Johnny and Amber are now a Mills & Boon romance gone horribly wrong. A cautionary tale for Romeo and Juliet, for all those who swear by true love and matrimonial eternities, highlighting the ‘worse’ in ‘better or for worse’. In a strange macabre way, they seem to have found the pleasure point in their particular relationship. A way to keep it alive between them, with accusations, allegations, claims and counter-claims. They are still looking deeply into each other’s eyes.
The most recent flashpoint is the essay on domestic violence she wrote in The Washington Post, and while she doesn’t actually take the name of her ex, it is implied, says he. He saw red... or at least amber, and so back they are in the courts, with him wanting to clear his name. That there was strife is quite evident, but who is the victim? The evidence would seem to be pointing at mutual victimhood. It is a live deconstruction of a divorce, with them playing the lead in their own hit film. Every word they ever said to each other and about each other is now out in the open. Every random thought, every impulsive mail. They were secretly filming each other and collecting evidence for most of the time they spent together in a marriage that lasted all of one year.
Their statements are quickly contradicted by proof. For instance, he says his kids (by Vanessa Paradis) disliked Amber. But there is a text where he says the opposite, while happily denouncing Vanessa. Did Amber hit Johnny? The voice recordings seem to indicate that yes, she did. What happened to the money she won in her previous win against him that she said she would donate to charity, asks he. Make-up brand Milani has said they launched their All in One Correcting Kit after the breakup; Amber claims she used this to cover up injuries inflicted by Johnny. We have a ringside view of Depp Vs Heard, their fights, the dark moments, the severed finger, the butcher knife, a probable threesome... Also, poop on bed, which she says is the dog and he says is her.
The accusations and texts laid bare to a curious public are beyond a sordid tale of sourness; they are us at our worst. This is how bad things can be between two people without actual homicide. Or is all of it a prelude to a remarriage? All we know is that this level of passion, whether in hate or love, whether in a one-night stand or road rage, is a naked electric wire. It electrocutes us just as it does them. Anyway, here they are again, back at their favourite meeting spot, the courts. They should really stop meeting like this.
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