Granted, Mia Farrow is more than a bit of a nutcase. But given his confirmed behavior, there isn’t much reason to doubt the allegations that Woody Allen is a child molester are true:
Frank and Mia stayed close, however, even when she was married to the
composer-conductor André Previn, whom she divorced in 1979, after having
three sons and adopting three at-risk Asian daughters. She also
continued to see Sinatra throughout her 13-year relationship with Woody
Allen, which suffered a jolt when she found lurid photographs taken by
Allen of Soon-Yi Previn, one of her adopted daughters, then a sophomore
in college, on the mantel in Allen’s Manhattan apartment. Only a month
earlier, in December 1991, Allen had formally adopted two of Mia’s
children, 15-year-old Moses and 7-year-old Dylan, even though he was in
therapy for inappropriate behavior toward Dylan. In August 1992, after
disappearing with Allen in Mia’s Connecticut country house and
reappearing without underpants, Dylan told her mother that Allen had
stuck his finger up her vagina and kissed her all over in the attic,
charges Allen has always vociferously denied.
Ronan Farrow adds on Twitter: “Missed the Woody Allen tribute – did they put the part where a woman
publicly confirmed he molested her at age 7 before or after Annie Hall?”
Woody Allen isn’t funny. He’s grotesque. He’s ugly. He’s a whiny little sexually obsessed monster. His films are tedious, unimaginative, and narcissistic. And he’s a child molester. The fact that Hollywood sees in him a man worthy of receiving its tribute tells you all you need to know about that depraved Gomorrah.
Every now and then, I’m asked if I’m interested in optioning the film rights to my books, sometimes even by people with actual film credits. My answer is always no. Not merely no, but HELL NO! I want nothing to do with Hollywood. It’s not an accident or coincidence that Hollywood so often takes pure storytelling gold and turns it into filth. They are the anti-Rumplestiltskins. They love rolling in filth.