Robin Wright arrived at the 64th Monte-Carlo Television Festival like someone who has nothing left to prove and the humility of someone who still questions her craft. Honored with the Golden Nymph Award for her career, she spoke of how this recognition does not belong solely to her but to the entire community of professionals who shape the audiovisual world, from actors to camera operators, from set designers to craft services. During the press conference and the business meeting, Robin Wright said, with a touch of sadness, that film in theaters is slowly disappearing, overtaken by audiences who prefer the convenience of home viewing, but she insisted that the magic of storytelling will never fade as long as there are stories powerful enough to enlighten, move, and keep viewers coming back.

Wright recalled her beginnings in the early eighties, calling herself a baby who had no idea what she was doing on the set of Santa Barbara. She described it as a strict schooling in which she had to learn to juggle three cameras at once and catch the signal of the red light at just the right moment to turn. As a child she devoured shows like I Love Lucy and Laverne & Shirley with her mother, women-led comedies that made her aware of how subversive and liberating female characters on television could be. Her leap into film came with The Princess Bride, officially billed as her debut despite a previous movie she now laughs about and prefers to forget, followed by Forrest Gump, two films so iconic they are preserved today in the Library of Congress’s National Film Registry. Fans still approach her mostly about those roles, and she cherishes the memory of her time with Tom Hanks, days filled with so much laughter they often had to stop filming. Years later, reuniting with him felt as if no time had passed at all.

But the true turning point in her career was House of Cards. Alongside The Sopranos, it marked the birth of a new television era. David Fincher persuaded her to join, explaining that streaming would be the future and that he wanted viewers to experience a show like a book—sometimes devoured in one sitting, sometimes read chapter by chapter. At first, Wright resisted; her exhausting years on Santa Barbara had made her wary of long-term contracts. She agreed only on the condition that she could help shape her character, Claire Underwood, so she wouldn’t be reduced to a mere accessory to Frank. That decision gave life to one of television’s most complex and ruthless female leads and also opened the door to directing. Encouraged by an experienced camera operator who mentored her on lenses and visual storytelling, Wright directed her first episode and discovered a new creative breath that would become part of her artistic identity.

The show also pushed her into one of her most public battles: pay equity. After four seasons, she demanded the same salary as Kevin Spacey, pointing out that her character was just as central and just as popular. The producers resisted, offering to pay her as a producer and director but refusing equal pay as an actor, citing the absence of an Academy Award on her résumé. Wright spoke candidly about the absurdity of that logic, exposing an industry still bound by outdated male-driven parameters. Her stand became a milestone in the ongoing debate about fairness and recognition for women in Hollywood.

Her reflections on the current state of television carried the same sharp clarity. Browsing streaming platforms today, she said, one mostly finds superheroes, franchises, cartoons, and big-ticket blockbusters because “that’s what sells.” But she believes the formula for success has not changed: it all comes down to story. Characters must provoke real emotions—love, anger, grief, or frustration—otherwise audiences will simply turn away. That belief is at the heart of her new project The Girlfriend, based on Michelle Frances’s novel and produced by Imaginarium and Amazon. The six-part thriller focuses on the psychological tension between a mother and a girlfriend competing for the love of a young man—played, in a twist of fate, by Wright’s own son. More than just an acting job, she also shaped the project’s tone and look as a director and producer, reinforcing her conviction that drama only works when the characters truly resonate.

Beyond the screen, Wright’s humanitarian engagement has become central to her life. She recounted how a simple pajama line she founded grew into a means of supporting Congolese women, survivors of mass rape linked to mineral exploitation for electronic devices. Frustrated by political inertia in Washington, she chose direct action, helping build schools and community centers that have allowed many survivors to become doctors and lawyers. That experience, she explained, reinforced her conviction that her voice, as an artist and as a woman, must carry beyond the set.

Motherhood is another theme that surfaced repeatedly in Monte-Carlo. Asked about her greatest achievement in life, she replied with wry humor that the fact her children are still alive is her proudest accomplishment. But she acknowledged that maternal instinct seeps into her work too, especially in The Girlfriend, where she plays a fiercely protective mother—an attitude she hopes she does not mirror too closely in real life.

The conversation also touched on the controversial ending of House of Cards. Wright revealed that it was her idea to have Claire kill Doug Stamper, out of a twisted sense of mercy because of his loyalty to Frank. She also voiced her unease with artificial intelligence, acknowledging its promise in medicine but warning that it could never replace the emotion in an actor’s eyes nor the resonance of a human performance.

Between anecdotes of laughter on set, reflections on industry battles, and her commitment to telling meaningful stories, Robin Wright in Monte-Carlo appeared not only as an actress and director but as a thoughtful artist aware of her responsibilities. After forty years in front of and behind the camera, she continues to reinvent herself, still guided by the same restless curiosity she once had as a frightened young actress on Santa Barbara. And through it all, she insists on a simple truth: in every age, on every platform, the real revolution lies in the power of a story well told.

📷: Jean-François Ottonello