From fish porters to film gods: the men who bent the universe to their will
Cary Grant. Richard Burton. Michael Caine.
Three names that dominate the history of cinema. Three men whose voices, faces, and style are etched into the culture of the 20th century. And three men who, long before they ever heard the applause of the world, stood in places so far removed from glamour, wealth, or stardom that the distance seemed unbridgeable.
But they bridged it. More than that — they built the bridge themselves.
What unites these icons isn’t just talent. Plenty of talented people stay where they are. What unites them is their refusal to accept the hand they were dealt. And crucially, their openness to the right encouragement at the right time — that spark that turns potential into destiny.
Let’s start with Cary Grant. Or rather, Archie Leach — the boy from Bristol.
Archie’s childhood wasn’t just tough. It was heartbreaking. His father was an alcoholic. His mother disappeared when he was just nine. What Archie didn’t know was that his father had committed her to a mental institution — and told the boy she was dead. He grew up with a ghost for a mother and a lie for a father. No wonder he ran away to join the stage.
What Archie did — what would eventually make him Cary Grant — was invent himself. He observed, he learned, he transformed. On the stage in vaudeville, in New York, in Hollywood, he refined his persona. Cary Grant was no accident. He was a work of art — created by a man who refused to let his past define him.
As he famously said: “I pretended to be somebody I wanted to be, and I finally became that person. Or he became me. Or we met at some point.”
Then there’s Richard Burton.
Born the twelfth of thirteen children to a Welsh coal miner, Richard Jenkins (his birth name) grew up in a small, cold cottage where books were rare and expectations lower still. His father and brothers all went down the pit. That was the future. That was the horizon. Except Richard had something else: a voice like thunder and silk, and the brains and charm to match.
But even that wouldn’t have been enough. The real turning point was Philip Burton — a teacher who spotted the boy’s brilliance, gave him elocution lessons, coached him, mentored him, and eventually became his legal guardian. It was Philip who helped Richard win a scholarship, helped him dream bigger, helped him escape the mine and step onto the stage.
No Philip Burton, no Richard Burton. But also: no Richard Burton without Richard’s hunger to escape. He seized the opportunity. He worked for it. He didn’t settle. He shaped his own future.
And then, of course, Michael Caine.
Born Maurice Micklewhite in south London, son of a charlady and a fish porter, he grew up in Elephant and Castle during the Blitz. His first job? A porter himself, at Billingsgate Fish Market. It could have ended there. Plenty of lads stayed at the market, lived and died in the same square mile.
But Maurice — Michael — didn’t. He hustled. He read. He joined a theatre company, did national service, took bit parts, slept in cheap bedsits, got rejected more times than most people would tolerate. But he kept going. He changed his name, sharpened his craft, and made himself ready for when the right part came. And when it did — Zulu, The Ipcress File, Alfie — he ran with it.
Caine’s success wasn’t handed to him. He built it. Like Grant and Burton, he bent the universe to his will.
What’s the lesson here?
It’s not just about stardom. It’s about agency. It’s about people who choose not to accept the limits they’re born into. Who have the vision — or the stubbornness — to believe in something better. Who take their destiny in their own hands and do the hard work to make it real.
And almost always, there’s another thread in these stories: someone saw them. Someone encouraged, challenged, or guided them at the right moment.
For Archie Leach, it was the impresarios and agents who saw something special in the acrobat and comic and helped him cross the Atlantic.
For Richard Burton, it was Philip Burton — teacher, mentor, life-changer.
For Michael Caine, it was a series of directors, casting agents, and colleagues who opened doors — doors he was ready to walk through because he’d prepared himself.
In other words: these men didn’t just have talent. They didn’t just have drive. They were ready for help — and they were smart enough to take it.
The world is full of people who wait for luck.
The world is full of people who blame circumstance.
The world is full of people who shrug and say, “Well, it wasn’t meant to be.”
But the people who change things? The people who lift themselves up and reshape their lives? They don’t wait for fate. They don’t wait for permission. And they don’t assume the future is already written.
They make their future.
Nietzsche’s concept of the Übermensch — the person who creates their own values, who lives beyond the constraints of received wisdom or convention — has often been misunderstood, or misused. But at its heart is an idea that resonates here: the greatness of those who choose who they will become, who author their lives, who refuse to let circumstances define them.
That’s what these three men did. And that’s why we admire them.
Not because they were born lucky. They weren’t. Not because they were perfect. They weren’t. But because they didn’t sit still.
They saw the gap between where they were and where they wanted to be — and they closed it.
We live in a time when it’s easy to believe we’re trapped. Trapped by systems. By luck. By background. By economy. But history — and the stories of people like Grant, Burton, and Caine — tell us otherwise.
There’s always a way out. A way up. A way forward.
But only for those who are brave enough to want it, smart enough to prepare for it, and open enough to accept help when it comes.
These are the super humans. The real heroes.
The ones who live the life they imagined — not the one they were handed.