How Archibald Leach became Cary Grant | Little White Lies

How Archibald Leach became Cary Grant

28 May 2016

Two men in a black-and-white photograph, one looking into a mirror.
Two men in a black-and-white photograph, one looking into a mirror.
From find­ing his feat as tour­ing acro­bat to earn­ing Hol­ly­wood lead­ing man sta­tus, the sto­ry of this endur­ing icon is full of intrigue.

The per­sona of Cary Grant’ was grad­u­al­ly cul­ti­vat­ed dur­ing his time in Hol­ly­wood, and reached its peak in the late 50s and ear­ly 60s when his box office clout was at its most potent. Films like North by North­west and Cha­rade were big hits that show­cased his tal­ents, for remain­ing smooth and unruf­fled despite every­thing that direc­tor Alfred Hitch­cock throws at him in the for­mer, and for rep­re­sent­ing the epit­o­me of old-fash­ioned chic along­side Audrey Hep­burn in the lat­ter. These two films are arguably his most recog­nis­able roles, and solid­i­fy what springs to mind when we think of Cary Grant.

Before Cary Grant was born into cre­ation, how­ev­er, Archibald Leach was just a nor­mal young man from Bris­tol, Eng­land with a mod­est back­ground. It may come as a sur­prise for those most famil­iar with late-peri­od Grant, who donned a suit like no one else in North by North­west and Cha­rade, to learn that he first earned his break as a per­former in a tour­ing troupe as an acro­bat. The man who would become famed for urbane sophis­ti­ca­tion spent his ear­ly adult years rid­ing uni­cy­cles, jug­gling and walk­ing tightropes on the com­par­a­tive­ly undig­ni­fied, glee­ful­ly low-brow vaude­ville cir­cuit – not exact­ly a famil­iar career path for a Hol­ly­wood icon.

In between his grey-haired lat­er roles and begin­nings in Vaude­ville, Grant first became a star in Hol­ly­wood thanks to his roles as a com­ic lead­ing man in screw­ball come­dies. This par­tic­u­lar genre was a per­fect plat­form for Grant to mar­ry his par­tic­u­lar set of tal­ents. Actors famed for their good looks like Car­ole Lom­bard, William Pow­ell and Claudette Col­bert would star in them as beau­ti­ful roman­tic leads, yet were also hap­py to hum­ble them­selves in the name of com­e­dy – and no-one was as good-look­ing, nor as skilled at com­e­dy, as Grant.

Though these roles did not call upon him to lit­er­al­ly re-enact the skills he honed work­ing in vaude­ville (with the notable excep­tion of Hol­i­day, in which we’re treat­ed to him per­form­ing front flips, back flips, and a rou­tine with co-star Katharine Hep­burn, as a means of con­trast­ing his char­ac­ters’ vivac­i­ty with his wife-to-be’s stuffy fam­i­ly), they did allow him to show­case his phys­i­cal com­ic tal­ents. In The Awful Truth, a com­e­dy of remar­riage in which Grant and co-star Irene Dunne scheme to sab­o­tage the other’s roman­tic pur­suits, he dis­plays a remark­able pro­fi­cien­cy for falling over, at one point even con­spir­ing to fall off and break a chair – a scene made all the more hilar­i­ous for the refined suit he is wearing.

In addi­tion to his tal­ent for prat­falls, it is Grant’s will­ing­ness to mock him­self that helps make him such an endear­ing per­former. In Arsenic and Old Lace, he whelps, gurns and stag­gers his way through a wacky sto­ry of benev­o­lent­ly mur­der­ous aunts, hid­den corpses and a psy­chot­ic Boris Karloff looka­like, with the gus­to of a man will­ing to do any­thing for a laugh. If that film was a lit­tle too goofy, Grant per­fects his craft in the peer­less Bring­ing Up Baby. Play­ing an esteemed but unassertive palaeon­tol­o­gist pro­fes­sor whose immi­nent wed­ding is threat­ened when Katharine Hep­burn deter­mines to have him for her­self, Grant shows a deliri­ous lack of van­i­ty from the stiff walk and plead­ing voice he puts on to the dorky glass­es and, at one point, women’s night dress he adorns, and acts hilar­i­ous­ly dumb­found­ed as a scat­ter-brained Hep­burn runs rings around him.

As Grant got old­er, his appear­ances in com­e­dy became spars­er as he moved more towards the mature lead­ing man – although he was still spright­ly enough in 1952’s Mon­key Busi­ness to play a role that required him to act like a child after his char­ac­ter acci­den­tal­ly con­sumes an elixir of youth. But even in North by North­west, by which time he was well into his 50s, Grant still dis­plays the agili­ty of his youth – the famous scene of the crop duster attack­ing him could in anoth­er con­text play out as a com­e­dy, thanks to his trade­mark jerky move­ments and exas­per­at­ed facial expressions.

A new doc­u­men­tary titled Becom­ing Cary Grant looks to answer the ques­tion of who exact­ly Archibald Leach was, but we may nev­er tru­ly know. But for all this, his self-dep­re­cat­ing com­ic style is key to under­stand­ing the endur­ing appeal of this enig­mat­ic Hol­ly­wood icon.

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