Even if they weren't outright sex symbols, less attractive women could at least find a regular place on Hollywood cast lists. Rosanna Arquette's overbite and threadish blond hair didn't end her career, although her cuter sister did better in the '90s. Flaky redhead Molly Ringwald and spooky Ally Sheedy were X-generation superstars, though neither were as polished as the current generation's Brat-Packish luminaries, assuming that "American Pie" is today's "Breakfast Club" and cheerleader-gone-bad Tara Reid and weirdo Alyson Hannigan are their successors. Lea Thompson, another forgotten '80s star, was as plain as they come, but constantly landed roles playing unattainable high school beauties. She was the love of Tom Cruise's life in "All the Right Moves," the popular clique girl in "Some Kind of Wonderful" and Michael J. Fox's Oedipal temptation in "Back to the Future." None of these actresses had Playboy figures, supermodel gams, perfect teeth or Versace wardrobes -- because in real life, real women don't.

But the ultimate girl next door was Debra Winger. Brassy and smart, the tiny, personal-trainer-free, pale-skinned and freckled Winger beat out more than 200 actresses to be the apple of John Travolta's eye in 1980's crappy "Urban Cowboy." Winger in cowboy hat and tight denims was an American man's fantasy and a heroine for women who liked their idols strong, feisty and authentic. In 1982, she was considered scrumptious enough to attract none other than dreamboat Richard Gere in "An Officer and a Gentleman." Unlike modern-day actresses whose sass is written into their scripts, brazen Winger was the real McCoy. Her hothead personality got her into tangles with directors and with Gere; the two reportedly loathed each other right through their semi-nude sex scenes in "Officer," and Winger subsequently said the movie was the worst experience of her life. In the end, Winger left Hollywood in a huff, leaving lots of limp-spined actresses to barely fill her shoes.

Winger, along with Spacek and Field, were working-class heroines because they fought for their families, their communities and themselves, but also enjoyed rich emotional lives. Uncovering the secrets of your friendly neighborhood nuclear plant may not be the lustiest plot, but the eternally stunning Meryl Streep uglied up to play "Silkwood" and still managed to have lover Kurt Russell go down on her.

Somehow, Sally Field sweating in a factory in a raggedy dress and head wrap, fighting to unionize her textile mill in "Norma Rae," was more awe-inspiring than Julia Roberts' "Erin Brockovich" in eye-liner and push-up bra chastising a desk clerk for looking at her boobs. Either high-caliber stars like Julia aren't allowed to play ugly, poorly dressed women anymore, or the culture has reduced signs of feminine sexuality to clothing choices and smartass language. It's exploitative and, more important, it's dull. Obviously, the travails of the working class aren't as sexy as dudes losing their cars or wizards brewing potions, and are only used to show how righteous certain Hollywood A-list babes are.

Even the classier dames of old had something more to offer than looks. Who could forget gorgeous Jessica Lange getting screwed by Jack Nicholson on a flour-covered kitchen table in 1981's "The Postman Always Rings Twice"? Lange came across as a softly tortured creature, lovely and vulnerable, with eyes that flickered in private contemplation. No contemporary actress has matched her seraphic beauty. Kathleen Turner was so scorchingly sexy that even when her voice was given to a cartoon character, men squirmed in their seats. Her classic "Body Heat" line -- "You aren't too bright. I like that in a man" -- puts any "Sex and the City" vagina-squirting quip to shame.

Breathtaking in "The Year of Living Dangerously," Sigourney Weaver saved herself from alien demise in nothing but her skivvies, but her steely intensity and Yale-backed intelligence made her a star. Her 2001 pairing with comatose Jennifer Love Hewitt in "Heartbreakers" made it all too clear how sloppily the torch has been passed. Faye Dunaway was a raging beauty whose greedy, neurotic characters in "Chinatown" and "Mommie Dearest" were more exhilarating to watch than any of the Woman From Hell characterizations that followed. Michelle Pfeiffer and Kim Basinger were painfully beautiful, and though the latter didn't prove her acting chops until later, both filled out their blond flawlessness with captivating carnal presence: Pfeiffer's quiet, pouty-mouthed intensity and Basinger's trembling, latent-volcano sensuality. Even Darryl Hannah's gawky, golden loveliness was truer than Cameron Diaz's constantly cheery, rump-shaking goofball antics.

The fact that most Hollywood actresses, including royals like Halle Berry and Catherine Zeta-Jones, have appeared in Maxim's pages only bears out the argument. Today's female movie star is all artifice, a detexturized, bikini-clad cover girl whose road to stardom requires ego and a good dentist. She is eroticism stripped of intricacy, glamour without substance. Think back to the untalented but uncommonly sensual Nastassja Kinski wrapped in nothing but a snake in Richard Avedon's early '80s photograph, a shot more erotic than any Maxim cover could ever hope to be. Today's gals are undoubtedly pretty, but in a bland, perfectly symmetrical way. It's an attractiveness as common as it is replaceable. The essential, unknowable quality, once called "It," has in them been reduced to one shallow characteristic: Cameron Diaz is beautiful and lighthearted. Angelina Jolie is beautiful and weird.

Recent Stories