Marlon Brando: The ripped white T-shirt in A Streetcar Named Desire must surely have been the sexual litmus test of its day (see Brad Pitt in Thelma & Louise generations later). Don’t refuse him, that’ll just make him angry …
Cary Grant: Rugged and a gentleman, is there anything better? Who else was built like such a brute yet played tender and awkward so heart-warmingly? Stills don’t do justice to his magnetism in motion. Clooney is proffered as a modern equivalent and though they share an ambiguous sexuality and a quiet manliness, Cary clearly has the swoon factor that gave Clooney the blueprint.
Rock Hudson: Another brute but this one a cad and ruthlessly sexy womaniser, on-screen only of course. He is quite simply textbook handsome. Could have been a Greek hero in another life. Looks like he could break a barrel with one hand.
Gene Kelly: The finest behind in the business of show. But forget that for a second and let the twinkle in his eyes work its magic. Could anyone have ever said no to him? And in a sailor suit, forget it …
Clive Owen: My old PC perpetually groaned under the weight of my unintentionally amassed gallery of Clive Owen images until I had to admit I had a problem and erased them all. Absence only makes the heart grow fonder though. The slightly oversized ears and boxer’s nose suggest a rogue turned respectable but with a streak just waiting to be tapped into. Suits do not look this good on anybody else.
Channing Tatum: I accidentally came … across this defiantly gorgeous, ridiculously named Yank in Dito Montiel’s A Guide To Recognizing Your Saints. He’s a model turned actor of course and one of only two concessions I’m making to anyone born after 1965. Hopefully he’ll fall on hard times soon and can come round and scrub my floors.
They also served …
Paul Newman
Paul Simonon
