The case of Casey Affleck
Casey Affleck is a strange kind of underdog. Chances are you’re aware of his older brother Ben and their lifelong friend Matt: That’s Ben Affleck and Matt Damon, two of the most influential film stars.
It was Ben who cast Casey as the lead in his 2007 crime thriller Gone Baby Gone. And seven years later, when things were at an even lower ebb, it was Damon who recommended Casey for the star turn in Manchester by the Sea, the independent drama that has won him a Golden Globe and positioned him as the front-runner for this year’s best actor Oscar.
But you may have heard about a different Casey Affleck. This Affleck is an intense artiste, wispybearded and tousled in readiness for the next role he can disappear into, whose more glamorous brother’s own bumpy pact with fame has left him wary of the limelight.
Raised by working-class parents, Affleck, on turning 18, set out for Los Angeles, where he lived for a year with Damon and his brother. His is a tale of a little guy with a big name to live up to, whose “time” has finally come.
Both are compelling stories. And the second, pushed by Team Affleck since Manchester by the Sea had its premiere at last year’s Sundance Film Festival, has helped move the actor to the head of this year’s Oscar line.
But storytelling depends as much on what’s left out. And there’s a gap in the story of Casey Affleck, Oscar winner in waiting, that has some pundits wondering if his impending victory is such a sure thing.
In 2010, Affleck was named in a pair of sexual-harassment lawsuits filed by two women he’d worked with on I’m Still Here, a hoax documentary he directed about the supposed retirement from acting of Joaquin Phoenix.
The suits were filed by producer Amanda White and cinematographer Magdalena Gorka and described a film shoot shrouded in sleaze and misconduct. Affleck was said to have made unwanted sexual advances toward female crew members and encouraged a male crew member to expose himself.
White recounted an attempt by Affleck to pressure her into sharing his hotel room, while Gorka described waking one night to find he had climbed into bed with her in his underwear and was caressing her back.
The women sued for US$2 million and $2.5 million, respectively. Affleck denied all the allegations and threatened to counter-sue. Because of the uncertainty around the film itself — Affleck revealed the whole thing had been staged a week after its release — it was initially unclear if the lawsuits were authentic, or just another stunt. I’m Still Here is full of apparent scandals caught on camera that were later revealed to be fake. And by the time the picture began to clear, Affleck had already settled both lawsuits out of court.
If I’m Still Here had been a hit (it was not), it’s possible the lawsuits might have had a greater impact.
His return to the spotlight has renewed the public interest in those 2010 lawsuits. But Affleck’s publicists were ready with a strategy. Two lines have kept surfacing in interviews with Affleck. The first is that he doesn’t want to be famous — a message that’s somehow rung true, while being disseminated through high-profile interviews, filmed discussions, glossy photoshoots and so on. The second is his apparent willingness to confront his past head-on. Though the terms of the 2010 settlements prevent any party from disclosing their specifics, the subject hasn’t been allowed to fester. But whenever Affleck addresses it, he does so in ways that focus on the collateral damage. His regret isn’t a matter of guilt but compassion.
“People think if you’re well known, it’s perfectly fine to say anything you want,” he told Variety. “I don’t know why that is. But it shouldn’t be, because everybody has families and lives.” And to The New York Times: “It was an unfortunate situation — mostly for the innocent bystanders of the families of those involved.”
The headlines and online chatter about a concerted campaign to harm Affleck’s Oscar chances have been now been replaced by talk of its failure. If Hollywood only employed morally upstanding people, so the thinking runs, the U.S. film industry would be Tom Hanks, Meryl Streep and a cameraphone.
Certainly, the character of an artist has little or no bearing on the quality of their work. They can ruin lives in private, then make a film that improves millions more. Art’s unfair like that, and we have to come to terms with it.
But here’s another question worth considering: What story are we going to tell?
It was an unfortunate situation — mostly for the innocent bystanders of the families of those involved.