There is one man at the Cannes Film Festival who is impossible to miss: Thierry Frémaux, the festival’s general delegate for the past 25 years. He’s the one introducing films at every screening, greeting filmmakers and VIPs at the top of the festival’s famous red steps that lead into the Palais theater — and riding his bike between venues. He moves through the world’s most glamorous film event with the easy energy of someone who has always cared more about the movies than the showbiz that surrounds them.
Before he was called to Cannes, Frémaux trained in the martial art of judo — a sport that not only promotes physical fitness but relies on the mental discipline of its participants. He even wrote a book about how “judo shaped the man and the film lover that I am.”
That competitive spirit and taste for taking risks still define how he approaches his job.
For those who’ve known Frémaux since his early days at the festival, he’s still the film buff he’s always been. “Thierry IS cinema,” says Tom Rothman, chairman and CEO of Sony Pictures Entertainment Motion Picture Group.
Frémaux’s bold bets generally pay off, including Coralie Fargeat’s body horror “The Substance,” which was submitted to the fest without a distributor in 2024. The film became a sensation at the festival, winning the screenplay award, boosting star Demi Moore’s career and going on to earn five Oscar nominations, deservedly winning for achievement in makeup and hairstyling.
“Thierry Frémaux’s rightful place is at the top of those Palais stairs,” says Sony Pictures Classics topper Michael Barker. “He defines the culture of cinema, past and present.
“In Cannes, he can be seen with Guillermo del Toro serenading us with Mexican music, impressing Meryl Streep, arguing over movies with Tarantino and Almodóvar, toasting Michael Haneke and Emmanuelle Riva, and playing midfield on the local soccer field. At the Lumiere Festival in Lyon, his dynamic speeches for Clint Eastwood, Michael Cimino, Scorsese, Deneuve, Coppola or Huppert light up the room. At the Telluride Film Festival, he premiered his debut feature, ‘Lumiere!’ At the Berlin Film Festival, he hosts an annual dinner for the top professionals in international cinema. He may even be sitting on your row at the Oscars. The guy is EVERYWHERE, tirelessly presenting and protecting films and filmmakers. He’s a world treasure.”
Notes filmmaker Martin Scorsese: “The very first time I ever met Thierry was when he was doing his Lumière presentations with Bertrand Tavernier. As he spoke, I really felt his great love for cinema and the excitement he had for the magic of the art form. It was infectious. And he still has that love, excitement and passion.”
Frémaux, who has been working alongside Cannes Film Festival president Iris Knobloch since her appointment in 2022, feels that the festival’s mission is even more important today because “the industry is in a kind of maelstrom.”
“Can cinema die? No,” he says. What must be preserved is the relationship between films and the public, which only happens in movie theaters and film festivals. “Cinema is a religion, and Cannes is the gathering of all the churches.”
You could have become a top-level athlete. At what point did cinema definitively
take over?
I practiced judo extensively, as a student, competitor and teacher. I used to explore cities around the world through their judo clubs; one day, I did the same thing with movie theaters.
Like all children, I loved cinema. As a young adult, that love grew. I was destined for a career in science, for which I lacked the talent. So I headed to the history department at the University of Lyon, because it allowed me to take film courses.
Where does this passion for cinema come from?
My father was a film buff; at the dinner table, we talked about and recounted movies. He even ran film clubs. I was immersed in the great American classics: Ford, Chaplin, Keaton, the Marx brothers. Then cinema became a vehicle for emancipation, a way, as the critic Serge Daney put it, “to feel like you belong to the world.”
There’s a very specific, almost novelistic moment when everything changes for you in college. For my master’s thesis in history, I was heading toward a classic topic. But on the staircase leading to my professor’s office, I proposed a completely new topic: writing about Positif, the film magazine founded in Lyon, a rival to Cahiers du Cinéma. We knew everything about the birth of Cahiers, but nothing about this other provincial generation.
Your thesis on Positif opened up a whole network for you. Is that where you really entered “the cinema industry”?
A little. Through Positif, I got to know all those people — the founders, the communists, the surrealists — like Robert Benayoun, Ado Kyrou and even Bertrand Tavernier, who was a young editor there and went on to become president of the [Lyon-based cinema museum and organization that preserves and promotes French filmmaking] Institut Lumière in the early 1980s. My thesis was titled “Toward a Social History of Cinema.” I believed that cinema should be studied not as art, not as an industry, but as a cultural and social practice. That’s when Bertrand told me, “Come work with us, too.” I never finished my thesis!
You went from volunteer at the institute to eventually become director. After eight years of volunteering (I was still a judo teacher!), I became the artistic director of the Institut Lumière in 1990, then the director in 1998. It fell to me to be the young film buff who would have to take charge of the Rue du Premier Film, the birthplace of cinema — the Lumière brothers’ cinema — supported by great elders, the people of Lyon to whom I dedicated my first book: Bertrand Tavernier, Bernard Chardère, Jacques Deray and Raymond Chirat.
Did you plan to stay in Lyon your whole life?
Of course. Henri Langlois always remained loyal to the Cinémathèque Française, just as Tom Luddy did to the Telluride Film Festival. I was offered positions in Paris, and I turned them down.
A refusal to fit into the system?
Yes and no. I can’t stay away from the mountains and Lyon for long! In May 2000, Dominique Paini suggested that I succeed him at the Cinémathèque Française. It was tempting. But the Rue du Premier-Film was a true “labor of love,” and a bond of affection united me with Bertrand Tavernier.
Right after that, Gilles Jacob asked you to succeed him in Cannes.
Yes, and how could I refuse? Moreover, Gilles Jacob and the minister of culture, Catherine Tasca, suggested I continue my work in Lyon. That made sense: it’s the same commitment, in the service of public cultural action. I was appointed in the fall of 2000; my first festival was in 2001.
Right from your first edition, you made a bold move by opening with “Moulin Rouge.” Did you already have a strategy to reposition Cannes?
Jacob had told me: We need to bring the Americans back to Cannes. I headed to L.A. in January 2001, met Sean Penn — “The Pledge” [which he directed] was in competition — Jim Gianopulos and Tom Rothman, who ran Fox and would become very important to me. They told me: “We have Baz Luhrmann’s new film ‘Moulin Rouge’”; I had seen his film “Strictly Ballroom” at Cannes. Jim came to Paris to show it to us. Gilles and I loved the film. To mark the return of the Americans, it was perfect — especially with a studio like Fox. They agreed to come for the opening. That evening was wild: the film, the reception, Nicole Kidman putting on a brilliant show, an extraordinary red carpet walk, and one of those legendary parties that only Baz knows how to throw.
How would you describe your relationship with Gilles Jacob in your early days?
Gilles Jacob taught me my craft. He had his own personality, the requisite Cannes solemnity; he had established himself as the successor to Robert Favre Le Bret, who had almost “invented” the festival before him. I was young, I had a different temperament; we were entering a new century. Gilles gave me a great deal of freedom. Our unique strengths became those of our “duo.”
Even before you started working there, you already knew Cannes inside out. Did that give you a head start?
I think so. I’ve always been a huge lover of Cannes. I first came here in 1979, when I was very young. I’d cheat to get good seats, argue with the ushers and cobble together makeshift tuxedos. I loved the city of Cannes; I knew the spots, the beaches, the restaurants. I defended the festival when it was under attack. When I arrived to work there, I understood how it operated with the freshness of youth.
When you arrived, the festival was described as losing steam. What do you think was the real problem?
I wouldn’t say that. Jacob was aware of the stakes; he knew that Cannes needed American cinema. When I arrived, I remember epic discussions with [then-Variety editor-in-chief] Peter Bart! But Jacob had helped expand the festival’s horizons — toward Europe and Asia — aided in this by someone like Pierre Rissient, an incomparable talent scout. That was invaluable.
Over 25 years, you’ve profoundly reshaped the structure of the Cannes Film Festival. Did you have a clear vision from the start of what Cannes should become?
No, it would be arrogant to claim that. But I felt capable of bringing fresh energy through my experience as a festivalgoer and film lover. The danger in our line of work — and I’m always terribly wary of it — is becoming complacent in positions of dominance. Yet a festival is the opposite. You have to constantly open yourself up, be on the lookout for new cinemas, countries or directors. Cannes is about celebrating great filmmakers and making wonderful discoveries. Cinema is never the same from one decade to the next; you have to grasp its tremors, its evolutions, know how to take chances and take risks. That’s why I was there.
You also repositioned key sections, notably Un Certain Regard. Was the goal to correct an implicit hierarchy at Cannes?
Sometimes certain filmmakers viewed Un Certain Regard as a plan B. We refocused it on emerging cinema and created Cannes Première.
Alongside the competition or Un Certain Regard, I wanted to be able to showcase works that fall somewhere in between. Cannes Première speaks for itself. It has nothing to do with “taking films away from the competition,” as has been written. At Cannes, it’s all a matter of taste, desire and passion — on the part of both the festival and the artists.
You helped broaden the very definition of what “belongs” in Cannes: documentaries, animation, genre films. Was that a conviction or a battle?
There weren’t many animation experts, and neither Gilles Jacob nor I were among them. But when Jeffrey Katzenberg showed us “Shrek,” there was no doubt it belonged there. That screening, back in 2001, legitimized the presence of animation in the official selection. We never stopped.
Documentaries spoke to me more: I was crazy about the films of Chris Marker, Ophuls, Lanzmann, Wiseman, etc. “Bowling for Columbine” in competition was a given because of how powerful the film was. The idea of inviting more documentaries also came from the sheer pleasure of screening Agnès Varda’s “Les Glaneurs et la Glaneuse” at Cannes 2000. That’s how the “special screenings” were born.
And genre cinema? From my own status as a “provincial” cinephile and from the company of my peers. We must always fight against a certain academicism, a certain “officialdom” of auteur cinema. There are auteurs everywhere … as long as they are auteurs. Cannes has embraced all types of cinema and has “de-ostracized” them. Remember “Oldboy,” which won the Grand Prix in 2004? Today [“Oldboy” director] Park Chan-wook is president of the Cannes jury, much to the pride of Bong Joon Ho, who won the Palme d’Or 15 years later. Korean cinema is grand cinema.
The judgment of critics, festivalgoers and professionals counts for a great deal. They elevate the films; they validate our selections.
You also created Cannes Classics.
It came from the Lumière Institut. In the past, film heritage was the preserve of film archives. Then, with the advent of VHS and the proliferation of television, American studios got involved, especially Warner Bros. when Warren Lieberfarb invented the market for DVDs there.
In Lyon, I wanted to create a festival dedicated to heritage professionals, as well as film buffs and historians because the digital age offered classic cinema a new future. Cannes was my priority; I started in 2004, then the Lumière Festival in 2009.
Cannes Classics established itself right away. Following our lead, Venice launched Venice Classics, and other festivals followed suit. Cannes Classics brought together a professional community that felt welcome on the Croisette.
Today, the industry is going through a period of major turbulence. Is this the deepest crisis you’ve ever experienced?
Yes. COVID caused what two world wars did not: the closure of movie theaters. Meanwhile, audiences were consuming cinema on the small screen: the triumph of streaming platforms, a crisis in theater attendance. Today, the industry is in a massive maelstrom. Before, there were two blockbusters a month. Now, there are fewer. What we’ve known has become fragile. Can cinema die? No. Cinema as an art form and as a language is not in danger. Cinema is everywhere. What needs to be saved are the theaters, a certain idea of the relationship between creations and the audience. Just as literature and readers cannot survive without bookstores, cinema cannot survive without theaters.
There have been several societal and cultural shifts over the past 25 years, notably the #MeToo movement, which has transformed the world of cinema. How has Cannes addressed this revolution?
By echoing it. In the past, the major scandals at Cannes were “La Maman et la Putain” or “La Grande Bouffe” — freedom of expression versus moral conservatism. Those remained artistic controversies. The #MeToo revolution and the Black Lives Matter movement challenge society more broadly; institutions must also question themselves.
It was in Cannes that the first march for gender parity took place, and it was the first festival to sign the charter. This march on the stairs of the Palais brought together 82 women representing the rare 82 female directors that had been selected for competition over the festival’s history, compared to hundreds of male directors. It was a milestone moment, led by Agnès Varda, who had long been so alone, and Cate Blanchett, then president of the jury. People of all generations had become aware of the changes. And we must not believe that the process is complete; we are in dialogue with organizations to exchange ideas and continuously improve the situation.
Do these new expectations, particularly regarding gender parity, influence how you select films?
One point must be emphasized: Cannes is merely at the end of the chain. When there are more female directors in cinema, they are represented in the official selection. We see this in emerging cinema, in our selection of Cinef school films, in the short film competition and in Un Certain Regard. This proves that things are moving in the right direction. A cultural event should not be a place of division. It requires everyone to be tolerant and respectful of others’ ideas. Cinema is also an instrument of peace.
How do you navigate this in the selection process? Our mission is not: “I like it, I don’t like it,” nor is it “it’s good, it’s not good.” It’s what does this film say about cinema? Certainly, I believe in the power of culture, in the power of cinema to address major themes. But if Andrzej Wajda’s “Man of Iron” won the Palme d’Or, it’s first and foremost because it was a beautiful film by a great director, even if the film depicted a Poland in crisis.
Does that change anything in the way you approach films?
We have a clear principle: when in doubt, given equal quality, we favor the cinema that is less well-represented. We also keep an eye on those who have never been to Cannes so as not to give the impression that we always favor the same people.
This year, did you find the ideal balance between established auteurs and the new generation?
We have “veterans” but also many newcomers. What I made very clear from the start is that everyone is welcome at Cannes. There is no aristocracy. The 3,000 films submitted for selection have all been viewed. Our decisions are independent, but every film has a chance.
If you had to sum up your vision of Cannes in a single image, what would it be?
Cinema is a religion, and Cannes is the gathering of all the churches.
Fremaux mulls some magic moments at Cannes:
What are your three favorite memories from Cannes over the past 25 years?
To avoid making anyone jealous, I’d pick three non-cinematic events: Diego Maradona’s visit, the U2 mini-concert and hosting José Bové, an environmentalist activist whom I respect deeply.
What was the most difficult moment of these 25 years?
The pandemic. In 2020, we tried until the very last moment to make the festival happen. In 2021, I had the intuition, back in January, to postpone the festival to July. That edition remains a wonderful memory for everyone.
Of your 25 Palmes d’Or, which one do you consider the most important or significant for cinema?
It’s impossible to answer that question. The Cannes competition is like a major sporting event: there’s an element of chance, but it’s always the great champions who win.
If you had to choose the three films presented at Cannes under your direction that you’re most proud of, which ones would they be?
I’m proud of all the films presented.
What are your 10 all-time favorite films?
Louis Lumière’s “Workers Leaving the Factory,” Buster Keaton’s “The Cameraman,” Jean Renoir’s “The Lower Depths,” Christian-Jaque’s “A Revenant,” Alfred Hitchcock’s “Vertigo,” Jean-Luc Godard’s “Pierrot le Fou,” Sergio Leone’s “Once Upon a Time in the West,” Bernardo Bertolucci’s “1900,” Ingmar Bergman’s “Fanny and Alexander,” John Cassavetes’ “Opening Night.”
I’ve only chosen filmmakers who are no longer with us. And tomorrow, I’ll give you another list. And the day after that, yet another!
Which film did you have to defend the most in front of your selection committee?
“Irréversible” by Gaspar Noé. The film was hard to watch, but it was clear we were dealing with a great filmmaker.
Is there a film you weren’t able to get selected and that you still regret?
“Lost in Translation” in competition, in 2003. I thought it was “a great little film” or “a little great film.” It went to Venice … which didn’t put it in competition.
And the one you regret most having selected in hindsight?
None. You don’t regret when you love.
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