I can’t help but feel like a bit of an interloper as I sneak glances at Maïwenn shovelling forkfuls of salad into her mouth. I’m early for my interview with the French actor turned filmmaker, who is in incognito mode — baseball cap, sunglasses, ponytail — and deep in conversation with a grey-haired man of indeterminate age. We are meeting at the Salon, the upstairs café of the Cinéma du Panthéon, a landmark Paris cinema that opened in 1907, a few doors down from the Sorbonne.
This is far-removed from Maïwenn’s scrappy upbringing as a child actor. From the age of three, her mother, the French-Algerian actor Catherine Belkhodja, dragged her to castings around Paris in the hope of turning her into a star. At six, she landed her first substantial role playing a younger version of Isabelle Adjani’s vengeful temptress in Jean Becker’s 1983 thriller L’été meurtrier.
When she was 12, Maïwenn met the director Luc Besson, who was 29 at the time. In 1992, when she was 16, they married. A few months later, she gave birth to their daughter. She went on to have small parts in Besson’s films Léon (she has said that their relationship inspired that between Natalie Portman and Jean Reno in the film) and The Fifth Element. The couple divorced in 1997.
Maïwenn, who dropped her surname as a teenager, directed a documentary about the making of Léon in 1994. But it was in the 2000s that she began directing in earnest, making and starring in gritty psychological dramas such as Pardonnez‑moi and Polisse, about the child protection unit of the Paris police. Polisse was a big hit and won the 2011 Jury Prize at Cannes. Her latest film, Jeanne du Barry, in which she also stars, opened the festival last year. It’s her first period piece, representing a significant departure in her work.
She looks up as I approach her table. She removes her sunglasses and we shake hands rather stiffly as her dining companion bids her farewell. She tells me she chose this location because the Cinéma du Panthéon is owned by Why Not Productions, which produces her films and has a reputation for nurturing talents such as Ken Loach and Jacques Audiard. For the production company, she says, “it’s only the director who counts”. She appreciates the support. In French film circles, Maïwenn, now 47, feels a bit of an outsider.
She describes an industry split into two factions: the “commercial” camp, churning out heavy-handed comedies, animation and comic book adaptations, and the “auteur” camp, producing arthouse fare with modest ticket sales. We’re in the flow of conversation now and any initial awkwardness has evaporated. Maïwenn listens intently and leans in to speak. “I think I’m a bit of a pariah in both camps,” she continues. The auteurs are “a bit jealous” of her success — her films boast big French stars, like Vincent Cassel (Mon roi, 2015) and Louis Garrel (DNA, 2020) — and the commercial camp are “a bit put out that I’m not part of their sphere”.
Jeanne du Barry was a courtesan in 1760s Paris who became Louis XV’s favourite mistress. She has been portrayed on screen numerous times, including in Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette, in which Asia Argento plays her as a vulgar prostitute. “Each time,” Maïwenn says, “I felt the performances were too caricatural and lacking nuance.”
She felt herself drawn to the figure of du Barry. “One of the major points in common that I have with [her] is this complex I felt from leaving school early, and the conviction that I would never be able to recover my errant youth and become cultivated enough,” she says. “But I have never been someone who backs down from a challenge so, finally, I decided to play her myself.” The film, which is surprisingly humorous, captures the hothouse intrigue of the court, while presenting du Barry as more than a schemer.
Louis XV is played by Johnny Depp, in his first French-speaking role. Maïwenn originally approached two French actors, who she won’t name, but they didn’t work out. A friend suggested she make a list of her dream actors for the part, regardless of nationality. At the top was Depp, who she thought would convey the physical nuance of a role that is more about silent looks than lengthy dialogue. She emailed Depp’s agent, not expecting a reply. Two weeks later she went to London to meet him, and he agreed to be in her film. (“He spoke very good French,” she notes.)
The role represents something of a return for Depp, who had not acted since 2022, when a US jury ruled in favour of the actor in his defamation case against his former wife Amber Heard, who accused him of domestic abuse. Maïwenn notes that she offered Depp the part in 2020, before the trial began, but many see his casting as the rehabilitation of an alleged abuser and an affront to the #MeToo movement. More than 100 actors signed an open letter criticising Cannes for showing the film. Maïwenn won’t comment on so-called cancel culture, but has previously been critical of #MeToo. (“When I hear women complaining that men are only interested in their bottom, I tell them, ‘Enjoy it because it won’t last!’” she told Paris Match in 2020.) However she insists she is not, as she has been labelled, anti-#MeToo. “We are living in an era defined by #MeToo and the question of consent,” she says. “It’s a real insult to say that I’m against it.”
While shooting Jeanne du Barry, much of which took place at the Palace of Versailles, Maïwenn occasionally found herself struggling with Depp’s constant suggestions about how each scene should be played. Did she find any of them useful? “No. Honestly, no,” she replies with a hint of a smile. Maïwenn’s voice drops to a whisper. “Can you speak a bit more quietly, please? Because the woman over there is listening to every word you say.” Sure enough, on the other side of the room, a woman is staring intently at us, in no way disguising her eavesdropping. Maïwenn is used to this; she is later recognised by another diner. But, largely, we are ignored. This is the kind of place where film stars can conduct press interviews undisturbed.
Maïwenn has been in the public eye since childhood, but the scrutiny intensified last year when the French journalist Edwy Plenel filed a police complaint against her. It accused her of pulling his hair and spitting at him in a Paris restaurant. Maïwenn did not dispute the accusation, and in January this year was ordered by a Paris court to pay a fine of €400. “I had my trial,” she says. “I didn’t apologise and I don’t regret anything. He did something very damaging.” The damage, she says, dates back to 2021 when the French news website Mediapart — set up by Plenel, a former editor-in-chief of Le Monde — published an investigation into rape and sexual assault allegations by multiple women against Luc Besson. (He denies the allegations.) The story contained extracts from a witness statement that Maïwenn had given to French police. “For me, that is not journalism, it’s theft,” she tells me.
Maïwenn insists she has had enough of the off-screen drama. For now, the director just wants to read books, watch films and look after her family. “I am not someone who flourishes by being productive,” she says. “I am someone very contemplative, passive and who just enjoys being a spectator.”
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