Johnny Depp: The Playboy Interviews (50 Years of the Playboy Interview) by Playboy, Johnny Depp Page A
Authors: Playboy, Johnny Depp
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He can now command $4 million per film but often takes far less for pet projects, including his friend Jarmusch’s “Dead Man.”
He has danced to his own drummer since his 1984 debut in “A Nightmare on Elm Street,” in which he got sucked through a bed into hell. Along the way he has fallen for some of America’s most desirable women. He has had offscreen relationships with Jennifer Grey (“Dirty Dancing”) and Sherilyn Fenn (“Twin Peaks”). A rumored liaison—public, if not pubic—with Madonna was followed by a notorious engagement to Winona Ryder and the requisite tattoo, “Winona Forever.” When they broke up, he had the tattoo removed a letter at a time; at one point it read “Wino Forever.”
Today he and his latest love, übermodel Kate Moss, are the prom king and queen of young Hollywood—beautiful, thin chain-smokers with an air of sex and tragedy. Or call them, thanks to their morbid humor, the new Gomez and Morticia. Johnny once made a shrine in his movie-set trailer, placing candles around a photo of Kate with a bride of Frankenstein hairdo.
Their hangout, the Viper Room on Sunset Boulevard, which Johnny co-owns, was the scene of River Phoenix’ fatal overdose in October 1993. The horror of that Halloween has faded, and today’s Viper Room more than ever resembles its owners: notorious and nice. “It’s a fun place again,” he says, passing the strip of cement where Phoenix died, “but you never forget.”
Depp is all about his past. In 1970, when he was seven years old, his family left Kentucky for Miramar, Florida, where the Depps moved from house to house and sometimes lived in motels. Depp’s father took off when Johnny was 15. His mother, Betty Sue, worked as a waitress, and Johnny counted her tips after work. He also developed a fierce devotion to society’s outcasts.
In high school he was suspended for mooning a teacher. Shortly after that he dropped out and worked pumping gas. Once, trying to learn to breathe fire like circus performers, he blew a mouthful of gasoline at a flame. His eyes lit up as the blaze raced toward him—then his eyebrows and hair lit up, too. He barely escaped.
To “get an identity” (and meet girls) he joined a band. He played guitar with the Kids, a group that was good enough to open for the Ramones, the Talking Heads, Iggy Pop and the B-52s. They went to Los Angeles to make it in the big time but flopped instead. Depp needed work. That’s when Nicolas Cage, a pal from the music scene, said, “You should meet my agent.”
Depp auditioned for director Wes Craven. Legend has it Craven’s daughter, with whom Depp ran lines that day, fell in love with the new kid in town. He won a role in Craven’s “Elm Street,” which led to “Private Resort,” a 1985 teen sexploitation pic in which his bare butt played second banana to then-unknown Rob Morrow. Next came stardom.
As a narc on “21 Jump Street,” Fox TV’s first hit, Depp became a poster boy to female teen America. He hated every minute of it. As soon as he was free of his contract, he spat on his “Jump Street” image by starring in John Waters’ spoof “Cry-Baby.”
The grungy offscreen Depp is fascinated by the macabre. He is a student of the nether zones of biology and the extremes of abnormal psychology. (He recently bought Bela Lugosi’s old house for $2.3 million.) He collects skeletons, paintings of scary clowns and, as mentioned, bugs. As with his work, there is a twitchy humor to his collectibles, his conversation, even his arrests. They’re all funny if you view them as he does—as brief excursions on our common march to the graveyard. In 1994 he was jailed for trashing a $1,200-a-night suite in New York City’s Mark Hotel. Handcuffed and led by police to a sidewalk jammed with reporters demanding his reaction, he nodded toward the cops and said, “I’ve met some really nice people.”
Is Depp a nice person? We decided to send Contributing Editor Kevin Cook to find
He has danced to his own drummer since his 1984 debut in “A Nightmare on Elm Street,” in which he got sucked through a bed into hell. Along the way he has fallen for some of America’s most desirable women. He has had offscreen relationships with Jennifer Grey (“Dirty Dancing”) and Sherilyn Fenn (“Twin Peaks”). A rumored liaison—public, if not pubic—with Madonna was followed by a notorious engagement to Winona Ryder and the requisite tattoo, “Winona Forever.” When they broke up, he had the tattoo removed a letter at a time; at one point it read “Wino Forever.”
Today he and his latest love, übermodel Kate Moss, are the prom king and queen of young Hollywood—beautiful, thin chain-smokers with an air of sex and tragedy. Or call them, thanks to their morbid humor, the new Gomez and Morticia. Johnny once made a shrine in his movie-set trailer, placing candles around a photo of Kate with a bride of Frankenstein hairdo.
Their hangout, the Viper Room on Sunset Boulevard, which Johnny co-owns, was the scene of River Phoenix’ fatal overdose in October 1993. The horror of that Halloween has faded, and today’s Viper Room more than ever resembles its owners: notorious and nice. “It’s a fun place again,” he says, passing the strip of cement where Phoenix died, “but you never forget.”
Depp is all about his past. In 1970, when he was seven years old, his family left Kentucky for Miramar, Florida, where the Depps moved from house to house and sometimes lived in motels. Depp’s father took off when Johnny was 15. His mother, Betty Sue, worked as a waitress, and Johnny counted her tips after work. He also developed a fierce devotion to society’s outcasts.
In high school he was suspended for mooning a teacher. Shortly after that he dropped out and worked pumping gas. Once, trying to learn to breathe fire like circus performers, he blew a mouthful of gasoline at a flame. His eyes lit up as the blaze raced toward him—then his eyebrows and hair lit up, too. He barely escaped.
To “get an identity” (and meet girls) he joined a band. He played guitar with the Kids, a group that was good enough to open for the Ramones, the Talking Heads, Iggy Pop and the B-52s. They went to Los Angeles to make it in the big time but flopped instead. Depp needed work. That’s when Nicolas Cage, a pal from the music scene, said, “You should meet my agent.”
Depp auditioned for director Wes Craven. Legend has it Craven’s daughter, with whom Depp ran lines that day, fell in love with the new kid in town. He won a role in Craven’s “Elm Street,” which led to “Private Resort,” a 1985 teen sexploitation pic in which his bare butt played second banana to then-unknown Rob Morrow. Next came stardom.
As a narc on “21 Jump Street,” Fox TV’s first hit, Depp became a poster boy to female teen America. He hated every minute of it. As soon as he was free of his contract, he spat on his “Jump Street” image by starring in John Waters’ spoof “Cry-Baby.”
The grungy offscreen Depp is fascinated by the macabre. He is a student of the nether zones of biology and the extremes of abnormal psychology. (He recently bought Bela Lugosi’s old house for $2.3 million.) He collects skeletons, paintings of scary clowns and, as mentioned, bugs. As with his work, there is a twitchy humor to his collectibles, his conversation, even his arrests. They’re all funny if you view them as he does—as brief excursions on our common march to the graveyard. In 1994 he was jailed for trashing a $1,200-a-night suite in New York City’s Mark Hotel. Handcuffed and led by police to a sidewalk jammed with reporters demanding his reaction, he nodded toward the cops and said, “I’ve met some really nice people.”
Is Depp a nice person? We decided to send Contributing Editor Kevin Cook to find
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