University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses

Inseparable: a manifesto for the separation of art and artist

(USC Thesis Other)

Inseparable: a manifesto for the separation of art and artist

PDF

Download a page range

Download transcript

Copy asset link

Request this asset

Transcript (if available)

Content

INSEPARABLE:
A MANIFESTO FOR THE SEPARATION OF ART AND ARTIST

by

SOPHIE-MARIE PRIME

A Thesis Presented to the
FACULTY OF THE USC GRADUATE SCHOOL
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
MASTER OF ARTS (SPECIALIZED JOURNALISM: THE ARTS)

May 2019

Copyright Sophie-Marie Prime 2019
2
Acknowledgements

Thank you to my thesis chair, Willa Seidenberg, for spending hours breaking down the
central question of this thesis with me, in all its nuances and challenges, across several hour-long
meetings in her office this year. To Howard Rosenberg, for his no-nonsense approach to teaching
and criticism, and unending creativity. And to Sasha Anawalt, without whom I quite literally
would not be here, as she created the ever-necessary Arts Journalism master’s program at
Annenberg and saw a place for me in it. The three of you never questioned the importance of this
project, nor my stance on it. Each of you pushed my point of view in ways that were productive
and invaluable. Thank you for everything.
Thank you also to my mentors at Rotten Tomatoes: Julio, Jenny, Joel, Debbie, Jean, and
Jacqueline. You all shared your expertise with me this year and trusted me with some truly
exciting projects. Thank you especially to Debbie, Jean, Jenny, and Jacqueline because, as the
saying goes, “You can’t be what you can’t see.” I watched all of you love your work, rigorously
pursue excellence, and be powerful leaders in your fields. Thank you for trusting and believing
in me.
This thesis and the years’ worth of work that lead up to it would not have been possible
without the following folks as well: Dr. Ed Timke, my undergrad thesis advisor whose continued
lessons in empathy inspire me and my work; Emily Carpenter, whose spunk and authenticity
taught me to grow my critical voice; Shannon O’Hara, writing partner extraordinaire; Imad
Pasha, who asked me to write about A Ghost Story in the first place, then spent days editing the
result with me, line-by-line. I would be remiss in leaving out my college roommates — Luna,
Victoria, and Margie — who heard me work through these essays for the past five years and
supported me every step of the way, even from across the state, the country, and the globe. To
my parents: None of this would be possible without the two of you.
Last but not least, my partner in love and life, Adrian Vega Albela Osorio. You read the
many drafts of each of these essays. You see the toll this work takes. You challenge me and
make me smile every day; it’s the greatest gift to grow by your side.

3
Table of Contents

Acknowledgements 2
Abstract 4
The Specter of Casey Affleck’s Past Ruined A Ghost Story for Me 5
Inseparable: An Introduction 9
Arts Journalists Must Stand with Survivors 18
Manhattan: Sinister self-reflection, not “sparkling romance” 22
Our Own Personal Reckonings 28
References and Resources 31

4
Abstract

The following essays aim to answer a pertinent cultural question with sweeping
implications: Should we separate artists (and their actions) from their art?
Drawing on the momentum of the #MeToo movement, which provides solidarity for
survivors of sexual violence, and Time’s Up, an organization designed to uplift intersectional
representation in Hollywood and cultivate a legal defense fund for survivors looking to report,
these essays argue that we can no longer afford to separate abusive artists from their art. To do so
is to risk normalizing sexual violence and misogyny, and that is a risk we can no longer afford to
tolerate.
This collection of essays is a work of cultural criticism. Some serve as case studies in
how film and cultural critics can write about a work of art created by a person facing allegations
of misconduct, sexual assault, or other forms of violence and predatory behavior. These essays
place particular responsibility on critics to lead critical discourse surrounding the separation of
art and artist.
This collection calls upon critics to, at a minimum, acknowledge allegations, settlements,
and guilty findings in their reviews of movies, television series, albums, and other works created
by artists accused of abuse. Additionally, these essays encourage fans to critically engage with
art they have strong relationships with, to perhaps reflect on their favorite artists, movies, music,
etc. In other words, sometimes works we love are created by people whose behavior has been
harmful, and this essay collection asks that we all examine how a celebration of those works
might erase, and thus contribute to, narratives of violence.
5
The Specter of Casey Affleck’s Past Ruined A Ghost Story for Me
The following essay was originally published in 2017.

When watching movies, we bring much more than popcorn and M&M’s — we bring our
experiences, both consciously and subconsciously, and they inform our perception of each film
we watch. David Lowery’s A Ghost Story is built on the premise of this intimate cinematic
exchange that allows us to project our personal memories and fears onto the characters in the
film. This is precisely the type of emotional and spiritual engagement I crave from movies.
For this reason, I was worried that I’d love A Ghost Story so much that I would forget
about Casey Affleck. I was sure that once his face was covered by a comical sheet — a
children’s symbol masking adults’ anxieties about life’s ephemerality — I would forget. But I
could not forget, because I was too damn angry.
I was angry because in 2010, two women filed suits against Affleck for sexual
harassment. (The cases were settled out of court the same year.) I was angry because this year, he
won a Golden Globe and an Academy Award for Manchester by the Sea — just one year after 50
survivors shared the Oscars stage with Lady Gaga as she performed “Til It Happens to You.” I
was angry last month, because A Ghost Story premiered and Casey Affleck ruined it for me. I am
still angry.
Anyone who asks what sexual harassment has to do with Affleck’s career as an actor or
filmmaker would do well to recognize that the lawsuits surrounded actions while he was working
on the set of I’m Still Here — his coworkers filed the lawsuits against him. It is also important to
note that regardless of the circumstance in which it takes place, abuse is abuse. Period.
6
In this case, it has everything to do with Affleck’s career, because he’s a public figure, an
artist and an actor. When he was winning a Golden Globe and an Oscar, and while trailers for A
Ghost Story trickled down my timelines, his face felt and now feels inescapable once again. This
omnipresent glorification inevitably means that his behavior is a model for the public. When
abusive actions are condoned or overlooked, it teaches people that abuse is acceptable.
As much as I wanted to let myself become fully immersed in the introspective
existentialism of A Ghost Story, I couldn’t. Not once. I could not forget that the man looming
over the past, present and future of the film is a man who was celebrated while lawsuits alleging
abuse by him were being publicized. I could not forget, even when he looked lovingly at Rooney
Mara. There was something sinister about his gaze — and it wasn’t just his voiceless ghostliness.
I could not forget while they cuddled. Instead, I shuddered, because I remembered the
lawsuit alleging that Affleck had entered the bedroom of his cinematographer and climbed into
bed with her and “caressed” her without her consent while she slept, until she awoke, “repulsed”
to find him next to her in only a T-shirt and underwear. I could not forget these things — no
matter how much I wanted to love the film. I could not avoid cringing each time he loomed over
Mara, even though their characters were in love and she was grieving.
His presence is so palpable that it can’t be bridled by a sheet. I could not forget what rage
or vengeance can look like when mixed with sexism and unbridled power. In a film so
preoccupied with entrapment, I could not forget. We should not forget.
We should not forget, because every time an abuser is given a position of power or is not
held accountable, their actions are excused. It’s not okay because he makes good movies. It’s not
okay because he’s supposedly an “exceptional” actor. The point is that every time we excuse or
erase sexual violence, we allow it to be perpetuated. The point is that we should stay angry.
7
We should stay angry enough to not forgive Woody Allen because of his nostalgic
auteurism. We should stay angry enough to not defend Bill Cosby because he was an iconic
father figure of 1980s television. We should stay angry enough to not forget that director Roman
Polanski won an Academy Award after he was convicted of statutory rape. We should stay angry
enough to not allow ourselves or each other to separate someone’s career from the lives and
careers they imperil with their abusive actions.
As arts journalists, we face this moral dilemma each time we are tasked with reviewing a
piece of art that involves someone like Casey Affleck: Do we include these misdeeds in our
reviews? An overwhelming majority of outlets do not address them at all, and, if they do address
them, it’s as an aside or as a footnote in a separate article entirely. Our own review of A Ghost
Story did not mention the lawsuits. Reviewers justify this choice as an attempt to examine solely
the films themselves, rather than the context or politics surrounding them.
But neither film nor art exists in a vacuum.
Journalists, arts writers included, have a responsibility to inform the public. Arts
journalists have an added responsibility of guiding readers’ critical consumption of media. This
includes recognizing the influence that artists (actors, directors, screenwriters, etc.) have on the
films they create and the space in which they are created. We cannot separate the art from the
artist, nor the artist from their past (or present) actions. Once concerning revelations enter public
discourse, we become remiss if we exclude them from our reviews, because to do so is to ignore
the impact that they have on audiences.
Reviewers must address this impact in their reviews. We must build and maintain a
discourse that rejects the erasure of violence — sexual violence in particular — and rejects the
8
idea that artists can get away with causing harm simply because they are talented or revered in
their industry.

This essay was originally published in The Daily Californian on August 21, 2017. It has been
republished here with permission from the editor. The original version includes hyperlinked
attribution.
9
Inseparable: An Introduction

We have been socialized to respect fear more than our own needs for language and definition,
and while we wait in silence for that final luxury of fearlessness, the weight of that silence will
choke us… And there are so many silences to be broken.
— Audre Lorde (Sister, Outsider)

I was eighteen years old and a freshman in college the first time I saw a Woody Allen
movie. I was taking my first film class and decided to write a paper on Allen’s authorship, using
Annie Hall as a case study. Before beginning research on the paper, our ideas had to be approved
by the class instructor.
Do you know about Woody Allen? The instructor asked me, a concerned look on his face.
Thinking he was questioning my ability to write a paper about the authorship of a director
with whom I was unfamiliar, I told him that I thought my lack of familiarity with Allen’s
filmography meant I wouldn’t be swayed by fannish affinity or, conversely, some kind of
frustration with his other movies. The instructor told me to keep my research academic, and not
to let anything else I read about Allen affect my interpretation of Annie Hall. He called this
“objectivity.” So, I wrote about the way Allen seemed to obsessively control everything about
Annie Hall as its writer, director, and co-star. I focused on the way the movie’s captions and
animated scenes broke with traditional conventions.
After I submitted the paper, the instructor handed me an article titled: “An Open Letter
from Dylan Farrow,” in which Farrow alleges that Woody Allen sexually molested her when she
was seven years old.
10
Oh, I thought, that’s what he meant by “did I know?”
I felt guilty, and angry. Guilty for having enjoyed Annie Hall, even though I wasn’t aware
of the charges before writing the essay. Angry at the grader for letting me sing Allen’s praises,
while knowing there was more to the story and actively hiding it from me. I don’t mean to
suggest that I stayed angry with my instructor; on the contrary, the assignment taught me an
incredibly valuable lesson: I could no longer separate artists from their art because doing so
made me feel complicit in the silencing of their victims. I didn’t feel I could endorse Annie Hall
without endorsing its director, too.
My reaction to Farrow’s allegation against Allen was contextualized by my environment,
my experiences. I arrived at UC Berkeley as an undergrad in 2014, just after more than 31
current and former students filed Title IX complaints against the university for failing to handle
their sexual assault claims adequately (Los Angeles Times). I crewed my college’s production of
The Vagina Monologues and worked on the outskirts of Title IX advocacy, too. Throughout the
four years I spent at Berkeley, several professors and administrators fell from public grace
following sexual misconduct allegations. I say “public” grace because, despite the fact that
campus investigations validated claims of sexual misconduct, many still held paid positions on
campus and some even got to keep teaching or retain their on-campus offices. Campus sexual
assault was an active and important conversation on my campus. The conversations and protests
I witnessed made me recognize the ways that institutions and individuals can reinforce systemic
oppression and make it difficult to end cycles of sexual violence.
Perhaps some of the guilt I felt after writing about Annie Hall stuck with me, because I
wanted to make sure that no other film fan felt the same betrayal I did when I learned of
Farrow’s allegations, or that Allen began his relationship with Soon-Yi Preven when she was
11
barely of-age, or that the actress who plays his love interest in Manhattan was sixteen and
uncomfortable kissing him in the movie. By lauding Woody Allen’s directorial skills in my
Annie Hall essay without acknowledging the allegations against him, I was neglecting the
already-marginalized voice of his accuser and perpetuating the idea that his artistic legacy could
overshadow his problematic behavior with young women.
At the time that I wrote the paper on Annie Hall, I didn’t know about these allegations —
but once I learned, my relationship with Allen’s movies changed.
In fact, my approach to watching and writing about movies transformed indelibly.
ᐧ ᐧ ᐧ ᐧ ᐧ
Just a couple of years later, the Harvey Weinstein stories broke.
It was 2017; I was an arts reporter and critic for my college paper. In the previous
summer, I’d written about my experience watching A Ghost Story, and how I couldn’t separate
sexual harassment allegations against Casey Affleck from his performance in the movie.
It felt like, and still feels like, rape culture is inescapable. In her essay collection title Men
Explain Things to Me, author and journalist Rebecca Solnit defines rape culture as “an
environment in which rape is prevalent and in which sexual violence against women is
normalized and excused in the media and popular culture” (130). The act of looking away, of
ignoring or trivializing gender-based violence, whether it be sexual assault or inappropriate
comments, is an act of privilege — one not afforded to women, non-binary folks, trans people,
and people of color.
The Weinstein story, and several others that followed, ushered in a widespread cultural
reckoning. Survivors’ stories forced us to confront institutionalized sexism and violence which
had heretofore been invisible to some, acceptable to others, and taken as par for the course by
12
many. For anti-sexual violence activists, this reckoning has been a long time coming; it is a
visible example of the work they’ve been doing to change cultural understandings of consent,
imbalances of power, and systemic misogyny — which, as many intersectional feminist activists
have reminded us over and over again, all intersect with various forms of identity differently.
This year, the debut of documentaries Leaving Neverland and Surviving R. Kelly — each
featuring first-person accounts of alleged abuse by Michael Jackson and R. Kelly, respectively
— have foregrounded a major question for fans of music, movies, and art everywhere: Should we
separate the artist and the art?
Television news outlets often play Kelly’s hits while airing stories about the charges
against him. This year, R. Kelly was charged with 10 counts of sexual abuse and “three of the
four victims in the indictment were under the age of 17 at the time of the alleged incidents,”
according to NPR. Previously, he was accused of video-recording sex with underage girls and
sex with minors, but he was acquitted on all counts in 2008 (NPR). Following this year’s charges
against him and the release of the documentary series Surviving R. Kelly, activists, survivors, and
allies are calling for audiences, radio stations, and other outlets to “Mute R. Kelly” — in other
words, stop listening to and playing his music.
The renewed focus on allegations against Michael Jackson, which date back to the 1990s
(The New York Times), has fans asking if they are still “allowed” to listen to Jackson’s music.
While some fans have certainly come to Jackson’s defense following the release of Finding
Neverland on HBO, many are finding their relationships with the musician’s legacy challenged,
even destroyed, by the resurfaced allegations.
IndieWire film critic David Ehrlich tweeted that after watching Leaving Neverland,
“you’ll never want to listen to Michael Jackson again.” Fiction author Sarah Dessen tweeted, “I
13
grew up with Thriller in middle school: I love the music. But I think I’m done now. I can’t.”
Writer-director Karen Barclay suggested she could separate the art from the artist, “but if they’re
using their money & power to further their crimes, we need to stop from doing that.” On a
personal level, it can be difficult to enjoy an artist’s work after learning of allegations against
them, Barclay continued: “You can’t help it, everything about them starts revolting you.”
One of the many lessons one can learn from Leaving Neverland emerges when Michael
Jackson’s accusers, Wade Robson and James Safechuck, describe the ways they were groomed
— not just by Jackson, but by a culture that idolized him.
ᐧ ᐧ ᐧ ᐧ ᐧ
Since this reckoning began in 2017, many of us have asked what we can do.
How we can uplift those voices who have historically been erased? How we can best
support survivors, and eradicate the stigma they’re met with when they come forward with their
experiences? What can we do, as critics and audience-members, to best ensure that such
reckonings are no longer needed, because sexual violence is no longer acceptable nor
commonplace in our culture — inside or outside of Hollywood? How much weight should we
give to a work’s artistic merit, as opposed to its social or moral merit; are the two in opposition at
times, or do they always work in tandem?
The following essays aim to answer some of those questions by arguing that we no longer
separate artists from their art when they are accused or found guilty of violent or abusive actions.
My approach is from the first-person, because I don’t want to claim experiences or
subjectivities that are not my own. My opinions are not neutral, they are deeply informed by my
experiences as an activist, an academic, and a critic; my use of the first person aims to
acknowledge my subjectivity. Our responses to art are not monolithic. I’m not meaning to imply
14
that everyone has or should have averse reactions to texts involving potentially problematic or
abusive artists (although some people may feel this way). You might feel guilty for loving works
in spite of the allegations faced by their creators. You might reject those works entirely, or want
to reconcile your continued love of them, even while disavowing the person who made them.
You might identify with some of the experiences articulated here and disidentify with others. We
must all remain open to each other’s experiences, specifically our interpretations of the question
of whether or not artists can be separated from their art.
We must move away from saying artists’ actions don’t matter when we evaluate their
work, or that abuse is merely a symptom of a creative mind (it is not, it is abuse), and move
towards accountability and justice. When we allow abusive artists to continue working in spite of
evidence that they’re causing harm to those around them, we tell certain groups — survivors of
all genders, ethnicities, and orientations — that their stories matter less.
That stifles creativity far more than accountability ever could.
I do not aim suggest that critics, fans or audiences should consider all aspects of artists'
lives when measuring their work. I respect privacy and appreciate the harm that can be done to
artists when their personal lives become criteria in judging their creative output. Alexis Coe’s No
Man’s Land podcast demonstrates the damage that can be done if we use an artists’ mental health
to define their work, for example. Privacy is important, and so is an acknowledgement the harm
that such a practice as no longer separating art and artist might do to certain artists, their work,
and us as audiences — specifically artists who’ve been persecuted for their sexualities and
mental health diagnoses. Additionally, it can be counterproductive and harmful to encourage
survivors to come forward (publicly or privately) with their experiences of abuse; we are not
entitled to hearing or watching survivors relive their trauma so that we as a culture can make
15
examples of their abusers. However, when allegations are already made public — and
particularly when the alleged abuse took place during the production of an artwork — it is
imperative that audiences and critics address the repercussions and broader implications for those
abusive actions. My aim isn’t censorship, it’s accountability.
It’s not just about any one artist or group of artists. It’s about more than just the
Weinsteins, the Allens, the Michael Jacksons, R. Kellys, and Bryan Singers — all of whom have
been accused of various forms of sexual abuse — though these individuals are certainly part of
the larger equation. This moment is about recognizing the ways that our culture privileges
celebrities and artists — especially white men. We sometimes make excuses for them. We
sometimes say the value of their work outweighs the suffering of their victims. Additionally, the
accusations that have come to light or resurfaced in the past few years demonstrate how certain
forms of abuse are considered par-for-the course in major industries — specifically Hollywood,
where images and bodies are already so heavily sexualized and commodified, particularly those
of women and young people.
ᐧ ᐧ ᐧ ᐧ ᐧ
Audiences may not be in control of hiring practices, but we play a big role in determining
which movies become box office hits and which songs make it to the top of the Billboard 100.
Critics are also not in control of who gets hired when, but their voices are amplified in artistic
communities. Stakeholders and decision-makers certainly care where audiences spend their
money, but they also take note of critical reactions and acclaim. And critics advise us on which
albums, movies, art exhibits, and more are worth our time; they serve as expert liaisons between
industries and audiences. Criticism teaches cultural literacy, and in an ever-more saturated media
environment, we need that literacy now more than ever. When reviewing work from an artist
16
accused, or found guilty, of abuse — particularly sexual violence — critics should take care to
acknowledge the impact that celebrating the artist’s work might have on the wider culture.
It isn’t always easy to know how to include such information in one’s writing or review.
It can be incredibly challenging to respond emotionally to the work in one sense and to the artist
in another. What’s important is that we don’t leave the information, allegations, and history out
of a review simply because it is challenging to write or talk about. Critics willing to accept this
challenge will shape how audiences and fans engage in conversations of separating art and artist
as well.
In his recent review of Leaving Neverland, The New York Times’ critic Wesley Morris
writes in the first person to explain his relationship to Michael Jackson’s music, his legacy.
Morris explains the starry-eyed gaze he’d previously cast upon Jackson caused him to overlook
the allegations of sexual abuse against him. He places the film in the exact appropriate context:
an ethical dilemma, an emotionally turbulent one. He writes, “[I]f being entertained means
setting aside skepticism, logic and possibly a sense of morality, then what a magic trick we had
in Michael Jackson.” Morris’s review of Leaving Neverland is empathetic, and honest in its
acknowledgements of the internal turmoil one faces when reckoning with allegations against an
incredibly influential icon. He walks the reader through the his experience of watching the
documentary as a life-long Michael Jackson fan. He acknowledges the difficulty of erasing
Jackson from our cultural memory — an impossibility, given that Jackson’s influence can be
heard everywhere in popular music, from Bruno Mars to Ariana Grande. Even more than Woody
Allen’s visual style or Harvey Weinstein’s decision-making, Jackson’s music is nearly
ubiquitous.
17
Do we just forget his existence, his influence? Or do we confront the reality: our culture’s
complicity in his god-like status, even after the allegations surfaced in the ‘90s, our potential
feelings of guilt, and how Jackson’s star power protected him instead of the children he allegedly
abused for years? We have no choice but to reckon with the latter.
As the following essays argue, the erasure or acceptance of abusive actions normalizes
violence, normalizes mistreatment and victimization. When we’re provided with evidence that
suggests a person we revere has done something not just unsavory, but deeply harmful, it hurts
our culture at-large. It hurts us even more if we continue to celebrate the works of abusive artists,
while excusing, hiding, or separating their abusive actions.
If we ignore the allegations against Jackson, Kelly, Weinstein, Singer, and others — or,
conversely, if we accept them without recognizing the larger implications of their alleged actions
— we risk perpetuating a sexually-violent culture.
The stakes are high. And given the visibility of these cases, and the proliferative power of
the #MeToo movement, we can no longer wait to address them.
18
Arts Journalists Must Stand with Survivors
The following essay was originally published in 2018.

It’s been almost a year since The New York Times and The New Yorker broke their
Weinstein stories, ushering in something of a revolution. In the months that followed, hundreds
of survivors — from Hollywood and beyond — came forward to tell their stories with the
hashtag #MeToo. These stories shed light on a pervasive culture of abuse and misogyny in the
entertainment industry — and in society at-large. What was once considered par for the course
even five years ago finally started being recognized as unacceptable and abhorrent.
But how much has changed since this time last year?
Just this weekend, Brett Kavanaugh was confirmed to the Supreme Court, despite
allegations that he sexually assaulted two women: Dr. Christine Blasey Ford in high school and
Deborah Ramirez in college. Dr. Ford testified in front of the Senate Judiciary committee nearly
two weeks ago, following a series of events bearing eerie resemblance to Anita Hill’s testimony
twenty-seven years ago that Justice Clarence Thomas — who was yet to be confirmed then —
had sexually harassed her while they worked together.
Responses to Ford’s and Kavanaugh’s testimonies show that, despite the year of
#MeToo, women with credible accusations are still subjected to vicious public scrutiny. Even as
the hashtag #BelieveSurvivors trends on Twitter, much of this country is failing to do just that.
Even after Ford bravely detailed her trauma in front of the senate and the nation, even after some
of Kavanaugh’s former classmates came forward claiming he mischaracterized himself at the
senate hearing, and even after women screamed their stories at a senator who scurried to an
elevator to avoid them, Kavanaugh was still confirmed.
19
Our senators failed to hold Kavanaugh accountable.
There has been very little accountability for abusers in Hollywood, too. Les Moonves and
Roy Price may have stepped down from CBS and Amazon respectively, but Louis C.K.’s
attempt to make a comeback was met with applause in New York a couple months ago. In 2010,
two women — a producer and a cinematographer — who worked on Casey Affleck’s I’m Still
Here accused the actor-director of sexually harassing them during the film’s production. The
claims were settled out of court, but in 2017, Affleck won a Golden Globe and an Academy
Award. Bill Cosby, who was sentenced to three-to-ten years in prison last month, was the “first
celebrity of the #MeToo era” to be held legally accountable for assault. But allegations against
him go back decades. It took more than fifty years and dozens of women coming forward before
justice was served.
This lack of accountability is partly rooted in our cultural tendency to separate artists
from their harmful actions — or worse, to make excuses for artists’ abuses precisely because
they are artists. We love their movies, their books, and their jokes. We grew up with them. We
identify with them.
But it’s time for us to empathize and identify with those who have been harmed and
silenced by these abusive artists.
In order to do justice to these individuals, we must not only #BelieveSurvivors, but also
be willing to take responsibility for changing the culture that makes sexual violence and
harassment so commonplace. #MeToo is not a moment — it’s a movement, and it’s still
unfolding. Time is not yet up. But it could be soon.
Now is the time for journalists and critics to do their part. We are responsible for
fostering a critical discourse surrounding art. In order to fulfill that responsibility, we must
20
address allegations and take into account how abuses of power influence the production and
reception of art.
As an arts journalist and critic, I believe that I have a responsibility to acknowledge when
abuse has occurred during the creation of a work of art, regardless of the quality of the end-
product. To ignore such abuse erases survivors’ narratives and tells abusers that their actions are
justifiable if they produce “great” art. It perpetuates the idea that hostile work environments are
the cost of making art — and that should never, ever be the case.
I refuse to continue to live and work in a culture in which survivors (of any gender) are
silenced so that their abuser can flourish professionally, or where men’s careers are valued over
women’s. I will not stay silent as survivors, particularly women, are told that harassment is
simply the cost of going to college, of getting a job, of existing in public spaces or private
relationships.
I also believe that I have a responsibility to inform readers where their money is going
when they buy tickets to films, concerts, shows, etc. or when they purchase a work of art.
Readers should have the agency to decide which artists they want to financially endorse and
what the consequences of that endorsement may be.
I believe that, as arts journalists, we must consider whose voices we are amplifying when
we cover an artist or their work. If we write about a piece of art without acknowledging the harm
caused by it, we are cementing abusive artists’ status and validating their power in their industry,
which allows them greater leverage to quash the voices of their victims.
This year, much like Hollywood, USC has seen powerful figures ousted for committing
or abetting sexual violence. After hundreds of students accused former campus gynecologist
George Tyndall of sexual misconduct, our former president, Max Nikias, was also was
21
effectively forced to step down for protecting Tyndall instead of students. It’s imperative that we
not forget why Nikias was successfully removed: Members of the USC community, namely
senior faculty, spoke up and refused to tolerate a president who knowingly allowed an abuser to
thrive on our campus.
Ours is a campus of artists and academics, filmmakers and game-changers. We have a
hand — and a stake — in determining whether or not our generation will tolerate another
Weinstein or another Cosby. As arts journalists serving the USC community and beyond, we can
help change conversations around sexual violence from ones of silence and excuse, to ones of
healing, justice, and intolerance for abuse. That starts by standing with survivors.

This essay was originally published in Ampersand, an online magazine run by the Specialized
Journalism (The Arts) Master’s candidates at the University of Southern California, on October
8, 2018. It was awarded second place in the “Best Commentary/Critique: Student Journalism”
category at the National Arts and Entertainment Journalism Awards in 2018. It has been
republished here with permission from the editor. The original version includes hyperlinked
attribution.

22
Manhattan: Sinister self-reflection, not “sparkling romance”

Manhattan is Certified Fresh at 95% on Rotten Tomatoes. That means that out of 63
reviews, most of which are contemporary to the film’s release, only three were negative — and
only one of those three found the film problematic and controversial. The other two just found it
boring or unoriginal.
One critic celebrated Manhattan as “one of the greatest films ever made.” Another said it
“might be the most charming portrait of New York ever immortalized on film.” A Spanish critic
for El País called writer-director and star Woody Allen a “genius,” and Manhattan “una obra de
rara perfección” — a rare work of perfection.
In 1979, The Washington Post called it “a sparkling romance about the overspecialized
anxieties of over-intellectualized New Yorkers.”
Truthfully, I don’t believe these reviews are entirely wrong. Manhattan’s famous opening
images of the city skyline to the tune of Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” marvelously and
quintessentially capture New York City. Lights flutter across skyscrapers like a corps de ballet.
Green oases tucked within bustling streets still glow, even in black and white.
But Manhattan is neither perfect nor charming, and it’s certainly not a “sparkling
romance” — even though its writer, director, and star did make all three of the movie’s main
female characters take turns sleeping with him. We are told that Meryl Streep, Diane Keaton, and
then-16-year-old Mariel Hemingway’s characters are each brilliant, creative women. But we see
very little of their complexities, presumably because Allen didn’t want to distract us with such
details; he was more interested in how their actions and existences impacted his character, Isaac.
23
Streep is Jill, Isaac’s ex-wife, who flattened his ego by leaving him for a woman. Keaton
is Mary, mistress to Isaac’s friend, Yale, until Yale wants nothing to do with her and “passes her
off” to Isaac. But Isaac is too busy re-inflating his ego with the admiration of a high schooler:
Hemingway’s Tracy.
These are, of course, oversimplifications of these women’s characters, but in Manhattan,
the viewer is made to understand them primarily as they pertain to Isaac’s existential crisis (i.e.
his ego). In one scene, Isaac lies next to Keaton in bed and encourages her to “hit the lights” after
she spends approximately two minutes telling him how “different” he is from other men, how
he’s “someone [she] could have children with.”
Manhattan’s most blatant underbelly is also its author’s: a near-middle-aged man’s
inappropriate relationship with a much younger woman — in this movie’s case, an under-aged
girl.
The film romanticizes New York City’s crowded streets and sour-perfumed air (and
erases the ethnic and class differences inherent to urban environments), but that hardly compares
to the way it idealizes Isaac’s relationship with Tracy. It’s played as mutually beneficial. He
challenges and validates her intellectually. She admires him, smiles to him sweetly, and
presumably calms his insecurities — age, awkwardness, inapproachability, self-centeredness.
Their relationship reflects a cultural ecosystem which has persisted for decades: wherein
women, particularly young women, are taught to seek the approval of older men. Whether it be
to validate our competence, to compensate for the “boyishness” of men our age (because, you
know, boys will be boys, they just “take longer to mature”), or serve as a professional advocate
— women are taught that we’ll be taken more seriously if men can vouch for us.
24
Rather than challenge this phenomenon, Manhattan perpetuates it — worse even, the
movie romanticizes it.
Such is the power dynamic that makes Isaac and Tracy’s on-screen relationship
inappropriate. Their power is unequal by nearly every measure. He is experienced in ways that
she is not. He is independent in ways that she is not. He is known in ways that she is not, as
demonstrated by the parties he attends with artists and intellectuals — Jill, Mary, and Yale
among them. His gender, education, age, and familiarity with the city all give him more cultural
capital than Tracy can possibly have at this point in her life; she’s only 16.
This is not to discount the desires or emotions of teenage girls, but rather to acknowledge
the responsibility of the person with more power — in this case, the adult man — to rebuff her
interest in him. When we’re introduced to Isaac and Tracy’s relationship in Manhattan, they’re
already together. So we can presume he either failed to reject her advances or worse, he pursued
her.
That a man who could ostensibly give his attention to anyone has chosen to focus on her
is precisely what makes Isaac attractive to Tracy, both in Manhattan’s logic and in the logic of
misogyny. I’m not sorry to inform him that, contrary to what his ego may tell him, Isaac is not
the greatest thing since sliced bread, nor is he entitled to Tracy’s affection. But Tracy is coming
of age in a culture that tells her she should want Isaac’s attention.
This patriarchal logic is obviously harmful, insidiously so. It persists in offices where
gatekeepers of glass ceilings are men (in 2018, just 24 of Fortune’s list of 500 CEOs were
women). It persists in research labs where postdocs need legacy advisors, many of whom are still
men, to affirm their dissertations, and are thus discouraged from reporting inappropriate behavior
25
for fear of their own excommunication from the field. It persists on movie sets where rising stars
on and off camera need producers, directors, agents, and other actors to vouch for them.
In short: Patriarchy persists in every industry where “who you know matters.”
And so, when Woody Allen repeatedly invited Mariel Hemingway the actress on a trip to
Paris with him, just after her eighteenth birthday, she probably knew what such a proposition
could mean for her career (W Magazine). Still, she rejected Allen’s invitation to travel to Paris
when she couldn’t confirm that she’d have her own hotel room during their stay (Vanity Fair).
“In real life, Woody and I didn’t have a romantic relationship, but he did make me feel
incredibly intelligent,” Hemingway told W Magazine in 2011. “He took me to museums and
concerts. He gave me his wisdom, and you can see that in the character.”
Mariel Hemingway’s career as an actress continued after her experiences with Woody
Allen. But his pursuit of her at her parent’s home after having worked with her on Manhattan
demonstrates precisely why, in the case of Woody Allen, it’s impossible to separate this
controversial piece of art from its artist — precisely because allegations against Allen reflect
imbalances of power laid bare in Manhattan: decades of difference in age, vast differences in
social capital, and thus his greater ability to shape the narratives around him.
There are several questions at play here, and two arise most prominently: Should we
separate art from artist? Is artistic merit enough to save a work that’s morally reprehensible or
potentially harmful? Their answers require nuance and are not necessarily uniform, but as they
pertain to Manhattan, I would argue they are: “no” and “no.”
Because some allegations against Woody Allen aren’t entirely external to Manhattan, it’s
impossible to separate the artist from his art.

26
The artistic merit of the film — however stunning its opening sequence may be, and
however telling his musings on New York intellectualism may seem — cannot “save” it from his
misdeeds or his misogyny.
Lucky for us, Manhattan’s title sequence is not irreplaceable. The early morning
newspaper deliveries in Sweet Smell of Success, and friends hanging out their windows to smoke
on fire escapes in Frances Ha capture New York convention just as compellingly. Both can be
enjoyed without the moral maze or guilt of watching a Woody Allen movie — particularly
Manhattan.
Allen’s all-encompassing authorship (Manhattan isn’t the only film he starred in, wrote,
and directed) lends him ultimate control over the narratives of his movies. On top of that, the fact
that he’s regarded a legend in his industry has allowed him to evade answering to the accusations
against him off-screen, and the representations he’s perpetuated on-screen. Some might scoff at
Tracy and Isaac’s relationship, but not enough to bring down the movie’s score or to prevent
them from being able to enjoy his other lauded classics, like Annie Hall — whose titular
character could easily be considered the original Manic Pixie Dream Girl.
Does that mean we shouldn’t watch Manhattan? My answer is that if someone isn’t
convinced not to watch Woody Allen movies after learning of the allegations against him — not
just from Mariel Hemingway, but from Dylan Farrow (Los Angeles Times) — then there’s very
little I can do to persuade them otherwise. Rather than ignoring Woody Allen’s authorial legacy
or pretending Manhattan doesn’t exist (or The Birth of a Nation, or Triumph of the Will, for that
matter), we should instead acknowledge the role that patriarchy and mechanisms of power have
played in Hollywood, and the film industry at-large. To continue celebrating the artistic merits of
27
discriminatory films, or their problematic makers, is to perpetuate the idea that one can evade
accountability for their actions if they’re only talented enough.

28
Our Own Personal Reckonings

Win or lose, we win by raising the issues.
— Charlotta Bass

It is appropriate to take care when discussing works like Woody Allen’s Manhattan. It is
appropriate to ask whether we should celebrate the film, despite its harmful representations of
women and the allegations against Allen. When future critics and audiences are discerning which
films they will accept into the cannon, we should all be less tolerant of abuse.
At some point, we might reach a time for conversations around redemption. While it’s
not my aim to make an argument about redeeming abusive artists or their art, I will say this: In
order for someone to be redeemed, we must first acknowledge wrongdoing and the broad-
sweeping repercussions of their actions. I don’t think we’re at the point where we recognize the
deep trauma caused by misogyny or sexual violence yet — but we are getting there. Once our
culture and our justice system, perhaps by then a restorative one, recognizes the roles that power,
psychology and trauma play in sexual violence, we can begin to talk about cultural redemption.
Perhaps if we’d reckoned with the allegations against Woody Allen earlier, then
Bohemian Rhapsody — a film directed by Bryan Singer after he faced allegations of sexually
molesting underage boys while directing earlier movies, as reported by The Atlantic — would
not have been nominated for so many Oscars this year. Rather than “editing Bryan Singer out of
its awards narrative,” as David Ehrlich so brilliantly described it on Twitter, the film’s
stakeholders wouldn’t have hired Singer to direct at all (@davidehrlich). And maybe, after he
was hired (and later fired, ostensibly for occasionally failing to show up to the set, according to
29
The Hollywood Reporter), the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences would not have
celebrated the film because it would have been inappropriate to celebrate a film made by an
alleged abuser.
Perhaps, too, if we had reckoned with the question of separating artists from their art
earlier — in the wake of accusations against Roman Polanski, Michael Jackson, Woody Allen,
Casey Affleck, or Bill Cosby, for example — we would be closer to defining practices for how
to handle critically acclaimed creatives accused of inappropriate or abusive behavior.
We must stop making excuses and face the challenge of holding our artists, and in some
cases our idols, accountable. Doing so is emotionally taxing and requires reflection. It means
examining our own experiences and relationships: Am I as comfortable listening to Michael
Jackson’s music now, as I was before I learned that he allegedly groomed prepubescent boys for
sexual abuse for years? What does my endorsement of A Ghost Story tell the survivors in my
life? If I write off allegations of sexual harassment on movie sets and in recording studios, am I
more or less likely to believe and empathize with someone who comes to me with an allegation
in my workplace, my classroom, or my personal life? Such questions are often uncomfortable.
To paraphrase Rebecca Solnit: Sometimes it’s more important to talk about violence and abuse
than to protect our comfort levels (Men Explain Things to Me, 125).
Handling the separation of art and artist on a case-by-case basis is not necessarily a bad
thing. On the contrary, these conflicts and their resolutions require nuance, including: noting the
space between accusations and guilty findings (while not using either category as a means to
trivialize), recognizing the justice system’s historical inability to account for the specificity of
sexual violence allegations (such as how evidence of coercion is not always physical or
tangible), acknowledging the deep influence some artists have on their industry or their fans, or
30
repeated allegations versus standalone ones, among many others. But too often, the “case-by-
case basis” approach is used to dismiss allegations or make excuses as to why this or that artist
isn’t like the others. The difference between cases is not all or nothing, but one of degree — it’s
not about giving some well-behaving artists free passes and condemning others. Instead, it’s
about recognizing that creatives, celebrities, and artists must be accountable for their actions
regardless of their cultural significance, regardless of their accolades.
Rather than sit in cognitive dissonance, that sense of shock that someone so talented and
beloved could commit such actions as decades-long sexual abuse or sexually inappropriate
behavior at work, we must recon with our collective trauma. Whether as fans, critics, or both, we
must address our feelings of discomfort, anger, or guilt that arise as a result of allegations against
our icons, not matter how integral they are to the canon.
31
References and Resources:
A Ghost Story, dir. David Lowery, performed by Casey Affleck and Rooney Mara (2017; A24,
2017), film.
Arnold, Gary. “Woody Allen's Comic High: A Delightful and Deluxe Rhapsody of Wry
Romance.” The Washington Post. May 2, 1979.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/lifestyle/1979/05/02/woody-allens-comic-high-
a-delightful-and-deluxe-rhapsody-of-wry-romance/8a898cfb-83ea-428f-881f-
85c825d4d9b5/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.44c48ef5b7ce.
Barclay, Karen. Twitter Post. March 8, 2019, 5:30 AM.
https://twitter.com/ReallyMustYou/status/1104011524392345601.
Bradley, Laura. “Louis C.K. Welcomed Back to Comedy Club with Open Arms.” Vanity Fair.
August 28, 2018. https://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2018/08/louis-ck-comedy-
cellar-performance-aziz-ansari-comeback-metoo#~o.
Chang, Justin. “Sundance Film Review: ‘Manchester by the Sea’.” Variety. January 23, 2016.
https://variety.com/2016/film/festivals/manchester-by-the-sea-review-sundance-casey-
affleck-1201687256/.
“Charlotta Bass.” California Museum. http://www.californiamuseum.org/inductee/charlotta-bass.
Accessed March 9, 2019.
Child, Ben. “Casey Affleck settles sexual harassment lawsuits.” September 15, 2010.
https://www.theguardian.com/film/2010/sep/15/casey-affleck-settles-harassment-lawsuits
Coe, Alexis. “Sylvia Plath.” No Man’s Land by The Wing. November 21, 2019.
https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/pineapple-street-media/no-mans-land-by-the-
wing/e/57344580.
32
Cummins, Anna and Judy Oehling. “Roman Polanski loses bid to resolve 40-year-old rape case.”
CNN. April 4, 2017. https://www.cnn.com/2017/04/04/us/roman-polanski-plea-rejected-
court/index.html.
Delbyck, Cole. “Lady Gaga Made Hollywood Cry With Powerful Oscars Performance.”
Huffington Post. February 28, 2016. https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/lady-gaga-
performance-til-it-happens-to-you-
oscars_us_56d335b5e4b0bf0dab32767b?ir=Entertainment§ion=us_entertainment&u
tm_hp_ref=entertainment.
Dessen, Sarah. Twitter Post. March 8, 2019, 4:20 AM.
https://twitter.com/sarahdessen/status/1103993974430330880.
Dockterman, Eliana. “Casey Affleck Just Addressed #MeToo and the Harassment Allegations
Against Him. Here's What to Know About the Controversy.” TIME. August 9, 2018.
http://time.com/4645846/what-to-know-about-the-casey-affleck-oscar-controversy/.
Eckardt, Stephanie. “Mariel Hemingway, Then 16, Was Terrified of Her Kissing Scene with
Woody Allen in Manhattan.” W Magazine. January 5, 2018.
https://www.wmagazine.com/story/mariel-hemingway-woody-allen-teenage-girls-first-
kiss.
Edelstein, David. “ ‘A Ghost Story’ Has a Ghost, But Maybe Not a Story.” Vulture. July 7, 2017.
https://www.vulture.com/2017/07/a-ghost-story-movie-review-pretentious-but-
lovable.html.
Ehrlich, David. Twitter Post. January 25, 2019, 3:31 PM.
https://twitter.com/davidehrlich/status/1088942519084212224.
Farrow, Dylan. “An Open Letter From Dylan Farrow.” The New York Times. February 1, 2014.
33
https://kristof.blogs.nytimes.com/2014/02/01/an-open-letter-from-dylan-farrow/.
Farrow, Ronan. “As Leslie Moonves Negotiates His Exit from CBS, Six Women Raise New
Assault and Harassment Claims.” The New Yorker. September 9, 2018.
https://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/as-leslie-moonves-negotiates-his-exit-
from-cbs-women-raise-new-assault-and-harassment-claims.
Farrow, Ronan. “From Aggressive Overtures to Sexual Assault: Harvey Weinstein’s Accusers
Tell Their Stories.” The New Yorker. October 23, 2017.
https://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/from-aggressive-overtures-to-sexual-
assault-harvey-weinsteins-accusers-tell-their-stories.
Farrow, Ronan and Jane Mayer. “A Sexual-Misconduct Allegation Against the Supreme Court
Nominee Brett Kavanaugh Stirs Tension Among Democrats in Congress.” The New
Yorker. September 14, 2018. https://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/a-sexual-
misconduct-allegation-against-the-supreme-court-nominee-brett-kavanaugh-stirs-tension-
among-democrats-in-congress.
Farrow, Ronan and Jane Mayer. “Senate Democrats Investigate a New Allegation of Sexual
Misconduct, from Brett Kavanaugh’s College Years.” The New Yorker. September 23,
2018. https://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/senate-democrats-investigate-a-new-
allegation-of-sexual-misconduct-from-the-supreme-court-nominee-brett-kavanaughs-
college-years-deborah-ramirez.
Farrow, Ronan and Jane Mayer. “The F.B.I. Probe Ignored Testimonies from Former Classmates
of Kavanaugh.” The New Yorker. October 3, 2018.
https://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/will-the-fbi-ignore-testimonies-from-
kavanaughs-former-classmates.
34
Felch, Jason. “31 women accuse UC Berkeley of botching sexual assault investigations.” Los
Angeles Times. February 26, 2014. http://articles.latimes.com/2014/feb/26/local/la-me-
berkeley-assaults-20140227.
French, Alex and Maximillian Potter. “ ‘Nobody Is Going to Believe You’: The Bohemian
Rhapsody director Bryan Singer has been trailed by accusations of sexual misconduct for
20 years. Here, his alleged victims tell their stories.” The Atlantic. Published online
January 23, 2019 and printed in March 2019.
https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2019/03/bryan-singers-accusers-speak-
out/580462/.
Garcia-Roberts, Gus. “Sex assault accusations against ex-APA agent renew concerns about
alleged abuse of minors in Hollywood.” Los Angeles Times. November 3, 2017.
https://www.latimes.com/business/hollywood/la-fi-ct-grasham-apa-allegations-
20171103-story.html.
Ghorayshi, Azeen. “Here’s How Geoff Marcy's Sexual Harassment Went On For Decades.”
BuzzFeed News. November 11, 2015.
https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/azeenghorayshi/how-harassment-stays-secret.
Henneberger, Melinda. “Connecticut Prosecutor Won't File Charges Against Woody Allen.” The
New York Times. September 25, 1993.
https://www.nytimes.com/1993/09/25/nyregion/connecticut-prosecutor-won-t-file-
charges-against-woody-allen.html.
Jarvie, Jenny. “Led away in handcuffs, Bill Cosby will serve three to 10 years in prison for
sexual assault.” Los Angeles Times. September 25, 2018.
https://www.latimes.com/nation/la-na-bill-cosby-sentenced-20180925-story.html.
35
Kantor, Jodi and Megan Twohey. “Harvey Weinstein Paid Off Sexual Harassment Accusers for
Decades.” The New York Times. October 5, 2017.
https://www.nytimes.com/2017/10/05/us/harvey-weinstein-harassment-allegations.html. \
Koblin, John. “Roy Price Quits Amazon Studios After Sexual Harassment Claim.” The New York
Times. October 17, 2017. https://www.nytimes.com/2017/10/17/business/media/roy-
price-amazon-studios.html.
Lane, Anthony. “ ‘A Ghost Story’ and ‘Okja’.” The New Yorker. July 10 and 17, 2017.
https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2017/07/10/a-ghost-story-and-okja.
Leaving Neverland, dir. Dan Reed, performed by James Safechuck and Wade Robson (2019;
HBO and Channel 4, 2019), film.
Levenson, Eric and Aaron Cooper. “Bill Cosby guilty on all three counts in indecent assault
trial.” CNN. April 26, 2018. https://www.cnn.com/2018/04/26/us/bill-cosby-
trial/index.html.
Lorde, Audre. “The Transformation of Silence and Language into Action.” Sister Outsider:
Essays and Speeches (New York: Crossing Press, 1984, 2007). 44.
Manhattan, dir. Woody Allen, performed by Woody Allen, Diane Keaton, Mariel Hemingway,
Meryl Streep (1979; United Artists, 2012), film.
“Manhattan - Movie Reviews.” Rotten Tomatoes.
https://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/manhattan/reviews/?sort=. Accessed January 25,
2019 and March 9, 2019.
Marks, Peter. “Allen Loses to Farrow in Bitter Custody Battle.” The New York Times (Book
36
Archive). June 8, 1993.
https://archive.nytimes.com/www.nytimes.com/books/97/02/23/reviews/farrow-
verdict.html.
Morris, Wesley. “Michael Jackson Cast a Spell. Leaving Neverland Breaks It.” The New York
Times. February 28, 2019. https://www.nytimes.com/2019/02/28/arts/television/michael-
jackson-leaving-neverland.html.
“No Statute of Limitations for Polanski.” CBS News. September 28, 2009.
https://www.cbsnews.com/news/no-statute-of-limitations-for-polanski/.
Paul, Deanna. “Cosby accuser’s powerful message for Christine Blasey Ford.” The Washington
Post. September 23, 2018. https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2018/09/23/cosby-
accusers-powerful-message-christine-blasey-
ford/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.62ec7f0d2d5c.
Pasha, Imad. “ ‘A Ghost Story’ paints visceral picture of grief with simple visuals, in masterful
subversion of expectations.” The Daily Californian. July 13, 2017.
http://www.dailycal.org/2017/07/13/ghost-story-rooney-mara-casey-affleck-david-
lowery/.
Prime, Sophie-Marie. “The specter of Casey Affleck’s past ruined ‘A Ghost Story’ for me.” The
Daily Californian. August 21, 2017. http://www.dailycal.org/2017/08/21/casey-affleck-
ghost-story-sexual-violence/.
Puente, Maria. “Two more Cosby accusers go public as total nears 60.” USA Today. October 23,
2015. https://www.usatoday.com/story/life/people/2015/10/23/two-more-cosby-accusers-
go-public-total-nears-60/74477228/.
Pugh, Lindsay. “The Asshole That Laid the Golden Eggs (Yes, I'm Talking about Woody
37
Allen).” Women in Revolt. January 21, 2018. https://www.womaninrevolt.com/the-
asshole-that-laid-the-golden-eggs/.
“R. Kelly Protest.” #MuteRKelly. 2019. https://www.muterkelly.org/. Accessed March 1, 2019.
Rooney, David. “ ‘A Ghost Story’: Film Review | Sundance 2017.” The Hollywood Reporter.
January 22, 2017. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/review/a-ghost-story-review-
965994.
Ryan, Harriet and Matt Hamilton. “Former USC gynecologist accused of sexually abusing
students agrees to suspension of medical license.” Los Angeles Times. August 29, 2018.
https://www.latimes.com/local/lanow/la-me-usc-gynecologist-suspension-20180829-
story.html.
Scott, A.O. “Review: ‘A Ghost Story’ Has a Sensitive Specter With Time on His Hands.” The
New York Times. July 5, 2017. https://www.nytimes.com/2017/07/05/movies/review-a-
ghost-story.html.
Scott, A.O. “Review: ‘Manchester by the Sea’ and the Tides of Grief.” The New York Times.
November 17, 2016. https://www.nytimes.com/2016/11/18/movies/manchester-by-the-
sea-review-kenneth-lonergan-casey-affleck.html.
Setoohdeh, Ramin. “How Casey Affleck Found the Role of a Lifetime in ‘Manchester by the
Sea’.” Variety. October 18, 2016. https://variety.com/2016/film/news/casey-affleck-
manchester-by-the-sea-1201891603/.
Sims, David. “ ‘A Ghost Story’ Is a Haunting Modern Fable.” The Atlantic. July 6, 2017.
https://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2017/07/a-ghost-story-is-a-haunting-
modern-fable/532803/.
Sims, David. “ ‘Manchester by the Sea’ Is a Stunning Meditation on Grief.” The Atlantic.
38
November 29, 2016.
https://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2016/11/manchester-by-the-sea-
review/508955/.
Sisario, Ben. “What We Know About Michael Jackson’s History of Sexual Abuse Accusations.”
The New York Times. January 31, 2019.
https://www.nytimes.com/2019/01/31/arts/music/michael-jackson-timeline-sexual-abuse-
accusations.html.
Solnit, Rebecca. Men Explain Things to Me (Chicago, IL: Haymarket Books, 2014), 125, 130.
Steinhaus, Rochelle. “Jackson settlement from 1993 allegations topped $20 million.” CNN.
Published June 16, 2004. Accessed March 9, 2019.
https://web.archive.org/web/20121007163802/http://articles.cnn.com/2004-06-
16/justice/michael.jackson_1_accuser-jackson-s-neverland-jackson-
settlement?_s=PM:LAW.
Superior Court for the State of California for the County of Los Angeles. Magdalena Gorka, an
individual; Plaintiff, v. Casey Affleck, an individual; Flemmy Productions, LLC, a
California limited liability company; and DOES 1 through 10, inclusive, Defendants.
Case No. BC441003. Los Angeles, California: ABC News. 2010.
http://abcnews.go.com/images/Entertainment/Gorka_complaint.pdf. Accessed August
2017 and March 2019.
Superior Court for the State of California for the County of Los Angeles. People of the State of
California v. Roman Raymond Polanski. Case No. A334139. Los Angeles, California:
Los Angeles Times. 2017. http://documents.latimes.com/people-california-vs-roman-
polanski/. Accessed March 2019.
39
Svrluga, Susan. “USC president steps down, effective immediately, in wake of sex-abuse
scandal.” The Washington Post. August 8, 2018.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/grade-point/wp/2018/08/08/usc-president-steps-
down-effective-immediately-in-wake-of-sex-abuse-
scandal/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.b62c90d012f9.
“Tearful woman confronts Sen. Flake on elevator.” CNN. September 28, 2019.
https://www.cnn.com/videos/politics/2018/09/28/jeff-flake-kavanaugh-confronted-by-
protesters-elevator-nr-vpx.cnn.
Trueba, Fernando. “ ‘Manhattan’, de Woody Allen, abrió el Festival de Cine de San Sebastián.”
El País. September 11, 1917.
https://elpais.com/diario/1979/09/11/cultura/305848801_850215.html.
Tsioulcas, Anastasia and Colin Dwyer. “The Allegations Against R. Kelly: An Abridged
History.” NPR. January 11, 2019. https://www.npr.org/2019/01/11/683936629/r-kelly-
allegations-an-abridged-history#release.
“Written Testimony of Dr. Christine Blasey Ford.” United States Judiciary. September 26, 2018.
https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/4945932-Ford-Written-Testimony-
Submitted-Sept-26.html#document/p1. Accessed October 2018 and March 2019.
Zarya, Valentina. “The Share of Female CEOs in the Fortune 500 Dropped by 25% in 2018.”
Fortune. May 21, 2018. http://fortune.com/2018/05/21/women-fortune-500-2018/
Zimmerman, Amy. “Casey Affleck’s Dark Secret: The Disturbing Allegations Against the Oscar
Hopeful.” November 23, 2016. https://www.thedailybeast.com/casey-afflecks-dark-
secret-the-disturbing-allegations-against-the-oscar-hopeful.
Zoller Seitz, Molly. “Manchester by the Sea.” RogerEbert.com. November 18. 2016.
40
https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/manchester-by-the-sea-2016.

Abstract (if available)

Abstract The following essays aim to answer a pertinent cultural question with sweeping implications: Should we separate artists (and their actions) from their art? ❧ Drawing on the momentum of the #MeToo movement, which provides solidarity for survivors of sexual violence, and Time’s Up, an organization designed to uplift intersectional representation in Hollywood and cultivate a legal defense fund for survivors looking to report, these essays argue that we can no longer afford to separate abusive artists from their art. To do so is to risk normalizing sexual violence and misogyny, and that is a risk we can no longer afford to tolerate. ❧ This collection of essays is a work of cultural criticism. Some serve as case studies in how film and cultural critics can write about a work of art created by a person facing allegations of misconduct, sexual assault, or other forms of violence and predatory behavior. These essays place particular responsibility on critics to lead critical discourse surrounding the separation of art and artist. ❧ This collection calls upon critics to, at a minimum, acknowledge allegations, settlements, and guilty findings in their reviews of movies, television series, albums, and other works created by artists accused of abuse. Additionally, these essays encourage fans to critically engage with art they have strong relationships with, to perhaps reflect on their favorite artists, movies, music, etc. In other words, sometimes works we love are created by people whose behavior has been harmful, and this essay collection asks that we all examine how a celebration of those works might erase, and thus contribute to, narratives of violence.

Linked assets

University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses

Conceptually similar

PDF

Cultural collisions and identity across artistic mediums

PDF

A moment, or a movement? Three women media leaders forecast the future of their industry in the #MeToo era

PDF

What happened to critical criticism? Art criticism expressing a negative opinion seems to be a dying breed, but this is how we save it from extinction – for we must

PDF

All the women in the world: an examination of the representation of women onscreen

PDF

The potential towards change: stereotypes of females in Hollywood films and the #MeToo Movement

PDF

The art of Ampersand: applying the creative process to podcasting and audio journalism

PDF

Classic films and our collective memory: the current status of preservation and availability

PDF

The drive home: a podcasting journey

PDF

Surviving in the shadows: peering into the impact of sexual violence

PDF

Music between the lines: how duality informs the artistic process and future of classical music

PDF

At home in Los Angeles

PDF

Dancing a legacy: movement in the wake of the Greensboro Massacre

PDF

Coming up babies: a critical investigation of Knocked Up, Juno, and Waitress

PDF

The reality of fiction: understanding autism through narrative films

PDF

Screenwriting in the digital age: for the first time, new technology and distribution methods give feature film writers power to make a living outside Hollywood studios

PDF

The Awareness Podcast: a look into how sports can negatively affect a student-athlete's mental health

PDF

Cause of death: AIDS, obituaries, and The New York Times

PDF

Pop-life: why art-based pop-ups are happening now in L.A.

PDF

One of us: exploring the relationship between Hollywood and disability

PDF

Finding a voice: essays and columns from the Cuban American experience

Asset Metadata

Creator Prime, Sophie-Marie (author)

Core Title Inseparable: a manifesto for the separation of art and artist

School Annenberg School for Communication

Degree Master of Arts

Degree Program Specialized Journalism (The Arts)

Publication Date 04/24/2019

Defense Date 04/24/2019

Publisher University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag #MeToo,criticism,film,film criticism,Me Too,movies,OAI-PMH Harvest,television criticism,Times Up,Time's Up,TV,TV criticism

Format application/pdf (imt)

Language English

Contributor Electronically uploaded by the author (provenance)

Advisor Seidenberg, Willa (committee chair), Anawalt, Sasha (committee member), Rosenberg, Howard (committee member)

Creator Email sophiem.prime@berkeley.edu,sophiem.prime@gmail.com

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-c89-143789

Unique identifier UC11676869

Identifier etd-PrimeSophi-7233.pdf (filename),usctheses-c89-143789 (legacy record id)

Legacy Identifier etd-PrimeSophi-7233.pdf

Dmrecord 143789

Document Type Thesis

Format application/pdf (imt)

Rights Prime, Sophie-Marie

Type texts

Source University of Southern California (contributing entity), University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses (collection)

Access Conditions The author retains rights to his/her dissertation, thesis or other graduate work according to U.S. copyright law. Electronic access is being provided by the USC Libraries in agreement with the a...

Repository Name University of Southern California Digital Library

Repository Location USC Digital Library, University of Southern California, University Park Campus MC 2810, 3434 South Grand Avenue, 2nd Floor, Los Angeles, California 90089-2810, USA