Luis Guzmán

This guy is the Puerto Rican king of facial furniture. The grand champion of the goatee. A master of the follicle arts.

Luis Guzmán.

I’ll bet you didn’t even notice him here on the blog did you?  He’s a goateed, hairy, plump ninja. Whenever I see him in something, it’s one of those “Where the hell did he come from!?” moments. Seriously, He just sneaks up on you. One minute you’re watching Calista Flockhart slowly evaporate on-screen, and without blinking an eye, she transforms into Luis Guzmán. Whether you like it or not, you’ve got a 1 in 3 chance of seeing him in whatever movie you watch next. Comedies: Yeah, he’s done those. Gangster movies: Yup. Thrillers: Indeed. Horrible Disney Chihuahua movies: Yes, those too. We all have to make a living you know and a goatee can be a financially draining hobby.

Not convinced yet?  How about Boogie Nights? How about his role as sidekick in The Limey? How about the batwing? He even had a cameo in the 80’s slab of awesomeness TV series The Equalizer. The only thing that’s missing from his beard-career is an Old Spice commercial. Someone needs to fix that. Please. Seriously. Bruce Campbell has nothing on this guy.

Luis Guzmán’s goatee is the finishing touch. The Bootsy Collins to Parliament Funkadelic. The Peter Venkman to Ghostbusters. The mixed nuts to a good beer. Give this man his props. He brings the Beardfunk.

Luis Guzmán; Goatee Rating: A

Beard-delivery : Snow Job

Wolf Blitzer

What? Has it been so long? I know we’re overgrown with fans (yes, all three of you); rabidly anticipating the next great moment in follicle history, hitting the refresh button over and over, hoping for an update of some sort. Well kind reader, today is your day to bask in it, to take it all in like a beam of sunshine. So put on your skimpiest bathing suit, lay out the towel and kick back. It’s time for the next luscious lady tickler to be revealed.

Wolf Blitzer.

Oh how much more amazing can a man’s name be? You’ve seen those top ten lists around the old interwebs. The ones that feature “The Manliest Names of All Time” or some such grandiose title, the text therein steeped in witty, sardonic observations and humor. Never, ever, do I see this fine bearded gentleman placed among them. Now I’ll be honest in saying that I really know nothing about the man beyond the fact that he has been stuck on CNN for a good chunk of his career. I really don’t care if I ever do. But fuck all; that’s no reason to dismiss such a fantastic piece of follicle mastery.

“Wolf.” Yes, that’s right, a fucking wolf; you know: the ravenous, flesh eating beasts that travel in packs, attacking bears, cowboys and packs of feral roaming babies. Frothing at the mouth, tearing meat from bone, howling devilishly at the moon while being printed onto perhaps millions of the worst looking t-shirts that have ever graced the skin the “spiritually inclined.” Indeed. The stuff of nightmares.

“Blitzer.” What a linebacker is. 300lbs. of muscle, adrenaline and sweat, maneuvering through a defensive line, hitting hard enough to crack bones and literally break your ass in half. Now put the image of those two together. Yes, that’s it: visualize that magic. Let it sink in. That’s one badass bearded mother-smucker.

So what if the guy gives political commentary on a television channel that’s about as revolutionary as “Real World vs. Road Rules Challenge.” Wolf Blitzer is the new Chuck Norris. Rewrite the history books. Big ups to our homie Wolf.

Wolf Blitzer; Beard Rating; B

Beard-delivery : Zach Galifianakis

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Charles Bronson

Yes, yes….I know. It has been far too long since a new chin-fro appeared here. Well dear reader, I give to you this gift, as we trudge back into the thick of it with one the the most amazing mustaches in the history of film. Period.

Charles Motherfucking Bronson, guild master of the action ‘stache.

Oh I know the inevitable question you’re about to pose; “What about Chuck Norris, you fascist bastard!?” Well folks, I refuse to jump on the Norris bandwagon with everyone else. His time has passed. His head is huge. His beard looks like something Ron Popeil would ask you to spray on to cover your aching bald patch while you’re groggily flipping through the channels at 2AM. Sure the Norris Facts are hilarious, but the mere thought that Mr. Norris decided to abuse that platform to forward his political beliefs (and someone else’s; whose name rhymes with Bike Fuckamee) is proof enough that he doesn’t belong here.

If Charles Bronson had his own brand of aftershave, it would simply be titled “Fuck You.” It would smell like gunpowder and burn like napalm. Today’s action stars can’t hold a candle to this guy. There was a simpler time when action movies were marketed specifically towards men and nobody cared how sexy the actor was or whether he would fall in love with his female counterpart. Yes, Charles Bronson looks like a baseball glove that got left in the sun too long. That’s what action stars should look like. When the only facial expressions available are anger, frustration, squintyness and constipation. I don’t want to see any of them with their shirts off; oily and hairless; caressing their pistol like a dainty porcelain teacup. I want to see shit blow up. I want to see one mustachioed dude take on an entire fucking army/gang/terrorist organization/clan of bikers/race of aliens.

Charles Bronson did just that. The guy made five “Death Wish” movies. Five of them. He’s been in some of the greatest man films of all time: The Dirty Dozen, The Great Escape, The Magnificent Seven and Once Upon a Time in the West. Sure he may have been type-cast several times over, but he stuck to what he did best: Kick plenty of ass. Much respect Mr. Bronson, to you and your magnificent mustache; rest in peace.

Charles Bronson; Mustache Rating: A

The Entire Cast of Shoot ‘Em Up

This homage to every over the top action movie ever made starring Oscar caliber actors Clive Owen & Paul Giamatti makes it onto our magnificent collection of facial art simply because everyone in this movie sports a five o’clock shadow. Literally Everyone. The bad guys, the good guy, the baby and even Monica Belluci all sport some sort of gluteus punting sandpaper growth.

This film is by definition; the epitome of a true beard-film. Like an epic tale told by fire, sweat, blood, leather and armor piercing bullets. It is a torrent of liquid hot beard magma rushing down the mountainside towards the villagers below.

This film includes giving birth to a child mid-gunfight, death by carrot, lactating prostitutes, road rage, big guns with a never ending supply of ammunition and a lovely parenting tip. What is there not to like? Shoot ‘Em Up was overwhelmingly beardtastic because it took the very idea, the very thought of a plot or even character development and threw it right out the window and onto the cold hard broken glass & dynamite-covered pavement below.

It eschewed the complexity of emotion and thought provoking scenes in favor of the simplicity and beauty of day-old facial hair and sex filled gunfights. It’s one long action sequence that runs like a (insert men’s hygiene product here) commercial on HGH. They took over where Sin City left off Clive Owen’s character from Sin City, only without all that pointless dialog.

May I also include that this this random awesomeness was a part of the viral marketing for the movie. If I had a child, he would most certainly be representing with the riot helmet and shield for his play dates. Take that suburbia.

The Entire Cast of Shoot ‘Em Up; Beard Rating; A-

Issac Hayes

Knock, knock. “Who’s there?” Oh it’s just the man who wrote one of the most badass man-soundtracks of our modern age, Mr. Isaac Hayes. Need proof? Let me drop some knowledge:

“Who’s the black private dick
That’s a sex machine to all the chicks?
SHAFT!
Ya damn right!”

“Who’s the cat that won’t cop out
When there’s danger all about?
SHAFT!
Right On!”

Do I need more evidence than that? That was literally half of the song’s lyrics right there. The rest is pure golden caramel-dipped instrumental magic. Men don’t need words in music; plain and simple. Leave that fluffy do-gooder nonsense to Kelly Clarkson, Barbara Streisand and those emo kids. Give me more symphony. Give me more horns. Give me more funk guitar. Give me more slap bass. Give me more epic twelve minute songs that are filled with beard infused goodness.

Sure Mr. Hayes is a scientologist. So is our dark overlord Tom Cruise. But you don’t have to be a level eight thetan (What the hell does that even mean anyway!? I want to be in a religion that makes me sound like I’m a RPG badass.) to understand how fucking beardaliscious Mr. Hayes is. I won’t let his preferred choice of religion impair my judgment on a truly remarkable beard. In fact, I’m pretty sure Isaac Hayes could don a handlebar mustache and be a card carrying member of the church of David Hasselhoff and still look like a badass sex machine. He has the Midas touch; only everything he touches turns to man-gold. From Rockford Files to Hot Buttered Soul; from Truck Turner to Chef’s Salty Balls, Isaac Hayes has been adding the beardliness to mainstream entertainment for decades. He practically wrote the blueprint for soul-beard lovemaker Barry White. Sure his career has had it’s ups and downs and his popularity has come and gone, but the beard has always been there for him, pushing him on to achieve beard-greatness. Kudos to you good sir; kudos.

Isaac Hayes; Beard Rating: B+

Brian Fantana

For those of you that are unfamiliar with Paul Rudd’s role in Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy, I strongly suggest you stop reading now. Step away from the beautiful glowing screen in front of you and head over to your local DVD peddling establishment. Purchase this film. Do not rent it. It is best that you receive your daily recommended allowance of Burgundy from here on in.

Now I may be biased to some degree, as most of my close family and friends will affirm that I do in fact have a bit of an addiction to all things Ron, but simply put this one of the best comedies to come around in years and it’s due in part to the sheer volume of fantastic mustaches and beards. I suppose it may help that I am male, white and in the age demographic that this particular film caters to, but I digress, and this post isn’t about me. It’s about my opinion, and my opinion happens to be on the classic ‘stachey-ness of this particular gent.

I could have gone the obvious route and stuck Will Ferrell in here with his masterful mustache, but I’m frankly not even sure that is was real. I know, I know; he could power a 1970 Pontiac Catalina with the amount of scotch he ingests in this film and he can make love to a flute like Satchmo could play a trumpet. However, fake mustaches and beards simply do not belong here…No matter how ridiculously preposterous and amazing the wearer is.

The fact that Mr. Rudd’s mustache and chops were home-grown like some delicious vegetable is only half of the sheer genius of his character. The other half is the absolutely over the top testosterone fueled vagina loving chauvinist persona that embodies Brian Fantana. Let me see here. Where should we begin? Fighting with competitors? Check. Doing so with some awesome home-made man-weapons. Fighting with bears? Check. Wearing gasoline to attract the opposite sex? Check. Naming his testes? Check. James Westfall and Dr. Kenneth Noisewater reporting for duty. A collection of driving gloves? Check. No man is complete without at least one pair of decent driving gloves. A grand collection of colognes and musks? Check. Now take a good look at that picture. Indeed. Wood Grains. How spectacular is that? Is that even a real cologne? If it’s not, it sure as hell should be. I’d buy it. Time to musk up.

Paul Rudd; Mustache Rating: A

Baron Davis

“And he climbed to the top of the highest mountain on the coldest night of the longest day to call upon the great and mighty Beard Gods. He called upon them to request divine power. He called upon them for the power to topple great adversaries. It had been his only wish since he was a child; the reason he had become a Gladiator and a Warrior. His course to beardnificence had taken him there on that fateful day. In the cold and in the wind, the Beard Gods smiled upon him and granted his one and only wish. His destiny. His path. Now set in stone for eternity. The beard shall live on forever.”

Baron Davis. He practically makes it on here by name alone. Who names their child “Baron” anyway? That’s fucking awesome. How could he not be included here? This guy went off in the 2006-2007 playoffs. Despite my ever-growing dislike for NBA basketball, I was consumed by the tale of this team and more specifically; the tale of this beard. The fact that Baron’s prodigious face forest was the determining factor in the Warriors victory over the top seeded Dallas Mavericks only made the story that much better. His beard should have been wearing it’s own jersey. His beard could be seen on the sideline enjoying a refreshing Gatorade during timeouts. During the off-season, Baron’s beard volunteers for Homes for Humanity by cutting timber and hammering nails the old fashioned way.

I don’t follow pre-season games and doubt if I’ll be watching any of the fixed games this year (thanks David Stern!) so I can only hope that the beard stays with him this season. So many before him have fallen victim to the taunts and jabs of colleagues and naysayers, resulting in a complete disappearance of the beard altogether, or worse still; the trimming down to one of those slim-line fashion beards ala Turtle from Entourage. That’s like cutting your beard’s testes off and replacing them with a vagina. Don’t go there Baron. The Beard Gods do not take blasphemy kindly.

Baron Davis; Beard Rating: A-

Sam Elliott

There are so many things that make a truly ‘stache-tastic mustache. Growth, appearance, grooming or lack thereof, how it affects it’s wearer, coloration and even smell. But sometimes, a man comes along that defies the laws of facial hair physics altogether. He is a man who alters the space-time continuum of facial hair cultivation, much like a wizard or Brad Pitt would. Such is the case here. Sam Elliott’s profound “walrus ‘stache,” made popular by such greats as Wilford Brimley, Theodore Roosevelt and Frank Zappa truly is the definition of, well…Sam Elliott. Every movie he’s ever been in should actually list his mustache as a supporting actor. It’s just that good.

Sam Elliott’s mustache exudes complete testicular endowment. If Sam Elliott were a lumberjack, flannel would no longer be called flannel; it would be called Sam Elliott. His mustache is like John Wayne’s sweat mixed with a chainsaw, three pints of Guiness, Indiana Jones, early Nintendo era Castlevania and motor oil. One look at his squinty, weather-beaten face tells you that he means business. Pure steel and brawn man-business. Whether it’s taking on a grizzly bear filled with pirates, cutting down a forest with his bare hands or just plain makin’ love to the ladies. He’ll get it done right the first time. No questions. No complaints. Just mustache.

He speaks in gravely tones about sarsaparilla and “The Dude” abiding. He made Tombstone the great western it is. He was the only redeeming quality of Ghost Rider. He’s even the voice of The American Beef Council. What more do you want!? Does anything define a mustache more than that? Raw red meat and cowboy magic. A perfect harmony.

Sam Elliott; Mustache Rating: A