But, seriously: R.L. Simon on the utter sadness and desolation one feels about the Polanski case.
For my money, The Pianist was the best movie made about the holocaust; my husband tells me I cried more during it than I did during Schindler’s List. More, even, than I did during The Passion of the Christ.
Like I said, it can be quite a short stay. But at some point the man has to be in something that can be called a “prison.” Something other than the prison of his days, or the desert of his heart, or anything metaphorical like that. It must have bars on the windows, or wire on the perimeter. Otherwise, we are saying that young girls mean nothing to us as a society, and are simply prey for powerful men.
Please, please do not say that. Please. Europe is lost, but America has yet to say that. Please do not say it.