It’s hard to imagine her voice booming across a film set, like her father’s – Francis Ford Coppola, the grand auteur of 20th-century American cinema – is said to.
She reacts to questions with a kind of vague surprise. There’s a sense that she’s a beat apart from everyone else. She makes small talk about travel then stops, distracted by the window boxes blooming green and pink. When she arrives, she speaks so softly it’s like a murmur. She’s slight and dressed in dark clothes, but her clear skin and white teeth stand out across the room. Sofia, 44, picks her way through the crowd, smiling anxiously. It’s a Friday, sunny, and the lunch crowd is lingering, some eating tuna niçoise, some – like the louche young man planted in the corner with his laptop – being conspicuously literary, clearly conscious of the connection the café has to Paris’s people of letters. Her Paris apartment is a stone’s throw away and her parents’ apartment, where she often stayed as a teenager, is around the corner. Upstairs at Café de Flore is Sofia Coppola’s safe place for interviews. Sofia Coppola shares her style secrets: 'A kind of uniform helps