Rum Diary

Having remained elusive for many day, I managed to track down the Rum Diaries at a local Red Box. Initial reviews painted a bleak picture. As though a massive wave of apathy and discontent rose up. On the Red Box website you can still see the high water mark where people had cared for Johnny Depp and the works of Thompson.

"It's too boring." "Nothing happens." And similar complaints. These people though don't understand the point of the film. Depp is not trying to play a swishing sun-addled pirate nor is the film about the Fear, Loathing, and mountains of drugs a serious habit can help you obtain. It is in there but that is not the point or the time period the film tries to capture. 

There is something magical about Depp's portrayal of Hunter and something about Hunter's tracts that burrow deep within the mind. Following the wrinkles in the brain like an Innerspace Perseus carrying a string of such scintillating thought that it generates a mild mania within. 

A calling to go out there and find the Dream. 

The novel evokes stinging salt, ever present sand, and the kind of depression you can only find in a paradise.

I had started to read the book before a trip to North Carolina. With twenty of my closest friends we set off on the staple collegiate escape to the beach. 

On that small isthmus, looking out into the steel grey horizon I realized I couldn't finish the book. The ink had started to seep into my skin and i could feel Hunter 's presence creep up behind the eyes. I needed rum and sterner stuff. I craved something larger and larger.

And when the warm winds blow. I feel those same stirrings. 

The cravings.