Even in the #MeToo age, the fall of Albert Schultz was unusually swift. A few days ago, Mr. Schultz was the reigning impresario of the Canadian theatre world, covered with glory and honours. Today he is untouchable. He has been denounced as an alleged sexual predator on the front pages of the newspapers. Soulpepper, the theatre he co-founded, has cast him out, along with his wife, Leslie Lester, who was executive director. His life work is tainted, his livelihood destroyed. He is reviled throughout the theatre world. He faces four civil lawsuits and daunting legal bills. But in some ways the legal process is irrelevant. It's likely that, like Jian Ghomeshi, he'll never work in this town again – or, for that matter, in any theatre anywhere in Canada.
Good riddance, a lot of people say. He got what he deserved. Forget about the evidence. Allegations are enough. It's the tenor of the times. First comes the public execution – the trial can wait. As Julius Grey, a senior human-rights lawyer, wrote in the Montreal Gazette, it's a "new reign of terror."
Last week – was it only Wednesday? – Mr. Schultz was accused of sexual misconduct by four actresses, who told their stories to the media in some detail. The alleged abuses, which took place over a period of 13 years, included nonconsensual kissing, fondling, butt slaps and the exposure of his penis backstage. The complainants are highly sympathetic; their stories sounded credible. Four other members of the company resigned in a gesture of support.
Some people in the theatre world called Mr. Schultz's alleged behaviour an open secret. But the news struck the upper echelons of Toronto society like a thunderbolt. For more than two decades, the affable Mr. Schultz has been a big star in this city – widely liked for his charm, his entrepreneurship, his creativity and his ability to shake thousand-dollar bills from well-heeled donors. As one long-time supporter told me, "I'm just heartbroken. I like Albert so much I have a hard time thinking clearly about this."
The theatre's board of directors – an A-list of business and social notables – claimed they were completely taken by surprise. In a nod to due process, they put Mr. Schultz on leave pending an investigation. But that was never going to stick. The theatre was in crisis. The actors, customers and no doubt the major donors threatened boycotts if Mr Schultz stayed. People wanted blood.
In the #MeToo age, the board had no choice. Overnight, their star had turned into box-office poison. So it cut him loose.
Soulpepper, too, is facing multimillion-dollar lawsuits. The women say the company failed to protect them. Much will depend on what the board and senior management knew, or should have known, about what was going on. The board could well have been in the dark. Boards depend on the information that's filtered to them through management. No doubt they thought they'd gotten rid of their sexual harassment problems after the company cut ties with director Laszlo Marton in 2016. Their more serious error was allowing a management structure in which the two top bosses are related. It's pretty hard to complain to the operating boss about the artistic boss if they're a couple. That's a basic no-no, for which the board – and the company – may pay dearly.
As for the nature of Mr. Schultz's alleged offences, it's clear that he's no Harvey Weinstein. And plenty of leading directors have treated actresses as just another perk owed to their creative genius. Take the legendary filmmaker Ingmar Bergman. A new documentary portrays him as a serial abuser of women, at least emotionally. "He did have a tremendous amount of women, and a lot of them were dependent on him," the documentary maker, Jane Magnusson, told The Guardian. "That's the nature of being a man with a lot of power."
It's indisputable that nobody who behaves as Mr. Schultz is alleged to have done deserves to be employed in any workplace – never mind in a position of authority. Yet, compared with other famous miscreants, much of his alleged misconduct seems almost small time.
Which doesn't mean he won't pay dearly. His accusers have chosen to launch civil lawsuits rather than try to persuade prosecutors to lay criminal charges. This increases their odds of success considerably. Because the burden of proof is so much lower, their chance for a judgment against the defendant is much higher. All the plaintiffs need to do is establish a balance of probabilities that the incidents really happened. The defendants in civil cases never go to jail. But the payouts for damages can be substantial.
Mr. Schultz has promised to defend himself to the utmost. But who knows what will happen as the legal bills add up? Meantime, efforts to erase him from the record are already well advanced. His image has disappeared from the theatre's website. A new production of Amadeus, which he directed, has been cancelled – apparently because it is tainted by his mere association with it.
So never mind the evidence. In the court of public opinion, the verdict has already been delivered, and the curtain has rung down on Albert Schultz. "For him to be ruined for life – for what he did, that's too much punishment," his dismayed supporter says. But in the #MeToo age, there's no such thing.