Roman Polanski, Alex Kelly, Michael Jackson - interesting one thing they all had in common - all fled the country after having been accused of sexually assaulting younger people. I find it grasping at straws how people try to justify the various crimes by these pervs. I lump them all into the same category - sexual pervs who should be locked up
Polanski moral equivocation makes me sick...
The police are good at putting criminals in jail, that is what they do. Polanski paid a settlement to the girl he injured. In many countries it is called a payment for loss of honor. Not much can be gained now after 30 years. Let him appolgize, maybe spend a month in jail and lets be finished with it.
Are you fucking serious? In that case, let me go out run a few people over with my car and then I'll just run off to France and oh in 30 years I'll just apologize. A crime was done against a 13 year old and he fled the country to avoid his punishment, no justice was ever served and I can bet that if someone did to your daughter what he did to that young girl you would want the bastard behind bars. I have lost any respect I ever had for Goldberg, It is disgusting that any one would want him to walk because he makes movies.
Let that dirty pedophile, child pornographer rot in prison!
Seriously..... If this had been a 44 year old Elder we all would be outraged!
Below is the link to the court transcripts:
This guy is a sleaze ball.
It also serves a warning to parents wanting to get their kids into show-biz and the dangers of trusting people who are suppose to be professionals alone with a child.
He used cheesy lines like wanting to take her picture for Vogue, then coercing her into taking topless and nude pics (again HE is 44 years old).
He knew what he was doing, he primed (alcohol, drugs, jacuzzi) her and that is all there is to it.
It is sad that as an adult she has convinced herself (or perhaps it is the terms of the settle agreement) she was mature enough to make any decisions. She like a lot of 13 year olds wanted to be famous and he at 44 used that innocence to manipulate the situation and her.
Again 44 year old man offers 13 year old alcohol, drugs, orders her under the influence to remove her clothing, jacuzzi..... and it goes on an on...
I am angry after reading the transcript! He knew what he was doing!
He meets the qualifications of a pedophile without a doubt.
I am growing MORE disgusted with the standard Hollywood tripe over this guy (well, almost!) than with Polanski himself...
First Whoopie Goldberg defending him, next we have Debra Winger coming out to give him a pass, finally this morning some Hollywood Insider Gossip guy saying "look how badly we treated Michael Jackson, so let's remember that and "not say bad things about Roman Polanski"!!!
The sentiment seems to be - "he won an Academy Award, and his is a great talent, so let's just overlook it because he is an artist". Same crap as with Woody Allen. Same crap as Mike Ferrell trying to defend the cop killer Mumia something (who shot a cop in the face and was caught holding the smoking gun.)
Do these Hollywood-Correctness types ever even listen to what they are saying and how it sounds to an incredulous public?
Do these Hollywood-Correctness types ever even listen to what they are saying and how it sounds to an incredulous public?
Apparently not. They must think the public is so stupid (and many are) that they will continue to accept criminal behavior and endorse it.
Perhaps people want to turn a blind eye to what actually happens when a young child (or woman) is RAPED.
Reading the details, which, I gather, most people are not willing to do, will make them physically ill.
It will make them want to vomit. It will make them want to see Polanski in prison with a roommate named Bubba. And Bubba will have the details of what he did. And Bubba won't be happy. And will wait for Polanski to drop the soap.
He then had an *affair* with 15 year-old Nastassja Kinski who was the star of his movie Tess. Again, 15 years old.
He is a Peodophile. I hope he rots in jail until he dies.
And let’s not mess around here. What Polanski did wasn’t simple statutory rape. There was no, “She sure looked 18, your honor!” This was a kid who Polanski got drunk, drugged and anally raped. And then he fled justice — a plea he copped to — like a coward. Not that it takes a brave man to slip ‘ludes to a 13-year-old.
Most of Hollywood, of course, hasn’t come anywhere near that petition. And good for them — although it’s strange feeling the need to praise people for not putting their names to a demand to release a child rapist. But enough of them did sign that the rest of us were forced to sit up and take notice — and we couldn’t help but notice that we recognized more than a few of those signatures.
I mean… Martin Scorsese? Marty, you broke my heart.
I’m not sure the gulf between the entertainment world and the real world has ever been wider. And after this, I don’t think the rift can ever be healed.
NY Times: Get Polanski
In Europe, the prevailing mood — at least among those with access to the news media — seemed to be that Mr. Polanski has already “atoned for the sins of his young years,” as Jacek Bromski, the chief of the Polish Filmmakers Association, put it.
We disagree strongly, and we were glad to see other prominent Europeans beginning to point out that this case has nothing to do with Mr. Polanski’s work or his age. It is about an adult preying on a child. Mr. Polanski pleaded guilty to that crime and must account for it.
Pathetic, truly pathetic, these people should all hand their heads in shame.
George Orwell had something wrote something that is applicable to this situation. Moral clarity is lost on these Hollyweird people, and these are the very same people that set the trends and the atmosphere in the larger culture. Is it any wonder we are such a mess?
Notes on Dali
Autobiography is only to be trusted when it reveals something disgraceful. A man who gives a good account of himself is probably lying, since any life when viewed from the inside is simply a series of defeats. However, even the most flagrantly dishonest book (Frank Harris’s autobiographical writings are an example) can without intending it give a true picture of its author. Dali’s recently published Life [The Secret Life of Salvador Dali (The Dial Press, 1942)] comes under this heading. Some of the incidents in it are flatly incredible, others have been rearranged and romanticised, and not merely the humiliation but the persistent ordinariness of everyday life has been cut out. Dali is even by his own diagnosis narcissistic, and his autobiography is simply a strip-tease act conducted in pink limelight. But as a record of fantasy, of the perversion of instinct that has been made possible by the machine age, it has great value.
Here, then, are some of the episodes in Dali’s life, from his earliest years onward. Which of them are true and which are imaginary hardly matters: the point is that this is the kind of thing that Dali would have liked to do.
When he is six years old there is some excitement over the appearance of Halley’s comet:
* Suddenly one of my father’s office clerks appeared in the drawing-room doorway and announced that the comet could be seen from the terrace…. While crossing the hall I caught sight of my little three-year-old sister crawling unobtrusively through a doorway. I stopped, hesitated a second, then gave her a terrible kick in the head as though it had been a ball, and continued running, carried away with a ‘delirious joy’ induced by this savage act. But my father, who was behind me, caught me and led me down in to his office, where I remained as a punishment till dinner-time.”
A year earlier than this Dali had “suddenly, as most of my ideas occur,” flung another little boy off a suspension bridge. Several other incidents of the same kind are recorded, including (this was when he was twenty-nine years old) knocking down and trampling on a girl “until they had to tear her, bleeding, out of my reach.”
When he is about five he gets hold of a wounded bat which he puts into a tin pail. Next morning he finds that the bat is almost dead and is covered with ants which are devouring it. He puts it in his mouth, ants and all, and bites it almost in half.
When he is an adolescent a girl falls desperately in love with him. He kisses and caresses her so as to excite her as much as possible, but refuses to go further. He resolves to keep this up for five years (he calls it his “five-year plan”), enjoying her humiliation and the sense of power it gives him. He frequently tells her that at the end of the five years he will desert her, and when the time comes he does so.
. . . When he first meets his future wife, Gala, he is greatly tempted to push her off a precipice. He is aware that there is something that she wants him to do to her, and after their first kiss the confession is made:
* I threw back Gala’s head, pulling it by the hair, and trembling with complete hysteria, I commanded: “Now tell me what you want me to do with you! But tell me slowly, looking me in the eye, with the crudest, the most ferociously erotic words that can make both of us feel the greatest shame!”
* Then Gala, transforming the last glimmer of her expression of pleasure into the hard light of her own tyranny, answered: “I want you to kill me!”
He is somewhat disappointed by this demand, since it is merely what he wanted to do already. He contemplates throwing her off the bell-tower of the Cathedral of Toledo, but refrains from doing so.
. . . Of course, in this long book of 400 quarto pages there is more than I have indicated, but I do not think that I have given an unfair account of his moral atmosphere and mental scenery. It is a book that stinks. If it were possible for a book to give a physical stink off its pages, this one would — a thought that might please Dali, who before wooing his future wife for the first time rubbed himself all over with an ointment made of goat’s dung boiled up in fish glue. But against this has to be set the fact that Dali is a draughtsman of very exceptional gifts. He is also, to judge by the minuteness and the sureness of his drawings, a very hard worker. He is an exhibitionist and a careerist, but he is not a fraud. He has fifty times more talent than most of the people who would denounce his morals and jeer at his paintings. And these two sets of facts, taken together, raise a question which for lack of any basis of agreement seldom gets a real discussion.
The point is that you have here a direct, unmistakable assault on sanity and decency; and even — since some of Dali’s pictures would tend to poison the imagination like a pornographic postcard — on life itself. What Dali has done and what he has imagined is debatable, but in his outlook, his character, the bedrock decency of a human being does not exist. He is as anti-social as a flea. Clearly, such people are undesirable, and a society in which they can flourish has something wrong with it. . . .
But if you talk to the kind of person who can see Dali’s merits, the response that you get is not as a rule very much better. If you say that Dali, though a brilliant draughtsman, is a dirty little scoundrel, you are looked upon as a savage. If you say that you don’t like rotting corpses, and that people who do like rotting corpses are mentally diseased, it is assumed that you lack the æsthetic sense. Since “Mannequin rotting in a taxicab” is a good composition. And between these two fallacies there is no middle position, but we seldom hear much about it. On the one side Kulturbolschewismus: on the other (though the phrase itself is out of fashion) “Art for Art’s sake.” Obscenity is a very difficult question to discuss honestly. People are too frightened either of seeming to be shocked or of seeming not to be shocked, to be able to define the relationship between art and morals.
It will be seen that what the defenders of Dali are claiming is a kind of benefit of clergy. The artist is to be exempt from the moral laws that are binding on ordinary people. Just pronounce the magic word “Art,” and everything is O.K.: kicking little girls in the head is O.K. . . . It is also O.K. that Dali should batten on France for years and then scuttle off like rat as soon as France is in danger. So long as you can paint well enough to pass the test, all shall be forgiven you.
One can see how false this is if one extends it to cover ordinary crime. In an age like our own, when the artist is an altogether exceptional person, he must be allowed a certain amount of irresponsibility, just as a pregnant woman is. Still, no one would say that a pregnant woman should be allowed to commit murder, nor would anyone make such a claim for the artist, however gifted. If Shakespeare returned to the earth to-morrow, and if it were found that his favourite recreation was raping little girls in railway carriages, we should not tell him to go ahead with it on the ground that he might write another King Lear.
Nothing makes someone above the Law, no matter how talented, no matter how gifted, if a crime is commited the price must be paid.