Grant has the rare ability to project absolute conviction of his own rightness, even when he’s playing guilty men, as if simply by saying something with a tone of heartfelt conviction is enough to make it right and true. In the fact-based A Very English Scandal, Grant plays disgraced politician Jeremy Thorpe with the confidence of a man who’s gotten his way so long that he assumes that the world should cater to his desires no matter what, in large part because he can win anyone over with a smile and a few clever words. He embarks on a relationship he develops with the stable boy, Norman Josiffe (Ben Whishaw, the voice of Paddington, to add an extra layer of discomfort) knowing at the very least he’s taken advantage of a troubled, economically unstable younger man but still brings a chipper inflection to his hilariously impersonal seduction. (“Just hop on all fours, theres’s a good chap. That always works best, don’t you think?”)
Charm doesn’t always work that way. On screen, Jude Law possesses many of the same qualities as Grant, but he tends to play characters whose wit and warmth can’t hide their guilty consciences. For instance, in Sean Durkin’s chilly new ’80s character study The Nest, Law plays a trader finding the limits of his charisma. He’s all smiles and persuasive small talk until the flop sweat spoils the illusion. Law’s characters always seem to be hiding something or working a hidden agenda. By contrast, Grant plays men so capable of suggesting bottomless conviction the can get away with anything, maybe even murder.
As skilled as he is using those tools, he has thrown them aside from time to time. Like everyone else in Tom Tykwer and the Wachowskis’ 2012 opus Cloud Atlas, Grant plays several roles. Some are within his comfort zone, like the deceptive, but ingratiating (and murderous) operator of a nuclear power plant. Others, like the brutal chief of a post-apocalyptic cannibal tribe are, to say the least, a departure. His role in Guy Ritchie’s 2020 crime thriller The Gentlemen offered nearly as drastic a change of pace. Grant plays Fletcher, a sleazy journalist/blackmailer/screenwriter trying to get the better of London’s most-established marijuana entrepreneur. Grant makes no attempt to make Fletcher seem like anything but a scumbag, discarding some of his trademarks by obscuring his eyes behind opaque sunglasses, slicking back his hair, and speaking in a pretty good approximation of Michael Caine’s voice. It works in part because of the shock of seeing Grant play such an unapologetically shady character, but Fletcher has so many of the film’s best lines it’s hard not to root for him anyway. In the amoral world of Ritchie’s London gangland, his wit sets him apart. (So maybe Fletcher’s not so different than his usual characters after all.)
Whether Jonathan killed the lover and mother of his child in a brutal outburst then fled the scene to avoid the responsibility remains, at this moment, an open question. (So does whether The Undoing—which has used superb acting to paper over its increasingly bizarre plot twists—will reach a satisfying conclusion.) But no matter the outcome, it’s thrilling to watch Grant play the sort of creep that only he could play, one that cashes in all the accumulated goodwill built up playing the achingly sincere nice guys — the sort of nice guy who could bend the world do his will with a well-timed grin and some thoughtful blinks of the eye—and do a lot of harm if he didn’t give a damn who got hurt in the process.