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The discussion over whether Roman Polanski’s artistry and his own personal suffering should mitigate the fact that he raped a 13-year-old is strangely similar to the discussion of the life of Ted Kennedy. At the time of Kennedy’s death, there were appalling comments that his accomplishments as a legislator and his personal tragedies made up for the fact that he left Mary Jo Kopechne to suffocate alone in a car when he drove it off a bridge. Why is there an impulse to excuse a crime just because the perpetrator has suffered in his own life, or has extraordinary professional achievements?
Photograph of Ted Kennedy by Evan Agostini/Getty.
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Jess, you're right, this admission by prosecutor David Wells that he lied in the Roman Polanski case is insane. Unless I'm missing something, the whole basis for dismissing the rape charges against Polanski just collapsed. When the director was arrested last week, I assumed he'd spend a week or two in prison and head on home. Now there's a slam-dunk way for him to get three years without the rape charges.
Marcia Clark (I haven't heard that name in a while) lays it out in the Daily Beast as she breaks the news that Wells lied. David Wells was a bystander prosecutor in L.A. at the time Polanski was charged, though not the lawyer who handled the director's case. In 2008, Wells told the maker of the documentary about Polanski that back in 1977 he'd had a private tete a tete with the judge in the case, Laurence Rittenband, about how to send Polanski back to prison. At that point, Rittenband had already accepted a plea bargain sentencing Polanski to 90 days for diagnostic testing. The communication between Wells and Rittenband would have been improper, because the parties to the case weren't there. Judges don't have to accept plea bargains because prosecutors ask them to. They absolutely have the authority not to. But judges aren't supposed to send people back to prison after they've accepted a plea bargain and a punishment has been served—that's like double jeopardy for sentencing. So this story was supposed to be grounds for dismissing the case against Polanski. His lawyers argued that after the documentary came out and the new judge on the case seemed ready to go for it, if Polanski would just show up in his courtroom. Rittenband is dead and couldn't defend himself.
But now Wells says that what really happened is that he simply brought a newspaper photo to Rittenband's bailiff that showed Polanski out and about in less than six weeks. When Rittenband saw the picture he got mad and said he was sending Polanski to state prison. Polanski found out and fled. Nothing improper on the judge's part here. Could Rittenband really have sent Polanski back to prison? Clark says no, and I think she's right. Not without getting Polanski to withdraw the plea bargain, anyway. But the judge didn't actually do anything to sentence Polanksi to more time, so this point just hurts Polanski more, because he left the country without putting Rittenband's threat to the test.
The LAT's Jack Leonard says there's more to the judicial misconduct allegations Polanski's lawyers made against Rittenband. But they seem to all be about the plea bargain and supposed bias against Polanski. What bias, based on what, other than Wells' lie? And now the D.A.'s office can ask to withdraw the plea bargain because Polanski fled. Plus he's facing three years, separate from the rape charges, for failing to appear in court. Which he certainly did not.
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Abigail, who among us doesn’t love hope and redemption in our feature length films, as well as our Internet shorts starring hilarious locally-grown comediennes? But if we're allowing that Juno and Knocked Up both end on a hopeful and redemptive note, (Juno ends with Ellen Page and Michael Cera singing a duet with the lyrics, “Squinched up your face and did a dance/ Shook a little turdlet from the bottom of your pants" and Knocked Up with Heigl’s character locked into a union with a man she doesn’t even like), I don’t see any reason why Obvious Child, Gillian Robespierre’s funny movie about a date in an abortion clinic is any less satisfying on that front. The hope of the film is that unplanned pregnancies happen and, gasp, they don’t irrevocably ruin lives.
The trouble with your characterization of Donna is that it seems like unless she was a nun you would characterize her as a narcissistic party-loving twentysomething. This is an Internet short, not an Oscar nominated film, so perhaps I wasn’t expecting as much character development as you were. To me, Donna seemed more like an average girl rather than a vodka-downing succubus. We’re introduced to her trying on a matronly turtleneck to wear to dinner at her boyfriend's Grandma's house. After he breaks up with her at the vintage store, her friend takes her to a bar for a drink. She gets drunk and goes home with someone, and since we’re told she’s just gotten out of a two-year relationship, I get the impression this isn’t a habit for her. They use a condom, and she leaves in the morning. Stop me at the point this narrative makes it seem like she’s a “self-absorbed partier.” Because I just don’t see it.
The condom fails, and she goes to get an abortion. Donna does what many of us do when life deals us a shitty hand—she handles it with humor. Juno handles her pregnancy the same way. And if anything, being able to see the light in a craptastic situation is a sign of maturity and self-possession. It seems like the only thing separating your diverging judgment of Donna and Juno is that one chose abortion and one didn’t.
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I love the brilliant opening scene of Gillian Robespierre's short film, Obvious Child, starring SNL's newest cast member Jenny Slate. Nothing screams "hipster" like breaking up in a New York thrift store, half-buried in a turtleneck. Genius.
But as far as message goes, I felt like this short film fell flat. Its explicit purpose is to preach the pro-choice counterpoint to the anti-abortion undercurrent so winningly portrayed in films like Juno and Knocked Up. I was unswayed. I can't help wanting a little hope and redemption in my entertainment (not to mention real life). That's why the plots of all of the recent pregnant-mama films resonate: Selfish, naive young people get pregnant and decide to stop living entirely for themselves and take responsibility for their actions. And we cheer for them, because we want their fictional careless escapades to be redeemed by some warm-hearted selflessness.
I can hear the criticism piling up already. "But it's not responsible to get pregnant! Abortion is the responsible thing to do, unless you're the privileged daughter of a well-known politician!" That's certainly an argument that has a lot of traction in our society today. But for me the most poignant line of Obvious Child was when leading-lady Donna, who fits the classic selfish and naive stereotype to a tee, tells her mom over the phone, "I'm going to have an abortion today." Her mother’s calm, scripted voice doesn't waver with the slightest bit of emotion, and soothingly assures her, "Well, you know, that's probably the best thing to do. You're so young. You have your whole life ahead of you." Except, from what I can tell, Donna is a self-absorbed partier in her late 20s or early 30s, prone to one-night stands and brainless conversations with her best gal pal. If I had to flash-forward to a Donna in 20 years, I feel like I'd imagine her living the same old self-absorbed way, only with more wrinkles. All of which is to say, a little dose of reality might do her some serious good.
There's a lot happening on the political level regarding abortion these days—a lot of scientific questions, economic questions, and moral questions being debated and legislated on. The latest Gallup poll indicated that 51 percent of Americans consider themselves to be pro-life. After watching Obvious Child, I feel pretty confident that until the pro-choice movement finds some heroines that have a little more heart, most of us will take Juno over Donna any day.
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Today's New York Times has an article about running with a jogging stroller. And guess what? It's about ... running with a jogging stroller. When I clicked on Baby Runs With a Fast Crowd, I expected something like the usual not so subtle advice/criticism that forms the basis of most parenting writing. Something more like yesterday's "Talking on Your Cell Phone Means You Are Not Bonding With Your Baby", or the extremely popular "Letting Your Child Walk Instead of Driving Her Everywhere Because You Have a Job or Life Is Putting Her in Danger." (Full disclosure: I altered those article titles just a little to reflect how they triggered my personal anxieties.) I expected "How Sitting in a Jog Stroller Makes Baby Lonely and Sad," or "Why Napping in a Stroller Is Not Good for Baby Even if the Run Saves Your Health and Sanity."
Instead, I found an article about running, as an activity performed with your baby in a jogging stroller. About the techniques for doing it safely—safely for the adult runner, not the child passenger. About how marathon runners and more casual joggers benefit from training with a stroller, and how proper use of the stroller can improve your running when the stroller is absent. The kids? Mentioned only in passing. This was an article about life as a parent that was, for once, really just about life. As a parent.
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In the documentary Roman Polanski: Wanted and Desired, Polanski's prosecutor David Wells says that he improperly discussed the director's case with Judge Laurence Rittenbrand 30 years ago. Now he's saying that's all a lie. According to the Los Angeles Times, in the film Wells "claimed that he suggested a way that the judge could sentence the director to prison by sending him to Chino State Prison for a 90-day 'diagnostic testing,' despite a probation officer’s recommendation that Polanski serve no time behind bars."
Now Wells is telling Marcia Clark at the Daily Beast, "I lied. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I did. The director of the documentary told me it would never air in the States. I thought it made a better story if I said I’d told the judge what to do." As I noted in my piece about the Polanski case, the director's lawyers were trying to use Wells' comments, and Rittenbrand's supposed actions in response to them, to get the case dropped earlier this year. And so this is further proof that like I said, what seems to have gotten Polanski in trouble is his celebrity hubris, not the D.A.'s meddling or judicial misconduct. Judge Rittenbrand (who has since died and so couldn't defend himself when Wells smeared him in the film) saw photos of Polanski cavorting with young women at an Oktoberfest before his 90-day psychiatric evaluation, and felt that Polanski was making a fool of him and the judicial system.
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When confronted with abortion oppponents who demand that any health care reform bill should explicitly exclude abortion coverage—which would mean that somewhere between half and 87 percent of insurance companies who cover it would have to stop doing so—I have one simple question to ask them: If the Democrats conceded to your demands and stripped 87 percent of women who are currently covered of their abortion coverage, would you support health care reform? So far, I have received nothing but crickets in return, which is unsurprising. Outside of a few otherwise progressive Catholic organizations, most abortion opponents are dialed into the larger right-wing agenda, which is far from "pro-life," especially when it comes to making sure actual people don't die of preventable causes due to lack of insurance.
It's something to keep in mind when looking at all the strife over abortion coverage during the health care reform debates. Abortion was introduced into the debate mainly as a distraction from the issues at hand, because health care opponents would rather debate the topic "Careless Sluts vs. Good Women" than "Hard-Working Americans vs. Sociopathic Insurance Companies." And if you were them, wouldn't you? And shame on the more conservative Democrats who are letting this distraction technique influence their votes on whether or not to reform the health care system.
As Emily noted yesterday, the one drawback to this approach might be that it pushes Olympia Snowe to side with Democrats more than she'd usually prefer. Indeed, the longer the abortion debate portion of this madness goes on, the harder it is to ignore the fact that abortion opponents have peculiar opinions about women's psychology, and Sen. Snowe is not amused. Orrin Hatch had the nerve to introduce a bill forcing women to purchase a separate insurance coverage for abortion. From this, we can gather that Sen. Hatch believes that women generally plan on having abortions, and also that women are by and large so stupid as to not realize that it will cost you more to pay $20 a month for the 40 years you're fertile than come up with the $500 to cover an abortion should you ever need one.
Luckily, the amendment was voted down with Sen. Snowe's help and her annoyed statements reminding her male colleagues that abortion is not something women generally plan on having in the future. Between this and the obnoxious attempts by health care opponents to deny that maternity care benefits should be included in general health care coverage, apparently on the grounds that men don't give birth, the argument for having more women in politics makes itself.
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Recently, the AP released a story about Savile Row custom suitmakers—despite the economy, business is thriving. Jeez, I thought, wouldn’t it be nice if there was a Savette Row, a street where women could go for bespoke dress services?
I always wondered why it was that women's dressmaking establishments—the equivalent of men's bespoke tailors—bit the dust. Until the late 1880s, this was the only way a woman could obtain clothes, unless she sewed them herself or hired a woman to sew for her. Women weren’t forced to contend with designers. Women could design clothing according to their tastes, preferences, budgets and—you guessed it—body types. No designer labels, no sizes, and no squeezing in to unflattering trends (low-ride pants and billowy tops, for my short and curvy body type).
Ready-to-wear is convenient and cheap. I've wandered in to H&M too many times to grab something I needed to wear that night. I love that I can throw just about everything into the washing machine and dryer—and return items if I experience buyer's remorse. But what would the Savile Row world of inconvenience open up for us? If we collaborated on dresses, went to multiple fittings, and waited seven weeks for a dress—a dress that couldn't be returned because it was made for a single body according to an individual's taste—would we be less concerned about plus-sized models and Who What Wear, and more focused on pleasing our mind's eye and cultivating a style that befits our individual bodies instead of bitching about the standard 20-year-old ectomorphs and girl clothes, or designer clothes that are drop-dead gorgeous but too expensive for even profligate middle-class women to own?
Just wondering.
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