Martín Romaña, the hero with an exaggerated life that Bryce Echenique described with infinite sarcasm and some bitterness, was convinced that one of the main problems of his dogmatic and self-indulgent generation companions was their inability

"to vomit their souls a little."

'Crock of Gold: A Few Rounds with Shane MacGowan'

, directed by

Julien Temple

and produced by

Johnny Depp

himself and with all his rings, has no such problem.

From the first to the last frame this

stunning, sincere, brutal, sad and very funny

documentary is basically a soul vomited onto the screen.

There is no escape for such tender as surly sincerity.

It is enjoyed with exactly the same desire and in the same posture that one suffers.

Depp, who became the undisputed star of the San Sebastian Festival on Sunday, says that the first time he met Shane, everyone around him was convinced of his imminent death.

And until now.

Shane lives.

Prostrate in a wheelchair, bent over on one side and with serious difficulties in articulating a word or following a routine conversation, but "stubborn

.

"

He also says that to gain his trust and friendship you had to blindly trust him.

On one occasion in Dublin, Shane threw what looked like three harmless pills into the actor's hand.

"The next thing I knew," he recalls, "I was in a town in southern France three days later without having the slightest idea of ​​how I got there. I saw a fountain through the window and I said to myself: 'This It's not Ireland. '"

And it wasn't.

It's shane

Shane Macgowan, frontman of The Pogues.

To place ourselves, the protagonist of this story and of the film signed by the also director of the mythical '

The Great Rock' n 'Roll Swindle

' (1980) is the closest thing to the last great Irish hero without teeth, with defiantly detached ears of the skull and the voice more than hoarse bleeding.

The combination

"of the melancholy of the music of his land with the rage of punk"

, in the words of Depp, made the leader of The Pogues (the group from which he was expelled) a must-see in any celebratory coven on the brink of any precipice.

It was a party, as one of his most surreal themes says, and suicide.

And in the middle, a tragic character who renewed English poetry as the Irish heir to Irishmen like

Brenan Behan, Flann O'Brien or James Joyce himself

at the same time that he flooded his body with all the alcohol in the world.

Not for nothing, he started drinking at the age of six, as the tape recalls.

Until vomiting the same soul.

"I imagine", reflects Depp with a glass of his beloved chacolí in his hands ("It obsesses me," he comments), "that for him

drinking is a form of self-medication. He

is a tremendously shy person, he always was, that a good day he became the most famous Irishman in the world. He didn't understand anything and the way to counteract so much exposure was to drink himself to exhaustion. "

Julian Temple adds a fact: "Nor should we forget that he did not disgust any type of drug. Including the heroin that left him in the last.

Acids, for example, for him were always a form of exploration.

Perhaps without them he would not It would have been as cool as it was. "

The documentary navigates through his life as he would, and sorry for the obvious, a drunkard in the moment of exaltation of friendship.

Enthusiastic and happy.

Allergic as he is to interviews, Shane does not answer any questionnaire, he simply dialogues with the camera, with Johnny Depp himself, with the singer

Bobby Gillespie

or with the former president of Sinn Féin

Gerry Adams.

If he.

The endless conversations intersect with archival footage (all delusional), historical binges (all delusional), and cartoons filling in the gaps (even more delusional).

A delirium that is nothing more than joy and, again, a vomited soul.

"I think of Shane and all the artists I have admired and learned everything from come to mind:

Marlon Brando, Hunter S. Thompson, Keith Richards ...

I don't consider myself an artist ... I'm not going to the height of the artists I admire, "says Depp between ironic and just lucid.

Be that as it may, his admiration is anything but vain, it bears fruit, and the last of them is indeed this drunken marvel,

this Irish vomit from the depths of the soul.

Shane spits the same thing on Depp who hugs him in a gesture of sincere love.

In him everything is unpredictable, fleeting and very true.

And that is valid for his way of facing the world, music and each of his verses with the smell of the neighborhood, anger, revelry and truth.

He was also a man who was interested in politics, cultivated it and, as is his rule, vomited it up.

The lyrics about the Irish famine coexist with the call to arms or the denunciation of injustice with the Birmingham six as their banner.

And Depp?

What does fan Depp have to say on this matter?

"I'm not so interested. I think about Trump and I see a great comedian. Really. A scary comedian ... but comical."

It is said.

By the end, Shane vows to write again, to sing again, to be Shane again.

Of course, he will do it right after dedicating the umpteenth

"Fuck you"

to the entire universe.

The vomited soul.

According to the criteria of The Trust Project

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