In August of 2011, Gérard Depardieu was removed from a flight heading from Paris to Dublin after being observed urinating into a bottle. Then 62, he had long established a reputation for bad behaviour that made British hell-raisers such as Oliver Reed seem like Peppa Pig. “He was also stone-cold sober at the time. This is not the way he usually behaves,” his friend, the actor Edouard Baer, unconvincingly remarked. Much of the French nation collectively snorted. Our crazy uncle was at it again. “When the news broke, we simply shrugged, smiling at Gérard’s latest coup,” French commentator Agnès Poirier observed in the Guardian. “What else was there to say? Gérard is Gérard, and great men (or women) should be allowed their own little quirks from time to time.” Okay then.
Over the last decade it has proved harder and harder to dismiss Depardieu’s misbehaviour. In August 2018 a still unnamed actor accused him of assaulting her during rehearsals. The case bounced back and forth through the courts for another four years. In 2023, 13 women came forward with various claims of sexual attacks by the actor. One of those accusers subsequently killed herself. On Tuesday, Depardieu was found guilty of sexually assaulting two women in 2021 and was handed an 18-month suspended sentence.
One might reasonably assume this would be the end for Depardieu in polite society, but the French artistic community has been weirdly tolerant of him throughout the recent accusations. In December 2021, Figaro, a right-wing newspaper, published an open letter from 50 celebrities headed “Don’t Cancel Depardieu”. Alleging a “manhunt” against the star, the missive – actually written by obscure actor Yannis Ezziadi – bore the names of such luminaries as director Bertrand Blier, actor Charlotte Rampling and polymath Carla Bruni. There have been similar rallies elsewhere around accused film professionals such as Roman Polanski and Woody Allen, but the tone of the Depardieu piece was particularly hysterical. “An attack on Depardieu is an attack on art itself,” it read.
Writing in Politico early last year, Robert Zaretsky half-seriously compared the furore to the controversy that surrounded the accusations of treason against the French army officer Alfred Dreyfus in the late 19th century. Even French president Emmanuel Macron got involved. “The French president echoed Ezziadi’s letter, denouncing the ‘manhunt’ aimed at this immense actor [who] makes France proud,” Zaretsky informed us.
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Why are so many people risking their reputations for a man with such an unlovely history? Well, Depardieu’s story is a remarkable one. And he has established an identity that is all his own. Far from the suave enigmatic charms of sleek Alain Delon, Depardieu has always given out an earthy energy redolent of blue-collar sweat and uncomplicated toil. Rarely has there been more appropriate casting than when he was positioned as Obelix – the enormous menhir delivery man with a taste for wild boar – in four films based on the popular Asterix the Gaul comics. The French like to see themselves as learned, phlegmatic and sophisticated. But many also appreciate acknowledgment of a rougher, less honed tradition: rough soil, brackish water, rotting acorns. Many of his French colleagues – Sophie Marceau for one – have spoken against him, but a broad strain sceptical of the American inclination towards “political correctness” and resistant to the #MeToo movement see Depardieu as a figure to rally around.
Depardieu was born in 1948, the child of a homemaker and a metal worker. He grew up in relative poverty and left school, practically illiterate, at the age of 13. This period of his life has become the stuff of (sometimes unhealthy) legend. He hung around boxing rings and ended up dabbling in the underworld. He acted as a bodyguard for sex workers. He also claimed to be a grave robber in his autobiography, but was saved – if his present status allows that description – by acting and literature. He ploughed through the French classics and struggled to correct errant diction.
Eventually Depardieu found himself among the era’s cultural elite. He secured a good role in Bertrand Blier’s Les Valseuses from 1974. He was cast alongside Robert De Niro for Bernardo Bertolucci’s enormous 1900 in 1976. Confirmation of his status came with a César Award for his performance opposite Catherine Deneuve in François Truffaut’s The Last Metro from 1980.
It was not until Jean de Florette in 1986 that Depardieu’s gifts properly attracted attention outside France. His performance as the tragic, hunchbacked title character, nominated for a Bafta award, made him the most exportable male French star since the Nouvelle Vague of the early 1960s. He was certainly representative on the nation, but not in a way that was culturally intimidating. He didn’t seem like the sort of person who would look down his nose – and what a nose – for using the wrong fork on your petit fours.
Yet early on, suspicions about his treatment of women triggered controversy in the United States. In 1991, as Depardieu was receiving raves for his lead role in the latest version of Cyrano de Bergerac, Time magazine published an old interview in which he apparently confirmed a rumour that he had taken part in a rape as a child. Depardieu’s team claimed the interview had been mistranslated, but, in a forerunner of the recent scandal concerning Emilia Pérez, the controversy did enough to scupper Cyrano’s chances at the Oscars. Depardieu, nominated in best actor, was never favourite, but the film itself looked certain to take best foreign language film. It lost to a now forgotten title.
None of this halted the actor’s progress. He found work outside France in Ridley Scott’s 1492: Conquest of Paradise, Peter Weir’s Green Card and, more recently, Ang Lee’s Life of Pi. As he passed into his sixth and seventh decades, he took on the persona of a charismatic, only occasionally ambulant behemoth. Never was he better cast than as the disgraced former IMF chief Dominique Strauss-Kahn in Abel Ferrera’s properly horrid Welcome to New York.
By then Depardieu had become almost as well known for his controversies as for his performances. He has had about seven scooter or motorbike accidents this century. As recently as 2014, he drank throughout the day – beginning with champagne, wine and pastis before moving on to vodka and whiskey. “I’m never totally drunk, just a bit of a pain in the ass,” he said.
All this would be a different matter if he was the only victim of his own excess. Yes, as far as the boozing goes, he suggests the class of “hellraiser” we don’t see any more. His taking of Russian citizenship is unlikely to be emulated these days either.
This week’s conviction will, however, challenge the tolerance of those fans, particularly in his home country, intent on finding his dissolution charming. The victim in the current case, identified only as Amelie, talked disturbingly of her experiences. “What stands out for me is not his sexual desire but his savagery,” she said. The joke is now over.
