Johnny Depp: “I am not up to the standards of the artists I admire”

Johnny Depp: “I am not up to the standards of the artists I admire”

The actor, who produces the more than brilliant exorcism 'Crock of Gold', directed by Julian Temple and which revolves around the exaggerated life of The Pogues singer Shane MacGowan, says he does not feel like an artist and recognizes Trump as an exceptional comedian

Martín Romaña, the hero with an exaggerated life that Bryce Echenique described with infinite sarcasm and some bitterness, was convinced that one of the main problems of his dogmatic and self-indulgent generation companions was their inability “to vomit their souls a little.” 'Crock of Gold: A Few Rounds with Shane MacGowan' , directed by Julien Temple and produced by Johnny Depp himself and with all his rings, does not have such a problem. From the first to the last frame this stunning, sincere, brutal, sad and very funny documentary is basically a soul vomited on the screen. There is no escape for such tender as surly sincerity. It is enjoyed with exactly the same desire and in the same position that one suffers.

Depp, who became the undisputed star of the San Sebastian Film Festival on Sunday, tells that the first time he met Shane 35 years ago, everyone around him was convinced of his imminent death. And until now. Shane lives. Prostrate in a wheelchair, bent over on one side and with serious difficulties in articulating a word or following a routine conversation, but “stubborn . He also says that to gain his trust and friendship you had to blindly trust him. On one occasion in Dublin, Shane threw what looked like three harmless pills into the actor's hand. “The next thing I knew,” he recalls, “I was in a town in the south of France three days later without having the slightest idea of how I got there. I saw a fountain out the window and I said to myself: 'This It's not Ireland. '” And it wasn't. It's shane

Johnny Depp:

To place ourselves, the protagonist of this story and of the film signed by the also director of the mythical ' The Great Rock' n 'Roll Swindle ' (1980) is the closest thing to the last great Irish hero without teeth, with defiantly detached ears of the skull and the voice more than hoarse bleeding. The combination of “the melancholy of the music of his land with the rage of punk” , in Depp's words, made the leader of The Pogues (the group from which he was expelled) a must-see in any celebratory coven on the brink of any precipice. It was a party, as one of his most surreal themes says, and suicide. And in the middle, a tragic character who renewed English poetry as the Irish heir to Irishmen like Brenan Behan, Flann O'Brien or James Joyce himself at the same time that he flooded his body with all the alcohol in the world. Not for nothing, he started drinking at the age of six as the tape recalls. Until vomiting the same soul.

“I imagine”, reflects Depp with a glass of his beloved chacolí in his hands (“It obsesses me,” he comments), “that for him drinking is a form of self-medication. He is a tremendously shy person, he always was, that a good day he became the most famous Irishman in the world. He didn't understand anything and the way to counteract so much exposure was to drink himself to exhaustion. ” Julian Temple adds a piece of information: “We must not forget that he did not disgust any type of drug. Including the heroin that left him in the last. Acids, for example, for him were always a form of exploration. Perhaps without them he would not It would have been as cool as it was. “

The documentary navigates through his life as it would, and sorry for the obvious, a drunkard in the moment of exaltation of friendship. Enthusiastic and happy. Allergic as he is to interviews, Shane does not answer any questionnaire, he simply dialogues with the camera, with Johnny Depp himself, with the singer Bobby Gillespie or with the former president of Sinn Féin Gerry Adams. If he. Endless conversations intersect with archival footage (all delusional), historical binges (all delusional), and cartoons filling in the gaps (even more delusional). A delirium that is nothing but joy and, again, a vomited soul.

“I think of Shane and all the artists I have admired and from whom I have learned everything come to mind: Marlon Brando, Hunter S. Thompson, Keith Richards … I don't consider myself an artist … the height of the artists I admire, “says Depp between ironic and just lucid. Be that as it may, his admiration is anything but vain, it bears fruit, and the last of them is indeed this drunken wonder, this Irish vomit from the depths of the soul.

Shane spits the same thing on Depp who hugs him in a gesture of sincere love. In him everything is unpredictable, fleeting and very true. And that is so true for his way of facing the world, the music and each of his verses with the smell of the neighborhood, anger, revelry and truth. He was also a man who was interested in politics, cultivated it and, as is his rule, vomited it up. The lyrics about the Irish famine coexist with the call to arms or with the denunciation of injustice with the Birmingham six as a banner. And Depp? What does fan Depp have to say on this matter? “I'm not so interested. I think of Trump and I see a great comedian. Really. A scary comedian … but comical.” It is said.

By the end, Shane vows to write again, to sing again, to be Shane again. Of course, he will do it right after dedicating the umpteenth “Fuck you” to the entire universe. The vomited soul.

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