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PARIS (AP) 鈥� G茅rard Depardieu once seemed larger than France itself. With his hulking frame, crooked nose, and volcanic charisma, he reigned over cinema for half a century 鈥� a national icon as familiar as the baguette.

But this week, the actor who starred in more than 230 films 鈥� and who inspired writer John Updike to lament, 鈥淚 think that I shall never view / a French film without Depardieu鈥� 鈥� 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 鈧�75,000 ($81,000) fine.

But more than Depardieu is on trial.

For many in France, this case marks the country鈥檚 ultimate litmus test 鈥� a question not just of guilt or innocence, but of readiness. Can a nation famed for its culture of seduction 鈥� and long criticized for shielding its male artists 鈥� finally hold one of them accountable?

The Fall of a Giant

Depardieu, 76, is accused of groping two women 鈥� a set dresser and an assistant 鈥� during the 2021 filming of 鈥淟es Volets Verts鈥� (“The Green Shutters”). According to complaints and witness statements, he trapped one woman with his legs, grabbed her breasts and waist, and shouted: 鈥淚 can鈥檛 even get it up because of this heat!鈥� before crudely inviting her to touch his 鈥渂ig parasol.鈥�

He denies all allegations. 鈥淣ever, but never, have I abused a woman,鈥� he wrote in Le Figaro. 鈥淚 have only ever been guilty of being too loving, too generous, or having a temperament that is too strong.鈥�

But this is the first time one of the more than 20 accusations against him has reached court.

Once a symbol of France鈥檚 creative power, Depardieu鈥檚 career now shadows the nation鈥檚 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.

A Life of Extremes

Born in 1948 to a working-class family in Ch芒teauroux, Depardieu鈥檚 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: 鈥淛ean de Florette,鈥� 鈥淐yrano de Bergerac,鈥� 鈥淕reen Card,鈥� 鈥淭he Last Metro,鈥� 鈥淒anton.鈥� He won a Golden Globe, an Oscar nomination, and the adoration of millions. He played Columbus, Jean Valjean, and even Ob茅lix in the 鈥淎sterix鈥� films. He was prolific, omnipresent 鈥� 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 鈥� of the lovable brute 鈥� is now unraveling.

The Unfinished Revolution

In Hollywood, #MeToo toppled titans. In France, the movement was met with a wary eye. When #BalanceTonPorc (鈥淓xpose Your Pig鈥�) emerged in 2017, it rattled the country鈥檚 self-image 鈥� 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, 鈥渢oo far.鈥� They championed la libert茅 d鈥檌mportuner 鈥� 鈥渢he freedom to bother鈥� 鈥� 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 鈥� shortly after a documentary aired footage of Depardieu making sexually suggestive comments about a young girl in North Korea 鈥� Macron defended the actor on national television, condemning the backlash as a 鈥渕anhunt.鈥� 鈥淕茅rard Depardieu makes France proud,鈥� he said.

The remark sparked national outrage 鈥� not just for its timing, but for what it revealed: the instinct to protect cultural giants, no matter the cost.

A Safe Haven for the Famous

France鈥檚 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 C茅sar Award win prompted walkouts 鈥� but also a standing ovation. There was little institutional pushback.

Johnny Depp, dropped from US production 鈥淧irates of the Caribbean鈥� after domestic abuse allegations by ex-wife Amber Heard (he was exonerated), was embraced in France. In 2023, he played Louis XV in 鈥淛eanne du Barry鈥�, 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 鈥� it signed him to a multiyear, seven-figure deal in 2022.

A Cultural Earthquake

Depardieu鈥檚 trial isn鈥檛 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 Ad猫le Haenel when she was a child. Nicolas Bedos was handed house arrest in 2023 after groping multiple women.

Actor-director Judith Godr猫che soon followed. Testifying before parliament, she accused two renowned directors of exploiting her as a teenager. 鈥淭his is not about desire,鈥� she told lawmakers. 鈥淚t鈥檚 about power. About silence. About a system that protects itself.鈥�

That same commission has since summoned major actors 鈥� including Jean Dujardin. Some reportedly asked to testify behind closed doors.

The Reckoning

Anouk Grinberg, who appeared in Les Volets Verts, has publicly supported the two women accusing Depardieu. 鈥淲hat I saw on set was not seduction,鈥� she said. 鈥淚t was shameful.鈥�

The case has become a national mirror 鈥� reflecting everything France has tolerated, denied, and excused.

On the Parisian sidewalks, opinions still diverge. 鈥淲e鈥檙e losing our culture of flirtation,鈥� said Alain Morel, 62, sipping an espresso at a caf茅 near the Arc de Triomphe. 鈥淔lirting isn鈥檛 a crime 鈥� it鈥檚 part of who we are.鈥�

But across the street, 28-year-old student Yasmine Bensalem shook her head. 鈥淲e called it charm,鈥� she said. 鈥淏ut it was always about power.鈥�

A Verdict Beyond the Courtroom

The trial continues. Depardieu, who has diabetes and heart disease, attends with medical accommodations. His lawyer claims the case is a political vendetta 鈥� a plot to 鈥渕ake Depardieu fall.鈥�

But whether he is convicted or not, the deeper judgment is already underway.

For decades, France鈥檚 artists were seen as untouchable 鈥� 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 G茅rard Depardieu. This is the trial of a country 鈥� and whether its unfinished revolution will finish at last.