SATIRE/Rosie Sorenson

A Tale of Three Harveys

Once upon a time, there were three Harveys. One, a very big deal movie producer in LaLa Land. Another, a very big deal hurricane produced by Mother Nature. The third, a very big white rabbit, a pooka, who starred in his own namesake movie, Harvey, featuring Jimmy Stewart.

Harvey the movie producer destroyed countless women’s lives. Harvey the hurricane destroyed 100,000 houses, wrecked a million cars and caused at least $23 billion in damages. Harvey the big white rabbit destroyed no one.

According to Celtic legend, pookas are shape shifters and on occasion mischief makers, some to the good, some not. This particular Harvey was a kind and sensitive pooka who befriended an eccentric but amiable loner named Elwood P. Dowd (Jimmy Stewart). Elwood and Harvey were quite happy together, harming no one, until Elwood’s sister thought Elwood should be put in a psych hospital because, well, anyone who thought he saw and talked to a white rabbit had to be nuts or out for some kind of twisted fame. Who would believe him?

Harvey was not only Elwood P. Dowd’s best friend, he was also a kind friend to Jessica Rabbit early in her career.

Harvey Weinstein had noticed Jessica in the movie Who Framed Roger Rabbit where her ample curves were on full display. He called her agent to say he had Jessica in mind for a part in his new movie—Shakespeare in Love. Would she be interested? Well, heck yeah she was interested. She longed to break out of the stereotype of the va-va-va-voom vixen she’d played in Roger Rabbit. Who wouldn’t be interested? He was, after all, Harvey effing Weinstein! She’d heard a few rumors, but those were easily cast aside for a shot at the kind of stardom only Harvey could deliver. She talked it over with her pooka. “Just be alert,” is what he told her.

Harvey’s assistant called Jessica’s agent the next day to set up a meeting at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Jessica thought that was odd, but who could resist meeting The Star Maker?

Jessica met up with Harvey’s assistant in the lobby, a nice young woman who put her at ease. They rode together in the elevator, making small talk along the way to Harvey’s room. Harvey greeted Jessica with a warm shake of the hand and then dismissed the assistant.

“It’s nice to meet you Jessica. Make yourself comfortable,” he told her. “I’ll be back in a minute. Drinks are over there.” He pointed toward the bar and walked down the hall. She’d only seen photos of him, but in person, he seemed, well, uglier and fatter.

She thought she heard water running. Who takes a shower in the middle of an audition? She spied his black leather appointment book lying on the coffee table. She crept over and flipped through it. His appointments were filled up with more women’s names than you’d find in a hairdresser’s book.

Sunday, 3:00 p.m. Peninsula Hotel, audition/massage, Claire

Monday, 8:00 p.m. Beverly Hills Hotel, drinks, Suzette (Fbunny)

Tuesday, 7:30 a.m. Peninsula Hotel, breakfast, Ashley

Tuesday, 6:30 p.m. Polo Lounge, dinner with Francoise (Fbunny)

Wednesday, 1:30 Fly to France

Wednesday, 11:30 p.m. Hôtel du Cap-Eden-Roc, movie screening, Argento

Thursday, 10:30 Fly to London

Thursday, 4:30 Savoy Hotel, Kate B

Friday, 9:30 p.m. Cipriani Upstairs Club, Lucia FB

Saturday, 7:30 a.m. Fly to Sundance Film Festival

Saturday, 5:30 p.m. Rose

She pawed through page after page after page of “appointments” with these women, some of whom she knew. It was strange that none of her friends had mentioned meeting Harvey in a hotel or bar, but the way he was going through women, you’d have thought he was a rabbit in heat.

As soon as the shower ceased, she closed the book and rushed over to sit down in the overstuffed side chair. Harvey returned to the living room, wearing only a towel, a very big towel. She jumped up and rabbited around behind the sofa.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled, and let the towel fall slowly to the floor. “You’re going to give me a massage, right here,” and pointed down to his nether region.

At first she was flummoxed. Then she got hopping mad. She said, “Look Mr. Weinstein, I’m not bad, I’m just drawn this way,” (a famous line from her movie, Who Framed Roger Rabbit.) “I’m not that kind of a rabbit.”

“Oh, come on, Jessica, I was just kidding,” he said and picked up his towel and wound it around his substantial girth. “Sit down here and let’s talk about my new movie.”

“I don’t think so.” No way was she going to let that gross creature put his paws on her. She bounced toward the door. It opened as if by magic and Harvey, her pooka, stepped into the room. As he guided Jessica through the doorway, he glanced over his shoulder, pointed his large rabbit’s foot at the big deal movie maker and said:

“For shame! You need help, Sir, but 12-Step programs are too good for you. I’m going to see to it that you never work in this town again!” And with that, Harvey the pooka disappeared.

Harvey the big deal Hollywood producer stood up, shaking his head, mouth agape. Maybe it’s time to stop drinking.

Rosie Sorenson is a humor writer in the San Francisco Bay Area. You can contact her at:

From The Progressive Populist, December 1, 2017

Blog | Current Issue | Back Issues | Essays | Links

About the Progressive Populist | How to Subscribe | How to Contact Us

Copyright © 2017 The Progressive Populist

PO Box 819, Manchaca TX 78652