Kapoian1 — Véronique Kapoïan Favel

Arts & Culture International actors

Véronique Kapoïan Favel : ‘Over Time My Surname Became a Source of Pride’

April 2, 2026

by

Artsvi Bakhchinyan

106

YEREVAN / VILLEURBANNE, France — Véronique Kapoïan Favel (born 1959, Aubenas, Ardèche), is a French actress and stage director of Armenian origin. Since 1981, she has worked primarily in theatre alongside directors such as Chantal Morel, Serge Papagalli, Philippe Delaigue, Patrick Henry, Gilles Chavassieux, Guy Granouillet, and Mohamed Saïd Ferdane, as well as in film and television. She has appeared in films by Henri Verneuil, Claude Chabrol, Alexandre Adabachian, Patrice Leconte, Éric Barbier, Sophie Fillières, Jean Becker, Gérard Krawczyk, Diane Kurys, Hervé Palud, François Dupeyron, Clovis Cornillac, Rodrigo Sorogoyen and in numerous TV films and series.

Dear Véronique, if I am not mistaken, your first theatrical success was in Le Dauphinois libéré, the humorous play by Serge Papagalli in 1995. Can we say that since then you have preferred comic roles?

This comedy, Le Dauphinois libéré, written by Serge Papagalli, became–thanks to its success — a kind of family saga that gave rise to seven productions and a feature film between 1995 and 2024. At the same time, I was performing in another production, “La Femme de Gilles,” directed by Chantal Morel, a tragic solo piece performed over 200 times. This contrast in roles allowed me to explore and deepen all the nuances and diversity an actress can dream of. There is no comedy without tragedy. Tragedy can exist on its own, but the two often come very close to each other. I cannot choose between them — the pleasure is different, but immense in both worlds.

Who has influenced you the most as an actress?

There have been many influences; numerous artists have nourished me. In 1979-1980, I saw Mephisto by Théâtre du Soleil – my first great theatrical experience. I was fascinated, and Ariane Mnouchkine became my first reference. Later, during a workshop, I was immersed within the troupe and learned a great deal, especially about that famous paradox known as “tragic comedy.”

You have participated in several contemporary theatre productions and cultural projects related to the Armenian diaspora. Could you tell us about them?

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Within my company, I have staged works by contemporary authors. However, contemporary Armenian theatrical writing has rarely crossed my path — except once. At the initiative of Jean-Paul Bret, mayor of Villeurbanne (twinned with Abovyan city), I was invited to take part in a public reading for the April 24 commemoration. I presented poems by Krikor Beledian, Marine Petrossian, and Violette Krikorian, as well as excerpts from Gérard Chaliand’s book Mémoire de ma mémoire. I often return to this book, thinking secretly of adapting it or using fragments of it to evoke both great History and the story of my grandparents. One must find the right form. In it are words that could be mine: “The old women in black of my childhood remembered: those dead without graves were theirs forever.” And to conclude: at a time when I take stock of the years I have lived, it is time to remember this history and give back to our ancestors what is due to them.

In the 1950s-1960s, many performers of Armenian origin in France changed their surnames to more European-sounding ones. You could have used the name Véronique Favel, but you kept Kapoïan. Did this create difficulties for you?

My mother was French, and my parents’ marriage remains a great mystery. They married in 1953. My mother, a Parisian, followed her husband to live in rural Ardèche (later we lived in Valence), together with my paternal grandmother, “Mamé Zarig,” who raised me. The marriage lasted 17 years. My mother’s family, Norman farmers, opposed the marriage and expressed open racism. Armenia was an unknown land, its language incomprehensible, its food strange – there were many such judgments. As for me, I ate Armenian food and spoke Armenian (until my parents separated when I was seven). Kapoïan was my name. Over time, it became a banner, a source of pride. I loved that uniqueness, that distant country, and the tragic stories of my grandmother led me to the theatre – a place of living emotions. My great regret is that I no longer speak Armenian. Separated from my grandmother, the language disappeared with her. I could have, I should have, I could still relearn it… Life goes fast. Some words remain.

How was your collaboration with Henri Verneuil on “588, rue Paradis”?

It was very brief; I had a small role. It was my second experience in cinema. I felt intimidated in the presence of Henri Verneuil, Claudia Cardinale, and Richard Berry. I have always thought that Verneuil chose me because of my name – out of Armenian solidarity. I remember the screening of the film with the team: the theatre was filled with the Armenian community of Paris, and the emotion of painful memories was palpable. Then came scenes of meals and our Armenian dishes – waves of joy, pride and delight. It was like a metaphor: the cuisine reflected the generosity and vitality of Armenia still alive.

You also acted in Mado, poste restante, directed by the Russian filmmaker Alexandre Adabachian. Was there a special connection between you as people of similar origin?

The Armenian Mirror-Spectator

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Our connection was primarily artistic. I had gone through auditions, and we had many exchanges before filming. Did my name influence the choice? I do not know. The shoot was very pleasant, though complicated by the language barrier, as the entire technical team was Russian. I retain an excellent memory of it – both relaxed and demanding.

Could you tell us about the Kapoïan family?

My grandfather, Ohannès Kapoïan, was born in 1880 in Bilecik and died in July 1955 in Aubenas. My grandmother, Zarig Yalarian (or Yaylarian?), was born in 1890 in Bilecik, daughter of Agop Yalarian and Parisse Tepelian. If any of your readers bear these names, I would be glad to hear from them. From my grandmother’s stories, I know that her parents were silk breeders in the Bilecik region. She married my grandfather and had six children, the youngest being my father, Kaloust, born in 1925 in Constantinople. I know that three of her children died in refugee camps in Constantinople – of illness, malnutrition, cold, and hardship. My great-grandmother died in 1960 in Aubenas. My grandmother, her eldest daughter Astrid, and my father, then four years old, arrived in Marseille and later settled in Saint-Pierre-sous-Aubenas with work contracts in the Briand silk factory. My grandfather reportedly stayed behind to fight alongside the Greeks against the Turks, as did one of my teenage uncles, Agop (did he also die?). My aunt Astrid died in France while giving birth to her first child. My only cousin, Joseph Bogossian, died in Lyon in 2002. This exile — or deportation — which began in 1915-1916, followed by years in refugee camps in Constantinople, resulted in nearly thirteen years of wandering before their arrival in France in 1928.

I often think I might have had uncles, aunts, cousins, family gatherings — I saw this in others. I feel immense love and admiration for my grandmother and her strength. She endured exile, the loss of her homeland, her home, her family, the death of four children and the disappearance of another, and the death of her husband. She faced the impossibility of being understood and the necessity of adapting to an unknown world. She lived in linguistic isolation, a silent exile with her memories and a duty to remember. Today I would have so many questions to ask her. My father, the only surviving child, now deceased, always said: “It is ancient history.” Perhaps he had heard too much.

How do you maintain Armenian tradition and identity in your life and your art?

In daily life, I often cook Armenian food (my husband is a fan). I have two daughters who are very sensitive to our history and our cuisine. My only brother has four children, three of them boys, and I know how happy our father would have been to see the Kapoïan name continue. Long ago, when I performed in improvisation matches at the Bataclan, my father came to watch. I wore a tracksuit with my name written on the back — he was very proud; it was the most important thing for him that evening.

Art has the power to transcend prejudice. It calls for tolerance, empathy, knowledge, and deeper questioning. Thanks to this moment of reflection, you have given me, for which I thank you, I now feel the desire to create a theatrical work around this story — mine and the larger one. I need a partner, collaborators, and a contemporary theatrical language. I am another Arthur Rimbaud…

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