Everyone's talking about Karen's forthcoming role playing Jean Shrimpton in a dramatisation of her affair with photographer David Bailey - We'll Take Manhattan airs this month on BBC4.
The Guardian (or is the Observer?) has a wee interview with the lass
here, including this very strange picture of Karen remembering that she's left the oven on whilst pretending to be... well we're not sure what, a fairy cake perhaps.
Anyway, here's a little snippet for anyone too lazy to click the link...
What does she find relaxing? "Space!" Space? As in… "Space! I went to the Royal Observatory the other day, and looked through the biggest telescope in the UK. I saw a star from 47 years in the past. Hang on…" She leaps up to find her phone and shows me her screensaver, a photo of Saturn.
"Yep, space excites me. My dream is to go to space. And dreams – I find the meanings of dreams very interesting. And the brain. Did you know the brain has three layers, and when we're drunk, we revert to the bottom layer, which is only interested in eating, sleeping and 'meeting a partner'. And music connects to that layer, that bottom layer! Did you know that?" No! What would she be if not an actor? Would she go back to college, study science? "I'd be a hypnotist, like Paul McKenna. I'd make people feel like they are in love."
Though she's "relieved" to be leaving Dr Who in the next series, there's some time before she has to think about a career change. However much she tries to suppress it – staying off the red carpets, staying out of the taxis and arms of fellow actors – her fame is growing. She is just back from meetings in LA, "which were pretty weird, actually. In Britain they try and actually dissect your personality – over there they just want to see what you can do."
Can she imagine moving out to Hollywood? What would she do? How would she change? She thinks for a second, and curls a wisp of her ketchup-coloured hair around a long white finger. "I think," she says, slowly, "I think I'd stay in the shade."
Karen jumps for joy at not having to pretend to understand the Moff's timey-wimey scripts anymore. [Photos by Alan Clarke for the Observer]
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