The Pajiba (Dead) 10+: Hotties From Beyond the Grave
By The Pajiba Staff | Miscellaneous | July 2, 2015 |
By The Pajiba Staff | Miscellaneous | July 2, 2015 |
You asked, and we answered. We’d totally schtup these people, if they weren’t corpses. We tried not to have too much overlap with probably the post with the best title there ever was, but the Kelly hotness will not be contained.
(Young) Marlon Brando
He’s … I just … I can’t …
hummuna hummuna hummuna
— Sarah Carlson
It’s all about her eyes.
Sure, she was gorgeous. (Fact: Taylor and Paul Newman circa Cat on a Hot Tin Roof were perfect specimens. No man or woman will ever compare. FACT.)
But her eyes, y’all.
She could level anyone with one look.
Let’s get this out of the way: Egon was the best Ghostbuster. Full stop. Period. Do not be fooled by Venkman’s raw sexuality or Stantz’s goofy indifference. They would be nothing without the brains of the operation.
Who built the proton packs? This guy.
Who designed the containment unit? He did.
Who figured out that they could reverse the particle flow through the gate thereby returning Gozer to her own dimension? Mmm-hmmm. This motherf*cker.
Because he was a goddamn scientist.
If it weren’t for him, those other two would have been a couple of assholes in a condemnable building. Assholes in a condemnable building with no movie since Ramis helped write Ghostbusters.
And outside of the Ghostbusting world? As if he needed to prove himself any further? Ramis didn’t get much done. You know other than writing Animal House, Meatballs, Caddyshack, Stripes, and a little film called Groundhog Day. Plus he could rock almost any pair of glasses you put in front of him.
Harold Ramis was a comedic giant, there’s no denying. But to forget what a stone- cold, nerdy fox he was?
Eartha Kitt once had a threesome with Paul Newman and Jimmy Dean. She lived her best life. She lived the best possible life. And you can’t even get jealous, or begrudge her getting frisky with two of the biggest stars that ever lived, because flipping look:
Those boys were lucky as hell.—Rebecca Pahle
So hot he gets us blushing even in black and white.
And check that mischievous grin that whispers, “I know good times.”
Dude’s never had a bad day.
Those thighs though. I’ve never particularly lusted after thighs. Just Kelly’s. Look at them go.
Kelly dances so hot that charming potato Channing Tatum’s still trying to steal his thunder.
And he does it all with
No contest.—Kristy Puchko
Kristy will tell you that Gene Kelly has the best ass in cinema history. She is wrong. Kelly does have a beauty of a booty, but if there’s one predecessor for CapAss, it belongs to silent comedian Buster Keaton:
Here’s the thing about Keaton and Kelly: They were fucking athletes. All that dancing takes took serious physical stamina, as did the (rightfully) legendary stunt work that Keaton did. (Eat your heart out, Tom Cruise.) In the early 20s, Keaton fractured his neck while filming Sherlock Jr. and didn’t even realize it until years later when his doctor took a routine X-ray and asked “Hey, just curious, when did you get that horribly painful injury that probably should have killed you or at least left you paralyzed for life?” Keaton’s response: “???” At the time, he just figured he had a nasty headache, finished the scene, and went home early.
The defense rests.—Rebecca Pahle
The man was sex on a stick, and worked the stage like a lover…all leather pants and flowing curls. Like an impossibly gorgeous combination of Tim Olyphant and Jim Morrison, the swagger was nearly unbearable.
All we ever wanted was to be that microphone.
And like a lot of performers whose hearts seem too big to contain in one body, Hutchence threw his out to the world; we caught what we could. They can never tear us apart.—Cindy Davis
Sammy Davis, Jr.
The thing about Sammy Davis, Jr. is that he is not a conventionally attractive man. OK. He’s a little funny-looking.
But then he opens his mouth to sing, and fuck. Fuuuuuuuck.
Panties dropping everywhere. How is this fair?!—Rebecca Pahle
There’s a nasty myth that women don’t like nice guys. That we only like the bad ones, the ones who treat us wrong.
Well, I’m here to tell you, friends, that that is utter bullcrap. And here’s the proof: Jack Lemmon.
Because sure, Lemmon could play tragic and tortured. And his actual life wasn’t without hardship. (In 1998, he announced he was a recovering alcoholic.)
But that’s not what most of us think of when we think of Jack. We think of that smile.
That ever-present, jaunty, underdog charm.
It’s the way he looks at you.
How he gets you.
Jack Lemmon isn’t a fling.
He’s a partner.
The kind of fast, fresh, and funny man you’d be willing to give up all the Marlon Brandos of the world for, if it meant having him at your side.
Heath Ledger holds a personal place in my heart as the man who taught me that outspoken feminists don’t need to change to find love. We just need to find the right lover. But beyond that, he was a beautiful, talented human being that we lost too soon.
His performances show an amazing range of ability with characters, emotions, and looks. It’s fascinating to see how the same man can slip so easily into both the stone-faced Ennis Del Mar and the cocky William Thatcher. The physicality he brought to his roles was stunning, and he settled into his characters like well-worn jeans.
The role he left us with, and the one he will likely be most remembered for, was the Joker in Dark Knight. His Joker shook with rage, radiated menace while remaining perfectly still, stalked through any environment with horrifying purpose and brought everyone he came into contact with down to his level of chaos. It was a brutal performance.
But it was also a tragic one, and not really what I prefer to think of when I think of Ledger. I think of his easy smiles in 10 Things I Hate About You, the cocksure swagger he had in A Knight’s Tale, the intensity of his gaze in Brokeback Mountain, and the thoughtfulness he exuded in all his interviews. He had a magnetic quality that was impossible to ignore even in small roles, or otherwise unfortunate movies. You just wanted to watch HIM and only him as he brought a whole complex person to life in front of you. It is still hard to know that someone that vibrant is gone.—Genevieve Burgess
Exhibit A for Farley Granger’s inclusion in the Pajiba Dead 10: Boyfriend Murder Bonding Time: The Movie.
Exhibit B: Farley Granger’s everything else.
Granger (IRL bisexual—and yes he did know that Rope was one big gay sex metaphor, even though according to screenwriter Arthur Laurents, co-star Jimmy Stewart did not, bless his soul) never attained the stardom of a Grant or a Newman, Rope and Strangers on a Train aside. His acting style was a little softer and more sensitive, a little less stage-y and self-consciously “manly man” than many of the screen idols from his era. Personally, I think time’s been kinder to him than to a lot of his more funny-talking brethren. He’s particularly good in the 1950 noir Edge of Doom, aka “Fuck the Catholic church.” Anyway, if you don’t think he belongs in the Dead 10, this is for you:
Joshua Jackson — Before the pop-culture neglect got to him way too young, Joshua Jackson had not only stolen our hearts in Dawson’s Creek, but had stolen the heart of Joey Potter in the rare instance on a 90s drama where the lead female actually picked the right guy (*shakes fist in general direction of Felicity*). Sadly — despite a few meek and facile efforts in failed franchise fare such as Skulls and the sci-fi series Fringe — Joshua Jackson soon burned out of the public consciousness. However, his star was so luminous that 13 weeks out of the year, you can sometimes see the embers of his spirit brighten our television screens on The Affair. Sadly, it is not enough to make up for the loss, but Joshua Jackson will forever live on not only in our very souls but in the stirring of our pants. — Dustin Rowles
And finally …
On January 25, in the Year of Our Lord Nineteen hundred and twenty-five, Paul Leonard Newman arrived in this world, and with this birth, mankind peaked. For no other male has ever or will ever come close to the perfection that is Paul Newman.
You heard me: No. Man.
You should all give up now.
And the congregation said? Amen. — Sarah Carlson