(An expanded version of my rant can be found at Time.com)
You Broke My Heart,
Fredo Johnny Depp.
This is just tremendously disappointing. How can you do this to me? I’m your biggest 40-something white female/former preschool teacher/college administrator fan. I feel aggrieved. I feel personally affronted. I feel like the 1950s wife who put her husband through business school and raised a passel of his crummy brats only to watch him run off with a Hooters waitress. I feel like Michael Corleone in the Godfather when he figures out his own brother was the traitor.
I feel like you’ve asked a lot of your fan base over the years is what I’m saying. It’s not that we can’t appreciate a challenge (Ed Wood, for example, a personal favorite). But… how can I put this so you’ll understand, John Christopher? We’ve put up with A LOT over the years. We’ve been patient. You’ve coasted on your Gilbert Grape pass for, what? 15 years? We’ve weathered your increasingly infantile and grotesque movie choices, feasting gratefully on the dry crumbs you’ve tossed our way. A Chocolat here, a Finding Neverland there. We’ve made peace with the dress-up costumes and the black eye liner (even though it seems like a lot of ‘look’ for routine day use). We even tolerated your bewildering epoch of domestic bliss with the meth-toothed french common-law woman. All because…remind me? Oh, right. You were an immensely talented and attractive actor at one point.
But honey, this is just a bridge too far. You need to cut the apron strings with your enabler, Tim Burton, take a bath and see a hair stylist, lose the blue-tint eyewear, and make a romantic comedy with Rachel McAdams. Please text me ASAP to set up your life coaching sessions. I’ll give you a discount. (Or we can barter services, if you prefer.)