the last movie

I can\’t say that it\’s anybody\’s fault but my own.\”

The thousand yard stare of a suburban head who might have just breakfasted on mescaline and tequila before venturing out to collect the mail or mow the lawn. His sabbatical in Peru was certainly outwardly prompted by his contractual obligation to Universal Pictures, but it reeked of an obsessive impulse to harness the hallucinogenic properties of the ayahuasca vine. Well. The path to enlightenment is twisting and fraught with peril. There is no defining eureka moment or pot of gold to recover where previous expeditions have floundered. Just diminishing perspective and the ritual cycle of birth and decay.

If Dennis Hopper found out otherwise he kept his own counsel.

His role in Francis Coppola\’s \”Apocalypse Now\” rehabilitated him commercially.

His role in Coppola\’s adaptation of S.E. Hinton\’s \”Rumblefish\” told of more prosaic truths. I will not dwell on the ensuing drug rehab program or later successes, of which there were many. Dennis Hopper was an accomplished photographer, painter and sculptor. In many ways he was a child who refused to be cowed by social constraint. He did what he did and lasted longer than most.


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