“There he goes. One of God’s own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die.”
Holy crapola! I mean, where to… where to even begin? Right, first off: just imagine your very own dream team of movie making: a groundbreaking book or author, turned into a movie by a brilliant director, and starring two of your favorite actors! Darn! On top of all that, its subject matter is something you care deeply about: drugs! (Well, not really-really and only drugs, as I’ll explain in a minute, but there are very, very many drugs in this movie. Like, a LOT. Yay!) Put it all together, and the end result is this movie.
So, please, allow me now, if you will, to briefly introduce you to the main actors of this grand play. To begin with:
Hunter S. Thompson (1937–2005) was a journalist and author whose best work came out of the sixties and seventies. He invented what became known as Gonzo journalism: instead of observing a subject from a safe, objective distance, he dove straight into it, making himself part of the story. He first gained attention with Hell’s Angels, for which he spent a full year living among the gang. The book this movie is based on began as a simple magazine assignment but quickly turned into something else altogether.
Terry Gilliam, brilliantly creative director and member of the legendary Monty Python group (he made those strange and weird animated interludes). Known for off-kilter, wildly imaginative films like 12 Monkeys, The Zero Theorem and classics like Brazil.
Johnny Depp – Johnny Depp!
Benicio Del Toro. I love this man. As an actor, I mean. The thing is, I’m not exactly sure as to why… Some actors just have that… that something… (if anybody says ‘X-factor,’ I will poke you in the eye with a sharp stick). Tom Hardy has it. Christopher Walken. And many others… Well, maybe not every single goddamn thing on this planet needs explaining, now, does it? No, it does not. I love him!
Now then, on to the movie itself. What’s it about? Well, that’s pretty straightforward, actually: “Hiding from the brutish realities of this foul year of Our Lord, nineteen hundred and seventy one”, Raul Duke (Depp), journalist, and Dr. Gonzo (Del Toro), attorney at law, take a trip to Las Vegas to report on the annual Mint 400 desert bike race. They take a literal suitcase full of lovely narcotics with them (and I quote: “two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a saltshaker half-full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers… Also, a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of beer, a pint of raw ether, and two dozen amyls.”) and have themselves a little party, while in the meantime also sort of thinking about the ultimate failure of the 1960s counterculture. Did I say ‘straightforward’? Well, maybe it is to me…
What follows is a mind-bending, utterly unhinged trip unlike anything you’ve ever seen—a visual feast showing exactly what it might look like if you actually crammed all those drugs into your system at once. Hotel rooms are getting thrashed in such a way that only demolition and rebuilding would suffice to repair the damage. It’s truly amazing to behold. The things a human body (and mind!) is able to withstand are… gobsmacking. Yeah. Getting smacked in your gob, hard, and then turning that into a famous book about the collapse of society-changing movements… try that on for size! I loved every single minute of it.
This movie has been criticized for the fact that instead of diving deeper into the actual subject of Thompson’s book, Terry Gilliam chose to focus more on the extreme bacchanals and general insanity of it all. Well, to those people I can only say, Sod off, you silly person! If you want to read the book, read the book. Don’t complain to me about this movie. Don’t!
But, for those of you that didn’t, I will leave you now with Mr. Thompson’s own words on the matter.
“We are all wired into a survival trip now. No more of the speed that fueled the 60s. That was the fatal flaw in Tim Leary’s trip. He crashed around America selling “consciousness expansion” without ever giving a thought to the grim meat-hook realities that were lying in wait for all the people who took him seriously… All those pathetically eager acid freaks who thought they could buy Peace and Understanding for three bucks a hit. But their loss and failure is ours too. What Leary took down with him was the central illusion of a whole lifestyle that he helped create… a generation of permanent cripples, failed seekers, who never understood the essential old-mystic fallacy of the Acid Culture: the desperate assumption that somebody – or at least some force – is tending the light at the end of the tunnel.”
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