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On Kim Cattrall

It’s time for me to spell out precisely what I think of Kim Cattrall. This came up at the lunch-room table yesterday. I need to clarify my thoughts, both for myself and for the world.

Here’s my understanding of the feud.

Kim Cattrall was never especially happy on the set of “Sex and the City,” the TV show. Perhaps SJP felt threatened--as Cattrall was the only cast member whose stardom approached the realm of SJP’s stardom. Cattrall found the set cliquish. She felt excluded from events that the other three ladies would skip off to--all the time. But she held her tongue. Then the movies happened. Around the time of “Sex and the City 2,” a really dreadful piece of work, Cattrall said, “I’m done. No more.”

Here’s where things get tricky. A script for “Sex and the City 3” surfaced. It’s apparently excellent--a way of redeeming the series. (I believe that.) Cattrall’s view: “I said no, and I stuck with that.” The view from SJP’s camp: “Cattrall strung us along, giving evasive answers, demanding more money, indicating that she might be amenable, month after month, and then finally she pulled out. It’s not really the pulling out that’s objectionable (though we’re not thrilled). It’s the leading us on--indicating, month after month after month, that this third movie might indeed happen. Forcing us to hold our breath. Having us put our lives on hold, in a way, when she knew, all along, she would say no.”

How do you reconcile those two stories? You can’t. And so, recently, I’ve asked myself: Who’s to be believed?

Then there’s the dying brother mess. SJP expressed her sadness at Cattrall’s loss. Cattrall lashed out, in a kind of exhilarating way, and said, basically, “I don’t need your thoughts and prayers. Go to hell.” Andy Cohen pointed out that SJP had *had to* say something; if you’re doing a press tour, people are going to ask you about Cattrall, and it would be bizarre to keep your mouth entirely shut. Fair enough. But, again, there’s something really delicious about Cattrall’s crazed unloading. The “cut the shit” brio. It was ugly and human and real. It made me love Cattrall. SJP--with her perfect, polished answers, and with her close tie to Universally-Loathed Scum of the Earth Andy Cohen--would never, never offer us that honesty.

OK. I want to make something else clear about SJP. I said at lunch yesterday that she’s a genius--and that designation was mocked. But what do you call that--if not genius? SJP was around ten years old and already feeding her chaotic family. She pulled herself up from nothing. She’s a savvy businesswoman, a Broadway star, a TV icon, a permanent paragraph--maybe even a page!--in pop-cultural history. She has found a way to last in Hollywood long beyond most people, and it’s not because she was to the manor born, or because she has stunning looks. When she’s interviewed, she wants to talk about David Remnick, or about Jeffrey Toobin’s thoughts on Patty Hearst. She designed a shoe line, and if you listen, she actually gave thought to the structure and the symbolism of the shoes. She made “Divorce” because she looked around at separating married couples and had the germ of a genuinely smart (even Sondheim-ish) idea for a TV show.

If you don’t see the genius in SJP, then you’re a bit pedestrian, and I’m disappointed in you. That’s not to say I side with SJP in the SJP/Cattrall War. I think this is a great feud--on par with Davis/Crawford--and I think Cattrall is a wonderful thorn in SJP’s side. She has said, effectively, “You act like Glinda the Good Witch, SJP, and, really, you’re not that nice.” And America listened. Because Cattrall had just confirmed something that America--perhaps just subconsciously!--had suspected all along.

And that’s all for today. Maybe soon I will share my thoughts on Seacrest/Taraji. Honey, we’ll need the vodka for that.

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