Dear ‘Rum Diary’

In theaters Friday: Tower Heist, A Very Harold & Kumar 3D Christmas

New on DVD/Blu-ray: Crazy, Stupid, Love, Water for Elephants

Dear Rum Diary,

What a ride! The sandy beaches of Puerto Rico, the lush hillside drives, the mid-century modern cool of everything from sunglasses and hats to the cars and the mansions. I kind of felt awesome watching you, like I was on a vacation with no itinerary but indulgence.

Johnny Depp, as failed New York author-turned-ex-pat-journalist Paul Kemp, was superb again as the Hunter Thompson stand-in. He really dialed back the absurdist clownishness that served Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas well but would have been out of place in your 1960-set tale of journalistic integrity and social distortion given breath and life and cocktail after cocktail.

“We have an ailing circulation, and I just have to look around this building to understand why: lack of commitment and too much self-indulgence,” says Richard Jenkins’ newspaper editor on Kemp’s first day on the job at that tiny, grungy daily in San Juan, and you made sure Depp did not disappoint on either front. When he fell under the auspices and the debt of a local land baron named Sanderson played by Aaron Eckhart, I could see Kemp’s sharp wheels turning behind those dark shades of his. Of course, Sanderson tried to lure Kemo with money and cars, the “American Dream,” if only he would write sanctimonious spin on a shady new development that aimed to turn a gorgeous island into more concrete for the rich. He never once fell under Sanderson’s spell. No, you saved that for the mermaid.

The only thing better looking than the Puerto Rican coastline is Chenault, Sanderson’s golden young property played by Amber Heard, but with such a spectacular entrance—Kemp thinks she’s a mermaid in the water—into his life and our hearts, her sudden exist is a travesty. That wasn’t the only thing I was disappointed in toward the end, my dear Rum Diary.

The thing is, you set up a beautiful crossroads for Kemp to contemplate. Should he use his skill as a writer to make a lot of money, to be dishonest and a verbose shill for corporate criminals, or use the power of his ink to “fight the bastards” and stand up for the people, for truth. In the end, he does neither, really, though he promises to fight corruption in the future, he comes up a little short in Puerto Rico. He doesn’t make an impact. You would have been a much stronger, more dynamic film if Kemp had done both, first compromising his morals, then seeing the error of his ways and fighting tooth and nail to make up for it, and, get this, actually win in the end.

I don’t care how Thompson ended his book. No one has narrative flair and bravura like the inconic Gonzo writer, so he can get away with anything, but for the adaptation, you have to have Kemp win in the end, to shove his words in Sanderson’s face, to give the poor, indigent of the island hope and leave behind charges who will continue to fight for justice with truth. You have to end on a existential rush. For all the late night carousing you stuffed into two hours, that was my disappointment, Rum Diary. You did something Hunter Thompson never would have. You missed out on the biggest high.