Confessions of a French film star

By Jenna Smith and ChristianWeek | February 15, 2008

Let's talk French cinema, or at least one of French cinema's biggest stars: Gerard Depardieu.

For readers who can't quite seem to place the name with the face, Depardieu is what you would call a giant in the world of international filmmaking, although he is not unknown to Hollywood. He won the Golden Globe for best actor in1992 for Green Card and he played Christopher Columbus in 1492: The Conquest of Paradise.

Gerard Depardieu represents everything one could find amusing in a French actor. With a robust frame he has a presence to match his reputation and a nose to match his presence. He does little to hide his love of wine and women, and when he speaks English he has the most perfect "dirty Frenchman" accent. He's the incarnation of France itself-cultured, with a slightly sleazy edge.

In 2000, upon the personal suggestion of Pope John Paul II, Depardieu began a long-standing relationship with Saint Augustine and his Confessions. Depardieu began sobering up after 20-some odd years of alcoholism (he drank anywhere between one and eight bottles of wine a day) and toured cities around Europe and North America, reading Confessions from altars of cathedrals. The goal, said the actor, was to introduce Augustine to an audience that was not necessarily one of faith. Montreal was fortunate enough to host him on this endeavour, and therefore was witness to, in my opinion, one of the most creative and genuine mea culpa's offered by a public figure.

By the time Depardieu arrived in Montreal in November 2005, he claimed he had not had a drink in nine weeks. He was, however, launching his newest wine from his vineyard in France, hence dissociating art from abuse. He launched on the first night, and recited on the second.

The reading took place at the Notre Dame Cathedral and attracted more than 2,000 audience members, despite the fact that they had been sufficiently warned by the press that this would be "a spiritual event." Some referred to it as "Depardieu's spiritual coming-out."

I attended out of pure fascination. Due to lack of seating room in the church, I stood outside, watching the event from a projector along with dozens of other spectators. True to his theatrical talents, he boomed out the word sof Saint Augustine with fervour and passion. He had already communicated in interviews the important role Confessions had played in his relationship to religion.

"With Saint Augustine, we are light years ahead of Church liturgy," he said. "While sermons on sin were putting parishioners to sleep, what was needed was something that elevates them to that which is above them. This is why I choose to read Confessions…the author has a quest for beauty."

These feelings were obvious during the actor's eloquent delivery of Confessions. It was medieval literature like you've never heard before. It was strong. It was honest. It was the religious happening of 2005. It was the reason that people stood in -30C weather for nearly an hour, taking in the writings of one of Christendom's earliest fathers.

I came to see a show and left with a lesson in the theology of art. Here was an actor, who, through his quest for beauty and faith, had managed to join together theatre and homiletics. He rendered, through poetic delivery, Augustine's unmistakable desire for God, pertinent to a contemporary audience. And for one of North America's most secular cities, this was no small feat. It took the work of an artist.