As we've mentioned to you before, Salva was convicted of molesting a 12-year-old actor from one of his films, and filming the encounter, as well as having child pornography in his possession, because he is what is clinically known as s**t. After serving his 15-month sentence, Salva took a few years off before getting right back to work making movies, with the Jeepers Creepers franchise now being his most famous and popular work, and why not? Remember all those weirdly shirtless boys in the sequel? Really tip-top art there.
Now, I legit really enjoyed Jeepers Creepers before I knew what kind of monstrosity Salva was in real life. And I have no goddamn desire whatsoever to see part three. I don't give a s**t how the story wraps up, because f**k this guy and his whole f*****g artistic process.
The idea that you need to separate the artist from their art is flawed for two very significant reasons in this case. The first is that Salva molested a child actor who was in one of his films, so Salva the artist was in the midst of making his creepy f**k art when he committed his atrocious act. His "artistic process" facilitated his crime. The second thing is that if you found out Vincent van Gogh used to jerk off into salads when he painted those sunflowers, that'd give you some pause. But Monet wasn't making a movie about a winged monster with witty vanity plates who eats body parts. Art may be subjective, but for f**k's sake, it's Jeepers Creepers 3, not "Starry Night."
Hollywood is bursting at the seams with screenwriting hopefuls and would-be directors. We don't need to keep hiring people who molest children; there are plenty of other good people with great ideas who don't commit skin-crawling atrocities against others. Salva served his time, sure, but he doesn't need a spotlight to be famous now, we don't need to keep celebrating a man who used this very work to enable his crimes. Let the turd golem grow and sell mail-order Bonsai trees away from the public. Maybe give some of these other creative types a chance, take that moral high ground that says yes, you can stand to live your life without that 90 minutes of bat-winged monster fiction. Let a guy whose worst habit is that he scratches his balls in public direct a movie for you. Have some goddamn priorities.