The Law Is The Law

There’s nothing to write about so I have to write about Roman Polanski and why everyone in the world justifiably hates the French and Hollywood. He was forty-three. She was thirteen. He gave her were Quaaludes and alcohol. He asked her for sexual favors. She said no, even in her altered state. He ignored her repeatedly. He accepted a plea bargain to a lesser charge offered by the Los Angeles district attorney because he, the D.A. wanted to spare the victim from having to relive the whole thing. This was in 1977 before C.S.I. The judge was going to renege on the deal (Ed. maybe because she was THIRTEEN!). Polanski panicked and fled to France because he was afraid of the ninety days he was going to have to serve. France is where he’s spent the last thirty years in exile, even though he’s French (Ed. Is he Br’er Rabbit?). He was arrested in Switzerland last week and is facing extradition to back to Los Angeles. Movie stars and directors are signing petitions and writing op-eds protesting his oppression and the corruption of the California justice system and the fecklessness of the Swiss government. The guy made – makes – movies, and he’s lived a life as a millionaire in Paris. He’s never denied any of the facts of the night in question, but he and his friends think he shouldn’t have to pay for what he did, and that this whole thing is an inconvenience that’s interrupting his work. I might be willing to see him as the quirky artist if the words “drugged thirteen year old girl raped and sodomized” couldn’t be used to accurately describe what happened, and if his sentence was almost certainly going to be suspended. He’s a movie director. He serves no real beneficial purpose to the planet. He was arrogant thirty years ago when he brutalized a little girl, and he doesn’t seem to have learned anything. He feels that the he’s the victim. I hope he dies a slow, painful death.