[s1e4] Cary Grant And Timothy Leary -

"How are we feeling, Cary?" Leary asks, his voice a steady, academic hum.

"You know, Tim," Grant says, reaching for his coat. "I’ve spent my life searching for peace in scripts and marriages. I didn't expect to find it in a laboratory." [S1E4] Cary Grant and Timothy Leary

The year is 1958, and the California sun is hitting the floor-to-ceiling windows of a bungalow at the Psychiatric Institute of Beverly Hills. Inside, Cary Grant—the man the world knows as the pinnacle of effortless charm—is lying on a couch, his eyes shielded by a sleep mask. "How are we feeling, Cary

Grant doesn't answer immediately. For decades, he’s lived behind the mask of 'Cary Grant,' a character he invented to hide Archibald Leach, the scared boy from Bristol. But under the influence of the blue pill, the mask is melting. I didn't expect to find it in a laboratory

By the time the sun begins to set over the Pacific, Grant sits up. He looks younger, somehow. He adjusts his tie, but for the first time, he doesn't check the mirror.

"I’m seeing the seams," Grant finally whispers. "The seams of the world, Tim. They’re held together by nothing but my own ego."

Grant lets out a soft, melodic laugh—the kind that usually signals a witty comeback in a Hitchcock film. But this laugh is different; it’s hollow and then suddenly full. "A vast, terrifying light. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be the most polished object in the room so nobody would look at the man inside. But the light doesn’t care about the polish."