I stopped watching Hollywood movies sometime in the mid-1970s, so when the name “Asia Argento” started popping up amid the #MeToo vagina dentata feeding frenzy last fall, I needed to be informed who she was.
Born in the West, Asia—whose name is a common Italian name for girls, and is annoyingly pronounced “AH-see-ah”—is the child of wealth and privilege. Her father Dario is a famous Italian horror-movie director with an estimated net worth of $16 million, yet like many such types, poor Asia can’t seem to just appreciate being lucky and appears to feel the need to rail against “entitles [sic] westerners” as if she weren’t the very embodiment of an entitled, privileged Westerner.
Last fall, along with the obviously deranged actress Rose McGowan, Asia became one of the loudest barking poodles in the #MeToo movement, which declared that victims should always be believed and that perpetrators should always be destroyed.
As far as I can tell from piecing together the available narratives, both Argento and McGowan claimed that Weinstein “raped” them because they faked orgasms when he was performing oral sex on them. I am aware of no accusations that he physically restrained them or threatened them in any way. But it appears that part of what has driven #MeToo is to massively expand the definition of rape to include any sexual encounter a woman might later regret. For example, in the still pending rape charge against Julian Assange, it appears that his only crime was failing to call his alleged victim the next day.
In Argento’s case, she was apparently so appalled by Weinstein’s shoddy cunnilingual skills that she proceeded to have a sexual relationship with him that lasted four years. Maybe he gives good foot rubs—I don’t know. Or maybe she’ll try to claim that the fact she had to fake an orgasm with him left her so mentally ravaged that she couldn’t help but have sex with him for four more years.
Why not? Makes as much sense as anything else does these days. But incredible as it may seem, the Argento saga gets worse—much, much worse—which you’ll see if you read on. Argento is one of the vilest of harpies in a culture so besieged by them as to resemble a scene from Hitchcock’s The Birds—enough so that she inspires a brand new category here, named specially for this affliction.