Johnny Depp sent this email to a friend in 2016 when he finally decided his relationship with Amber Heard was over:

She’s begging for total global humiliation … she’s gonna get it. I have no mercy, no fear and not an ounce of emotion, or what I once thought was love, for this gold digging, low level, dime a dozen, mushy pointless dangling overused flappy fish market.

Classy bloke.

Heard was globally humiliated, and Depp made some handy pocket-change for a bit of celebratory nose candy afterwards. But who looks worse for wear after the experience? To avoid triggering Depp’s vast militia of one-eyed fans, I’ll just say that 34 bounces back quicker than 57.

Everyone’s talking career-suicide and whether the media circus civil action made both actors unemployable. I doubt it. There’s only one Captain Jack Sparrow, after all, and I can’t see Amber Heard not getting roles.

Do I care?

Depp is still a genuine Hollywood heavyweight, the author of iconic works I’ve enjoyed, but I doubt there’s another Dead Man (1995) in him. We’ll definitely see him in silly pirate braids again, if only to fatten his recreational drug fund, but I suspect as an auteur he’s spent.

What about Amber?

Is she just another B-grade blonde Hollywood wannabe more famous for who she dates than what she does, or is there enough mongrel in there to prove everyone wrong?

I hope so, not because the jury got it wrong (I think they did), but because we all love a spicy tale of revenge, and nobody does revenge better than a flappy fish market woman scorned.

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