Béatrice Dalle
THERE IS A DRIVER somewhere in London possibly still reeling from the wrath of Béatrice Dalle. On a bright Monday afternoon, the 52-year-old French actress, best known here for her role in the 1986 film Betty Blue, has just stepped off the Eurostar. When the driver calls to tell her he is struggling to park, she threatens to go straight back to Paris, calls him a ‘f**king moron’, hangs up and goes AWOL. She’s not at the hotel, she’s not picking up her phone and she’s supposed to be here in a few hours to be interviewed and shot. Yikes. A few frantic hours pass. Then, a call from her agent. Yes, she’s pissed – irritated not inebriated – but she’ll be there. Another call. Béatrice Dalle is on her way.
And then she arrives. Dressed in head-totoe black, in shirt, skinny jeans and wedges, with chipped nail varnish, she greets us all: individually, graciously, with a wide smile and a throaty chain-smoking-induced voice. We’re captivated. ‘Always black,’ she says of her style code in broken English. ‘I look more skinny and black clothes are sexy; I don’t have a better reason.’ Ah, sexiness. Let’s talk more about that. ‘No, my English is not very good. I can’t do this interview in English.’ As I try to persuade her, she tilts her head back for the make-up artist. ‘I do not understand.’ Subject closed. Unlike many famous faces, postgrooming Béatrice doesn’t look that different. Her request was for her hair to be simply blow-dried straighter, eyes ‘black or brown, no colour’ and not much else.
I compliment her on her skin – yes, there are creases, but it is plump and smooth. She eschews Botox and fillers. ‘All these beautiful girls… what are you doing? It makes them look more old.’ I ask what she uses. ‘Nozing,’ she shrugs, then smiles mischieviously, flashing her trademark tooth gap. ‘I’m the best commercial for taking drugs, no?’ Her past use is well known. Not so her dark sense of humour. The stories she regales us with – her life, marriage, social observations; most unprintable – has the crew roaring with laughter. Cigarette break over, ‘Voilà!’ she says, walking on set requesting Rage Against The Machine – ‘My favourite band’ – for the shoot. As Killing Inthe Name fills the air, Béatrice embodies that Parisian je ne sais quoi. Looking like a cross between Carine Roitfeld and Iggy Pop, no one could take their eyes off her. She is utterly mesmerising. Shoot over and, pouf, she is gone. This is how the coolest woman in the world does sexy.