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grrgoylI don't know if it's because of the new Pirates movie, but suddenly the place is just crawling with Johnny Depp movies. I've watched three of them in the past week alone.
I watched the first Pirates on TV for the second time, having no memory whatsoever from seeing it in the theater except a distinct bewilderment as to why the rest of the world was losing its mind over it. Sure, it had Johnny AND Orlando (who, I'm sorry, does nothing for me without his long blonde elf hair), but apart from that, it really wasn't that great a movie (which was Tery's very response when I told her the new movie had the top grossing weekend of all time: "That doesn't make it a good movie," she sniffed disdainfully. She's just jealous because people don't flock in those numbers to watch documentaries, her film genre of choice). I believe this proves that squealing fangirls are just as guilty of thinking with the "little head" as men are often accused of.
I felt similarly on my second viewing. I found myself only slightly more interested than Tery, whose attention was waning even before the cursed pirate crew made an appearance. Ah well, c'est la vie. It isn't like I don't have plenty of other fandoms keeping me busy. However, my little sister informs me that if I don't like the new movie, it could jeopardize our future relationship as siblings. I shall have to take my chances.
In summary, Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl: 2 out of 5. Still.
I once read an article about Johnny that began by pointing out that his agent was the most frustrated man in Hollywood, due to his client's insistence on taking only the quirkiest, most bizarre roles out there. These next two movies will probably demonstrate that in spades.
I happened to notice a Depp vehicle coming up next on IFC's gay film week, Before Night Falls. Unbeknownst to me this was nominated for an Oscar and Tery actually had wanted to see it. Great! A movie that achieves that rarest of intersections between her interests and mine.
It's the story of Reinaldo Arenas, a gay Cuban novelist living in Cuba when Fidel Castro comes to power. It was interesting, I suppose, although an hour and a half into it I was starting to suspect that this was yet another indie film cashing in on having one big star attached (actually two -- Sean Penn makes a very brief appearance and is virtually unrecognizable as a peasant farmer. I recognized him but Tery didn't, and argued with me about it. She joked that as an indie film, they could only afford South American actors who vaguely resembled Hollywood stars. NEVER question my movie acumen, bitch.) Every time a new character was introduced, I asked, "Is THIS Johnny?" Since everyone had dark hair and dark eyes, he could have been anyone. But I persevered on the dwindling hope that Johnny might be a romantic interest for the star eventually.
Reinaldo gets thrown into prison and it is there we meet "Bom-Bom," a transvestite known for his impressive capacity for smuggling in contraband (I will say no more). Bom-Bom's on-screen entrance is made from the rear (oh, it gets worse and worse) and as we watched the back of the shapely but unmistakably male character cross the exercise yard, I joked, "Is THAT Johnny? Ha ha ha." Hooboy.
Would you believe it wasn't until I started looking for internet pics for this post that I noticed Bom-Bom has facial hair? I'm still up in the air about whether Johnny makes a pretty girl or not. I'm leaning more towards "unsettling," sad to say. He restored his masculinity in the next scene where he plays a sadistic warden (who, nonetheless, starts to beat off for Reinaldo in a short fantasy sequence), but this just confused me. Was Bom-Bom the warden in disguise? Or were they two separate people who looked inexplicably similar?
Like most gay-themed movies, the ending was dismal and depressing, and had I known Johnny's total screen time was less than 10 minutes, I might have just left Tery to it. Eh. 2.5 out of 5
Finally I rented The Libertine from Netflix. I was excited to see this since first hearing about it many months ago. Johnny plays John Wilmot, who sounded like a less extreme Marquis de Sade of his age. It was also a fairly safe bet he would be on screen for more than 10 minutes in this one. And here I will cut, since this is a recent release and I will never be counted among the inconsiderate filth who doth blab the spoilers.
Everything about it was promising. Tagline: "He didn't resist temptation. He pursued it." Summary: "The story of John Wilmot (Depp), 17th century poet who famously drank and debauched his way to an early grave, only to earn posthumous critical acclaim for his life's work." Johnny Depp, "temptation" and "debauched" all in the same breath. What's not to like?
The opening is twice as promising. Johnny sits in darkness and addresses the viewer. "You will not like me...You will not like me now and you will like me a good deal less as we go on," he begins. Perhaps not, but I am compelled by a character of such honesty. "Ladies...I am up for it, all the time," he goes on. I repeat, what's not to like about that? "Gentlemen. Do not despair, I am up for that as well." For obvious reasons, this REALLY got my attention. "I am John Wilmot, second Earl of Rochester, and I do not want you to like me." Given this monologue, I was determined to make a liar out of him. I sat back and awaited scene after scene of Johnny bedding men and women alike with reckless abandon.
Well, this was not to be. Apart from a casual brushing of fingertips across a whore's breasts, practically all the "debauchery" was only implied (hang on. I completely forgot the first we see of him, when he's fingering his wife in a carriage). This isn't to say I didn't enjoy the movie. I am ever fascinated by Johnny as an actor, his subtle facial expressions and the depth he brings to his characters seemingly so effortlessly. I also love the Shakespearean way of speaking, the very specific and well-chosen turns of phrase. No one gives that much thought to their words anymore, more's the pity. For instance here is my favorite line in the entire movie: "Life is not a succession of urgent 'nows'. It is a listless trickle of 'why should I's'." Here's another. This could be my credo: "You must acquire the trick of ignoring those who do not like you. In my experience, those who do not like you fall into two categories: The stupid and the envious. The stupid will like you in five years, the envious, never."
John goes through life, taking pleasure where he finds it and offending anyone he can along the way, including King Charles (played by a bloated and prosthetically-nosed John Malkovich (who strangely can barely manage a British accent). In fact, every actor in the film is named John). He scorns his devoted wife for a mistress in the theater, who is opposed to marrying anyone, including Johnny. Filled with contempt for life, Johnny slowly drinks himself to death. It's not clear if this is a conscious choice like Nicolas Cage makes in Leaving Las Vegas (I doubt it, since he seems to express regret from his deathbed at age 33), but it is painfully apparent that in those times this lifestyle resulted in not nearly so pretty an end.
My coworker Debbie is head-over-heels in love with Johnny. She made her husband (now ex) put up with a life-size poster of the man in their bedroom. She was a little turned off by Johnny as Willy Wonka. "He looks....weird," she complained. If she didn't like him with a bob haircut and freakishly perfect teeth, I wonder how she'd like him in this movie, snaggle-toothed and half blind with a complexion that makes Marilyn Manson look like a Neutrogena model? And if she wouldn't care for him like that, how would she like him like this?
It's VERY difficult for an actor to pull off noseless and still remain appealing. Ralph Fiennes couldn't do it in Harry Potter (granted wasn't really going for sex appeal, though try telling some of these crazy fangirls that):
and, as gorgeous as Johnny is, he succeeds even less. Still, his death was moving. I wept. I liked that the movie was bookended, bringing us back to Johnny sitting in the dark, asking, "Do you like me now? Do you like me now? Do you like me....now?" before fading away at last.
It was strange. I liked it, though not enough to watch it repeatedly. 3.5 out of 5
=============================
COMPLETELY unrelated, a short tale of road rage. Yes, these are boring to everyone but me, but some days I suspect this can be said of anything I write.
I was driving home from work last night, minding my own business (yes, surprisingly I am yet again the innocent victim in this story). It was just me and one other car on Parker Road, the massive 6-lanefreeway street my road branches off of. Suddenly, literally out of nowhere, another guy came cutting across three lanes to get behind me. I don't know why he didn't get in front of me, he had plenty of time and he could have saved us both a lot of stress. But he didn't, and there he sat behind me.
"Tailgating" is such a small, inadequate word. This guy was INCHES from my bumper. INCHES. I could have leaned my head out the window and caught a whiff of his aftershave, he was so close. Think NASCAR minus the skill and handy roadside medic crew. He also had his high beams on, lighting up my car's interior as bright as daylight, he was so close. I tried the flipping the mirror up tactic, but I could still see him in the side mirrors and of course, his blinding headlights. For an entire block he breathed down my neck like this then, delightfully, he also turned onto my road. We continued and he didn't back down one tiny bit.
I put up with it most of the way up my street, then I just snapped. I pulled over to the side to let him pass, admittedly slamming on my brakes first, because why should I make it easy for him? He didn't pass me right away. First he pulled up alongside me to gesture at me silently (with my windows up). Yeah, mister, I'M the one with a problem. I'M the asshole. Tell me I'm the first person who won't tolerate your guerrilla driving style. For my part, I started screaming (though I doubt he could hear me either) "GO!!!!! Don't just sit there, you're in such a fucking hurry, GO ALREADY!!!!!!!!" If you think I was coming unhinged unnecessarily, you're still doubting me when I say he was INCHES from me. Unless you've got someone giving birth or bleeding to death in your backseat (in which case you shouldn't be heading home), ain't no reason on the planet for driving that close to me.
He finally moved on and I pulled out to follow him. Is this better, sir? Do you enjoy having someone behind you who's pissed as hell at you, you fuck? Of course I didn't tailgate him because two wrongs don't make a right, lucky for him.
He turned off about 50 feet later, and again I was left wondering how the story would be told from his perspective. "...and then this crazy bitch suddenly just slammed on her brakes in front of me! Yes, for no reason, why do you ask?" This as always is closely followed by the question of how Tery can drive to and from work 5 days a week and never once have this happen to her. People. Should. Die.
I watched the first Pirates on TV for the second time, having no memory whatsoever from seeing it in the theater except a distinct bewilderment as to why the rest of the world was losing its mind over it. Sure, it had Johnny AND Orlando (who, I'm sorry, does nothing for me without his long blonde elf hair), but apart from that, it really wasn't that great a movie (which was Tery's very response when I told her the new movie had the top grossing weekend of all time: "That doesn't make it a good movie," she sniffed disdainfully. She's just jealous because people don't flock in those numbers to watch documentaries, her film genre of choice). I believe this proves that squealing fangirls are just as guilty of thinking with the "little head" as men are often accused of.
I felt similarly on my second viewing. I found myself only slightly more interested than Tery, whose attention was waning even before the cursed pirate crew made an appearance. Ah well, c'est la vie. It isn't like I don't have plenty of other fandoms keeping me busy. However, my little sister informs me that if I don't like the new movie, it could jeopardize our future relationship as siblings. I shall have to take my chances.
In summary, Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl: 2 out of 5. Still.
I once read an article about Johnny that began by pointing out that his agent was the most frustrated man in Hollywood, due to his client's insistence on taking only the quirkiest, most bizarre roles out there. These next two movies will probably demonstrate that in spades.
I happened to notice a Depp vehicle coming up next on IFC's gay film week, Before Night Falls. Unbeknownst to me this was nominated for an Oscar and Tery actually had wanted to see it. Great! A movie that achieves that rarest of intersections between her interests and mine.
It's the story of Reinaldo Arenas, a gay Cuban novelist living in Cuba when Fidel Castro comes to power. It was interesting, I suppose, although an hour and a half into it I was starting to suspect that this was yet another indie film cashing in on having one big star attached (actually two -- Sean Penn makes a very brief appearance and is virtually unrecognizable as a peasant farmer. I recognized him but Tery didn't, and argued with me about it. She joked that as an indie film, they could only afford South American actors who vaguely resembled Hollywood stars. NEVER question my movie acumen, bitch.) Every time a new character was introduced, I asked, "Is THIS Johnny?" Since everyone had dark hair and dark eyes, he could have been anyone. But I persevered on the dwindling hope that Johnny might be a romantic interest for the star eventually.
Reinaldo gets thrown into prison and it is there we meet "Bom-Bom," a transvestite known for his impressive capacity for smuggling in contraband (I will say no more). Bom-Bom's on-screen entrance is made from the rear (oh, it gets worse and worse) and as we watched the back of the shapely but unmistakably male character cross the exercise yard, I joked, "Is THAT Johnny? Ha ha ha." Hooboy.
Would you believe it wasn't until I started looking for internet pics for this post that I noticed Bom-Bom has facial hair? I'm still up in the air about whether Johnny makes a pretty girl or not. I'm leaning more towards "unsettling," sad to say. He restored his masculinity in the next scene where he plays a sadistic warden (who, nonetheless, starts to beat off for Reinaldo in a short fantasy sequence), but this just confused me. Was Bom-Bom the warden in disguise? Or were they two separate people who looked inexplicably similar?
Like most gay-themed movies, the ending was dismal and depressing, and had I known Johnny's total screen time was less than 10 minutes, I might have just left Tery to it. Eh. 2.5 out of 5
Finally I rented The Libertine from Netflix. I was excited to see this since first hearing about it many months ago. Johnny plays John Wilmot, who sounded like a less extreme Marquis de Sade of his age. It was also a fairly safe bet he would be on screen for more than 10 minutes in this one. And here I will cut, since this is a recent release and I will never be counted among the inconsiderate filth who doth blab the spoilers.
Everything about it was promising. Tagline: "He didn't resist temptation. He pursued it." Summary: "The story of John Wilmot (Depp), 17th century poet who famously drank and debauched his way to an early grave, only to earn posthumous critical acclaim for his life's work." Johnny Depp, "temptation" and "debauched" all in the same breath. What's not to like?
The opening is twice as promising. Johnny sits in darkness and addresses the viewer. "You will not like me...You will not like me now and you will like me a good deal less as we go on," he begins. Perhaps not, but I am compelled by a character of such honesty. "Ladies...I am up for it, all the time," he goes on. I repeat, what's not to like about that? "Gentlemen. Do not despair, I am up for that as well." For obvious reasons, this REALLY got my attention. "I am John Wilmot, second Earl of Rochester, and I do not want you to like me." Given this monologue, I was determined to make a liar out of him. I sat back and awaited scene after scene of Johnny bedding men and women alike with reckless abandon.
Well, this was not to be. Apart from a casual brushing of fingertips across a whore's breasts, practically all the "debauchery" was only implied (hang on. I completely forgot the first we see of him, when he's fingering his wife in a carriage). This isn't to say I didn't enjoy the movie. I am ever fascinated by Johnny as an actor, his subtle facial expressions and the depth he brings to his characters seemingly so effortlessly. I also love the Shakespearean way of speaking, the very specific and well-chosen turns of phrase. No one gives that much thought to their words anymore, more's the pity. For instance here is my favorite line in the entire movie: "Life is not a succession of urgent 'nows'. It is a listless trickle of 'why should I's'." Here's another. This could be my credo: "You must acquire the trick of ignoring those who do not like you. In my experience, those who do not like you fall into two categories: The stupid and the envious. The stupid will like you in five years, the envious, never."
John goes through life, taking pleasure where he finds it and offending anyone he can along the way, including King Charles (played by a bloated and prosthetically-nosed John Malkovich (who strangely can barely manage a British accent). In fact, every actor in the film is named John). He scorns his devoted wife for a mistress in the theater, who is opposed to marrying anyone, including Johnny. Filled with contempt for life, Johnny slowly drinks himself to death. It's not clear if this is a conscious choice like Nicolas Cage makes in Leaving Las Vegas (I doubt it, since he seems to express regret from his deathbed at age 33), but it is painfully apparent that in those times this lifestyle resulted in not nearly so pretty an end.
My coworker Debbie is head-over-heels in love with Johnny. She made her husband (now ex) put up with a life-size poster of the man in their bedroom. She was a little turned off by Johnny as Willy Wonka. "He looks....weird," she complained. If she didn't like him with a bob haircut and freakishly perfect teeth, I wonder how she'd like him in this movie, snaggle-toothed and half blind with a complexion that makes Marilyn Manson look like a Neutrogena model? And if she wouldn't care for him like that, how would she like him like this?
It's VERY difficult for an actor to pull off noseless and still remain appealing. Ralph Fiennes couldn't do it in Harry Potter (granted wasn't really going for sex appeal, though try telling some of these crazy fangirls that):
and, as gorgeous as Johnny is, he succeeds even less. Still, his death was moving. I wept. I liked that the movie was bookended, bringing us back to Johnny sitting in the dark, asking, "Do you like me now? Do you like me now? Do you like me....now?" before fading away at last.
It was strange. I liked it, though not enough to watch it repeatedly. 3.5 out of 5
=============================
COMPLETELY unrelated, a short tale of road rage. Yes, these are boring to everyone but me, but some days I suspect this can be said of anything I write.
I was driving home from work last night, minding my own business (yes, surprisingly I am yet again the innocent victim in this story). It was just me and one other car on Parker Road, the massive 6-lane
"Tailgating" is such a small, inadequate word. This guy was INCHES from my bumper. INCHES. I could have leaned my head out the window and caught a whiff of his aftershave, he was so close. Think NASCAR minus the skill and handy roadside medic crew. He also had his high beams on, lighting up my car's interior as bright as daylight, he was so close. I tried the flipping the mirror up tactic, but I could still see him in the side mirrors and of course, his blinding headlights. For an entire block he breathed down my neck like this then, delightfully, he also turned onto my road. We continued and he didn't back down one tiny bit.
I put up with it most of the way up my street, then I just snapped. I pulled over to the side to let him pass, admittedly slamming on my brakes first, because why should I make it easy for him? He didn't pass me right away. First he pulled up alongside me to gesture at me silently (with my windows up). Yeah, mister, I'M the one with a problem. I'M the asshole. Tell me I'm the first person who won't tolerate your guerrilla driving style. For my part, I started screaming (though I doubt he could hear me either) "GO!!!!! Don't just sit there, you're in such a fucking hurry, GO ALREADY!!!!!!!!" If you think I was coming unhinged unnecessarily, you're still doubting me when I say he was INCHES from me. Unless you've got someone giving birth or bleeding to death in your backseat (in which case you shouldn't be heading home), ain't no reason on the planet for driving that close to me.
He finally moved on and I pulled out to follow him. Is this better, sir? Do you enjoy having someone behind you who's pissed as hell at you, you fuck? Of course I didn't tailgate him because two wrongs don't make a right, lucky for him.
He turned off about 50 feet later, and again I was left wondering how the story would be told from his perspective. "...and then this crazy bitch suddenly just slammed on her brakes in front of me! Yes, for no reason, why do you ask?" This as always is closely followed by the question of how Tery can drive to and from work 5 days a week and never once have this happen to her. People. Should. Die.
