Life imitates art
We should spare some sympathy for the countless less-famous sexual harassment victims.
The outing of people alleged to have sexually assaulted or harassed others in their careers, particularly in Hollywood, continues apace. Naturally, no one should be subject to such behaviour.
But I cannot help thinking that there must be countless voiceless people, especially women but also many men, more deserving of our sympathy than people with high profiles.
For those with status, the very act of public naming and shaming at least draws attention to the people they are accusing. Others never have that power or satisfaction.
But there is more that irks me about Hollywood. My gripe is that it is hard to think of an industry that has done more to portray women as sex objects and victims – often both at the same time.
Celebrity magazines aren’t far behind. Again, that does not mean anyone, anywhere, deserves to be harassed or assaulted, but there’s something jarring, for me at least, in women who regularly walk the red carpet barely clothed, and who play roles as sirens and/or victims with scenes of graphic sex and/or violence, then complaining they are sometimes treated as sex objects by men who confused fantasy and reality, which is exactly what actors set out to achieve.
With carefully chosen exceptions, I shunned watching movies long ago. There was good reason that Mrs Worthington was advised not to put her daughter on the stage. Mrs Worthington would also do well not to put her daughter in the audience.
For as long as audiences are willing to pay to watch women being portrayed as victims for their entertainment, there will be an industry that produces it. The best plots in Hollywood at the moment are not fictional and everyone keeps their clothes on.
Afriend on the West Coast arrived home to discover his adored Alison had accidentally strangled herself. Her body was still convulsing when he found her and she died in his hands. His attempt at CPR failed.
Perhaps CPR was never a realistic option since the late Alison was a canary. Her death occurred as she was nest-building in the cage she shared with her mate, Robert. He has been disconsolate since.
It seems she was adding a fibre of shredded nikau palm to her nest, poking her head in and out of the building material to assemble it, when somehow it caught around her neck and became like a noose.
That home renovations might be the death of us is a common fear and, tragically for Alison, the nightmare came true. Her owners, my friends, mourn her – most of us cannot help but feel that when a pet dies, we have somehow failed in our duty of care.
But there comes a point when you have to let your canaries build their own nests. I am guessing my friends will select a new mate for Robert in a Married at First Sight arrangement. And maybe next time he could consider a prefabricated nest, as do many humans for whom building their first house themselves was so traumatic that they will never attempt it again.
But there comes a point when you have to let your canaries build their own nests.