And she had the pictures to prove it. Despite the inauspicious history of actor-fronted rock bands (see Keanu Reeves and Dogstar), Ms. Lewis's year-old group, Juliette and the Licks, has already achieved critical notice. The band will release its first album, '' . . . Like a Bolt of Lightning,'' a raucous tribute to 1970's glam punk, in August. On Wednesday, it joins the Vans Warped Tour. Two other members of Ms. Lewis's band, the bassist Paul Ill and the drummer Patty Schemel (formerly of Hole), had joined her for dinner to review pictures of a trip they made to Las Vegas, where they appeared on the Carson Daly television show.

Ms. Lewis pointed to a picture of herself onstage at the Joint in a neon catsuit, hips cocked and arms flung overhead in triumph. ''I saw the Stones on that stage,'' she said. ''And we played there! It was magical.''

At 30, Ms. Lewis has the gangly appeal and laconic delivery that she had as a teenager in movies like ''Natural Born Killers'' and ''Cape Fear,'' for which she won an Oscar nomination. Wearing tight jeans and a polka-dot blouse -- with a gold Licks necklace -- she pushed herself back from the table. ''I'm really hot,'' she complained. ''It's really hot in here, isn't it?''

Everyone nodded sympathetically. As dinner arrived -- spinach salads and, for Ms. Lewis, pan-roasted chicken -- Mr. Ill mentioned that a friend had heard one of their songs on a radio station that day.

Ms. Lewis, who wrote the lyrics to all the songs, clapped her hands. ''We're on rotation,'' she exclaimed.

''We're an L.A. band living the dream,'' Mr. Ill declared, mockingly.

Suddenly, Ms. Lewis said: ''I know why I'm hot. I'm doing acupuncture, and I started the herbs today. My quest in life is to get energy. Acupuncture puts your body in touch with itself, to get energy flowing that's stuck.''

Tonight, that energy was to be channeled into video games. After dinner, they drove a few blocks to a college dive called the Family Arcade. Ms. Lewis stood in the doorway, lightened by blue and pink neon, and surveyed the pickings.

''My games here are all the 80's games,'' she explained. ''Ms. Pac Man. And I love Donkey Kong, but you can't find that game anywhere. It's a conspiracy.''

Mr. Ill went to feed the jukebox. ''Give us something good, Paul,'' Ms. Lewis shouted at his back. In a minute, Depeche Mode's ''People Are People'' blasted over the speakers. Through the din, Ms. Lewis detected the beeping of the Ms. Pac Man theme song. ''That's my music. Someone's playing my game.''

The band was quickly drawn to a high-tech Japanese game called GuitarFreaks, which required the musicians to play along to a heavy metal song with fake guitars. ''This is it,'' she cried. Ms. Lewis, who has said she can see herself as Iggy Pop, and Ms. Schemel slung guitars over their shoulders and assumed rocker stances: legs spread, pelvises thrust forward. But the game had a low opinion of their musical skills. Fifteen seconds later, an onscreen audience was jeering at them.

''Listen, they're booing,'' Ms. Lewis complained.

Ms. Lewis drifted away, having noticed a lone Donkey Kong console in the corner. As she slammed at the joystick, she kicked up a leg in excitement, fell into a crouch and swore at the top of her lungs. ''When I play these games,'' she said, ''I just cuss.''

Two more tokens, and she had another chance. ''Oh, my God, the pressure!'' she yelled as the others watched her leap over barrels and climb ladders onscreen. On her last man, she made it to the top, saving the princess as the machine broke into a victory song. She turned and smiled, hands clenched in victory. ''You guys,'' she shouted, ''we did it!''

Photo: YES! -- Juliette Lewis versus video games at a Los Angeles arcade. (Photo by J. Emilio Flores for The New York Times)