I like to think I’m a man of conviction. The kind of man who acts swiftly to right a wrong, who won’t tolerate an injustice, nor support or enable morally questionable behavior. For example, a couple of weeks ago a friend of mine alerted me that somebody had posted a racist sentiment on my Facebook wall. My justice was swift and decisive: I deleted the post and unfriended the person who posted it, despite the fact that we were former coworkers who had been friends for 20 years. My buddy who had alerted me was surprised by the speed and severity of my response. “Damn,” he observed, “KC doesn’t mess around.” I’ll admit, seeing his reaction made me feel kind of good – and maybe a little smug. Nope, I thought, KC does NOT mess around.
But here’s the thing.
Actually, the first sentence in my opening paragraph was carefully worded. And the key phrase in it is “like to think.” Because as much as I may want to pat myself on the back, the truth is that quashing a racist sentiment on social media is not a very hard thing to justify, nor is it particularly praiseworthy. I suspect most decent people wouldn’t tolerate racist language on their Facebook walls. But what about something a little less directly impactful?
I mean, this was a racist statement, and it was posted on MY wall. Clearly that was not to be tolerated. But what do I do when I find out – after the fact – that the person who wrote a song I like is a racist? Or that an actor I admire has a history of spousal abuse? Or that a novelist I enjoy actually murdered somebody? Where do I draw the line?
It’s a question that’s coming up more and more these days. In the past year, we’ve begun to see a flood of bad behavior by popular artists – particularly male artists – being exposed. The #MeToo movement is shedding some much-needed light on a long history of indefensibly bad behavior by powerful males in the arts, who have been using sex, gender and power to dominate and/or manipulate – and in some cases, flat-out ruin – careers and lives.
One by one we’re seeing artistic icons being toppled. Louis CK. Bill Cosby. Harvey Turdstein (okay, I might have gotten the spelling wrong on that one). Many of us are relishing the experience of witnessing this sea change. It’s high time, we think, as we watch Roman Polanksi ousted from the Oscars academy. Good riddance, we think, as Kevin Spacey is dropped from his TV series. Yes, it feels kind of good, a rare glimpse of karma in action.
But it also leaves each of us with a challenge. Specifically, once we’ve identified an artist as being a not-so-good person, what do we do about that artist’s body of work? Speaking only for myself, that’s why I worded my first sentence so carefully. Because as much as I may like to think I’m a man of conviction, I’m finding that sometimes… well, it’s complicated.
I mean, do I quit watching the movies Weinstein produced? Say goodbye to Shakespeare in Love, Chocolat, The King’s Speech? Wait – we’re also talking about the Lord of the Freaking RINGS trilogy? Pulp Fiction?!? Hang on – I need to think about this.
Okay, I rationalize to myself, he didn’t write those movies. He didn’t direct them, or act in them. He just produced them.
Which means… without his involvement, it’s likely that many of them would never have been made. Crap. Yeah, I’m definitely going to need to think about this.
The fine art of winging it
As I’m raising all these uncomfortable questions, it’s only fair to share with you how I’ve been answering them for myself. To put it succinctly, I’m winging it. I’m responding to some gut-level reactions, but I’ll be the first to admit, the results are uneven, and far from being codified into anything cohesive enough – or defensible enough – to advocate to others.
In some cases, the choices have been easy. For example, Louis CK and Woody Allen are now dead to me, because I feel like they flaunted their sick behavior in their own often autobiographical work. Ditto for Bill Cosby, whose TV tenure as “America’s dad” is now forever tainted for me. And it’s become hard for me to divorce Mel Gibson’s movie roles from his personal behavior (although I have to admit, I thought he kicked ass in the first Lethal Weapon movie, and he wasn’t half bad in Hamlet). So while I don’t go out of my way to watch his films, I haven’t completely banned him.
Okay, so predators, perverts and bigots (oh my!) are pretty easy for me to judge. What about misogynists? Some are easier for me to write off. Nobel laureate V.S. Naipaul lost me when he dismissed female writers as being inferior to male writers. But what about Hemingway? His treatment of women – both the fictional characters in his work and the real ones he loved, married and/or grandparented – has been the subject of much criticism. Yet I still find his work compelling, inspiring and utterly original – and something I’m not willing to stop reading.
And that raises some important questions: should I stop reading (or watching, or otherwise ingesting) the work of artists whose personal behavior is objectionable? Does it accomplish anything? Conversely, does ingesting their work implicitly mean that I support them?
Opinions on these issues vary. Author Roxane Gay believes in shutting the door on artists whose personal behavior falls short of her moral minimums. In this Marie Claire article, she does not mince words as she states, “I no longer struggle with artistic legacies. It is not difficult to dismiss the work of predators and angry men because agonizing over a predator’s legacy would mean there is some price I am willing to let victims pay for the sake of good art, when the truth is no half hour of television is so excellent that anyone’s suffering is recompense.” Gay advocates that we turn away from the work of artists who have harmed others, with this well-considered rationale:
“There are all kinds of creative people who are brilliant and original and enigmatic and capable of treating others with respect. There is no scarcity of creative genius, and that is the artistic work we can and should turn to instead.”
She makes an excellent case, I’ll admit.
To my surprise, one of the best-articulated views I encountered when researching this piece came not from the literary world, but from a former professional basketball player. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar was a friend of Bill Cosby, and this excellent article explores the ambivalence he’s now experiencing. While he admits that he can no longer watch Cosby’s TV shows “without anger, guilt and shame,” he questions the wisdom – and the morality – of enforcing the kind of all-out ban on these disgraced artists’ bodies of work that people like Ms. Gay advocate. “It is scary and tricky,” he writes, “because shunning art for the actions of the artist opens a door to the kind of malevolent censorship that undermines democracy.”
I share Abdul-Jabbar’s reluctance to dismiss out of hand the legacies of these less-than-noble artists. But again, I’m finding my criteria inconsistent, and not necessarily easy to defend. For example, I wouldn’t buy a book written by the late convicted murderer Charles Manson, nor – for similar reasons – would I buy a book by O.J. Simpson. The idea that they could capitalize on their notoriety – and their guilty knowledge – is not something I am willing to economically support, and I suspect a number of you might feel the same.
But do you feel as strongly about bestselling crime novelist Anne Perry? Thousands of readers apparently do not, despite the fact that she helped murder her best friend’s mother when she was 15, and served time in prison before changing her name and reinventing herself as a novelist who writes about – you guessed it – murder. (For the curious, her crime is documented both in print and on film.) Sooooo, I’m saying no to a novel by Manson, but I’d be okay with reading one of Perry’s books? How do I defend that? Like I said, it’s complicated.
Part of my gut-level rationalization comes from the fact that Perry’s crime took place before I was born, and that she did her time for it (admittedly, only five years). So maybe it’s a “time heals all wounds” thing. Modern society definitely applies that kind of rationale to many of our older artistic figures whose pasts are not without blemishes – particularly the male ones, and even more so if they’re dead. As Abdul-Jabbar observes:
“We’ve come to some sort of social consensus that for the most part accepts the transgressions of dead artists – maybe because of a lack of urgency or laziness or because if we banned every sexist male artist, we’d have few men in our artistic canon.”
I suspect he’s right, but I also think this speaks to a reluctance to let go of some cherished art that has shaped our lives. As an example, no visual artist’s work speaks to me as directly or consistently as Picasso’s, and from all accounts, the man was a monster. Dig deeper, and you’ll find depressing data that suggests Dickens was a lousy husband, while William Golding (Lord of the Flies) was an attempted rapist. The list goes on: T.S. Eliot was reputed to be an anti-Semite, H.P. Lovecraft was a confirmed racist, and Patricia Highsmith (who wrote The Talented Mr. Ripley) was both.
And then there’s Theodor Geisel, who in his early days drew advertisements and political cartoons that were undeniably racist.
Folks, we’re talking about Doctor. Freaking. Seuss.
To be fair, Geisel later repented, and his subsequent output included some anti-racist cartoons as well as some children’s books specifically aimed at identifying and fighting prejudice.
The Dr. Seuss example also points out something that I think is important to acknowledge: we all make mistakes.
To err is human. Right?
I’m all too aware of this fact. Sure, I support feminism and the #MeToo movement, and I strive to live in a reasonably enlightened manner, but I’d be kidding myself if I claimed I’d never said, done or thought something that could be construed as sexist (particularly given my tenure as a touring rock drummer in the ’80s, not exactly the most enlightened profession or era).
Abdul-Jabbar has clocked this fact as well:
“I’m confident that almost every male over the age of 20 can remember at least one incident from his past in which he made an inappropriate joke designed to embarrass a woman, an aggressive move meant to intimidate a woman or a physical insistence disguised as seduction. If you don’t think you have, you’re probably lying to yourself and have learned nothing from the society-altering #MeToo and Time’s Up movements.”
We all make mistakes. But ideally, we also learn and grow. So maybe what I’m doing is extending to other artists some of the slack that I cut myself.
But the truth is probably something simpler, and less noble. It probably comes down to being selfish. I like certain art, and I don’t want to give it up.
I’ll cop to that much, but there is still a bit more to it than that. In my case, it also comes down to having consciously adjusted my own expectations. I’ve had a long career as a professional musician, and have been fortunate enough to work with some very well-known artists. And something I realized while working my way up the musical ladder is that despite how “cool” many of them may seem, the reality is that there are plenty of professional musicians who are not the nicest people on earth.
The first couple of times I met a musical hero and was disappointed by their personality and/or behavior, I was crushed.
But I got over it.
I eventually made peace with the fact that sometimes great artists are not great people. Sometimes they’re downright crappy people. But that doesn’t mean they are not talented, nor that the art they create lacks value and resonance. That art just might not come from as noble or lofty a place as we’d like to imagine.
So I muddle through, admittedly using my lowered expectations and a resigned willingness to not know too much about certain artists as a protective barrier between me and the inconvenience of self-imposed censorship.
On one hand, that kind of works. But on the other hand, I am reminded that being willing NOT to know things about people – and thus, turning a blind eye to their wrongdoings – is what helped perpetuate the very activities the #MeToo movement is finally exposing. As Abdul-Jabbar points out: “We made Cosby and Weinstein possible by creating the environment in which they could thrive.” And that’s not something I want to do.
So the bottom line is, I don’t freaking know what to do.
Do you?
How do you react when you learn something troubling about an artist whose work you admire? Do you feel that good artists need to also be good people? Do you cut off your exposure to artists’ work if you learn they are not good people? Do you make exceptions? If so, when and why? Please chime in, and as always, thanks for reading!
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About Keith Cronin
Author of the novels ME AGAIN, published by Five Star/Gale; and TONY PARTLY CLOUDY (published under his pen name Nick Rollins), Keith Cronin is a corporate speechwriter and professional rock drummer who has performed and recorded with artists including Bruce Springsteen, Clarence Clemons, and Pat Travers. Keith's fiction has appeared in Carve Magazine, Amarillo Bay, The Scruffy Dog Review, Zinos, and a University of Phoenix management course. A native of South Florida, Keith spends his free time serenading local ducks and squirrels with his ukulele.
I think this is an extremely valid issue to raise as I know, for example, many school librarians I work with wonder what this means about the books on their shelves. With one colleague we talked about certainly leaving already purchased books on the shelf, but perhaps not buying any others by those same, problematic authors. Some would see this as censorship, but not only are they incorrect, it’s really about “how will we spend our limited dollars?”
For me, I have fewer issues rejecting published works based upon author actions. I agree with Gay that the volume of art (and great art at that) is vast and just because something was thrust into popularity, does not mean we have to continue to embrace it. If we are limiting ourselves to only that, then I venture to say we (I definitely include myself in this) are being a bit lazy. I, like you, like to think I am a person with conviction. I continue to work at it.
You have successfully made the distinction among those who have either done the time or have actionably changed (or attempted to via an external persona). For me, this helps guide me. Is there hope for change among those who initially offer non-apologetic apologies? I am willing to offer a second chance to some of them (kind of depends on how severe and long lasting their issues were). I don’t want to be a part of the gang-up culture that I see online, nor do I want to dismiss too easily and quickly. I read the articles, and then I wait.
And yet, much of my life is still as you say: “I like certain art, and I don’t want to give it up.” And I can also interchange “art” with “stores’ or “products”. So much around us is problematic, and I guess we just keep muddling through and make as many non-harmful choices as we can each day.
Keith, you really zeroed in on the questions I would venture to guess most of us are asking ourselves. It applies to the music world as well. Are we no longer to listen to songs by artists, whose lead singer is known for misogynistic or even violent behavior? What if you need a really good lawyer to keep you from being wrongly convicted or the most skilled surgeon to save your life, but their personal lives were, shall we say, less than stellar, would you not use them? I acknowledge that keeping you out of jail or saving your life is vastly different from deciding whether to enjoy a song, a book, a movie or a show, but the principle is the same. Like you, I tend to make decisions based on nothing but a feeling. I don’t know what the answer is, what the criteria are for making those kinds of decisions. But it’s certainly a decision that’s being put before us these days. Thanks for the incredibly thoughtful post.
Since I represent Anne Perry, whose past I did not know until it became public in 1995, it’s incumbent upon me to address this issue. I have lived it.
By 1995, Anne was successful. You might imagine that my financial interest in her career would have influenced me. It did not, even for a second. What guided me was that I know Anne Perry extremely well. I know her as a superb writer, a loyal member of her family, a generous human being and a woman of deep religious faith. I count her a friend.
Furthermore her remorse and agony over her long ago action was profound, far more so than the public saw. She apologized on national television and in person to countless people. She went door to door in her Scottish village to inform her neighbors and apologize. She was raked over the coals in the press and never complained. As a juvenile she served time in prison at hard labor and was released by the government of New Zealand. She remade herself and her life. Eighty-five or more books later, it is impossible to say that she is that same troubled teenager. Clearly she is not.
Anne Perry is a living demonstration that people can change, not just living quietly and obscurely but using their gifts for the good. I read her books (actually, her unrevised manuscripts) and count myself lucky to do so. I am connected to her creative process and admire it.
Remorse and reform are real. When they are present, we are poor humans if we do not forgive. If we don’t, what art—what stories—are we missing?
Murder is wrong. #MeToo is overdue. Retribution is just yet who are we without insight, compassion and understanding? What is writing if not our reach for that? What is reading if not our hope for the better?
These days I am keen to listen, quick to believe and slow to judge. I have been too close to this issue, Keith, to be an absolutist. Where there is remorse, there is hope and from that I do not turn away.
Thanks, Donald – I was hoping you would weigh in. I agree with you in not embracing absolutism (hey, it might be a word), and in the power of hope. Even more important to me is my belief in our capacity to change.
I think one of my gut-checks is whether I think somebody is trying to unrepentantly pull something over on me (such as Louis CK, whose famous public “apology” never actually expressed anything about being sorry, or O.J. Simpson who… aw, don’t even get me started), versus somebody who knows they made a bad choice and is trying to live a new and better life (such as Perry).
Unfortunately, those are hard things to judge objectively or quantitatively, which makes questions like these harder to answer. But I think they’re still worth asking ourselves.
Don, thanks for your fine response. I am a devoted reader of Anne Perry’s William Monk series. Having known of her past before becoming a fan, I am always aware of her ability to show the nuances of motive and internal conflict in all her characters. This can be done at that level only by a writer with lived experience. Perry has truly done her necessary work. Thank you for your eloquent description of her rehabilitation of herself and the restoration of her soul.
I am so glad to see this reply, as this thoughtful column didn’t address the question of What if someone is sorry? In God’s eyes, “(A)ll have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23), and we are not to judge one another personally, though the court system is needed to evaluate crimes and administer consequences. Once someone has repented of their sin, which in Christian terms involves accepting the sacrificial death of Jesus Christ on the cross as a once-and-for-all atonement for our own lifelong sin, Scripture tells us “There is no condemnation for those in Christ Jesus.” (Romans 8:1) It’s called grace, which means unmerited favor. When God forgives someone like Anne Perry, who are we to judge? I try to be extremely careful about pointing fingers, though I don’t always succeed; for every finger I point forward, three point back at me. This helps when I meet a public figure I’ve admired, and to my chagrin they’re not someone I’d want to be close to. But keeping to the Christian perspective, we are all made in God’s image, and he has gifted a lucky few with amazing talent to create great art. That is God shining through the muck with which we’re all tarred (ever see an unselfish toddler?) and it’s okay to admire it. This does not mean it’s good to support financially and condone the glorification of behavior that hurts people. But that’s a personal decision too, and again—not for me to judge.
“For every finger I point forward, three point back at me.”
So true, thank you.
Thank you for saying this, Don. I had a feeling you would.
I too know Anne, nowhere near as well as you, but my admiration for her is exceeded only by my fondness. If you speak with her for only a moment you can’t help but recognize her very keen capacity for insight — which she has applied unflinchingly to herself.
I spoke with her when she recently had difficulty with US immigration over this incident in her past, and I was very impressed by her humility, candor — and helplessness. She had done all society had demanded of her (and more) in the wake of her adolescent crime, which she tries to neither deny or minimize. What purpose was being served by punishing her further all these years later?
I have no problem reading Anne’s marvelous books, or enjoying the work of anyone else who has made such an incredible turn toward positive growth and understanding. But what of those who haven’t? I think that’s the real crux of Keith’s (wonderful) post.
I have a hard time holding myself up as a paragon of virtue, entitled to judge others unequivocally for their failings. As Kareem Abdul-Jabbar suggested, those of us who think we’re beyond blame are more than likely fooling ourselves.
Maybe it’s just because I’m getting older, but I find myself increasingly prone to feelings of regret: people I treated poorly, things I wish I’d never said, wrongs I can never undo. (Teaching in prison has also made me much more aware of such things.) And so I find playing the moral scold not just sanctimonious but phony; it’s a cheap way for me not to feel so shabby about my own failings.
If I learn that an author whose work I have enjoyed was something less than a saint, I take it as an opportunity to reflect on the maddening complexity of human nature. When Darkest Hour came out this past summer, one writer correctly pointed out that many consider Churchill a war criminal. And to use one of Keith’s own examples, I’ve heard that Patricia Highsmith was a truly, deeply unpleasant person, and I’m not at all surprised that she was both a racist and an anti-Semite. But I still find The Talented Mr. Ripley a pretty damn good book. Yeats by all accounts was an insufferable snob. And yet…
In answering Keith’s main question — what do we do? — I think a little humility and self-awareness is a good first step. If an artist’s behavior, beliefs, or public statements truly and profoundly offend us, I think it’s incredibly hard not to view his or her work in light of that consideration–just as Kareem can’t look at old Cosby episodes without a sense of “anger, guilt, and shame.”
But I also think that there is a distinct difference between people who have made mistakes, even terrible ones, and those whose behavior suggests something more akin to a character defect, especially when reflected in a pattern of manipulation, coercion, or even predation.
If the work does not reflect the flaw — not everything Faulkner wrote sounds like the output of a bitter racist drunk, for example — then I think it provides each of us an opportunity to reflect on how complicated people can be, and take measure of our own moral compass and contradictions.
Good people can do bad things and bad people good things, including make art. And art coerces no one to endure it; you can always walk away from the painting, turn off the music, put down the book. I think we should reserve the greater share of our outrage for those whose moral failings cannot be so easily escaped, and whose capacity for real harm is apparent.
Thanks so much, Keith, for posting this, and thanks again, Don, for speaking up in such a heartfelt manner for Anne.
You have articulated many of the points I wanted to make.
Woo-boy, I’m with you, Keith. This is a tricky issue, and I don’t have all of the answers. And I’ve been winging it for years.
For me it started with being woken to the racism in Tolkien’s work. A decade ago, I was following along with a LOTR reread on Tor.com, moderated by Kate Nepveu. Nepveu, who is Korean-American, pointed out elements that could be considered racist as she went along, and wow, there were a lot of them. Of course orcs are all non-white while the free peoples of Middle Earth are almost exclusively white, but that’s just the broad glance. Bad guys are often described as “slant-eyed and sallow.” Men who are aligned with Sauron are often “dark” and even “black-skinned.” I have to admit, it gave me some comfort that while Nepveu was diligent about illuminating these elements, she was also adamant about the lasting value of Tolkien’s work in spite of the tarnishing effect of his Eurocentric biases (and perhaps conscious or unconscious racism).
Soon after I had my eyes opened to Tolkien, I learned of Marion Zimmer Bradley’s seriously heinous abuse of her daughter. Like LOTR, The Mists of Avalon had been one of my formative books–part of the foundation of my reading and writing journey. I immediately stopped reading Bradley, and banished the book from my shelves.
But that really wasn’t so hard. I wasn’t all that fond of her subsequent work in the genre, and it was a single book I’d only read a couple of times. Tolkien… well, I’ve reread LOTR since learning of his racism. The books are still prominently featured on my favorites shelf. Heck, he’s even right there in my WU bio. I like to tell myself that I have new perspective on him and his work, but there has definitely been a “to err is human,” and “he was a product of his time and culture” element to my attitude. I easily banished one author, but have more-or-less forgiven and accepted another.
Even as I type this I am trying to figure it out, and to enlightened myself about my own biases and shortcomings. I hope the ongoing process also enlightens and elevates my own work. But, as I say, it’s got to be an ongoing process. I mean, I’d been rereading and treasuring Tolkien for decades. Who knows when I’ll be woken again, as I was by Nepveu, just ten years ago.
Vaughn, I’ve run into this as I have been reading The Hobbit and LOTR to my son. There are times I have left out adjectives I felt were needlessly pointing out color, one way or the other (for instance, most of the time, I just say Riders, rather than Black Riders). But we also talk about the imagery of light and darkness and black and white as symbols of right and wrong, not as signifiers of race or appearance, because I think that Tolkien was deliberately making statements about good and evil, not deliberately making statements about race (though he was likely unconsciously doing that as well because of the world in which he grew up and lived).
We read old books and watch old movies and then take the time to point out the problems as we go. That way, it’s an opportunity to teach about racism or misogyny rather than pretend it doesn’t exist by saying I’ll never read or watch anything that doesn’t completely align with my values. When we do that, we don’t prepare young people (or ourselves) for the real world and we unwittingly perpetuate the status quo by pretending everything’s rosy, right?
Vaughn, thanks for sharing your thoughts on this.
Regarding Tolkein – I wonder if it might be helpful to think of him the way that some parents might think of the kind of lovable but racist grandparent many of us may have encountered in either our friends’ families or our own, whose beliefs and behavior they have to explain to their children. Overall, they’re good people and we’re glad they’re around, but there are certain parts of them that A) should not be celebrated/perpetuated, and B) they are simply too old to change their minds about. (In Tolkein’s case, being dead trumps being too old.)
Just a thought, from a parent who’s been there.
Keith, this is a great post and my husband and I have argued over this many times. But in the end, it comes down to supporting the art we enjoy, without worrying about the artist. It’s difficult to know all the facts and I no longer trust the media. Besides, we cannot know the state of anybody’s soul. What we do know is that we’ve repented of the many sins of our past so would not want to be judged by what we’ve done, but what we do now.
I loved what Don said at the end: “Where there is remorse, there is hope and from that I do not turn away.”
For me it comes down to how their body of work becomes tainted. I can’t read Marion Zimmer Bradley now, who I once adored, without a twist in my gut. Seeing Cosby and Spacey’s faces give me nausea. My capacity for enjoying their work is gone.
Keith,
There’s also a scientific argument (I suppose there may even be more than this one) about bad deeds and the brain. It is a proven fact that the cerebral cortex of the brain (the part that analyses right vs wrong) is not fully developed until the age of twenty-six.
In his book, Incognito: The Secret Life of Brains, David Eagleman, a neuroscientist, goes into this. He further claims studies of the brain will lead to a more enlightened future for crime and punishment.
Like you, I’m torn. It’s a complex decision. I guess I just have to trust my gut on this.
Hi, Bernadette:
Oh one can only hope that neuro-science will have a positive influence on crime and punishment, but I fear logic has little to do with why people want certain others locked away. I say this, again, as someone who teaches prisoners. As long as laws are written by politicians, punishment will not serve the interests of science. Or justice.
I love David Eagleman, btw. Have you read his collection of short pieces premised on alternative hypothetical visions of the afterlife? It’s called Sum. Amazing little book.
David,
Yes. I can concur with your doubts about some of the people that make and enforce laws. I think it’s not an exaggeration to say a lot of them may need their brains examined. Also, the prison for-profit scenario doesn’t work if you’re working towards an enlightened society.
I love David Eagleman, too. I consider myself a Possibilian. And Sum rocked.
Very thoughtful and timely article. There are books I’ve had to take off my shelves because of the author’s disclosed behavior. I just don’t want to look at them anymore. The Mists of Avalon is one that had to go.
So timely, so well-written. I think it comes down to not seeing everything in black and white. I have lots of thoughts.
In the case of movies, I think it’s still ok to see films Weinstein produced because he was not the sole artist creating these works of art. Writers, directors, actors, everyone else who worked on these films — it’s all their art, too. Uma Thurman was one of his victims. Should we not watch one of her great roles because of him? It kind of punishes people who didn’t do anything wrong by refusing all art associated with him, which is why I still feel ok consuming things that fall into that category.
Books are obviously more complicated as they’re more produced by one person. I’m very happy to say none of my die-hard favorite writers have done anything problematic (yet.)
The thing I struggled the most with is the allegations that came out about Joss Whedon from his ex-wife. In light of everything else going on, serial philandering is certainly not the absolute worst an artist can do, but it’s still morally reprehensible behavior and that article about one of my heroes left me so upset.
Roxanne Gay has a point about there being tons of art out there, but for me at least, there are very few works of art that speak directly to my soul. Joss Whedon’s TV shows, particularly Buffy and Angel, are some of my favorite things in existence. There is no other art in TV form that has ever come close for me. They helped me through a rough time in my adolescence then another in my 20s and continue to be there for me in a way no other show has. I love those shows with my whole heart.
So what do I do? Well, I think the Weinstein principle applies here: Joss was not the sole artist responsible for this art. The other writers, directors, actors, etc. all contributed. Still it remains that some of my favorite episodes and lines come from Whedon himself. What I’ve come to is this: Joss Whedon is a deeply flawed human who really messed up, but in my mind at least what he did doesn’t cross the line into absolutely irredeemable. So I’m going to keep watching and loving these shows because really, I can’t not.
I think there’s no black and white answer, but that we have to decide on a case-by-case basis what we’re willing to forgive or excuse in exchange for continuing to love our favorite art.
“It kind of punishes people who didn’t do anything wrong by refusing all art associated with him…”
Yes. Good point.
Mary Kate, I totally hear you when it comes to Joss Whedon, whose perennial “what a cool guy” shine has recently been severely tarnished.
For me, that takes him into the territory with which I became so familiar as a professional musician: a not-so-great guy who makes inarguably great art.
I will likely keep enjoying his stories, and learning from his storytelling techniques. But if he came near my daughter, I’d get medieval on him.
I think part of my solution is to try not to spend more money on them, once I know?
Maybe borrow the movies/books from a friend or a library, but don’t add to their bottom line.
But, especially for movies, there are SO many other people involved and other people who ARE deserving and don’t need to have their livelihood diminished because of who they found work with. So, that’s more of an act of judgement, on a case-by-case basis, if the good outweighs the bad.
Morgan, great point about the collaborative nature of film – it applies to TV as well.
I read numerous news stories about the projected economic impact that Kevin Spacey’s departure from his TV show could have, on both the TV studio and on the local economy in the town where the show was filmed.
It really drives home how many people can be hurt by one individual’s misbehavior.
I’m just glad no one is judging my art based on the stupid, mean, and sometimes reprehensible things I did 10, 20, and 30 years ago. And hopefully no one will judge it based on the stupid, mean, and sometimes reprehensible things I’ll probably do in the future, despite my best efforts.
We are all bad people to some degree, and it can be arrogant and myopic to dismiss another’s art because the artist doesn’t live up to our moral standards. If we were to throw out art based on the artist’s moral failings, then we would eventually have no art left. And I kind of fear that’s the direction we’re going …
Well said Marisa.
Amen to everything you said, Marisa. Thanks for voicing such a powerful and real sentiment.
I appreciate your honesty in this post, Keith, as well as the fine line you walk. I have all of the same thoughts and concerns as you do. Regarding your last paragraphs, about purposefully not learning too much about artists so that you can go on liking their work (which I have totally done, and usually not for the big issues I might encounter but for the little annoying and stupid things they say–I would NEVER follow certain actors on Twitter!) and about how willful ignorance created the world in which predators flourished. For those of us who are in a particular world or culture–like where we work or go to church–if we stay silent or stay out of it when abuse is happening, yes, absolutely we are part of the problem. If I buy the book written by the guy who denigrates or abuses women writers, I am directly contributing to his financial well-being, which enables him to keep up that kind of lifestyle. If I buy the sandwich from the restaurant chain owned by the guy who hunts big game in Africa, I am contributing to his ability to do that. So I might choose very consciously not to support that.
But thinking specifically about this statement from Kareem Abdul-Jabbar: “We made Cosby and Weinstein possible by creating the environment in which they could thrive.” Who is we here? Is he talking about people who watched TV in the 1980s or who watched movies during the past quarter century? I was Rudy’s age when I was watching the Cosby Show. Am I culpable for Cosby’s behavior? Am I implicated if I do not purge my movie collection of everything Weinstein’s money touched? Does that help anyone? Did I create the culture where these men could abuse women? Or was it the people around them, who worked for them, who did that?
Now, I might choose to, from now on, not finance the activities of people I now know to be slimeballs by not going to their movies or buying their books. And I might look at my movies and realize, gosh, I don’t think I can ever watch this again knowing what I know (absolutely, The Cosby Show is completely ruined and I will now never get past the second season of House of Cards).
But I think you’re right that, for most of us, we’re going to go about these things on a case by case basis. And I wonder if that’s just how it has to be. I share Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s cautions about blanket censorship of art from people who turn out to be far more fallible and disgusting than we would ever have believed. Because who decides what’s bad enough that a person’s art shouldn’t be seen? (That smacks of Hitler’s designation of particular artists as “degenerate” and the removal of their work from museums, and sometimes the destruction of that work…anyone up for a good old-fashioned book burning?) Which sins will we let slip by? Is there a list somewhere that shows what’s worse, misogyny or racism, rape or murder?
Ultimately, we are bound by our own consciences.
This is getting so long, but I’ll say one more thing. When I was an English major in college, the trend was the postmodern idea of divorcing the work from the artist and interpreting it solely through a chosen lens: postcolonial, feminist, queer, what-have-you. Any time–ANY time–I tried to find meaning in a work that was related to who the author was, what his historical context was, what his stage of life was, I was “corrected” by a professor. “We can’t know,” I was told, despite the fact that the historical record was there, letters were there, diaries were there. I felt that this view was silly and needlessly limiting, that we could know something at least. I always felt the meaning of the work was not just what the reader decided it was but a combination of the author’s lived experience and the reader’s lived experience.
All that to say, the current climate of dismissing or removing an artist’s work from the canon because of his personal beliefs or activities is the exact opposite of that. Now, no work can be considered on its own merit. Now it is all about what the artist did, how he lived, what he thought about women, Jews, homosexuals, or anyone else. I find myself wondering, when and why did that turnabout happen. Did the “enlightened” practice of divorcing the art from the artist lead to this world in which “great” men get to do whatever they want to whomever they want? (Or, more likely, has it always been that way, because, patriarchy?) And how are English professors teaching their classes today?
Further, what will future generations rake us across the coals for? We are right to judge the actions and beliefs of those people who are oppressing and abusing others. But it is chronological snobbery in the extreme if we think we are perfect — finally, mankind has reached its pinnacle! — and we are the only ones who truly see. These days there is so much satisfied self-righteous smugness about our views and a general refusal to even consider the fact that yes, human beings make mistakes — terrible mistakes — but even then they are not beyond redemption.
Because if they were beyond redemption, that means that we all are too.
(Ugh. Sorry this got so long!)
Thanks for such a thoughtful and probing response, Erin.
I’m glad to find I’m not alone in grappling with these issues.
Marisa, my thoughts, exactly. We all are doing bad things – every day since leaving the Garden of Eden. But as Luanne and Jennifer pointed out, sometimes my capacity for enjoying certain artists, diminishes. Not only because of more “heinous” affronts, but sometimes because of their offensive remarks about the political convictions of others.
Keith–Thank you for this soul-searching self-examination. The questions you ponder apply to all aspects of society–the arts, politics, history, the work environment, journalism, you name it.
For me, the only approach is to distinguish between actors and actions. If I don’t, I can’t listen to Wagner, or respect the political legacy of Thomas Jefferson, or improve my own consciousness by reading the poems of Philip Larkin. In short, my admiration for near-flawless acts of the mind and imagination should not be held hostage to flawed human behavior.
As for bad actors in the world of pop culture–which includes politics–that I leave to others.
This is a tough issue that I’ve talked about with fellow writers. Two things come immediately to mind–above, Erin spoke of considering art on its own merit. It makes sense to me to react to the art–the story, the song, the painting, the movie, the dance–on what it, all by itself, says and does.
The second is that I think much of bad behavior springs from cultural and nurture factors. We know that bigotry and racism are not inborn, not genetic, and yet we see people who simply cannot break free from that bad behavior. I grew up in a culture that sent black people to the back of the bus and around to the back of the gas station for the “colored” water fountain. The taint of that upbringing is still in me. I’m aware of it every time I have to beat it back. I don’t think you’ll see it in my writing or my behavior, but who knows?
I’m tempted to say that art should be judged for its own merits. On the other hand, I don’t think I could watch a minute of a Cosby performance that I would have previously thought wonderful because of my repulsion for the man’s predatory behavior.
As you said, Keith, it’s complicated.
Keith, your post is not only political, but heartfelt and well-timed. We are all living in interesting times, changing times. It is hard to keep up.
For the most part, I consider myself a good person. I am honest and caring. I would never willingly hurt anyone. I set spiders free outside. But I have my moments. Sometimes I react in a way I am not proud of. I’ve said things I later regret. I have made mistakes. I am flawed.
While we all need to look inside ourselves, work hard to be better people, I think we tend to lack patience and understanding for those around us. We lack empathy. Me included, at times. Another trait I am not proud of.
Like you, I find the whole situation confusing and sad. I don’t have answers either. I only know that these people, the ones who made awful choices, are human. They made mistakes, and will pay for those errors, one way or another. How I feel about them is a lesser weight compared to how they must feel inside.
Thanks for this thought provoking post, Keith.
Dee Willson
Author of A Keeper’s Truth and GOT (Gift of Travel)
Thank you for such a thoughtful post!
I agree that it’s wise to decide on a case-by-case basis. For me, one of the biggest issues is whether that person is still alive. I’m fine with reading Dickens or Tolkien as long as we’re open about how they lived and believed. (And their beliefs and actions SHOULD be taught.) It helps me better navigate their work. And… this is big … in the cases of real reprobates, reading their books doesn’t support them.
But I’m not going to watch a Woody Allen film. Every time I see a film of his, he gets money. To me, that’s inexcusable.
I’m fine watching past Weinstine films, but I don’t know if I’d watch a new one, even though innocent folks may be involved. I don’t want to support him.
Some authors who have done awful things gave half-assed apologies for wrong behavior and excuses for why they attacked the people that confronted them. I’m not going to buy their books. I won’t send even a few cents their way. A friend compared them to Lance Armstrong. It was wrong that he cheated. It was worse to try to destroy those who spoke against him. Same idea applies here.
I don’t think we’re going to find one way to approach this that makes any of these decisions easier. But maybe that’s the important part: that we be willing to wrestle with these issues in the wider world and in our own hearts.
If the artists is dead, I only care about the art, because I’m not supporting the artist with my money. So I can buy their work without hesitation.
If the artists has repented, done their penance/prison time, and reformed, I can support that artist, if I believe the change, in most cases. [I hold some crimes unforgivable: most major felonies against young children, for example: heaven may forgive those, but I will not.]
If the artists is unrepentant, unpunished, and/or unchanged, then I won’t support them by buying their product. Yes, this means not supporting all the people who worked with them, but when we accept the benefits of working with other people, we accept the potential liabilities, too.
PCGE, I like the clean simplicity of your logic – in particular, this rule of thumb:
“If the artists is dead, I only care about the art, because I’m not supporting the artist with my money. So I can buy their work without hesitation.”
Thanks for chiming in!
We live in confusing times and your post Keith accentuates that. Each of us comes from different experiences, but we must truly LOOK at what is being exposed and talked about. It amazes me how I could have grown up in a community that I loved, but one that was in many ways the result of terrible laws, red-lining, that hurt other people. And so in books, art and film, we are often unaware of what has gone on in the background. Think black-face actors and also African Americans who acted in films that denigrated their presence in society but they went ahead to pay the bills. Or women who allowed themselves the use of the casting couch to further their careers. It’s complicated. I am sure I have read and purchased books by authors who do not think and believe in the things I now fight for. Even characters in our literature have lost their luster: Atticus Finch. Bu in each choice we make now, we can move forward. I have great memories of watching the Cosby Show with my children. It helped them see the universality of family. Yes, he’s wrong wrong wrong. But I still have those memories. And I can still enjoy music and art, though much was created in a time when women were less than second-class citizens and if they wrote fiction, they used male names to get published. Thank you Charlotte Bronte, for having the guts to forge ahead.
An excellent post, Keith. You’ve encouraged thoughtful discussion of a tough topic, discussion that I believe one my critique group had recently as we discussed Sherman Alexie, a writer of enormous talent, but who stands accused by several women of sexual harassment. Do we reject Alexie’s work because he’s a jerk (or worse)? Do we read his works for their insights and humor, but preface all praise with a cautionary note about his jackassery? Do we buy only used copies of his books, so he reaps no financial benefits? Do we recommend his writing to other writers and would-be readers? None of these are easy for me to answer, which makes these questions some of the most valuable; wrestling with ethical issues, with all the grey shades therein, elicit discoveries of who and what I am as a writer, as a human: Hardly perfect, hungry for a deeper understanding of myself, and anxious about the faces I present–or am perceived to present–to the world. Ethical absolutes such as Roxane Gay’s blanket dismissal of “predators and angry men,” are interesting to consider in the abstract, useful for developing ideas, and they make great headlines and arguing points in media. Only occasionally, however, do I find them useful in the everyday world. Here, nuance matters, reflection and repentance may result in reform [many thanks to D. Maass for his thoughts re: Anne Perry], and the communal nature of artistic creation cannot, I feel, be ignored. You no longer watch Woody Allen’s movies; I do. Well, not “Manhattan,” the main romance of which was gross when the flick came out and remains so, but “Radio Days” and “Bullets Over Broadway” are marvelous fun, largely because of the artists who interpreted and portrayed the characters. I choose to enjoy the work of those artists even as I continue to condemn Allen’s egregious behavior and recognize that some of these artists have now repented working with him. Has he repented? No, which shows what a moral idiot Allen remains. Is he the only such artist? Hardly. Will I continue to reflect on his work and the works of others who have committed large indiscretions? Oh, yes.
I read WU regularly because you and other contributors consistently address topical issues in ways that challenge me. I look forward to more of the same outstanding writing in the future.
Wow, this is definitely the kind of thoughtful discussion I was hoping this post would generate. Thanks to all who are participating!
Another issue that I started to touch on in an early draft (but cut due to length) was this:
As fellow artists, many of us feel the desire – if not the flat-out need – to study the work of other artists. So what role should morality play here?
For example, I think Louis CK is a scumbag, but the guy definitely knows how to write a joke. So from a purely technical standpoint, if I exclude his work from my study, I miss out on some potentially valuable writing lessons. I could say the same for many other artists, from whom I have much to learn as an artist, but maybe not so much as a human being.
Part of me has long argued that whenever we restrict ourselves from exposure to art or ideas, we limit ourselves. That’s great in theory, but over time I’ve realized there is no shortage of books, movies or art so vile that I would NEVER want my brain cells – or my soul – to be exposed to them. So some filtering is definitely in order. But how much is too much?
That, as some famous British dude once said, is the question.
This additional thought makes me think of my recent struggle with whether or not to restrict my Netflix profile to Teen, even though I’m a grown-ass woman. Do I cut myself off from shows marked for mature content (which would likely include a number of documentaries from which I have benefited and a LOT of films that I love and appreciate) because there’s some super smutty and crass stuff out there I’d rather not even show up on my screen when I’m surfing through? Ultimately, I decided not to restrict the content on my profile (our son’s, of course, is PG-rated) because it would filter out stuff that has real merit that I don’t want to miss.
Not to mention, how many amazing books would I have missed out on if I were filtering out those that include reprehensible behavior? There’s a difference between examining bad behavior and its consequences and lauding it. Two readers can read the same book and think the author is doing exactly opposite things with it! (One point for reader hermeneutic?)
I don’t believe we can move forward with our own art if we don’t know what is being written. Exposure doesn’t have to be 100%. Devices can be turned off. I read reviews. Sometimes I’m amazed at what is liked in the public square and what I find poorly written, forced or sleazy. But I believe in the ability to create and present work, just as I believe in free speech. I can turn away. And I often do. Keith, a joke by Louis CK actually appears in Author in Progress, the one about We’re alone in the universe. It touched me and still does. I’m guessing we have all read something by an author we would not have wanted to even share a cup of coffee with, once we knew more about them.
It is complicated. Here are some other questions to consider.
Is the artist still benefiting from his work? In other words, by supporting that work, are you financially supporting the artist?
Are other people benefiting from the work, as in a current TV show with other cast members and crew? Is it fair to put all of those people out of a job in order to punish one guy? (I’d rather see the problematic actor replaced and the others allowed to continue in their work.)
Has the person served time for their crime and led a blameless life since then? Have they sincerely repented and tried to make amends? People can change, so does it appear they have done so? Or are they only making excuses and giving half-hearted non apologies?
For me, this does not only apply to art. In science, too, there have been many people doing good work, work that is still being built upon, even though as a human being they either made mistakes or flat out did wrong things. Sometimes you can’t deny the work just because the person is/was bad.
In those cases, I look at the work itself. If it’s questionable, it’s out. If I know that by buying a bad person’s good work I’m supporting them, my conscience won’t let me do that. But I still watch old Disney movies and let my kids watch them too.
Keep the books in print and freely available – no censoring, for God’s sake – but don’t force anyone to read them (keep them off required reading lists).
That way, it’s an individual decision and the debate about the merits and problems of these books is kept alive.
Keith,
All this (brilliant) discussion …and so little about our writing. Great!
With our re-honed lens of morality—thanks to MeToo and TimesUp—it seems tempting to conflate the ‘faults’ of artist and art. One thread is about the behavior of the artists and producers. A second is about their work. EG Cosby in the first case, and Tolkien in the second.
The first has been well addressed here, though for me it isn’t ‘black and white.’ The second is more slippery. Tolkien’s work isn’t about morality so much as humanity’s misery and bravery’s triumph. AND his scope was limited by his time and milieu. He did not have the benefit of Google and polling and a vibrant women’s movement in the world. Is he to be shunned for that? Are his mentions of black skins evidence of the same ‘crime’ as might be our use of them today? In music when we discover backbeats represent psychosis (from some slightly tongue-in-cheek point of view) do we throw it all out?
Where the two threads can come together again is when a flawed artist’s work creates a world opposite of his actions. There is in all of us the ability to reach for ideals. That is our beauty. As a metaphor, the natural killer of tigress loves her young. Do we toss out work that inspires simply because we find fault with the author? I submit we can learn from most anything and that we can be imprisoned by opinions and judgment.
Something to consider is the damage these men wrought. The women who never had a career because of them. The women who could have been successful or famous themselves who never will be. Then there’s the idea that your hard-earned dollar is going toward making these people rich. There’s something fundamentally wrong about that.
As a woman and a lesbian, I’m ever mindful of the power men have over me and the ways I’m held back, even if only indirectly. While it may seem harsh, these men losing their careers pales in comparison to the wreckage they’ve left in their wake. Think of the women, the other men, the children perhaps, they’ve harmed. If Turdstein (damn spell check missed that) will no longer profit from the movies he made, then I’m OK spending money that will help those who worked hard honestly to make them.
I’m with Roxane Gay. As for Anne Perry, I think there’s room for allowing a person to serve time and reenter society. That’s what prison is supposed to do. Manson, on the other hand, brainwashed young women. He corrupted souls and never felt a hint of remorse as far as I know. If any of these guys truly said they were sorry (not sorry if they offended anyone; just sorry for their behavior) and worked to do better, I’d be more forgiving.
Maybe we should have fewer men in our artistic canon. Maybe there would have been more women but for these men. Perhaps the lesson is more that we should not put anyone on such high pedestals. My hope is that going forward, when men and women call out bad behavior from the start, that it won’t grow and fester and lives won’t be destroyed.
Rather than mourn the downfall of these “great” artists, think about the greatness that was never allowed to surface. Turning a blind eye doesn’t just let Cosby or Turdstein get away with bad behavior, it destroys lives.
I have a somewhat simple line I draw: I will not give money to reprehensible people. Full stop. I’m a season and a half into House of Cards, and I will never finish it. Orson Scott Card has lost my business forever, even though I loved Ender’s Game and Speaker for the Dead. If I outlive him, I might revisit that, but only if his estate isn’t still pushing anti-LGBTQ nonsense. H.P. Lovecraft I have no problem reading; not only is he dead (so he can’t get my money), but his work is in the public domain and thus free.
Where things get muddy is whether living people can repent, change, and become repatriated into the Society of Non-Garbage People. Anne Perry is an excellent example; I would have no problem supporting her work. Kevin Spacey? He’d really have to show some personal growth somehow; I’m not sure I’d ever be comfortable supporting him again given how egregious his behavior was. Louis CK’s situation seemed more cluelessly gross than truly predatory; education and repentance is probably possible for him, but he really needs to put in the work to change.
With you on the OSC stance, Sam. I refuse to even watch the Ender’s Game movie, in spite of loving the book before I knew.
I am in the same boat as you, Keith, having a hard time with an absolute on this issue. On one hand, I don’t want to deny myself of the pleasure of watching a fine actor like Kevin Spacey, but I also don’t want to add to his coffers. The same goes for reading books or listening to music or watching movies that are produced by people engaged in reprehensible behaviors.
In simple terms my immediate response is tempered by advice my mother used to offer, “Don’t cut off your nose to spite your face.” But, of course, the issues are much more serious now than whether I want to end a particular friendship because the girl dissed me. Sorting it all out it not easy.
People do need to be held accountable for their actions, but I believe in repentance and forgiveness. Not the boiler-plate statements we so often hear in the media, but true repentance.
This is all great conversation. My view is perhaps more simple. There are people who do very bad things then create art that benefits humanity, or harms it, or does both. I am fascinated by it all – the created and the creators. I want to pull apart these creative minds, feel what is in their hearts and what torments them and witness how those forces infuse their work. I’m willing to be enthralled, destroyed, and disturbed to come close to knowing how these people move through life because I know in my deepest self that just as I strive to be a good person, I am capable of doing harm in equal measure. I don’t want these creative works censored or ignored. I feel like inspiration found them because they were the ideal person to give that inspiration form. Their works are important to me as glimpses of humanity. They provide reflections of my undiscovered self and dare to go where I would not. They provide opportunities to ask myself, were I to live in that time and space in those circumstances, would I be any different? They provide touchstones to consider how I could make better choices going forward. And they help me develop empathy for people – all people, everywhere – even people who are problematic.
I still remember an episode of Writing Excuses where they talked about the fact that Lovecraft was a racist, and that that sort of behavior comes from being afraid (you hate things that scare you in some way) and that, that is likely what made his horror so good, because he was scared of everything.
I’ve also highly debated continuing to consume Joss Whedon’s things, but a lot of his works have changed the way I see the world (in a positive way) and have pushed me toward being a better writer. It’s not easy. It’s the ‘House’ effect. House was a jerk but it didn’t matter because he was good. There will always be some people like that out there.
But I also didn’t read the comments on this post because frankly I’m scared to. This was a good post, and the answer really is, there is no ‘right’ answer. It’s for every person to decide for themselves for their own reasons, and they shouldn’t have to defend them.
It’s a tough one. All I can think to do is to follow the old bromide, “Love the sinner, hate the sin,” knowing that every once in awhile I have to say goodbye. Heaven knows there are things in my past (present and future as well) that I would not want to be judged by. But it does become a series of value judgements, doesn’t it? I will read Anne Perry’s novels (I’ve met Anne Perry and she signed a book for me. I fine her delightful and fascinating to listen to), but will not watch Cosby reruns or ask for his autograph. With regard to “Turdstein” movies, he was only one part of a collaborative art. I’m glad he was finally outed, but will not give up movies like Chocolat and The King’s Speech because too many wonderful, descent people also brought those to the screen. I will avoid Louis CK as much as I can (I do love Trumbo).
How much is too much?
What to do? What to do? As for me I can only do the best I can.
Thanks Keith, and all of those who have commented!
I’m probably in a similar place to you. I don’t have any definitive answer for something like this. Even bad men can produce good things. And I’m not sure we can judge everything on an equal scale.
Think about it – any halfway decent writing advice cautions writers against painting bad guys with a flat ‘you are totally bad’ brush, because that is unrealistic. Because nobody is all good or all bad.
It’s true that humans are weak and capable of some very horrible behavior. Taken to an extreme that behavior might even cost lives. And while I feel no sympathy for Harvey whatshisface, it doesn’t mean that I hate the movies he produced because of his behavior. Because the movies didn’t take part in that behavior.
Also, it seems to me, celebrities and artists have always been a troubled and malcontent lot. Frequently coloring outside the lines and getting themselves into whole heaps of trouble on a regular basis. And NOW it’s a big deal? Please don’t misunderstand, I don’t condone the behavior of any of these men – but it’s not like this is some sudden aberrant strain of jerkiness that just happened in these isolated instances. It’s been happening forever – and not just in show business. Ever work in the food industry? I know guys who could put Harvey to shame in a NY second. But then waitresses don’t have platforms from which to shame those men.
But in terms of how do you decide? Maybe a sliding scale? Maybe you weigh the horrible behavior against the good the creative work has had on society in general. Yes, Cosby turned out to be a pig but he also made millions of people laugh. Perhaps even helping those suffering from depression to come out of it – at least for a little while. Possibly even saved a life by bringing humor into a sorry and desperate life of a stranger. Who is to say?
One thing I do know though – is that I do not recognize anyone’s ‘right’ to tell me whose work I may or may not appreciate. People may self-censor all they like but it’s when they attempt to censor everyone else that I have a problem. And perhaps they look (in some ways) as bad as the monsters they are supposedly trying to protect us from by doing so. Not a big fan of the seething mob, even in the name of virtue.
Something to think about anyway.
Thanks for this thoughtful piece.
Ay there’s the rub, ain’t it? When you like someone or admire them and their work, then you find out something horrid about them—what to do; what to do? How much easier it is to make those “Over you – dead to me” statements/actions when it’s someone/work you couldn’t care less about! (And by “you” I mean a general “you” not You, you :D ).
When I think back to certain men in my life, some of whom probably should have gone to jail, I let go of my rage (mostly) and instead gave myself my power back. I don’t forgive—I move on. To give them any thought at all means they still are in my life. So-boy, bye! But I often think of their family and friends. I think of their contributions, if any, and all who are or have been impacted by it.
So, I try to think of the other people involved in that work—and that helps me. So for example in the case of a movie/tv icon, the actors, the directors, the lighting staff, the makeup artists, the caterers, the assistants—all of those people who are affected by the MESS this one douchebag made. Am I to punish all of those people too? Ruin their careers or livelihood? Nope. I don’t want that. So that’s how I look at it—the ENTIRE group of people involved who are innocent and should not be punished for the behavior of that one asshole.
This is an excellent post, Keith. I don’t have time to read all the comments, but I wanted to add a cheer. Very thoughtful, difficult questions we’re all asking ourselves these days. I mean, I’ve struggled with Hemingway for a long time. A Moveable Feast is one of my favorite books. And yet…he wasn’t a very nice guy.
It’s easier with some of the falling icons now. Cosby…ugh. I’ll never watch his stuff again. But other artists are ruined for other reasons for me–Michael Jackson just got more and more mentally ill as time went by and it makes it hard for me to enjoy his music now.
There are certain works of art I protect by trying to keep out the bad press on the artists involved. Green Card is one of my all time favorite movies, and Depardieu is a misogynistic alcoholic. If I see news stories on him, however, I don’t read them. I don’t want to know. I don’t want that art ruined.
I don’t know. Artists are often on the fringes in many ways, and that’s partly where the art comes from. Maybe all we can do is punish crimes as they’re revealed and continue to keep setting boundaries.
Very complicated topic.
Thank you for this post, Keith. I think it is a great rumination in and of itself, and then the comments section is further enlightening and worthwhile.
I just have a few couple thoughts at this time:
– I don’t think the choice to stop consuming art created by a “bad” person should warrant any guilt. If I don’t want to watch House of Cards anymore, I am not punishing or hurting the cast and crew; Kevin Spacey is. It is his behavior that caused the ripple effects of harm, not mine. The blame rests solely on his shoulders, because the consequences are due to his actions.
– I’m not sure that consuming the art of dead “bad” people is consequence-free. It might not benefit them financially, but it may still cause harm to the consumer, and to society at large. Depending on the nature of the artist’s “badness,” their toxic views may come through their art. Also, simply the act of upholding these artists and their work in our cultural canon indicates a willingness to tolerate their transgressions to some degree. That can be very hurtful to victims, or members of communities adjacent to victims. (Kind of like how Confederate flags and statues are harmful to our society, and especially hurtful to black communities.)
— Actually, I think we *could* reject any/all art made by artists that we learn are “bad,” and still have plenty of great art to consume. There is NO DEARTH of great art being made. And who knows what greatness might rise into view if we let the rotten giants fall. Certain works (such as Lord of the Rings) might *feel* vital or irreplaceable, but I feel confident in saying that even if they had never existed, mankind would be more or less the same.
Anyway, there is so much more on this topic that I’m still parsing out for myself — which seems to be a common sentiment here — so I’ll end with underscoring the idea that we each have to draw our own lines in the sand, and I’m not trying to judge anyone or their decisions. Just trying to add to the discussion.
If all Cosby had done was the “Cosby Show”, it would be easy to throw him under the bus. However, Cosby had been around in entertainment circles for quite a while, when his sitcom became a standard of network TV back in the eighties.
Before the Cosby Show, there was I Spy and before I Spy, there was Bill Cosby, the stand-up comic, with a slew of LP recordings that sold widely in the good ole USA and elsewhere. One of his releases, “Why Is There Air?”, is a genuine 60s classic and bears a close listen.
You might want to do this before you chuck him out onto the macadam. By the way, if you do check out “Why Is the Air”, be sure to give a close listen to the part where he compares making babies to taking snapshots with a Polaroid camera. It might shed some light on Cosby’s current dilemma.