Woody Allen

I Will Never Watch Another Woody Allen Movie Again

Dylan Farrow

 

Dylan Farrow comes forward in a riveting open letter:

What’s your favorite Woody Allen movie? Before you answer, you should know: when I was seven years old, Woody Allen took me by the hand and led me into a dim, closet-like attic on the second floor of our house. He told me to lay on my stomach and play with my brother’s electric train set. Then he sexually assaulted me. He talked to me while he did it, whispering that I was a good girl, that this was our secret, promising that we’d go to Paris and I’d be a star in his movies. I remember staring at that toy train, focusing on it as it traveled in its circle around the attic. To this day, I find it difficult to look at toy trains.

For as long as I could remember, my father had been doing things to me that I didn’t like. I didn’t like how often he would take me away from my mom, siblings and friends to be alone with him. I didn’t like it when he would stick his thumb in my mouth. I didn’t like it when I had to get in bed with him under the sheets when he was in his underwear. I didn’t like it when he would place his head in my naked lap and breathe in and breathe out. I would hide under beds or lock myself in the bathroom to avoid these encounters, but he always found me. These things happened so often, so routinely, so skillfully hidden from a mother that would have protected me had she known, that I thought it was normal. I thought this was how fathers doted on their daughters. But what he did to me in the attic felt different. I couldn’t keep the secret anymore. When I asked my mother if her dad did to her what Woody Allen did to me, I honestly did not know the answer. I also didn’t know the firestorm it would trigger. I didn’t know that my father would use his sexual relationship with my sister to cover up the abuse he inflicted on me. I didn’t know that he would accuse my mother of planting the abuse in my head and call her a liar for defending me. I didn’t know that I would be made to recount my story over and over again, to doctor after doctor, pushed to see if I’d admit I was lying as part of a legal battle I couldn’t possibly understand. At one point, my mother sat me down and told me that I wouldn’t be in trouble if I was lying – that I could take it all back. I couldn’t. It was all true. But sexual abuse claims against the powerful stall more easily. There were experts willing to attack my credibility. There were doctors willing to gaslight an abused child.

After a custody hearing denied my father visitation rights, my mother declined to pursue criminal charges, despite findings of probable cause by the State of Connecticut – due to, in the words of the prosecutor, the fragility of the “child victim.” Woody Allen was never convicted of any crime. That he got away with what he did to me haunted me as I grew up. I was stricken with guilt that I had allowed him to be near other little girls. I was terrified of being touched by men. I developed an eating disorder. I began cutting myself. That torment was made worse by Hollywood. All but a precious few (my heroes) turned a blind eye. Most found it easier to accept the ambiguity, to say, “who can say what happened,” to pretend that nothing was wrong. Actors praised him at awards shows. Networks put him on TV. Critics put him in magazines. Each time I saw my abuser’s face – on a poster, on a t-shirt, on television – I could only hide my panic until I found a place to be alone and fall apart. →']);" class="more-link">Continue reading

Roman Polanski and Hollywood Defending the Indefensible

Whoopi “it isn’t rape-rape” Goldberg, Woody “I married my daughter” Allen, Martin “Jesus slept with Mary Magdalene” Scorsese, Monica Bellucci, David Lynch, Michael Mann, and Tilda Swinton are just a portion of the Hollywood crowd that are clamoring for the release of Roman Polanski who is being held in Switzerland waiting extradition to the United States.

Roman Polanski is on the run from the law for his rape of a 13 year girl in 1977 when he was a young 44 years of age.

Yesterday a former Hollywood starlet, Charlotte Lewis known for costarring opposite Eddie Murphy in The Golden Child, came out in a news conference that she was raped when she was 16 years of age in Paris by Roman Polanski when he was 50 years old.

Her reasons for coming out now?

Her disgust at how Hollywood is defending Roman Polanski and minimizing his offenses.

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Roman Polanski, Hollywood, and Moral Values

[Updates at the bottom of this article as of 1:47pm CDT AD 10-1-2009]

Roman Polanski

[I’ve done my best to tone down the explicit talk related to Roman Polanski, consider this a PG article instead of the usual G]

Famed Hollywood movie director Roman Polanski, who has been hiding in France since 1978, was arrested five days ago by the Swiss Justice Ministry while trying to enter Switzerland at Zurich Airport for an outstanding 1978 US arrest warrant. Polanski was going to attend the Zurich Film Festival to receive a Lifetime Achievement Award.  He is now waiting extradition, which he is appealing, to the US for his crime of engaging in unlawful intimate relations* of a 13 year old girl.

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