Gawker.com has the article by William Warwick, Woody Allen Is Not a Monster. He Is a Person. Like My Father.
I admire Woody for rejecting Hollywood awards culture and consistently churning out reasonably watchable films. (Though I didn’t care much for Blue Jasmine; I prefer Match Point, which I suspect is closer to a darkness of which Woody is a part.)
Yet I know too that Dylan Farrow is telling the truth. And it makes me sick to witness the vile double standard by which our society measures abuse survivors – questioning their credibility based on their behavior, when that behavior is likely the result of the trauma they have endured. Who in the world finds it plausible that Dylan was an emotionally disturbed kid who concocted a false memory from her inability to distinguish between fantasy and reality, rather than a kid who had been systematically traumatized within the sanctity of an otherwise reasonably stable home and so could not fully integrate the experience?
We don’t really just condemn the sexualization of children. Instead, we condemn the very existence of child abuse altogether. It’s as if the crime includes being victimized by it, or responsible for bringing it into the light. We take an ontological roach spray to the whole event, either denying its status in reality altogether, or competing with one another to proclaim the most exquisite forms of torture for the perpetrators. I can’t count how many times I’ve seen the most strident liberal break character to loudly call for the prison rape of perpetrators.
I post this article because it is thought provoking about the topic. It comes from someone who has lived the experience and has figured out a way to come to terms with it.
I still won’t go to Woody Allen movies or watch any of his public appearances. If he publicly repented, I don’t know if that would change my mind.