Désirée de Lamarzelle: In La Guerre des prix, the contrast between the hushed world of the retail sector and the brutality of the farming world is striking. How did you work on this tension?

Ana Girardot: When I was developing the character of Audrey, I built her up by asking myself where she came from and how she had been shaped.

We encounter a character at a specific moment, but she is shaped by everything that has come before. We are the sum of our upbringing and our life experiences. Audrey has left the farming world behind. Perhaps to avoid repeating a family pattern, but she retains very strong foundations: a work ethic and resilience.

She doesn’t disown that world and refuses to let anyone look down on her parents or reduce them to the role of victims. I wanted that to be physically palpable. She’s someone who forges ahead. In her mind, there’s always a Plan A and a Plan B. She observes a great deal. And in her mannerisms, she walks. Heavy shoes, heavy coats. A resilience she doesn’t show, because it stems from her upbringing.

How do you understand this need she has to adopt the codes of a world that wasn’t her own?

A.G.: She has to learn, and to do so, she observes how women behave, what they wear to appear more powerful in a very male-dominated environment. And above all, verbal sparring reigns supreme. Success is determined by the ability to persuade, to threaten, through eloquence. Fournier’s character, too, has made this climb. He has moulded himself to fit into this world. His strength, for example, lies in never sitting down. These are very subtle strategies of power. It’s a constant power game.

Could one say this is a socially engaged film?

A.G.: I’d say it’s socially engaged, but not militant. It tells a story with real tension, almost using the conventions of a thriller. The director wanted to draw the viewer in, to create suspense, a sense of the unknown, and a sense of manipulation. And if, through this approach, the audience discovers a system they hadn’t necessarily looked at closely before, the central purchasing bodies, the negotiations, the very cold mechanics of economic relations – then that’s an added bonus.

Like her, did you leave home early to break free from a legacy?

A.G.: Absolutely. I bought my tickets on the day my A-level results came out. That was the essential condition for leaving. From that moment on, I decided to learn this craft far from my parents’ names (Hippolyte Girardot and Isabel Otero), far from their legacy.

I wanted to work out for myself whether this was really what I wanted to do. I saw in them the beauty of the profession, the passion, the creativity, the freedom, but also its harsh realities. An actor’s career is precarious. People always talk about that handful of actors who work throughout their lives, but there are very few of them.

For the majority, it’s a job characterised by constant self-doubt, scaled-back ambitions, and very real financial and family pressures that force you to make choices, and sometimes to give things up. It’s a profession that depends on the desires of others. On your ability to inspire interest, and to cope with rejection. Building your life on something so unstable isn’t easy.

Was that a necessary step in finding yourself?

Ana Girardot : Perhaps. What’s certain is that I didn’t want to go through those frustrations again. And yet, very quickly, I found myself in a system that proved me wrong. I found myself pigeonholed, ‘the wife of’, ‘the girlfriend of’, cast in roles as a pretty or nice young woman. At first, you’re just happy to be working. Then you realise that the offers all start to look the same, that a certain image becomes fixed.

People look at you in a certain way, and that image almost ends up becoming stronger than you are. I realised that this label would never leave me if I didn’t do anything about it. I had to change things. Together with my agent, we went looking for projects that defied that stereotype, stronger roles that challenged me and took me out of my comfort zone. That’s when I rediscovered a real joy in acting.

At that point, you turned to more complex characters, as in Madame de Sévigné.

A.G.: I realised quite late on what this contrast could offer. Perhaps out of fear, too, at first, you tell yourself it’s easier to go along with what’s expected of you.

In reality, taking on characters that run counter to my immediate nature has been exhilarating. It takes me back to the joy you feel as a child when playing. Exploring more conflict-ridden, more ambiguous areas gives you far greater freedom. It’s that path that led me to roles like the one in La Fièvre. When I read the script, I was struck by how radical the character was. She seemed almost the complete opposite of me, and that’s precisely what drew me to her. She’s brilliant, strategic, deeply manipulative, and espouses a political stance that I find dangerous.

She’s convinced that the more people hate her, the more they’ll respect her. There was something dizzying about playing that. That’s when I realised just how much these riskier roles nourished me more than the smoother characters.

As the granddaughter of the painter Antonio Seguí on your mother’s side, did you grow up with this idea of creating?

A.G.: I draw a lot, even though I’m far from talented.

But for the past few years, I’ve been writing and directing. In 2020, whilst I was pregnant and during the Covid pandemic, I wrote and directed my first short film, which is set in Venice. It was a revelation. The act of writing, seeing a project through from start to finish, and directing it myself, made me realise that I could be the driving force behind my own films.

I’ve discovered another way of creating, one that’s much more organic. I’ve set up a production company. It’s freed me from having to depend on other people’s wishes. And, paradoxically, it’s made me much more relaxed as an actress. I’m also developing a project centred on Alice Guy. A free-form portrait. There’s a particular angle to it, of course, but I can’t talk about it.

Between the series *The Count of Monte Cristo* and the Nouvelle Vague festival in Biarritz, you’ve got a lot of projects on the go.

A.G.: For a long time, I thought I’d go back to the United States. Then I realised that would mean starting from scratch, climbing the ladder all over again, changing my whole life. Monte Cristo, directed by Bille August, was another way of making my mark on the international scene. Eight months of filming in Italy, Malta and Paris, with crews from all sorts of backgrounds. It was exhilarating. And Old English demands real precision and a particular musicality.

At the same time, I co-founded the festival Nouvelle Vague in Biarritz. At first we wondered what the point of yet another festival was, but then the theme of youth became clear. The idea is to create a space where we listen to young people, where we give them a voice. It’s very vibrant, and it nourishes me in ways that the film set doesn’t.

It feels as though you’re now taking the reins.

A.G.: Sometimes I wonder if I’m not getting a bit too restless, if I’m not doing a thousand things at once. But in reality, I’m not doing it to fill the space or attract attention. I do it because it inspires me deeply. For a long time, I felt as though this job was something I had to endure. Writing, producing and developing my own projects has allowed me to regain a sense of control. And above all, it has moved me deeply.

When I was younger, I was constantly wondering whether people would like me, whether I’d said something wrong, or whether I was up to the task. These days, I’m more interested in other people than in the image I project. And it’s infinitely more relaxing.

Article written by Désirée de Lamarzelle, featured in issue 15 of Oniriq Magazine

Translated by Bethszabee Garner