“Too Small to Tell”: A Powerful Reckoning from Inside Miramax

Whose stories are worth telling, and whose are not? This is the central question posed by Lisa Rose’s powerful one-woman show, Too Small to Tell, currently running at the Brighton Fringe Festival. The production draws from Rose’s real-life experience working as an administrative assistant at the now-infamous Miramax film company in the 1990s, founded by the disgraced Harvey Weinstein and his brother.

Ironically named after their parents, Miramax was once a titan in the film industry, producing many of modern cinema’s most celebrated works. But this superb solo performance strips away the glamour, offering instead a stark and unsettling account of Rose’s time behind the scenes.

The play opens with Rose as a young drama school graduate, unprepared for the pervasive misogyny within the entertainment industry. It was a time when few safeguards existed to protect women, and casting agents could make virtually any demand without fear of repercussion.

Unable to sustain herself through low-paid restaurant work between auditions, Rose jumped at what seemed like a dream opportunity—an administrative job at a prestigious production company, with a generous salary and an absentee boss. But the sinister expectations placed on female staff during Weinstein’s visits were never discussed openly. Over time, Rose began to uncover the reality of what was happening behind closed doors.

Harvey Weinstein was arrested and charged with rape in 2018 and is currently serving a prison sentence for multiple felony convictions—two of which were recently overturned, prompting a retrial. Since the original allegations surfaced, more than eighty women have come forward, some recounting experiences that date back to the 1970s.

Too Small to Tell confronts uncomfortable questions: Didn’t many in the industry already know what was going on? Why did they remain silent? Rose also bravely asks whether women who worked at Miramax, herself included, were complicit by staying silent in a culture of normalized abuse. But these questions are presented in context—a time when powerful men were rarely questioned, and obedience was expected, even by authorities.

The play’s timing is especially poignant, reminding us how the Weinstein scandal catalyzed the #MeToo movement. Often forgotten is the fact that the movement was originally launched by African American activist Tarana Burke in 2006 to support survivors of sexual violence—well before it gained global traction in 2017.

Today, however, #MeToo is facing growing resistance, exacerbated by a resurgence of normalized misogyny, amplified by social media influencers like the controversial Andrew Tate. Despite the backlash, allegations of sexual misconduct continue to surface—from former Harrods owner Mohamed Al-Fayed, to French film icon Gérard Depardieu, to Sean “Diddy” Combs, who faces serious accusations of sex trafficking. Meanwhile, Japanese journalist Shiori Ito’s years-long fight for justice against a prominent TV correspondent was powerfully depicted in the Oscar-nominated Black Box Diaries.

Disturbingly, legislative victories achieved by #MeToo are being eroded in the U.S., with attacks on Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) initiatives—spearheaded by a political climate in which even national leaders have faced sexual assault convictions.

Perhaps the most pressing question the play asks is: why do these situations keep happening? Filmmaker Nina Menkes, in her documentary Brainwashed: Sex-Camera-Power, explores how mainstream cinema often reinforces harmful power dynamics. She argues that until more women have the power to shape narratives—stories in which they are not just trophies but protagonists—society’s mindset will remain unchanged.

Until then, the Weinsteins of the world will continue to feel entitled to behave as they please, believing that the women they exploit are simply “Too Small to Tell.”