That passage captures the need for a kind of sensual openness when we're looking at actors or actresses -- the need to recognize that sometimes what we accept as good acting is a facility with the technique and other times it's an ember that burns inside. At its best, of course, it's an indescribable combination of both.

But you can't discuss the issue of beauty without also talking about the problems of aging. And aging is the great enemy of actresses everywhere. The number of good -- any kind of good -- roles for actresses decreases as they get older. (When I say "older," let's say I mean somewhere in a woman's 40s, which is older in comparison to stars who are still in their teens or 20s -- and please hold the letters, because in no way, shape or form do I consider 40 old in real-life terms.)

Has anyone ever seen definitive evidence from audiences that they don't want to see beautiful older people in the movies? I don't think so. And yet it's a significant problem that there are so few opportunities for actresses in their 40s and beyond. It's almost shocking that Hollywood, which usually rushes to jump on any old bandwagon, hasn't made a significant effort to address the problem, considering that newspapers, magazines and television all reinforce the idea that, thanks to better diet and healthcare (and, alas, plastic surgery), the general population is looking and feeling more youthful than ever before.

Beyond that, I'd argue that age has always been a state of mind, anyway. I was recently lucky enough to catch a showing of a Budd Boetticher western from 1957 called "The Tall T," starring Randolph Scott and Maureen O'Sullivan, who were well into their 50s and 40s, respectively, when they made the picture. A low-budget film, "The Tall T" is a real picture, all right, thanks in part to the charisma of its lead actors, which seems to have been unaffected by age -- in fact, if anything, it was intensified.

Scott, rugged and worn and lanky, is possessed of a quiet sexual power that's the exact opposite of youthful machismo. And O'Sullivan's delicate beauty only seems heightened by the fine, feathery marks around her eyes. Her character -- delightfully named Doretta Mims -- is the daughter of a mining tycoon, a woman who just narrowly escaped that dreaded state known as spinsterhood by, unfortunately, marrying the wrong guy. Doretta is by turns exquisitely modest and unnervingly tough, and O'Sullivan navigates that shifting with ease and confidence.

If "The Tall T" were released today, it would look progressive. There's no acceptable explanation for why there are so few decent roles for actresses over 40 or so, particularly roles that allow them any kind of believable sexuality. But there is hope. In the recently released "Laurel Canyon," written and directed by Lisa Cholodenko, Frances McDormand plays a Hollywood record producer in her mid-40s. As McDormand plays her, the character isn't about her age -- there are a host of other qualities that you'd attribute to her (confidence, sexiness, acceptance of her shortcomings) before you'd even begin to pin an age on her. In a world more perfect than the one we live in, "Laurel Canyon" would spur Hollywood to immediately begin developing more and better roles for over-40 actresses. We can only hope.

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So where do actresses stand in 2003? And what kind of work are they being recognized for? The Academy Award nominations for 2002 proved to be something of a grab bag, with a few eyebrow-raising surprises. Kidman's nomination for "The Hours" was pretty much a cinch, but the Academy didn't fall for every "worthy" performance that came down the pike.

For one thing, it ignored Isabelle Huppert's highly praised but stiff and pallid turn in "The Piano Teacher." Instead, it turned its attention to Diane Lane (who gives what I believe is the performance of the year in a very un-role-model-like role in "Unfaithful") and Renée Zellweger (who, as a killer tootsie in "Chicago," also pulls off a fine non-role-model of a role). The Academy also noticed Salma Hayek in her portrayal of Frida Kahlo -- a fine performance in a definitively meaty role, but one that didn't seem to impress many critics or moviegoers.

You couldn't stay even half-awake at the movies this year and fail to notice Julianne Moore in the two roles for which she received nominations: One for her supporting role in "The Hours," and one for her leading role in "Far From Heaven." As the '50s housewife Cathy, whose highly manicured suburban world withers before her very eyes, Moore gives a performance that nods to the stylization of '50s movie heroines but is anything but stylized itself. You could call it a mosaic formed wholly from the poignant, delicate undertones, and not the surface brashness, of Technicolor.

It's always nice when deliciously unwholesome roles like those played by Zellweger, Zeta-Jones and Queen Latifah (the last two of whom where nominated for best supporting actress) get recognized. Rob Marshall's "Chicago" is beautifully and profoundly cynical, a quality that all three actresses tap into gracefully. And how often do roles come along that allow actors to sing and dance? It used to be a plus for an actor to have those skills, before it ceased to matter at all (and it didn't, through most of the '60s, '70s, '80s and '90s). If it spawns more smart movie musicals, "Chicago" may have opened a door for other actresses who have never had a chance to show off hidden talents.

The women's roles in "Chicago" are marvelous caricatures of bad girls, girls who aren't afraid to use their wicked wiles to get exactly what they want, and they must have been great fun for the actresses to play. Zeta-Jones and Zellweger play the saucy murderesses Velma Kelly and Roxie Hart, wary arch-rivals who are really sisters under the skin: "Chicago," tongue planted firmly in cheek, explores the dark, spiky underbelly of true sisterhood, in a way that's anything but dully reputable. Latifah's prison matron Mama Morton is something else again: She swivels through her big number, "When You're Good to Mama," like a callipygian goddess, the voluptuous love child of glamorous toughness and cushiony sexuality. Mama is a great role to begin with, but Latifah envelops it so wholly I can't picture anyone else in it. Musical roles are often considered light, although they're often among the toughest to pull off; Latifah's Mama is serious as a heart attack.

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