Screenwriter close to Weinstein calls out Hollywood: 'Everybody f**king knew'And here’s where the slither meets the slime: Harvey was showing us the best of times. He was making our movies. Throwing the biggest parties. Taking us to The Golden Globes! Introducing us to the most amazing people (Meetings with Vice President Gore! Clubbing with Quentin and Uma! Drinks with Salman Rushdie and Ralph Fiennes! Dinners with Mick Jagger and Warren-freaking-Beatty!). The most epic Oscar weekends. That seemed to last for weeks! Sundance! Cannes! Toronto! Telluride! Berlin! Venice! Private jets! Stretch limousines! Springsteen shows! Hell, Harvey once took me to St. Barth’s for Christmas. For 12 days! I was a broke-ass kid from Boston who had never even HEARD of St. Barth’s before he booked my travel. He once got me tickets to the seven hottest Broadway shows in one week. So I could take a new girlfriend on a dazzling tour of theater. He got me seats on the 40-yard-line to the Super Bowl, when the Patriots were playing the Packers in New Orleans. Even got me a hotel room, which was impossible to get that weekend. He gave and gave and gave and gave. He had a monarch’s volcanic generosity when it came to those within his circle. And a Mafia don’s fervent need for abject loyalty from his capos and soldiers.