Turning the page on Woody Allen’s version of history
The decision by Hachette not to publish Woody Allen’s autobiography has opened up a can of worms.
As far as memoirs go, it would be hard to find a more contentious chronicler than Woody Allen. The filmmaker has been radioactive for years, especially in the #MeToo era, which has focused attention anew on sexual assault allegations against powerful men.
His association with Hachette, a French-headquartered global publisher, was always destined to end in tears. The surprise is that it reached this point at all.
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The saga began last week when Grand Central Publishing, a division of the American branch of Hachette, announced it would publish Allen’s memoir on April 7. The backlash was immediate, and the decision was reversed four days later following a staff protest.
“We take our relationships with authors very seriously, and do not cancel books lightly,” the publisher said.
A key figure in the impasse was Ronan Farrow, Allen’s estranged son, whose investigation into Hollywood predators was published by a Hachette imprint last year. Farrow’s sister Dylan has accused Allen of molesting her when she was seven. The director denies the claim, which was made more than two decades ago.
All of this was well known when the decision was made to publish Allen’s book. There were reports that the director had struggled to find an outlet given his toxic reputation, but he found a home at Grand Central, which promoted the book, Apropos of Nothing, as a “comprehensive account of his life”.
Given the publisher’s association with Ronan Farrow, the decision to bring Allen into the tent was either naive or brave, depending on your perspective. Consider a local equivalent: would Louise Adler, now an executive at Hachette Australia, publish a George Pell memoir, having put so much faith into Louise Milligan’s expose of the cardinal’s history? That could be seen as an act of bad faith both with the author and his victims. Pell would have to find a more appropriate home.
Publishers, of course, are free to publish whoever they like. For Hachette, commercial considerations were no doubt an important factor, especially since Farrow had threatened to walk away. Yet having signed up to Allen and then to back down, the publisher opened itself to claims of intellectual cowardice and censorship.
PEN America boss Suzanne Nossel described the stand-off as a “perfect storm”, given the unique circumstances involved.
“It involved not just a controversial book, but a publisher that was working with individuals on both sides of a longstanding and traumatic familial rupture,” she said.
“This presented unique circumstances that clearly coloured the positions staked out and decisions taken. If the end result here is that this book, regardless of its merits, disappears without a trace, readers will be denied the opportunity to read it and render their own judgments.”
Steven King called Hachette “tone deaf” for trying to publish both Allen and Farrow, but his first response on Twitter made his feelings clear: “The Hachette decision to drop the Woody Allen book makes me very uneasy. It’s not him; I don’t give a damn about Mr Allen. It’s who gets muzzled next that worries me.”
As always with these matters, the issue is hard to resolve. Perhaps a third way could be found. Major galleries have started looking for ways to contextualise work by artists considered problematic, from Picasso to Donald Friend. The idea, and it’s a commendable one, is to encourage open, informed discussion rather than to shut down debate.
This is why the Gallery of Modern Art in Brisbane recently placed a wall notice next to a picture by Friend, referring to his “inappropriate relationships with underage boys”. The gallery said the inclusion of this information “warrants declaration in a contemporary retelling of history.” In doing so, the gallery tried to find a middle ground: to display the work while acknowledging contemporary concerns.
Allen’s case coincides with protests in France against Roman Polanski, another filmmaker with a dark past. Polanski, convicted of underage sex in 1977, was named best director at the Cesar awards for his latest film, An Officer and a Spy. The film is popular in France — there are no screenings planned in the US, England or Australia — but an award was seen as a step too far. “Celebrating the man is a negative signal,” said Franck Riester, the culture minister.
Books don’t face the same barriers to entry as films, so Allen should still be able to find a way to publish, even if he has to do so himself. Then comes the next question: how many bookshops will stock his work?
Ashleigh Wilson’s latest book, On Artists, will be published in a new edition this month by Hachette Australia.