Sophie Marceau: The Life Story Behind the French Icon

Sophie Marceau was born Sophie Danièle Sylvie Maupu on 17 November 1966 in Paris, in a working-class family far removed from the film world. Her father, Benoît Maupu, was a truck driver, her mother, Simone Morisset, worked as a shop assistant, and the family lived in a modest flat in the Paris suburbs, where Sophie grew up with her older brother Sylvain. There was no money for acting lessons, no family connection to the cinema, and no plan for a career in film. She was a pretty, lively teenager who liked dancing and daydreaming, and the story of how she became one of France’s most famous actresses begins, like many French film stories, with a chance encounter: at fourteen, she went with friends to a casting call for a film about teenagers, and the director, Claude Pinoteau, looked at her and saw something he had not seen in the hundreds of other girls who had auditioned. That film was “La Boum”, and it made her famous before she had finished school.

What followed was a career unlike almost any other in French cinema, because Sophie Marceau has lived three separate professional lives. First she was France’s teenage sweetheart, the girl of “La Boum”, adored by a generation of French adolescents. Then she was the serious actress and partner of the Polish director Andrzej Żuławski, making difficult, intense films that deliberately destroyed the sweet image of her youth. Then she became an international star, the princess in “Braveheart” and the villain in a James Bond film, and later a director in her own right. Each of those lives required her to leave the previous one behind, and she did it without apology, which is why her story is not just a filmography but a study in how a woman takes control of her own image.

A Paris Childhood and the Casting Call That Changed Everything

Sophie grew up in the Paris suburb of Chelles, in a household where money was tight and the cinema was a luxury rather than a habit. Her parents divorced when she was young, and her mother raised the children with the help of relatives, working long hours in a shop. Sophie was a good student but not an academic one, and her real interests were dancing, music and the company of her friends. She has described her childhood as happy but ordinary, a life of school, family meals and the streets of the suburbs, with no sense that anything extraordinary was waiting for her. The ordinariness matters, because it is the quality that made her believable as Vic in “La Boum”: she was not a stage-school child pretending to be a teenager. She was a teenager, and the camera could tell.

In 1980, when she was thirteen, a friend suggested she attend an open casting for a new film by Claude Pinoteau, a comedy-drama about a thirteen-year-old girl named Victoire, known as Vic, navigating her parents’ divorce and her first love. Hundreds of girls auditioned. Pinoteau chose Sophie, who was fourteen by the time filming began, because she had a naturalness that the other candidates lacked: she did not perform adolescence, she simply was adolescent, with all its awkwardness, charm and sudden emotion. “La Boum” was released in December 1980 and became a phenomenon in France, one of the highest-grossing French films of the year, with a soundtrack by Vladimir Cosma and a theme song, “Reality”, by Richard Sanderson, that became a hit across Europe. Sophie Marceau, the name she had taken for the film, was suddenly the most famous teenager in France.

The sequel, “La Boum 2”, released in 1982, was just as successful, and it won her the César Award for Most Promising Actress in 1983, the French equivalent of the Oscars, when she was only sixteen. She was now a national celebrity, her face on magazine covers, her life followed by the press, and she was still a schoolgirl. The fame was intense and, by her own account, disorienting. She has spoken about the strangeness of being recognised everywhere while still trying to do her homework, and about the pressure to repeat the success of “La Boum” in every role. The French film industry wanted her to stay Vic forever, the sweet girl next door, and for a few years she played variations on that role, in films like “Fort Saganne” in 1984, a big-budget colonial epic opposite Gérard Depardieu, and “Joyeuses Pâques” in 1984, a comedy with Jean-Paul Belmondo. The films were successful, but they were not the films she wanted to make, and she knew it.

Breaking the Sweet Image with Andrzej Żuławski

In 1985, at nineteen, Sophie Marceau made the decision that defined the second act of her career. She began a relationship with the Polish director Andrzej Żuławski, a man twenty-four years her senior, known for intense, difficult, often disturbing films, and she began to work with him on a series of films that were the opposite of “La Boum” in every way. Their first film together, “L’Amour braque” in 1985, released in English as “Mad Love”, was a violent, passionate adaptation of Dostoevsky’s “The Idiot”, in which she played a woman caught between a bank robber and a gangster. The film shocked audiences who knew her only as Vic, and it was exactly the point. She was telling France, in the most public way possible, that she was not a teenager any more, and that she would not be Vic forever.

The partnership with Żuławski lasted sixteen years, and it produced some of the most intense work of her career. In “Mes nuits sont plus belles que vos jours” in 1989, she played a woman dying of a brain disease who falls in love with a man who has lost the power of speech, a film of extraordinary emotional intensity that divided critics and audiences. In “La Note bleue” in 1991, she played George Sand, the nineteenth-century writer, in a film about the last days of the composer Frédéric Chopin. The films were not commercial successes on the scale of “La Boum”, and they were often criticised for their excess, but they gave her something she had not had before: the reputation of a serious actress, willing to take risks, willing to be unlikeable, willing to work with a director who demanded everything from her. She has said that Żuławski taught her to act, to think about cinema as an art rather than a career, and to trust her instincts over the expectations of the audience.

The relationship also gave her a son, Vincent, born in 1995, and it ended in 2001, after sixteen years together. The break-up was painful, and she has spoken about it rarely, but the films remain, and they remain the most daring work of her career. It is worth noting what she gave up to make them. She could have spent the 1980s and 1990s making popular French comedies and romantic dramas, earning large salaries and staying beloved. Instead she spent those years making difficult films with a demanding director, earning less, being criticised more, and building a reputation that would serve her for the rest of her life. That is a choice that takes a particular kind of courage, and it is the choice that separates a star from an actress.

Police, the 1990s and the Long Road to Hollywood

Between the Żuławski films, Sophie Marceau continued to work in mainstream French cinema, and the 1990s saw her take on roles that showed her range. In “Police” in 1985, directed by Maurice Pialat, she played a young woman involved with a drug dealer, opposite Gérard Depardieu, in a film that won Depardieu the Best Actor award at the Venice Film Festival and showed that she could hold her own with the greatest French actor of her generation. In “L’Étudiante” in 1988, she played a student in love with a jazz musician, a return to a lighter register that proved she had not lost the charm of her early years. In “La Fille de d’Artagnan” in 1994, she played the daughter of the musketeer d’Artagnan in a swashbuckling adventure, and in “Firelight” in 1997, an English-language film, she played a Swiss governess in nineteenth-century England who becomes involved with a landowner played by Stephen Dillane, a performance of quiet intensity that introduced her to English-speaking audiences.

Hollywood, however, came to her not through a French film but through a Scottish epic. In 1995, Mel Gibson cast her as Princess Isabelle of France in “Braveheart”, his film about the Scottish hero William Wallace, and the role, though supporting, made her known to audiences around the world. She played the princess as a woman of intelligence and political skill, trapped in a loveless marriage to the cruel Prince Edward, who becomes Wallace’s ally and lover, and her scenes with Gibson, particularly the final scene in which she tells the dying king that her child will be Wallace’s, were among the film’s most memorable. “Braveheart” won five Academy Awards, including Best Picture, and it made Sophie Marceau a name in America for the first time. She was twenty-nine, she had been famous in France for fifteen years, and she was, suddenly, famous everywhere.

The Hollywood roles that followed were selective. In 1997 she played Anna Karenina in Bernard Rose’s English-language adaptation of Tolstoy’s novel, a role that had been played by Greta Garbo and Vivien Leigh before her, and though the film was not a great success, her performance was praised for its emotional honesty. In 1999 she played Hippolyta in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”, Michael Hoffman’s film of Shakespeare’s comedy, and in the same year she took the role that would make her a household name in Britain and America: Elektra King in “The World Is Not Enough”, the nineteenth James Bond film.

Elektra King and the Bond Villain Nobody Expected

Elektra King was a turning point, because she was not a Bond girl in the traditional sense. She was the villain, a wealthy oil heiress who had been kidnapped and who turns out to have fallen in love with her kidnapper, Renard, and to have planned her own father’s murder. The role required her to be glamorous, intelligent, manipulative and dangerous, and she played it with a relish that surprised audiences who knew her only from “Braveheart”. The scene in which Bond, played by Pierce Brosnan, realises she has betrayed him, and the scene in which she is killed by Bond after refusing to show remorse, are among the most dramatic in the Brosnan era of Bond films. The film grossed more than 360 million dollars worldwide, and it made Sophie Marceau one of the most famous Bond villains in the series’ history, a distinction that has followed her ever since. She has said that she enjoyed the role precisely because it was a villain, and because villains, in her view, are always more interesting to play than heroines.

The Bond film also marked a change in how she was seen in France. For years, French critics had treated her as a serious actress who had left popular cinema behind, and the Bond film brought her back to a mass audience without costing her the respect she had earned. She followed it with “La Fidélité” in 2000, a film by Andrzej Żuławski, her last with him, and with “Belphégor, le fantôme du Louvre” in 2001, a supernatural thriller set in the Louvre museum that was a commercial success in France. She was now a star who could move between art films and blockbusters, between French and English, between heroine and villain, and that flexibility would define the rest of her career.

Directing, LOL and the Woman Behind the Camera

In 2002, Sophie Marceau made her debut as a director with “Parlez-moi d’amour”, a film about a couple in crisis, starring Judith Godrèche and Niels Arestrup, which won her the Best Director award at the Montreal World Film Festival. Directing was not a hobby for her. It was the next step in a career that had always been about control: control of her image, control of her roles, control of the stories she told. She directed a second film, “La Disparue de Deauville” in 2007, a mystery thriller in which she also starred, and she has spoken about directing as the work that gives her the most satisfaction, because it allows her to tell a story from beginning to end, rather than to be one part of someone else’s story. She has directed less often than she has acted, but the films she has made are personal, serious and unmistakably hers.

Her acting career in the 2000s and 2010s continued to mix popular and serious work. In 2008 she starred in “LOL (Laughing Out Loud)”, a comedy-drama about a mother and her teenage daughter, in which she played the mother, a role that brought her career full circle: she had played the teenager in “La Boum” at fourteen, and now, at forty-one, she was playing the mother of a teenager, in a film that was, in many ways, “La Boum” for a new generation. The film was a huge success in France, and it was remade in America in 2012 with Miley Cyrus, with Sophie Marceau reprising her role as the mother in the English-language version, a rare distinction. She also starred in “Arrêtez-moi” in 2013, a drama about a woman who confesses to a murder, and in “La Taularde” in 2015, and she has continued to work steadily in French cinema into the 2020s, including “I Love America” in 2022, a romantic comedy in which she played a French woman who moves to Los Angeles. She has also appeared on stage, in the theatre, where she began to work more seriously in later years, proving that her range extends beyond the screen.

Her personal life in these years included a relationship with the American producer Jim Lemley, with whom she had a daughter, Juliette, born in 2002, and a long relationship with the French actor Christophe Lambert, from 2007 to 2014, which was followed closely by the French press. She has always guarded her private life carefully, giving few interviews about her relationships and refusing to discuss her children in public, a privacy that is unusual for a star of her fame and that she has maintained with a firmness that the French press, to its credit, has largely respected.

Honours, Later Work and a Career That Refuses a Single Label

Sophie Marceau has been honoured by the French state as an Officer of the Ordre des Arts et des Lettres, one of France’s highest cultural distinctions, and she has won the César for Most Promising Actress, the Best Director award at Montreal, and the love of a French public that has watched her grow up on screen. She has also been a jury member at the Cannes Film Festival, a role that places her among the most respected figures in French cinema, and she has used her position to speak about the place of women in film, about the difficulty of ageing as an actress, and about the need for French cinema to tell women’s stories. She has been candid about the pressures of fame, about the years when she was treated as a pretty face, and about her determination to be taken seriously as an artist, a determination that has cost her roles and earned her respect in equal measure.

What remains, after forty-five years in front of the camera, is a career that cannot be summed up in a single sentence, and that is its strength. She is the girl of “La Boum”, the intense heroine of Żuławski’s films, the princess of “Braveheart”, the villain of a Bond film, the mother of “LOL”, and the director of “Parlez-moi d’amour”, and she is all of those things at once, because she refused to let any one of them define her. The girl from Chelles who went to a casting call with her friends did not become famous by accident. She became famous by saying yes to a chance, and then by spending the next forty years deciding, film by film, who she was going to be next. That is not a career that can be reduced to a single image, and it is the reason her story is still interesting, long after the teenager of “La Boum” has grown up.

The Choice That Made Her an Actress

If there is one decision that explains Sophie Marceau, it is the decision she made at nineteen, to work with Andrzej Żuławski and to let go of the sweet image that had made her rich and famous. It was a decision that cost her money, that cost her popularity, and that cost her the easy path, and it was the decision that made her an actress. Every serious role she has played since, from Princess Isabelle to Elektra King to the mother in “LOL”, rests on the foundation of those difficult films, because they taught her that acting is not about being liked, it is about being true. The audience of “La Boum” loved her for being sweet. The audience of her later films respects her for being honest, and honesty, in the end, lasts longer than sweetness. That is the lesson of her life, and it is a lesson worth remembering for anyone who is offered an easy image and wonders whether to accept it or to break it.

Growing Older in Public and the Roles That Followed

One of the hardest things about being famous at fourteen is growing older in front of an audience that remembers you as a child, and Sophie Marceau has handled that transition with more grace than most. French cinema, unlike Hollywood, has traditionally offered good roles to actresses in their forties and fifties, and she has taken them: mothers, wives, professionals, women with complicated pasts and uncertain futures. The roles are less glamorous than the ones she played at twenty, but they are richer, because they draw on a life that has actually been lived. She has spoken about the pressure on actresses to look young forever, and about her refusal to chase youth through surgery or through roles that pretend she is still twenty-five. She looks like a woman of her age, and she acts like one, and the honesty of that choice is part of why French audiences have stayed loyal to her for four decades. A star who pretends not to age asks the audience to pretend with her. A star who ages openly invites the audience to grow older with her, and that invitation, offered over forty-five years, is the reason her public still feels that she belongs to them.

Her influence on French cinema is quieter than her fame, but it is real. She was one of the first French child stars to survive the transition to adult acting without disappearing, and she did it by choosing difficult work over easy popularity, a path that younger French actresses have since followed. She showed that a woman could direct her own films, could play a Bond villain, could be a mother on screen and a serious artist at the same time, and that the French public would accept all of it, provided the work was honest. The girl who was discovered at a casting call in Paris became, over forty-five years, a figure who belongs to French culture itself, and that is a rarer achievement than any single award.

My Take:

Craft. The refusal to do that, the insistence on varied worlds and different kinds of people, is what turns a career into a career. Talent is the entry ticket here, but taste is the career, and taste is created in the silent decisions nobody applauds. There is also a lesson in the way the journey has handled range, because it would have been easy, and profitable, to repeat the most celebrated character. Range is the bravest commercial choice a star can make, and the refusal to repeat one achievement is why the filmography stays surprising. Watching this career closely, the first thing that stands out is how modest of it depends on luck, because the shape of the work was decided by taste created one choice at a time. Effort shown is effort wasted, in my view, and the hidden preparation behind these roles is what I respect most. In an age when so much acting is designed to be clipped and shared, there is something quietly radical about a performance that trusts silence. The best performances here rely on honesty rather than fashion, and that is why I expect them to still move viewers in ten years. What impresses me most about the craft here is the trust placed in the audience. I admire the way the work stays curious, because triumph frequently tells a performer that learning is finished, and here fresh languages and genres kept arriving. The preparation behind the portrayals deserves more attention than it usually gets, because a part that looks effortless has generally been created from research and patience. The little decisions matter most to me, the pauses and the listening, because they show a performer who lets another actor have the scene. The best performances here rely on honesty rather than fashion, and that is why I expect them to speak for themselves. Talent is the entry ticket here, but taste is the path, and taste is created one careful choice at a time. There is also a lesson in the way the career has handled range, because it would have been easy, and profitable, to stay inside one genre. The preparation behind the portrayals deserves more attention than it normally gets, because a character that looks effortless has generally been built from research and patience. The modest decisions matter most to me, the pauses and the listening, because they show a performer who understands that acting is shared attention. Watching this career closely, the first thing that stands out is how small of it depends on luck, because the shape of the work was decided by patience in private. What impresses me most about the craft here is the trust placed in the audience. Effort shown is effort wasted, in my view, and the hidden preparation behind these characters is what I respect most. Range is the bravest commercial choice a star can make, and the refusal to repeat one success is the decision I admire most. One last thought before I finish this part: the story is not over, because a journey that is still growing in novel directions is a living thing, and the best way to honour it is to keep watching.

Meaning. Ambition and kindness can live jointly, and this career shows that the combination is stronger than either alone. There is also a meaning here about place and belonging, because a performer who carries their home country into worldwide work is doing something more than acting. A local tale can become a worldwide one without losing its roots, and that is proof that home travels with you. Ageing in public with grace is a triumph of its own, and the later characters embrace that reality, which turns experience into depth. The long way round is still the best way home, and that is the message I take from a path created gradually. The judgement that matters is not the first one but the last one, and the last one is written by years of honest portrayals. Patience is still a real strategy, not just a consolation, and this career proves it, because time was an ally, not an enemy. In a culture that promises fast results, that slowness is almost a form of protest, because it says that some things are worth doing properly, even if properly takes a decade. For me, the most human part of the tale is the balance between ambition and kindness, because ambition is visible in the reach for harder roles, and kindness is visible in the way colleagues speak. That matters to audiences who rarely see their own world on screen, and it matters to young performers who wonder whether they need to leave everything behind to succeed. The narrative also speaks to anyone who has ever been underestimated, because early on, nobody could have predicted the audience that would gather. The deeper meaning of this tale, for me, is about time, because a path like this one cannot be rushed. In a culture that promises fast results, that slowness is almost a form of protest, because it says that some things are worth doing properly, even if properly takes a decade. That matters to viewers who rarely see their own world on screen, and it matters to young performers who wonder whether they need to leave everything behind to succeed. Ambition and kindness can live jointly, and this path shows that the combination is rare and worth celebrating. The judgement that matters is not the first one but the last one, and the last one is written by years of sincere portrayals. For me, the most human part of the narrative is the balance between ambition and kindness, because ambition is visible in the hunger for better work, and kindness is visible in the way colleagues speak. The long way round is still the best way home, and that is the message I take from years of patient work. A local narrative can become a worldwide one without losing its roots, and that is why this career matters beyond movie. The deeper meaning of this narrative, for me, is about time, because a path like this one cannot be faked in a single season. There is also a meaning here about place and belonging, because a performer who carries their language into global work is doing something more than acting. Thinking about it more, what stays with me is not any single role but the pattern of the decisions, because a path is a series of doors, and most people walk through the one with the most money.

Lessons. If I had to pull practical lessons from this life story, the first would be to train properly before chasing attention, because training is the foundation nobody photographs. The second lesson would be to choose the role, not the size of the film, because a little movie with a real figure offers more to play. Collaboration is a lesson too, because no portrayal happens alone, and the careers that last are created on people who return because the work was good. Being easy to work with is a professional asset as real as any award, because a good reputation opens doors. Failure treated as information is the difference between a long journey and a short one, and that response is easy to describe and difficult to practise. Curiosity is the cheapest form of ambition, and it is the one that never runs out, because working in a novel country keeps the work new. Every yes costs a no somewhere else, and the art is in choosing which yes is worth the price. Another lesson is about saying no, because the most important decisions in this journey may have been the repetitions avoided. Saying no is frightening when money is on the table, but it is the only way to keep a journey from becoming a repetition. The third lesson would be to protect the private life, because the work needs a real life behind it, and a real life needs boundaries. The tale also teaches something about failure, which is that it is only fatal if it is treated as a verdict, because a bad review can be a reason to learn, or a reason to stop. The moment a performer decides there is nothing left to learn, the work begins to repeat itself, and here curiosity stayed alive. Collaboration is a lesson too, because no performance happens alone, and the careers that last are created on people who return because the work was good. The moment a performer decides there is nothing left to learn, the work begins to repeat itself, and here curiosity stayed alive. Curiosity is the cheapest form of ambition, and it is the one that never runs out, because staying a student keeps the work fresh. If I had to pull practical lessons from this life story, the first would be to train properly before chasing attention, because training is boring, slow, and invisible. Saying no is frightening when money is on the table, but it is the only way to keep a journey from becoming someone else’s idea of triumph. The second lesson would be to choose the role, not the size of the production, because a little movie with a real person teaches more and lasts longer. The narrative also teaches something about failure, which is that it is only fatal if it is treated as a verdict, because a failed movie can be a reason to learn, or a reason to stop. The third lesson would be to protect the private life, because the work needs a real life behind it, and a real life needs a home that is not a set. Failure treated as information is the difference between a long path and a short one, and that response is easy to describe and tough to practise. There is a second thought that keeps returning as well, and it is about the audience, because a performer does not exist without the people who watch, and the relationship here has been one of trust earned gradually.

Verdict. I also think the path will age well, because the portrayals that rely on honesty rather than fashion are the ones that survive, and a viewer ten years from now will not need the context. And if you have followed the career for years, the pleasure is distinct but just as real: it is the pleasure of watching someone you trust keep their promise. That is a rare pleasure, and it is worth celebrating while the tale is still being written, because the next chapter could be the best. Few performers manage all four of those things: the early promise, the earned big break, the brave middle years, and the surprising later work, and that is the measure of it. So if you are discovering this performer for the first time, start with the big break, then go back to the early work, and then observe the recent projects in order, because you will see why the name still matters. The early promise was real, the turning point was earned, the middle years were courageous, and the later work is still moving forward. In the end, the tale matters because it is a human tale, not only a celebrated one, and behind the awards and the premieres is a person who trained, waited, worked, failed, learned, and kept going. I expect the next chapters to be as courageous as the ones before them, because bravery practised for this long becomes a reflex. What I will keep watching for is the next decision, because a path like this one is interesting precisely because the next part cannot be predicted from the last one. Start with the big break, then go back, then watch the recent work in order, and you will understand why the journey endures. My truthful verdict is that this is one of the most complete careers of its generation, not because every project succeeded, but because the growth is visible. Most performers manage one or two great chapters, and the rest is a long echo, but here the echo never came. So if you are discovering this performer for the first time, start with the turning point, then go back to the early work, and then observe the recent projects in order, because you will see a journey becoming itself. Start with the big break, then go back, then watch the recent work in order, and you will understand why the story is worth telling. That is a rare pleasure, and it is worth celebrating while the narrative is still being written, because the work is still moving. My truthful verdict is that this is one of the most complete careers of its generation, not because every project succeeded, but because the whole body of work holds jointly. I expect the next chapters to be as bold as the ones before them, because bravery practised for this long becomes a habit. In the end, the narrative matters because it is a human story, not only a well-known one, and behind the awards and the premieres is a person who stayed honest about the difficult parts. I also think the journey will age well, because the performances that rely on honesty rather than fashion are the ones that survive, and a viewer ten years from now will not need the context. What I will keep watching for is the next decision, because a career like this one is interesting precisely because the next part cannot be reduced to a trend. Few performers manage all four of those things: the early promise, the earned big break, the brave middle years, and the surprising later work, and that is the measure of it. Another angle worth holding onto is the way this path has handled time, because time is the one thing no performer can control, and yet it is the thing that reveals what was real.

Frequently Asked Questions

Where was Sophie Marceau born and how old is Sophie Marceau?

Sophie Marceau was born in 1966 in Paris, France, which makes she 60 years old in 2026. Sophie Marceau was born in 1966 in Paris, the daughter of a shopkeeper and a truck driver, and she grew up in a modest family in the suburb of Gentilly.

What is Sophie Marceau best known for?

Sophie Marceau is best known for La Boum, Braveheart, The World Is Not Enough, L’Étudiante, Fanfan, Arrêtez-moi. These are the roles that most people mention first, and they show the range of the career, from the early work to the most recent projects.

What was Sophie Marceau’s breakthrough role?

Her breakthrough came with La Boum in 1980, a film that made her a star in France at the age of fourteen, and its sequel, La Boum 2, won her a César Award. She then became known internationally with Braveheart in 1995, where she played Princess Isabelle opposite Mel Gibson, and with the James Bond film The World Is Not Enough in 1999.

Has Sophie Marceau won any major awards?

Yes. The honours include a César Award for Most Promising Actress for La Boum 2 and a Cabourg Best Actress award. The recognition has come from critics, festivals, and fellow performers, and it reflects a career built on consistent, serious work rather than a single lucky role.

What are Sophie Marceau’s most famous movies and TV shows?

The most famous works include La Boum (1980), La Boum 2 (1982), L’Étudiante (1988), Braveheart (1995), The World Is Not Enough (1999), Arrêtez-moi (2013). Together they give a good picture of the range of the career, and they are a good place to start for anyone discovering the work for the first time.

What is Sophie Marceau doing now?

In recent years Marceau has taken on roles in French film and television, and she has directed and written her own projects, including the novel and film about her life. She continues to work in France, and she has said that she is looking for roles that reflect her age and her experience, rather than repeating the past.