#MeToo, Five Years Later: No One’s Fully Returned From “Cancellation” — No, Not Even Louis C.K.

Amid the torrent of accusations leveled against powerful Hollywood men in the frenzied first few months of the #MeToo era, industry observers often shared the same jaded expectation. Short of arrest or indictment, the thinking went, the accused would be back on their feet after a brief time-out and a few memory-cleansing news cycles, carrying on with their careers unaffected. The dollar is king; Hollywood always forgets; etc.

This hasn’t happened. In fact, comebacks — if they materialize at all — are strikingly and significantly circumscribed. One of #MeToo’s greatest victories, at the practical level, has been its unrelenting administration of professional punishment.

Think about how few prominent individuals felled by sexual harassment or assault allegations in the post-Weinstein era have returned to an equivalent stature. The category excludes the likes of Jamie Foxx and Ryan Seacrest, whose denials of the allegations against them passed muster in the court of public opinion, as well as Dan Harmon, who was absolved after his victim accepted his apology. This discussion also doesn’t pertain to those whose allegations surfaced pre-2017 (such as Casey Affleck), along with the few entrepreneurs so rich, insulated and unaccountable that censure simply doesn’t matter (see Russell Simmons, though even he had to step down from his company).

Les Moonves. Roy Price. Brett Ratner. Matt Weiner. Jeremy Piven. Kevin Spacey. Luc Besson. The list goes on. Some of them are hanging around, taking meetings, massaging contacts, even pursuing projects — a few of which even materialize. They’re also fooling themselves.

Career damage is impossible to determine with precision since you can’t prove what would’ve been or still will be. Also, some unmeasurable portion of the work that has been secured is done by keeping it out of sight, in low-profile gigs like consulting and investing.

Enforcers of sustained opprobrium — an alliance of #MeToo-aligned activists, influential voices on social media and like-minded press outlets — have limited the extent and amplitude of comeback attempts. They’ve done this by immediately and assertively responding to any known attempts, no matter how minor, tangential or circumstantial.

The key rhetorical strategy is to treat even the most tentative recovery bid as a prelude to undeserved redemption, ensuring the continued radioactivity of the accused and threatening guilt by association to anyone who assists them. Shunning is then reInforced.

This is how varied announcements are scuttled. Remember Charlie Rose’s bid at relevance this April, when he posted an interview with Warren Buffett on Substack? That trial balloon was quickly shot down, and eyebrows were raised at the Oracle of Omaha’s reputation-laundering participation. Or, in 2019, Bryan Singer’s revivification as director of Red Sonja? The booing was so loud that producer Avi Lerner, not known for being pushed around, soon gave the job to Transparent creator Joey Soloway. (The director M.J. Bassett recently took over.)

Louis C.K. and John Lasseter are often highlighted as examples of successful #MeToo-era comebacks — shining to their sympathizers, infuriating to their antagonists. Yet if anything, they’re emblematic of the new ceiling.

C.K.’s remaining audience has shrunk to his hard-core true believers, the direct-to-consumer fan base for whom he can creatively coast and to whom he can most easily sell. (Except, of course, for those small crowds he surprises with performances, regardless of their inclination, at comedy clubs.) Yes, he nabbed a Grammy for comedy album this year, but it mainly served to remind the public of the overall backwardness of the Recording Academy. And yes, he recently announced to his mailing list that he’ll be playing Madison Square Garden in January 2023, validating some of those early #MeToo pessimists, though there’s little indication he’ll fill the venue with the type of general audience an ambitious craft comedian like him wants most to win over. He’s also culturally caged. Nobody’s asking him to act in another American Hustle or produce their Better Things. C.K.’s a shadow of his former self, a marginal figure.

Meanwhile, Lasseter, having secured the head position at Skydance Animation, making films at or near the scale and distribution he previously enjoyed, owes his own grand resurgence to the fortunate fact that one of those few entrepreneurs so rich, insulated and unaccountable that censure simply doesn’t matter — David Ellison, heir to the multibillion-dollar Oracle fortune — grew up hanging out saucer-eyed at Pixar. Lasseter may be considered a creepy uncle, but as luck would have it, his patron apparently considers him akin to family.

Regardless, Lasseter’s new role is not close in stature to his previous perch as COO of both Pixar and Walt Disney Animation. Then, there’s industry prestige. These days, Lasseter likely wouldn’t be asked to speak at a top film school, since there’d be protests, and it remains to be seen if his movies will be snubbed by the Oscars’ votership, which increasingly strains to keep up with the curve of social sentiment.

It’s true that certain big names — including Shia LaBeouf and James Franco, who have both denied the most damning allegations against them even as they have acknowledged missteps — do seem perpetually on the verge of full-scale comebacks. But such resurgences have yet to materialize. At some point the culture may take another turn. For now, comeuppance rules the day.

This story first appeared in the Sept. 28 issue of The Hollywood Reporter magazine. Click here to subscribe.