The ordinary mortals’ room at P.J. Clarke’s

Recently P.J. Clarke’s, that very Mad Men-like eatery, shut the doors to its second floor—but just to the common folk. The special people, or rather its loyal customers, received a membership card that grants access to the rarefied sanctum of floor two, known as the Sidecar. The upstairs space is more elegant and thus quiet, so it’s a good nook to impress a date (is the membership card the Upper East Side version of The Standard’s coveted Boom Boom Room card?) or to slip away from the hustle of the always-busy dining rooms downstairs (now unofficially dubbed by us P.J.’s Siberia). P.J. Clarke’s plans to issue 100 more cards, Willy Wonka golden-ticket-style, and will cap membership in New York and D.C. at 1,884, which is kind of a weird number, but whatever. Phil Scotti, the director of member affairs, says it is still looking for lifetime members who will come year after year. Rumor has it that celebrities Brooke Shields, Liza Minnelli, Johnny Depp and Keith Richards are members already. The time is now to eat every lunch and dinner at P.J. Clarke’s for the next month.

P.J. Clarke’s, 915 Third Avenue, (212) 317-1616.

Johnny Depp, at Barnes and Noble Union Square (Getty Images)

Harper, an imprint of HarperCollins, has announced its partnership with actor Johnny Depp for a new publishing imprint, the predictably Goth-ishly named Infinitum Nihil. The imprint, Latin for "Hasn't been edgy since Ed Wood," is to publish Douglas Brinkley's Unraveled Tales of Bob Dylan. Mr. Brinkley, a noted historian, profiled Mr. Depp for Vanity Fair in 2009. Mr. Brinkley will also be collaborating with Mr. Depp on an essay introducing Woody Guthrie's novel House of Earth, completed in 1947 but not heretofore published.

In a statement released by HarperCollins, Mr. Depp said: “I pledge, on behalf of Infinitum Nihil, that we will do our best to deliver publications worthy of peoples’ time, of peoples’ concern. Publications that might ordinarily never have breached the parapet. For this dream realized, we would like to salute HarperCollins for their faith in us and look forward to a long and fruitful relationship together."

Mr. Depp was last seen onscreen in Dark Shadows, his eighth film with Tim Burton; he will next be seen as Tonto in The Lone Ranger.

Tim Burton, the director who never grew up, and his favorite star Johnny Depp, who is both fearless and overrated, follow the Gothic nightmare pranks of Edward Scissorhands, Ed Wood, Sleepy Hollow and Sweeney Todd with more gross and dross in this cinematic aberration that gives things from the grave a dullness they don’t deserve. Good actors do find themselves drawn to this kind of fiddle-faddle. And why not? It must be fun to bare fangs dripping with boysenberry pancake syrup and fly into crystal chandeliers that wreak havoc on haunted house sets that look like Hollywood even though they’re shot in London. The plot scarcely survives another rehash, but there might be somebody who had too much taste in the 1960s to watch Jonathan Frid creep his way through the spiderwebs of Collinwood Manor in makeup of Chinese rice powder. (As a Tim Burton in-joke, he makes a guest appearance as a party guest here, shortly before he bit the dust for good in real life.) He was Barnabas Collins, whose family moved from Liverpool to Collinsport, Maine in 1752 and established a fishing empire. Unfortunately, he spurned the romantic advances of an evil witch named Angelique, who cast a spell that turned Barnabas into a vampire, drove his lover Josette to her death from the top of a cliff, and then buried him alive for 200 years. So much for background.

Cut to 1970. Construction workers dig up the casket of the mildewed Barnabas, who appears in the body of Johnny Depp, whose ancient Dracula cloak starts a fashion trend. Times have changed, and most of the fun comes from watching Barnabas trying to adjust to pop tunes, Iggy Pop posters, lava lamps and Erich Segal’s Love Story. He thinks the McDonald’s logo is a sign from Mephistopheles. In the role played on the old TV show by Joan Bennett, Michelle Pfeiffer is now the dowager of the family that has seen its fortune depleted and Collinwood Manor fall into ruins. She does the best she can to control her useless brother, Roger (Jonny Lee Miller), his neurotic 10-year-old son, David (Gully McGrath), and her gruesome daughter Carolyn (Chloe Moretz), who may or may not be a werewolf. There is also David’s chain-smoking, pill-popping psychiatrist, Dr. Hoffman (Helena Bonham Carter in a flaming red wig), a cretinous caretaker (Jackie Earle Haley) and little David’s lovely nanny (Bella Heathcote), the reincarnation of Barnabas’ dead Josette. Lurking in the shadows is the 200-year-old Angelique (sexy Eva Green, who steals every scene). Barnabas takes one look at his old nemesis and screeches things like “Succubus of Satan!” and “Harlot of the Devil!” It’s supposed to be a Halloween party with comic overtones, but the script by Seth Grahame-Smith is stupider than The Addams Family. He’s got two more dorky creep shows on the way: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and the soon-to-be-released Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. Gosh, we’re lucky.

It doesn’t get any sillier than this, but I’m sure the Burton-Depp team will think of something. This time around the cemetery, the writing is stale, the jokes are corny, the blood as watery as recycled communion wine. To be charitable, I did laugh a few times. Especially when the decadent, dysfunctional Collins family drives through the town in a classic Chevy station wagon to the music from A Summer Place. There are also guest appearances by Christopher Lee, who has played plenty of bloodsuckers himself back in the day, and by aging wacko rocker Alice Cooper, who looks more like a vampire than Barnabas and is much too old for this kind of kid stuff. Overacting like a road company Bela Lugosi in Barbra Streisand glue-on nails and more mascara than Cher, Johnny Depp is about as scary as Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein. Talk about cinema as self-delusion. Dark Shadows is dead on arrival, in more ways than one, and stays that way.

rreed@observer.com

DARK SHADOWS
Running Time 113 minutes
Written by Seth Grahame-Smith (screenplay) and John August (story)
Directed by Tim Burton
Starring Johnny Depp, Michelle Pfeiffer and Eva Green

Genuine class. (Getty Images)

Last night’s Golden Globes—which we covered live!—were notable for yet more star worship than even the perpetually star-worshipping Globes usually get up to, and most of the stars were of a somewhat aging vintage. Awards went to practically anyone who might have been on People’s Most Intriguing People of 1998 list: Steven Spielberg for Tintin over the makers of Rango, Madonna over Mary J. Blige, Meryl Streep over Viola Davis, Jessica Lange over Evan Rachel Wood, Matt LeBlanc over Johnny Galecki, Laura Dern over Zooey Deschanel, George Clooney uber alles. If this show was too self-consciously snarky to be a tribute to so-called “Old Hollywood,” it was at least a tribute to the period about fifteen years ago when the stars were bigger and shined brighter.

Host Ricky Gervais, who spent more time recounting his past comedic triumphs at this awards show than engaging in anything risky or new, joked about Johnny Depp’s career failures—then welcomed Mr. Depp to the stage, giving the show a feel less of a no-holds-barred slugfest that had been advertised and more of the world’s most loving Comedy Central roasts. Of all that could be said about winner/presenter/synecdoche of the evening’s nostalgic feeling Madonna, Mr. Gervais went with a “Like a Virgin” joke. She countered with a joke about her 2003 kiss with Britney Spears. The past, ladies and gentleman! Mr. Gervais saved his meanest material for Kim Kardashian, who’s an easy target for a roomful of movie stars trying to shore up their shrinking claim on cultural currency.

The evening’s big winners stuck close to the theme of navel-gazing, with George Clooney presenting a tribute to Brad Pitt and Brad Pitt presenting a tribute to George Clooney, Madonna citing Fellini and Godard as seminal influences, and Meryl Streep shouting the names of actresses she liked in lieu of a traditional speech. The evening’s big winner, the French film The Artist, gave the game away, dragging the film’s canine star onstage with the rest of the cast in an antic attempt to entertain, to make some statement about “movie magic.”

ddaddario@observer.com :: @DPD_

It's a quick return to GQ for Ms. Kunis, who shared its cover with a venti iced coffee in April.

But she wasn't the only cover girl or boy who worked a double for a magazine editor in 2011.

Harper's Bazaar featured Lady Gaga in May and October (although without makeup, she might as well be a different person) and Vanity Fair put Johnny Depp on January and November covers.

Any magazine cover repeats we missed? No counting Kim Kardashian and US. Our photo collage app doesn't have a big enough grid.

Depp.

The Rum Diary, based on another literary punch-out by gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson, was made three years ago, shelved in some musty editing room where unreleasable movies go, and looks it. The dust still shows.

Johnny Depp is dismally miscast as the alter ego of the rebellious author with the “screw you” attitude—a wasted, beat-up alcoholic who goes to Puerto Rico to work for a doomed newspaper called the San Juan Star whose faltering editor (Richard Jenkins, unrecognizable in a gray wig) is helpless to draw much attention to world events on a lawless island overwhelmed by gangsters and riots. Aaron Eckhart is an American P.R. mogul selling off pieces of pristine beachfront used for U.S. military target practice to rich corporate powers to build hotel towers, condos and ugly villas. After getting hired on to write promotional copy for brochures, the protagonist falls for his gorgeous girlfriend (Amber Heard) and a scene-stealing turtle named Harry with a jeweled shell. In no time, he gets fired, smashed to hamburger and left in a drunken stupor on a fly-specked floor. To Hunter S. Thompson fans—little boys weaned on comic books who never grew up to crave bare breasts and bare-knuckle beatings—it’s a call to arms. “There is no dream—just a piss puddle of greed, spreading throughout the world” is the cynical philosophy of the author, and the movie. With no job, no money, no girl and no future, the protagonist sees that the way to redeem himself as a journalist is to write an exposé of the criminal activities in San Juan—a sort of rum diary of corruption—and publish it. But how do you get your old mojo back when your paper is already closed down?

In an attempt to distract the viewer from the fact that there is nothing going on here, director Bruce Robinson cobbles in cockfights, sexual tension, a red convertible racing at breakneck speed, a traveling carnival, endless bottles of rum and a hermaphrodite witch doctor who drives a garbage truck. It’s all window dressing for an empty ruin, haunted by the hungover ghost of a mostly forgotten writer who died in 2005. The oddest thing about The Rum Diary, though, is all those half-nude shots of Mr. Depp, who is covered with tattoos, trying to camouflage them with Max Factor. Everyone has seen them, so if you’ve gone that far to abuse your body already, why not let it all hang out? In a role that is practically a beachcomber, the sun on that much greasepaint looks like he’s got spotted fever.

rreed@observer.com

THE RUM DIARY

Running Time 120 minutes

Written by Bruce Robinson

Directed by Bruce Robinson

Starring Johnny Depp, Giovanni Ribisi and Aaron Eckhart

2/4

The Modern, who has acquired the director's archives for its collection, notes she has succeeded in "transforming the language of genre films," which is what you say when somebody who early-on made good, stylish, genre films later wins an Oscar.  

Maybe she was picked, just in small part, because she's a woman? This would be a totally offensive question if the Museum, which has said recently it is attempting to correct past slights towards women artists, didn't make such a point of her gender in their announcement.

For the annual Film Benefit, however the key question is always what celebs will come, and who will pay handsomely to see them? (Top ticket price is $75,000 for a table.) In the initial two years of the party/prize, guests included Johnny Depp, Hugh Jackman, Jessica Biel, Danny de Vito, Maggie Gyllenhaal and, of course, the Olsen twins, all swanning about MoMA director Glenn Lowry.

Expect some big names and serious schmoozing at the Nov. 10 dinner. Earlier this week, Bigelow, along with director Michael Moore, was elected to the Board of Governors that oversees the Oscars.

1. Alice in Wonderland: $62 million ($208.6 million total)

And you thought 3-D was just a fad! A ridiculous 70 percent of the domestic gross for Alice in Wonderland (or $146 million, for non-math majors) has come from the third dimension. With $208.6 million in the bank after just 10 days, Alice is already the top-grossing collaboration between Johnny Depp and Tim Burton, and sometime next weekend it will pass Batman to become Mr. Burton's biggest success of all-time. As if that weren't enough, Alice also seems assured to be Mr. Depp's fourth $300 million earner in the last seven years—its better-than-expected drop of just 47 percent bodes well for future dollars—joining the Pirates of the Caribbean trilogy. In case you were wondering: Yes, Pirates of the Caribbean 4 is due to hit theaters in May of 2011. Start buying Disney stock now.

2. Green Zone: $14.5 million ($14.5 million total)

According to the New York Times Twitter page, the $14.5 million opening for Green Zone was "dismal." But with all due respect to the Paper of Record—and the intern writing their tweets—what did they expect? As we've seen from State of Play, Body of Lies and Duplicity, non-franchise adult-themed films don't open much larger than this no matter who is starring in them. Toss in the fact that Green Zone is about the Iraq war and we imagine the fired Universal executives who green-lighted this $100 million film are doing cartwheels. Bear in mind, the long-delayed Paul Greengrass film nearly grossed as much in three days as The Hurt Locker has in 171. Relatively speaking, Green Zone's opening was far from dismal.

3. She's Out of My League: $9.6 million ($9.6 million total)

Maybe Jay Baruchel isn't a movie star after all. The beloved Judd Apatow Player (or is that just us?) branched out into a lead role and the results were far from exciting. The $9.6 million opening of She's Out of My League place it in the same league as Observe and Report, which opened to $11 million last spring on the way to just $25 million total. Of course, that film—from cult director Jody Hill and starring Seth Rogen—was supposed to do much better, so in that regard perhaps League did just fine. The laws of diminished expectations at work!

4. Remember Me: $8.3 million ($8.3 million total)

De-fanged and away from the comforts of tween girl obsession, Edward Cullen found himself on the wrong end of a bomb—the $8.3 million opening for Remember Me was about one-third of what New Moon grossed ... from its midnight showings alone. Yikes! Forget Jay Baruchel, maybe Robert Pattinson isn't a movie star after all.    

5. Shutter Island: $8.1 million ($108 million total)

If you were expecting to see Avatar on this list, we wouldn't hold it against you. For the first time since December 18, James Cameron's big blue Oscar loser failed to crack the top five. Don't feel too badly though: Down just 18 percent, Avatar had the lowest decline in the top 10 and pushed its domestic gross past $730 million. As for Shutter Island, the thriller enjoyed the lowest decline in the top 10, non-Avatar division (38 percent), and is now Martin Scorsese's second biggest hit ever. It's also the director's third film with Leonardo DiCaprio to cross the $100 plateau. Call them the (very) poor man's Depp and Burton.

Alice in Wonderland

What's the story: Because what Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland really needed was another dimension, here comes Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland ... in 3-D! The macabre director takes the decades-old story of Alice's adventures and turns them into a theme park of oversaturated visuals and unnecessary effects. The result winds up being far less trippy and moody than we had anticipated. It would be nice to say that the talented cast saves this Alice from tumbling down the rabbit hole, but alas, they don't. As the orange-wigged Mad Hatter, Johnny Depp mails his performance in with double postage, and Mia Wasikowska's Alice is utterly boring. Only Anne Hathaway—slinking in and out of every scene like a modern day Norma Desmond as the White Queen—seems be having any fun at all. Alice in Wonderland has gotten some good notices, but we found the film odorous to the nth degree. Don't say we didn't warn you.

Who should see it: Carrot Top.

Brooklyn's Finest

What's the story: Think of Antoine Fuqua's Brooklyn's Finest as a greatest hits package. That's because if you watch the awesome trailer ("Run This Town," for the win!), you'll no doubt think of Training Day, New Jack City, Internal Affairs and Traffic, among many other cops and crooks movies. Yet since those titles are all pretty badass, the overabundance of clichés seems perfectly okay. Richard Gere, Ethan Hawke and Don Cheadle star as the cops, and Wesley Snipes (no, not that "Wesley Snipes") plays a drug kingpin not all that dissimilar to Nino Brown from the aforementioned New Jack City. The reviews have been solid and unspectacular—our Sara Vilkomerson found Brooklyn's Finest perfectly average—but if you're in the mood for some law and order, you could do a whole lot worse. Like Cop Out, for instance.

Who should see it: Ray Kelly.