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FEATURE: Top 10 Movie Womanizers

Frank Ochieng
FEATURE: Top 10 Movie Womanizers

Now, who would not want to partake in the big screen role of a stud that can demand ladies’ attention at any given point? Well, the prospect of these desired movie chick magnets capturing the elusive estrogen crowd is wishful thinking at its finest for the regular guys sitting in dark theaters yearning for the fantasies of being treasured feminine fodder for women’s hungry affections.

In Top 10 Movie Womanizers we will be looking at the lucky leading men that demonstrated their brand of smoothness with the giddy gals that were willing to be provocative putty at their feet. As with any topical lists of “bests”, one can easily come up with alternative selections to consider and certainly Top 10 Movie Womanizers is no exception. From satirical womanizers such as 1969’s The Love God?’s Abner Audubon Peacock IV to the deliberate debauchery of historical hedonism in the form of 1979’s Caligula to classic Cary Grant or Clark Gable movies of yesteryear it is definitely clear that the movie womanizer has been a constant staple in the mindset of cinema since the humble beginnings of the film industry.

The Top 10 Movie Womanizers selections (in ALPHABETICAL order according to movie title) are:


For over five decades nobody in the realm of contemporary cinema has been instrumental in consistently bedding and romancing the hordes of honey-bunnies than the legendary creation of author Ian Fleming’s British superspy James Bond. Agent 007’s carnal exploits with the ladies remains among the charming (and disarming) tendencies of the debonair and daring espionage figurehead. From early Bond performers Sean Connery and the late Roger Moore to the modern-day Daniel Craig the James Bond love express train has chugged along the treacherous tracks to the point that this particular spy film franchise coined its own subculture category known as “The Bond Girls” (from Honey Ryder in 1960’s Dr. No to 2012’s Severine in Skyfall). As Bond songstress Carly Simon once sang about the suave Agent 007 from The Spy Who Loved Me that a majority of women would attest to in a heartbeat: “Nobody does it better…baby, you’re the best!”


There was nobody quite like Londoner playboy Alfie Pennyworth (Michael Caine in his early Oscar-nominated/Golden Globe-nominated/BAFTA-nominated performance) in director Lewis Gilbert’s free-wheeling English rom-com Alfie. Chauffeur Alfie is a handsome skirt-chaser with an uncontrollable taste for collecting adoring women like postal stamps. It does not seem to matter what kind of woman that the frisky Cockney cad played footsies with at will. Whether it was frolicking with married women (such as taking up with and impregnating the frumpy wife of a fellow mental patient-turned-friend or abruptly ending an affair with another man’s wife) or getting his steady girlfriend pregnant while enjoying his cheating and tawdry trysts with other chicks it is clear that Caine’s Alfie Pennyworth was reckless in his loose relationships with the faceless females that served as his arbitrary hormonal amusement or merely dismissed as domestic maidens. Alfie is a self-centered bloke with quiet antagonistic issues toward the curvy bodies he cherished having random sex within cheeky mode. Still, Alfie was a lonely tragic figure despite his aimless bed-hopping antics until his realization kicks in gradually–can he find true romance with a genuine woman worth him making a solid commitment? Indeed, what’s it all about Alfie?


Fratboy Eric “Otter” Stratton (Tim Matheson) strut his horny stuff around Faber College as the insufferable campus Casanova in the hyperactive and hysterical comedy Animal House. Otter was the raucous alpha man Delta that was blessed with the toxic tongue that could snag many collegiate cuties and not seem to break a sweat while doing so. Otter could score with the girlfriends of the rival Omegas and can assume superhero status when invading a woman’s college while coveting more articles of loose naughty women’s lingerie than the fall issue of a Victoria’s Secret catalog. Regardless of the gullibility or guilt of his tart targets one thing was quite clear–Eric “Otter” Stratton could talk the pants off of a virginal woman’s lib activist while armed with an impish smile and roguish recklessness. At Faber College Otto definitely made the grade when examining the female anatomy.


Dubbed “The World’s Greatest Lover” and the permanent poster boy for feminine-induced promiscuity no one served as the reliable source of eye-candy for the lusty ladies than legendary loverboy Giacomo Cassanova (as played by the late Heath Ledger). The Lasse Hallstrom-directed romancer featured Ledger as the Venice-based period piece playboy forced to escape the wrath of the church (and eventual exile from the region) by cementing an engagement to virginal Victoria (Natalie Dormer). Eventually, Casanova would fall in love with Francesca Bruni (Sienna Miller), a feminist in hiding behind male pseudonyms. But in 1753 Venice it appears that there were countless ladies’ loins that the smooth operator Casanova was amorously familiar with around the territory. No doubt that the Italian pretty boy charmer was addicted to the legions of female admirers that did not mind being at the end of his busy puckered lips. Women galore and the coolness of Ledger’s Giacomo Casanova was constantly bogged down by scandalous sexual misconduct looking to undermine the purity of conservative values involving family and religion.


No one can deny the free-for-all irreverence of the early sixties’ bouncy British period piece comedy Tom Jones, a critically acclaimed project directed by Tony Richardson. Albert Finney, who played the titular kind-hearted womanizer armed with giddy gumption, earned several prestigious movie industry nominations in the USA and UK portraying the former bastard son-turned-good-looking rogue whose caring heart and wayward spirit belongs to his desired Sophie Western (Susannah York). Tom Jones had no trouble turning the heads of the opposite sex as the women that he attracted were intrigued by his sense of genuine earthiness. The “illegitimate” Tom is warned to keep a safe distance from his beloved Sophie (promised to another man) but that does not stop him from engaging in randy run-ins with various women including an older woman he saves from a dastardly Redcoat enforcer–the same woman he beds down that is thought to be Tom’s alleged mother. An opportunistic Tom even crawls under the bed sheets with a wealthy middle-aged noblewoman willing to ignite his sexual switch. In the end, Tom Jones is finally reunited with his elusive Sophie which automatically negates his frivolous dalliances with detached divas.


Director-writer-star Jerry Lewis took his Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde formula with a “beauty is skin deep” connotation and applied it to his early sixties’ comedy classic The Nutty Professor. Lewis helms a perceptively sweet, goofy-minded slapstick detailing the chronicles of dorky bookworm Prof. Julius Kelp (Lewis), an awkward scientific genius stepping up to invent a special portion that alters his physical appearance and psychological confidence. The result: the nerdy bespectacled Kelp turns into a polished playboy known as Buddy Love (also Lewis), a handsome hothead brimming with arrogance and attitude. Now deemed the object of affection to the local college gals (and specifically Kelp’s crush in his blonde beauty student Stella Purdy as portrayed by Stella Stevens) at the nearby nightclub where Buddy Love oozes overflowing charisma as he dazzles his devoted female on-lookers and curious guys alike. The unpredictable side effects will prove to be the eventual downfall for both insufferable womanizing worm Love and the klutzy but well-meaning Prof. Kelp. If the messaging served its purpose correctly then Lewis’s wacky The Nutty Professor was a relentless ticklish reminder that one must be comfortable within their own skin. In Lewis’s celebrated circles we all cherished Dean “Dino” Martin but we merely tolerated the brash and banal Buddy Love.


Everything screams ultra-cool regarding the 70’s blacksploitation cinema movement and nobody was more prominent in the forefront of this black big screen genre than Ernest Tidyman’s creation of ultimate suave urban detective John Shaft (Richard Roundtree). In general, the riveting Gordon Parks-directed Shaft simply throbbed and captured the escapist excitement of Roundtree’s hip muscled enforcer wreaking havoc in the mean streets of New York City. From the Oscar-winning Theme From Shaft courtesy of the late Isaac Hayes’s soulful chops to the rugged good looks of former male model-turned-actor Roundtree it is easy to see why the rise of 70’s black action-packed cinema was in demand spawning everything from Superfly to slick black-oriented recycled vehicles featuring the likes of athletic masculine personalities Fred Williamson, Jim Brown, and Jim Kelly–all so-called lady-killers. The inherent sexiness, saucy danger and raw energy from Shaft would cement this well-dressed ebony private eye as a desired man of action for the variety of women looking to coral this dynamite dude behind closed doors. Even the film’s theme song boasts what a durable chick magnet John Shaft is at hand: “Who’s the black dick that’s a sex machine to all the chicks?…Shaft! You damn right!” and “Who’s a complicated man that no one understands but his woman?…John Shaft!” Wouldn’t one like to get a peek into Shaft’s thick date book?


One thing that it is safe to assume about both Dean Martin and his self-deprecating alter ego in Bond knock-off superspy Matt Helm…the adoration received by the female masses that would not mind being tamed by the popular crooner/actor or fictional flippant American government agent. The Gold Diggers were not the only group of gorgeous gals to surround Martin professionally. In any event, author Donald Hamilton created the wise-cracking U.S. agent Matt Helm where he would eventually join the 60’s craze of over-the-top daring spies sprinkled on the big screen in the wake of surging Bond mania. Martin was tapped to assume the role of Helm in the first installment The Silencers. Martin approached Matt Helm as a glaring tongue-in-cheek operative continuously surrounded by various sexy women. Helm was a counter-intelligence studmuffin whose persona was close to his Rat Pack reputation–a hearty taste for booze, broads and singing a tune or two. Interestingly, Matt Helm would maintain his womanizing mojo throughout the film franchise as the ladies flowed like fine wine through other fare such as Murderer’s RowThe Wrecking Crew and The Ambushers.


What is the difference between the sleazy dealings of John Beckwith (Qwen Wilson) and Jeremy Grey (Vince Vaughn) as Washington D.C.-based divorce lawyers and Beckwith and Grey as professional intrusive wedding crashers? The answer: not much. With that said director David Dobkins’s raunchy comedy Wedding Crashers set the stage for opportunistic womanizing party-hearty opportunists John and Jeremy to take advantage of horndog-induced honeys at random elaborate weddings and bed them down as a measure of rollicking accomplishment. The duo, for the most part, are successful in picking up and subsequently screwing the countless willing women that succumb to their titillating ruse at the weddings where they are uninvited but infiltrate with ease. However, the eventful wedding of political bigwig William Cleary’s (Christopher Walken) daughter would be the turning point for the warped wedding crashers that find kooky-minded chaos and unwanted affection from the unlikeliest individuals of the off-kilter Cleary clan while stumbling across a pair of Cleary’s other pretty daughters insensible Claire (Rachel McAdams) and goofy promiscuous Gloria (Isla Fisher). John is intensely smitten and claims Claire (with her boorish boyfriend in Bradley Cooper’s Sack Lodge as the snobbish obstacle) while Gloria pacifies Jeremy with her off-the-wall sexual spunk. Finally, the art of the tawdry tease is silenced when John and Jeremy realize true affection with a single woman is more satisfying than a slew of meaningless quickies after the cutting of a reception wedding cake.


Long before Tinseltown mover-and-shaker Mel Gibson would become a hostile Hollywood pariah he was the hunky darling of women globally looking to be manhandled by the handsome American-born, Aussie-bred cinema superstar with the movie-made Midas touch. A mature Gibson (although still an automatic wet dream to the admiring female film-goers at the box office) took a dive into the estrogen-friendly romantic comedy What Women Want playing hot-to-trot ad executive Nick Marshall with the effortless gift for attracting the starry-eyed women to his side. Nick has the rugged good looks and high-powered position to boot so why wouldn’t he scoop convincingly and be the manly source in what women want? However, it would take a freakish turn of events when an electric shock elevates his abilities to hear the secretive thoughts of the many women that he encounters. Is Nick’s brand new mind-reading skill considered a prized gift or a doomed curse? How will this aging womanizer deal with a woman on a different soul-searching level rather than viewing her as his latest physical conquest? Perhaps the fatherly Nick Marshall can find his road to romantic redemption much like the troubled performer needed to do that portrayed him nearly two decades ago.









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