My niece is 13-years-old. She is in her last year of middle school. She flirts with boys, but they still scare her a little although she would yell at me if she knew I typed that. She studies hard, loves her friends and is a bright light in my world, even when it’s bound in my personal demons and shadows.
I caught her this weekend watching The Fairly OddParents and she has a celebrity crush on Johnny Depp. Kristen Chenowith is also on her iPod and the musical Wicked makes her happy. About six months ago, she had to tell me who Taylor Swift was. (I was in the know because of her when Kanye West lost his damned mind a few weeks back.)
My niece is growing up, but she’s still a young girl who loses herself in cartoons. And on occasion, she still plays with toys although that would get me more than a yelling from her being that I wrote that here. But it’s true. She’s a kid.
The girl that Roman Polanski confessed to drugging and raping 30 years ago was also 13-years-old.
You aren’t going to get an ounce of sympathy from me for his recent arrest in Switzerland.
Not one damned bit.
And for the people that are defending him, what if it was your niece? What if it was your daughter? Just because he’s made some great movies doesn’t excuse him from what he did. He made a cognitive decision to become a fugitive 32 years ago. He opted not to face a court system and instead, he never paid for the crime he confessed to.
Despite all the uproar, he raped a kid.
Nope. No sympathy from me in the least.
I am completely with you. No one should be defending him, no matter the quality of his art. It’s obscene.
I’m with you. I’m bewildered at the support he’s getting from people who I otherwise admire.
I look forward to Roman Polanski becoming the 13-year-old girl once he goes to prison.