Hello! And greetings! From Death Flu Island! Death Flu Island, in case you are wondering, is my very special post-holiday locale, where I attempt blog posts whilst unable to maintain consciousness. But, you know, I imagine lots of us have had long weekends, and are getting a little too used to being lazy, and need some harsh, cold Existential Horror to get us going again.
The decision to free Roman Polanski is a wise decision. It honors the people who took it. It shows that the arguments developed by the movie director’s partisans — including those published on the French review’s website of La Règle du Jeu — have finally been fruitful.
Except that those arguments were for letting him go, and not pursuing due process of law in his case, and this is a bail agreement.
Nothing will repair the days he has spent in prison. Nothing will erase the immense, unbelievable injustice he has been subjected to. Nothing will take away the hysteria of those ones who have never stopped pouring contempt upon him, hounding him through hatred and asking for his punishment as if we were living the darkest and most ferocious hours of the McCarthy era all over again.
But you would seem to be making an argument for letting him go, and not pursuing due process of law in his case, and this is, again, a bail agreement.
At least the nightmare is about to end. At least the end of the hell is looming.
Right. Because – even though you didn’t think any of Polanski’s supporters would be so openly, unreflectively awful as to advocate letting the confessed rapist just run away again – that is what Bernard-Henri Levy apparently perceives to be the purpose of the bail agreement. Because, if Levy conceived of this agreement as an opportunity for Polanski to serve house arrest until extradition, there’s not a chance that he would be so very celebratory. Everything in this statement indicates that he believes Polanski is going to turn fugitive, again. And he’s happy about that. He just won’t say it aloud. He’ll say everything but.
Now that we’re apparently done pouring our contempt on Polanski, can we pour it on Bernard? Because it doesn’t seem to be slowing R-Pol’s roll much, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned from hearing Bernard-Henri Levy whinge on and on and on over a period of months about how terrible it is to be a rich and famous and acclaimed and popular director who occasionally gets snubbed at cocktail parties, it’s that he views the dislike of others (this dislike being based, of course, on one’s feelings about child rape) as The Very Worst Thing That Can Ever Happen Ever. Which, you know. Isn’t exactly a disincentive.