"That movie touched the core of my being. Never have I felt so close to a character as I felt to Bonnie. She was a yearning, edgy, ambitious southern girl who wanted to get out, and the getting out doesn't come easy. But with Bonnie there was a real tragic irony. She got out only to see that she was heading nowhere and that the end was death..."

"The makeup-which took hours-I remember well. There was a black center where each bullet hole was, and around that they put wax, which they covered with makeup. Then attached to the wax was a squib and a tiny wire, not much bigger that a strand of hair so that it was virtually invisible. During the scene, each of the squibs would be detonated. Their little dynamite charges, and when detonated they explode like little bombs. When they had finished with me, there were dozens of wires coming from my body and my face. Up close I looked like an escapee from a mad scientist's laboratory."

"For that final scene, the question became how would I react to the bullets that would be hitting me? Bill Alfred always told me, invent from the facts. The facts would be that each bullet hits you with a little impact that throws you back. If you have all those bullets hitting you, you would have a heck of a lot of impacts. Your body would be jerking back all the time. What I evolved was a Saint Vitus' dance, Bonnie's dance of death."

" Then it became a question of creating a final image that was indelible. The door had been shot open so my body could fall. The effect I wanted was a kind of flayed body rather than just crumpling out on the ground in a heap. I had my leg tied to the gearshift, so it would look as if it had gotten lodged there. That way I couldn't fall all the way out of the car and the physical image created was very dramatic. It released, as the Greeks put it, , the pity and fear of the audience, because they see this girl they've come to know shot to ribbons."

"The way they shot it, I do look like I'm caught in an eerie dance. I die, still behind the wheel, the top half of my body fallen to the side, my head resting near the running board, one arm caught on the steering wheel, the other limply over my head, with my hair brushing the grass below." ~ Faye Dunaway in her 1995 autobiography LOOKING FOR GATSBY.