Many believe that Hollywood scandals just aren’t what they used to be. That long gone are the days of orgies and other assorted sins associated with “Hollywood Babylon” and the Golden Age of Hollywood. But one look at the events of the past year, and it’s plain to see Hollywood scandal (therefore female subjugation) is alive and breathing. Apart from the whole Britney Spears revelation made during her June 23rd testimony about her conservatorship, added to the list for 2021 is the latest in an age-old tale of male-dominated enterprises seeming to “feed their machine” with either the mental health or bodies of women.
The prop gun “incident” that took place on the set of Rust on October 21st in New Mexico might be seen by a majority as nothing more than a “freak accident” and no fault of Alec Baldwin’s, who discharged the gun as he was removing it from his holster. Sure, he was told, “Cold gun!” by the assistant director, when, as we all know now, that shit was hot as it could come. How could Baldwin have known what permanent damage he was going to cause? But the fact remains, his finger pulled the trigger, even if “accidentally.” And even if what led to what turned out to be loaded in front of that trigger stemmed from a series of escalating and unforeseen events. Much as it was the case for Fatty Arbuckle on Labor Day weekend of 1921.
Remaining one of the standout Hollywood “fiascos” of all-time, the outcome of the trial(s) against Arbuckle, as well as the knee-jerk need of those male actors close to him, including Buster Keaton, to defend his honor by swearing up and down to his “sweet” nature, has led to a present-day “rethink” of his guilt. In other words, a large portion of those familiar with the “incident” feel it was merely a case of Arbuckle being at the wrong place at the wrong time. As opposed to the woman he “allegedly” raped, Virginia Rappe (whose last name is way too close to “rape” for irony’s sake), being the one who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Just as cinematographer Halyna Hutchins happened to be. Though too many will argue it was Baldwin that was in the wrong place at the wrong time, sympathizing with how he must be feeling as opposed to, oh, Halyna’s remaining relatives and immediate family.
For those unfamiliar with the Arbuckle scandal, the one thing that can be agreed upon about the legend is that it all started with Arbuckle leaving for San Francisco with two fellow actors, Lowell Sherman and Fred Fishback, to stay at the St. Francis Hotel. The intent being, naturally, to “blow off some steam.” After all, it was Labor Day weekend. And Arbuckle, being an actor of the “I’m entitled to everything I want” ilk, wanted to do that by drinking (illegally, of course, as it was still Prohibition era) and having, let’s face it, a sex party. There was nothing wholesome going on behind the doors of Rooms 1219, 1220 and 1221, all of which Arbuckle had rented out for the “affair.” Considering his previous predilections for “party girls,” Rappe’s appearance was no surprise as he had claimed to have had his eye on her for a while. A model who wanted “equal clothes rights with men” by wearing a tuxedo jacket on and off camera, Rappe would never get any such rights in ways beyond the sartorial.
Like most women, her “right” was to shut up, get plastered and serve as eye candy at a party. But eventually, eye candy isn’t enough. A man wants something he can feel, not just look at. While accounts from the party varied, enough witnesses testified to some truly atrocious things, including Rappe’s cries of agony from the room after Arbuckle went in, as well as him coming out in his disheveled pajamas and wearing her hat on his head as he said something to the effect of, “Shut up or I’ll throw you out of the window!” As it turned out, there would be no need; Virginia’s worsening case of peritonitis resulting from a ruptured bladder (believed to be caused and/or exacerbated by the weight of Arbuckle on top of her) would do her in just fine. And while Arbuckle might have thought the mafia-level “protection” of the studio would have insulated him from any consequences, it turned out that the public was very hungry for hanging the concept of Hollywood decadence further out to dry.
Those who continue to concur with the third trial’s jury verdict—that Arbuckle was a victim of a blackmailing woman named Bambina Maude Delmont’s machinations—seem to miss the larger point. That a party of this nature was designed to prey on the “desperation” of an aspiring actress like Rappe. As rumors surrounding the events that really transpired swirled, the William Randolph Hearst-run newspapers were quick to tout Arbuckle’s use of a Coke (or champagne) bottle to “aid” in the rape. Some say this rumor evolved from it actually being a piece of ice he used to put on her stomach to “comfort” her. Yet we all know what’s usually behind men’s reasons for “comforting,” and they’re not exactly beneficent motives.
To the patriarchy, a woman is not a person, least of all in the entertainment world. She hovers on the periphery, a plaything or peon to be invoked when “necessary” a.k.a. when a male presence deems it so. And who can ignore the powerful symbolism of Hutchins standing in front of another man to ultimately mitigate the damage done to him?
Some might see no connection whatsoever between these two scandals tailor-made for “the Hollywood books,” preferring to liken the Hutchins “debacle” to what happened on the set of The Crow in 1993. But the parallel is clear in that it always seems to be a woman who still hasn’t gotten her due in the industry being the lamb led to the slaughter (used, in the aftermath, to make some ephemeral point about how the industry needs to change, but never actually will). And all for the arbitrary whims of the men involved.
