Johnny Depp made a name for himself in quirky fare like “Ed Wood,” “What’s Eating Gilbert Grape,” and “Dead Man.”

Today, he’s far more likely to be fronting a potential franchise than a little film to be seen at the Sundance Film Festival. Depp has made it big, and he’s a tad testy about it.

Depp recently bristled at the notion that he’s a sellout during an interview connected to his latest film, “The Rum Diary:”

(more…)

Johnny Depp’s blinding affection for late gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson convinced him to play the writer’s alter ego – again – in ‘The Rum Diary.’

That casting made sense for 1998’s ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,’ a Thompson-inspired film produced while Depp was still in his early 30s.

Now, as the actor creeps up on 50 (he’s 48), he’s far too old to be playing Thompson at the dawn of his muckraking career. Yet the age disparity isn’t what leaves a sour taste here. The film lacks a third act of consequence, and a text coda plastered on at the end hardly makes amends.

—–

But there’s still Depp dabbling in his hero’s life story and a snappy script which treats Thompson’s one-liners like those tiny liquor bottles lurking in a hotel room refrigerator. You know you shouldn’t gulp them down, but they’re too tantalizing to resist.

(more…)

It’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon here in Malibu, California.  A school of dolphins frolic in the ocean, visible from the deck of my two story beach house.  I’ve invited over my good friend; author, television personality and all around swell guy Greg Gutfeld to talk about his new book “The Bible of Unspeakable Truths.”  My Laotian pool boy Hugo has just finished freshening our pina coladas and it’s time to dig into the interview.  [Editor’s Note:  This interview was conducted via email.  Mr. Scott has never met Mr. Gutfeld.  Mr. Scott demanded this bogus intro citing the Vanity Fair style guide and insisting that the imagery would make the interview "more interesting for the reader."  Whatever.]

Greg, thanks for stopping by.  Let’s get into it. 

1)  Why write a book of all things?  I mean, you’re on TV and you are a King of the Internets.  Isn’t a book a technological step backwards?  What can we expect next, a hieroglyphic stone tablet or something over the telegraph?

Originally, I had planned to do the book purely via the classic child’s game called “Whisper Down the Lane.” I begin speaking a passage of the book, to one person, who then repeats the passage to someone else. While I’m doing this of course, I’m also beating your naked back with a splintered AFX racing track. It adds a whole dimension to the game, and to your back.   (more…)

Otherwise known as Robert Novak, this gnome-like figure dominated the political talk show landscape throughout the late 80’s and 90’s – as a panelist for “The McLaughlin Group,” and later the “Capital Gang.”

So, was Robert Novak the coolest man on the planet?

Of course not. But in my opinion, he deserves to be in the top 100.
Or, at least, ahead of anyone in Green Day. See, Robert Novak epitomized cool because he never cared about what people thought. Instead he stole the left’s stereotype of conservatism, and made it his own delightful persona. If being a fan of free markets, a strong defense and limited government made him evil, then evil he was.

And so he became the “Prince of Darkness.” And like the devil – he never changed. Novak never moved with the trends: he looked like Novak for a solid five decades short, round, dark, joyfully evil: for all we knew, he could have been an alien marble that survived on puppy souls. (more…)

Excerpts from the never-aired 1973 Scooby Doo episode with guest star Hunter S. Thompson 

We were ten minutes south of San Clemente when the putrid green daisy walls of the van started closing in. I recall the fat four-eyed lesbian sweater girl saying something like “are you okay, Mr. Duke? We’ve got a mystery to solve…” when suddenly the gullet of the garish chartreuse steel beast began to spasm like a digestive track readying itself to vomit. I began clawing at my hamstrings and when I turned my head I was looking into the iridescent eyes of a grotesque animal screeching “Ruh Roh! Ruh Roh!” in a hoarse irritating dog-accented gibberish. That’s when things began to turn weird. 

I fought off the ether hallucinations and fly swarms and fumbled through my medical bag for my .45 and another shot of absinthe. I pushed off the safety and casually popped off three quick rounds, through the shag carpet stomach lining of the nauseous steel beast that was consuming all of us, and it began thrashing angrily. The lesbian was screaming, and the two Aryan Hitler Youth were screaming, and the grotesque talking dog jumped into the arms of the whimpering hippie boy. Holy sweet Jesus Christ, I thought, don’t these people realize we’re about be eaten alive by poorly-drawn Chevrolet? Nevermind that. They would see it all soon enough, after the nightshade cookies and Scooby snack kicked in.  (more…)