I mean, they have the good looks and they work out, have biceps on their triceps (or is that the other way round?), have six packs, permatans and sparkly teeth so white you need sunglasses. But, I ask you, in all seriousness...
Do they smoulder?
The one who started the Art of the Smoulder has to be the Sheikh himself, Rudolph Valentino. All across the land, wherever his films were played, could be heard the sounds of women sighing, swooning - while another sound, that of grinding teeth, emanated from their frustrated boyfriends. They couldn't smoulder. When Valentino died at the tender age of just 31, from peritonitis, thousands of women were left devastated and inconsolable. For some, it was all too much.
But in true Hollywood style, the studios lined up worth successors to his crown. Over the years, Clark Gable, Cary Grant, Ramon Navarro would send female hearts (and a few male ones too) fluttering, pounding and skipping a beat. Girls would dream of a kiss with the suave Cary Grant and a night of delicious debauchery with the ever-so-wicked Errol Flynn. I can't imagine the sophisticated and thoroughly nice Mr Clooney debauching, can you?
So, could today's generation of hearthrob actors once again recapture those magical seductive smouldering moments? Or are they gone forever, along with Garbo's amazing eyes and Dietrich singing Lilli Marlene? I fear so. But you never know...Any candidates?