I missed yesterday’s David Letterman shakedown episode due to travelling, walking the streets of Shreveport, eating shrimp and drinking beer. This is the tabloid world that we live in. Obviously no shortage of scumbags. Letterman going to the authorities was the right way to go, of course. And his confession was well delivered, I thought.
Most of us, I presume, are shocked, shocked that a big dog in a highly-charged showbiz workplace occasionally — frequently? — dipped into the fresh yogurt that was available in clean glass bowls on the banquet table.
We’re all human and vulnerable, but it’s not easy and actually a little strange to think of Letterman having it off in a Bernardo Bertolucci sense of the term. You don’t think “yep, there goes a sensual guy!” when you look at Letterman. He’s always seemed like a primarily cerebral being — brilliant, neurotic, fast-on-his-feet, fickle, health nut, Connecticut family guy, etc. So as sobering and (I suppose) moderately embarassing as this episode has been for him, this episode has almost been a kind of half-plus.
Because Letterman now has a certain extra dimension. He now has the very human aura of someone with the ability to risk and dive in and act foolish in order to taste the forbidden fruit. As well as a man with the cojones to say “fuck you” to an extortionist and to make a clean honest admission to his partner, his son, the authorities and the public.
Wait — how does the Polanski pitchfork crowd feel about this? Or is this being seen as less of a cut-and-dried thing? Do they feel that Letterman should, you know, do the right thing and pay for his crime, suffer for his sins, be sued and so on?