Monday, 15 September 2008
I'm reading A Scott Berg's biography of Miss Hepburn. He interviewed her, stayed with her at her family home, was taken into her confidence; and he's a distinguished writer, so I'm expecting a truthful and compelling account of her life.
All I know so far is that she was privileged in every way possible. Beautiful, intelligent and beloved by a confident, boisterous family; it was inevitable she would grow up to be something.
But you may be able to tell from my tone, the more I read of her, the less I like her. What appears charming on film - her forthrightness, her confidence and charm, her outspokenness - in real life it must have been hard to take for all but the most resilient souls.
Of course I would love to be like her, but I doubt if the people around me could bear such an irrepressible force, such relentless candor, such constant pushing and prying. It would be like living with a whirling dervish. One would feel the need to glue the ornaments down.
But she was undoubtedly marvellous on film, to look at and to listen to. Worth a few photos, I'd say.