It's the summer of 1921, and actor Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle is on top of the world

It's the summer of 1921, and actor Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle is on top of the world

Successful, wealthy, and adored by silent film audiences, Chaplin is the king of laughter. Despite his imposing physical appearance, he is agile and comical, and his performances are a family favorite. Paramount Pictures has paid him $3 million over three years to star in 18 films, and he has just signed another million-dollar contract with the studio. To celebrate his new six-figure deal, his best friend Fred Fischbach has organized a huge party. It will be held in three adjoining apartments rented at the St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco, and will last for three days.
It's 1921, and a scandal of unprecedented proportions is about to engulf the Hollywood community.
The party is attended by about fifty people, who, following the flow of alcohol, are becoming increasingly uninhibited. In the midst of the party, Fatty, wandering around in pajamas and a bathrobe, retreats to a private room with Virginia Rappe, a young, up-and-coming actress. Later testimonies report loud noises and heart-rending screams coming from the room. Suddenly, the girl runs out of the room with her clothes torn, accusing the man of having hurt her. The situation immediately appears serious to those present; they try to calm her down. The hotel doctor examines her, diagnosing her with alcohol and drug poisoning. Taken to Pine Street Hospital, she tells a nurse, "It was Fatty Arbuckle who did this to me... please, don't let me get away with this." Three days later, she dies of peritonitis, caused by a perforated bladder.
Fatty is arrested on charges of rape and murder and faces the electric chair. The police release a mugshot of the actor, portraying him dejected, in a suit and bow tie: the public begins to express its first judgments.
The actor claims that after having a few drinks, Rappe became "hysterical," complained of being unable to breathe, and then began tearing her clothes off. She subsequently vomited, and he and several other guests attempted to revive her from what they believed to be poisoning. He claims to have provided her with a room of his own to help her recover and admits to having massaged her stomach, at the actress's request, and only with ice to ease the pain.
Virginia's manager, on the other hand, accuses the comedian of having lacerated the woman's bladder by violently raping her with a stick of ice; the police, however, are convinced that he killed the woman by crushing her with his own bulk. Later, during the trial, the stick of ice will be transformed into the neck of a glass bottle.
Arbuckle's lawyers presented medical evidence proving that Rappe had a bladder condition, and autopsy reports attested to the lack of signs of violence on her body. The defense also claimed to have witnesses with damaging information about Virginia's past, but Arbuckle refused to allow them to testify out of respect for the missing girl.
After three trials, on April 12, 1922, the jury acquitted Arbuckle of manslaughter after deliberating for only five minutes, four of which were spent preparing a statement: "We feel that a grave injustice has been done to Arbuckle, because he has been accused without any concrete evidence. And we hope that the American people will also recognize the truth."
A week later, Will Hays, whom the film industry had hired as a censor to restore its image, creating the Hays Code—a set of moral guidelines that would limit film production in the US for decades—banned Fatty from appearing on screen. After months of media scrutiny and repeated trials, his image as a charming family entertainer was irreparably lost, partly due to the discovery of some of his vices, often exaggerated by a press hungry for risqué details. Paramount tore up his contract, and no one would ever give him another chance to make a film or redeem himself.
Arbuckle changed his name to William B. Goodrich and began working behind the scenes, directing films for friends who had remained loyal to him and barely scraping by in the only business he knew. A little over ten years later, things might be about to change: suddenly, a phone call from the great producer Jack Warner offered Arbuckle the chance to return in front of the camera. On the evening of June 29, 1933, to celebrate, Fatty went out to dinner with his wife; upon returning home, he finally fell asleep peacefully. He would never wake up again, struck down by a heart attack at the age of 46. Continue reading