Come on, Roman: Emmanuelle Seigner is way, waaaaay too old for you (Photo: AFP)

OK, so I have spent the last few hours cleaning up my scorecard in the Roman Polanski-Vanity Fair libel trial, in which the 71-year-old director accuses the magazine of perpetuating an "abominable lie" that he hit on a model at Elaine's shortly after his wife Sharon Tate's murder in 1969.

There is so much to process here--you know, besides the fact that Polanski is testifying via satellite from Paris, because if he visits the London courtroom, he risks extradition to the US, where we have wanted his head since 1978 on statutory rape charges. But forget all that. Just because he drugged a 13-year-old and got her before the hair did does not mean that Graydon Carter and Lewis Lapham--VF's editor and "lie" source, respectively--should get away with dramatic claims against Polanski's character. Polanski may be a cad, but he is a cad with a conscience.

Or something. Here is the latest, from what The Reeler can gather:

The Associated Press sets up the legal action quite economically:

(Vanity Fair publisher) Conde Nast now accepts that the incident didn't happen before Tate's funeral, but says it was about two weeks later. The publisher maintains the article is substantially true.

Lawyers for Conde Nast have attempted to paint Polanski as a "fugitive from morality" and a fantasist incapable of telling the truth on important matters.

Conde Nast is based in New York, but libel actions concerning the international media are often brought in British courts because they are considered friendlier to claimants than U.S. courts.

Well, let's see: VF blew its timeline, but definitely made a fabulous impression with the "fugitive from morality" label. I can only imagine Graydon Carter clinking a toast to that one at the bar last night. Not that he would ever allow the phrase in his magazine, but still: When a guy sues you to save his reputation yet will not even show up for the trial because he is wanted for sex crimes, you have to take your digs where you can get them. EDGE: Vanity Fair

And then we have this, thanks to the Telegraph:

(Polanski) said the first time he had sex after his wife's murder was about a month later.

Under questioning by Tom Shields, (lawyer) for Conde Nast ... he was asked if that did not show "callous indifference to her memory?" "No, I never considered sex in those pre-AIDS days as something harmful," Polanski said. "Quite the contrary. It would be callous indifference if I did so using Sharon's name ..."

He said later: "It was all casual sex for years after Sharon's death. I was unable to maintain any lasting relationships after her death." ... Polanski said he had sex to prove his "continued existence" after his wife's death.

Look, the guy lost his wife and unborn child to the Manson Family. All kidding aside, nobody envies him. Secondarily, if you have ever been there, you know that Elaine's service is chilly enough for anyone to question his or her "continued existence." The woman doesn't have a second dining room named Siberia for nothing. EDGE: Polanski

Variety probes the sex-fiend claim even further:

Shields played the court a tape recording of a polygraph test taken by Polanski six weeks after Tate's murder, in which he boasted that he had recently "fucked" two airline stewardesses.

Polanski told the court that this boast was a lie, designed to break the tension with the police officers conducting the test. "Not that I object to it, particularly in those times. It would be something I would not miss if I had the opportunity."

But he denied that it showed callous indifference to his wife's memory. "It proves I'm vulgar, particularly when I'm with police officers," he said.

Oh, sure, Roman. All those times you are "with police officers." Right. The characters in Chinatown do not count, retard. EDGE: Vanity Fair

Then the gloves came off, according to The Guardian:

Shields quoted the opening lines from Polanski's autobiography, in which he said: "For as far back as I can remember the line between fantasy and reality has been hopelessly blurred."

"That sums it up, doesn't it, Mr. Polanski?" Mr. Shields said.

"Sums what up?" Polanski replied.

To which Mr. Shields said: "Your inability to tell the truth when it matters."

The film director simply replied, "Well", and smiled.

Oh, snap! What the article does not say is that Shields followed Polanski's response by slapping the TV and shouting, "Bitch!" EDGE: Vanity Fair

But as you certainly know, Mia Farrow--the star of Polanski's 1968 horror opus Rosemary's Baby--dropped by in Polanski's defense:

Farrow testified in London's High Court on Tuesday that she met Polanski at Elaine's restaurant about two weeks after Tate's death.

''He started telling me about events in California, what he had gone through, and he got very, very upset,'' said a soft-spoken Farrow. "We had ordered our dinner, but we just left the restaurant. He was that upset, and I, too.''

Farrow told the court that as she and Polanski walked the streets of Manhattan, he told her about "visiting the house . . . a little kitten that Sharon had and the kitten was still there in the blood.''

Dude--a bloody kitten? That is like the chemical weapon of defense claims. And coming from the wispy, whispering star who lost her own kid and lover (albeit to each other), no judge, jury, executioner or soulless attorney could possibly wield the balls to challenge that. EDGE: Polanski

Lewis Lapham (L) arrives for court Tuesday with a pal who was supposedly with him at Elaine's that fateful night. Like they remember (Photo: AP)

Also, the BBC has a refreshingly thorough segment of Harper's editor Lewis Lapham's defense testimony:

Mr. Lapham told the jury he was in Elaine's with model Beatte Telle when Mr. Polanski sat at their table in August 1969.

"She was a very lovely girl. She was a fashion model from one of the Scandinavian countries and a very calm, pleasant, attractive woman." (Lapham) added: "He [Polanski] began to talk to her in a forward way. He began to praise her beauty and speak to her - romance her. At one point he had his hand on her leg and said to her 'I can put you in movies. I can make you the next Sharon Tate.'

"He meant it as a compliment. He was attempting to impress her, wanting to express his admiration for her looks. I was impressed by the remark, not only because it was tasteless and vulgar but because it was a cliche."

And if anybody knows cliches, it is Lewis Lapham. Not just because Harper's is a lumbering dinosaur, but do not forget: This is the guy who wrote in his satirical book Lapham's Rules of Influence: "Contrary to the opinion of snobbish New York intellectuals, the placid murmur of cliche is always preferable to the expression of strong feeling, which is an embarrassment." So he has all his bases covered.

That said, he is still going to owe Carter and Conde Nast kingpin Si Newhouse a few dinners at Da Silvano when it is all over. EDGE: Vanity Fair

Finally, we have what may be Vanity Fair's knockout blow, courtesy of The London Times:

The diminutive film director, who won an Oscar for The Pianist in 2003, listed a catalogue of conquests that began within a month of the actress's death at the hands of the notorious Charles Manson "family" in 1969. Seeking solace in sex, he admitted taking "fresh-faced, nubile" teenagers from finishing school in Gstaad, Switzerland, to his bed within four months of the murders of Miss Tate and four of their friends at the couple's Hollywood home.

But that was only after he had seduced an air hostess, a "sexy young model who gave me the come-on for weeks," and had a one-night stand with Michelle Phillips, the wife of John Phillips, both stars in the pop group Mamas and the Papas.

Fresh-faced, nubile Swiss teenagers? A one-night stand with Michelle Phillips? Are you fucking kidding me? Go ahead and sue me, Roman, but I think you might be the most over-achieving celebrity sex predator since the Marquis de Sade. Strike that--since Caligula. Who let this asshole around enough kids to remake Oliver Twist, anyway? EDGE: Vanity Fair

I guess that does it. Lock up your daughters, Europe: Vanity Fair wins in a landslide.