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

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

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

Tom Selleck

The first post. This blog is all about badass dudes with badass bristles. The embodiment of manliness. From 5 o’clock shadows to full on Wolf-Man-like development. Some say men hide behind them. Some say they are foul and dirty. Some even make jokes about them, citing the Unabomber, Chewbacca’s balls and Cat Stevens. I say it’s all about comfort, embracing your ability to grow your man-hair and it’s about staying ahead of the current fashion trends. We as men must be able to express ourselves without using words. It’s science for fuck’s sake.

It starts here with dose of mustache magic from Tom Selleck. I had a difficult time choosing who would in fact be our first post. But how could I deny the almighty power of The Selleck. The man was Magnum P.I. for Chrissakes. The man practically brought credibility and manliness to Three Men & a Baby (If it weren’t for the addition of a smug Guttenberg completely destroying the power of the ‘stache). He even made us question his sexuality along side fellow mustache master Kevin Kline in the film In & Out. Only then did we all realize how awesome his faux-gayness actually was. He brought manscaping to a whole new level. Our man Selleck has been able to cultivate that magnificent soupstrainer since he was four years old. I have never seen him without it and I frankly never want to. It would be like waking up on Christmas morning only to find out that Santa doesn’t exist. What more do I need to add than that? He brought cool to the 80′s and helped pave the way for manscaping today.

Tom Selleck; Mustache Rating: A-