This was the first movie poster I ever bought, for my very first home while I was away at college, a studio apartment that was even smaller than the one inhabited by Holly Golightly, that flighty Manhattan party girl. Heavily sanitised for contemporary audiences, there are still people to this day who don’t understand that she’s a prostitute. I wonder what they make of Paul Varjak? Do they think he’s breaking in 2E’s bed?! With the passing of time, Audrey Hepburn feels ever more like a sprightly cipher, hardly human, barely knowable. It’s difficult to reconcile the fact that this Truman Capote story was for, and about, Marilyn Monroe, and that he was upset that she wasn’t cast. There’s magic in this concoction adapted by George Axelrod: from the first sight of Holly in the Givenchy dress; her wonderful cat (Cat); the party; Holly singing Moon River; the courtroom mess; and the final, lovely scene when Paul (George Peppard) makes her see sense and finds Cat and we believe she might have a different kind of life. There is the opportunity to nit-pick and there are some that hate Mickey Rooney playing Oriental. And the scene where Holly gets the telegram about Fred is upsetting. It is this twist from happy go lucky to tragic that marks out the film as a major turning point in the star’s persona and indeed her future career. She hits a lot of different notes. But somehow director Blake Edwards sustains the lightness of touch that makes this Hepburn’s best-loved movie: there is a clarity and charm and brittleness that belie the churning emotions beneath. She’s not an icon for nothing. And I still cherish my poster – the original, theatrical, Sellotape-stained mess that it now is.