To Catch a Movie Star

I'll admit he's not the most original object for my daydreams. But I can't help it-every time I walk into a video store, I head straight past the new releases, the horror movies and the comedy.

Forget Mel Gibson, forget Tom Cruise, forget the popcorn-just give me Cary Grant.

I'll admit it; I'm old-fashioned. I like the moonlight. I like the old-fashioned ways... And Cary Grant is an old-fashioned kind of guy.

He opens doors doe Katharine Hepburn; he dances check-to-check with Irene Dunne; he speaks in that relaxed yet pretentious British accent whether he's riding a horse or running a newspaper.

In an age when treating a woman well sometimes means taking her to Taco Bell instead of McDonald's, such finesse is refreshing.

Watching one of his society films like "The Awful Truth" or "Topper" lets me pretend that Chivalry isn't dead, even though i have to forget that the movie is more than 50 years old and its social commentary is obsolete.

Even in those days, only Cary Grant's presence could convince viewers that nobility was not tarnished. Other actors just did not cut it. As Rudy Vallee says to Claudette Colbert in "The Palm Beach Story," "Chivalry isn't dead; it's just decomposed.

Along with Grant's chivalry comes his unflappable cool. Even when he becomes a little ruffled, he doesn't show it, or he lets us know he's in control of the situation with a wink and a nod and a calm "well, old chap, I guess that's how it goes." So much for today's ideal of the sensitive '90s man who shows his feelings, but that doesn't bother me. In real life, that may be nice, but in day dreams, who needs it? He's manly but not overbearing macho but not sexist.

My love affair with Cary Grant began in the summer of '92, when I attended a summer college program and took a class on comedy that listed "Bringing Up Baby" on its syllabus.

It's not exactly a typical Grant movie. He plays not his usual-an urbane husband-but a nerdy professor who tries to keep up with an airheaded socialite and her pet leopard.

Only Grant could walk down a street with a leopard following him and Katharine Hepburn yelling out the window in a high-pitched voice, "There's a leopard following you!" and handle the situation with aplomb. You just don't see too many men like that walking the streets these days. You don't see too many leopards either, but that's another point entirely.

While at Cornell, I watched three more Grant movies, and since then I've seen at least ten more-most of them his screwball comedies, some of them more than once. I comb the TV listings for his movies on AMC and once stayed up until 3 a.m. the morning before a chemistry test to watch "Bringing Up Baby" yet again.

What brings me back? Certainly, his never-ceasing charm is a large factor, but more than anything else it's the women he's involved with.

Take a glance at some of his female co-stars: the feisty newspaper woman Rosalind Russell in "His Girl Friday," the indignant Irene Dunne in "The Awful Truth," the noble Katharine Hepburn in "Holiday."

Considering that in the 1930s and early '40s, women were certainly not on an equal par with men in jobs or societal standing, the women he played against were remarkably aggressive and witty. They would be considered so even by today's standards.

For instance, in "His Girl Friday," when Rosalind Russell walks into her ex-husband's (Grant's) newspaper office where she once worked as his star reporter, Grant says to her, "There's been a lamp burning in the window for you, honey."

Russell tosses back, "Oh, I jumped out of that window a long time ago, honey."

The dialogue itself is well-written, but it is Grant's sheer confidence combined with Russell's feigned indifference that makes the exchange electric. One need look no further for an example of how a woman can stand up to a man and have fun doing it.

Grant's women also create sexual tension without ever touching him. Forget Sharon Stone's explicitly demonstrated sexual prowess in "Basic Instinct." The women Cary Grant pursues in the movies exude sex appeal-in their body language, or the way they wear their hats--often without even giving him a kiss.

Even in real life, the man sounded witty and suave. According to "Halliwell's Filmgoer's and video Viewer's Companion," "When a journalist wired his agent, 'How old Cary Grant?', Grant himself replied: 'Old Cary Grant fine. How you?'"

Actors just don't write telegrams like that anymore. All right, so most people today don't write telegrams-they e-mail--but if they did write telegrams, would they contain such wit? I don't think so.

But the movie that above all epitomizes the debonair, smooth Cary Grant I love is the whirlwind social comedy "The Philadelphia Story."

There he is, complete with a properly resonant name (C. K. Dexter Haven), a proud ex-wife (Katharine Hepburn), her bumbling husband-to-be (Ralph Bellamy, the man who always gets the unfortunate role of playing bumbling men who lose the woman to Cary Grant), and a nosy newspaper reporter covering the wedding (Jimmy Stewart).

If Grant Stewart and Hepburn simply stood on the set together and said nothing, the combination would stop traffic. As it is, the dialogue is impeccable and the performances brilliant.

It's obvious from the moment Grant returns to Hepburn's house that the two are destined to get back together. When he calls her "Red," I can almost see the color of her hair, even in black and white. When he tells her that Ralph Bellamy does not have her spark, I want to climb into the movie and tell Hepburn that she doesn't realize what she's missing.

Of course, it's all far removed from life, but Hepburn's struggle to be a feeling woman instead of an unemotional "goddess" still resonates with me every time.

I've seen "The Philadelphia Story" three times since that summer at Cornell. Most memorable, however, was sitting in the front row of the Brattle Street Theatre and watching all three actors on the big screen-as they were meant to be seen.

Since then, I've added one more criterion to my list of desirable attributes in the men I date: it helps if they have seen "The Philadelphia Story," preferably more than once, and loved it. It's not that easy to find these days, but when I do, I know things could get serious.

If worst comes to worst, however and none of my friends have seen "The Philadelphia Story" or understand my devotion in general, there's always a last resort.

I'll go to the video store, rent a Grant movie, buy a few dozen Hershey bars to go with it and daydream. Hey, it worked for Katharine Hepburn...