Aren't Directors Supposed to Have an Eye? or What Was Donner Thinking?

I recently watched the beginning of Superman II/The Richard Donner cut and was flabbergasted.

Theater version above/
Richard Donner cut to the right. 

Which looks potentially more exciting?

Before I continue, to lay my cards on the table, the Christopher Reeves Superman-Lois Lane relationship has never been one of my favorites. I far prefer Lois & Clark's interpretation where Lois comes to love the "real" man rather than the demigod before the relationship can actually work. But I was in the mood for some older Superman, so I picked up Superman II. The Richard Donner cut was the version my library had.

In the released-to-theater version of Superman II, Clark and Lois go to Niagara Falls. When Clark/Superman rescues a boy who plummets over a railing, Lois becomes convinced that Clark IS Superman and jumps into the river herself. Clark manages to get her rescued without revealing himself. However, when they return to the suite, he trips (while talking to Lois) and falls in a fire.When Lois sees that his hands are completely untouched, she realizes she was right.

The entire sequences of events is exciting, action-packed, and filmed against wide vistas (Niagara Falls, a large suite). The a-ha moment is believable; Lois is less cocky and more WOW, which is how she should feel!

In the Richard Donner cut, the initial scene (the rescue of the boy) takes place but then we skip to Clark and Lois in a small, enclosed space. During the scene, Clark paces while Lois mostly sits, standing once. She shoots Clark/Superman from a sitting position. When he doesn't die, he--standing in one position--proclaims that she has figured him out.

First of all, she SHOOTS him? If one accepts the proposition that no one immediately recognizes that Clark is Superman, there is no way that Lois could be 100% sure of his double identity, especially when she jumped out of a Daily Planet office window and Superman didn't swoop to her rescue. And she SHOOTS him?

Second, the scene in the hotel suite is boring as in boring shots, boring blocking, and boring dialog. It's not even marginally exciting as a scene. It's like watching a soap opera or Lucas's actors in Star Wars I, II, and III--without even the wide vistas on blue screens to give things more oomph!

I thought directors were supposed to be visually oriented--all about the "look" of something. Granted, the first Harry Potter movie comes across as a slideshow, and Lucas doesn't have the foggiest idea how to direct people. But still--what else would attract someone to work in film but the visual element? (Nolan, for example, makes perfect sense to me. His stories are over the place, but boy, his movies LOOK like movies.)

It's like a writer who wants to tell a story but can't stand words. I mean, huh?

Having written all this, I must acknowledge that on IMDB, the Richard Donner cut has more stars than the original, so maybe I just don't get the Reeves-Superman universe . . .

Stargate: Season 8 Review

I was very surprised by Season 8. Season 7 was so military, I assumed that the direction of the Stargate franchise was set, no looking back. And perhaps, overall, it is (Seasons 9 and 10 still to come!). But Season 8 was refreshingly full of one-story, adventure episodes.

Episodes #1 & 2--New Order: The season starts, however, with dreary military stuff (I'm not anti-military; I just get tired of having to keep all the enemies straight). It definitely relies on viewers with full knowledge of the show's previous seasons.

There are some good parts, naturally, and the resolution does tie the two-parter's story-lines together in a believable way.

Ba'al looking wry

Episode #3--Lockdown: Anubis is still alive?

Episode #4--Zero Hour: One of my favorite bad guys, Ba'al, shows up. I love his clothes! I also think he delivers nice ambiguity alongside a touch of wryness (more on this later).

I also like the point of view in this episode--it's about all the stuff that happens back in SG-1 when the team is off adventuring!

Episode #5--Icon: This episode addresses the unattended consequences of contact, especially when zealots are involved. I reference this episode, positively, in my post "Why (So Much) Dystopian Fiction Is Stupid".

Episode #6--Avatar: The classic "virtual-training-tool-run-amuck" episode. It provides interesting insights though I have to point out the silliness of nobody saying, "Hey, let's NOT turn on the machine that thinks for itself!"

Episode #7--Affinity: I got upset with this episode--why is Teal'c living off-base any more dangerous than anyone else living off-base? Yes, he was targeted but other members of SG-1 have been targeted. And I liked Teal'c's apartment life; of course he wears 70's clothes in his off-hours!

Episode #8--Covenant: Another "challenge to the Stargate Command conspiracy" episode. I don't much care for these episodes, mostly because the Stargate writers twist themselves into knots. By temperament, they are on the side of the truth-tellers, but they know the "truth" won't work for the show. Some interesting ideas are discussed. Otherwise . . . eh.


Wayne Brady

Episode #9--Sacrifices: Another Teal'c episode involving Jaffa marriage, a planet with the Goa'uld, and Teal'c's high maintenance girlfriend.

Episode #10--Endgame: Another hunt-for-the-gate episode. I get the impression that these episodes, which are overloaded with exposition, are necessary to plot development, so the writers can do cool episodes later. Still, I find them rather uninteresting.


Maybourne

Episode #11--Gemini: Very clever. I wasn't sure throughout the episode how trustworthy Replicator Carter might be!

Episodes #12--Prometheus Unbound: This episode is very funny. Daniel and the chick-of-the-week have great banter. I wouldn't mind seeing them together again.

Episode #13--It's Good to Be King: Maybourne! I always like it when he shows up. He looks quite good in his Henry V-like outfit. The episode is also a great pay-off for the character. And Wayne Brady makes an appearance!

Episode #14--Full Alert: Another Trust organization episode. Oh, yuck. (Insert snoozing.)

Episode #15--Citizen Joe: This is a great episode! Totally hilarious!! It is Stargate told from the point of view of someone who isn't already ensconced in the Stargate Universe. Consequently, the episode delivers critiques of the show as well as tributes--rather like "Wormhole X-Treme" from Season 5. The episode is also full of casual jokes, like the movers who come to take Joe's house: Brothers Grimm Reps.

And it is touching: Joe sobbing over Daniel's death (well, one of Daniel's deaths) is heart-wrenching.

I love Jack's attitude (at the end of the episode) about seeing Joe's life over the years: "I found it relaxing."

Episode #16 & #17--Reckoning: Replicator Carter makes the replicators marginally more interesting but passionless revenge is kind of dull. And Anubis is still around? Seriously? Please get rid of him already.

I do like how the Jaffa don't care about the replicators but use the distraction to further their own ends.

And Daniel's storyline is interesting.

The most interesting part of the story, however, is Ba'al. The actor manages to give the character this odd/attractive combination of arrogance, fear, wryness, and, even, flirtatiousness. He is far, far, far more interesting than Anubis.

I have to say, though, that even with Anubis, the Stargate writers managed to avoid The Mentalist's problems re: omniscient, boring bad guys, mostly because the Stargate writers didn't take their omniscient, boring bad guy too seriously. They weren't trying to point out the awfulness of life, just have fun.

Okay, exactly how many times can Daniel die????

Episodes #18--Threads: Neat episode. I like Daniel in alternative reality episodes and hey, George Dzunda shows us! (Can one really ask for more?) And it is a decent pay-off (hopefully permanently) for Anubis.

Episode #20 & #21--Moebius: This is a VERY clever "time-travel/everything has changed" episode. The time traveling isn't confusing, so much as silly. But it doesn't matter. The real issue here is "What would our characters be like without the Stargate Program?" The answer is hilarious and cute. Amanda Tapping especially does a great job as adorably nerdy Dr. Carter. And Jack and Carter finally get together!

I read somewhere that the Stargate producers were reluctant to make the Jack/Sam relationship "canon" (and never totally did). My personal theory is that since Richard Dean Anderson clearly wanted to retire from Stargate (he had a good run!) and Amanda Tapping was likely going to stay on into the sequels, the producers wanted to keep their options open. That Jack and Sam ARE in a relationship is clearly implied by the end of this season; the time travel storyline lets us actually see it.

Samantha Carter and Jack O'Neill

Of course, Stargate doesn't rely on the Jack-Sam relationship the way, say, Bones relies on Booth/Brennan or X-Files on Scully/Mulder (the latter was always going to be canon whether it ever developed romantically or not). Still, I was glad to see Jack and Sam get together--in their mutually laid-back way!

Sir Walter Plays Lothario in Chapter 17: Persuadable

In Chapter 16 of Persuadable, I address how Will receives the news that Anne is engaged to Captain Wentworth. In Chapter 17, I record Penelope's reaction. She is also, finally, given the chance to enter into an engagement with Sir Walter.

Sir Walter at Home; Mrs. Clay is to the left.

Penelope's hopes for this engagement have precedence. Gentlemen--members of the gentry and the aristocracy--did occasionally marry "down." There are even cases of peers marrying courtesans, actresses, and servants. Although Pamela's marriage to Mr. B shocked Richardson's contemporaries, it didn't surprise them. It was improbable, not impossible.

Penelope is certainly not as low down the hierarchy as a servant, but she isn't as high up the hierarchy as, even, Elizabeth is to Darcy. Elizabeth argues, correctly, that since both she and Darcy are products of the gentry, there can be no objection to a marriage between them. (Note, however, that she does not argue, "Darcy can marry whomever he wants!")

Like the wife that warmed King David's bed in old age, Penelope Clay's hope (for most of Persuasion and Persuadable) has been to catch Sir Walter's interest when he is feeling his age or, more specifically, when Sir Walter is feeling abandoned.

It may seem odd that Sir Walter would experience the empty nest syndrome when his eldest daughters are nearing thirty (rather than earlier), but during the Regency era, people stayed home until they married. This interesting trend has begun to reassert itself in recent years ("reassert" since children staying at home until marriage has been more common throughout history than single people living on their own).

With only one single daughter left, Sir Walter will surely wonder who is going to cosset him in his remaining years. Anne and Will Elliot both correctly foresaw how Sir Walter's vulnerability might make him susceptible to the suggestion of marriage; this is not a man who manages well on his own.

If he doesn't marry, and Elizabeth does, he will probably try to move in with one of his daughters. Like King Lear's daughters, the daughter he understands the least would likely be the most willing. But Captain Wentworth would no doubt put his foot down.

[Penelope and Sir Walter meet in the Camden Crescent residence.] 

“Ah, my dear Mrs. Clay,” he said and gave her his roguish look that made him look about as dangerous as a starling. “You’ve heard our latest news, no doubt. My daughter Anne is engaged to Captain Wentworth.”

She joined him at the head of the stairs and coyly tilted her head. “It is difficult to believe that you, Sir Walter, could have any daughter about to be married.”

She conveniently failed to mention Mary, and Sir Walter blustered in a pleased fashion. He took Penelope’s hand and patted it.

“What will I do when I lose Anne’s comforting support?” he said as if he’d ever shown a preference for Anne’s company.

Anne found her own source of comfort, Penelope thought and felt an unexpected surge of jealousy.

She had never desired the middle Elliot daughter’s life with its self-effacement and mildness in the service of others. But she wished now for Anne’s freedom—to be satisfied and respectable and secure. I have such small desires. Can’t I just have them? 

Sir Walter was still patting her hand. He looked genuinely disheartened; Penelope could guess his thoughts. He might have no interest in Anne, but before her engagement she had been available—a spare daughter to look after her father’s needs. Now there was only Elizabeth, and Sir Walter believed firmly in Elizabeth’s ability to marry well.

He was afraid of being alone.

Now’s the time. Penelope should lean in, cover his hand with hers, say, “Oh, Sir Walter, think how much more frightening life is for an unattached woman.”

He would comfort her. She’d put her head on his shoulder. He’d start thinking about his future, about how she could ease his cares.

I’m not a lady, but he’ll convince himself that the merit of his title precludes my lack of one. Sir Walter would put his desire for security above all else.

Doesn’t everybody?

She loosed her hand. She said, “I’m sure your new son-in-law will never place his needs before a father’s.”

She didn’t believe that for a moment. Captain Wentworth was definitely the type to keep his wife by his side. But Sir Walter cheered up and continued on to his room.

Penelope went to hers, shut the door, and slid to the floor, arms around her knees. From that position, all she could see through the small, square window was blazing blue sky. She might be in any room in any city. She might be in London with Will.

She smiled ruefully. I never thought I’d be such a fool to give up the opportunity to secure a baronet. She knew what happened to women who thought with their hearts.

And yet, Penelope was not like other women. She’d survived a tedious marriage and had two intelligent sons (foisted onto her parents) to show for it. She’d survived interfering neighbors, pushy creditors, and leering landlords. She’d survived Sir Walter and his family.

She could survive anything.

D is for Denouement

I nearly headed this post "D is for dull." With a few exceptions, my "D" list is remarkably full of authors I have no desire to read again.

Dahl: However, I start with an author that I greatly admire. Not Charlie and the Chocolate Factory or its sequel, which makes my skin crawl. But Dahl has written a number of short stories for children and for adults that are incredibly funny. I recommend Dahl especially if you can get Quentin Blake's drawings as a bonus.

Dante: And I recommend Dante, specifically The Divine Comedy although it does depend on which translation you read. I enjoy Sayers' translation for her notes, not so much for the poetry. There's an audio version of but The Inferno, translation Pinksy, read by George Guidall--ooh, it makes you shiver!

Defoe: I can't especially recommend Defoe. Robinson Crusoe just isn't that interesting to me. I sort of understand why it became a children's classic, aimed at adventurous youth. But even as a kid, I didn't much care for stories about people stuck on islands, not even regarding the Swiss Family Robinson.

De Lint, Charles: De Lint is one of those authors that I feel like I OUGHT to love. I OUGHT to think he is absolutely fantastic--kind of like I ought to adore Andre Norton. De Lint writes fantasy. His novels always sound totally fascinating. Etc. Etc. Etc. But I can never get into his stuff. It isn't lack of ability on his part, just a lack of author/reader empathy.

Dickens: I don't object to people calling Dickens a great author. And I can respect his need, as a working writer, to produce thousands of words on demand (fill the space!). But I find his work almost unreadable. He produced great stories that make good movies (an author like Dickens IS what movies are for).

Dostoevsky: One Christmas holiday I was stuck in the Detroit airport for over 12 hours. It was a horrible experience. I ended up buying Crime & Punishment from the bookstore; I figured I could get through a fair amount in 12 hours. And I did. And I got home and put it down and never picked it up again. I won't argue about its classic designation. I just got to the point where I couldn't understand why it couldn't end. Which was how I felt about being stuck in the airport, so I'm sure there's a Pavlovian emotional connection here.

Donaldson, Stephen: Stephen Donaldson was, at least in my memory, the next biggest thing after Tolkien's paperbacks hit American bookstores. I know that there were Thomas Covenanter books about our house when I was a kid, and I read at least one. Unfortunately, Almost-Tolkien doesn't interest me, especially since Tolkien is just about the only World fantasy author I tolerate (I have read one of Eddings' series). In general, I prefer more relationship-oriented tales.

Doyle, Sir Arthur Conan: Ah, the creator of Sherlock Holmes! I intend to write more about Doyle in a later post. For now, I will state that the Sherlock Holmes' stories are true classics. I recently listened to The Hound of the Baskervilles read by the marvelous Simon Prebble. It is one nifty adventure story with great tension and atmosphere; Doyle sure knew how to combine detection with action (possibly one reason that Holmes-out of all the fictional detectives--is so repeatedly translated into film and television).

Dreiser: I read Sister Carrie for the previous A-Z list. I gave it a positive review. Eh. I haven't read anything by Dreiser since. However, I've always been glad I read Sister Carrie because it enabled me to pick up on a reference in a Law & Order: Criminal Intent episode. In one of her confrontations with Goren, Nicole Wallace gives him a hint about her true identity by referring to the "George Hurstwood Foundation." George Hurstwood is an embezzling main character in Sister Carrie. Since Renaissance Man Goren has read Sister Carrie, he picks up on Nicole's clue. The first time I watched this scene, I was so proud of myself: See, knowing literature is worth something; it enables you to pick up references in pop culture!!

Duane, Diane: I'm a big fan of Diane Duane's YA and adult literature although of her adult literature, I prefer her Star Trek stuff to her contemporary fantasies. I particularly like the way she tackles the Classic Trek characters. I feel like her stories are more than recitations of events: her characterizations give us more insight into Spock, McCoy, Kirk et al's personalities and she delivers solid, believable interactions. I feel like I am reading about Star Trek characters, not some other characters with Star Trek names.

Durrell, Lawrence: Gerald Durrell is technically non-fiction, so I'm not addressing his hilarious books My Family and Other Animals and Beasts, Birds, and Relatives here. Because Lawrence Durrell is his brother and because Larry was a huge support to Gerry throughout their lives, I've tried (at least twice) to give Lawrence Durrell's fiction books a read. Alas, they are not my type of thing.

Du Maurier, Daphne: Of course I read Rebecca! I haven't read anything else by Du Maurier, but Rebecca is good; the B&W movie is good; the PBS series is good. I can't recommend anything else by this author, but Rebecca is worth a read.

Dumas, Alexandre: I read the non-one-billion-pages version of The Count of Monte Cristo for book club. It was okay--though not the kind of plot that interests me all that much (however, I was recently pleased to grasp the book's thematic use in Person of Interest: as a teacher, returning-for-vengeance Elias assigns this book to his students).

Why (So Much) Dystopian Fiction is Stupid

Today, I helped a student read "The Lottery" by Shirley Jackson, which meant that I ended up reading it myself for the millionth time (not really; it

From newser.com--of course, this claim rather
depends on the type of dystopia you fear most:
anarchy or Big Brother.

just feels that way). I've never cared for the story, but for the first time, I realized how monumentally silly it is.

It is extremely well-crafted. If nothing else, it is an example of good writing. But the premise is cartoonish.

I realize that the story is supposed to be a fable about how traditions can foolishly persist, even when harmful. Those traditions don't necessarily have to include human sacrifice (which in Europe was replaced with animal sacrifice back in the B.C.E.)--just any tradition that causes/exploits human suffering.

The problem is that all traditions, including harmful ones, continue for a mass of contradictory and complicated human reasons ranging from the economic to the sexual to the familial. And they involve everything from hubris, fear, shame, desperation, greed, and social climbing to love, loyalty, respect, sincerity, spiritualism, entertainment, comfort, nostalgia, and joy. How people react to traditions is never as simplistic as "The Lottery" implies. 

Even if one narrows the focus to "bad" traditions, "The Lottery"'s premise is still that a bunch of middleclass villagers in an American-like town would stone someone to death because unthinking acceptance of a past tradition is more powerful than cultural context, Freud's id/ego/superego, economic need, and the powerful inducements of self-serving justification. The whole thing happens in a vacuum--which any decent historian or anthropologist can tell you is blatantly inaccurate. (My standard of "decent" anthropologist/historian may be too high.)

In other words, taking "The Lottery" too seriously can lead to stuff like Rent.

http://justanothervolunteer.blogspot.com

Granted, most students read the story, write the essay, and move on to the "Tell-Tale Heart" (a much better exploration of the human psyche). Granted, too, many students pick up on the story's main point, think it has some value, and then shrug off the simplicity. As the student I was helping said when we reached the end of the story, "So the winner gets killed?! Why would people agree to die?" (Good question.)

Unfortunately, a story like "The Lottery" is an easy way for instructors to create supposedly profound discussions about LIFE AND STUFF. But I have my doubts--based on the questions I saw--that the ensuing discussion would actually ever tackle the premise. Would anyone be allowed to disagree with Shirley Jackson's theme without being branded one of those unenlightened masses who loves tradition? Unless the premise itself came under debate (this story is an inaccurate picture of humanity), I imagine the ensuing argument would be rather similar to listening to Creationists argue with Richard Dawkins.

And who cares?

This is how I feel about dystopian literature/art in general. I don't mind sci-fi that presents a ridiculous dystopian premise if the point is the story/adventure (The Matrix) or a specific relationship (Terminator) or, even, the complexity of human feeling (Equilibrium). But so much dystopian literature presents human nature as static. It's an adolescent view of behavior that appears rather often in higher education, as when one of my professors told me that all Puritans went to church (not correct) and therefore believed all the same stuff.

"No, they didn't," I said. "There were believers and non-believers and people who went for the social content and people who went for the spiritual content."

"But they were all going to the same church under the same authority," he said. "There was no outside influence, so they all believed the same."

I was stunned.  Setting aside people like Roger Williams, who left the Massachusetts Bay Colony, yet continued to correspond with many of its leaders (who rather liked him and found his ideas interesting if disruptive); setting aside people like Anne Hutchinson, who was very popular until she got kicked out of, well, everywhere; setting aside that more Puritan women than men were active church-goers (this is true across the board; women are always more active church-goers than men although men start more religions than women); setting aside that many of the changes to Puritanism, which led to differing forms and offshoots of Protestantism in the 1700s, including the First Great Awakening, happened from within; setting aside all the infighting that took place during the Puritan years over congregational leaders; setting aside the ongoing debates on witches in which Puritan leaders took various sides; setting aside the poems and essays of people like Anne Bradstreet and Jonathan Edwards (who wrote more than just "sinners in the hands of an angry God") which emphasize entirely personal and unique spiritual experiences; setting aside the reality that when a government releases its stranglehold on religious observation, people instantly parcel themselves into a range of churches and beliefs (it doesn't take another generation for people to "learn" to express themselves; they already know whether they are strident believers or indifferent believers or orthodox believers or non-believers) . . .

Setting all that aside, my response is still . . .

What?!

Sure, any human organization appears monolithic on the outside. But once one begins to examine its inner workings, one discoveries a multitude of disagreements, offshoots, oddities, and randomness. So the paleontology department appears seamless on the outside; okay, now, go talk to some of the researchers.

I'd expect a professor to know this.

But monolithic commentary on culture is an easy way to deal with the universe (and still look insightful), just as dystopian fiction is an easy way to deliver supposed profundities about human nature. And maybe, like the true classic Lord of the Flies, it is a good place to start.

But not to end.

What Makes a Good Actor Good

In Gods Like Us, the author Ty Burr tackles the notion of stardom. The book is quite readable, packed with examples of movie stars, Hollywood history, and insightful analysis as opposed to too many celebrity-based books which are really just lists of accomplishments or scandals. Gods Like Us is comparable to Molly Haskell's Reverence to Rape: The Treatment of Women in Movies and is slightly more readable (Haskell's book is quite good and far less angry than the title makes it sound; like Burr, she is both a critic and an aficionado).

Burr is focused mostly on stardom, not on what makes an actor good or bad. However, his comments on stardom got me thinking. In many ways, I'm thoroughly a member of my generation (between Yuppie and X) in that I believe a good actor is one who is subsumed by the role. 

So, for example, I consider Daniel Day-Lewis a good actor because while he is playing Lincoln, I forget, however temporarily, that he is Daniel Day-Lewis. Gary Oldman likewise disappears into his roles. Gordon-Levitt doesn't (like Keanu Reeves, his face--which has been with us Americans since his childhood--is somewhat iconic), but one senses that he could.

But then I thought, "Well, what about Will Smith?"

I never forget that Will Smith is Will Smith. Ever. And yet, I consider him a very good actor. I also don't forget that Robert Downey, Jr. is playing something (anything) as Robert Downey, Jr. (which is kind of the point of Robert Downey, Jr.). And Tom Sellack will always be Magnum (but that could be because he just keeps playing Magnum). These are all actors that I consider to be quite strong and gifted in their different areas.

So there are actors who are their roles and actors who are their stardom or, at least, their star personas. But are there actors who can be both?

I think there is exactly one:

Cary Grant is the only actor I can think of, off the top of my head, who both utterly vanishes into his roles and who one never, ever ever ever ever forgets IS Cary Grant.

I just watched North by Northwest, not one of my favorite Hitchcock's but worth watching for Cary Grant. Half-way through the movie, I went, "Geez, exactly how old was this guy when he played this role?" (Answer: 55). At 55, Grant is incredibly handsome, but the thing that threw me is how well he moves. Not even Harrison Ford, that action man, moved that good in his 50s. (Bruce Willis doesn't either, but it matters less with Willis; as Gibbs says of Tony, "He's a brawler." Willis is supposed to fight tough and mean and limping.)

At the same time I was looking up Grant on www.imdb.com, I was wholly sold on him as Thornhill. He WAS Thornhill. Not Grant-as-Thornhill. Just Thornhill. 

This is true of all Grant's parts. There's Cary Grant, oh yeah, in big lights. And yet, he's also Devlin, Brewster, Warriner . . . He does comedy, effortlessly; gentleman wit, effortlessly; bumbling everyman, effortlessly; mad, bad, and dangerous to know, effortlessly.

There is something utterly feline about Cary Grant, something wonderfully ambiguous that may find its roots in his sexuality but probably not. Emma Thompson once referred to Stephen Fry as 10% "Other." Cary Grant seems to be all that and yet, at the same time, everything we think he is. Slippery. Impossible to pin down. Now you see him--STAR--now you don't. So he is THAT GUY--that Cary-Grant persona. Yet not. He seems to act completely by instinct, to know what a role requires while remaining completely himself. The result is that he is there, yet not, the star but also the part all at the same time.

Maybe Hollywood needs more Cary Grants, but I think it had enough trouble handling the one it got. There's a place for all those other actors, those who disappear in their roles or live through their roles or sell themselves as stars first and foremost. And maybe, with so many options, another Cary Grant will never come along again: perhaps the age has passed.