Huh.

I'm deep in the throes of a term paper on Cary Grant's roles in the four Hitchcock films--which is a fascinating subject, btw.

But here's the thing that dumbfounds me: Over and over, Grant makes films that are beloved by modern audiences--"Holiday" and "Bringing Up Baby" leap to mind--that were flops in their day. I don't get it. And here's another odd thing: two of the definitive roles ("The Awful Truth" and "Arsenic and Old Lace") that fans most embrace? Are in two movies that he hated making, with directors who, he thought, didn't get him.

Then, weirdly, years later, Grant makes "An Affair to Remember," with the "Awful Truth" director Leo McCarey. He seems to have enjoyed making the film--but the end result is dreadful. Someone should have forbidden McCarey to put any more adorably imps on film. (shudder.)

Last thing: I don't even care about Grant's sexuality at this point, but why is it so hard to get a straight (ha ha) answer from anyone? One book insists Grant was having an affair with his roommate Randolph Scott. Another doesn't even mention that the two lived together for years. (In Santa Monica! Woot!) Still another snorts derisively at the very idea (honestly!) that Grant was less than a red-blooded het. It's not that some books are trashier than others--it's that some trade in a perceived conventional wisdom, and others exist in a universe where that conventional wisdom has never seen the light of day. It's bewildering.