A Shameful Confession
I actually find Hugh Grant hilarious.
I couldn’t tell you why, to be perfectly honest. His movies are almost to a film that sort of treacly chick-flick brain rot I avoid like the cinematic version of not touching a public toilet seat. Even Hugh himself has admitted that he tends to make the same sort of film over and over (saccharine romantic comedies) and play the same sort of character over and over again (bumbly, charming fop). Given that I hate those types of films, there’s no reason at all to like Hugh Grant. By all rights, he should be like a British version of John Cusack.
Still: I find him hilarious. Every time I catch him on an interview on a talk show, he always says at least one thing that has me howling. His delivery is impeccable. Sad as it is to admit about a man who’s starred in such film spoor, he’s actually… well, a pretty good comedian.
He’s probably not the only comedian who you’re quite certain is hilarious even though his films never seem to be. I think Norm Macdonald is a perfect example of a guy who I’d lay money down as one of the funniest guys alive—yet if I had to back this conviction up for future generations, the only movies I’d have as evidence would be Dirty Work and Screwed. Jon Stewart, based on his stand-up and Daily Show hosting duties, is also just a hilarious, hilarious man. And I think that’s reflected in his many roles as the straight man in films like Death to Smoochy, Half Baked, Big Daddy and Mixed Nuts. That’s right—Jon Stewart played the straight man in Death to Smoochy. Apparently he just didn’t have the chops to make that A list material work!
I hope I’ve made my point, or if not my point, a point anyway: hilarious people lack the gene that allows them to make good films. I put Bill Murray forward as a notable exception. Then I pause for five minutes to think about Ghostbusters. I chuckle a little.
And then I’m back. Anyway, I’ve always held that Hugh Grant’s About a Boy was a great comedy. So when I rented some movies this past Saturday, I made a concerted effort to find some Hugh Grant movies that didn’t look like they’d disintegrate my penis upon contact with estrogen-powered romantic menace.
I settled on Mickey Blue Eyes. Surprisingly, it’s not even a romantic comedy, even though I distinctly remember it being marketed like that in the States. Possibly the studio just knew exactly who they’d be getting into a theater for a Hugh Grant movie. Either way, it’s not a bad little film. It’s one of those Three’s Company type comedies, where every innocent decision inevitably makes things worse, where people can be counted on to see something at precisely the wrong time or walk into a room at precisely the wrong moment. It wasn’t bad, actually. It’s not getting bought and added to my All-Time Best collection anytime soon. But I’ve now got two Hugh Grant comedies I could actually point to and say “Here, what about this? This was kind of funny.” That’s two more than Jon Stewart, when you think about it. Scary, eh?