Superstar Twiggy on the documentary of her storied life

Joanna Lumley says her name "came like a lightning bolt". Dustin Hoffman says she laughs like a trucker. Bowie sang: "She'd sigh like Twig, the wonder kid."

It seems everyone adores Twiggy, the "face of '66", AKA Lesley Hornby.

But the working-class girl from Neasden in north-west London, whose shapeshifting career encompasses everything from modelling to movies, singing to fashion design, has closely guarded her private life with loving partner, actor Leigh Lawson.

Until, that is, Twiggy saw a reflection of herself in fellow multi-hyphenate, Sadie Frost, who convinced her to tell her story.

"I'd been approached many times to do this and for whatever reason, backed away," the ebulliently down-to-earth Twiggy says.

"But when I met Sadie and she suggested it, I just thought, 'Yeah'."

The parallels with Bram Stoker's Dracula star Frost — whose debut directorial feature was the documentary Quant, about British fashion designer Mary Quant, who played a prominent role in London's Swinging Sixties culture — are uncanny, Twiggy suggests.

"She's got a similar career in that she started very young, was a model, went into acting and has been a designer," Twiggy says.

"She's also been in the public eye for a long time, so she understands those pressures, and, like me, she's got a very close family."

It started with a haircut

The youngest of three daughters, Twiggy's childhood was blissful, even though her mother struggled with her mental health (undiagnosed in those days). Her dad was a carpenter on movie sets, but that's as close as Twiggy thought she'd get to stardom.

Pursuing a modelling career was not on the cards. As the ever-luminous Lumley outlines in Twiggy, the profession was almost exclusively the domain of upper-class girls.

"I love Joanna, she makes me laugh so much," Twiggy says.

"Those girls would work until they met their rich husband and married. Girls like me, from north-west London, didn't."

And yet, Twiggy was spotted by a scout who thought she looked like Greta Garbo with her huge eyes. A test shoot was arranged, and they insisted she get a new 'do at Leonard [Lewis] of Mayfair.

"I didn't want my hair cut in this posh salon, but was too shy and scared to say no," Twiggy laughs uproariously (this happens a lot).

"And thank god I kept my mouth shut."

The new elfin bob took seven hours. Photographer Barry Lategan snapped her in a natty chunky knit. Lewis hung the resulting portrait in his salon.

Deirdre McSharry, a fashion journalist from the Daily Express, saw it while having her hair cut and booked Twiggy for the splash that launched her career.

Vogue chased McSharry's lead.

"Diana Vreeland was so powerful then; like Anna Wintour now," Twiggy recalls of the then editor-in-chief.

Goals and Globes

Just like fairytales before Disney got their hands on them, fame was scary at first.

Fans from London to New York and Tokyo screamed in adulation like she was in The Beatles (Paul McCartney and daughter Stella, both appearing in the documentary, are her besties).

However, Twiggy insists her working-class roots kept her grounded.

"I was still Lesley at home," she says.

"I didn't let it go to my head."

The whirlwind that followed included shooting an album cover with David Bowie — 1973's Pin Ups — and a garden party at Sonny and Cher's, where she met Clint Eastwood and Paul Newman.

Later, Phil Spector pulled a gun on Twiggy and her then-husband Michael Witney in a surreal and scary incident when they were invited to the eventually convicted murderer's mansion.

But, to borrow Lumley's turn of phrase, meeting Ken Russell was the "lightning bolt" that set Twiggy on the many pathways that followed.

The Devils director was starstruck by Twiggy, introducing her to McCartney and essentially building his 1971 musical The Boy Friend around her.

"At that time, he was the biggest filmmaker in England and had done Women in Love, one of my favourite films ever," Twiggy says.

"He opened the door for me, and I went to dance class and singing lessons for a year."

Twiggy was rewarded with two Golden Globes.

Stay Frosty

Broadway followed, as did a recording career and Twiggy's TV variety show. When she went from modelling fashion to designing it, she was credited with saving beloved British department store Marks & Spencer.

Frost knew Twiggy's story had to be shared, for all these reasons and more.

"I'd admired her from afar, but we got close when I did her Tea with Twiggy podcast," Frost says.

"Obviously, she's a national treasure, and incredibly resilient, reinventing herself across the decades."

Those many lives fascinated Frost.

"Twiggy came from nowhere and took on the world as one of its most famous women, redefining what that looked like in '66, but she was only modelling for a very short period of her life," she says.

"There are so many facets; you could make a six-part TV series on her life easily."

Twiggy stepped out of the shadow of controlling first boyfriend/manager Justin de Villeneuve and survived the highs and lows of alcoholic first husband, Michael Witney, who died at just 52, but not before the pair had treasured daughter, Carly.

Frost recognised this rollercoaster.

"I've ducked and dived through my career and motherhood, sometimes consumed by overpowering relationships in which it was very difficult to define yourself," she says.

Twiggy trusted Frost.

"It's a very personal thing when you're trying to translate someone's life, and I was so nervous when I first showed her," Frost recalls.

"We both burst out crying and gave each other a hug."

Not that there weren't notes. "Twiggy's a lovely, lovely lady, but she's got huge opinions," Frost chuckles. "And of course her opinions matter."

If you ask Twiggy why she's achieved so much, the answer's simple.

"I've been very fortunate, working with some amazing people, and I'm very lucky," she says.

"Leigh and I are blessed with our kids and grandkids."

Twiggy releases in Australian cinemas on December 4