Awards season is a time when America's overlooked heroes, celebrities, finally get the recognition they deserve. Awards shows are a heavily choreographed Darwinian struggle for fame by legions of men and women behind the scenes. The greatest master of it was Harvey Weinstein. Sadly, Harvey couldn't make it. Neither could a variety of celebs accused of sexual harassment and rape.
But the producers, actors and directors, the PR men and agents, who worked with them, aided them and abetted them, were on hand to help transform Harvey pals like Meryl Streep into the faces of the new resistance against sexual abuses in the industry. All it takes is a pin, some virtue signaling, a black outfit and you're good to go.
And in a twist that no one ever saw coming, the real hero of Hollywood sexual harassment turned out to be Hollywood.
That's the way it always is. Now we can sit through 200 movies about how stifling and repressive the 50s were. And how ordinary people are tasteless morons whom real artists must rebel against.
Meanwhile the industry closely collaborates with the People's Republic of China (because that's where the money is) even as it lectures us on censorship and social justice. Meanwhile the abuses continue. But they come with gendered insults and social justice snide remarks about the list of "all-male nominees" because the industry is so edgy and all about talent.
The progressive Hollywood rapists of tomorrow and their friends can get their virtue signaling on. Sadly, Harvey couldn't be there tonight. But the next Harvey is already in the house.