Cary Grant will forever be known as one of Hollywood's most seductive and fascinating stars. Even twenty years after his death, Grant still owns the imaginations of film lovers. This week, the Modern Pea Pod celebrates this consummate icon with reviews of five of his classic films, as compiled on Sony's new DVD box set. Day by day, we'll show you some of the best and some of the worst of Grant's canon. So bust out a nicely tailored suit, make yourself a nice drink, and drop some acid. It's time to remember our man Archie Leach.
The Talk of the Town
(Director: George Stevens, 1942)
In a career spanning over thirty years of motion pictures, Cary Grant played a remarkably small variety of roles. His greatest parts - Philadelphia Story, His Girl Friday, North By Northwest - were all essentially variations on a theme: Grant was the cheeky, jovial man with the winning charm and the impeccable suits, usually divorced and almost always with a stiff drink in his hand; not quite an Everyman, but something to which Every Man could aspire in their imaginations. He was, in short, Cary Grant ... and if coming into a Grant movie you didn't know exactly what you were going to see, the general premise still wasn't too hard to guess. That's why George Stevens' Talk of the Town is such a surprising film: in 1942, about the last character audiences would have expected Grant to play is a Communist-sympathizing, working class fugitive from the law. Yet here he is, Mr. C.K. Dexter Haven himself, breaking out of jail, hiding from the authorities and waxing philosophical about the hypocrisies of the American judicial system. And frankly, The Talk of the Town is worth seeing just for that.
Of course, the fact that it also happens to be an intriguing film in its own right doesn't hurt, either. Talk of the Town is easily one of the odder works to come out of mainstream, Production Code Hollywood; it bounces wildly from screwball comedy to po-faced social commentary and back again, sometimes within the space of a single scene. Parts of the film are even surprisingly dark: when Leopold Dilg (Grant) launches his prison escape early on, he brutally throttles a police officer from behind. This scene, and a number of others, are photographed to stunning dramatic effect by cinematographer Ted Tetzlaff, whose inventive, dynamic camera work stands in sharp relief against an otherwise homogenous early-'40s US cinema. It's easy to see why Tetzlaff was nominated for the 1943 Academy Award...and why he went on to work with no less a personage than Alfred Hitchcock for 1946's Notorious.
Article comments
1 - Megan
Oh My God, The Walls ARE MELTING.
2 - Joanie
The odd thing is that The Awful Truth is rarely mentioned as anyone's (except me) favorite Grant movies. I don't understand it. This is one of the first movies to shine the spotlight on Grant's talent and actually broke with the tradition of honoring the censors' rules. There is a scene with Grant, Dunne, and a bed -- and no feet on the floor. (Ooh! The scandal!)
"It isn't until the film's final setpiece that McCarey, Grant and especially Dunne begin to run out of gas: the story and comedy should be coming to a head, with Lucy now vying for a return of Jerry's affections, but it ends up being simply amusing."
I always took this to be a simple part of any emotionally exhausting battle. There comes a point in real life where, all the conniving, all the mental gymnastics, all the chasing, leaves one completely spent. There just isn't enough steam left to keep the engine running full speed down the tracks. Instead of some grand, spectacular, and uproariously hysterical conclusion, the characters have finally realized that there's an inevitability to their situation.
That's another reason I liked this movie so much. It reflected what experience tells me is possible, and likely, to happen.