Once upon a time, in the era of once upon a times, heroines were simple. They were all heaving cleavage and fluttering eyelashes. Nowadays, the cleavage is still heaving but they’re more likely to be kicking butt that sitting on it quietly, waiting to be rescued. A modern woman no longer only needs a closet full of shoes and perfectly plucked eyebrows to imitate the movie heroine of her dreams: she needs to be able to take out monsters with a rocket launcher while never smudging her Maybelline.

The world of celebrity raises a pert(inent) question: is she born with it, or is it Maybelline? Are certain people naturally more beautiful and charismatic than others, so much so that they can occupy the dreams, wet or otherwise, of millions. I’ve been staring at my computer screen wondering about this for so long that my screen saver has appeared. Angelina/Lara pouts at me, demanding all my attention. Behind my computer stands a small shrine to my goddesses, hopefully granting good luck to all desk-bound endeavours. Lara and Buffy in all their 6’ high glory, an array of weapons around their feet, every crease of their leather trousers rendered in plastic perfection. Perfect hair, perfect breasts, perfect attitude.

I reckon it’s all the fault of Disney and their once upon a time. I guess we’re all meant to grow up wanting to be Snow White, but she’s such a wimp. The prince gets the big sword and all the fun, it’s only natural that any little girl who wants to do more than faint under the weight of her own tits will identify with the chisel-chinned god. And so by the time we’re immersed in Angelina’s Dolby THX CGI-empowered universe, we’ve been preprogrammed to get like the dude and want her.

But heroines who both heave AND cleave are like a double-scoop with chocolate sprinkles. (Oh yeah, my ice-cream seller fantasies. That's all Annie's fault.) And now the scope is unlimited… While there are only so many fleshly Angelina Jolies that Hollywood can produce (although I think Fairuza Balk and Eliza Dushku have smartass/smoulder potential), the wonderful world of computer animation has turned from making evil monsters to making hot mamas. The chicky from Final Fantasy rocks my world, bad lip-synching and all. I certainly keep having the dream. She doesn’t even need a gel-filled bra to maintain her pert profile. CGInema is the GM food of the entertainment industry: I say roll on the cheap, plentiful corn/porn. The next step will be simulating a convincing English accent, and there you have your grand solution to the Screen Actors’ Guild strike. Sack the lot of ‘em.

The success or otherwise of Little Mz. Fantasy, voiced by the supersexy Ming-Na Wen of One Night Stand, and her lifelike cohorts may go some way towards understanding the allure of those supposedly flesh and blood women (and men) we lust after. Flesh and blood, forty feet high and two dimensional (in more sense than one). We can maintain a pretence that Lara Croft is real because Angelina Jolie has a birth certificate (and several marriage certificates). In a way, that’s the larger con. She’s not real.

The buzz, though, that’s real. I Cheap Tuesday’d it to see Tomb Raider with the crew. I’d say Scooby Gang, but the Best Friend was on your damp island buying me Buffy mugs. We came out fighting. Not Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon fighting, all style and grace, but looking for a down and dirty street corner battle. Hard to come across in Toronto unless you’re at Jane and Finch. Went home, put on leather pants and shades although it was after midnight. Went clubbing with fellow heroine addict Mikey. It was the week of Pride but the gay village was empty by two. We found a bar. As I stepped in, I longed for a camera to tight focus on the side of my face, catch me in the process of doing the Lara Croft scan.

As I focused in on the raven-haired girl who later turned out to be a Russian spy (although that last word may be entirely attributed to my over-active imagination; she just said she was Ms. Lesbian Russia. I figure she’s spying on the competition for hosting the next Lesbian Olympics), the question arose again: do I want her, or do I want to be her? Can I have my cupcake AND be it? As Cinema Studies 101 teaches us, the movies are all about the male gaze. Men look, men dribble. No-one’s supposed to want to be Snow White, you’re supposed to want to rescue/brutalise her. It’s a measure of cinema’s success in selling male fantasies that a Vogue survey revealed that Angelina Jolie is the famous woman most straight women would like to sleep with.

Me, I’m all about the Buffy sexbot. If Ms. Lesbian Russia doesn’t call. Keep projecting those fantasies...

Sophie Levy