Despite my knowledge of Polanski’s crime, I was still able to consume his work. Eager to. Throughout the spring and summer of 2014, I watched the films, their beauty its own kind of monument, impervious to my knowledge of his crime. I wasn’t supposed to love this work, or this man. He was the object of boycotts and lawsuits and outrage. Even so, here I sat in my living room, watching Repulsion, Rosemary’s Baby, Chinatown.
