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Feb 25, 2011

Len posted:

That's how I felt. Like they just picked a vague description and ran with it.

You have to be a regular of the site for a very long time to even make sense of most of the stuff posted. You can check the comment section and there's always one or two people that can guess the blinds, cause they have encyclopedic knowledge of CDAN writing style and rating system, and are also cross referencing with other gossip stuff.

Like most gossip sites most of it is just hearsay that is so vague it can be anyone. Though occasionally it paints some really funny/sad lives of celebrities. Like Jessica Chastain being a weirdo who wraps her house in plastic, but also owns a BDSM horror closet.


Feb 25, 2011

chitoryu12 posted:

Details, immediately.

They were both blind reveals too.


This A- list mostly movie actress is a multiple Academy Award winner/nominee. According to a guest who stayed over in her guest room, our actress has several riding crops, whips and handcuffs she keeps in the guest room closet. There was also a locked wardrobe in the guest room too.

Jessica Chastain


Do people still wrap their sofas in those plastic sofa covers? The one that Ray’s mom had in Everyone Loves Raymond. My grandmother did the same thing. Anyway, I have not seen one live in person in years. Apparently this A list mostly movie actress covers her couches and all her furniture in them. I would understand if it was an allergy thing or she didn’t want her pets on there, but she does it, because she is just strange. Eccentric? That is probably the better term.

It is like she is preserving the furniture for a museum. If it only stopped at the living room, you could probably excuse it as an aberration, but she has fitted covers for the inside of toilets and despite that changes the toilet seats monthly. You are probably thinking to yourself this multiple Academy Award winner/nominee just has a germ thing. That is what I thought too, but she does not really clean all that much and that her kitchen is especially dirty. Our actress only uses sets of dishes once. Nice dishes too. The dirty dishes are stacked everywhere, including sitting on the floor. When it gets to the point she can’t get to the refrigerator, she has a cleaning crew come in and remove all the dishes and clean everywhere in the kitchen and she starts piling up all over again. You know how a lot of homes back in the day had the formal living room no one ever used. It just sat there for guests but no guests had ever used it either. Our actress has multiple bedrooms and a den at her home that are in just such a condition. No one can ever remember seeing the furniture so much as move an inch. Even though there are guest bedrooms and beds, no one has ever used them. Guests from out of town are put up in a hotel. One of the three bathrooms also is in this pristine state. I wonder if she thinks of it as a movie set. Something that isn’t real. The person I spoke to didn’t know anyone who has actually asked her why she lives like that, so we can only guess.

Jessica Chastain

Guess she stopped having guests in her doll house home when they started to blab about her kinks. This is also a good show of CDAN weird rating system. The blinds themselves were posted with a month break between in 2016 and Chastain goes from A- to A for some reason.

This one however is not so funny, or surprising.


In full view of his girlfriend and the press, this permanent A list mostly movie actor couldn't stop staring at and touching the breasts of his co-star while they posed for photos. Amazingly she didn't say anything, but just kept moving his hand off her breast each time. He would apologize and then do it again.

Al Pacino/Jessica Chastain

Feb 25, 2011

This guy of course has his own sexual harassment suit going on.

Feb 25, 2011

Whedon has a HBO sci fi show premiering in April this year. So it's not that he will come back, but that he never left.

Feb 25, 2011

Seems like he departed of his own accord, due to the exhausting nature of the production because of covid. lol

The new showrunner for the possible second season is already covering Whedon's rear end though.

Feb 25, 2011

TychoCelchuuu posted:

Yeah the dude's 75 years old and he's spent like, 60 of those years being a certain kind of guy. I think he's one of the greatest living screenwriters and I adore a bunch of his movies but he's absolutely the weird uncle with no filter who is going to say something inappropriate at some point during the night.

etc. As far as I know nobody has ever accused him of sexual assault or harassment or anything like that but when you have to clarify that you know you're in an unfortunate place.

You missed out on the old man racism

Feb 25, 2011

Basebf555 posted:

Of course they're like "It's impossible because Dylan wasn't in New York during that time. Wellllll, he was in New York for a few days but his wife was pregnant then and he was seeing several other women during that time blah blah blah"

In other words it was totally possible.

The allegation isnt about a day or two, but a 6 week period, of which the vast majority of it Dylan is not in NY or in the US.


Feb 25, 2011

Bust Rodd posted:

Hussein, you are actively trying to compare getting sexually assaulted and begging your partner not to get financially involved with your assaulter with wanting to make a movie really badly and you aren’t making your point very clearly but you ARE confusing the hell out of everyone with this terrible metaphor! Hayek could have simply WAITED TO MAKE HER FUCKIN MOVIE.

Like, Hayek could have just waited a few years until she became the ultra mega star//household name she would become and then pitched it to any of the other major Hollywood producers she knew instead of rushing to make an artsy movie about a famous gay lady.

Instead of making up nonsense you can just read Salma Hayek's account of the whole thing.


In the 14 years that I stumbled from schoolgirl to Mexican soap star to an extra in a few American films to catching a couple of lucky breaks in “Desperado” and “Fools Rush In,” Harvey Weinstein had become the wizard of a new wave of cinema that took original content into the mainstream. At the same time, it was unimaginable for a Mexican actress to aspire to a place in Hollywood. And even though I had proven them wrong, I was still a nobody.

One of the forces that gave me the determination to pursue my career was the story of Frida Kahlo, who in the golden age of the Mexican muralists would do small intimate paintings that everybody looked down on. She had the courage to express herself while disregarding skepticism. My greatest ambition was to tell her story. It became my mission to portray the life of this extraordinary artist and to show my native Mexico in a way that combated stereotypes.

The Weinstein empire, which was then Miramax, had become synonymous with quality, sophistication and risk taking — a haven for artists who were complex and defiant. It was everything that Frida was to me and everything I aspired to be.

I had started a journey to produce the film with a different company, but I fought to get it back to take it to Harvey.

I knew him a little bit through my relationship with the director Robert Rodriguez and the producer Elizabeth Avellan, who was then his wife, with whom I had done several films and who had taken me under their wing. All I knew of Harvey at the time was that he had a remarkable intellect, he was a loyal friend and a family man.

Knowing what I know now, I wonder if it wasn’t my friendship with them — and Quentin Tarantino and George Clooney — that saved me from being raped.

The deal we made initially was that Harvey would pay for the rights of work I had already developed. As an actress, I would be paid the minimum Screen Actors Guild scale plus 10 percent. As a producer, I would receive a credit that would not yet be defined, but no payment, which was not that rare for a female producer in the ’90s. He also demanded a signed deal for me to do several other films with Miramax, which I thought would cement my status as a leading lady.

I did not care about the money; I was so excited to work with him and that company. In my naïveté, I thought my dream had come true. He had validated the last 14 years of my life. He had taken a chance on me — a nobody. He had said yes.

Little did I know it would become my turn to say no.

No to opening the door to him at all hours of the night, hotel after hotel, location after location, where he would show up unexpectedly, including one location where I was doing a movie he wasn’t even involved with.

No to me taking a shower with him.

No to letting him watch me take a shower.

No to letting him give me a massage.

No to letting a naked friend of his give me a massage.

No to letting him give me oral sex.

No to my getting naked with another woman.

No, no, no, no, no …

And with every refusal came Harvey’s Machiavellian rage.

I don’t think he hated anything more than the word “no.” The absurdity of his demands went from getting a furious call in the middle of the night asking me to fire my agent for a fight he was having with him about a different movie with a different client to physically dragging me out of the opening gala of the Venice Film Festival, which was in honor of “Frida,” so I could hang out at his private party with him and some women I thought were models but I was told later were high-priced prostitutes.

The range of his persuasion tactics went from sweet-talking me to that one time when, in an attack of fury, he said the terrifying words, “I will kill you, don’t think I can’t.”

When he was finally convinced that I was not going to earn the movie the way he had expected, he told me he had offered my role and my script with my years of research to another actress.

In his eyes, I was not an artist. I wasn’t even a person. I was a thing: not a nobody, but a body.

At that point, I had to resort to using lawyers, not by pursuing a sexual harassment case, but by claiming “bad faith,” as I had worked so hard on a movie that he was not intending to make or sell back to me. I tried to get it out of his company.

He claimed that my name as an actress was not big enough and that I was incompetent as a producer, but to clear himself legally, as I understood it, he gave me a list of impossible tasks with a tight deadline:

1. Get a rewrite of the script, with no additional payment.

2. Raise $10 million to finance the film.

3. Attach an A-list director.

4. Cast four of the smaller roles with prominent actors.

Much to everyone’s amazement, not least my own, I delivered, thanks to a phalanx of angels who came to my rescue, including Edward Norton, who beautifully rewrote the script several times and appallingly never got credit, and my friend Margaret Perenchio, a first-time producer, who put up the money. The brilliant Julie Taymor agreed to direct, and from then on she became my rock. For the other roles, I recruited my friends Antonio Banderas, Edward Norton and my dear Ashley Judd. To this day, I don’t know how I convinced Geoffrey Rush, whom I barely knew at the time.

Now Harvey Weinstein was not only rejected but also about to do a movie he did not want to do.

Ironically, once we started filming, the sexual harassment stopped but the rage escalated. We paid the price for standing up to him nearly every day of shooting. Once, in an interview he said Julie and I were the biggest ball busters he had ever encountered, which we took as a compliment.

Halfway through shooting, Harvey turned up on set and complained about Frida’s “unibrow.” He insisted that I eliminate the limp and berated my performance. Then he asked everyone in the room to step out except for me. He told me that the only thing I had going for me was my sex appeal and that there was none of that in this movie. So he told me he was going to shut down the film because no one would want to see me in that role.

It was soul crushing because, I confess, lost in the fog of a sort of Stockholm syndrome, I wanted him to see me as an artist: not only as a capable actress but also as somebody who could identify a compelling story and had the vision to tell it in an original way.

I was hoping he would acknowledge me as a producer, who on top of delivering his list of demands shepherded the script and obtained the permits to use the paintings. I had negotiated with the Mexican government, and with whomever I had to, to get locations that had never been given to anyone in the past — including Frida Kahlo’s houses and the murals of Kahlo’s husband, Diego Rivera, among others.

But all of this seemed to have no value. The only thing he noticed was that I was not sexy in the movie. He made me doubt if I was any good as an actress, but he never succeeded in making me think that the film was not worth making.

He offered me one option to continue. He would let me finish the film if I agreed to do a sex scene with another woman. And he demanded full-frontal nudity.

He had been constantly asking for more skin, for more sex. Once before, Julie Taymor got him to settle for a tango ending in a kiss instead of the lovemaking scene he wanted us to shoot between the character Tina Modotti, played by Ashley Judd, and Frida.

But this time, it was clear to me he would never let me finish this movie without him having his fantasy one way or another. There was no room for negotiation.

I had to say yes. By now so many years of my life had gone into this film. We were about five weeks into shooting, and I had convinced so many talented people to participate. How could I let their magnificent work go to waste?

I had asked for so many favors, I felt an immense pressure to deliver and a deep sense of gratitude for all those who did believe in me and followed me into this madness. So I agreed to do the senseless scene.

I arrived on the set the day we were to shoot the scene that I believed would save the movie. And for the first and last time in my career, I had a nervous breakdown: My body began to shake uncontrollably, my breath was short and I began to cry and cry, unable to stop, as if I were throwing up tears.

Since those around me had no knowledge of my history of Harvey, they were very surprised by my struggle that morning. It was not because I would be naked with another woman. It was because I would be naked with her for Harvey Weinstein. But I could not tell them then.

My mind understood that I had to do it, but my body wouldn’t stop crying and convulsing. At that point, I started throwing up while a set frozen still waited to shoot. I had to take a tranquilizer, which eventually stopped the crying but made the vomiting worse. As you can imagine, this was not sexy, but it was the only way I could get through the scene.

By the time the filming of the movie was over, I was so emotionally distraught that I had to distance myself during the postproduction.

When Harvey saw the cut film, he said it was not good enough for a theatrical release and that he would send it straight to video.

This time Julie had to fight him without me and got him to agree to release the film in one movie theater in New York if we tested it to an audience and we scored at least an 80.

Less than 10 percent of films achieve that score on a first screening.

I didn’t go to the test. I anxiously awaited to receive the news. The film scored 85.

And again, I heard Harvey raged. In the lobby of a theater after the screening, he screamed at Julie. He balled up one of the scorecards and threw it at her. It bounced off her nose. Her partner, the film’s composer Elliot Goldenthal, stepped in, and Harvey physically threatened him.

Once he calmed down, I found the strength to call Harvey to ask him also to open the movie in a theater in Los Angeles, which made a total of two theaters. And without much ado, he gave me that. I have to say sometimes he was kind, fun and witty — and that was part of the problem: You just never knew which Harvey you were going to get.

Months later, in October 2002, this film, about my hero and inspiration — this Mexican artist who never truly got acknowledged in her time with her limp and her unibrow, this film that Harvey never wanted to do, gave him a box office success that no one could have predicted, and despite his lack of support, added six Academy Award nominations to his collection, including best actress.

Even though “Frida” eventually won him two Oscars, I still didn’t see any joy. He never offered me a starring role in a movie again. The films that I was obliged to do under my original deal with Miramax were all minor supporting roles.

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