. Excuse me, madam. Are you referring to me? We've already touched upon the idea of the star persona they were difficult to shift out of once they'd been applied. Jimmy Stewart became James Stewart once he started doing westerns, but his warm image was hard to shake. Say John Wayne's name and you're not thinking about the many war movies he made. You're picturing him in a 10-gallon hat and spurs. How did Grant avoid this trap? It's all in his performance style. As his career progressed, Grant moved away from screwball comedies and into the thriller genre. Quite the change. Or was it? The setup for a thriller usually lies in taking a character and placing them in an escalating situation that they have no real control over. That's also the setup for comedy. Both genres use suspense, albeit for different outcomes. One gets a gasp while the other gets a laugh. Grant's work in comedy made him an excellent fit for thrillers because of the way he presented himself on screen. He was a master of swinging his performance from low energy Oh, good evening, madam. to high energy. Now listen, you ten-cent glamour girl, you can't keep butch away from his duty. And this allowed him to convey moments of emotional eruption through physical restraint. Whatever the genre, the audience's tension lies in seeing what Grant will do next. That's possible. And how he will react. That's quite possible. But even on a film as gripping as North by Northwest, made in the latter half of his career, Grant's masculinity is challenged for comedic value. Even at the age of 55, he's still childlike and dominated by a maternal presence. No, no, mother, I have not been drinking. A trait that his own character mocks in His Girl Friday. Oh, you're going to live with your mother? Well, just for the first year. Oh, well, that will be nice. Yes, yes. A home with mother. Just as Grant was able to diminish the dignity of his younger romantic leads, he again works in a role that allows him to subvert the idea of what a male lead should be. Cool, independent, and in control. Carrying on from the silent traditions of his influences, Grant was the master of reaction. Every arched eyebrow, bulging eyeball, and double take perfectly timed for each moment. Big reactions get big laughs. But he was equally adept with an understated reaction. Even when others are getting the better of him, his characters are never unintelligent. And through his silent smirking in that trademark side-eye, we get the feeling that he's always thinking about the situation at hand. It's perhaps here that Grant's days as a straight man in Vaudeville show most of all. He knows how to use silence to push the gag even further. Now the world's changing out there. There's a lot of new, exciting ideas running around. They want to know how I stand, where I fit into the picture, what it's all going to mean to me. When we consider the modern romantic leading man, it's hard not to see Grant's influence. Those are big shoes to fill, but there have been some over the years who have been up to the task, albeit in slightly different ways. After all, chief among them is George Clooney. Perhaps more than anyone in Hollywood, Clooney is the contemporary equivalent of Grant. With his smooth style and heartthrob status, Clooney appears as a natural extension of the Grant persona. And just like his predecessor, the man can do comedy. No one knows this better than the Coen brothers. The Coens specialize in dealing with characters at the mercy of their plots, and quite often, the people they encounter. As adept as he is at playing slick characters, Clooney is never better than when he's falling prey to the situations the Coens drop him into, and the influence Cary Grant has had on Clooney's performances and their direction is clear to see. As with Grant, Clooney lets his star persona be subverted, allowing him to betray his straightforward masculinity for more than just comic effect. By making themselves the butt of the joke, these performers add fallibility to their characters, giving the audience someone to connect with and root for. We're not perfect, and neither are they. Their world is just a little more madcap than ours. It's the kind of imperfection that Harrison Ford used to make Indiana Jones more than just a plain action hero. Indy usually gets the girl, sure, but he doesn't get everything right along the way. He misses his shots, gets knocked down, he even gets as frustrated with the girl as he does the villains. This scene from Temple of Doom is straight out of The Awful Truth, by the way, and he's all the better a character for these flaws. Ryan Gosling may charm the hell out of Emma Stone and audiences worldwide, but he also does things like this, and right there with him and Cary Grant on the floor is Leonardo DiCaprio in The Wolf of Wall Street, happily pouring his sexually charged image down the drain. Even Jackie Chan seemed to learn a thing or two from Grant, always making sure his acrobatic martial arts heroes were far from flawless. This subversion in turn becomes its own kind of persona. More than sharing just a last name, Hugh Grant's work in romantic comedies also progresses Cary's brand of on-screen masculinity. The characters that popularized Hugh Grant similarly established him as an ideal romantic lead. Charming, intelligent, and handsome. But rather than leveling his characters with physical comedy, Grant the Younger uses the performance of his dialogue to ground them in imperfection. Cary Grant was a whiz with his lines, anyone working in the 100 mile per hour world of screwball comedies would have to be, but with his stuttering and over-explaining, Hugh Grant makes this trait all his own. With his dandy qualities, he's perhaps a little less traditionally masculine than Clooney, but that's okay, because Cary Grant made it okay. He could play hard-nosed if he had to, but there are always subtle hints of a softer side, be it in something as small as a gesture or even a walk. Because that's who Cary Grant was. Or at least, that's who he wanted you to think he was. He was the perfect man because he was designed to be. Maybe because Grant himself never truly felt like that person. It allowed him to be something even more than perfect, which allowed others to do the same. So remember, if your leading man is charming one moment, and lying flat on his face the next, it's because of Cary Grant.