How About We Don’t Position Shia LaBeouf’s Return to the Red Carpet As Triumphant
By stacy lee kong
Image: Shutterstock
Content warning: This newsletter contains references to intimate partner violence, sexual violence and emotional abuse.
There’s this sociological concept called ‘collective memory’ that I find fascinating. It was developed by French philosopher and sociologist Maurice Halbwachs, who argued that different social groups (as small as nuclear families or as vast as nation states, or even entire ethnicities) share a collection of memories that are based on their common identity and speak to their communal values and biases. Oral traditions are one way that successive generations are inducted into collective memories, but there are tons of other ways, too—including books, art, monuments, rituals and other symbols. Like, say celebrities. (When we understand those things as vessels for memory, we’re talking about a subset of collective memory called ‘cultural memory.’) Of course, not all books, art, etc. stick around to become cultural memory, but those that do, really stick around. Cultural memory can last for tens, hundreds, even thousands of years.
That’s super interesting on its own, but it’s also notable in the context of pop culture happenings, especially around what we choose to remember… and forget. Basically, I’m not quite sure how to reconcile the lasting nature of cultural memory with the inescapable fact that entertainment journalists’ personal memories seem to be embarrassingly short. Proof: this tweet from Access Hollywood.
ICYMI, the 77th annual Cannes Film Festival is happening right now, which means the international film community has flocked to the French Riviera to promote their movies and shop upcoming projects for distribution. And this year, it has become increasingly clear that, while some people might think it’s harder to be a man in a post-#MeToo world, those awful personal and professional consequences alleged abusers would supposedly now face remain, well, mostly mythical. A prime example: who co-stars in and attended the premiere of Francis Ford Coppola’s first film in 13 years, the sci-fi epic Megalopolis? Oh—that would be Shia LaBeouf, who was sued for sexual battery, assault and infliction of emotional distress by his ex, singer FKA Twigs, less than five years ago. (The case is ongoing, and LaBeouf will be back in court in October.) Remember that? Because some media outlets don’t seem to. In fact, as Mandy Mussen put it in a column for the Evening Standard, “his appearance seemed to prompt little reaction other than, ‘Oh, that’s Shia LaBeouf.’” There was even less reaction to the news that he stars in a boxing drama, Salvable, that Metro Intl. Entertainment is shopping at the Marché du Film, which happens in conjunction with the festival. And it wasn’t just him; James Franco—who, you might recall, was accused of sexual misconduct by five women in 2018, including students at his acting school—received a similarly warm welcome when he attended a Nespresso-hosted party at the festival last week. Red Sea Media is also shopping around a Franco film, an action thriller called The Razor’s Edge.
The abuse allegations against these two men were huge moments in the pop cultural landscape—so huge that both have largely avoided the public eye in the years since. So, why was there so little reaction to their respective returns to the public eye? And, a related question: did they even actually, meaningfully, go away?
A reminder: Shia LaBeouf is (allegedly) horrible
I ask despite knowing the answer, and we are definitely going to talk about what these situations illuminate about our society. But first, let’s revisit Twigs’ allegations against LaBeouf, because while Franco’s accusers were anonymous and their lawsuit against him was settled in 2021—he paid $2.2 million in damages—this case is ongoing and Twigs is both famous and has been super open about her experience. So… you’d think her allegations would be more memorable to media outlets, right?
In a February 2021 Elle article, Twigs painstakingly detailed incidents of abuse: “After I moved into his house, that’s when the abuse really escalated,” she said at the time. “I realized then I wasn’t just dealing with a tortured person who was going through a divorce. Or that outside factors in his life [were] making him act out on me. I was involved with an inherently abusive person.”
For example: He demanded she show her love by kissing and touching him a certain number of times a day, and would “verbally attack” her for hours if she didn’t meet this quota. He required her to sleep naked (because otherwise she’d be ‘keeping her body from him’), woke her in the middle of the night to accuse her of various ‘misdeeds,’ including masturbating and plotting to leave him, unfavourably compared her to his ex, got angry if she spent too much time around, or even just communicated with, friends, accused her of flirting or sleeping with men she’d barely spoken to, and began keeping a loaded gun in their bedroom. During a terrifying weekend at a hotel spa for Valentine’s Day 2019, she says LaBeouf woke her up in the middle of the night to strangle her, drove erratically while demanding she profess her love for him, then, when they stopped at a gas station and she tried to leave, choked her again and screamed at her. A month after that, she learned she had an STI—and that LaBeouf had the same one, and engaged in unprotected sex with her without disclosing his status. In fact, he’d actively tried to hide his symptoms with makeup. She tried unsuccessfully to leave several times, but wasn’t able to actually do so until May 2019, when she embarked on a world tour in support of her album, Magdalene. Her lawyers filed a civil suit against LaBeouf in December 2020; just a couple of months later, she decided to speak to Elle because she intimately understood how COVID lockdowns could exacerbate abuse and felt a responsibility to speak out about her experience of intimate partner violence.
(In response to the lawsuit, which included similar allegations by another former girlfriend, stylist Karolyn Pho, LaBeouf told the New York Times, “I’m not in any position to tell anyone how my behavior made them feel. I have no excuses for my alcoholism or aggression, only rationalizations. I have been abusive to myself and everyone around me for years. I have a history of hurting the people closest to me. I’m ashamed of that history and am sorry to those I hurt. There is nothing else I can really say.” Later, in a separate email, he said “many of these allegations are not true [but that he owed Twigs and Pho] the opportunity to air their statements publicly and accept accountability for those things I have done.”)
At the time, industry decision-makers seemingly did the right thing, which coincidentally was also the most business-savvy thing—that is, pulling back from LaBeouf. He was originally slated to star in Don’t Worry, Darling opposite Florence Pugh, but was fired in 2020 (weeks after director Olivia Wilde posted a message of support for Twigs on Instagram) because “he has a process that, in some ways, seems to require a combative energy,” as Wilde later told Variety. “I don’t personally believe that is conducive to the best performances. I believe that creating a safe, trusting environment is the best way to get people to do their best work.” The same year, Netflix abruptly dropped him from their awards campaign for Pieces of a Woman, including removing him from the streamer’s For Your Consideration page and even the film’s synopsis. And in 2021, he parted ways with his talent agency, CAA.
In Hollywood, abusers never go away for long
Three years later, though, and it seems like few industry insiders recall these frankly horrifying allegations??? Or if they do, they just don’t care. But let’s be real; that’s absolutely par for the course, specifically for LaBeouf and also for abusers in general. Twigs’ and Pho’s lawsuit was not the first time he’d been accused of abusive and otherwise problematic behaviour, which he himself hinted at in his reply to the Times. A short list: in 2008, he was charged with a DUI after colliding with another vehicle and flipping his truck. In 2011, he was involved in two separate bar fights, though neither led to an arrest. In 2014, he was arrested after disrupting a production of Cabaret. In 2015, he was filmed fighting with then-girlfriend Mia Goth and saying “I don’t want to touch you. I don’t want to be aggressive,” “this is the kind of shit that makes a person abusive” and “I don’t want to hit a woman, but I’m getting pushed.” (He and Goth married in 2016, separated in 2018 and reunited in 2020. They now have a one-year-old a daughter.) In 2017, he went on a racist rant while getting arrested for public drunkenness and disorderly conduct in Savannah, Georgia.
And yet, just before Twigs’ lawsuit, he’d not only been working steadily, he had “been drawing some of the best reviews of his career, with acclaimed turns in Andrea Arnold’s American Honey (2016), opposite Sasha Lane, and Honey Boy,” according to the Independent. Of course the same thing is happening now. We’ve seen this exact dynamic play out countless times, specifically at this festival, even. Just before Cannes kicked off, the Guardian published allegations of harassment—which are mystifyingly referred to as “old-school behaviour”—against director Francis Ford Coppola for incidents that happened during filming for Megalopolis. At last year’s festival, Johnny Depp made his red carpet return for the opening night premiere of his film Jeanne Du Barry, which earned him a seven-minute standing ovation. And Roman Polanski, who fled America in 1978, the day before he was to be sentenced after pleading guilty to unlawful sexual intercourse with a 13-year-old girl, has premiered two of his most recent films at the festival. This year, Cannes is clearly throwing its support behind a nascent French #MeToo movement with the last-minute inclusion of Moi Aussi, a short film about sexual misconduct in the French film industry by Judith Godrèche, who in February came forward with allegations of grooming against directors Benoît Jacquot and Jacques Doillon. And yet, that public-facing move doesn’t offset the long-running policy of overlooking abuse allegations in favour of artistic and/or business interests.
The ‘why’ here is pretty clear: money. In most of these cases, the appearance of professional distance is very clearly about PR; does it look bad to be professionally entangled with this person who is currently receiving public criticism over their behaviour, whatever that behaviour is? If so, pull back. But only until the scandal blows over—which I guess these industry insiders think is now? Because clearly, decision-makers believe LaBeouf is redeemable, or at least still constitutes a solid financial investment. That’s why he’s landed roles in prestigious projects, and why there are potential blockbusters to shop around. (It’s also why Armani dressed him—and Franco—for the festival.)
What was Access Hollywood thinking with that tweet?
What I find confusing/weird/annoying is Access Hollywood’s approach, and how common it is in entertainment journalism about alleged abusers. This example is particularly egregious, I think, because the tweet acknowledged some history (yes, it sure has been four years since LaBeouf walked a red carpet!) but not all of it (why do you think that might be????), as if most people wouldn’t remember, or wouldn’t care, about that missing context. But in general, media outlets are often co-opted into doing the work of laundering abusers’ reputations. (See: Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp, Sean Penn.) Which brings us back to the idea of cultural memory; these articles and videos and social media posts are also vessels for collective memories, just as much as classic literature and historical paintings and nostalgic songs. So the way journalists frame these things, the information they decide to include and leave out, the tone they take—all of these things don’t just create a record of what we think about particular people right now, they contribute to our ongoing understanding of who we are and what we value, and perhaps more relevant here, who we think we should be, and what we should value.
So maybe the reason for this approach is just as obvious as the reason for industry insiders’ revenue-driven decision-making: gender-based violence is not a threat to the dominant social order, and therefore being abusive doesn’t warrant actual, lasting consequences. You have to consider something important and relevant to include it in your coverage. And clearly, to Access Hollywood, LaBeouf’s victims, who are both racialized, just… weren’t.
Not Bad For Some Immigrants, Episode 6: There Actually Is Room for More than One Brown Girl at the Table
In the last episode of Friday Talks, Season 2, Arti Patel joins me to chat about making space for South Asian women in creative fields. Arti’s now a successful executive producer at CBC, but years ago, she was a university grad who wanted to break into media—but didn’t know anyone in the industry, and had no idea how. Eventually she did exactly that, of course, but she never forgot how it felt to be on the outside looking in. So, six years ago, she co-founded Didihood, a networking/support group for the next generation of South Asian creatives. Now, Didihood provides networking opportunities, professional development and mentorship, and helps Brown women see themselves in media, film, music, art and beyond. Watch now!
And Did You Hear About…
Bustle’s fascinating feature about the social implications of always-on location sharing.
This Twitter thread of phrases that sound older than they are, and this counterpoint rounding up phrases that sound ultra-modern, but are actually from classic literature or films.
The Taylor Swift cultural juggernaut, by the numbers.
YouTuber Tee Noir, whose cultural criticism is on point, especially her most recent video on race, capitalism and Beyoncé.
The Cut’s recent trend piece on the “penis-filler boom,” which I insist you all read immediately because there is so much to unpack.
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