“I was terribly, terribly pretty. I looked like an angel, but I was a fiend inside…” remembered Lee Miller of her Jazz Age years in Paris and New York. A successful model and aspiring photographer, by the age of 20 Miller had lived more biopic plots than an entire awards season of female-centred films.
Abused by a babysitter as a seven-year-old, bereaved of a boyfriend in a freak boating accident as a teenager and, pulled from the path of oncoming traffic, only Miller, you think, could be rescued by Condé Nast himself, who soon had her face on the cover of Vogue.
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