Deconstructing Hugh Grant.

I'll admit it -I've had too much Hugh Grant this holiday. The fact that I somehow managed to not watch Bridget Jones with a tub of ice cream is somewhat of a miracle. What is it about this man anyway? He's not that attractive or dreamy. He's kind of insufferable. And he's definitely kind of really poncy. So why do I proudly declare my love for Colin Firth only to find myself guiltily searching up Two Weeks Notice on YouTube?

Watching a Hugh Grant movie is like slipping into an old pair of smelly sneakers with holes in the bottom and maybe some dog shit stains that won't wash out....you know you should throw them out, you know it's embarrassing to be walking around in them, you know you should switch to something more decent, but god they're just so comfortable. That's what Hugh Grant is: smelly, comfortable familiarity. You know exactly what you're going to get. Which is why the guy is all too often labelled as an one-dimensional actor associated only with romantic comedies.

Which is actually not as correct as your instincts might tell you. You think you know Hugh Grant, but think about "fuck/marry/kill." No, that's not the new Hugh Grant movie, much as it would be a perfect one for him. It's like a crasser version of the informal "hot or not" game only you categorise three different people and feel good about judging them and being an asshole. Anyway, my point is that Hugh Grant covers all three bases of fuck/marry/kill with the characters he's played. And these roles are pretty different from one another --but because he becomes the archetype for each one so perfectly, people forget this um, versatility.

Fuck

Obviously this is where all the bad boy Hugh Grants go, the prime example being Daniel Cleaver. There is NO QUESTION that Colin Firth/Darcy is far more superior but someone needs to make room for that trope of Sleeping With Your Sexy Boss (because what else do working women do, right?) and that is how Hugh Grant edges himself into the picture. He is that cocky bastard you shamelessly flirt with/diss/preemptively tell your friends to keep you away from before you get drunk only to find yourself all over him anyway. Anyway, the important thing to remember is that Bridget fucks and chucks him and ends up with Darcy. Instant gratification Hugh Grant means you don't want to deal with him the next morning.

Marry

Only Hugh Grant could make marrying a politician look appealing. Seriously, a Prime Minister who deliberately fucks all diplomatic relations with his country's biggest ally because the US president made a pass on his crush? And then uses state facilities and personnel to track down the girl at her house on Christmas day? Who cares if the country's going to shit, the guy is a total romantic! Also, someone I can have dance and lip-syncing parties with? Yes please.

Kill

Disregarding the fact that I kind of want to kill myself for wasting an hour and a half on any Hugh Grant movie, there are two particular types of Hugh that make it near impossible not to stab the screen.

First, you have the Hugh Grant who is basically the "fuck" version minus any self-awareness or wit and infinitely dumber. In other words, a total man child brat which is what Sandra Bullock and I had to deal with in Two Weeks Notice....god, this film. The worst part is the coupling of the two at the end which although predictable is SO WRONG and absolutely infuriating. Let's not even get into the whole Type A Woman Needs To Not Be So Accomplished And Intimidating So She Can Find A Man deal....

Even further on the murderous spectrum is Chopin Hugh Grant. A distinction needs to be made here between Chopin the composer and pianist whom I love and is brilliant, and Chopin Hugh Grant in Impromptu who is almost a person in his own right due to the levels of ridiculousness and sap achieved. This is Hugh Grant at his most sickly, snivelly and apologetic as a sad romantic musician. He's probably meant to be pathetic in the sense of evoking pathos, especially when pursued by a headstrong, fiery woman but GOD do you want to just push him into a lake and watch him flounder about. Look at him there, sitting next to that damn fine Liszt.

So there you have it, the fuck-marry-kill trichotomy of Hugh Grant, who is very much a three dimensional actor. Okay, so a resume of three stock characters might not make him a chameleon. But it's kind of extraordinary how the same accent, bedroom eyes and bewildered expressions result in a disparate trinity that at the end of the day, makes him a lot of cash. And while he may not be my favourite actor, he is definitely my favourite 80s has-been pop star. You know those hips don't lie.