He’s not like all the other handsome men of TV, the Tom Sellecks, the Lee Majors, the Mr. Ts. His facial features are sculpted out of soapstone instead of granite, his blue eyes really do twinkle and his 6’1″ physique does not boast goalposts for shoulders; he was designed for designer clothes. He is handsome but quiet about it. “I don’t see myself as a hunk of the month,” he demurs. “I don’t think anyone is going to ask me to take off my shirt. My chest is rather pale.” Odd statement for a sex symbol. He says it in an odd accent—a little English, a little Irish, a lot of class. He has an odd name too; if you say it the right way, it sounds like a line from a chicken recipe: “Pierce Brosnan, cover dish and bake at 350 degrees.”

Pierce Brosnan is, some say, the new Cary Grant—sexy but suave, funny with subtlety instead of slapstick, manly but mannered. The thinking woman’s hunk.