Hollywood Screenwriter Alleges ‘Everybody F**king Knew’ About Weinstein.

As the Harvey Weinstein scandal rumbles on in Hollywood and more details emerge about those he allegedly abused and assaulted, (there’s now an allegation of rape), it seems the rank and file of tinseltown have retreated and remain abnormally quiet.

As I follow this sordid story I’m reminded of the similarities to the Jimmy Savile scandal we had here in the UK. Where a wealthy, white, entertainment personality, with ties to the establishment exploited his position of power to sexually abuse the many.

Fair enough, Savile’s MO was underage girls and if some evidence is to be believed also the dead, but Weinstein shares so much in common with the former radio DJ in that a wall of silence was built up around the two by those closest to them and if anyone attempted to breach those walls their livelihoods, careers, reputations and credibility would be completely destroyed.

One individual, who spent nearly a decade in the company of Harvey Weinstein has spoken out about what he knew. Screenwriter Scott Rosenberg, (Beautiful Girls, Con Air, High Fidelity), recently published a brutally honest response to the wall of silence currently surrounding Hollywood on Facebook. On a lengthy and at times distressing post he highlights just how impossible it was for one to raise the alarm, due the absolute power and influence Weinstein had to weild and that ‘everbody fucking knew.’

So, uh, yeah.
We need to talk about Harvey.

I was there, for a big part of it.
From, what, 1994 to the early 2000s?
Something like that.
Certainly The Golden Age.

Harvey and Bob made my first two movies.
Then they signed me to an overall deal.
Then they bought that horror script of mine about the Ten Plagues.
For a lot of money.
Also bought that werewolf-biker script.
That no one else liked but was my personal favorite.
They were going to publish my novel.
They anointed me.
Made it so other studios thought I was the real deal.
They gave me my career.

I was barely 30.
I was sure I had struck gold.
They loved me, these two brothers, who had reinvented cinema.
And who were fun and tough and didn’t give an East Coast fuck about all the slick pricks out in L.A.

And those glory days in Tribeca?
The old cramped offices?
That wonderful gang of executives and assistants?
All the filmmakers who were doing repeat business?
The brothers wanted to create a “family of film”.
And they did just that…
We looked forward to having meetings there.
Meetings that would turn into plans that would turn into raucous nights out on the town.
Simply put: OG Miramax was a blast.

So, yeah, I was there.
And let me tell you one thing.
Let’s be perfectly clear about one thing:


Not that he was raping.
No, that we never heard.
But we were aware of a certain pattern of overly-aggressive behavior that was rather dreadful.
We knew about the man’s hunger; his fervor; his appetite.
There was nothing secret about this voracious rapacity; like a gluttonous ogre out of the Brothers Grimm.
All couched in vague promises of potential movie roles.
(and, it should be noted: there were many who actually succumbed to his bulky charms. Willingly. Which surely must have only impelled him to cast his fetid net even wider).

But like I said: everybody-fucking-knew.

And to me, if Harvey’s behavior is the most reprehensible thing one can imagine, a not-so-distant second is the current flood of sanctimonious denial and condemnation that now crashes upon these shores of rectitude in gloppy tides of bullshit righteousness.

Because everybody-fucking-knew.

And do you know how I am sure this is true?
Because I was there.
And I saw you.
And I talked about it with you.
You, the big producers; you, the big directors; you, the big agents; you, the big financiers.
And you, the big rival studio chiefs; you, the big actors; you, the big actresses; you, the big models.
You, the big journalists; you, the big screenwriters; you, the big rock stars; you, the big restaurateurs; you, the big politicians.

I saw you.
All of you.
God help me, I was there with you.

Again, maybe we didn’t know the degree.
The magnitude of the awfulness.
Not the rapes.
Not the shoving against the wall.
Not the potted-plant fucking.
But we knew something.
We knew something was bubbling under.
Something odious.
Something rotten.

And this is as pathetic as it is true:
What would you have had us do?
Who were we to tell?
The authorities?
What authorities?
The press?
Harvey owned the press.
The Internet?
There was no Internet or reasonable facsimile thereof.
Should we have called the police?
And said what?
Should we have reached out to some fantasy Attorney General Of Movieland?
That didn’t exist.

Not to mention, most of the victims chose not to speak out.
Aside from sharing the grimy details with a close girlfriend or confidante.
And if they discussed it with their representatives?
Agents and managers, who themselves feared The Wrath Of The Big Man?
The agents and managers would tell them to keep it to themselves.
Because who knew the repercussions?
That old saw “You’ll Never Work In This Town Again” came crawling back to putrid life like a re-animated cadaver in a late-night zombie flick.
But, yes, everyone knew someone who had been on the receiving end of lewd advances by him.
Or knew someone who knew someone.

A few actress friends of mine told me stories: of a ghastly hotel meeting; of a repugnant bathrobe-shucking; of a loathsome massage request.
And although they were rattled, they sort of laughed at his arrogance; how he had the temerity to think that simply the sight of his naked, doughy, carbuncled flesh was going to get them in the mood.
So I just believed it to be a grotesque display of power; a dude misreading the room and making a lame-if-vile pass.

It was much easier to believe that.
It was much easier for ALL of us to believe that.


And here’s where the slither meets the slime:
Harvey was showing us the best of times.
He was making our movies.
Throwing the biggest parties.
Taking us to The Golden Globes!
Introducing us to the most amazing people (Meetings with Vice President Gore! Clubbing with Quentin and Uma! Drinks with Salman Rushdie and Ralph Fiennes! Dinners with Mick Jagger and Warren-freaking-Beatty!).

The most epic Oscar weekends.
That seemed to last for weeks!
Sundance! Cannes! Toronto!
Telluride! Berlin! Venice!
Private jets! Stretch limousines! Springsteen shows!
Hell, Harvey once took me to St. Barth’s for Christmas.
For 12 days!
I was a broke-ass kid from Boston who had never even HEARD of St. Barth’s before he booked my travel.
He once got me tickets to the seven hottest Broadway shows in one week. So I could take a new girlfriend on a dazzling tour of theater.
He got me seats on the 40-yard-line to the Super Bowl, when the Patriots were playing the Packers in New Orleans.
Even got me a hotel room, which was impossible to get that weekend.
He gave and gave and gave and gave.
He had a monarch’s volcanic generosity when it came to those within his circle.
And a Mafia don’s fervent need for abject loyalty from his capos and soldiers.

But never mind us!
What about what he was doing for the culture?
Making stunningly splendid films at a time when everyone else was cranking-out simpering “INDEPENDENCE DAY” rip-offs.

It was glorious.
All of it.

So what if he was coming on a little strong to some young models who had moved mountains to get into one of his parties?
So what if he was exposing himself, in five-star hotel rooms, like a cartoon flasher out of “MAD MAGAZINE” (just swap robe for raincoat!)
Who were we to call foul?
Golden Geese don’t come along too often in one’s life.

Which goes back to my original point:
But everybody was just having too good a time.
And doing remarkable work; making remarkable movies.

As the old joke goes:
We needed the eggs.

Okay, maybe we didn’t NEED them.
But we really, really, really, really LIKED them eggs.
So we were willing to overlook what the Golden Goose was up to, in the murky shadows behind the barn…

And for that, I am eternally sorry.
To all of the women that had to suffer this…
I am eternally sorry.
I’ve worked with Mira and Rosanna and Lysette.
I’ve known Rose and Ashley and Claire for years…
Their courage only hangs a lantern on my shame.
And I am eternally sorry to all those who suffered in silence all this time.
And have chosen to remain silent today.

I mostly lost touch with the brothers by the early 2000s.
For no specific reason.
Just that there were other jobs, other studios.
But a few months ago, Harvey called me, out of the blue.
To talk about the bygone days.
To talk about how great it would be to get some of the gang back together.
Make a movie.
He must have known then the noose was tightening.
There was a wistfulness to him that I had never heard before.
A melancholy.
It most assuredly had a walking-to-the-gallows feel.
When we hung up I wondered: “what was that all about?”
In a few short weeks I would know.
It was the condemned man simply wanting to comb some of the ruins of his old stomping grounds.
One last time.

So, yeah, I am sorry.
Sorry and ashamed.
Because, in the end, I was complicit.
I didn’t say shit.
I didn’t do shit.
Harvey was nothing but wonderful to me.
So I reaped the rewards and I kept my mouth shut.
And for that, once again, I am sorry.

But you should be sorry, too.
With all these victims speaking up…
To tell their tales.
Shouldn’t those who witnessed it from the sidelines do the same?
Instead of retreating to the cowardly, canopied confines of faux-outrage?
Doesn’t being a bystander bring with it the responsibility of telling the truth, however personally disgraceful it may be?

You know who are.
You know that you knew.
And do you know how I know that you knew?

Because I was there with you.

And because everybody-fucking-knew.

Channel Four News Put The Past On Trial Last Night.

If you didn’t see it then here’s the first 30 mins of a sensational piece of British broadcasting journalism.

Channel Four news announced they were putting the past on trial by broadcasting a series of reports covering the North Wales care homes scandals, Hillsborough, Jimmy Savile, the freemasons and paedophile rings. Quite an unbelievable compendium of reports in what has to be a landmark moment in television journalism.

We can only hope that the momentum behind these stories doesn’t stall.

Philip Schofield Handed A List Of Suspected Child Paedos To The PM…On Live TV.

Earlier today something unprecedented happened on British TV. Presenter Philip Schofield was interviewing Prime Minister David Cameron on the ITV programme This Morning, when completely out of the blue he produced a written list of names who he had found plastered over the Internet as suspected child paedophiles. He handed the list to Cameron and asked if he was going to speak to those people on the list about the allegations. Presumably because some of the names might have been prominent MPs.

Inexplicably Cameron’s reply, (incidentally without even looking at the list), was to suggest that this was an action which could spark a witch hunt against people who are gay. That’s right the Prime Minister was warning Philip Schofield that the names on the list were gay, not suspected child paedophiles, but homosexuals. I’m I the only one who doesn’t understand this response?

To start with the names are from the Internet which let’s be honest isn’t always the most reliable source of solid information, or indeed evidence but Schofield’s actions are just the latest in a long line of developments which point to a real possibility that an elite British paedophile ring  has operated on these shores for over 40 years, whose members may have included prominent MPs. Just last month Labour MP Tom Watson addressed Cameron in parliament during Prime Minister’s Questions and asked about allegations involving an aide to a former Prime Minister who could allegedly procure pictures of children.

Cameron is certainly feeling the pressure mount with this story but to somehow use the cover of being a ‘homosexual’ when these people are being accused of child paedophilia is quite simply baffling.

Ann Coulter Gets Her Arse Handed To Her In An Open Letter.

Ann Coulter, just in case you didn’t already know, is a political commentator and alleged author, she’s also a die-hard Republican and has in the past been accused of racist and anti-semetic remarks. She’s like the perfect right-wing Internet troll.

Yesterday she took to Twitter to vent her spleen about Obama and in doing so labelled the President a ‘retard’. This of course did not go unnoticed by the press and once more she has managed to succeed in getting her name and face in the news again. However one man decided to pen an open letter to Coulter to try and understand why she used that specific word to describe the President and more importantly what did she mean by it.

The letter below, which you can read in it’s original format HERE, was written by 30 year-old Special Olympics athlete, global messenger  John Franklin Stephens:


Dear Ann Coulter,

Come on Ms. Coulter, you aren’t dumb and you aren’t shallow.  So why are you continually using a word like the R-word as an insult?

I’m a 30 year old man with Down syndrome who has struggled with the public’s perception that an intellectual disability means that I am dumb and shallow.  I am not either of those things, but I do process information more slowly than the rest of you.  In fact it has taken me all day to figure out how to respond to your use of the R-word last night.

I thought first of asking whether you meant to describe the President as someone who was bullied as a child by people like you, but rose above it to find a way to succeed in life as many of my fellow Special Olympians have.

Then I wondered if you meant to describe him as someone who has to struggle to be thoughtful about everything he says, as everyone else races from one snarkey sound bite to the next.

Finally, I wondered if you meant to degrade him as someone who is likely to receive bad health care, live in low grade housing with very little income and still manages to see life as a wonderful gift.

Because, Ms. Coulter, that is who we are – and much, much more.

After I saw your tweet, I realized you just wanted to belittle the President by linking him to people like me.  You assumed that people would understand and accept that being linked to someone like me is an insult and you assumed you could get away with it and still appear on TV.

I have to wonder if you considered other hateful words but recoiled from the backlash.

Well, Ms. Coulter, you, and society, need to learn that being compared to people like me should be considered a badge of honor.

No one overcomes more than we do and still loves life so much.

Come join us someday at Special Olympics.  See if you can walk away with your heart unchanged.

A friend you haven’t made yet,  

John Franklin Stephens
Global Messenger
Special Olympics Virginia

(via Special Olympics Blog)

Comedian Jerry Sadowitz On Jimmy Savile Back In 1988.


(Above audio contains NSFW language)

If you’re not familiar with Scottish comedian Jerry Sadowitz and his work then that’s probably because he’s been banned from nearly every radio and TV station across the UK due to his controversial style of humour. In 2007 he was voted the 15th greatest stand-up comic on Channel 4’s 100 Greatest Stand-Ups and is an accomplished magician.

The audio above is an extract from one of his stand-up gigs, (location unknown), where he candidly refers to Sir Jimmy Savile as a ‘child bender’, before going on to explain that Savile’s charity work is ostensibly a protective jacket for him to wear if he’s ever caught, so that the public would never believe such claims.

Sadowitz actually states to his audience: ‘He may have fooled you, but not fucking me!’

This was back in 1988.

UK Govt To Extradite Student To US Over Internet Piracy Claims.


Apart from the obvious concern regarding this story, (the realisation that there’s now very few safeguards for British citizens in relation to foreign extradition), this story also heralds the dawn of the Govt sponsored crackdown on the Internet.

Twenty three year-old Richard O’Dwyer lost his case today at Westminster Magistrates Court and could now be extradited to the U.S. to face a possible five year prison sentence over copyright infringement allegations. The Sheffield student who owned and managed website TV Shack is appealing the decision but if he loses he’ll become the first British citizen to be  extradited for such an offence.

TV Shack was a website that simply hosted links to other websites which stored copyrighted material such as movies and TV episodes that people could download and watch. This has been the argument O’Dwyer has put forward during his case, that he simply linked and directed traffic to the illegally hosted movies and TV episodes and that he didn’t actually host the disputed content on his website. But following today’s unbelievable decision O’Dwyer could find himself en-route to the States and a U.S. prison cell.

Does this now mean that YouTube and Google will face the same charges for hosting full length movies which you can freely watch at any time? Smells of Denmark around here.

(Via BBC News, The Mirror)

Fox News Tells Wall St Protesters To Be More Like Lucy.

In an article which will quite literally melt your brain, thanks to the arsebackwardness level of intelligence it took to compose, Fox News have out lined five valuable lessons they feel the Occupy Wall Street protesters could learn from the 50s sitcom I Love Lucy to help them find a job.

No! Don’t you dare put that bong down! You read that sentence correctly the first time.

Loosely tying in the theme of the show’s diamond anniversary with current political events, (nothing like keeping in touch with your demographic), Fox News contributor and homophobe Cal Thomas writes:

 Here are five lessons “Lucy” teaches all of us about how to find a job:

1) Have a sense of humor. Lucy didn’t take herself too seriously and you shouldn’t, either. 

2) Take a job, any job. Lucy stomped on grapes, she worked in a chocolate factory and even tried to act as the spokesperson for “Vitameatavegimin.”

3) Loyalty to something higher than yourself. Lucy was devoted to her husband and to her neighbors, the Mertzes

4) Live within your means. Lucy and Ricky were Middle Class in the ’50s. Their little one – bedroom apartment was perfectly adequate for their needs.

5) Though she never succeeded in show business (her character,that is) she never stopped trying. That’s a life lesson for the Wall Street protestors and every other American who seems to have forgotten that persistence, more than talent and education, wins the day.

Of course the hilarious irony is Lucy was a fictional character who was played by a filty rich Hollywood actress and…here comes the kicker Cal, hold onto your right-wing, neo-con britches…was also a registered Communist. Ouch!

We would like to imagine Cal away from his office and out of his news slacks, relaxing back at his family home with his lovely wife and 2.4 children. A cherry red Studebaker parked in his driveway, a bright, white picket fence along the edge of his freshly cut lawn…and the dismembered bodies of two unfortunate prostitutes, who went missing three months ago, stuffed into a garbage can beside his garage.

“He was such a lovely man, so quiet. A church goer and an avid fan of I love Lucy. The whole neighbourhood’s shocked!”

(Big thanks to Grahame over at Past The Pixels for the tip.)


Charlie Brooker’s Amazing Rant About The UK Speed Limit.

Jesus F@cking Christ!

We love Charlie Brooker, not because he’s a great writer but because he is a fuming, angry mess of a man who dislikes or hates pretty much everything.

The latest topic to boil Brooker’s kettle is the UK government’s proposal to increase the national speed limit on motorways throughout the country to 80mph, (it currently sits at 70mph). Why? Well because some completely out of touch and possibly drunk minister thinks that by getting people to travel faster on the roads means they’ll get to their individual destinations quicker, therefore shorter journey times for everyone and more time spent at work, which will in turn boost the nation’s economy and save us all from a life of poverty and prostitution. Huzzah!

Here’s just a juicy snippet of Brooker’s rant:

When I become minister for transport, I’ll introduce a new motorway lane specifically designed for 19th-century horse-drawn hay carts – a lane that criss-crosses all the other lanes at random intervals. I’d also position a sniper on every bridge and instruct them to blow the head off anyone who looks like they’re getting a bit of speed up. Or anyone who looks like they’re enjoying the road a bit too much for my liking. Or anyone listening to an album I hate. Or wearing a loud shirt. Or who might be Sagittarian.

If you want to read the rest of the article chart a course for HERE.

Guido Fawkes Tells It Like It Is.

For anyone not that interested in politics, (who could blame you), Guido Fawkes, aka Paul Staines, is a blogger whose website posts deal with rumour and gossip surrounding the often shady and despicable happenings at Westminster.

Never far from controversy Guido appeared on Sky News last week and gave his rather honest opinion about the current celebrity superinjuction debate…can’t really disagree with his viewpoint on this.