Gérard Depardieu once seemed larger than France itself. With his hulking frame, crooked nose, and volcanic charisma, he reigned over cinema for half a century — a national icon as familiar as the baguette.
But this week, the actor who starred in more than 230 films — and who inspired writer John Updike to lament, “I think that I shall never view / a French film without Depardieu” — sat slumped on a special orthopedic stool in a Paris courtroom.
He faces two counts of sexual assault. If convicted, he could face up to five years in prison and a €75,000 ($81,000) fine.
But more than Depardieu is on trial.
For many in France, this case marks the country’s ultimate litmus test — a question not just of guilt or innocence, but of readiness. Can a nation famed for its culture of seduction — and long criticized for shielding its male artists — finally hold one of them accountable?
Depardieu, 76, is accused of groping two women — a set dresser and an assistant — during the 2021 filming of Les Volets Verts (The Green Shutters). According to complaints and witness statements, he trapped one woman with his legs, grabbed her breasts and waist, and shouted: “I can’t even get it up because of this heat!” before crudely inviting her to touch his “big parasol.”
He denies all allegations. “Never, but never, have I abused a woman,” he wrote in Le Figaro. “I have only ever been guilty of being too loving, too generous, or having a temperament that is too strong.”
But this is the first time one of the more than 20 accusations against him has reached court.
Once a symbol of France’s creative power, Depardieu’s career now shadows the nation’s delayed reckoning with #MeToo. The courtroom has become the stage for something deeper: a country finally confronting the myths it has long told itself about art, power, and male genius.
Born in 1948 to a working-class family in Châteauroux, Depardieu’s rise was the stuff of legend. A stuttering teen with no formal education, he drifted into acting and exploded onto the French stage with Les Valseuses (Going Places), a 1974 film so provocative it remains banned in some countries.
From there came a blur of hits: Jean de Florette, Cyrano de Bergerac, Green Card, The Last Metro, Danton. He won a Golden Globe, an Oscar nomination, and the adoration of millions. He played Columbus, Jean Valjean, and even Obélix in the Asterix films. He was prolific, omnipresent — messy, magnetic, and untouchable.
But the excess was real off-screen too. He crashed his motorcycle while drunk, accepted a Russian passport from Vladimir Putin during a tax dispute, and once urinated in a plane aisle. He boasted of his appetites. France seemed to cheer them on.
That myth — of the lovable brute — is now unraveling.
In Hollywood, #MeToo toppled titans. In France, the movement was met with a wary eye. When #BalanceTonPorc (“Expose Your Pig”) emerged in 2017, it rattled the country’s self-image — particularly in the arts, where seduction and transgression had long been celebrated.
Some warned that #MeToo was killing romance. In 2018, screen legend Catherine Deneuve and 99 other prominent French women published an open letter in Le Monde, scolding the movement for going, in their words, “too far.” They championed la liberté d’importuner — “the freedom to bother” — as a pillar of French life, defending the right of men to pursue women without fear of consequence. To many, it sounded less like a defense of flirtation than a permission slip for harassment, cloaked in perfume and nostalgia.
Even President Emmanuel Macron echoed the sentiment. In Dec. 2023 — shortly after a documentary aired footage of Depardieu making sexually suggestive comments about a young girl in North Korea — Macron defended the actor on national television, condemning the backlash as a “manhunt.” “Gérard Depardieu makes France proud,” he said.
The remark sparked national outrage — not just for its timing, but for what it revealed: the instinct to protect cultural giants, no matter the cost.
France’s reluctance to confront sexual misconduct among its stars has long set it apart.
Roman Polanski, convicted of statutory rape in the U.S. and accused by several other women, continues to work and live freely in France. In 2020, his César Award win prompted walkouts — but also a standing ovation. There was little institutional pushback.
Johnny Depp, dropped from US production Pirates of the Caribbean after domestic abuse allegations by ex-wife Amber Heard (he was exonerated), was embraced in France. In 2023, he played Louis XV in Jeanne du Barry, the opening film at the French Cannes Film Festival. Amid the trial, Dior, the luxury French fashion house, not only kept him on as the face of its Sauvage fragrance — it signed him to a multiyear, seven-figure deal in 2022.
Depardieu’s trial isn’t the only case shaking French cinema. In recent months, a string of high-profile convictions have suggested that the shield of fame may finally be cracking.
Director Christophe Ruggia was sentenced in 2024 for sexually abusing actress Adèle Haenel when she was a child. Nicolas Bedos was handed house arrest in 2023 after groping multiple women.
Actor-director Judith Godrèche soon followed. Testifying before parliament, she accused two renowned directors of exploiting her as a teenager. “This is not about desire,” she told lawmakers. “It’s about power. About silence. About a system that protects itself.”
That same commission has since summoned major actors — including Jean Dujardin. Some reportedly asked to testify behind closed doors.
Anouk Grinberg, who appeared in Les Volets Verts, has publicly supported the two women accusing Depardieu. “What I saw on set was not seduction,” she said. “It was shameful.”
The case has become a national mirror — reflecting everything France has tolerated, denied, and excused.
On the Parisian sidewalks, opinions still diverge. “We’re losing our culture of flirtation,” said Alain Morel, 62, sipping an espresso at a café near the Arc de Triomphe. “Flirting isn’t a crime — it’s part of who we are.”
But across the street, 28-year-old student Yasmine Bensalem shook her head. “We called it charm,” she said. “But it was always about power.”
The trial continues. Depardieu, who has diabetes and heart disease, attends with medical accommodations. His lawyer claims the case is a political vendetta — a plot to “make Depardieu fall.”
But whether he is convicted or not, the deeper judgment is already underway.
For decades, France’s artists were seen as untouchable — their genius a shield. That shield is cracking. The myth is dying. And in its place, a question rises:
Can France finally hold its most powerful men to account?
This is not just the trial of Gérard Depardieu. This is the trial of a country — and whether its unfinished revolution will finish at last.
