Nor does she eat out at the see-and-be-seen places, or undertake noisily philanthropic ventures like other Hollywood matrons.
Instead, she lives anonymously in one of the poorer parts of Los Angeles in a modest three-bedroom bungalow, hidden behind high hedges and iron gates. Neighbours profess that they have "no idea" who she is.
She has latterly dyed her trademark long blonde hair a deep brown, and after widely rumoured cosmetic surgery, she doesn't look much like the old Dunaway.
Indeed, the only hint that an Oscar-winning screen legend, once hailed as the world's most beautiful woman, has resided here for 12 years are the handmade signs entreating passers-by not to pick the flowers on her verge, signed, simply, "Dunaway".
The woman who Nicholson hailed as "the gossamer grenade" has just turned 70. But there was no uproarious party.
Lately, she has had reason to stay home: she has had a metal plate and several metal pins inserted in her wrist after a fall, and has been recovering in bed.
You might wonder why Dunaway would be so determined to stay in peak physical form. The answer seems to be that, to borrow a phrase from Sunset Boulevard's Norma Desmond, she is getting ready for her close-up once again even as she enters her eighth decade. For Dorothy Faye Dunaway, to give her full name, is about to re-enter the Hollywood fray with a movie that has been a dozen years in the making.
It's a family affair which stars her as opera diva Maria Callas and her adopted son Liam as her student.
It has cost Dunaway a fortune to bring to the screen, plus she's already fought one lawsuit over it and is about to fight a second.
Remarkable
Should it be greeted with acclaim, it will represent a remarkable comeback, for Dunaway's story is one of many retreats and rejections.
Along the way there have been many terrific bust-ups, most notoriously with director Roman Polanski. Legend has it that she reacted to his bullying behaviour on the set of Chinatown by throwing a cup of urine at him.
So can Hollywood's forgotten woman really make a final comeback 44 years after her raw sexuality in the role of Bonnie Parker captivated the world?
At the time, her chemistry with co-star Warren Beatty caused a sensation, though in her autobiography she said: "I never fooled around with guys like Warren or Jack Nicholson because I felt they were too dangerous for me."
Instead, she fell in love with married Italian film director Marcello Mastroianni, whom she had met in 1968. But he would not leave his wife or child for her and, decades later, Dunaway said: "I wish to this day it had worked out."
She went on to have two marriages, and two divorces. First she married Peter Wolf, the lead singer with the J. Geils Band, and then she met Terry O'Neill, the British photographer.
During this period she was at her peak — with an Oscar for Network following her successes in The Thomas Crown Affair and Three Days Of The Condor. O'Neill was sent to take her picture for a story about the award. They began an affair, and she and Wolf broke up.
Dunaway moved to Connecticut and started turning down work — she wanted to start a family. But it was not to be and she secretly arranged for the adoption of a baby boy.
O'Neill said: "It was devastating for Faye, who was already fragile, always worrying about everything. She wanted to be a mother, but there came a point when we had to face the fact that kids weren't coming."
She came back to Hollywood with Mommie Dearest. O'Neill was the producer. The film was howlingly poorly received.
Devastated, she and O'Neill relocated to London. But by 1987 they had divorced, O'Neill citing her unreasonable behaviour. She returned to LA, where she spent the next two decades playing mediocre movie roles.
Now, though, the Callas film — Master Class — is coming to fruition. It's been a fraught process. One Hollywood producer sued her for £1.8 million (Dh10.47 million), claiming he had a deal assuring him the movie rights. The dispute was settled when he accepted a pay-off.
But the expensive fights are not over: a court case is looming between her and a film editor over unpaid wages.
The editor in question must be either brave or foolish to take h
er on for, as her career shows, there is no shortage of fight in Miss Dunaway.
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