On the surface, they couldn't have been more different. One was suave and debonair; an actor whose name became synonymous with grace and elegance. The other was stout and discombobulated, saddled with a partner and best friend who, in spite of their unbreakable friendship, did nothing but aggravate him. At a closer look, though, these two men had a lot more in common than one might think.
We speak today of Cary Grant and Oliver Hardy, both born on January 18 (though twelve years apart) -- two men, it would seem, with nothing in common. Grant's classic good looks and acting ability swiftly marked him as a leading man unmatched in romantic comedies and sophisticated thrillers. "Babe" Hardy’s general oafishness and size (usually around 300 pounds) led to his career path, playing heavies and assorted moronic layabouts.
Looking at their on-screen work, similarities begin to emerge. Both were gifted physical comedians: Grant had begun his career in British music halls, working as an acrobat and stilt-walker, and Hardy had a knack for pratfalls and other physical shtick. Both were invariably elegant; Grant may have looked better in a suit, but Hardy's natural savoir faire and Southern gentility were always in evidence. And in spite of their ultimate successes, each needed time to find his screen persona. Grant admitted that it took him years of pretending to be Cary Grant to finally become what everyone thought he was (and even then, he underwent years of therapy -- including the psychiatric use of LSD -- to try to discover himself). It took Hardy thirteen years and nearly 300 films before he finally teamed with Stan Laurel and discovered his screen persona as "Oliver Norvell Hardy" (his real name), the perennially hen-pecked husband who wanted nothing more than peace and quiet.
Off-screen, the men were indeed different. Grant was one of the first major Hollywood actors to work without a studio contract, so he was able to keep control over his career. He was also an inveterate ladies' man, being married five times and having numerous affairs with his co-stars. Hardy was less ambitious (though he was married three times), preferring to play golf or attend the races, and content to let Laurel devise gags and plots for their films. Grant retired from the screen in 1966, feeling too old to play the leads in romantic comedies and wanting to be close to his daughter, Jennifer. Hardy, on the other hand, worked almost to the end of his life. He was planning a television series with Laurel when he suffered the first in a series of heart attacks and strokes from which he never recovered, despite losing around 150 pounds.
Considering the studio system of the 1930s and '40s, it's not surprising the two men never worked together. Hardy was mostly under contract to Hal Roach (though he did make a picture with John Wayne) and Grant worked for Roach only once (1937's "Topper"). But the thought of the two of them on the same screen -- the smooth-talking sophisticate and the exasperated entrepreneur -- could have been delicious: "I'm Mr. Hardy, and this is my good friend, Mr. Leach."
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