Burt Reynolds had a great Later Years. His peak (Cannonball Run 1,2, Stroker Ace, Smokey 1, 2) was fun, but Burt’s Later Years were a wild ride: the dinner theater in Florida, the occasional hit sitcom, bankruptcies, Loni Anderson. James Brown’s LY were eruptionific, and phantasmadoodling, and jimmy-jimmy yes. (They were that way because of the PCP.) Barbra Stresiand’s entire career has been her Later Years, and that worked out well for her. Nicolas Cage has been ensconced in the critic-proofing of his Later Years for decades now. Nicolas Cage bought a T-Rex head; people who buy T-Rex heads are inclined to having Later Years. Dolly Parton’s LY’s include a theme park and massive charity operation.
An artist makes of the Later Years what an artist will.
Johnny Depp has entered the Later Years, and I hope they are long and glorious. I want Johnny to open up a supper club in Pasadena: he’ll sit in the corner, and all the patrons will file by and pay their respects.
“Loved you in Donnie Brasco.”
“Thank you, I’m Donnie Brasco.”
“I love you, Jack Sparrow.”
“I love you, too. I’m Jack Sparrow. Yarrgh.”
And later in the evening, Johnny gets up and plays guitar with the band. They do some old Alice Cooper tunes. Very hip.
Go read this delightful piece by Stephen Rodrick on the webpage of the Rolling Stone, in which Mr. Depp invites Mr. Rodrick into (one of his many, many) homes and acts crazy at him. Johnny’s managed to drink away a goodly portion of $300 million. Also: real estate. But not real estate like a human does it, no: Johnny does Movie Star real estate. Shit like buying five houses in a row in the Hollywood Hills and turning the whole lot of them into a Fortress of Greasitude. (The drinking is similarly ludicrous: 30 grand a month for wine. That’s just decadent, man. You can stay plastered for a couple grand a month. There’s some incredible reds in the $20 price range nowadays.)
Johnny also bought two islands–one in the South Pacific named Monkey Penis Mountain, and the other in the Caribbean that he insists on calling Tortuga even though the actual Tortuga keeps asking him to stop doing that–and enough guitars so that if you lined them end to end upon the ground, a passerby might say, “My, what a parade,” and then continue about his business. There was a yacht, too, but I am unaware of whether the yacht could make it between islands. Even if it could, I don’t think Johnny Depp would be on the boat at the time. That sounds perilous. Johnny bought the kind of cars you would assume he would, and he bought them in the quantities you would assume he bought them in. I do not recall whether Johnny owned or owns a castle of any sort. I know Nicolas Cage had at least one castle, but I don’t know about Johnny.
It’s not even the Brewster’s Millions run that Johnny Depp has been on that’s the highlight: it’s–as I said–gone crazy. It’s the failing from the get-go that I so enjoy; I say this as a nocturnal creature myself: once you make the journalist stay up all night rapping with you, you’re done. It’s over right there. Send the teams back in the locker rooms; no need to play the game.
“I demand you join me overnight, so we can smoke Movie Star-sized joints, and discuss Marilyn Manson. He’s a great guy. So smart. Join me in the night, my new best friend Whatyerface, and we will be brothers!”
Johnny Depp doesn’t do a lot of features. There are different levels of official interaction between the media and subject: there’s the print interview, which is over the phone, and those creepy junket videos, and then there are television appearances. Features are their own thing. There’s reporting involved, and the writer meets the subject. (Except when they don’t, like in Gay Telese’s Sinatra profile.) The meeting is key in that unlike every other officially-sanctioned exchange, it is exceedingly difficult to hide crazy in a feature. And Johnny does not even attempt to hide his crazy. At the end of each session with the writer, Johnny would say,
“If you come back tomorrow night, I will continue to be crazy.”
And the writer said that he would come back.
“What about matching tattoos?”
And the writer said he would think about it.
And when the writer came back, Johnny told him about spending half-a-million on suits in Singapore, which is absurd because the whole reason you have suits made in Singapore is because they’re cheap there. He was just trying to spend money at that point. He owned an opera house in Vienna, which is the most expensive place to own an opera house. There were several farms, some of which grew sorghum and horses, and others of which housed cults led by Depp’s cousins.
“Let’s hang out in my dark, scary house watching Aerosmith videos.”
And the writer said he could stand that, he guessed.
“Classic ‘Smith, dude. Texas Jam ’78. The good shit.”
And the writer was noncommittal and polite and all okay whatever.
Johnny has an air force larger than those of 114 nations. Three jets, a helicopter, several cropdusters for the farms, and experimental rocket called the Depptron Heavy. Also in the hangar is a seaplane called the Depp Water: it’s got a propeller and pontoons instead of wheels and looks like it should be landing in Havana in ’57. Nice looking aircraft. One would assume that Johnny could take the helicopter from his house–which had a helipad–to the private airport that’s right next to LAX that famous people don’t like to talk about, and from there he’s in the G6 to Grand Bermuda and into the Depp Water and there he is at his own private island, deposited by the hands of angels. The yacht may or may not be present. So simple. All it takes is solving a massive, transcontinental logistics puzzle. And money. Doing this sort of thing costs scads of money. A plane is like a horse: you buy it, and then you keep paying for it. Gotta house it. Feed it. Hire people to take care of it. And if it breaks down, you take it out back and shoot it. That’s a secret the airline industry doesn’t want you to know.
Returning to my point of Movie Star real estate. Here is Rational Actor real estate: any land owned by an entity not being occupied by said entity should generate income. Barring a vacation place or whatever. A man works hard, he should have a vacation place. But–and this is according to the Rational Actor–if a man owns two houses, then the one he isn’t living in should be rented out. Movie Star real estate disagrees. All homes must be kept fully-staffed and stocked and ready for the master at all times.
Think of the overhead! He’s got five or six different locations in Hollywood and Malibu and New York and France and the islands and maybe Miami and the farms, and all of them are kept in a state of high-alert constantly. A young local is posted outside to keep watch.
You got any clue how much it costs to own a 150-foot yacht? It’s unfathomable. I defend that pun.
“I like you. Let’s wear scarves together.”
And the writer, who was only human, wore scarves with Johnny Depp.
“Wonderful. And now the wine.”
And the writer did drink wine.
I don’t want to spoil any more of it; it’s perfect and hilarious and sad and–best of all-it’s true. Johnny Depp has ferocious lawyers. Rolling Stone had to send the story over to the Depp camp and have it vetted and since no one’s being sued: it must be true. That is a new school of thought I have just invented called jurisprulogical theory. I’m just gonna keep rambling until you go and read the article. Trust me. I have nothing further to say. Gonna keep doing this.
You’re bored.
Yeah. Go read the article.
I thought the observation that no one hanging around with Depp wasn’t being paid was a sure sign that he’s in a bad spot.
Another thought: it sounded like the pretext for the feature was to make the case that Depp has been swindled. What actually came across, pretty blatantly, is that Depp is a drug abusing nutcase who is the cause of his own financial ruin. Pretty bad PR, unless the Depp camp is just trying to make the Crazy.