On Monday, October 2, 2017, Harvey Weinstein arrived at work earlier than usual. As was his custom, he barked orders and moved from room to room inside his spacious office suite at 375 Greenwich Street, the New York City headquarters of the Weinstein Company (T.W.C.), a beautiful old red-brick factory building that had been converted into a center of the film universe.
The producer had formed the enterprise some 12 years earlier after he and his brother and partner, Bob Weinstein, exited their fabled Miramax operation, home to such critical and commercial successes as Shakespeare in Love, Pulp Fiction, and Sex, Lies, and Videotape. And during an equally successful tenure at T.W.C., the brothers, whose films have generated an astounding 81 Oscars since 1999, had ushered into the world The King’s Speech, Inglourious Basterds, Silver Linings Playbook, and The Artist. Now, however, T.W.C., the cinematic supernova, was suddenly imploding. And it was about to consume Weinstein the man and the brand.