If we learned anything from the #MeToo movement, it is that powerful men in media and Hollywood believed themselves to be living in their own personal movies rather than the harsh truth of reality. They were the stars, directors, and producers, and they would always get the girl — even if the girl wanted nothing to do with them, or was actually just a potted fern in a restaurant.
This explains why these A-List abusers keep sitting down for tell-all interviews against (one would hope) the better advice of their legal counsel. Rather than the sick perverts that they are, these men see themselves taking on the role of Frank Mackey in Magnolia, whose tough, sexist exterior will eventually melt away to reveal his wounded inner-heart to the audience, thus garnering our sympathy.
R. Kelly tried this tactic earlier this year, but it didn’t end in his public absolution. Instead, we were left with one of the most striking images of the year — a maniac shouting and waving his arms at CBS’s Gayle King, who sat patiently channeling her inner Qui-Gon Jinn as the R&B singer singlehandedly crashed and burned.
Last month, Prince Andrew took the same misguided route. The British royal family graciously wheeled the disgraced prince out of his dungeon to try to clear the air about his friendly relationship with dead billionaire pedophile Jeffrey Epstein. Andrew helpfully offered to refute the claims of his accuser, who said she was just 17 when the prince sexually assaulted her while profusely sweating. His excuse — which stretched credulity, to put it mildly — was that he is a Never Sweater, a condition he developed due to ‘an overdose of adrenaline in the Falklands War’.
And this past week, members of the Academy were treated to the performance of the year — a disheveled Harvey Weinstein hobbling into a New York City courtroom with the assistance of a tennis-ball fitted walker, attempting to channel his best Carl Fredricksen from Up. The act seemingly paid off, as Weinstein gimped his way out of the courtroom with an apparent multi-million dollar settlement with over a dozen of his sexual assault accusers in hand.
If you think this would somehow temper Weinstein’s ego, you would be mistaken: shortly after the settlement, he sat down with the New York Post for an interview. Weinstein quickly revealed the extent of his delusional personal epic film — one where he is actually the misunderstood tragic hero who had the best of intentions.
‘I feel like the forgotten man,’ Weinstein griped in an odd Trumpian fashion. ‘I made more movies directed by women and about women than any filmmaker, and I’m talking about 30 years ago. I’m not talking about now when it’s vogue. I did it first! I pioneered it!’
Ironically enough, one of the movies Weinstein is likely referring to is the 1999 indie drama Guinevere, a film about an older photographer’s relationship with a younger woman. Sarah Polley, the movie’s star, wrote a scathing op-ed in the New York Times about her own personal experience with Weinstein, shattering his twisted version of reality.
‘Harvey Weinstein may be the central-casting version of a Hollywood predator, but he was just one festering pustule in a diseased industry,’ Polley seethed.
In his Page Six interview, Weinstein took another page from a movie script and tried to conjure the image of his humble and plucky beginnings, just like when the audience first meets eventual hero Luke Skywalker on the desolate planet of Tatooine.
‘I made a success out of myself. I had no money, and I built quite an empire with Miramax and decided to give back, If you remember who I was then, you might want to question some of this,’ Weinstein whined.
Page Six helpfully notes that Weinstein said this while in ‘an elite wing of the hospital that features marble bathrooms, Italian linens and original framed artwork, all designed to look like a plush hotel. A private chef and concierge cater to the patients while visitors can sip cucumber-infused water.’
Weinstein and other Hollywood abusers fail to realize that this is not their movie. They can no longer rewrite the script to save their images. Instead, the accusers now have their fingers on the keys. In fact, I sure wish Rose McGowan would go full Girl with the Dragon Tattoo on these predators who sit down for shameful attempts at media rehabilitation.
