If you are surprised by the news that Harvey Weinstein of Miramax fame, a man well known for profane tirades and physical altercations and scrounging M&Ms off movie theater floors, is also the sort of charmer who loafs around semi-nude while asking subordinates for “back” massages, then you can be surprised by just about anything: the sun rising in the east, the fact that movie stars employ plastic surgeons, the news that “The Artist” didn’t actually deserve to win Best Picture.

Weinstein’s response to this paper’s impressive investigatory work was to issue a statement promising to spend even more lavishly on liberal causes. Like a knight promising a crusade against the Saracens as penance for raping and pillaging at home, the mogul’s assumption seemed to be that the right political commitment can cover over piggishness and vice.

Does it? Probably not; at the very least he faces an extended period of exile. But Weinstein is older now and not as influential as in his heyday. The whole “forgive me, I’m a liberal” thing won’t protect him now, but it was part of his carapace for decades, during which time everyone who mattered clamored for his friendship and fund-raising prowess despite all the stories there to hear.

Maybe his overdue exposure shows that the world has changed, and progressive industries are finally feminist enough to put their old goats out to pasture.