Actually Woody Allen is the line in the sand I'd forgotten about. For years I've kind of despised many of his films for their rampant egomania - literally everything every character says is his voice speaking (to himself, probably) - and for the cast of Upper East Side artist-scholars saying nothing to me about my life
, and yet....I saw enough occasional flashes of brilliance to keep me checking out his annual offerings right up until very recently.
The paedophilia accusation, though still technically unproven, did tip the balance finally to the point where I positively dislike him enough to not want to bother with his oeuvre any more.
As for Morrissey, his rubbish post-Smiths songs killed my interest long before his reprehensible views did, but I'm not sure those views would be a deal-breaker if I was actually interested in his ongoing career. Polanski is a good example of the art trumping the creator, though; just being reminded of his back catalogue makes me want to watch The Tenant
again. And Repulsion
, and Rosemary's Baby
, and Cul-de-Sac
P.S. I had hair coal-black as a raven before it turned white.