Charles River Editors

In the 1960s and 1970s, no actor personified cool, calm and collected like Steve McQueen, whose suave anti-hero protagonists made men jealous and women swoon. As actor Donald Logue puts it in The Tao of Steve, “Steve is the prototypical cool American male. He's the guy on his horse, the guy alone. He has his own code of honor, his own code of ethics, his own rules of living. He never, ever tries to impress the women, but he always gets the girl." And indeed, that was the case not only in movies like The Thomas Crown Affair, Bullitt, The Getaway, and Papillon, but also in real life. Actress Ali MacGraw, who later became one of his wives, described his effect on women: "I remember seeing him across the swimming pool and my knees were knocking. He radiated such macho energy. Men wanted to be like him. Uptight society ladies and biker molls wanted to be with him." But unlike many actors who become this type of heartthrob, McQueen seemed to have the bona fides. 

To accompany the rough-hewn appearance of Charles Bronson’s new class of hero, the typical script gave his remarkably enduring persona little to say in terms of dialogue that would reveal his inner thoughts. With minimal text, even those he attempts to help are unsure of his intentions, and few clues are offered by which the viewer can come to know his mind. As the grotesqueness of his characters’ violent acts increased, so did the heinous deeds of the criminals he fought, upping the ante to an eager public in search of a simple cure for its social ills. In a career of almost eighty films and a total body of work totaling 160 appearances including television, Bronson pushed the envelope of what graphic action the studios were willing to offer, what the censors would accept, and what the sensibilities of movie-goers were able to endure more than anyone in his era.

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