Category: Men Of Consequence

Though the idea of redemption has decidedly religious roots, ultimately tied to the particular madness of Christianity, it can be fairly stated that in more recent incarnations, the redeemed are more likely to be found on the silver screen than in church.

I could spend hours extolling the genius of The Hustler, a film so flawlessly conceived, written, acted, and directed, that for its 134 minutes, I’m willing to embrace the world as worth saving, given that it produced this.

“Behind every great fortune lies a great crime.” – Honore de Balzac

One of the most brilliant, iconoclastic elements of the Oscar-winning The French Connection is that its central figure, Jimmy “Popeye” Doyle (Gene Hackman), is a lousy cop.

Make no mistake: Kit (Sheen) – channeling James Dean with every fiber of his being – is a piece of shit. A rapist, kidnapper, professional deadbeat.

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.