I’ve had this picture of Bibi Andersson taped to my icebox for as long I’ve lived in my apartment, which, coincidentally, is as long as I’ve been a sexually self-possessed woman. Really, it’s no coincidence at all, because Andersson was a wonderful role model in this department. Traditionally cinema has been a place where women mirror men’s desire rather than channel their own, and even now realistic female orgasms are the unicorns of the silver screen. Through all this Stepford sexuality strode Andersson, she of the cupid mouth and shark eyes—-a supreme subject rather than object. Once I invited a suitor up for a proverbial nightcap, and he took a long look at her flinty mug and said, “Why do you have this pissy blonde on your fridge?” “Cuz like seeks like,” I answered and swiftly showed him the door.