‘Being marginalised’īonham Carter has come to my envelope to discuss her second outing as Princess Margaret in The Crown (“Oh right, The Crown,” she says, as if she thought she’d popped round solely to play with my dog). When she scrolls through them afterwards, amid all the pictures of dogs and children, I spot Olivia Colman, her co-star in The Crown, mugging at the camera. “I was just a bit bored – I needed to change my envelope,” she replies, taking more photos of my dog. You called my bluff because I wanted to go to your home, I tell her. “There suddenly came a point when they could look after each other, and it was like magic.” But until then, work is the holiday.” Her children with Burton, Billy and Nell, are 16 and 12. “Ah, children,” she says, looking at the piles of plastic crap everywhere. So now we’re sitting in my kitchen, next to the door to the garden, surrounded by my domestic detritus. Hurrah for my tactical brilliance! Or, it turned out, not: Helena would love to come to yours, the publicist replied.
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Did I know, her publicist emailed a week previously, anywhere that fitted the bill? I suggested either her garden or mine, thinking there was no way a hugely famous actor would deign to come to my place, meaning we’d have to do the interview at hers and I’d get to nose around her domestic detritus. We are at my home because Bonham Carter wanted to meet somewhere we could sit outside for the sake of social distancing, but not a park, as it was predicted to rain. Bonham Carter loves dogs, because of course she does – what posh English woman doesn’t? She has two herself, and once she puts mine back down, gets out her phone to photograph him: “I have to send a photo to Tim – he’ll love him,” she says, referring to Tim Burton, her ex-partner and the father of her two children. Then it becomes a shriek: “Oh my God, your dog is ridiculous!” she cries, spotting my terrier, and promptly scooping him up. Her tone alternates between old-fashioned posh and a gentle millennial uptick, as if she were both a dowager from a bygone age and a sardonic modern teenager, often in the same sentence. It really does! I later see the photos and think, what was I thinking?” she says. “I know, but I promise you, even when I think I’m being normal, somehow it comes out wrong. Does she ever think, “I’ll dress normcore today – that’ll throw off the paps”? Her fashion sense – invariably described as quirky (“God, quirky,” she says, as if repeating a doctor’s fatal diagnosis) – has made her a favourite of the paparazzi, and photos of her mooching around London in her distinctive outfits have been a staple of the tabloids for several decades. But it’s an illusion, because then the Daily Mail photographs you, and you see it and think, that wasn’t what I meant at all,” she says as we walk into my kitchen and I compliment her outfit. “I love dressing up and creating myself, as it were, according to the day and the mood. In her stompy, clumpy boots and dark floral ruffled dress, curls piled on top of her head, she looks so exactly herself – which is to say, like a Victorian goth drawn in charcoal – that she could be an actor playing a character playing Helena Bonham Carter.
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And look who’s standing on my rain-sodden doorstep, it’s Helena Bonham Carter.