The very existence of "Dominique Strauss-Kahn: The Movie" reveals a darker side to Hollywood

Will his alleged victim, Nafissatou Diallo, get to tell her side of the story?

Filming is set to begin for a movie about Dominique Strauss-Kahn, the French politician who stepped down as head of the IMF after he was accused of attempted rape by a New York hotel worker in May 2011. Details about the film, which has yet to be given a title, are being kept under wraps. Directed by Abel Ferrara, who made Bad Lieutenant, it will star Gerard Depardieu as DSK and Isabelle Adjani as his multimillionaire journalist wife, Anne Sinclair. In addition to the New York incident, it has been speculated that the film may include subsequent allegations of sexual assault by French journalist Tristane Banon, and charges of "aggravated pimping in an organised gang" in Lille in which sex workers were allegedly procured for orgies. The inquiry is also examining whether one sex worker was gang-raped. Strauss-Kahn denies all the charges.

Certainly, the scandal (or scandals) has captured the imagination of many writers, dramatists, and journalists. It has been only 15 months since immigrant worker Nafissatou Diallo accused DSK of sexual assault and attempted rape, but the incident has already been the subject of multiple plays, and books, as well as this new film.

Theatrical productions in Paris and at the Edinburgh fringe looked at the incident, particularly focusing on the relationship between Strauss-Kahn and Sinclair – who stood by her man throughout the scandal, leaving him only recently. A non-fictional investigation into the couple was one of the biggest bestsellers in France this summer. A thriller inspired by the case, Night Watch by Linda Farstein, was a bestseller in the US. Meanwhile, a recently published novel by French author Stéphane Zagdanski, Burning Chaos, looks at the New York story through patients in a Manhattan psychiatric centre.

Of course, the tale of power, sex, and scandal is classic material for theatre or fiction. But is it problematic that the story is being turned into a money-spinning drama (by many different people) before the case is even closed? While criminal charges were dropped because the judge said there were “substantial credibility issues” with Diallo (a sadly common story for victims of sexual assault), she is bringing a civil suit for sexual assault and gender violence which has yet to reach court. Strauss-Kahn is counter-suing for defamation and malicious prosecution.

Zagdanski told AFP why he chose the story as the subject of his novel:  

"The DSK affair is the incarnation of contemporary folly. It fascinates enormously because he was at the summit of the world and he found himself in the gutter overnight, thanks to a six minute fellatio.”

His words demonstrate exactly why there is something unpleasant about turning the case into a fictionalised drama before it is really over. “A six minute fellatio” is a callous choice of words that overlooks the fact that DSK was not proved to be innocent of attacking Diallo: rather, the case was dropped because she was seen as a weak witness. Those are two completely different things. Victims of sexual assault are frequently judged inconsistent – in this case, lies on her asylum application for the US were a major contributing factor.

And let’s not forget that this was allegedly a violent sexual assault. Although DSK claims the encounter was consensual, a leaked medical report showed that she had serious injuries including a torn shoulder ligament. Indeed, the fact that details of exactly what state her bruised and naked body was in were all over the press before the court hearing had even taken place indicates quite how little privacy Diallo was granted. It was against this backdrop – and allegations that she was a liar and a prostitute – that she chose to tell her story to the press, a decision for which she was lambasted.

Zagdanski may be correct that people are fascinated by the story because: "It shows the two faces of our world. People are fascinated by money, the rich, the stars, Hollywood... but they see that on the other side of this world of glamour there is also banal human misery which is not so unlike ordinary folks' misery.”

Yet it is disturbing that these words completely overlook the other side of the story: the ordinary person and alleged victim who is also suffering the personal and professional fallout of this scandal. Diallo’s story may be less glamorous – and as an immigrant hotel cleaner, she is about as far away from being powerful as you can get – but as the book, film, and theatre productions continue, we must only hope that they do not entirely overlook her side of the picture.

Dominique Strauss-Kahn speaks to reporters after sexual assault charges were dropped against him. Photograph: Getty Images

Samira Shackle is a freelance journalist, who tweets @samirashackle. She was formerly a staff writer for the New Statesman.

BBC/ ITV Cradle Ltd/Matt Squire
Show Hide image

Is Danny Baker a “bona fide genius”? Not in his new show

The clichéd decade: Cradle to Grave and Danny and the Human Zoo reviewed.

I’m not qualified to rule on whether or not Danny Baker is, as the newspapers insist, a “bona fide genius”; I gave up listening to the ever more blokeish BBC Radio 5 Live a while ago, and I’m too young to remember the supposedly fantastic pieces he delivered to the NME back in the day (I read that they were even more amazing than those of Tony Parsons, which is saying something, isn’t it?). But I can tell you this: his new autobiographical comedy series, Cradle to Grave (Thursdays, BBC2, 9pm), displays no evidence at all of his talents, brilliant or otherwise. Anecdotes that just peter out. Jokes that fail to hit home. Misplaced nostalgia. Honestly, what’s the point? If you want 1974 – and quite a lot of us seem to, if the performance of Jeremy Corbyn is anything to judge by – you’d be better off treating yourself to a box set of the eternally satisfying Whatever Happened to the Likely Lads?.

The series, co-written with Jeff Pope, is based on Baker’s memoir Going to Sea in a Sieve. It’s 1974, and Danny (Laurie Kynaston) is a randy teenager who still lives at home in good old Bermondsey with his ducking and diving docker dad, Fred, aka Spud (Peter Kay), his kindly mum, Bet (Lucy Speed), and his older sister, Sharon (Alice Sykes). A voice-over tells us, in effect, to forget all about the nasty old three-day week and to consider instead the warmth of lovely south-east London. How decent its people are, how eager to try out newfangled consumer goods such as the continental quilts Spud has pilfered and which now fill the hall of his tiny house like clouds. (Correct: he’s basically Del Boy, minus the Robin Reliant, the cocktail bar and, fatally, the workmanlike jokes.)

The denizens of Bermondsey are not, you understand, quite ready for the new world. In this part of London, bomb sites remain, merrily sprouting buddleia and pink willow herb; men are men and women are women. Spud is horrified to discover that his daughter’s new boyfriend wears – wait for it – white plimsolls, though not quite so horrified as Danny is to find a stranger’s ­penis flapping exuberantly against his cheek when he goes up west to see Hair (needless to say, our Danny was in search of naked girls, not sweaty blokes). If you find this kind of thing funny and (I can hardly bear to write the words) “heart-warming”, then you have seven weeks of bliss ahead. Who knows? Perhaps the characters will go on to debate the virtues of the various flavours of Old English Spangles. But I can’t believe that many people will be so easily pleased. Those who are old enough to remember the Seventies will know that the best of the decade’s own comedy was ten times more sophisticated than this, and those who aren’t – those who have never had anything other than a duvet on their bed, and can locate a naked female or even a flapping male member with just one tap of their mobile – will simply watch something altogether more grown-up on Netflix.

Kascion Franklin (centre) on BBC1. Photo: BBC/RED

Unfathomable BBC scheduling (is it having some kind of John Whittingdale-induced nervous breakdown?) treated us to two doses of 1974 as the summer limped to an end. The second loving spoonful came in the form of Danny and the Human Zoo (31 August, BBC1, 9pm), an almost-biopic drama in which Lenny Henry told the story of his painful start in comedy.

My TV critic colleagues have all been most respectful but, lovely as Kascion Franklin’s performance in the lead role was, I couldn’t altogether get with the show. Unlike Baker, Henry certainly wiped the Vaseline from the lens: his version of the Seventies was clear-eyed, particularly in the matter of racism. But his tendency as a writer is to tell rather than show, which becomes wearying, and the narrative he offered us – success on the New Faces talent show, followed by the self-loathing that came of joining the Black and White Minstrels – wasn’t exactly unfamiliar. An unscrupulous manager with bad hair; parents who think their son should get a “proper” job but are secretly oh-so-proud; Mud’s “Tiger Feet” and Alice Cooper’s “School’s Out” on the soundtrack: such TV clichés really should be illegal by now.

Rachel Cooke trained as a reporter on The Sunday Times. She is now a writer at The Observer. In the 2006 British Press Awards, she was named Interviewer of the Year.

This article first appeared in the 03 September 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Pope of the masses