What, Woody Allen is a Hollywood progressive liberal ‘alleged’ child molester? Those are the accusations from adopted daughter Dylan Farrow who wrote an open letter to Woody Allen bringing up the accusations that he sexually assaulted her. These accusation go all the way back to 1993. Why isn’t Woody Allen in jail? Or that’s right. He’s a rich Hollywood progressive who gets off on things like this and everyone else just looks the other way. Dylan Farrow was Woody Allen’s adopted daughter. Woody Allen and Mia Farrow never married, they were just called ‘partners’ or something between 1980 and 1992. Dylan Farrow first made the allegations against Woody Allen back in 1993, so this isn’t something new. Maybe if this story gets covered on The View, Whoopie Goldberg will claim it’s not really sexual assault or something.
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| Dylan Farrow writes open letter to Woody Allen – accusing him of sexual assault |
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What’s your favorite Woody Allen movie? Before you answer, you should know: when I was seven years old, Woody Allen took me by the hand and led me into a dim, closet-like attic on the second floor of our house. He told me to lay on my stomach and play with my brother’s electric train set. Then he sexually assaulted me. He talked to me while he did it, whispering that I was a good girl, that this was our secret, promising that we’d go to Paris and I’d be a star in his movies. I remember staring at that toy train, focusing on it as it traveled in its circle around the attic. To this day, I find it difficult to look at toy trains.
For as long as I could remember, my father had been doing things to me that I didn’t like. I didn’t like how often he would take me away from my mom, siblings and friends to be alone with him. I didn’t like it when he would stick his thumb in my mouth. I didn’t like it when I had to get in bed with him under the sheets when he was in his underwear. I didn’t like it when he would place his head in my naked lap and breathe in and breathe out. I would hide under beds or lock myself in the bathroom to avoid these encounters, but he always found me. These things happened so often, so routinely, so skillfully hidden from a mother that would have protected me had she known, that I thought it was normal. I thought this was how fathers doted on their daughters. But what he did to me in the attic felt different. I couldn’t keep the secret anymore.