Ryan Gosling in The Nice Guys
Michaela Owens compares the comedic stylings of Cary Grant and Ryan Gosling in two of their most outrageous performances.
When Ryan Gosling was first cast in Barbie and tidbits about the movie were steadily released, there was doubt floating around on the internet of whether or not the “somber” and “serious” actor could be funny enough for his role as lovesick himbo Ken. It was a reaction that still has me baffled. Ryan Gosling not funny enough? When did we paint him as only a dramatic actor? Hadn’t these people seen Crazy Stupid Love (2011), Lars and the Real Girl (2007), Saturday Night Live, or, you know, any interview he has ever done? Didn’t they know about his stunning comedic work in The Nice Guys (2016)?
Actually, given that film’s underwhelming box office, maybe these people didn’t know about the perfection that is Gosling’s Holland March. Which, if I’m being petty, makes them even more foolish than I originally thought. As March, a private eye who is pulled into an investigation of murder and corruption by muscle-for-hire Jackson Healy (Russell Crowe), Gosling exudes shaggy charm and unabashed weirdness. It’s a performance few leading men are giving these days, while also being reminiscent of one of a certain Hollywood icon’s most beloved roles: Cary Grant’s Mortimer Brewster in Arsenic and Old Lace (1944).
Cary Grant in Arsenic and Old Lace
Directed by Frank Capra, the frenetic black comedy follows Brewster over the course of one day as he stumbles upon the realization that his darling, elderly aunts have killed a dozen men with poisoned wine, justifying it as an act of kindness since their victims are lonely people without any family or other attachments. Surrounded by characters like his new bride Elaine, his brother Teddy who believes himself to be Theodore Roosevelt, his psychopathic second brother Jonathan and Jonathan’s accomplice Dr. Einstein, and more, Brewster tries to fix one calamity after another while hanging onto a sanity that becomes increasingly unraveled.
With total abandon, Grant yelps, whinnies, grunts, mumbles, and talks to himself, overcome with feverish intensity — which the actor would later groan about, remarking that he should’ve reined himself in. For those who appreciate Arsenic and Old Lace, though, Grant couldn’t have been more wrong. The too-muchness of his performance would be exhausting to watch if it wasn’t rooted in a gracefulness that feels akin to the balletic elegance of Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly. Whether doing an exaggerated double take, falling over a chair, or opening his mouth only to keep closing it when no words are able to escape, audiences love Grant’s choices precisely because they are so unexpected, full-throated, and bold.
When I wrote about Grant in August, I noted the lineage that his screen persona created, observing that “Grant was American cinema’s first heartthrob whose powerful romantic capabilities co-existed with a willingness — an eagerness, in fact — to not take himself seriously as he embraced the kind of physicality we’d only previously seen from the likes of Harold Lloyd, Buster Keaton, and Charlie Chaplin. … It’s a template we are still seeing in the years since his heyday: think of Paul Newman, Hugh Grant, George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Ryan Gosling, and Glen Powell, all of whom have been compared to Grant in some fashion or other.”
Although Gosling is different than Grant in many ways — for example, whereas the older star manufactured a screen persona that blurred his reality and ultimately restricted his range of roles, today’s Hollywood has enabled Gosling’s authenticity and onscreen vulnerability to thrive — you can recognize the same attunement with his bodily movements, the same awareness of his inherent romanticism, and the same wholehearted commitment to silliness. In The Nice Guys, we witness Gosling’s high-pitched screams, his subtle shaking and eye-twitching when he sees a body thrown out of a building, and his nervous energy constantly simmering beneath a façade of aloof coolness. With the precision of Grant, he also understands the delicacy of a scene’s comedic rhythm, such as when March tumbles down a hill and is unable to speak when he lands near a corpse or when he is preparing to break into a bar by smashing a window. Wrapping his fist in a hankie, he mimes a few practice punches before suddenly pausing to add the extra beat of tucking in a piece of the cloth that has popped up, his perfectionism rendered especially moot (and funny) when he subsequently slices open his arm on the glass.
The greatness of Grant and Gosling’s work isn’t just the hilarity, however. Despite the madness around and within them, they still permeate their characters with an emotionality and realism that invests you in their stories. Before he learns his aunts’ secret, we’re introduced to Brewster through his romance with Elaine, who melts his staunch anti-marriage stance with one trembling look and inspires him to giddily chase her through the neighborhood graveyard. (It’s cuter than it sounds.) As the film continues, Brewster’s desperation stems from his love of his aunts and his determination to keep them safe even though they’re, well, murderers. Even at his goofiest — when he breaks the fourth wall to look at the camera in disbelief as a homicidal Jonathan gags and ties him — the camera then cuts to him some time later glistening with sweat, his body in agony and his eyes devoid of spirit while he waits for his terrifying brother to torture him, thus raising the stakes of the narrative before the hectic finale.
March, meanwhile, is the Sad Dad trifecta: widowed, alcoholic, and just a bit too content to do the bare minimum as a father and human being. The further his and Healy’s case goes, though, the more involved his headstrong 13-year-old daughter Holly (Angourie Rice) gets, putting her in danger many times and forcing March to slowly come out of the fog that has encased him since his wife’s death. By the time of the film’s climax, which tasks March with securing a film reel that will be their only evidence against the Big Bad, the character’s triumph isn’t only that he succeeds and justice will be served — it’s that he has regained his daughter’s respect, as illustrated by the tearful smile Gosling offers and Rice returns.
Redefining what is expected of a leading man performance, Cary Grant and Ryan Gosling suffuse their slapstick brilliance with a soulfulness that feels lived-in and intoxicating. Loose-limbed and clear-eyed, these men understand what their films are asking of them — and then go above and beyond what you thought you wanted.
Plus, let’s face it: furrowed brows and tousled hair will never look better.
The Nice Guys will be screened at IU Cinema on October 25 as part of the series L.A. Scams Itself.
IU Cinema previously celebrated Cary Grant earlier this season with the four-film series Everyone Wants to Be Cary Grant. While those screenings are over, from now until the end of the year, you can check out our lower lobby display dedicated to Grant, which includes materials from the Lilly Library such as handwritten notes by the actor, publicity stills, original advertisements, and more.