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.
The “PULP FICTION”, “SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE”, “CLERKS”, “SWINGERS”, “SCREAM”, “GOOD WILL HUNTING”, “ENGLISH PATIENT”, “LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL” years…

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:

Everybody-fucking-knew.

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.

But…
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.

Because…

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:
Everybody-fucking-knew.
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.

NY Post Subway Picture Causes Controversy.

This disturbing picture featured on the front page of the New York Post features a man desperately trying to get back onto a subway platform after being pushed onto the tracks by a deranged man. He was fatally struck by the train moments later. Maybe it’s just me, but if you had time to whip out your phone and take a picture then you had time to help drag this poor guy back onto the platform.

A professional and well respected photo journalist appeared on American daytime TV to defend the photographer’s actions. Basically he was saying that it just becomes second nature not to include yourself in the story but to observe and capture it as it unfolds. That’s all just peachy, but replace the man on the tracks with the photographer’s wife and let’s see how that theory holds up.

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.

Father Threatens To Kill School Volleyball Coach And Rape His Family..

The distinguished gentleman pictured above is Elgin, Illinois resident John Kasik and he isn’t wearing that orange boiler-suit through choice. He was in fact arrested and charged with telephone harassment, battery and disorderly conduct, and was given a $300,000 bail fee.
Turns out Kasik blew a gasket during a school volleyball match after his daughter was benched by her coach, finishing her participation in the game. The Chicago Tribune detailed what happened next:

After the match, Kasik, who was in the stands and reportedly angered by the substitution, followed the school athletic director to his house and began yelling at him, at one point saying he would kill the official if his distraught daughter “didn’t make it through the night,” [DuPage County State’s Attorney Robert] Berlin said.

The athletic director convinced Kasik to come to the school the next day to talk about the matter. Later that evening, Kasik allegedly left several threatening text and phone messages for the volleyball coach, including one in which Kasik threatened to kill the coach and rape the coach’s wife and daughter, Berlin said.

Classy.

 

(via Yahoo Sports)

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.