Joan Collins is these days Joan of Arch, mistress of the anecdote, raising an imperious, carefully shaped eyebrow as high as the carefully placed overhead lighting.
After decades in the business, she’s camp, she’s cult, thanks to the shoulder-padded bitch-fest that was Dynasty in the Eighties. Most forget she was RADA-trained before being whisked off to Hollywood where she made 11 films.
She rejected Richard Burton but probably said yes to Warren Beatty. Glamour is her middle name.
Collins is, as ever, the complete old-school professional
But the cruelty of Hollywood to older women meant that shlocky roles beckoned such as the iconic Cinzano ads with Leonard Rossiter.
Collins is, as ever, the complete old-school professional, and not afraid to send herself up but her show lacks emotion – like her flawless make-up, La Collins never cracks. That’s not her style.
Maybe that’s because Joan, after 11 years with charming American hubby Percy, has found happiness and can look back in languor – and because she is our Joan we’re happy for her.
One Night With Joan, Leicester Square Theatre, London