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LOOK -- July 26, 1966 -- p70-74

Cary Grant
The Perennial Dreamboat in a New Role

by Stanley Gordon


FOR THE FIRST TIME, in a romantic comedy, Cary Grant doesn't get the girl. The phenomenon occurs in Walk, Don't Run, his newest film -- and he couldn't care less. He's got two beautiful girls at home: Diane, 28, his fourth wife, and Jennifer, their five-month-old daughter. A first-time father at 62, Grant has enthusiastically taken to paternity. He's in the nursery every morning at 7:30 to gaze as his baby smiles at him. And he leaves his studio office early to catch her 7 p.m. feeding -- "I like to be a part of that." He takes weekly photos in color and marks the place, date and Jennifer's age on each. To capture her coos and gurgles, he bought a tape recorder, and now is waiting to record her first word. His studies of the logistics of child care has led him to some amazed discoveries: "100 diapers a week at this age is the minimum!" He tries not to bore friends by talking about Jennifer or showing pictures of her, but if urged, he admits: "She's the most winsome, captivating girl I've ever known, and I've known quite a few girls."

An irresistible farceur meets an immovable story

Jennifer Grant's father is a specialist in airy romantic comedy, the best in the business. He's been on screen 34 years, a star from the beginning. A dozen handsome young actors could play his roles, but without his wit, finesse and subtlety, and none would be willing to work as hard. He chooses his scripts, directors and fellow actors with care, and accepts responsibility for the finished product. His fussiness sometimes drives his co-workers up the walls, but he knows what is right for him. Walk, Don't Run is his 65th film. In it, he plays a middle-aged tycoon who maneuvers two young people into a love affair which ends happily. Samantha Eggar and Jim Hutton are creditable, shy lovers, but when the old master is off the screen, the story limps. The picture depends on comedy bits like Grant's search for his missing trousers, apparently on the theory that if dropping pants is funny, losing them out the window is hilarious. The only magic ingredient here is Grant. Somehow, he looks better than he did when he was the Rock Hudson of 1932.


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