Frankenstein 1970 (when the reviews are more entertaining than the movie)

FRANKENSTEIN 1970!

WARNING! "Frankenstein 1970" is the most blood-freezing horror ever created! This picture may be too dangerous for people with weak hearts! Beware!

Storyline

Baron Victor von Frankenstein has fallen on hard times; he was tortured at the hands of the Nazis for not cooperating with them during World War II and he is now badly disfigured. As his family's wealth begins to run out, the Baron is forced to allow a TV crew shooting a documentary on his monster-making ancestors to film at his castle in Germany. However, the Baron has plans of his own: using the money from the film crew's rent, he buys an atomic reactor and uses it to create a hulking monster, transplanting his butler's brain into the monster and using it to kill off the film crew for more spare parts.

REVIEWS (from IMDB)

If it weren't for Karloff this would have been forgotten long ago  (2/10)
preppy-3  2 July 2011

Dismal, low-budget horror film shot (for no good reason) in Cinemascope. It starts off great with a young, screaming woman being chased around on a dark, foggy night by a barely glimpsed monster. The sequence is beautifully atmospheric and hearkens back to the glory days of Universal horror movies. Sadly, this is the best sequence in the entire movie. Then it turns out it's only a movie being filmed near Baron Fankenstein's (Boris Karloff) estate. Yup there's ANOTHER Frankenstein who is a victim of Nazi tortures. For no discernible reason he's making a monster too...and decides to use the film crew and cast for parts.

Karloff hams it up and has a whale of a time with his performance. That alone gives it two stars. The rest of the film is drab and dreary with a pointless plot full of loopholes (just why is Frankenstein making another monster?) and one of the stupidest "monsters" ever seen. It's just some clown in a big ill-fitting suit made of bandages--everything is covered including his head! All the victims seem so terror stricken at this that they never run away and politely stand there and let the monster kill them (never shown). Truthfully they should all be helpless with laughter at this! There's next to no blood or gore either. This was 1958--blood WAS being shown in horror movies at this time but this one shies away from it. Also what's with the title? The 1970 implies a futuristic angle. Aside from reanimating the monster from an atomic reactor there's NOTHING futuristic or new here! It's also flatly directed not using the large Cinemascope image at all. Also with the exception of Karloff and Charlotte Austin the acting is truly terrible. Worst of all Karloff was pretty obviously in poor health when he did this and it's somewhat uncomfortable to see him slowly walking around slowly bent over and looking terrible. A very depressing poor horror film. Karloff deserved better. I give it a 2.

Frankenstein - 1970   (2/10)
Coxer99  8 June 1999

It's sad to see Karloff nearing the end of his career in such a mess of a film. Hammy effects and almost silly attempts at chills make this mess almost a spoof more than a horror.

1970, Did You Say?   (2/10)
AaronCapenBanner  20 October 2013

Boris Karloff(at the low-point of his brilliant career) plays Victor Von Frankenstein, last-surviving descendant of the original Baron Frankenstein(though NOT connected to the Universal Studios series Karloff had starred in!) who, because of financial necessity, allows a film crew to make a movie of his ancestors in his castle; the money he receives he plans to use to create a new monster, this time by using atomic energy generated by his own reactor. The actors from the film will make very convenient parts to compose the new monster, much to their surprise and horror... Pathetic attempt at a "futuristic" Frankenstein film is an abject failure, both poorly made and written, with Karloff looking embarrassed about the whole thing; thankfully, his career would pick up soon when he was chosen to host "Thriller"...

The Biggest Problem is the Script   (4/10)
arfdawg-  18 July 2020

The concept is kind of interesting, but the script is horrible. It's full of long winded soliloquies by Boris, pontificating on this or that and they will put you to sleep.

Could have been a fun comedy/horror, but it takes itself too seriously.

This is very scary.   (10/10)
jacobjohntaylor1  18 January 2016

This is one of the scariest movies of all time. 4.7 it underrating it. In this movie the mean character is the Grand son of Doctor Frankenstein. It is a sequel to Frankenstein. That takes place in the future. This a movie good for any one who like a good horror movie. See this movie. It is a great movie. This movie has great acting. It also has a great story line. It also has great special effects. It is no 4.7 it a great film. It is very intense. Do not watch this movie alone. Boris Karloff was a great actor. Tom Duggan was a great actor. Jana Lund was a great actor. This movie is a must see. This movie is true horror classic.

Loved it   (10/10)
labellalarry  19 June 2021

I loved it. I never have seen it. I love these simple old sci fi. But hey I'm a simple kind a guy

(Final thoughts. I just sat through this entire thing on Svengoolie, and . . . I have to agree with all but the last two reviews, one of which is fairly incoherent, and the last of which states that he hasn't even seen it. As I wish I hadn't. I'll never get those 83 minutes back. The posters are OK, but kind of schlocky - and why FOUR posters for a movie which garnered two-star reviews?)

Can a movie be so bad that it's IMMORAL?

There's something intensely gratifying about listening to a reviewer who becomes so incensed at how abysmally rotten a movie is that he literally begins screaming. This review had all the beauty and sincerity that the movie (apparently - I didn't see it, and won't) lacked. The thing is, everyone constantly says "don't  be negative!" and "find the good in things!" But if a movie is an absolute insult to the buying public, if it's so poorly, slap-dashedly made, if the actors are so ill-motivated that they aren't even phoning it in, and - worst of all - if CATS are being exploited (even if they're artificially-generated, not-real cats), then a critic ought to let rip with every bit of vocal protest he can muster.

This guy, I can tell, knows cats, "has" cats (meaning he is possessed by them), gets them, and thus finds it utterly offensive that this moviemaker has allowed them to be portrayed in such a horrendously disrespectful fashion. Of course Christopher Walken is in this movie playing the Magic Cat Man, or whatever he is, and tons of people praised his performance even if he seemed somewhat "cat"-a-tonic in it (I have a theory his brain battery is slowly running down, perhaps from too much smoking). I am learning there are those who praise EVERYTHING Christopher Walken does, and it confuses me. He seems to inspire a die-hard loyalty that has nothing to do with the quality of his performances.

Meantime, this critic, this wonderful man, absolutely lets go with great shouts of protest over this badly-made and nonsensical thing. The premise of it - hard-nosed businessman magically changes bodies with a house cat in order to learn an Important Life Lesson - sounds like something out of the '90s, if not the mid '80s. And it's Kevin Spacey, people - by all that is rotten, it's Kevin Spacey.

Now that we know a little bit more about Kevin Spacey (you know, the guy who was accused of molesting an adolescent boy and tweeted in response, "Gee, too bad about that, if it happened I mean, but I was too drunk to remember", then went on and on about his wonderful new gay lifestyle, as if anyone was surprised), which no one did back in 2016, it only lends the production ever more abysmal depths of wretchedness. It sinks to the level of immorality, which for a lighthearted family comedy is perhaps a first.

I don't know why this is, but Kevin Spacey reminds me of a pair of navy blue polyester pants from 1970 that someone has worn every day for the past six years without washing them. Ever. His personality stinks in just that rancid, unavoidable, inexcusable, unforgiveably embarrassing way. He is contesting the assault charges and smirking around and happily finding his weaselly, rancid way back into the public's good graces. No doubt he'll win, but as far as I am concerned, the damage has been done. He will always be stinking pants to me.

And Walken. I'm not sure. I've been sort of dissecting him as a subject lately, just because that's what I do on this blog, I sort of get stuck on one subject until I go on to the next one. It's interesting to go on YouTube and see ten-minute chunks of his movies from the past forty (!) years, because he seems to leap from age to age, until he is somehow every age at once. He's not. He's an old man now and mighty saggy, and his  brain seems to be in a fog. 

When he played Captain Hook, he put no energy into the part at all. His singing was even more wobbly and unmusical than usual. I watched just a snippet of Cyril Ritchard, the original Broadway Hook, and could not fail to notice the roistering, heel-clicking glee of his performance, the ripping good time he was having up there, and the spooky old-school ability to touch his audience, visible even on an old TV kinescope from 1953. Ritchard founded the subversive notion of pirate as King of Camp, glamourous eyes, long curly wig, beauty mark and all - an image endlessly replicated in movies like Pirates of the Caribbean. Walken merely looks as if he has been given a temporary face-lift, rendering his face tight, immobile, and queerly Asian (and with the worst painted-on eyebrows in stage history).

So what's my point? It's late, I don't have one, I'm rambling. It's all about cats, bad movies, Walken, pirates, and people who have run out of  steam. But not this guy! I've watched his rant several times, and it's a good antidote to apathy and frustration. Just blows it out of the ball park. I think I will watch it again.

A*P*E (1976) Trailer

Mutant sheep: the ultimate bad monster movie trailer

Every day when I get up in the morning, I think, ahhhh. Today I will find yet another cheesy monster movie trailer from the 1970s. There seem to be several million of them on the internet now. The thing is, I've heard that a lot of these were never released theatrically, and home video didn't really exist back then, so. . . ? I won't probe too deeply into that mystery.

Some of these are funny, some downright disgusting. This one is simply weird. I like weird, so long as it does not stray so far into the bizarre that one's normal orientation in reality is completely destroyed.

I think horror movies play with this, the sense that things are turning upside-down and there isn't a goddamn thing we can do to stop it or even slow it down. If you look at a human lifetime and try to add up how many ACTUAL moments of horror we experience, I think you'd find that oh fuck. Just watch the trailer.

"Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!"

So why post all these cheap previews? Cuz I like them, s'why. And because no matter what I post, it makes no difference, I get views or I don't. I was getting 700 per post there for a while, and had no idea why. I'm back to getting, like, two, and I don't know why that is either. So I might as well just do what I like. If I write something and really put a lot of time, energy and effort into it, invariably, it gets hardly any views. So why am I doing this? For self-entertainment, I think. Just to have something to tend. Like a garden. Since I can't grow pot.

Oh by the way. . . interesting, unknown fact about me! I DID grow pot once. My parents were so oblivious of my goings-on that I grew an enormous pot plant in the window of my bedroom, and they never once said ONE THING about it. It never got to the size where I could get buds off it, but I dried and smoked the leaves one night (my parents were asleep upstairs), and the weatherman on TV suddenly seemed to be scat-singing. You know, those spontaneous riffs that jazz singers do. 

The Mighty Gorga Trailer

Movie night! Hercules in New York (1970) Bear fight

The Robot vs the Aztec Mummy (just the good parts)

For my million and one loyal followers: you're already aware that this blog is extremely gif-heavy. Ever since I learned how to make a decent 15-second gif a couple of years ago, I've decorated my blog with them, watching the action run in perfectly-executed little circles. I particularly like to boil down a movie to its bare essence, and never is this more effective than in the case of poorly-dubbed, low-budget Mexican horror films. 

Can you guess which one I have in mind? 

Since I'm bringing you just the good parts, and I hope these don't run slow and jerky for you as they do when the net is a little busy (they straighten out after one cycle), I'll need to explain that this movie is about a robot vs an Aztec mummy. It eventually comes down to a cage match between the two of them, and I won't tell you who wins - you'll figure it out, I think. In between all this feverish activity, there is an unbelievable number of reaction shots. People also spend a lot of time tromping through graveyards, but I left most of that out. As with most films in this genre, it's incredibly slow-moving: believe me when I tell you, this really IS the best part of it, and it comes in under less than two minutes.

This mummy kicks ass. This mummy wants revenge. He has come back from the grave to get some goodies stolen from him by some greedy archaeologist (or something like that). Something about a breastplate and bracelet, though who knows why? Must be because he's Aztec and all.

This is an action scene. There aren't that many of them. People fall down a lot, and cover their faces and scream, and one guy gets real scarred up because the mummy touches him (or is it the robot?)

Sorry this one is so long, but this guy kills me! He looks like Orson Welles, or a crazed opera singer or something - and the human heart, which I guess ends up inside the robot, is straight out of Frankenstein. But the special effects are a tad simpler. That old heart just kind of sits there stewing.

This is a great example of endless, tedious reaction shots. I suspect a good many of them are repeated, a common trick in the low-budget horror industry where recycling footage saves cash. It takes forever for the robot to actually DO anything, and until then all we can do is watch a lot of flashing lights.

At last, the beast is on his feet! This is a magnificent construction which appears to be made from a large spray-painted cardboard box and some furnace ducts. I'm still puzzling out why there is a thing like a mail slot in his chest. My favorite part of the ensemble is the remote control, wielded with fiendish glee by The Bad Guy.

This is really unfortunate. It's just some Mexican guy with a serape on, hanging out in the graveyard, and look what happens to him! Orson Welles just pounds on that remote, and look what it makes the robot do. I'm not sure what it does, but like a lot of people in this movie, the Mexican guy runs away screaming.

CAGE MATCH! Here is where it gets good, and it happens in the last two minutes and thirty-eight seconds. The robot is smokin' by now, and is reducing our poor mummy to pulp. Things look pretty grim for the Aztec guy.

But just when you think - ! Once more, the mummy kicks butt! Could there be hidden symbolism here, i. e. ancient spiritual tradition beating out shallow man-made technology? Or is that robot, when you think about it, just a piece of shit anyway?

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Fifty Shades: let's bring back perversion!

  

Most of what happened to me in my childhood happened in the den.

We called it the “den”, not the “TV room” or “family room” (the inference being it can't be a family room without at least one TV), for reasons unknown, except that maybe in the ‘60s, that was what you called it.

It had a pullout sofa-bed, a black-and-white TV, an ancient ironwork-sided sewing machine, and an “imprinting machine” (my Mum did imprinting, personalizing leather goods and even pencils for my Dad’s stationery store) with drawers full of magical gold foil that I was forever tampering with.

But most of all, it had books. Seemingly thousands of them, I always thought, though I now remember just one solid wall, and another with (? Did I transpose this from my older siblings’ ever-changing university digs?) brick-and-board bookcases.

Lots of these were in German. My sister studied German in university for reasons that are now a complete mystery to me. Why? There was not even the remotest connection in any part of our family to Germany, and yet she wrote her Master’s thesis, in German, on The Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny by Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill.

I would often hear the wailings of Lotte Lenya on the stereo when I came home from school, which was very embarrassing when I brought a friend home. But I digress. In those brick-and-board bookcases, there was Goethe, there was Schiller, and there was a feeling I was just supposed to accept this as “normal”, because my sister (13 years older than me) said it was.

To my 10-year-old delight, there were a few dirty books (hers, I assume) strewn amongst the dull novels in the den:  A Rage to Live by John O’Hara (“oh, darling, you’re in me and I’m all around you, just in time, time, tme”), Sons and Lovers (“I will always remember that evening when the peewits called”), and even Cocksure, a mildly gamey book by Mordecai Richler, which thrilled me because it had the word “bastard” in it.  All this mulled around and around in my mind. I was beginning to formulate, or even come up with a formula, for what sex meant.

It surely meant simultaneous orgasm. If you had anything else, it was dirty and even frightening, and definitely “wrong”. You were not normal. This was especially true if you were married.

It meant forbiddenness. It meant crossing barriers of class, power and station (Lady Chatterley’s Lover). This was definitely stuff I wasn’t supposed to be seeing.

Then I discovered it, nestled dustily right against the volumes and volumes of Goethe and Schiller: THE COMPLETE WORKS OF SIGMUND FREUD!

Now I was off to the races.

Now I learned. I learned about penis envy. I learned about polymorphous perversity. I learned that women were inferior beings. I learned about latent homosexuality. I learned about vaginal orgasm. I learned.

I learned about stuff, then believed to be crucial to understanding human nature, that is now so dusty and obsolete that nobody even thinks about it any more, let alone talks about it. When you think about it, it is remarkable that so many people accepted without question theories that had never been proven clinically, or any other way. It was simply the truth.

The one hangover now is “anal”, which means, I don’t know, uptight or something. It did to Freud, too. An anal personality, anal retentive. Holding in your poo for some reason, though I couldn’t tell why, maybe because you were constipated or couldn’t get to the bathroom.

These were the golden days. These were the days of “perversion”. Do you remember perversion? Back then, anything that wasn’t simultaneous orgasm in the marriage bed was perversion.

Homosexuality was the result of a domineering mother and a weak father. Nobody questioned this. It was the only thing I ever heard about the matter, except for the expressions “limp-wristed” and “pansy”.

There was still a moral taint on it, the shadow of illegality that broke the spirit of Oscar Wilde. There was a sense that it was a sort of blight, that it was impossible to “correct”, and that the sufferer just had to abstain (I mean, forever) and conceal it completely to be socially acceptable.

So. Homosexuality was a mental illness or even a “perversion”. These attitudes, we now see, were groaningly wrong and must have caused immeasurable grief to thousands of people.

I didn’t know about a lot of other things, extreme things such as whips and chains.  I didn’t really know until tomorrow (oops, that’s the future, so I’d have to know in advance) when this Fifty Shades of Grey movie comes out. (Note: this was written on February 12. Confusing.)

ANY kind of inflicting of pain or punishment on another person was, in my backward day and with my den mentality, seen as sadism, and therefore “perversion”. It stood to reason, in my mind. Being turned on by experiencing pain, or (worse) inflicting pain was so twisted that I could not understand it at all. But it has changed, and drastically, in a fairly short period of time. At this point in our social evolution, it’s quite OK so long as the other person, the masochist, “gives consent”.

This happened with Jian Ghomeshi, remember? All his girl friends “gave consent”, so in an official sense, it was all OK.

Except that they didn’t. And it wasn’t.

“You can’t give consent if you are abused,” a very smart person I know (an award-winning news reporter) told me. Therefore, the woman who had been pounded to a bruised pulp and had her ribs broken by Ghomeshi hadn’t “consented”, because if someone beats the living shit out of you and breaks your bones, your abuser cannot use the legal excuse that you “gave consent”. Even if you did, it's null and void, because presumably you didn't know in advance that you would be brutally crushed.

Or maybe it's not. We’ll find out, won’t we?

The BDSM “community” insists that the receiver knows exactly what he or she is in for, wants it, and can get out of it any time, with a signal of some kind. But it seems to me that sadism is something that can be awfully hard to manage. Doesn’t it sometimes, just sometimes, go over the edge? By its very nature, I think that the possibility of loss of control might be part of the thrill.

And what of a person who “consents” but is deeply masochistic and profoundly self-hating? I’ve heard of “rough trade”, though I don’t know much about it, and I will confess that I don’t want to. Brian Epstein used to be found beaten, bloody and unconscious after such encounters. Was this  “OK” because he had given consent? Or did he, in the first place? 

(And if everybody's drunk or stoned and out of control, what does THAT add to the mix? It isn't fashionable to ask these things, but I ask them now.)

Such a person (a victim in my view), and I am only putting this out as a possibility, might WANT to be very badly hurt, even killed. Moreover, it might not be good for them to get what they want, because it’s too dangerous and they are too psychologically sick. I can hear the screams of protest right now: wait a minute, that’s impossible! It can't go too far as long as everyone's cool about the "rules". But in the wild and woolly world of human sexuality, is anything truly impossible?

Ghomeshi could argue that she wanted it, even told him it was OK. I don’t know what was going on there. If his unknown victim (the one with the bruises and broken ribs) claims it WAS consensual, then we’re really in a mess, aren’t we? Caught in a legal and sexual murkiness that we may never straighten out.

I have hardly touched on this Fifty Shades phenomenon, but I see that some women’s groups are protesting that it glorifies domestic violence. But hey! Violence is OK (or, at least, playing at violence is OK), even exciting, if you give your consent. Isn't it?  How about if you have a domineering husband who keeps threatening to leave and pull his financial support out from under you and your children? Might you be more likely to “consent” in this situation? You’d probably do anything to save your children, not to mention your life.

“It was just a sex game gone wrong.” Yes. I know this has been used before. “She wanted it, she asked for it.” What does that mean? How often do sexual and gender boundaries get blurred and confused? How about financial/power boundaries? (Christian in Fifty Shades certainly fits the rich and powerful profile.) How many ways can one human being make another human being submit, and how is this so different from slavery? (Master-slave language is very much a part of the “lifestyle”, making me wonder what black people think of it.)

I have not heard the word “perversion” in so long, I don’t know where it went. Does it even exist now, does the concept exist? I know that certain Christian fundamentalists seem to think that if people are “allowed” to be gay, it will open the floodgates to having sex with horses: an “anything goes” philosophy.

That’s horse’s-ass stuff, but I will say, I wonder where all this is taking us. Even playing at inflicting pain alarms me: why would anyone need to do it, unless they were, in some way, sexually perverted? Hurting someone is wrong. Wrong. Isn't it?

But no, now it’s stylish, and it’s certainly popular. I just found out that the original Fifty Shades trilogy started out as Twilight  “fan fiction’. With all its supposed restrictions on content, if fan fiction has become this sexually extreme, I honestly have to wonder what will come next. I wonder what will become of human boundaries, if there are any, and what will happen to the nature of something we still insist on calling “making love”.

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Who the hell is Mortdecai (and why?)

You know, folks, it's rare that I see a movie with the kind of reviews this one got (see excerpts from Rotten Tomatoes, below). Apparently Johnny Depp has been on a real losing streak. I was puzzled over why he strapped a dead crow to his head to play Tonto in the recent weak update of The Lone Ranger. This one is even more puzzling. I'm not sure I want to know what it is about, but it looks like it's about 2 hours too long for these particular critics. Once Siskel and Ebert claimed they wanted to kill themselves rather than sit through one particularly abominable movie (I think it was called  She's Out of Control). I am sure at least some of these critics wanted to take long (two-hour?) washroom breaks or just sprint for the exit, making up the review out of whole cloth, as I am sure they do anyway.

When I blathered on about making The Glass Character into a movie, an idea which was ridiculed and shot down so quickly I don't even know how it got back on its gasping, quivering feet, everybody said, "Oh, it should be Johnny Depp." Johnny Depp is now well over 50 years old, and while those Cherokee cheekbones have served him well, in the book Harold is barely 30. Johnny looks nothing like Harold, not even close. Zachary Quinto was my first pick, and he still might pull it off, and Jake Gyllenhaal was in second place, though his look is pretty far off (except for. . . those lips). But Johnny. He has yet another stroke against him now. It's sad, because he has turned in some interesting if over-quirky work over the years. I liked him on 21 Jump Street, myself, when he played a rogue cop. But Harold? No matter how cute his Keatonesque antics in Benny and Joon, he just won't make it - in particular, not after this.

Full Review… | January 23, 2015

Sandy Schaefer

ScreenRant

With art-heist caper Mortdecai, Johnny Depp tries his darnedest to start a kooky Austin Powers-like franchise with a side of bumbling Insp. Clouseau. But dash it all if it isn't a crashing bore, old bean.

Full Review… | January 23, 2015

Linda Barnard

Toronto Star

 Top Critic

[Mortdecai] fails on just about every level, so committed to its ridiculous premise that it doesn't bother to step back and recognize what an unholy mess it is.

Full Review… | January 23, 2015

Alex Pappademas

Grantland

 Top Critic

Stale, strained and sadly dismal considering all parties involved, Mortdecai wants to be a globe-trotting roguish romp crossing the globe in a bespoke suit, but it feels more like a brandy-soaked nap in grandad's threadbare housecoat.

Full Review… | January 23, 2015

James Rocchi

About.com

Depp's strenuously unfunny performance turns a frivolous caper comedy into a grim death march to the closing credits.

Full Review… | January 23, 2015

Rafer Guzman

Newsday

 Top Critic

Mortdecai is content to stroll casually and unassuredly through its paces, taking long, long intermissions for Depp to whimper and giggle.

Full Review… | January 23, 2015

Witney Seibold

CraveOnline

A sh-tshow from start to finish, a theoretically whimsical comedy wherein the actors physically begin to shrink as it goes along, as if they realized what they had gotten into just a beat too late to possibly escape.

Full Review… | January 23, 2015

Will Leitch

Deadspin

Go if you're a raging Anglophile with an afternoon to burn or you just love Depp, even at his hammiest. Otherwise, don't point this thing at you.

Full Review… | January 23, 2015

Leah Greenblatt

Entertainment Weekly

 Top Critic

It's heavy on doses of double entendres, slapstick and zaniness, but completely bereft of any laughs or true entertainment value. (Full Content Review -- Sex, Profanity, Violence, etc. -- for Parents also available)

Full Review… | January 23, 2015

Jim Judy

Screen It!
When it gels, it's genial. When it doesn't, it drags. And drags.

Christopher Campbell

Film School Rejects

If you have an allergy to pure goofballery, this is not the movie for you. Spend your Depp bucks elsewhere.

Full Review… | January 23, 2015

Brian Orndorf

Blu-ray.com

What looked funny in small, trailer-sized doses turns into an interminable death march when applied to an almost two-hour run time.

Full Review… | January 23, 2015

Mike Reyes

CinemaBlend.com

There was no laughter, just grim resolve on the part of those of us professionally obligated to stick it out through the bitter end.

Full Review… | January 23, 2015

Nell Minow

Beliefnet

[An] absolutely bewildering waste of time, talent, energy and money.

POST-BLOG POST-MORT(DECAI)

Could not resist adding this morbid little tidbit. Much has been made of Depp's box office decline in recent years. It strikes me that he isn't being careful enough what he takes on - just has to work all the time, for reasons of his own. Maybe he's broke. It amazes me how these stars go through money.