My favorite Alpha Males on Film

John McClane, Rambo, Harry Callahan, Conan.  Alpha males, all of them.  I don't know if it's all the special effects or the death-defying stunts, but they're just not my type.  I've always preferred my Alphas real.  I like them when they're flawed and believable; when they're fathers and providers and protectors.  I especially like when they're a little down on their luck because that's when their brain power comes into play.  That's when I believe in them--when they're right here, in broad daylight, doing battle with real life.

Warning: Spoilers galore ahead.  If you haven't seen one of these movies but plan to, skip the text.

(1) Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird (1962) played by Gregory Peck

Atticus Finch is never more in charge of himself as when the drunk, woman-beating Bob Ewell spits in his face.  I marvel at the strength of character it required of Atticus to reach into his breast pocket, pull out the hankerchief, and wipe the moonshine-soaked saliva off his face.  He never breaks eye contact.  Bob Ewell stands braced for retaliation, but it never comes.  This shows him that Atticus has done something Ewell himself cannot--he has risen above ugliness.

Often, it is through the eyes of others that we see the strength of Atticus's character.  Take, for instance, a scene that is more visceral than moralistic: the shooting of the rabid dog.  Until that moment, his son, Jem, believes his father's talents are limited to white collar pursuits.  However, when Atticus takes the shot that the sheriff himself doesn't feel confident taking, he becomes more than a father in Jem's eyes; he becomes a hero.  Yet, Atticus does not see himself as a hero.  He is actually embarrassed by the sheriff's praise.  He just did what needed to be done.  That's what Alpha males do.

We see Atticus again as others see him when he leaves the courtroom having failed to make Tom Robinson's case to the all-White jury.  Those who are entitled to feel most angry are the African Americans in the balcony who have been denied justice once again.  They do not show their rage, however.  Like Atticus, they are too gracious for such displays.  Instead, as Atticus gathers his belongings, they stand, one by one.  In doing so, they are focusing not on the frustration they must surely feel, but on Atticus.  They are telling him they recognize him for who he is--a White man who felt a poor Black laborer was as deserving of justice as a White woman.

I am positive that no one besides Gregory Peck could have played Atticus Finch.  It is the face, the voice, the firm set of the jaw.  It is the tenderness of his arms when he holds his daughter.  Few actors could have conveyed the self-possession of a man who has decided to remain true to himself; the conviction of a man who decides to fight a battle he knows he cannot win; a man whose gait alone reveals the nobility of his heart.  He played the role so well that if he were a real-life character, we, the audience, would also feel compelled to stand when Atticus passes.


(2) Charlie Anderson in Shenandoah (1965) played by Jimmy Stewart

This is one of those films that critics hated but audiences loved.  Whenever that happens, I know the film is worth my time. 

Jimmy Stewart plays the patriarch of a family in Virginia during the Civil War.  He is a widower with one daughter and six sons, all of whom are needed to run the family farm.  (By the way, the youngest son, sixteen year-old "Boy" is played by Phillip Alford, who played Jem in To Kill a Mockingbird).  As the war intensifies, the local elders begin to pressure Anderson to give Virginia his able-bodied sons.  The Anderson boys, still young and charged with testosterone, are on board with joining the Confederacy too.  However, their father's response is the same each time it comes up: "This isn't our fight."

The day comes when Boy is taken prisoner by Yankees who mistake him for a Confederate soldier.  When he discovers what has happened, Charlie fixates on a point a thousand miles away, sets his jaw, and declares, "Now this is our fight."  He, his daughter, and four of his sons pack up and head out on horseback to search the South for the Boy.  What transpires on their search is classic "I laughed, I cried" stuff.  The humor is sweet.  The tragedies are almost unbearable.  Through it all, Charlie Anderson stands firmly at the head of his pack.  He stands up to both the Union and the Confederacy.  In between, he takes on all comers.  He endures unimaginable heartbreak and life-sustaining joy. 

He is motivated by love, of course, but also by a sense of what is his.  He uses the word "mine" a lot.  This farm is mine.  My sons are mine.  This war is not mine.  He is a man who fights only for what is rightfully his.  For those things, he will fight to the death.  He is the perfect family-style Alpha male.

(3) Walt Kowalski in Gran Torino (2008) played by Clint Eastwood



Who hasn't known Walt Kowalski in real life?  He is everyone's grandfather or uncle or next-door neighbor.  He's the workhorse and the family man.  He's probably a military veteran.  He has had to fight more battles in life than you can fathom.  As a man past his physical prime, he's also dealing with varying degrees of physical pain every day.  He's tired and he has run out of patience.  There is nothing you do that he finds even remotely cute.  Same goes for your candy ass friends.  Oh, and by the way, get the hell off his lawn.

Every cranky old Alpha male is frustrated by the fact that the world didn't turn out the way he thought it was supposed to.  Kids were supposed to be respectful.  They were supposed to work hard.  The country as a whole was supposed to grow progressively stronger.  As he sees it, it's all gone to hell.  A lifetime of contributions have all been for naught. 


Walt Kowalski's frustration is further exacerbated by the Asian neighbors next door, as they represent the enemy in every way.  Walt is conflicted.  They're the enemy, and yet they're not only likeable, but they need him.  They need him in ways that make him feel valuable.  The daughter needs rescuing.  The son needs the kind of discipline that, in this particular family, only a man can provide.  An invading gang needs to be repelled.  Grudgingly, Walt does what needs to be done.  He steps up to the plate and rescues, disciplines, and repels. 

In the end, Walt Kowalski does something that only the Alphas of the world are willing to do: he sacrifices himself to ensure the survival of the young.  It is what primitive man did every day.  It is what some Alpha males today are willing to do.  Sacrifice is the down side to being top dog.  However, for Walt Kawalski, there is no down side.  In his final gesture as an Alpha male, he becomes relevant again.


(4) Quint in Jaws (1975) played by Robert Shaw

No one on Earth has ever been more in charge of anything than Quint is of his boat, the Orca.  It is his domain.  When Chief Brody and Matt Hooper board, they are his domain as well. 

In between shark hunting, much of the action on the boat involves old-school Quint trying to keep new-school Hooper in his place.  What changes the dynamic between them for the better is an evening of whiskey-drinking and tattoo-showing, capped by Quint's recollection of his experiences aboard the USS Indianapolis, the ship that delivered the parts for the Hiroshima bomb in 1945.  It turns out, Quint is a survivor of the worst disaster in American naval history.

His narrative is haunting.  If you're unfamiliar with the story, the Indianapolis, having completed its mission, was torpedoed by a Japanese submarine.  She had been carrying a crew of 1100 men, 200 of whom were killed by the initial blast.  As she sank, she dumped almost 900 living men into the sea.  Help didn't arrive until Day 5.  By that time, only 317 men were still living.  The rest died of dehydration or shark attacks. 

Helicopter personnel who arrived on Day 5 reported that the sea around the men was red with blood.  Even as they hovered, they witnessed men being eaten by sharks.  It had to have been a horrific sight.  Magnify that sight a million times, and you can imagine what it was like for the men who were in that water.

Quint's story is central to everything that happens from that point forward.  It is crafty foreshadowing of the events that unfold the following day.  It also distinguishes Quint as the only man on the boat whose experience is directly relevant to this mission.  Additionally, it saves Quint from being a stock character; he is not just a weathered and crusty mariner, a character we've seen a hundred times before.  Lastly, the narrative marks both Quint and the actor who portrayed him as exceptional.  Robert Shaw's Indianapolis monologue is not only the best performance in Jaws; in my opinion, it is one of the best performances in all of film history.  Alpha all around.


(5) The Man in The Road (2009) played by Viggo Mortenson


The Road is writer Cormac McCarthy's creation, so of course, what we get is a film that is dark and uncomfortable.  The setting is post-apocalyptic America.  However, unlike all others of its kind, there are no supermen.  There are no big screen action scenes.  Daily life, for the few who have been unlucky enough to have survived, revolves around finding food and keeping good shoes on their feet. 


The Man and his son, known only as The Boy, live each day searching for food and walking, walking, toward the coastline where The Man imagines life is somewhat more survivable.  At night, they take shelter in empty houses or cars.  The Boy sleeps while The Man keeps watch, as there is the perpetual threat of roving gangs of cannibals.

The Man is armed only with a gun and two bullets.  He uses one to fend off a cannibal.  He reserves the second for his son.  If The Boy is captured by one of these cannibal hunting parties, he will be raped, then kept alive only for the meat he can provide, one limb at a time.  The Man is prepared to kill his son to protect him from this.  The circumstances are that gritty. 

I like The Man for putting the needs of his son before his own.  It is obvious he would rather use the bullet on himself.  Yet, he knows that with each day he lives; with each day he gets his son closer to the coastline; with each day he can keep him beyond the reach of cannibals, the higher the likelihood that The Boy will ultimately survive.  So The Man pushes himself through each day.  He makes a lot of sacrifices along the way, the least of which is his own humanity.  He cannot afford to be humane; compassion and humanity were luxuries of pre-apocalyptic life.  Now there is just the daily--sometimes hourly--choice of either survival or death. 

It is life at its most primitive.  The Man is the primal us, all of us, as we were in the beginning, back when our most urgent need was the preservation of our children and thus, the preservation of our gene pool.  Back then, only the Alphas among us survived.  The Man represents our primitive Alpha forefather.



(6) Young Vito Corleone in The Godfather II (1974), played by Robert De Niro

When I think of Godfather II, I think of Robert De Niro walking through the streets of New York in the 1910's.  He wears his wool work shirt and suspenders, a bag of groceries slung onto his shoulder.  Every single time, I think, Now, that's a man. 

The character of Vito Corleone is a walking how-to manual for young boys who want to grow into Alpha males.  Boiled down, it requires judicious kindness and a systematic plan.  He must garner the loyalty of the weak and eliminate the power of the strong.  He must provide for his wife and children.  He must use measured judgment as his guide, not emotion.  He must never harm without a long range benefit.  If a young pup follows Vito Corleone's plan, he won't just have street cred; he will own the streets. 

One of my favorite scenes involves Vito's employer, the grocer.  He has been forced to fire Vito and give his job to the nephew of the reigning street Alpha.  The grocer is a good man.  When he fires Vito, he cries, probably more out of frustration over his powerlessness.  Vito reacts like a true Alpha.  He doesn't show anger; he will save that for the man responsible for this circumstance.  To the grocer, he is kind.  "You have been good to me," he says, putting his hand on the man's shoulder.  "You have been like a father to me.  You gave me a job.  I will not forget."

Vito Corleone doesn't forget anything.  His mind is like a database of loyalties and offenses.  For those who have been good to him or his family, he is a protector and a safe harbour.  For those who have hurt him, there is nowhere to hide.  He represents both the tenderness and the quiet wrath of the Alpha mobster.


(7) Minnesota Fats in The Hustler (1961) played by Jackie Gleason

By 1961, Jackie Gleason had already made a name for himself as a comedic actor.  The role of Minnesota Fats was a departure for him.  He was able to play the role to perfection for two reasons.  One, he was a remarkably versatile actor, and two, he was already a professional-level pool player.

At the time of the The Hustler's release, pool was a game for men who knew how to handle themselves.  In 1930's, pool halls in the U.S. were the refuge of the unemployed, the marginalized, and for laborers who made their living outdoors.  This is because pool halls were heated.  Not all places in Depression-era cities were.  A man could duck into a pool hall, take shelter from the cold, and if he was good enough, make a couple of bucks.

As you can imagine, pool sharks were rough guys.  In this way, Minnesota Fats was distinctive.  This character is not a scarred or tough-talking; nor does he try to intimidate his opponents.  He doesn't need to.  His confidence and his expertise are enough.  He is a man who, at some point along the way, separated himself from the pack.

Jackie Gleason owns every moment that he is on the screen.  Minnesota Fats is a big man who moves gracefully around a pool table.  Says Fast Eddy, "Jeez, that old fat man, look at the way he moves, like a dancer.  And those fingers, those chubby fingers, and that stroke.  Like he's playing a violin or something."

That was all Jackie Gleason.  As a child, he worked in a pool hall in Brooklyn.  He became familiar with the game and eventually mastered it.  He knew the language.  He knew the culture.  In The Hustler, he did not require a stunt double to take his shots.  He was in many ways a real-life Minnesota Fats.

Note to the audience: A lot of people think Minnesota Fats was a real person; he was not.  A real-life pool hustler named Rudolph Wanderone assumed the nickname and marketed himself as Minnesota Fats after the success of The Hustler.  Wanderone was a fast-talking self-promoter.  The character of Minnesota Fats was neither.  I like to think that had he met real-life Rudolph Wanderone, he would have smiled to himself then put the poser in a corner pocket.

 
(8) Lewis Medlock in Deliverance (1972) played by Burt Reynolds

Everyone should have a friend like Lewis.  He comes up with all the cool ideas.  He leads the Betas on adventures that they would never otherwise have.  He knows how to use the coolest weapon ever invented--the crossbow--and he's not afraid to use it if you're accosted by rednecks with lovin' on their minds. 

The film begins with Lewis leading three other men on a canoe trip on the Cahulawassee River.  He is essentially paying his respects; soon, the entire valley will be flooded to make way for the construction of a dam.  The four are most likely going to be the last people on Earth to run its rapids.

Lewis is not just another weekend warrior.  His challenging weekend getaways are tests to which he subjects himself.  For Lewis, tests are important, as they keep him connected to his primitive self.  He does not rely upon the government, nor the law to protect him.  He does not rely on the abilities of others.  Ultimately, there is only himself. 

As so often happens, both on screen and in real life, Lewis is forced to confront his deepest fear--putting his trust in another.  He has no choice; he is gravely injured.  He must put his faith in the abilities of Ed, his closest friend and, for all intents and purposes, his protégé.

Ed measures up.  Of course he does.  From every trip he has taken with Lewis, he has learned from him.  By the end of the film, Ed knows what Lewis knows: once you peel away the outer layers of your life--friends and wives and jobs--there lies a core, and that core is you and your survivability.  That is what must be addressed first.  Questions of morality can be dealt with from a safer position.

He also understands that there is a price to survival.  Sometimes there is moral sacrifice.  For example, in order to survive, Bobby decides to submit to his attackers--a decision that will surely cause him shame for the rest of his life.  Drew decides to go against his conscience and participate in the concealment of the crime; his decision involves moral doubt.  Ed decide to kill rather than be killed; while it is understandable, he will spend a lifetime questioning whether or not he was right in answering the call of his innermost core and ignoring the outer layer of his civility.  For Lewis, the price will simply be worry that their crime will stay where it needs to stay--underwater.

I like Lewis because he does not take his survival instincts for granted.  He respects the warrior spirit deep within his core.  He not only listens to that spirit, but he answers its call.

(9) Michael in The Deer Hunter (1978) played by Robert De Niro

Michael is the deer hunter.  He is the Alpha male of a small group of friends who live in an industrial town in Pennsylvania.  The day comes when three of them are sent to Viet Nam.  There as well, Michael is the unofficial guardian of the group.  Throughout the film, his character is revealed by the obligations he feels to safeguard his two friends; Steven, played by John Savage, and Nick, played by Christopher Walken.  Michael's obligations to the two are strengthened by the fact that Steven is particularly weak in both mind spirit, and by the fact that Nick, prior to their deployment, has elicited from Michael a promise that if anything happens, he will not leave him over there.  It is a promise that Michael will eventually risk his life to honor.

The two most pivotal scenes involve the game of Russian Roulette.  The first takes place in a North Viet Namese prison camp where Michael and Nick are forced to play Russian Roulette while their captors place bets.  Michael is able to think on his feet in the midst of this horror.  He kills his captors and flees with Steven and Nick.

The second Russian Roulette scene takes place when Michael returns to Viet Nam just prior to the fall of Saigon.  He has come to find Nick and bring him home, as promised.  He finds him, but you almost wish he hadn't.  Nick is amnesiatic; he doesn't recognize Michael.  Worse, he is now a heroin addict who plays Russian Roulette for pay.  By this, I mean he actually puts a gun to his own head while crowds of men place bets.

In one last desperate attempt to bring Nick back from the dark side, Michael joins him.  He sits across from him and puts the gun to his own head.  His hope is that this will unlock Nick's memory.  It is the only way he can honor the promise he has made to Nick. 

Michael is an Alpha for all the obvious reasons.  He's a leader; he's a protector.  At every juncture, he is willing to put himself at risk for his friends.  He knows that he will always survive, but his friends, who are psychologically more fragile, might not.  Additionally, he is honorable.  He doesn't just make promises; he actually keeps them. 



(10) Chief Phillips in Apocalypse Now (1979) and Apocalypse Now Redux (2001) played by Albert Hall


The obvious Alpha male in this film is Captain Willard, played by Martin Sheen; however, Willard is too much of a loose cannon to be a solid Alpha.  For me, the true man in charge is Chief Phillips, charged with delivering Willard up river into Cambodia. 

Chief Phillips' subordinate position requires that he take orders.  He does, because he's a chain of command kind of guy, but you just know that if he had been in charge, everyone aboard would have returned to Saigon alive.

The role is supportive, so we know little of Chief Phillips' life or core character.  We know he is dead serious about his responsibilities.  He disapproves when Willard trades some of the boat's fuel for some recreation with two Playboy bunnies.  He chooses not to partake.  This doesn't mean he's prudish, though he might be.  It means he is irked that fuel has been expended in the name of frivolity.  Under dangerous circumstances, this could mean his boat and his mission have been compromised.

Prudish or not, we do know that Chief Phillips is morally solid.  When one of the crew members panics and guns down a sampan full of innocent Viet Namese civilians, it is Chief Phillips who instructs the crew to bring the one survivor on board.  His intention is to deliver her to friendlies.  Willard saves them the trouble by killing her.

Captain Phillips' most heroic act comes at the end when he is speared in the back by the enemy.  As he lays dying, he tries to pull Willard down onto the tip of the spear that protrudes from his own chest.  This is Phillips' finest moment.  It is a noble, selfless moment, a moment in which he has accepted his own impending death and chooses to focus on protecting the remaining crew from crazy Willard.  He struggles valiantly; however, he is dying.  He can do no more.

If I found myself in war time on a boat headed up river into enemy territory, I would want a guy like Chief Phillips at the helm.