Dustin Hoffman is eighty-years-old.
Dear Dustin - say it isn't so.
Baby Boomers around the globe worship your legacy - your brave, outrageous career where you stepped out - risked much - and led us into our maturity.
As Michael Dorsey in Tootsie - you exposed an artist brave enough to lampoon his feminine side.
As Ted Kramer, in Kramer vs. Kramer - you challenged other men to reexamine their ability to nurture, to settle for the glories of domesticity.
And no one else could have exposed the complexities of Raymond Babbitt as did you in Rain Man.
The world honors your excessive and grand talent - but if these allegations are true, none of that will matter. History will forget your artistry and remember you as a dirty old man.
That's what I do not understand. You're not a B list guy - - not a "made for TV" Hollywood guy.
You're Hoffman, for god's sake. And I cannot fathom you jeopardizing your lionized legacy by messing around with someone's seventeen-year-old child?
Perhaps you did. Perhaps the one role wherein you learned the least was the one you played in The Graduate.
Benjamin Braddock, the confused, undirected, privileged and bored son of privilege, graduates from college and finds himself seduced by the corrupt, cynical and alcoholic Mrs. Robinson (Anne Bancroft).
Dustin Hoffman, Anne Bancroft. THE GRADUATE.
Film buffs called The Graduate the iconic generational expression - an exquisite denial of materialism and remarkable affirmation of innocence and love.
The films closing scene inspired a generation of idealistic, hopeful, courageous Americans, and encouraged us to be unafraid as we set about to disrupt and transform the staid, racist, sexist, ugly world that spawned our white, educated privilege.
We will never forget the final scene of that movie.
You and the rescued Elaine Robinson (Katherine Ross), still in her wedding gown; the two of you fleeing the jaded, sophisticated, overdressed wedding party - and boarding a bus en route to the unknown.
THE GRADUATE. Katherine Ross. Dustin Hoffman.
"Where to?" the bus driver asks.
"To the end," you answer.
I believed you then, and - although I am yet a rabid, crazy-ass feminist - - I believe you still.
Here’s to you, Mr. Hoffman. Age into the legacy you deserve.
Take it to the end.