WEINSTEIN STAIN

Whatsamatter, Hav, you lose something? Oh yeah,
your career!

As Harvey Weinstein was led on his perp waddle last week, I could almost see the spirits of his forebears -- Darryl F. Zanuck, Louis B. Mayer, Harry Cohn, and Jack Warner -- shaking their heads in disappointment. Schmuck, why'd you have to give us such a bad name?

I can't remember the last time people took such great satisfaction in seeing a guy getting the cuffs slapped on him. Had I known it was going to happen that morning, I'd have gone down there myself just to yell, "Hey Harvey, you fat bastard, you're going to be someone's bitch soon!"

The Godfatso.

Yet even better than the news video was Jane Rosenberg's courtroom sketch, which managed to capture the very essence of Weinstein better than any digital camera. No longer was this the powerful movie mogul responsible for 81 Academy Awards over 26 years. Instead, he was a homely, bloated, badly-dressed Mafia don-wannabe wondering why his mouthpiece allowed things to get this far.

Said mouthpiece, Benjamin Brafman, clearly knew what he was up against. But even those leagle fleagles you see in old Warner Brothers movies try to polish things up by dropping phrases like "habeas corpus". The best Brafman could pull out of his bag of tricks was, "Mr. Weinstein did not invent the casting couch in Hollywood."

And I thought the "Twinkie defense" was a work of genius! What Brafman did in those 10 simple words was update a child's whiney defense after throwing a rock through a neighbor's window: Darryl did it first! Think of the different ways Brafman's strategy could have been used in the past:

"Your honor, my client, Lee Harvey Oswald, did not invent political assassinations in Washington."

"Your honor, my client, Osama bin-Laden, did not invent terrorism in the U.S."

"Your honor, my client, Kevin Spacey, did not invent child molestation in New York." (Wait, maybe he did try that one.)

Still better was the rush of admissions of cluelessness from people in the movie industry. Celebrities who could never wait to share their personal pieces of wisdom were suddenly doing their best Butterfly McQueen impression: I don't know nothin' 'bout Harvey rapin' starlets.

Other than missiles.

Question to anyone who ever worked in an office situation: Was there any "secret" you weren't privy to at one time or another over the course of your career? Maybe at GE progress was their most important product. But as for every other company, it has been and always will be gossip, which is the truth that the boss doesn't want you to know.

Show business is one big office, with gossip spoken louder and faster than any Quentin Tarantino dialogue. Celebrities' proud willful ignorance in l'affaire Harvey is more likely a case of implausible deniability:

"Hey, did you hear what Harvey Wein--"

"GODDAMMIT, DON'T TELL ME!"

A regular Don Juan.

It's what I always have to explain to chaste movie fans who are stunned that their heroes are actually monstrously human: These people are paid to act, remember? 

And that explains everything regarding Harvey Weinstein. He knew their jobs, paychecks, Oscars, and Golden Globes depended on their silence -- even if they never worked for him. 

Yes, it's a dirty business, filled with people ready to compromise whatever soul they have left in order to keep getting paid $30-million to wear make-up, costumes, and speak someone else's words.  And I know what my response would have been if I were in their place: 

GODDAMMIT, DON'T TELL ME!

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