The View from K92

At this special time of year, we think of the people who are most important to us. For me, that includes Hugh Grant. It’s been a booze-fuelled source of banter in my family for years that I have a thing for Hugh. But I’m also quite serious about it. I think, in due course, Hugh will be seen in a similar light to Cary as one of the great Grants of British acting. Let’s review the roll of honour.

There is an elite pentangle in the pantheon of Hugh films: “Four Weddings and a Funeral”, “Notting Hill”, “Bridget Jone’s Diary”, “About a Boy” and “Love Actually”. The criticisms are obvious: “He only plays one role – a foppish buffoon, in a whites only representation of middle class British society”, all partly true. But “Four Weddings” is genuinely moving at times, particularly the funeral scenes, shot with suitable gloom in Thurrock (a place where I’ve also had some gloomy moments). The Portobello Road in “Notting Hill” is, indeed, less culturally diverse than the one beautifully depicted in “Bedknobs and Broomsticks”, twenty-eight years earlier, but if you didn’t have the film you wouldn’t have the performance of Rhys Ifans as Spike. “Bridget Jones” is pretty funny, with Hugh a genuine cad, alongside the honourable Colin Firth, who is also great in “Love Actually”, but nothing steals the show like Hugh’s prime minister dance to The Pointer Sisters, or the immortal line “Eight is a lot of legs, David”.  “About a Boy” is a bloody good film – and I say that having watched it about twenty times because it connects so vividly with troubled adolescence.  

In the second tier of Hughness we have “Two Weeks’ Notice”, a subject within my bailiwick and actually not bad about the duplicity of corporate property developers, but blighted by the cameo appearance of the biggest turd in that cesspit, Donald Trump. I’ll admit that “Music and Lyrics” isn’t great, but the opening credits really are – a pastiche of A-ha like 80’s pop (linked here – enjoy!). Then there are the costume drama years, of “Sense and Sensibility” et al and my granddaughter wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t acknowledge “Maurice”.

But Hugh’s early work could be seen like that of any truly great artist – a bit crude and struggling for a distinctive identity, until we arrive at “Florence Foster Jenkins” (poor film, but Hugh’s good), “A Very English Scandal” (that’s proper acting) and “Paddington 2” (a bravura performance). We can only wait with eager anticipation for what’s next in the Grant oeuvre. If it wasn’t for his habit of tweaking the tail of the establishment, Hugh would be well on his way to “national treasure” status and it may still come. But for now, I’m ready to pour myself a large one and raise a glass to Grant.