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It's unfair, really. Cary Grant is 80 years old.
With distinguished white hair. With that velvety smooth voice, that
touch of accent, that oh, so easy manner. He is still
impossibly charming -- without the slightest effort.
Sunday night, Grant sat in a big easy chair on
stage at the Knight Center and ad-libbed answers to fans' questions.
To a woman in a halter top: "By the way,
that's a lovely dress you either have off or on."
To Bill Jackson of North Miami, who wanted to
know how they made Grant disappear in Topper: "I really don't
know, come to think of it. It wasn't a moment too soon. I don't
know, I'd like to look into it. . . . No, I wouldn't like to look
into it. It bores me."
To a 60-year-old man who wanted to know the
secret to making it to 80: "You keep breathing, in and
out."
Cary Grant is most definitely still Cary Grant.
The former Archibald Leach has steadfastly refused to succumb to the
modern concept of fast-food celebrity. He doesn't do Carson, doesn't
do any TV, doesn't even do film festivals.
What he does do is set aside three or four
weekends a year to travel to a few far-flung auditoriums and sit
himself down before a few hundred adoring fans.
No speech, no acting. Just a short film -- Cary
Grant kissing all sorts of lucky ladies, Cary Grant being slapped by
same, Cary Grant looking that cute confused look, Cary Grant being
Cary Grant, star of 72 flicks. Then a couple of hours of questions.
The formula works, though the Miami appearance
drew a disappointingly small crowd. Perhaps 600 were on hand in a
hall that seats 4,000. The University of Miami Music School, which
was to benefit from this show, will only break even -- if that,
organizers said. Even a last minute drop in ticket prices, from $20
and $25 to $5 and $10, didn't help much.
But those who came were hard-core. Among the
mostly middle- aged crowd, dressed as if they were off to Cary's for
cocktails, were folks like Aileen and Bill Jackson.
"I don't know how he does it," Mrs.
Jackson said. "He's just the epitome of sophistication."
"And he seems like a regular guy at the
same time," piped in Mr. Jackson, a retired pipe welder.
Teri Armengol, a 23-year-old engineer, dragged
her date, Otto Anderhub, to see her screen idol. They sat in the
front row.
"I don't know anything about him,"
Anderhub said. "She likes him because he's British."
"He's been complaining ever since we got
here," Armengol said. "I do like his accent."
Grant fielded every manner of question. Anne
Brockus wanted to know what the star eats for dinner. ("I'm so
nervous, it's like my first date," she said before the show.)
Danielle Camner, who came to the show in celebration of her 15th
birthday, wanted to know if Grant liked making Bringing Up Baby.
"When did you see Bringing Up Baby?"
Grant said rather sharply.
"Two years ago."
"You are staying up too late," he
admonished the girl. Clutching her Cary Grant picture book, she
wasn't the least bit chastened. No, just charmed for life.
For trivia nuts, there were juicy tidbits: He
never said "Judy, Judy, Judy" in a movie ("Nobody can
track down where the devil that came from"), he got the name
Cary from a character he played in a Broadway show in the 1920s and
he has fond memories of his experiments with LSD. ("It opened
up inspiration, revelation, new ribbons of knowledge.")
For show-biz fanatics, there were memories:
Grace Kelly was the finest actress he ever worked with. ("She
made it all look so simple, the way Sinatra sang, the way Johnny
Weissmuller swam . . ., swum? . . . swimmed? Oh, I don't
know.") Marilyn Monroe was a shy child. ("She was so tired
of being whistled at. I can understand the way she left us.")
And for the few who dared to ask, there were
personal touches never to be forgotten.
To replace a phony signature sent to her as a
child, Rita Marcus got a real Grant autograph on a 1936 publicity
photo.
And Ronna Weinbren, 32, fulfilled her
22-year-old fantasy: She gave Cary Grant an invitation to her
wedding. Grant wasn't certain he'd be able to make the North Bay
Village affair.
A fan wanted to know if the real Cary Grant is
the same debonair fellow seen on screen.
"Whatever you think I am, I am," Grant
replied in a suddenly subdued tone. "It's a facade, an aura. I
don't know that I'm proud of that."
The fan tried to lift the star's spirits:
"Well, I think you're terrific."
The questioner had forgotten with whom he was
dealing. Grant smiled a bashful, boyish smile: "I did that so
you'd say that."
Gotcha. It's just unfair, really.
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