We know that accused-child-molester Woody Allen is lying when he says he's worked
Last edited Mon Sep 16, 2019, 11:33 AM - Edit history (2)
with hundreds of actresses and not one of them has accused him of anything.
Allen worked with actress Mia Farrow many times. And Farrow and her daughter Dylan have accused him of abusing Dylan at the age of 7; and journalist Ronan Farrow believes his sister.
This story came up again last week when Scarlett Johansson announced that she believed Allen. But Scarlet wasn't 7 when she worked with Allen, so his behavior with her isn't relevant. OTOH, the judge who heard all the evidence in the child custody dispute believed Dylan and her mother. I know who I believe.
And yes, I know, he's innocent -- in the eyes of the law -- till proven guilty in a court. But there's never going to be a court trial, so we are free to make up our own minds on this.
ON EDIT: I'm adding the 33 page document signed by the judge who heard the child custody case, for anyone who's not familiar with it -- this first link: (He did not find evidence of coaching, and he took testimony from other people who were in the house that day. This was written, of course, when Dylan was just a child. Decades later she came forward to tell her story of what happened to her. The judge had made the right decision in protecting her.)
https://www.huffpost.com/entry/heres-the-1993-woody-alle_b_4746866
https://abcnews.go.com/GMA/Culture/woody-allen-defends-work-light-metoo-renewed-backlash/story?id=65434187
IN HER OWN WORDS, DYLAN'S ACCOUNT IN THE NYT:
https://kristof.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/02/01/an-open-letter-from-dylan-farrow/
What’s your favorite Woody Allen movie? Before you answer, you should know: when I was seven years old, Woody Allen took me by the hand and led me into a dim, closet-like attic on the second floor of our house. He told me to lay on my stomach and play with my brother’s electric train set. Then he sexually assaulted me. He talked to me while he did it, whispering that I was a good girl, that this was our secret, promising that we’d go to Paris and I’d be a star in his movies. I remember staring at that toy train, focusing on it as it traveled in its circle around the attic. To this day, I find it difficult to look at toy trains.
For as long as I could remember, my father had been doing things to me that I didn’t like. I didn’t like how often he would take me away from my mom, siblings and friends to be alone with him. I didn’t like it when he would stick his thumb in my mouth. I didn’t like it when I had to get in bed with him under the sheets when he was in his underwear. I didn’t like it when he would place his head in my naked lap and breathe in and breathe out. I would hide under beds or lock myself in the bathroom to avoid these encounters, but he always found me. These things happened so often, so routinely, so skillfully hidden from a mother that would have protected me had she known, that I thought it was normal. I thought this was how fathers doted on their daughters. But what he did to me in the attic felt different. I couldn’t keep the secret anymore.
When I asked my mother if her dad did to her what Woody Allen did to me, I honestly did not know the answer. I also didn’t know the firestorm it would trigger. I didn’t know that my father would use his sexual relationship with my sister to cover up the abuse he inflicted on me. I didn’t know that he would accuse my mother of planting the abuse in my head and call her a liar for defending me. I didn’t know that I would be made to recount my story over and over again, to doctor after doctor, pushed to see if I’d admit I was lying as part of a legal battle I couldn’t possibly understand. At one point, my mother sat me down and told me that I wouldn’t be in trouble if I was lying – that I could take it all back. I couldn’t. It was all true. But sexual abuse claims against the powerful stall more easily. There were experts willing to attack my credibility. There were doctors willing to gaslight an abused child.
After a custody hearing denied my father visitation rights, my mother declined to pursue criminal charges, despite findings of probable cause by the State of Connecticut – due to, in the words of the prosecutor, the fragility of the “child victim.” Woody Allen was never convicted of any crime. That he got away with what he did to me haunted me as I grew up. I was stricken with guilt that I had allowed him to be near other little girls. I was terrified of being touched by men. I developed an eating disorder. I began cutting myself. That torment was made worse by Hollywood. All but a precious few (my heroes) turned a blind eye. Most found it easier to accept the ambiguity, to say, “who can say what happened,” to pretend that nothing was wrong. Actors praised him at awards shows. Networks put him on TV. Critics put him in magazines. Each time I saw my abuser’s face – on a poster, on a t-shirt, on television – I could only hide my panic until I found a place to be alone and fall apart.
SNIP
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