I know Mel Gibson from way back. He’s a good actor, a good director, a good husband and a good father. He’s a patriot, an all-around All-American, a bad boy and, yes, sometimes a drunk. But now he’s in trouble and he knows it. Mel Gibson is riding a beast Hitler and Napoleon couldn’t ride. The Russian. 
Russians
When you listen to those tapes you are listening to the rage of a man who’s afraid of losing it all. It’s sudden, like a Russian winter and it cuts to the bone until you are bled dry in the snow. What happened to Mel has happened to many men but in Mel’s case he’s facing off with a woman who’s very DNA is steeped in those winters, centuries of winters and Cossacks and invading armies. Her tribal roots extend to the very fuedal serfs that brought down the Tsar. Mel, in an effort to feel young again and be the man he was and not the husband and father of eight he is, got himself a toy, this gorgeous young Russian artist, a gypsy siren to strecth by the fire with. He got himself a toy….and the toy’s broken. What has happened is that Mel’s not-so-irresistable force has met the Russians Immovable Object. She now has him backed into a potential palimony suit, one that could very well drain away more precious millions from his reputedly shrinking financials. He sees all that money and all that freedom and all that..dare I say it….pussy going away and leaving him single, yes, but broke. That’s why the man is enraged. His heart isn’t broken. His life is broken, snapped in two over the passive-aggressive knee of the Grigorieva.
