“For thirty years, silence has been my driving force.” Last month, in a room in which you could have heard a pin drop, actress Judith Godrèche denounced the sexist violence in which French cinema has been an accomplice for decades. Godrèche’s speech at the César Awards — the French equivalent of the Oscars — was both highly anticipated and unprecedented, and met with a standing ovation. After years in which the American #MeToo movement gained traction while in France it languished, this reception signaled that perhaps the larger culture here is finally ready to push back.
Just weeks earlier, first through a TV series and then in a string of interviews, Godrèche, now 52, had revealed how at the age of 14 she was groomed and repeatedly raped by Benoît Jacquot, an acclaimed director. Now, more than 35 years later, she has decided to file a complaint against the filmmaker. She also sued renowned filmmaker Jacques Doillon for “sexual assault on a minor.”
Godreche has said that being the mother of a teenage girl has prompted her to reconsider her experience. What might be the most striking part of the story is how little of what she said was news. Godrèche’s relationship with Jacquot was well known within the industry; the director, who would later date several other teenage actresses, has bragged about being allowed to break the law, to the admiration of his male peers. Even then, what was seen as acceptable in France shocked people elsewhere. When Jacquot tried to check in at an Italian hotel with 15-year-old Godrèche, the staff threatened to call the police, forcing him to book a second room.
France has been reluctant to address its deep problem of sexual abuse. Those within the arts have found their own excuses to glamorize the image of the young protegee of powerful men, whose fantasies could be excused by their genius. And the “French exception,” contrasted with the so-called puritanism of the United States, offered a convenient pretext for these relationships.
When in 2017 the #MeToo movement hit France, it was greeted with significant hostility. Godrèche herself, who lived in the United States for 10 years, was one of the first actresses to speak out about Harvey Weinstein’s sexual assaults. But back in her own country, about 100 well-known women, including Catherine Deneuve, published an open letter to support men’s “freedom to annoy,” placing men’s will over women’s safety.
What tipped the balance? In December, a documentary that showed acting legend Gérard Depardieu using vile sexist slurs (including toward a child) and displaying inappropriate behavior toward women sparked outrage in France. For years the actor, who is under investigation on rape allegations and accused by 13 women of sexual assault or rape, had suffered only minor reputational damage. Depardieu, denying the allegations, says he has “never, ever abused a woman.” But the attitude shown in the documentary could not be ignored. This time, when 50 celebrities published an open letter to defend his “unique and extraordinary personality” and French President Emmanuel Macron praised Depardieu for making “France proud,” the backlash was severe. Eight thousand artists, including myself, signed a petition supporting the victims. As a result, several celebrities withdrew their signatures in support of Depardieu.
Led by a younger generation, France finally seems ready for its #MeToo moment. But many women had to speak out for this national conversation to begin.
The first to break the silence on sexual violence in French cinema was Adèle Haenel, who in 2019 revealed that, as a child actress, she was sexually abused by a filmmaker. The same year, French Senegalese Ivorian actress Nadège Beausson-Diagne said she had been raped by a Cameroonian filmmaker in Central African Republic. In 2020, author Vanessa Springora described being trapped as a 14-year-old in an abusive relationship with novelist Gabriel Matzneff, who was 50 at the time. Also in 2020, figure skater Sarah Abitbol revealed that she was routinely raped by her coach when she was 15. The next year, Camille Kouchner’s best-selling book “La familia grande” provoked a national reckoning on incest. This momentum paved the way for a new law reinforcing protections for minor victims of sexual assaults.
Even this did not create the revolution that was needed. Four years ago, Haenel stood and walked out of the César ceremony screaming “A shame! Hurrah for pedophilia!” when Roman Polanski, now 90, who fled the United States in 1978 after being sentenced for raping a 13-year-old, was announced as best director. Haenel ultimately announced her withdrawal from the film industry “to denounce the general complacency of the profession towards sexual aggressors.” But this wasn’t the end of the story. This month, Polanski faced a new trial for calling one of his accusers a liar.
There is further to go. “I speak, I speak, but I can’t hear you, or barely,”Godrèche told the audience from the stage of the César ceremony. Indeed, after her speech, few people dared to mention her. (All the people who did were women.) And though actresses are some of the most visible women coming forward to describe their abuse, most women do not have Godrèche’s platform. As the conversation around #MeToo at last gets more serious here, France needs to prove that this moment of enthusiasm is not just a facade.
