Against my better judgement, I read the Shia LaBeouf/David Mamet piece in the Hollywood Reporter. It’s what you’d expect from two “Hollywood outcasts”, a rambling 20,000 word tirade about craft, performance art, sobriety, and cancel culture. Notably, LaBeouf names Mel Gibson, Sean Penn, and James Brolin as the men who were essential to his “survival.”
The interview takes us on a twisted path to rehabilitation. What do these men do after they’re discarded by their Hollywood peers? Journalist Seth Abramovitch dutifully mentions LaBeouf’s sexual assault allegations and his upcoming abuse trial. He also interrogates Mamet about his fondness for Donald Trump and Louis CK’s essential role in his filmmaking and production choices. Yet, somehow, we meander toward the “God Talks” between Mamet and LaBeouf; the two even attend church together. The title of the piece reads “Shia LaBeouf and David Mamet Might Just Save Each Other.”
LaBeouf seems almost baffled by his fall from grace:
“We’re not supposed to be here….Because we’re on some kind of lists. For instance, I was going to do Jimmy Kimmel, right? To promote this project. And so Jimmy Kimmel’s show is owned by ABC. And ABC said, “No, you can’t interview Shia.” So Jimmy had to call me and say, ‘Hey, you can’t come on the show.’”
The actor implies a sentiment I’ve seen a lot online when it comes to these fucked-up “genius” types. Can’t people change? Don’t I deserve a second chance? In the age of abolition and restorative justice, even the most privileged among us wants a piece of the action.
Maybe there’s a simple answer: yes, people can change. Yes, people do deserve a second chance. I hope for the sake of his wife that Shia LaBeouf’s history of sexual assault and battery don’t bleed into his new relationship. I hope for the sake of his daughter that his well-documented rage issues are just a strange blip on a struggling child star’s reputation. But whenever these men come out as bad people, promise to do better, get sober, I find myself wondering: why is this my problem?
I took a Liberation Theology class in college where our professor pulled heaven out of the sky and wondered if we could achieve it here on earth through cultivating just relationships with one another. If that was heaven, men like Shia LaBeouf are working their way out of hell. While I like to imagine an abolitionist future where LaBeouf is housed and entitled to self-determination, I don’t think radical rehabilitation happens on a cushy coach in the Hollywood Hills, chopping it up with right-wingers and podcasters. And I definitely don’t think I should have to hear about it.
It’s not just LaBeouf that feels this entitlement to public recovery. Jonathan Majors has hit the road with a half-promotional, half-redemption tour after being convicted of strangling an ex-girlfriend. Headlines about Brad Pitt repairing his relationships serendipitously appeared after his nasty divorce and an alleged plane assault hit the press.
Perhaps no one is better at public healing than Mark Wahlberg. In two separate instances in his teen years, Wahlberg was convicted of devastating hate crimes. In the first, he chased a group of Black children on a field trip, hurling rocks and racial epithets at the fourth graders. In the second, he beat two Vietnamese men so badly one permanently lost his sight. Still, though, the public cried, he was a teenager. He was on drugs. He’s learned and grown. He posted a picture of George Floyd in 2020.
I do think that after years of socialization that Mark Wahlberg is probably less racist than he was as a wayward Bostonian teen in the 1980s. Still, though, the kind of cultural sickness it takes to look at a man capable of that and say, yeah he should be a star is troubling. Somehow forgiving, forgetting, and letting this man resume filming of Ted 3 doesn’t feel like enough. Even if he said he was sorry.
I sort of gave up the idea that admitting you have a problem is the hardest part after this. It seems like these guys are so good at admitting they have a problem. Hi, I’m Shia LaBeouf, I’m a drug addict. They make movies about their fucked up childhoods, their fucked-up dads. They mentor younger screw-ups (thank you to Mel Gibson for keeping me sober). They play “complicated” men and dare to see their humanity. But it’s not as if their public healing have no culture consequences.
Perhaps in the footsteps of elder abuser Johnny Depp, Shia LaBeouf is counter suing his ex, FKA Twigs, for defamation. While he admits to “abusive” elements of their relationship, he denies the specific claims listed in the suit. Twigs will be left not only with the psychical and mental scars of his abuse, but also the stain on her reputation. Somehow, it makes her a liar and him a gritty “rebel” ready to shake things up in Hollywood.
When I think about what true healing looks like for these men I keep coming to the same conclusion: they need to go away. Regardless of their intentions, the public apology, even with sobriety, does nothing but render them sympathetic and their victim cold and calculating. These apologies always come with strings, anyway: look, I’m sober, don’t I deserve a job, a profile that underscores the fullness of my personhood, and a chat with Joe Rogan? It’s not only that we must forgive these bad men but forget their transgressions altogether in the name of restorative justice.
But I don’t buy that. I want them to slink into the woods (or, at least the proverbial woods, Connecticut or Fresno, maybe) and grow out their beards. I want the world to forget their names. They could walk freely into grocery stores. They drop their coffee in public and make dinner reservations without anyone batting an eye. I want them to slip into obscurity and make peace with their actions far away from the public eye. I want them to work their way out of hell.