Knitwit
VIP Member
I don't know if this has been posted before but I read an interesting article in the Telegraph that Alice gave in January 2001. At that time she was a 'superstar' in Paris and hoped to become one in the UK. She talks about being broke in Paris and how everything changed when she met Olivier Piccaso, her parents, sleeping pills, and hangovers. It is quite illuminating. Here are a few snippets though the article is worth a read. You can see why she is who she is now.
La jeune fille anglaise
'Today, even though she is dressed simply in jeans and a cashmere jumper, Alice Evans is continuing her habit of creating a bit of a commotion. She is having her photograph taken in the foyer of the hotel where we have arranged to meet and she is looking rather grumpy. 'Focus on my face,' she says, slightly too loudly. 'My face,' she snaps, obviously thinking the photographer is not heeding her wishes. She then pulls up her top, grabs a roll of flesh on her stomach and leans back against the wall pouting moodily into the camera, her jumper pushed up just below her bra. It's the only way to do it,' she says when we sit down for lunch after the session has finished. 'No one will publish a picture of an actress holding rolls of flesh. That way the photographer has to focus only on your face.'
'But on the continent thirtysomething Alice Evans is massive. (Actually, there is some confusion over her age. In an interview three years ago she was reported as being 27, then last year she was also reported as being 27; the recent CV sent to me by her publicist has her as 26. Strange. Evans herself tells me she has turned 30.) She is virtually mugged in Paris, where she lives (people yell 'Aleece, Aleece' at her on the streets)
'I once read an article about their life together. Absolutely everything about it, from their ostentatious Quai Voltaire apartment on the Rive Gauche, to their constant jetting off around the world and being invited to lunch with the Président in order to discuss the life and works of Picasso, sounded nauseating. 'We are,' joked Olivier, even more nauseatingly, 'a brand name, like Coca-Cola or McDonald's.'
In a couple of years, she goes from being so broke in Paris that she would jump over the Metro barriers to forgetting about a car racking up insane charges.
'Her luck turned when she met Olivier and, at the same time, a forward-thinking agent who recognised her potential and had no problem inventing a few 'films' to bolster her CV. 'People still ask me about them now,' she says, 'which is rather embarrassing.' She moved in with Olivier six years ago, which meant her rent was paid and gradually the work began to take off.'
'She tells me a story about wild excess in New York which involves her taking a chauffeur-driven car to the bar at the Paramount to meet a friend and forgetting she's left it outside waiting for her, clocking up ludicrous charges (something like $300 an hour). At 2am her mobile phone rang - a mildly irritated Picasso reminding her to return to the Four Seasons where they were staying and, oh, can she pay the driver? Evans has no money. She has to stop at five different cash points to get the money.'
La jeune fille anglaise
'Today, even though she is dressed simply in jeans and a cashmere jumper, Alice Evans is continuing her habit of creating a bit of a commotion. She is having her photograph taken in the foyer of the hotel where we have arranged to meet and she is looking rather grumpy. 'Focus on my face,' she says, slightly too loudly. 'My face,' she snaps, obviously thinking the photographer is not heeding her wishes. She then pulls up her top, grabs a roll of flesh on her stomach and leans back against the wall pouting moodily into the camera, her jumper pushed up just below her bra. It's the only way to do it,' she says when we sit down for lunch after the session has finished. 'No one will publish a picture of an actress holding rolls of flesh. That way the photographer has to focus only on your face.'
'But on the continent thirtysomething Alice Evans is massive. (Actually, there is some confusion over her age. In an interview three years ago she was reported as being 27, then last year she was also reported as being 27; the recent CV sent to me by her publicist has her as 26. Strange. Evans herself tells me she has turned 30.) She is virtually mugged in Paris, where she lives (people yell 'Aleece, Aleece' at her on the streets)
'I once read an article about their life together. Absolutely everything about it, from their ostentatious Quai Voltaire apartment on the Rive Gauche, to their constant jetting off around the world and being invited to lunch with the Président in order to discuss the life and works of Picasso, sounded nauseating. 'We are,' joked Olivier, even more nauseatingly, 'a brand name, like Coca-Cola or McDonald's.'
In a couple of years, she goes from being so broke in Paris that she would jump over the Metro barriers to forgetting about a car racking up insane charges.
'Her luck turned when she met Olivier and, at the same time, a forward-thinking agent who recognised her potential and had no problem inventing a few 'films' to bolster her CV. 'People still ask me about them now,' she says, 'which is rather embarrassing.' She moved in with Olivier six years ago, which meant her rent was paid and gradually the work began to take off.'
'She tells me a story about wild excess in New York which involves her taking a chauffeur-driven car to the bar at the Paramount to meet a friend and forgetting she's left it outside waiting for her, clocking up ludicrous charges (something like $300 an hour). At 2am her mobile phone rang - a mildly irritated Picasso reminding her to return to the Four Seasons where they were staying and, oh, can she pay the driver? Evans has no money. She has to stop at five different cash points to get the money.'
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