Universal Pictures

Smoking is a part of reality. And art offers a reflection of reality. But now the MPAA has decided to use smoking as a factor when determining a movie’s rating. It’s a decision that makes my blood boil. Humans smoke; movies did not invent smoking. What next in this fascist regime?

Will movies that show Bruce Willis driving a Hummer get an X rating because of global warming issues? Or will Abigail Breslin’s ice-cream consumption merit an R rating since we all know that fat-laden ice cream, in spite of its legal status, is a bigger killer than cigarettes? Wait. Will kids stop the rite of passage that is seeing Grease because of that moment when Olivia Newton-John stubs out her cigarette with her heel and then flirtatiously kicks John Travolta?

I could go on forever. Instead, I’ll just share my favorite smoking scenes. Granted, you could make an old-school book about smoking filled with dozens of photos of Bette Davis and Rosalind Russell. But I’m gonna focus on the past 20 years. Today, I’ll share my favorite chimnettes and later this week, of course, the many manly chimneys.

Renée Zellweger in Bridget Jones's Diary:  Yeah, yeah. She’s trying to quit. That’s the best part of this movie’s relationship with smoking. Bridget Jones is a woman in progress. Sometimes she’s good, pedaling so hard that she falls off the bike, and other times she’s in a downward spiral so dreadful that she can picture the dogs coming to devour her unloved corpse. The smoking isn’t taken over the top. It’s a crutch, it’s a friend and yet an enemy, and the battle against the ciggies is beautifully symbolic of the battles we all face in life as we try to grow up, choose the right guy over the louse and get the hell on with adulthood.

Without Cigs:  I’m sure Diary would have been just as funny if Bridg was prone to chewing gum and keeping track of how much she chomped.

BBC Films

Scarlett Johansson in Match Point:  Woody Allen is not someone who has ever shied away from the emotional power of cigarettes; Dianne Wiest wouldn’t have scored an Oscar nod for Hannah and Her Sisters without her cigs there to represent her neurosis. So, anyway. In Match Point, Scarlett uses her nic sticks as tools of seduction, leaning on for a life, taking an extravagant exhale as she stares down her man prey. She is an outsider, a tartlet, and the cloud of smoke that surrounds her serves as a beautiful onscreen barrier.

Without Cigs:  The American in London would have been just as convincingly tempting were she constantly asking men for breath mints. Or, you know, not.

Angela Bassett in Waiting to Exhale:  It always astounds me when she’s left off lists of the best working actresses. Bassett is so strong, so powerful, and in this movie, when she takes that cigarette out of her mouth and tosses it after having just set fire to her husband’s earthly possessions—whoa. She is scary; she is scared. It’s the perfect toss. And later, when she’s alone in a hotel bar, we see that the cigarette is also a companion.

Without Cigs:  While burning her husband’s stuff, she could have been eating a Popsicle and then she could have tossed the Popsicle stick. That would be so dramatic, I know.

Janeane Garofalo in Romy and Michele's High School Reunion:  Ah, the ‘90s. When female comedy could still be surprisingly funny and original stories were more common than money-grubbing trilogies. Romy and Michele is one of my all-time favorites. I own it. And I never cease to laugh at Garofalo’s chain-smoking, bitter loner who soars to wealth and power as the creator of fast-burning filters. It’s funny. It’s a fantasy. And best of all, at the end of the movie, though she’s happier and evolved and almost even peaceful, she’s still puffing away.

Without Cigs:  In high school, Janeane constantly sneaks outside to snort coke. And she’s frustrated at how the coke flies all over her black clothes, so she invents a handheld mini-vac meant for sucking up errant powder. Come reunion, she’s still snorting after all these years.

Paramount Pictures

Nicole Kidman in The Hours:  I saved the best for last. The Hours is an artistic almost-biopic. Nicole Kidman absolutely becomes Virginia Woolf, and it isn’t just because of the nose. If Hollywood wants to keep delving into historical figures, they can’t whitewash them and pretend they never smoked. Those shots of Nic huddled in her study, pen in hand, ashtray full, eyes wild with explosive creativity, they are the truth of what it was to be Virginia Woolf. We can’t pretend she didn’t smoke. That would be like pretending she didn’t write.

Without Cigs:  Pretend that Virginia was, in addition to being a world-class writer, a compulsive nose picker. Don’t laugh. That’s where Hollywood is headed.