Category: Men Of Consequence

If you’re going to be a cad, a prick, an unabashed pussy hound, and by far the most self-serving cynic in the history of the cinema, it’s best to look like Paul Newman.

For all his swagger, unapologetic machismo, and consummate derring-do, Lewis is still, at his core, a realist.

Due to popular demand, I have decided that my newly minted “Men of Consequence” series will pivot, buck convention, and add an entry that doesn’t involve beating some lippy broad to a pulp.

Thirty-one words. Perhaps not quite the equal to Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address for brevitic brilliance, but close. Damn close.

It is, for my money, the greatest thirty seconds in the history of the cinema. If I’ve seen it once, I’ve seen it a hundred times, if only because it’s one of the few scenes going that needs no context.