Maetenloch isn’t 100% right in his analogy here. Bill Cosby is not Jimmy Savile. Savile was an utter monster posing as an untalented, crappy celebrity. (His fame is only understandable in British terms, and I’m not British enough to understand it.) Bill Cosby is a huge, genuinely talented, high-quality star who’s been moonlighting as a relatively – *cough* – minor-league monster.
Here’s what Maetenloch gets right. But picture it in flashing lights, ’cause that works better.
Bill Cosby is a celebrity!
I guess if you weren’t a kid in the ’80s you don’t get how awful this whole thing is. Please, tell me Michael Douglas went through a small country’s GDP $$$ worth of blow in that decade. I am shocked, shocked, so very shocked, yawn, etc. That’s really just a heartwarming tale about overcoming personal demons. Tell me one of the Brat Packers liked little kids. Who even remembers the names of half of them, honestly? I vaguely recall seeing a poster for Pretty In Pink on a wall in my school. I think I actually finally watched the movie a couple of years ago on Netflix. Or somewhere. (Meh.)
But no, no, no, it had to be Cliff Huxtable. It has to be Dr. Cliff Huxtable allegedly drugging and raping women, 15 women I think at the last count, since the ’60s, and seemingly every assault with the same M.O. I know Cosby had been a star for decades when he created what was probably the biggest sitcom of the 1980s, but to kids back then he wasn’t Fat Albert or anything, he was just Dr. Huxtable. Except now Dr. Huxtable is (allegedly) a serial rapist.
Well hats off to you, Bill Cosby. I’ve never seen sincerity faked better. You should have gone into real acting.
It’s not really about race. They’ll spin it that way, and I know Cosby’s latter-years “pull yourselves together” routine rubbed some people the wrong way (for the wrong reasons), but I was a little white girl in Canada and I would have loved to have had “Bill Cosby” as a dad. Cosby never came off as ingratiating, as an “Uncle Tom”; he just seemed above the pettiness of racial-identity obsession. You can argue about the implications and merits of making a sitcom about a slightly-too-wholesome, slightly-too-functional, upper-middle-class, “oreo” American black family all you like, and you wouldn’t be the first, but the fact is that The Cosby Show was a massive hit, and it was hardly confined to the, um, black market. (No “hit” in American media can rely on the Black Market, not because of racism, but because of demographics. African-Americans are about 13% of the U.S. population. That’s peanuts. Ask George Washington Carver. You think that’s too low? Blame the abortion industry.)
So, anyway, I am now completely cynical, and I intend to remain that way, for my own emotional sanity’s sake. Anyone who is seriously involved with Hollywood is a degenerate of the worst kind, because it’s a Hellmouth, and everyone who lives off the place is either a fiend or an enabler of fiends. At the very least they all know stuff that would turn your very extensions white.