The Last Movie Star

But making Warshawski wasn't all chummy feelings. The collaboration between the star, who likes to exert control, and the Disney studio, which is famous for its involvement in the minutiae of its movies, was, in part, a clash of the titans. ''The battle was burdensome,'' she says. ''The calls every day — would you reconsider and please shoot this? You'd say no, no, no, I won't, I won't, I won't.''

During a break in the shooting, Kanew recalls that Disney execs were particularly concerned about the shiner Warshawski acquires from a ham-fisted goombah. ''We negotiated the bruise,'' he says. ''Kathleen as the actor wanted a very realistic bruise; the studio paying a lot of money for an attractive female star would prefer a minimal amount of damage.''

''They wanted the bruise to disappear the next day!'' Turner says later with a trace of amazement. She salvaged realism by adding an ice-pack scene and a makeup scene. ''They also wanted me to change the ending, and I really just got very stubborn and told them they couldn't do that because I had script , approval.'' Her vehement veto also vaporized a hunky male who, in the script, stood on the dock to lend her a hand after her dunk in the harbor. ''I said, 'I didn't spend two goddamn hours building up this goddamn heroine for a man to come along and say, oh, let me!'''

Turner didn't win every battle on Warshawski, and the memory still rankles a bit. ''I like it, but it's missing some pieces that I mind,'' she says, ''that I liked. I think they think a little too formula-like sometimes, as if you could simply make sure you had so many elements that were in other successful films you would guarantee the success of this one. Most of the great successes have been ones that did not fit a pattern. Ones that created the pattern.''

Ironically, Warshawki does fit a pattern — that of recent hits featuring trigger-happy women. But this might work against the film: La Femme Nikita, Thelma & Louise, and Terminator 2's Linda Hamilton all drew first with superior firepower, and Turner's detective risks coming off as just another distaff pistol packer.

''Now we've got to go move my car,'' Turner announces, helpfully returning her empty glass to the bar. Her 1970 Mercedes 280 is the only auto she has ever loved, its meter has expired, and she doesn't want it towed away by a Long Island parking cop, perhaps the only authority figure she fears. We hop in, roar off, and scrunch up the gravel drive of her 1902 beach house, graced with a small pool, Rachel's jungle gym, and Turner's vegetable garden.

Turner leads me to the top floor, with a big-screen TV, antique horsey rocker, and a stuffed Mickey Mouse. She lounges on the couch, gesturing triumphantly to the wall of windows. ''When the skylights are open, it's just the ocean and you.''

And a reporter. Snug in her sun-splashed sanctum, I finally ask Turner about the tragedy that shadows her household. Weiss was a leaseholder of a New York City building that held an illicit social club, the Happy Land, where an arsonist's fire killed 87 people early one morning in 1990. It was the largest mass killing in American history (the alleged arsonist's trial is under way), and some of the blame rubbed off on Weiss-and Turner. ''Jay was not responsible in any way,'' Turner says evenly. "Somebody shoved a microphone in my face and said, 'Where do you feel your responsibility lies?' I said, 'What are you talking about? Other than human compassion, what the hell's it got to do with me?' This is what I'll have to deal with for the rest of my life.'' Aside from her sympathy for the victims, what Turner found most disturbing was being caught up in a media event she couldn't influence. ''It was incredibly upsetting,'' she says. Then there is the $5 billion lawsuit filed by survivors and families of the victims. ''The legal fees alone are years of salary. We could've been wiped out. But I think it's pretty much under control now.''

Having things under control, of course, is what Kathleen Turner is all about. It's no coincidence she has little sympathy with ''Method'' actors who dredge up their deepest emotions like divers hunting sunken doubloons. ''I go to the Turner school of acting,'' she says. ''You choose what you want to show. It's not actually feeling it in yourself, spilling your own guts all the time. People don't really want to know that stuff.''