But even the guys are Slim Jims next to the T-bone sexiness of their predecessors. Despite his chubbo jaw line, Ben Affleck ain't hard on the eyes, but boozing it up with strippers is more frat boy than Hollywood stud. He and buddy Matt Damon should stick to writing smarmy movie scripts and leave sex symbolizing to the big guns. Speaking of Damon, he has enough ivory in his mouth to build a piano, but any woman with a pulse still gets weak-kneed after a flash of mannish Denzel Washington's pearly whites.

Colin Farrell might screw a lot and mouth off about it, but put him in a boxing ring with '80s bad boy Mickey Rourke and see who comes out bruised. Jeff Bridges' brawny, fur-covered chest in "Against All Odds" makes the viewer of Brad Pitt's scrawny, yoga-lookin' arms feel like a crasher at a Boy Scout troop meeting. Josh Hartnett's dark, brooding act is adorable, but pales next to the tender Marlboro man sexiness of long-forgotten Tom Berenger. Ashton Kutcher and his posse of car-losing, pie-screwing morons will never make modern girls reach into their panties the way Matt Dillon's gorgeously troubled Dallas in "The Outsiders" did.

And where's Jeff Goldblum's strangely attractive, talkative but erotogenic intellectual, James Woods' creepy, convulsive lady-killer, even Alec Baldwin's slick, impassioned shark? Boys today are all good looks and manufactured edge. Even the old standbys have lost it. Once a dragon of lusciously ambiguous sexual and psychological trickery, Kevin Spacey has become a slightly more interesting Tom Hanks groveling for Oscar nominations. The aphrodisiac that was Sean Penn, especially during his pugnacious phase, wore off when he tried to pull a "Rain Man" and play a disabled character, which only the exceedingly gifted Dustin Hoffman has ever been able to pull off.

Audiences don't go to movies only to stare at pretty people. They want to feel something, to have their minds played with, to get a sensual thrill. They want actors to admire, sex symbols to desire and meaty relationships to horn them up. Good actors disappear into their roles, so arguably the performers' personalities shouldn't matter. But an insubstantial person usually produces insubstantial work, unless propped by good scripts and directors, which apparently don't exist in contemporary Hollywood. True, actors don't have to be smart to be appealing, but it helps. Today's film actors lack not only wit, but also edge and charisma, the qualities that make interesting layered performances and sexually charged films.

So what do audiences get? Tedious sex scenes and romances devoid of the playful, dangerous or just plain dirty interplay that colors genuine human relationships. Carmen Electra running in slow motion through lawn sprinklers, instead of grown-up women and men fucking, with all the wonderful and confusing consequences that ensue. Boring movie idols admired for their fashion sense and the exorbitant price tags of their weddings. These formulaic blockbusters and chick flicks drain the wallet, dull the spirit and leave audiences blue-balled.

Catherine Zeta-Jones and Ms. Lo as in J. lead the new breed of jaw-droppingly gorgeous superstars, but their sprawling, Chicago-size egos epitomize the problem. American celebrity is no longer the consequence of creative talent. Fame is the goal, and so out of the woodwork crawl thousands of megalomaniac nimrods convinced that the entire world should follow their every move. The art form is secondary.

All is not lost. Some cute-as-a-button actors also manage to be appealing entertainers, although lots of them aren't American. Classically beautiful, the strong-as-brandy Cate Blanchett steals every flick she's ever been in. Nicole Kidman is God's gift to salivating fashionistas, yet her choices as an actress are far more audacious than any of her contemporaries, especially considering her A-list status. Jennifer Connelly and Kate Winslet's poignant emotional roles are often as voluptuous as their celebrated bodies.

Ewan McGregor breathes rambunctious life into every character he plays, while Johnny Depp, though sometimes too heavy on the gloomy-artiste shtick, deepens even the shallowest movies. Edward Norton may be this generation's Hoffman, a versatile whiz kid who, when buffed up -- think "American History X" -- gives women another reason to envy Salma Hayek.

Jude Law is so obscenely sexy, watching him stare at a wall for 90 minutes would be worth the price of admission. Even superhunk George Clooney, who seems to occasionally enjoy decent filmmaking, may take over for Mel Gibson with his hot-guy-next-door bashfulness and playful charm. If Charlize Theron and Thandie Newton could find a good script, they might drum up some of Jessica Lange's delicate sensitivity. And if Angelina Jolie could break free of her freakazoid image and find parts that don't play off her storm-tossed sexuality, she'd be hypnotic. In fact, if she could take her Lara Croft super-jet tits and knock Sarah Jessica out of her Jimmy Choos, Americans might go to the movies again.

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