Julie Delpy is angry. Right now, the French actor and director should be up to her neck in spreadsheets. For three years, she has worked night and day “fighting, fighting, fighting” to get her sixth film as a writer-director, My Zoe, financed. The script is the best thing she has ever written, she says, a mother-daughter drama “with a crazy third act”. The plan was to shoot this spring, but in November, the night before Thanksgiving, a financier pulled out at the 11th hour, spooked she believes, by a “sexist” American lawyer advising him. “My God, the guy was like a poison.”
So here we are, drinking tea in a fancy Paris hotel a few days before Christmas.