Girl, no, not again.
That seems to be Twitter’s collective response to Kevin Spacey, who broke his silence since he attempted to respond to allegations in October 2017 of sexual assault by the actor Anthony Rapp, who was 14 when the incident took place, with his own, badly misconceived coming-out narrative. On Monday, he appears to have made another spectacular PR mistake, on Christmas Eve no less, when he posted a video to YouTube (embedded at bottom), titled “Let Me Be Frank.”
In the video, he affects the Southern accent of Frank Underwood, the House of Cards character who was unceremoniously booted by the show after eight HoC employees also brought forth allegations of sexual misconduct against the actor. Wearing a Santa apron in amateurish home video lighting (Netflix has already clarified they were definitely not involved), Spacey talks directly to camera as he does on the show, speaking dialogue that the actor, a Shakespeare devotee, probably thinks is full of wit and double entendre—”Isn’t it just so brilliant that you can’t tell if I’m talking about my own narrative or Frank Underwood’s storyline?”—but actually comes off as deeply threatening, sinister, accusatory, and not at all clever. Moreover, it is incredibly ill-timed, coming on the heels of the news that he will face felony charges for allegedly sexually assaulting the teenage son of former Boston WCVB-TV news anchor Heather Unruh at a Nantucket bar in July 2016.
The only thing that this video truly accomplishes for Spacey is that it’s made it all the more obvious how badly he needs the counsel of agents and publicists and management, all of whom dropped him after the allegations came out. Below, the full text of the spine-crawling message he delivered in the video, if you care to read:
“I know what you want. Oh sure, they may have tried to separate us, but what we have is too strong, it’s too powerful. I mean, after all, we shared everything, you and I. I told you my deepest, darkest secrets. I showed you exactly what people are capable of. I shocked you with my honesty, but mostly I challenged you and made you think. And you trusted me, even though you knew you shouldn’t. So we’re not done, no matter what anyone says. And besides, I know what you want: You want me back. Of course, some believed everything and have been waiting with bated breath to hear me confess it all. They’re just dying to have me declare that everything said is true and that I got what I deserved. Wouldn’t that be easy? If only it was so simply; only you and I know that it’s never that simple, not in politics and not in life. But you wouldn’t believe the worst without evidence, would you? You wouldn’t rush to judgments without facts, would you?… Did you? No, not you. You’re smarter than that. Anyway, all this presumption made for such an unsatisfying ending. And to think it could’ve been such a memorable sendoff. If you and I have learned nothing else in these past few years, it’s that in life and art, nothing should be off the table. We’re not afraid, not of what we said and of what we did, and we’re still not afraid. Because I can promise you this: If I didn’t pay the price for the things we both know I did do, I’m certainly not going to pay the price for the things I didn’t do. Oh, of course they’re going to say I’m being disrespectful, not playing by the rules. Like I ever played by anyone’s rules before. I never did, and you loved it. Anyhow, despite all the poppycock, the animosity, the headlines, the impeachment without a trial, despite everything—despite even my own death—I feel surprisingly good. And my confidence grows each day that soon enough, you will know the full tru—Oh wait a minute. Now that I think of it, you never actually saw me die, did you? Conclusions can be so deceiving. Miss me?”