Eva Green is one of a “dying breed”, says Kara Kennedy in The Spectator: the unashamed diva. A legal case the French actress is embroiled in has unearthed messages in which she calls colleagues “devils”, “evil”, and “inexperienced, pretentious morons”; crew members are “peasants from Hampshire”. When asked about it she said she had “nothing against peasants” and that it was just her “Frenchness coming out”. Back in the day, the list of divas “was as long as your arm”. The Hollywood Women’s Press Club even handed out the Sour Apple trophy to notoriously difficult customers – Doris Day and Frank Sinatra managed to claim three apiece. But there are precious few remaining: Mariah Carey has cancelled interviews because she’s “not a morning person”; Gwyneth Paltrow once quipped she’d prefer to “smoke crack than eat cheese out of a tin”.
Instead, we’re plagued with the “confessional star”, who insists on telling us “the pain and hardships” of being stinking rich. Pamela Anderson is deploying this “lucrative shtick” in her new book and Netflix documentary; Meghan Markle claimed to be “the most hounded woman in Britain”. This is, ironically, “more obnoxious than plain and simple obnoxiousness”. Nobody really cares about their struggles, “because we all struggle”. We want to hear about sex, drugs, and yachts. That’s why I’m a big fan of Green’s “unapologetic villainy”. “In her next film contract, she should demand a quivering on-set intern whose only job is to light her cigarettes.”