Kenny Rogers as The Gambler (also known as The Gambler) is a 1980 American Western television film directed by Dick Lowry. The film premiered on CBS on April 8, 1980. It was loosely based on the Grammy-winning Kenny Rogers song of the same name,[1] and stars the singer as Brady Hawkes, a gambler trying to reunite with a son he never knew, played by Ronnie Scribner. It was a critical and commercial success, receiving an Eddie Award and two Emmy nominations, and resulting in four sequels.
The story of passengers on a stagecoach threatened by an Indian attack is the first starring role in a John Ford film by John Wayne, who had worked as an extra, a stuntman, and actor in other low-budget productions. Wayne wore his own cowboy hat, one that he would continue to wear in several Westerns until 1959 when it started falling apart.
The Gambler Wore a Gun torrent
Warren Beatty and Julie Christie play a gambler and a brothel owner who team up as business partners in a remote Western town that comes under threat for its mining riches. Director Robert Altman told the more than 50 extras to decide what local character they wanted to play, such as barber or bartender, choose their costumes, and inhabit that character for the three months of shooting near Vancouver, British Columbia, in Canada.
An associate literature professor and obsessive gambler (Mark Wahlberg) tries to borrow money from his mother (Jessica Lange), and then from a loan shark to pay off another debt, when he begins to realize that his life is going nowhere. Also with Brie Larson, Sonya Walger, John Goodman, Cassandra Starr and Michael Kenneth Williams. Directed by Rupert Wyatt. [1:51]
LANGUAGE 10 - About 71 F-words and its derivatives, 2 sexual references, 17 scatological terms, 10 anatomical terms, 1 mild obscenity, 2 derogatory terms for African-Americans, name-calling (upstart, stupid, prince of darkness, gambler, crazy, Mr. Crybaby), 2 religious profanities (GD), 4 religious exclamations (e.g. Jesus, Oh My God).
Spoofs are always fun, especially if you're a fan of the genre they mock. And if you happen to be a Western buff who can hum the theme to The Good, the Bad and the Ugly by heart, Freddy Pharkas: Frontier Pharmacist is definitely the game for you. Co-written by Josh Mandel and Al Lowe, the latter of Leisure Suit Larry fame, this little Wild West gem trades the raunchy jokes of that series for tons of tongue-in-cheek puns that satirize every major cliché of the Western genre. Midday duels with blazing guns? Check. Moustache-twirling villain who manages to make fun of Sierra's president? Check. Crowded saloon full of prospectors, gamblers, cowboys and prostitutes? Check. And the list goes on. Mel Brooks would be proud.
Boruelal wore a dark suit of soft fabric, lightened at throat and knees by delicate silver chains. Her feet were bare, which Gurgeh thought did not set off the outfit as - say - a pair of heeled boots might have done. But it was the most minor of eccentricities compared to those of some of the university staff. Gurgeh smiled, looking down at the woman's toes, tan upon the blond wooden flooring.
The wooden door set into one comer of the room swung open and Gurgeh appeared, bearing a tray with hot drinks. He wore a loose, light robe over dark, baggy trousers; slippers made small slapping noises on his feet as he crossed the room. He put the tray down, looked at Yay. 'Thought of a move yet?'
'You call it enjoyment to lose your house, your titles, your estates; your children maybe; to be expected to walk out on to the balcony with a gun and blow your brains out? That's enjoyment? We're well free of that. You want something you can't have, Gurgeh. You enjoy your life in the Culture, but it can't provide you with sufficient threats; the true gambler needs the excitement of potential loss, even ruin, to feel wholly alive.' Gurgeh remained silent, lit by the fire and the soft glow from the room's concealed lighting. 'You called yourself "Morat" when you completed your name, but perhaps you aren't the perfect game-player after all; perhaps you should have called yourself "Shequi"; gambler.'
After a few minutes, standing near her, talking, occasionally moving a little closer, he was whispering into her ear, and once or twice he reached round behind her, to run his fingers down her spine through the silky dress she wore.
He and Gurgeh exchanged pleasantries, then Hafflis showed the game-player to a seat beside Professor Boruelal, who was grinning happily and swaying in her seat. She wore a long black and white robe, and when she saw Gurgeh kissed him noisily on the lips. She attempted to kiss Mawhrin-Skel too, but it flicked away.
'Yes,' he said, sitting back in the broad couch. He wore a simple robe. His skin felt scrubbed and shiny clean after his bathe. Somehow, the friendly, understanding voice of Hub made him feel better; it would be all right, he'd work something out. He was probably frightened over nothing; Mawhrin-Skel was just a demented, insane machine with delusions of power and grandeur; It wouldn't be able to prove anything, and nobody would believe it if it simply made unsubstantiated claims.
He set to work. He used his terminal to probe the Hub's information banks. They contained as a matter of course almost every even moderately important or significant or useful piece of information the Culture had ever accumulated; a near infinite ocean of fact and sensation and theory and artwork which the Culture's information net was adding to at a torrential rate every second of the day.
These were Contact people. Half of them formed the crew of the GSV itself, there not so much to run the craft - anyone of its triumvirate of Minds was quite capable of doing that - as to manage their own human society on board. And to witness; to study the never-ending torrent of data delivered on new discoveries by distant Contact units and other GSVs; to learn, and be the Culture's human representatives amongst the systems of stars and the systems of sentient societies Contact was there to discover, investigate and - occasionally - change.
'Hello there!' a voice shouted out as they got to the bottom of the stairs. A tall, male-looking person pushed between a couple of Azadians to get beside Gurgeh. He wore garish, flowing robes. He had a beard, bunned brown hair, bright staring green eyes, and he looked as though he might come from the Culture. He stuck one long-fingered, many-ringed hand out, took Gurgeh's hand and clasped it. 'Shohobohaum Za; pleased to meet you. I used to know your name too until that delinquent at the top of the stairs got his tongue round it. Gurgeh, isn't it? Oh, Pequil; you here too, eh?' He pushed a glass into Pequil's hands. 'Here; you drink this muck, don't you? Hi drone. Hey; Gurgeh,' he put his arm round Gurgeh's shoulders, 'you want a proper drink, yeah?'
He struggled under the warm, animal weight on top of him, the one he'd tripped up. People were shouting; police moved quickly. He saw Pequil lying on the ground. Za was there too, standing looking rather confused. Somebody was screaming. No sign of Flere-Imsaho. Something warm was seeping into the hose he wore on his legs.
Gurgeh sat for a little while as the evening wore on and the second sun set, then he finally dictated a letter to Chamlis Amalk-ney, thanking the old drone for the Orbital bracelet, which he still wore. He copied most of the letter to Yay, too, and told them both what had happened to him since he'd arrived. He didn't bother to disguise the game he was playing or the Empire itself, and wondered how much of this truth would actually get through to his friends. Then he studied some problems on the screen and talked over the next day's play with the ship.
Several young apices were attacking an old male lying on the ground. The apices wore some sort of strange uniform, though somehow Gurgeh knew it was not an official uniform. They kicked the old male with a sort of poised savagery, as though the attack was some kind of competitive ballet of pain, and they were being evaluated on artistic impression as well as the raw torment and physical injury inflicted.
In a detached way, Gurgeh wondered what would happen now. The two apices shouted at him, then they turned and pointed him out to the others. There were six of them. They all stood - ignoring the whimpering male on the ground behind them - and looked steadily at Gurgeh. One of them, the tallest, undid something in the tight, metallically decorated trousers he wore and hooked out the half-flaccid vagina in its turned-out position, and, with a wide smile, first held it out to Gurgeh, then turned round waving it at the others in the crowd.
Nothing more. The young, identically clad apices grinned at the people for a while, then just walked away; each stepped, as though accidentally, on the head of the crumpled old male on the ground. The crowd started to drift off. The old man lay on the roadway, covered in blood. A sliver of grey bone poked through the arm of the tattered coat he wore, and there were teeth scattered on the road surface near his head. One leg lay oddly, the foot turned outwards, slack looking.
So he found himself discussing strategy and tactics with a pair of Fleet admirals, a star general and an imperial minister in what the Bureau guaranteed was an electronically and optically sterile room in one wing of the castle. They spent three days talking over how they would play the game, then they swore before God, and Gurgeh gave his word, they would not break the agreement until the other five players had been defeated or they themselves were brought down. The lesser games ended with the sides about even. Gurgeh found there were advantages and disadvantages in playing as part of an ensemble. He did his best to adapt and play accordingly. More talks followed, then they joined battle on the Board of Origin.
'You're smiling, Jernau Gurgeh.' Gurgeh had been absorbed in the game and hadn't seen Hamin approach. The old apex sat down carefully beside him. Bulges under his robe showed he wore an AG harness to partially counteract Echronedal's gravity. 2ff7e9595c
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