esrosedotblog

DEPPFEST FINALE

DON JUAN DEMARCO(1995) is the last of the Depp films. We saved it as dessert. This romantic trifle has the very essence of Deppness. Without him, there is no film. He is joined by Brando and, once again, it is fun to watch the new guy interact with the vet; although Brando is so heavy; so weighed down with himself; that you can only savor the top notes of his performance. It is to his credit that the top notes are good enough.

Depp is Don Juan Demarco, a young man in delusion or........well perhaps not; and Brando is his shrink. There is a classic transference in the therapy but in reverse; from 'patient' to doc. Faye Dunaway joins in as the wife who benefits from Brando's awakening.

The fantasy sequences are wonderful. Depp is in top form. This is another film that catches him just at that point of departure; transforming from pretty face into the accomplished actor who won the SAG Best Actor this year; peer recognition of the finest kind.

OLD BOSTON

Today, in a meeting, there was a guy who announced himself from Boston. I realized that I had a non-reaction. Used to be, if I met someone from Boston, I would get excited; make a connection. "Hi. I just moved here from Boston, where do you live, etc". Oddly–or not–most people turned out to be from somewhere other than literal Boston; maybe Nahant or Wellesley. I would never let it pass; always mentioned that I lived in downtown Boston; the South End.

Other thing that used to happen; people from around here would come to point out Bostonians; didn't I want to say hello to them. I found nothing weird about this. I was in the process of leaving Boston for a very long time. It was normal to continue to say goodbye with these surrogates for friends and family; people still back there in our wake.

Now, I notice two things. No one ever tells me about a Boston visitor. People here have forgotten that I am from anywhere else. They see me as being here. I have arrived here in their mind. And, more importantly, I have no particular reaction to a person from Boston; nothing any more special than another city I have been. I have arrived here in my own mind.

I think that this is mostly time and tide; and I have to admit that, even if I were to say 'hello to Boston' I would stumble and stammer over landmarks, street locations and the like. I do not remember as many details. I am not sure exactly where Wellesley and Nahant are. Well, I know, but it is a yawn to think of it. I guess I have finally crossed the distance between there and here. It can be done in six hours. It took me six years.