So, uh, yeah.
We require to discuss Harvey.I existed, for a huge part of it.
From, exactly what, 1994 to the early 2000s?
Something like that.
The Golden Age.
The “PULP FICTION”, “SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE”, “CLERKS”, “SWINGERS”, “SCREAM”, “GOOD WILL HUNTING”, “ENGLISH CLIENT”, “LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL” years …
Harvey and Bob made my first two movies.
Then they signed me to a total deal.
They bought that horror script of mine about the 10 Plagues.
For a great deal of money.
Also purchased that werewolf-biker script.
That no one else liked however was my personal favorite.
They were going to release my novel.
They anointed me.
Made it so other studios believed I was the real deal.
They provided me my career.I was hardly 30
I made certain I had actually struck gold.
They loved me, these two siblings, who had reinvented movie theater.
And who were fun and difficult and didn’t give an East Coast fuck about all the slick punctures out in L.A.And those splendor days in Tribeca?
The old confined workplaces?
That wonderful gang of executives and assistants?
All the filmmakers who were doing repeat service?
The brothers wished to create a “household of film”.
And they did just that …
We eagerly anticipated having meetings there.
Conferences that would become strategies that would turn into raucous nights out on the town.
Basically: OG Miramax was a blast.So, yeah, I existed.
And let me tell you something.
Let’s be completely clear about something:
Not that he was raping.
No, that we never ever heard.
We were mindful of a specific pattern of overly-aggressive behavior that was rather terrible.
We understood about the guy’s appetite; his fervor; his cravings.
There was nothing secret about this starved rapacity; like a gluttonous troll from the Brothers Grimm.
All couched in vague pledges of potential motion picture roles.
(and, it ought to be kept in mind: there were numerous who actually yielded to his large beauties. Voluntarily. Which certainly must have just urged him to cast his fetid internet even wider).
But like I said: everybody-fucking-knew.
And to me, if Harvey’s habits is the most guilty thing one can envision, a not-so-distant second is the current flood of sanctimonious denial and condemnation that now crashes upon these coasts of rectitude in gloppy tides of bullshit righteousness.Because everybody-fucking-knew. And do you know how I make sure this is
true? Because I was there. And I saw you.
And I spoke about it with you.
You, the big manufacturers; you, the big directors; you, the big agents; you, the big financiers. And you, the big rival studio chiefs; you, the huge stars; you, the big starlets; you, the big models. You, the huge reporters; you, the big film writers; you, the big rock stars; you, the big restaurateurs; you, the huge politicians.I saw you. All you.
God help me,
I existed with you.Again, possibly we didn’t understand the degree. The magnitude of the awfulness. Not the rapes. Not the pushing versus the wall.
Not the potted-plant fucking.
We knew something.
We understood something was bubbling under. Something odious.
Something rotten.But … And this is as worthless as it is real:
Exactly what would you have had us do? Who were we to tell? The
authorities? What authorities?
Harvey owned the press. The Internet?
There was no
Web or reasonable facsimile thereof. Should we have called the police? And said what? Should we have reached out
to some fantasy Lawyer General Of Movieland?
That didn’t exist.Not to discuss, the majority of the victims selected not to speak up. Aside from sharing the filthy information with a close
girlfriend or confidante. And if they discussed it with their agents? Representatives and managers, who themselves feared The Wrath Of The Big Guy? The agents and managers would inform them to keep it to themselves. Due to the fact that who knew the consequences? That old saw “You’ll Never Operate in This Town Again “came crawling back to putrid life like a re-animated cadaver in a late-night zombie flick.
Yes, everybody understood somebody who had been on the receiving end of salacious advances by him. Or understood someone who understood someone.A couple of starlet good friends of mine told me stories: of a ghastly hotel conference; of a repugnant bathrobe-shucking; of a loathsome massage request. And although they were rattled, they sort of chuckled at his arrogance; how he had the temerity to believe that just
the sight of his naked, doughy, carbuncled flesh was going to get them in the state of mind. I simply thought it to be a grotesque screen of power;
a dude misreading the space and making a lame-if-vile pass.It was much easier to think that. It was much easier for EVERYBODY to think that.And here’s where the slither meets the slime: Harvey was showing us the very best of times. He was making our films. Tossing the greatest parties. Taking us to The Golden Globes! Presenting us to the
most remarkable individuals (Meetings with Vice President Gore! Clubbing with Quentin and Uma! Drinks with Salman Rushdie and Ralph Fiennes! Suppers with Mick Jagger and Warren-freaking-Beatty!). The most legendary Oscar
weekends. That seemed to last for weeks! Sundance! Cannes! Toronto
! Telluride! Berlin!
Venice! Personal jets! Stretch limos! Springsteen reveals! Hell, Harvey when 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 reserved my travel.
He when got me tickets to the seven hottest Broadway displays in one week. I might take a brand-new girlfriend on a spectacular 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 space, which was impossible to get that weekend. He gave and offered and provided and offered. He had an emperor’s volcanic generosity when it came to those within his circle. And a Mafia don’s impassioned requirement for abject loyalty from his capos and soldiers.But never ever mind us! What about what he was providing for the culture? Making strikingly splendid films at a time when everyone else was cranking-out simpering “INDEPENDENCE DAY “rip-offs. It was glorious. All of it.So exactly what if he was
beginning a little strong to some young designs who had moved mountains to get into one of his parties? Exactly what if he was exposing himself, in five-star hotel rooms, like an animation flasher out of “MAD PUBLICATION” (simply swap
robe for raincoat!
) Who were we to call foul? Golden Geese do not occurred too frequently in one’s life.Which returns to my initial point: Everybody-fucking-knew. But everybody was just having too good a time.
And doing exceptional work; making remarkable movies.As the old joke goes: We needed the eggs.Okay, possibly we didn’t REQUIRED them. We truly, truly, actually, really LIKED them eggs. We were willing to ignore what the Golden Goose was up to, in the dirty shadows behind the barn … And for that, I am eternally sorry. To all of the ladies that had to suffer this … I am eternally sorry. I have actually worked with Mira and Rosanna and Lysette. I have actually known Rose and Ashley and Claire for many years … Their guts only hangs a lantern on my pity.
And I am permanently sorry to all those who suffered in silence all this time. And have actually chosen to remain quiet today.I primarily lost touch with the siblings by the early
2000s. For no specific reason.
Just that there were other tasks, other studios.
A few months earlier, Harvey called me, out of the blue. To speak about the bygone days. To talk about how fantastic 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 actually never ever heard prior to. A melancholy.
It most assuredly had a walking-to-the-gallows
feel. When we hung up I questioned:”exactly what was that all about? “In a few brief weeks I would know. It was the condemned male simply wishing to comb some of the ruins of his old stomping premises.
One last time.So, yeah, I am sorry. Sorry and embarrassed.
Since, in the end, I was complicit. I didn’t state shit. I didn’t do shit.
Harvey was absolutely nothing however fantastic to me. So I gained the benefits and I kept my mouth shut.
And for that, as soon as again, I am sorry.But you should be sorry, too. With all these victims speaking up … To tell their tales. Should not those who experienced it from the sidelines do
the same? Instead of pulling away to the afraid, canopied boundaries of faux-outrage? Does not being an onlooker bring with it the duty
of informing the reality, nevertheless personally disgraceful it might be?You understand who are. You know that you knew.
And do you know how I understand that you knew?Because I was there with you.And due to the fact that everybody-fucking-knew. Producer and screenwriter
, popular for penning the Nicolas Cage action hits
Con Air and Gone In Sixty Seconds, along with
such as High Fidelity and Beautiful Girls, aired out his guilt and grievances with how Hollywood’s elite are gushing “sanctimonious
denial and condemnation”with regard to Harvey Wienstein and his criminally predatory ways.In his Facebook post, Rosenberg says consistently that “everybody f-ing understood”
what Weinstein was doing to these females however no one wished to take a stand since Harvey was their”Golden Goose.””We wanted to neglect exactly what the Golden Goose was up to, in the dirty shadows behind the barn,”Rosenberg writes.And who is the “we”he is referring too?
Oh, simply every lobbyist in Hollywood consisting of,”You, the big producers; you, the big directors; you, the big representatives; you, the big investors. And you, the huge competing studio chiefs; you, the huge stars; you, the huge starlets; you, the huge models. You, the huge reporters; you, the big film writers; you, the big rock stars; you, the huge restaurateurs; you, the big politicians. I saw you. All you. God assist me, I was there with you.” So far, movie stars such as Matt Damon, Ben Affleck, and George Clooney are among much of Tinsel Town’s royalty claiming they were unaware of Weinstein’s abusive actions.