Johnny Depp has made it. His critically lauded roles in Donnie Brasco, Edward Scissorhands and Ed Wood have made the Kentuckian one of the world's most famous actors. He could easily join his peachy-skinned contemporaries in a limo-driven, salad-munching lifestyle. Instead, Johnny, who stars in the long awaited film of Hunter S. Thompson's Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas (out November 13), forgoes endless charity bashes, opting instead for the smoke of guns and barbecues. Depp is a self-confessed Hollywood loner. Over a cigarette after a hard day's filming in Paris, he explains why. . .
As a child, Johnny breathed fire.
"I
was maybe 12, and me and this friend put a t-shirt on the end of a
broom handle, soaked it in gasoline and lit it. Then I put
gasoline in my mouth and breathed fire like Gene Simmons of
Kiss.
Only it set my face on fire; I was running down the street with my
face on fire. My mom obviously was going to see that my face
was all burned up, so I lied completely. I said we were
shooting fireworks off and one went off in my face. And she
fell for it. She certainly didn't expect me to say, 'Well, I
put gasoline in my mouth and blew it into a huge stick of fire,
mom.' The fireworks story was easier for her and me; and she
bought it, bless her heart. It was one of the dumbest things
I've ever done—not the dumbest, but right up there—and I have
done lots of stupid things."
Johnny was not exactly the school heart-throb.
"In
my high school, there were different classes of people: the
jocks, the smart kids, and the rednecks. Then there were the
burnouts. I was one of the burnouts. None of the
girls
wanted to hang out with me. I was just, you know, kind of a
weed-head: a weird kid. I wanted to be Bruce
Lee. I
wanted to be on a SWAT team."
His mother advised him on fight tactics.
"My
dad is a big, really fucking tough-looking guy, but the advice on
fighting came from my mom. She told me when I was really
little: 'Lookit. You get in a fight with somebody,
and
they're bigger than you, you pick up the biggest fucking brick you
can find and you lay 'em out, you just fucking knock 'em
out.'
I'll never forget it. My mom is one of my best friends in the
world."
He fired a shotgun at a bomb that Hunter S. Thompson had made for
him.
"It
was the first time I ever met Hunter. We were in Aspen,
Colorado for Christmas and went to the Woody Creek Tavern where he
hangs out. He came in wielding two cattle prods with serious
voltage going up and down—you could see it, crackling. We
got
talking and ended up going back to his house. I was with my
girl at the time—Kate—and her mom and a few others. I
noticed a beautiful 12-gauge nickel-plated shotgun on his wall and
said, 'That's a terrific shotgun.' Hunter says, 'You wanna
fire
it?' Next thing I know, he's pulled it off the wall and is
leading me into the kitchen.
He had a couple of big tanks of propane in there and handed me some nitro-glycerine capsules. We taped them to the side of the tank, took it out back, and I shot it. I've shot guns since I was eight years old, so I knew I could hit something. The target itself—a tube of nitro-glycerine—was pretty small, but a shotgun sprays, so I knew I'd hit something near. But I was kind of like, 'I hope I don't miss.' And bang! Boof! Bullseye! I got it first shot. There was this 75 ft burst of fire, an enormous explosion. It was great fun. I was a little worried about shrapnel, but no one got caught, thank God. Mrs. Moss was a little freaked out, but she did well. She hung in there, and when we left she was kinda like, 'Who is that man?'"
He was bald for four months.
"The
first thing I felt was wind on the top of my head—wind on the
pate. It was very strange. When you're out on the
street,
you start to notice other bald men, and there's a moment of
recognition. You look at them and it's an unspoken thing in
which you're saying, 'I understand, man.' Even though my
baldness was only temporary, while we were shooting Fear And
Loathing, it was like: 'You're bald, I'm bald and
there's
nothing we can do about it.' I felt real weird.
When
Hunter first saw it, he said they hadn't gone far enough and wanted
to fix it. So I let him shave my head. I trusted
him.
I really did. He was incredibly gentle. He put on a
nice
skin cream and had a mining light on his hat and it was good—no
cuts, no weirdness. But when he saw it, he said, 'Jesus
Christ,
man, cover that up.' I looked really strange. But I
don't
think I'm heading that way. My hair's thick. It's
good to
have it back, I'll tell you. I wasn't sure—I thought maybe
it'll grow back, maybe it'll not; maybe it'll grow back as an Afro;
maybe it'll grow back in little tight pin curls. Who knows
what'll happen. It was like waiting for Christmas
morning.
For a long time."
Johnny likes to shoot.
"I
have a few guns in the house, just in case some nightmare
happens.
I sometimes go shooting as well. I go out into the desert and
set up beer cans, because when they get really hot and you hit one
there's an enormous explosion; it's nice. I never shoot
moving
targets, though. Living things are out. My father's
been
trying to get me to hunt with him for years. He hunts wild
boar. But I can't kill an animal. I can eat quite a
few
animals, but I just can't shoot 'em."
Johnny loves pig flesh.
"Swine
is the greatest! I mean, it's fine if you're a vegetarian,
but
fucking A, man, how can you not eat pork? I live for pork,
it's
the best thing in the world. And I love Burger King and
McDonald's—couldn't choose between them. I'm from the
South,
I'm complete and utter white trash. I couldn't really trust
anyone who doesn't eat pork. It's not that I dislike
vegetarians, some are okay. I've even dated a couple—they'd
just sit there and watch me feast on hog. And I know the
McCartneys fairly well. I knew Linda, who was really great, a
funny lady. We'd come back from the pub and she'd say, 'What
did you guys eat?' Stella would tell her she'd had a
ploughman's, and I'd say 'Shepherds pie.' Linda'd be like,
'Oh
my God!' She was really funny about it, and she actually converted me—I
didn't have any meat at all for nine months. I could deal
without steak; hamburgers were a little rough; but pork was just
terrible, I pined for bacon. I missed pig. It was a
steak, the little trollop, that dragged me back in there. I
was
working out a lot lifting weights at the time because I had to gain
20 pounds of muscle for Donnie Brasco. I
couldn't get
fat—it had to be muscle. That's tough on soy
beans.
This one guy said, 'Look, you're not going to gain the weight unless
you eat meat,' so I just said, 'Fuck it—steak now!' And
next
morning, obviously, it was bacon immediately."
Johnny rates feet above breasts.
"Feet
are very important. Very, very important. They are
way up
there on the priority list. About top two. A bad
pair of
feet, let's see, would be with long toenails. I can remember
seeing my great grandmother's toenails. She was a
full-blooded
Cherokee. Her toenails were really long and curled—like
cashews. Long toenails are a bad move. Horrible,
can't
even think about it. Just an awful image. Feet say
a
lot. If a girl doesn't take care of her feet there may be
problems elsewhere."
Johnny lives in Bela Lugosi's old house.
"I
bought it three years ago. It's great. Bela Lugosi
lived
in it in the Forties; they shot part of the Wizard of Oz there,
and those things are very interesting little tidbits, nice to
know.
But I just loved the house; it's such a strange design, very unusual
architecture. It is like a weird little castle in the middle
of
Hollywood, but I'm hardly ever there. I haven't been in it
for
five months."
Mr. Pink lives in his guest house.
"He's
a friend of mine who lives in the house and takes care of the
property—the infamous Mr. Pink. I don't know why he's
called
that. For 25 years he has been Mr. Pink—well before Reservoir
Dogs, so it's not a gang-name thing. He used to
work with
Pink Floyd, and it'd make sense if it was because of that.
He's
a good guy. If I lived there alone, the place would be a
wreck. They'd call in the health department.
There's no
way I could take care of all that stuff myself. Mr. Pink is
great, sort of a good friend who just takes care of everything."
Johnny also lives with a pitbull
terrier called Moo.
"He
was a present from Kate. Moo is not scary. He
doesn't
bite—that's just the propaganda against pitbulls. It
depends
what the owner's like—I don't bite too hard. I miss him
when
I'm away. I also have two rottweilers, called Red and
Black.
So it's Moo, Pink, Red, Black and me. I don't have a colorful
name yet. I'm looking forward to one, though."
An eight-foot yellow gorilla stands
proudly in the Depp front yard.
"He comes from Fear And
Loathing. He's got the words, 'You Can Run But
You Cannot
Hide' emblazoned on his stomach. I saw him and fell in love
with him—as one does with an eight-foot gorilla—and I thought,
'Aah, I've got a good idea. I'll rig him up for those bastard
neighbors who've been complaining about the construction and fucking
leaves in their garden.' That was horrible shit.
They're
real trainspotters, real nit-pickers. I had the construction
crew on the film build his hand so he was flicking the bird (giving
the finger). He also has a giant erection; we built a pump
into
him so he's constantly peeing into a bucket. The neighbors
haven't commented yet, but they must know he was put there especially
for them. I've had him moved now, but he used to stand facing
their little veranda where they sit and have coffee every
morning. Now he's right at the end of my driveway,
so
just as you park your car there's this enormous gorilla with a giant
hard-on—welcome to Johnny's!"
The gorilla is not Johnny's first
piece of unusual garden
furniture.
"I used to have a
nine-foot rooster, many years ago. I always thought it was
good
to say that I had the biggest cock in Los Angeles. I am not
saying there are no grounds for that without him, but when you have a
nine-foot rooster you can say that to anyone."
He has a tattoo that reads 'Wino
Forever'.
"Putting
tattoos on hurts. Taking them off hurts more—'specially if
they don't give you the anesthetic. But it's worth it, the
pain
going on, and off. They're both worth it."
Johnny loves to smoke.
"I am
a good smoker; a good driver; not a bad drinker; and an excellent
sleeper—the four things I do best in life. I love smoking,
I've been doing it for years. Never even thought about giving
it up. I roll my own: Drum tobacco. A
scummy
Hollywood gossip columnist once said I was obviously a dangerous
character because I spoke up for the legalization of marijuana and
rolled my own cigarettes—you gotta watch out for guys who roll
their own cigarettes. Stay away from those boys.
You can smoke in my club, the Viper Room. We break that law because it's ludicrous. Los Angeles is one of the most polluted cities in the world: stand in the street, you get cancer. Why not get drunk in a bar and get cancer? At least you'll have a good time getting it. LA is a very stupid place with stupid laws."
Johnny is a Kentucky Colonel.
"That's
because of Hunter. It's what Hunter calls me—the
colonel.
He made me one. It wasn't something I'd ever thought about,
even though we're both from the dark and bloody ground of
Kentucky.
But Hunter kept rousing me, saying, 'You mean you're not in
the
Kentucky Hall of Fame?' And I'd say, 'Fuck, why are they
gonna
put me in that?' So eventually he said, 'I'm going to arrange
this—you're bitter, I can tell.' I told him I didn't give a
fuck, but he kept on, and the next thing I know, he's had me made
into a Kentucky Colonel in the Kentucky Colonel's
Association.
They give you some certificate which says: You are Colonel
Johnny Depp. Colonel Saunders was the same kind of colonel as
I
am—I could start a fried chicken chain. Or maybe a fried
pork
chain."