Filmmaker Romain Gavras does nothing like everyone else, whether in his movies or in how he lives in a space. In his Parisian apartment, every room seems designed against current trends, starting with his office. This unique space, without frills, reveals another side of his personality: rigorous, calm, and almost ascetic.
The son of acclaimed filmmaker Costa-Gavras, Romain Gavras embraces an artistic heritage that he extends in his own way through a different form of storytelling. His Parisian apartment serves as both a living space and workplace, where the intimate blends with the professional. "I transformed my living room into a work space," Gavras explains. "I've been living in this Parisian apartment for five years, and I like mixing the intimate and the professional."
This taste for blending different spheres comes from his father's example. "Like my father, who prepared all his films at home," Gavras recalls. "In our house, he even set up a room to store cameras." This transmission also happens through objects: his bookshelf, filled with DVDs and video cassettes, reflects his generation's taste, "very attached to cultural objects." Among his rituals, the annual viewing of Fellini's "8½" underscores this loyalty to cinema of memory.
The office follows no decorating trends but reveals carefully chosen objects. There's a photo of Costa-Gavras, a statue of Shiva - "a fetish object he's carried since childhood" - and several books within reach: "Maurice Pialat's autobiography, given to me for my birthday, or a 1970s book about Greece." On the coffee table sits a backgammon set, one of his favorite games. "My grandfather introduced me to this game when I was 4 years old, and I became an unconditional devotee," he says.
Far from the clichés associated with filmmakers' workspaces, this office isn't a set piece. It's a landmark, an anchor in the constant movement of creation. "The world is chaotic, so I like the places where I live to be calm," Gavras explains. This represents the perfect antithesis to the flamboyant and chaotic aesthetic of his films. It's a place of retreat, but also of renewal. "I always come back here when I need to write or sort things out."
This office, slightly set back in the apartment's layout, structures the house as much as it runs through it. It's not a luxury or a symbol, but a necessity for a director who, despite his fame, chooses rigor and intimacy to better create.
