By the time you read this, I will likely have moved on. I never meant for it to end this way. Honestly, Mr. Depp, it’s not you.
It’s my childhood.
Oh, Johnny. It’s not all bad. We still have some great memories. You were the heartthrob that adorned my teenaged bedroom walls during your days on Elm and 21 Jump Street. You were the hottest Cry Baby I’ve ever known. And you did Hunter S. better than the man might have himself.
But you crossed a fine nostalgic line when you stole—commandeered—my favorite Disney adventure. I loathe the thought of children at the theme park thinking the ride borne of the movie. It was by the skin of your blacked-out Caribbean teeth that you pulled it off—you even got an Oscar nod—the first time. Maybe we could have worked things out.
But, like my mother always said, once a cheater, always a cheater. It’s become mental piracy.
I thought you’d never be the type to do a sequel, let alone a part four.
A while back, before I realized what was truly going on, you tried your hand as Ichabod Crane in Sleepy Hollow. It felt like a tarnish to the shiny animated classic I watched every Halloween as a girl. Who would have thought I preferred a lanky, big-nosed cartoon to you? Maybe it was the Bing Crosby soundtrack.
Next, you had the audacity to challenge Gene Wilder’s brilliance as the O.G. Willy Wonka. Really? Johnny, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
And now, your latest heartbreak: Alice in Wonderland.
You must be mad.
Johnny, I gotta ask: If Tim Burton jumped off a bridge, would you? I mean, sure, his stuff is whimsical and striped and pleasantly macabre, but isn’t enough enough? Must you two make a creepy version of everything I remember from being a kid?
It seems you spend all your time with him now. What about me? What about my feelings? It kills me to see both of you, off gallivanting with your pal Danny Elfman, messing where you don’t belong, remake after remake, sullying my fondest schoolgirl cinematic moments.
You’re not the man I once loved—a gorgeous, risk-taking, witty banterer, possessing the Midas touch with scripts off the beaten path (the role of Ideal Man is now being played by Robert Downey Jr.). You’ve become a caricature of yourself. An overly painted face with a “Black Hole Sun” smile. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.
I think it’s time for me to go, Johnny.
I know you’ll find someone new. Perhaps your role in The Tourist next to co-star Angelina will bring good fortune? I think it’s quite clear to anyone with eyes that you’re the one man walking the Earth to pose any threat to Brad Pitt.
I wish you the best of luck in all your future endeavors, Alice included. Hell, you might still see me in the back of the theater, smiling up at you, remembering the better times.