Alien’s Ellen Ripley wasn’t the first female action hero, but she was the one who changed the way people think about women in mainstream cinema. Tough but tender, by-the-book yet creative when it matters, desperately vulnerable but capable of pulling off her own rescue, she embodied a new kind of role for women: the multi-faceted female lead that earns a huge fandom specifically by giving viewers something fresh and new. Hollywood tends to play it safe and try to follow in the footsteps of success, which has left women with a lot of naggingly familiar roles over the decade, pun intended. But since Ripley proved there was a mainstream appetite for diverse types of female roles, there have been an increasing number of groundbreaking characters expanding those traditional boundaries. Here are 50 of our all-time favorites, in chronological order: The roles with audacious intentions, unconventional characterization, and an active interest in expanding the onscreen possibilities of female stars.

(A few notes on curation: We tried to limit ourselves to one role per actress, where possible, and we decided to leave out animation altogether: In a medium where an actress can play a spider, a toy, a hippo, or a fish, it’s easier to dodge gender bias and traditional roles, meaning there were too many possible options to count. We started our count with Alien’s release in June 1979. We welcome your additions to the list.)

1. Thana, Ms. 45 (1981)

Rape-revenge stories are often risible as horror, because of their unseemly mix of righteousness and exploitation; I Spit On Your Grave, to name the most prominent example, is a grotesque repurposing of the same nudity and gore that could be expected of other lurid drive-in horror movies. Abel Ferrara’s Ms. 45 subverts the formula by making the victim mute and having her odyssey serve as a potent metaphor for the threats women encounter every day on the streets of New York. After being raped twice on her way home from the Garment District, Thana, a mute seamstress, kills her second attacker and transforms herself into an angel of vengeance. As played by the late Zoë Lund, a model/filmmaker who later collaborated with Ferrara on Bad Lieutenant, Thana doesn’t just seek out revenge on a specific attacker: Her mission expands to mankind more generally. There’s a madness to it, but a fantasy element, too: Thana, a woman who can only “speak” through violence, is speaking for all women who’ve been victims. [ST]

2. Victoria, Victor Victoria (1982)

Julie Andrews is a singular onscreen presence: Viewers will never forget they’re watching Julie Andrews, and Victor Victoria uses that to its advantage. Written and directed by Andrews’ husband, Blake Edwards—who, just a year earlier, had given Andrews her first nude scene with S.O.B.—this gender-swapping musical sex farce plays with identity in a way that could never be as successful without such a known quantity at its center. Introduced as the destitute but talented soprano Victoria, Andrews pretends to be “Victor,” a man who is a female impersonator. Victor lets Victoria achieve her dream being a cabaret singer, albeit one who has to sustain the illusion she’s a man offstage. It’s a Blake Edwards sex farce, so plenty of gender-based romantic confusion ensues—mostly involving Victoria and Chicago club owner King (James Garner), but also Victoria’s gay confidante Toddy (Robert Preston). Released the same year as Tootsie and The World According To Garp, and a year before Yentl, Victor Victoria was part of Hollywood’s short-lived wave of cross-dressing-centric features, but few films have played with taboos surrounding both gender and sex as freely as Edwards and Andrews did in what became their most successful collaboration. (It was nominated for seven Oscars, including a Lead Actress nod for Andrews, and the couple revived it as a Broadway production in 1995.) For an actress who made her name playing kindly nannies, it was an unusual, welcome departure—and a slightly uncomfortable one. [GK]

3. Celie, The Color Purple (1985)

Pam Grier doesn’t get enough credit for her pioneering roles as an action heroine, years before Alien. In part, that’s because she was working in the edgy, un-prestigious blaxploitation genre, which lacked critical recognition and social cachet. And in part, it’s the outgrowth of a racist sidelining of the black narrative: Outside of blaxploitation, it was extremely rare from the dawn of film through the 1980s to see black women headlining major studio releases, the occasional Carmen Jones or The Autobiography Of Miss Jane Pittman aside. Celie in The Color Purple was a breakout role for comedian Whoopi Goldberg in her narrative-film debut, but it was also a breakout for black women in terms of its scale and sensitivity. A period piece set in turn-of-the-century South, it follows Celie (Goldberg) from her childhood, sold into marriage and worked like a slave by her abusive, rapist husband (Danny Glover), to the adulthood where she learns to stand up for herself and have confidence in her own abilities. Directed by Steven Spielberg, adapted from Alice Walker’s bestselling, Pulitzer-winning novel, produced by Warner Bros., and half-recognized by the Academy (it pulled 11 Oscar nominations and no wins), it’s an unabashedly mainstream, prestige-picture experience. But it’s rare to this day for the way it puts a young black woman at center stage, focuses on her internal life and personal growth, and lets her define herself not through suffering, but through personal connection, pride, and even humor. [TR]

4. Audrey, a.k.a. Lulu, Something Wild (1986)

Manic? At times. Pixie? The haircut certainly qualifies. Dream girl, though? Audrey—who calls herself Lulu for more than half of Jonathan Demme’s Something Wild, until she’s forced by circumstance to reveal her real name—ultimately does liberate uptight businessman Charlie (Jeff Daniels) from his drab, purely functional existence, but she does so in a way that’s frequently more terrifying than endearing. From the moment she poses as his waitress to bust him for running out on a check at a diner, Audrey is in complete control of the situation; it’s no coincidence that their first sex scene has her on top and him handcuffed to the bed, and only a mild surprise when she stops midway through to phone his office, forcing him to explain his absence to his boss. Something Wild is the rare film that has a male protagonist, yet is almost entirely driven by its female lead, with the ostensible hero just struggling valiantly to keep pace. Good luck to him. [MDA]

5. Dorothy Valens, Blue Velvet (1986)

There’s an easy contrast to be made between Dorothy Vallens (Isabella Rossellini) and Sandy Williams (Laura Dern), the two women who enter the life of protagonist Jeffrey Beaumont (Kyle MacLachlan) in David Lynch’s Blue Velvet, but the film refuses to make it. Sandy seems like an archetypal girl-next-door, and Dorothy a femme fatale whose allure draws Jeffrey deeper into a dangerous world. But Dorothy’s also a damsel in distress, a mother who dearly wants to be reunited with her stolen son, and genuinely attracted to Jeffrey. She’s a woman who resists easy definition, and one whose surface reveals little of what lies beneath, just like the town in which her story unfolds. It’s a difficult role to play, and a lesser actress might have gotten swallowed up by the contradictions. But Rossellini makes the character more intriguing, and more moving, with each new complication thrown her way. [KP]

6. Jane Craig, Broadcast News (1987)

In the 1980s, movies and television alike became fascinated by a new breed of businesswoman: the tough-talking, power-suited careerist, always competing with her male colleagues by working harder and being meaner. Writer-director James L. Brooks and actress Holly Hunter subverted this emerging cliché with Broadcast News, a comedy that presents Hunter’s Jane Craig as a complicated person with wit, desire, and neuroses that make her more nuanced and better-rounded than her competing love interests (a sweet-but-dim hunky anchor played by William Hurt, and a sharp-but-awkward reporter played by Albert Brooks). Brooks and Hunter don’t try to turn Jane into a representative of anything other than herself. She’s an accomplished network-news producer who’s great at micromanaging the day’s itinerary, but short-sighted when it comes to what’ll make her happy outside the office. It’s fun to watch her, whether she’s solving problems in the control booth, or scheduling time to sob in her bedroom. [NM]

7. Annie Savoy, Bull Durham (1988)

There were plenty of romantic comedies in the 1980s, but not many women like Annie Savoy, the “Church Of Baseball” devotee played by Susan Sarandon. Deep into a multi-year project in which she takes a minor-league player of the Durham Bulls under her wing for tutelage in what it takes to succeed on the field and in the bedroom, she’s smart, self-assured, and has no time for games. Part of the challenge of the role—and a challenge Sarandon meets beautifully—is trying to find a way to make Annie’s romance with veteran slugger “Crash” Davis (Kevin Costner) seem convincing without making Annie give up any of her independence. But that struggle is hardwired into a movie that’s fundamentally about characters who stay true to what gives them joy and meaning, but also learn to bend under the influence of time and circumstance. She ends the film having changed her approach to relationships without regret or remorse, and without changing who she is. The Church Of Baseball accepts many different forms of worship. [KP]

8. Wanda, A Fish Called Wanda (1988)

Even today, it’s hard to find women’s roles as enthusiastically sexual as Wanda in A Fish Called Wanda—at least, without any implication of moral failing or regrettable mistakes implying narrative disapproval. The centerpiece of Charles Crichton and John Cleese’s crime comedy is an unrepentantly greedy con artist who uses sex to manipulate men and gain their trust, but that archetype is older than noir fiction. There are three twists here, separating Wanda from generations of tramps, vamps, and femme fatales. First, sex isn’t just a weapon for Wanda: She’s a lusty woman who enjoys the act even if she doesn’t have much affection for her partner. Second, her body isn’t her only weapon: She’s smart and cunning, quick with a quip or an improvised Plan B when Plan A doesn’t work. Third, Cleese’s script doesn’t judge her for her appetites or her behavior. Some of that comes from Jamie Lee Curtis’ warm, bright performance, which makes it hard not to love her. But most of it is on the page: The story openly admires Wanda instead of slut-shaming her or punishing her. She’s a sexual powerhouse who doesn’t have to play madonna or whore, or any of the other usual regressive stereotypes. [TR]

9. Tracy Turnblad, Hairspray (1988)

Writer-director John Waters has always taken a pure delight in embracing everything the mainstream finds grotesque, which has led to some pure gross-out moments in his films, and plenty of ridiculous camp. But there’s a sort of pure wonder to his iconic character Tracy Turnblad (Ricki Lake), an unabashedly fat girl who’s also the most stylish, progressive, and positive kid in the movie, to the point where the shrews who attempt to fat-shame her just look waspish and jealous. In an industry obsessed with thinness, Tracy was an early model of rare heroism and inclusion for, as Tracy puts it, the “pleasantly plump or chunky.” Long before Rebel Wilson and Melissa McCarthy stepped up to challenge Hollywood’s only-one-size-should-fit-all rigamarole, Tracy Turnblad was subverting the narrative by pushing integration, open-mindedly embracing everyone around her, and using her fashion sense and sweet dance moves to win competitions and boys’ hearts. It’s telling that coming up on 30 years later (plus a film reboot, and countless stage revivals), Tracy and her enthusiastic, unashamed embrace of “big, blonde, and beautiful”—and the film’s casual acceptance of her unconventionality as no barrier to success—still feels transgressive. [TR]

10. Thelma and Louise, Thelma & Louise (1991)

It’s impossible to separate these two characters, distinct individuals though they are. As a unit, they represent one of American cinema’s headiest feminist statements, precisely because their response to male oppression and predation is simultaneously indefensible and completely understandable. Neither Thelma (Geena Davis) nor Louise (Susan Sarandon) is a plaster saint—each is a credibly screwed-up woman, caught in a situation she couldn’t have foreseen, and Oscar-winning screenwriter Callie Khouri unmistakably adores them both in all their flawed, rabble-rousing glory. Decades later, people still argue about whether their final decision is liberating or defeatist, but that seems academic compared to the perverse excitement of watching meek Thelma transform herself into a Bonnie with no Clyde, or to the cathartic power of Louise, confronting Thelma’s would-be rapist—who claims, “We were just having a little fun”—snarling “When a woman’s crying like that, she isn’t having any fun!” May those words finally register someday. [MDA]

11. Sarah Connor, Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991)

Until The Terminator’s final scenes, Sarah Connor (Linda Hamilton) spends much of the film in terror, running from the relentless killing machine determined to kill her. The Sarah Connor of Terminator 2 has changed. Though clearly the same character, she’s used that fear as fuel, and has spent her time preparing to fight against a threat she’s sure will return. Hamilton bulked up for the role, and while her physical transformation is remarkable, it’s her newfound determination that redefined the character for James Cameron’s sequel. After the Ripley of Aliens, she’s the definition of the badass female action hero. But the Sarah Connor of T2 is best understood as a continuation of the Sarah Connor of The Terminator. Having seen all she’s seen, she could have given up. Instead, she’s gotten tough. Sometimes that’s the only other choice life supplies. [KP]

12. Clarice Starling, The Silence Of The Lambs (1991)

If written and directed as a more straightforward thriller, The Silence Of The Lambs would have been about a hunt for a serial killer, using a young recruit and another serial killer. As adapted by Ted Tally from the Thomas Harris novel, it’s the story of young FBI recruit Clarice Starling trying to prove herself to her superiors, and outwit the murderer who’s taken with her. But as directed by Jonathan Demme—with tight, lingering psychological-portrait close-ups, evocative shots of the diminutive Jodie Foster surrounded by male law-enforcement agents who pay her no mind—Clarice Starling is a pillar of righteousness whose primary struggle isn’t with either of the film’s killers, but the system she (and we) can already tell will chew her up. It’s a role that engages with a subsumed, exhausting sexism and requires Foster to underplay a constant struggle between a desire for justice and the awareness that her enemies are on all sides, and always will be. [GV]

13. Songlian, Raise The Red Lantern (1991)

There’s a reason this was the movie that shot Gong Li to stardom and typecast her as the untouchable, amoral femme fatale. Watching Songlian’s descent from naïve student to a seasoned, wretched concubine pitted against other women for any gesture of worth from the master of the house is a classical tragedy that, in the moment, feels so all-consuming as to reach through the film to the actress. Though Zhang Yimou is ostensibly directing a period piece, modern feminist and political subtext roils just under the surface, and Songlian’s attempt to defy her circumstance, and her increasing viciousness, drags such destruction in its wake that she begins to take on a nearly supernatural aspect. It’s a doggedly unsympathetic performance that Zhang Yimou offers half as a dare—if this were you, wouldn’t you strike out?—and her downfall is more tragic for how much of herself she loses in the process. But still, not all: Songlian’s eventual ruin is as great and total as her power. But even after it’s all over, we see her wearing her school uniform—another act of defiance, at the very last. [GV]

14. Catherine Tramell, Basic Instinct (1992)

Paul Verhoeven’s wink-and-a-nod noir carries so many femme-fatale stereotypes, it reads like a bingo card: ice queen, promiscuous and unfaithful bisexual woman, obsessed ex, vindictive ex, murderous ex, defiant criminal who smokes in the interrogation room. But amid the breathless hand-wringing about Catherine’s sexual audacity and ruthless killing streak, the movie pulls its own risky con by making the audience admire her. Not only is Catherine literally the author of events, her unflappable calm isn’t the sort of ice that breaks in the arms of a good man. The aspect of her character that’s entered legend is her utter, unflagging disdain for men. Uncrossing her legs in the interview room is perhaps the moment that most famously condenses it, but from start to finish, Catherine is a walking misandrist death sentence—and the way the film encourages viewers to root for her seems designed to make men a little uncomfortable. Good. [GV]

15. Ada McGrath, The Piano (1993)

Jane Campion and Holly Hunter are both vocal feminists who’ve spoken regularly about the woman-empowering messages deeply embedded in their work. Campion writing Ada McGrath, Hunter’s Oscar-winning role in The Piano, as a non-speaking role was an unorthodox and fascinating choice, one that lesser director (or actress) wouldn’t be able to pull off. Campion provides Ada—a mute Scottish widow forced to travel overseas and marry a man she’s just met—with voiceover dialogue that paints a picture of her internal life. This peek into her mind, coupled with Hunter’s nuanced, intimate performance, makes Ada one of the most layered, complex, and wholly original female characters of the past few decades. Most significantly, Campion allows Ada to develop and awaken sexually, eventually possessing the rare agency and confidence to control and enjoy her sex life—an extramarital sex life, no less. Though her actions don’t go completely unpunished, her ultimate fate is that of a pleasurable and happy life with the man she loves. [RH]

16. Beverly R. Sutphin, Serial Mom (1994)

Beverly R. Sutphin likes order. She likes manners, charm, respect, and nice neighbors. She likes a clean kitchen, a home-cooked meal, an orderly garage. She also likes murder. Plenty of homicidal mamas have popped up in movies over the years, but Beverly’s bloodlust comes from a different place than, say, Betty Broderick’s or Norma Bates’. She’s driven to kill by a desire to keep things neat. Bonkers as she is—and Beverly is bonkers—her singular dedication to protecting her family from potential pain (or just general annoyance) is oddly inspiring, and the lingering sense of humanity underneath her prim façade keeps her from crumbling into parody. And the subversive way she turns a regressive housewife role, and 1950s-stereotype housewife obsessions with cleanliness and a smile, into something darker feels like a reproof against the stereotypes as a whole. With a permanent smile fixed on her impeccably made-up face, Beverly (mostly) hides her true murder-y nature as she goes about her daily routine. She’s terrifying and comforting by turns, but always so original that it should be illegal. (Well, it is.) [KE]

17. Bridget Gregory, The Last Seduction (1994)

The noir model of the hapless male patsy and the smart, manipulative femme fatale has been around for decades, but classic noirs were always about the patsy, not the paramour—in part to keep the plot secret from the schmoe who doesn’t see all the angles, and can’t anticipate which twists are coming. John Dahl’s brilliant, joyously trashy neo-noir The Last Seduction finds a way to make the femme fatale the point-of-view character without giving away the game: Bridget Gregory (Linda Fiorentino) is duplicitous enough even to hide her plan from the audience, when she isn’t making it up as she goes along. Bridget is the kind of uncompromising anti-hero men get to play more often than women: She’s utterly selfish and ruthless about getting what she wants, and that attitude extends to the sack. (Or the car, or the wall behind the local bar: She’s not shy about her needs.) But she’s also so creative, clever, and about exercising that selfishness that she’s more fun than spooky. Like Catherine in Basic Instinct, she’s a have-it-all fantasy for women, the darkest kind of aspirational model, but one written with admiration and respect rather than censure. The Sam Spades and Philip Marlowes of the world have to scramble to keep up with the women who pretend to love them, but they find ways to call the shots in the end. They wouldn’t stand a chance against Bridget. [TR]

18. Carol White, Safe (1995)

In a breakthrough performance—and still her signature role, one Oscar for Still Alice and many other brilliant turns later—Julianne Moore plays a Stepford Wife-type who’s cursed by a dangerous sensitivity and brittleness, but also possessed of hidden resolve. Though Todd Haynes’ Safe is a period piece, set among the elite class in 1980s Los Angeles, it seems more like science fiction, both in its eerie, hermetic atmosphere and in its anticipation of how the modern world would become more confusing and environmentally toxic. Carol White (Moore) is a housewife seized by a debilitating panic attacks that leave her wheezing or with a bloody nose, but her doctor cannot figure out what’s bothering her. She pursues treatment at an isolated desert haven that claims to cure people with “environmental illnesses,” but the cure is worse than the disease. Haynes intended Safe as an AIDS metaphor, but now it seems more attuned to a shift in the culture, where women like Carol are dissatisfied in their assigned roles, and take difficult steps to change their lives. [ST]

19. Ruth Stoops, Citizen Ruth (1996)

Women in comedies are rarely allowed to be as hilariously awful as men—there are few female equivalents of, say, Borat or Bad Santa. The title character of Alexander Payne’s debut feature comes delectably close, however. Venal, selfish, irresponsible, and untrustworthy, Ruth Stoops has only one quality that redeems her in anybody’s eyes: She can get pregnant. Payne turns her into a puppet manipulated by equally ludicrous organizations on both sides of the abortion debate, but Ruth herself, as embodied in a no-holds-barred, utterly fearless performance by Laura Dern, remains pathologically focused on getting high, or on exploiting her situation in a way that will make her rich, so she can keep getting high. Payne and co-screenwriter Jim Taylor never worry for a second about whether Ruth is sympathetic or “relatable,” or about whether she makes a strong female role model. (She does not.) They only worry about making her indelibly, shockingly funny—an approach other comedy writers should emulate. [MDA]

20. Bess McNeill, Breaking The Waves (1996)

Women’s suffering has always been a primary focus for Lars von Trier, rooted in the spirit of The Passion Of Joan Of Arc, a silent tale of persecution by his countryman and aesthetic godfather, Carl Dreyer. And Bess McNeill, the innocent at the center of Breaking The Waves, suffers plenty: Her passionate devotion to her husband yields enough suffering on its own, especially when he’s away working for months at a time on a oil platform, but it gets worse when an accident leaves him paralyzed, and his bitterness curdles into a degrading request. Bess, played in an astounding debut by Emily Watson, doesn’t open herself up to abuse passively. Instead, she asserts her decency and goodness in a bleak, pitiless world that consistently rewards her abiding faith in God with punishment. Bess’ relationship with God is complicated—and He speaks through her in Old Testament voice—but she has the steadfastness and power to bend the transcendent to her will. [ST]