By Jason Lim
It's always jarring to see the idols of your youth turn into an unfortunate spectacle right in front of your eyes. This happened to ― among many others ― Elvis Presley, Michael Jackson and now, Johnny Depp.
I was too young to experience Elvis and Michael as they were at the beginning of their careers, except for snippets of old videos on Ed Sullivan shows and Jackson Five performances. So, when they turned into unrecognizable, larger-than-life caricatures ― more akin to bad modern art than actual, relatable people ― it was more of a rubbernecking exercise than anything else.
However, I consumed Johnny Depp as a pop culture product when he became the star of "21 Jump Street" in the 1980s. He was a part of my youth. I felt emotionally invested in Johnny Depp as an actor, as he took on different roles and was a famous person of my times, as my life and his marched on through the same decades.
This isn't unlike the many pop culture heroes that we all experience when young that we track throughout the ups and downs of their careers. In short, I liked him. That was his strength. He was eminently likable, despite his beauty, rather than because of it. He was one of us ― Michelangelo's David of the Gen Xers. I rooted for him to succeed.
However, the dominant emotion that I felt following the recent defamation trial between Johnny Depp and Amber Heard wasn't a sense of vindication for Depp; rather, it was an overwhelming sadness: for him, for me. It wasn't immediately obvious where the sadness came from. Like all emotions, it's amorphous rather than clearly defined.
It also pulsates in its intensity, getting especially larger when the current picture of Depp in the trial is juxtaposed with the Depp of 21 Jump Street. There is a profound sense of loss when the impossible youth and beauty of Depp with Winona Ryder or Kate Moss flashes on the screen, followed by the tired, wrinkled old man in tinted glasses and a ponytail under the glaring light of the courtroom. You are left wondering, "Is this the same person?"
I am less interested in the actual outcome of the trial. It's impossible for me to have an opinion on the ins and outs of a marriage, particularly one that seems as dysfunctional as this one, without having lived through it. I especially feel uncomfortable and unqualified to have an opinion on marital violence, since I have never been a woman who has been physically struck by a man. There is an intrinsic physical power imbalance here that cannot be discounted in any marital violence, no matter who the instigator might be.
Regardless, whatever evidence and testimonies are presented in the trial, they are probably just skewed snippets of the truth of what really went on in that marriage, a truth that could be vastly different and equally valid from Depp's and Heard's perspectives. The violent dissolution of a marriage playing out as a spectacle in the public eye is an embarrassment, if not a tragedy.
What has been obvious is that Depp is not the Depp of my youth. It's not just the age. It's the trails and grooves that show on his face like on old LP record tracks, of a life that has transformed him from David, with its impossibly youthful and hopeful lines forever carved into the white marble, to an old man full of sound and fury, railing against a young woman who he alleges betrayed and abused him.
The sadness for me comes from the fact that Depp has been revealed as an older, richer, more powerful man who became infatuated with a much younger woman and married her ― as a last, desperate gasp to hold on to his fading youth ― to regret it later and accuse her of gold digging. He has become a cliche. He is the Elvis and Michael Jackson of my generation, and I am grieving.
I am not grieving for Depp per se. I am grieving for myself. I am grieving at the realization that I am no longer young. My potential has been passed by my actual reality. It's not that it's all downhill for me from here; I am actually looking forward to my impending retirement in a few years and everything else that brings with it. It's that the invigorating freshness of the new is rather stale, and the world has an expiration date. Depp's spectacle has made that so much clearer.
What terrifies me, however, is that I will become a cliche like Depp. Driven by the fear of age and irrelevance, I don't want to make decisions out of desperation to remain unnaturally still against the current of time and risk becoming someone who uses youth around him to rage against the night, feeding into his illusion of immortality and everlasting significance. I'd rather age well and naturally fade away without making a fool of myself and victimizing those around me.
Jason Lim (jasonlim@msn.com) is a Washington, D.C.-based expert on innovation, leadership and organizational culture.
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I was too young to experience Elvis and Michael as they were at the beginning of their careers, except for snippets of old videos on Ed Sullivan shows and Jackson Five performances. So, when they turned into unrecognizable, larger-than-life caricatures ― more akin to bad modern art than actual, relatable people ― it was more of a rubbernecking exercise than anything else.
However, I consumed Johnny Depp as a pop culture product when he became the star of "21 Jump Street" in the 1980s. He was a part of my youth. I felt emotionally invested in Johnny Depp as an actor, as he took on different roles and was a famous person of my times, as my life and his marched on through the same decades.
This isn't unlike the many pop culture heroes that we all experience when young that we track throughout the ups and downs of their careers. In short, I liked him. That was his strength. He was eminently likable, despite his beauty, rather than because of it. He was one of us ― Michelangelo's David of the Gen Xers. I rooted for him to succeed.
However, the dominant emotion that I felt following the recent defamation trial between Johnny Depp and Amber Heard wasn't a sense of vindication for Depp; rather, it was an overwhelming sadness: for him, for me. It wasn't immediately obvious where the sadness came from. Like all emotions, it's amorphous rather than clearly defined.
It also pulsates in its intensity, getting especially larger when the current picture of Depp in the trial is juxtaposed with the Depp of 21 Jump Street. There is a profound sense of loss when the impossible youth and beauty of Depp with Winona Ryder or Kate Moss flashes on the screen, followed by the tired, wrinkled old man in tinted glasses and a ponytail under the glaring light of the courtroom. You are left wondering, "Is this the same person?"
I am less interested in the actual outcome of the trial. It's impossible for me to have an opinion on the ins and outs of a marriage, particularly one that seems as dysfunctional as this one, without having lived through it. I especially feel uncomfortable and unqualified to have an opinion on marital violence, since I have never been a woman who has been physically struck by a man. There is an intrinsic physical power imbalance here that cannot be discounted in any marital violence, no matter who the instigator might be.
Regardless, whatever evidence and testimonies are presented in the trial, they are probably just skewed snippets of the truth of what really went on in that marriage, a truth that could be vastly different and equally valid from Depp's and Heard's perspectives. The violent dissolution of a marriage playing out as a spectacle in the public eye is an embarrassment, if not a tragedy.
What has been obvious is that Depp is not the Depp of my youth. It's not just the age. It's the trails and grooves that show on his face like on old LP record tracks, of a life that has transformed him from David, with its impossibly youthful and hopeful lines forever carved into the white marble, to an old man full of sound and fury, railing against a young woman who he alleges betrayed and abused him.
The sadness for me comes from the fact that Depp has been revealed as an older, richer, more powerful man who became infatuated with a much younger woman and married her ― as a last, desperate gasp to hold on to his fading youth ― to regret it later and accuse her of gold digging. He has become a cliche. He is the Elvis and Michael Jackson of my generation, and I am grieving.
I am not grieving for Depp per se. I am grieving for myself. I am grieving at the realization that I am no longer young. My potential has been passed by my actual reality. It's not that it's all downhill for me from here; I am actually looking forward to my impending retirement in a few years and everything else that brings with it. It's that the invigorating freshness of the new is rather stale, and the world has an expiration date. Depp's spectacle has made that so much clearer.
What terrifies me, however, is that I will become a cliche like Depp. Driven by the fear of age and irrelevance, I don't want to make decisions out of desperation to remain unnaturally still against the current of time and risk becoming someone who uses youth around him to rage against the night, feeding into his illusion of immortality and everlasting significance. I'd rather age well and naturally fade away without making a fool of myself and victimizing those around me.
Jason Lim (jasonlim@msn.com) is a Washington, D.C.-based expert on innovation, leadership and organizational culture.
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