How much is art really worth?

Well, it’s worth a great deal, clearly. It helps us get through what is, for many of us, an increasingly shitty day-to-day existence. Like contact with loved ones, music, film and other more traditional forms of art nourish us in ways we can’t quite put into words. But, I think there is a line.

This thought came to me while writing on my other blog about Rain Man (although pieces written by Empire’s current editor Terri White, Sali Hughes and Dylan Farrow (as well as a follow up written in Vertigo) had already put this somewhere in my mind. Molly Ringwald has also recently revisited the films she made with John Hughes though the #MeToo filter, giving yet more food for thought regarding favourite films). I recalled how Rain Man’s star, Dustin Hoffman is one of the many sullied by the recent outpouring of sexual harassment cases following the implosion of Harvey Weinstein’s career. I think it can’t fail to have an effect on how you react to a film when one of the people involved with it is someone with a somewhat murky moral character.

Sometimes, it might be possible to still enjoy some films, if it was more of a collaborative effort. Regarding Rain Man, I noted in the review that to completely disregard it now would be to disregard the great work of co star Tom Cruise and director Barry Levinson, as well as the others involved in its making. The same is true of Baby Driver. To refuse to watch it due to the presence of Kevin Spacey is to stick two fingers up at the huge amount of work Edgar Wright put into realising this glorious vision where driving, walking, talking, shooting and fighting is done to the sound of music. It’s a marvel and to dismiss it due to Spacey’s involvement feels somehow disingenuous.

Then there are other times where it is impossible to turn a blind eye. Last Tango in Paris, for example. The infamous butter-as-lube anal sex scene was allegedly sprung on poor Maria Schneider without her knowledge. While they didn’t have sex for real, she still suffered the indignity of having Brando smear butter around her arse and writhe about on top of her. What you’re seeing in that scene is a genuine sexual assault. Brando and director Bernardo Bertolucci claimed the pursuit of authenticity to justify their decision, as if Schneider would not be able to act the scene and the reality gives it a truer feel. Turns out Schneider never really recovered from the ordeal and for their ‘art’ Brando and Bertolucci ruined a career and a life. Sali Hughes wrote a much more eloquent article (linked above), but my sentiment is much the same as hers: fuck that. Shit like this is why I hope the #MeToo movement burns all the rot from Hollywood (and every industry) where men abuse their power over women. The excuse ‘but it’s art’ washes not at all.

Then there’s Woody Allen. You can’t separate Woody Allen from a Woody Allen film. The same is true of Roman Polanski. I suppose there is the possibility that Allen didn’t sexually assault a seven year old (and there’s the rub – as it can’t be proved, who gets the benefit of the doubt? The men so you can continue to enjoy their films? The girls/women because fuck me if there’s one thing victims of sexual assault need it’s to be trusted and supported?). But…what if he did? There are some Woody Allen films I love, and actors and actresses I love are still falling over themselves to be in his films. But I don’t know now if I can (or should) bring myself to watch them. To do so feels too much like supporting his alleged actions and the rancid system that exists to protect and support him and others like him. While Allen continues to deny, Polanski, on the other hand, admitted in court to anally raping a 13 year old, so for me there's little left to justify continuing to watch and enjoy, much less agree to perform in, his films. Yet people do. Because it's art.

I confess I find myself in a troubled quandary. The law, quite correctly, states innocent until proven guilty. But sexual assault, especially if committed years ago, is nigh-on impossible to prove. Shouldn’t some of these men be in prison by now? Does wealth or a reputation for being a good actor or director really put you above the law? It fucking shouldn’t and that’s the truth. At the very least it should signal an end to their career, shouldn’t it? Allen and Polanski have escaped the fate that has justifiably befallen Weinstein and Spacey, but I don’t think I can find it within me to continue to be objective to their work, to turn a blind eye to the actions of which they are accused.

What a bloody mess.