Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides

It is fitting what goes for a plot in “Pirates Caribbean: On Stranger Tides” includes a quest for the Fountain of Youth. This movie, the fourth in a series that made its improbable and profitable leap from the amusement park to the multiplex, represents an attempt to rejuvenate a flagging franchise.

Whether the effort was completely necessary is both an obvious and a naive question. Why would the Walt Disney Company, which distributes this movie, and Jerry Bruckheimer, who produce them, ever want to leave well enough alone? In Hollywood, unwarranted excess – not necessity – is the mother of invention.

Not that “On Stranger Tides” is particularly imaginative. Gore Verbinski, who directed the first three portions with wanton vitality, rococo visual flair and a flagrant disregard for narrative coherence, has been replaced by Rob Marshall, who has some expertise in turning well loved pieces of mainstream art (“Chicago,” “Diaries of a Geisha,” “Nine”) into tedious, literal-minded prestige movies. So while this photo is called “On Stranger Tides”, it is by far the least strange of all the “Pirates” episodes so far, with none of the cartoonish exuberance or creepy-crawly effects that made its predecessors irregularly delightful.

Mr. Verbinski, whose sensibility owes more to the mischievous, anarchic Warner Brothers and MGM drawing of the 1940s and ‘50s than to the Disney convention, made an effective move to out and out activity with “Rango”, which included Johnny Depp as a reptile out of the water. Mr. Depp, returning as Jack Sparrow in “Tides”, is especially in his watery, fiendish component, and he demonstrates outstanding polished skill in a task that regularly appears to be more similar to a stone band get –together visit than a blockbuster movie spin-off.

A ton of the first cast individuals and unique visitor stars have fallen away – Keith Richards appears for a moment or two, less thrillingly than the last time – however, the folks in advance are still fit as a fiddle, and a couple of more old clocks have been enlisted from somewhere else to include their prepared cleaves.

Richards Griffiths has a meaty, wiggy cameo as King George, and Judi Dench appears briefly as a lady in a carriage, yet the movie belongs to the power trio of Mr. Depp, Geoffrey Rush (as his sometime nemesis Barbossa) and Ian McShane, who brings floridly sinister death-metal-meets – “Deadwood” vibe to the role of Blackbeard.

Keira Knightley and Orlando Bloom are not really missed, as the filmmakers – Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio are the credited screenwriters – wisely turn the movie over to the unpleasant supporting players. There are a couple of young people in love, one of them a missionary (Sam Claflin), the other a mermaid (Astrid Bergès-Frisbey), however, their wooing is incidental to the mugging and roaring and occasional swordplay among Sparrow, Blackbeard, and Barbossa. It’s almost as if a “Harry Potter” movie had dispensed with Harry. Ron and Hermione and devoted itself to documenting a meeting of the Hogwarts faculty.

“Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides” is rated PG-13 (Parents strongly cautioned). Some fantasy-horror violence.



Written by Sukanya Roy
Artist, Critic, Writer, Photographer, Movie buff, Graphic Designer, Literature and Geography enthusiast, Soccer fan, and Imaginative.

Pirates of the Caribbean: At The World's End

“The immaterial has become material,” declares the East India Company’s plotting Lord Beckett (Tom Hollander) early in “Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End”. He could be referring to the recent resurrection of the pirate Barbossa (Geoffrey Rush), flush with life and his extended part in the trilogy. Or he could talk about his newfound dominion over the Flying Dutchman and its squid-faced captain, Davy Jones (Bill Nighy), whose uncovered heart is now in Beckett’s possession.

More likely, however, the words are a subliminal reassurance from the director, Gore Verbinski. After the bloated shenanigans of the past entry, “Dead Man’s Chest” – maybe the main pirate movie to see the need for a Ferris wheel – Mr. Verbinski is reminding us why we ought to ever trust him again.

This third part in the swishy, swashbuckling saga goes some path toward achieving that goal. The cannibals, coconuts, and landlocked areas have been replaced by the high-seas high jinks that made the first movie so enjoyable. And the unmistakable relief as the myriad plot-lines rush toward some similarly of determination has made everybody very wired; even our passion-deferred lovers, Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann (Orlando Bloom and Keira Knightley), show up marginally less bored with each other. Or if nothing else less bored than we are with them.

Taped sequentially with its predecessor, “At World’s End” is less concerned with ends than inversions, exhibiting a society where the lawless practice democracy and their rulers take part in oppression. The crown has declared a stage of the emergency, civil rights have been suspended, and naysayers are lined up to be hanged.

In one of the film’s most bizarre sequences, the condemned start to sing, belting out a requiem among the moving tumbrils and swaying nooses. (Tardy audience may think they have faltered into an execution of “Les Misérables” by mistake). The tune reaches Elizabeth, in a skiff heading for the Pirate Brethren Court in Shipwreck Cove, and for some time the movie turns into a watery opera with a distinctly Oriental flavor.

When Chow Yun-Fat shows up, as the grumpy pirate Lord Sao Feng – complete with the entourage of old-Hollywood coolies – the Gilbert and Sullivan vibe is starting to wear. After electing Elizabeth pirate king (the Brethren know who wears the trousers in this trilogy), the pirates set out to clobber the British before Davy Jones and his seafood combo crew can do likewise to them.

This will require a little help of the priestess Tia Dalma (Naomie Harris), whose part has clarified yet whose word usage stays incoherent. “Therr is a cahst to be ped en thah end”, she warns mysteriously, mangling her vowels like a voodoo delivery of Inspector Clouseau.

Having blown Tia to Godzilla size, however, the screenwriters, Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio, have no further use for her; in her new incarnation as the sorceress Calypso she adds up to slightly more than crabs and raging wind. Considering she is managed only one conjugal visit every 10 years – and that from a man who inhales through a blowhole – her bad temper is altogether justifiable.

Be that as it may, what of Johnny Depp’s Captain Jack Sparrow? Taking after his unfortunate encounter with a giant cephalopod at the end of the last movie, this one finds him trapped and hallucinating in Davy Jones’ Locker, a dry limbo of rolling dunes and raging heat. Since he is Jack, his hallucinations are all about himself (the real love affair in these movies has always been between Jack and his mirror), and Mr. Verbinski fills the screen with a multitude of mincing clones in kohl eyeliner and fancy headscarves.

Forever above the fray and beside the point, Mr. Depp’s devilish buccaneer is the light-footed device that holds the franchise together; as he sashays from battle to bar, impervious to insult and musket alike, Jack’s extremely narcissism is his security. He is an inverse superhero.

In spite of the fact that the film is loaded with the expected special-effects wizardry, its most stunning and surreal moments are also the most peaceful: an army of crabs transporting the Black Pearl over dunes and into the sea, and a flaming sunrise viewed through tattered seaweed sails. A disappointing cameo by Keith Richards, still alive and flaunting the look of hard- won dissemination that reportedly motivated Jack’s personal style, is in a special-effects category of its own.

Because of the abundance of unpleasant human characters, all of whom lie, cheat and sell out each other at the drop of a wallow, the weight of making an enthusiastic association with the audience must be borne, ironically, by characters whose mankind has since a long time ago evaporated. From the pathos of Davy – still playing the organ like an invertebrate Phantom of the Opera – to the tragic longing in the barnacle-encrusted face of Bootstrap Bill Turner (Stellan Skarsgard), “Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End” reminds us that incredible acting can rise above even the most elaborate makeups.

Indeed, even in this way, if the story is to continue, its makers will require more than Jack’s limp wrists and Will’s limp resolve. In the prophetic words of Barbossa, “There’s never an indemnity of comin’ back, but passin’ on – that’s certain.”

“Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End” is rated PG-13 (Parents strongly cautioned). It has scary battles, scary monsters, and even scarier rock musicians.



Written by Sukanya Roy
Artist, Critic, Writer, Photographer, Movie buff, Graphic Designer, Literature and Geography enthusiast, Soccer fan, and Imaginative.

Why to Watch? Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest

At first look, it appears like an entirely decent arrangement. Though, 2 and half hours of energetic swashbuckling, with an all-star three-way battle of the cheekbones (Orlando Bloom versus Keira Knightley versus Johnny Depp) and some extra slimy computer generated symbolism tossed in at no additional cost.

But there is a catch, as there typically is. “Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest” is not only a movie. It’s a glistening, sushi-grade chunk of franchise entertainment, which implies that maximal enjoyment of it comes with certain obligations.

Butchery Verbinski, the director, has an appropriate sense of mischief, as well as a blessing, almost breaking even with those of Peter Jackson and Steven Spielberg, for integrating CGI seamlessly into his cinematic compositions. What is curious about the recent crop of cutting edge blockbusters is the way truly they take themselves, and unlike, say, “Superman Returns”, “Dead Man’s Chest” can't’ be called pretentious. It makes no claims to being about good and evil, the trouble of saving the world in the modern era, or the inner lives of any of its characters.

Instead, it sends Elizabeth Swann (Ms. Knightley) and Will Turner (Mr. Bloom), their wedding day ruined in an opening sequence that seems to pay tribute to the old Guns N’ Roses “November Rain” video, on a search for the pirate captain Jack Sparrow (Mr. Depp). Jack, of course, ends up in a wide range of trouble, pursued not only by agents of the British crown but also by an undead, squid-faced mariner, the famous Davy Jones, who commands a ghoulish crew of half-human, half-aquatic creatures. These sailors resemble the cast of “Sponge Bob Square Pants” – or the menu at a seafood restaurant – come to life: Night of the Living Bouillabaisse.

One of them, played by Stellan Skarsgard with a starfish embedded in his face, is Will’s long-lost father, a development that adds a coagulated morsel of father-son pathos to the stew of plots and subplots cooked up by the screenwriters, Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio. Davy Jones himself, meanwhile, talks in the sinister whisper of Bill Nighy, however, it is his swaying mass of facial tentacles that most viewers will remember.

And there are other significant bits and pieces, visual highlights of a movie with no particular interest in coherence, economy or feeling. Ms. Knightley is, at the end of the day, a vision of imperial British pluckiness, with an intriguing dash of romantic recklessness that surfaces toward the end. Mr. Bloom, just like his custom, leaps about, attempting to beat his incurable blandness, and is upstaged by special effects, musical cues, octopus tentacles and pieces of wood. Naomie Harris turns up for a couple of scenes of hammy voodoo, and Mackenzie Crook and David Bailie contribute some proletarian slapstick. Most of the other members of the first movie’s cast show up once more, some of the time in surprising circumstances.

The franchise, of course, belongs to Jack Sparrow, and to Mr. Depp. Since this is a spin-off, the part is no more the stunning amazement it was in 2003, when “The Curse of the Black Pearl” charmed audiences and disarmed critics on its way to the third- best domestic box-office gross of the year. But, the best parts of “Dead Man’s Chest” confirm Jack Sparrow as the most viable Disney cartoon character in quite some time, however, his anarchic insouciance has more in common with the work of Chuck Jones or Tex Avery. Mr. Verbinski, as far as concerns him, gets a handle on the connection between today’s computer-assisted filmmaking and the hand-drawn animation of old, which lies in the freedom to revise the laws of physics at will. Two sequences, in particular, stand out, and would alone nicely as shorts: I will always think them as “Fruit Kebab” and “Runaway Hamster Wheel”.

But, the easy joy that such flights of visual fancy inspire is crowded and blocked by the various stuff going ahead in this long, ungainly movie, which for all its occupied with, buzzing parts, is unequipped for standing on its own. It batters you with novelty and works so hard to top itself that depletion sets in much sooner than the second hour is over.

“Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest” is rated PG-13 (Parents strongly cautioned). It has some violent action scenes and few moments of gruesome creepy-crawly movie horror.



Written by Sukanya Roy
Artist, Critic, Writer, Photographer, Movie buff, Graphic Designer, Literature and Geography enthusiast, Soccer fan, and Imaginative.

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl

The action comedy “Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl” one of the most important and overlooked cinematic questions of all time: Can a film keep up the dramatic integrity of an amusement park ride?

In this case, the answer is – beyond any doubt. The director, Gore Verbinski’s inclination for logistics – combined with the producer Jerry Bruckheimer’s desire to spend like a drunken pirate with regards to putting everything on screen – dissolves into an often frenetic, colorful and entertaining comic adventure that often seems to be using “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” as a template. The dazzling, high-flying silliness is quite an accomplishment. The film is superior to anything it should be, given its origins: a ride at Disneyland and Disney World.

Mr. Verbinski’s staging is as vertiginous as an amusement park ride and places the wiry and beauteous tomboy Keira Knightley at the center. Her physical assurance suggests what Nicole Kidman may resemble on the off chance that she didn’t spend so much time coughing tragically into handkerchiefs in a similarly tragic pursuit for important roles.

Ms. Knightley is Elizabeth Swann, owner of a medallion that gets the plot going a scant hour into “Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl”. This knickknack is first seen in a prologue sequence, in which little Elizabeth steals it from an equally young Will Turner. She has also stolen (sigh) his heart, as Will (Orlando Bloom) grows up to be a stalwart blacksmith – and more than able swordsman – who nurtures a secret crush on her. Ms. Knightley is strident and confident in her movement, a capacity that makes her all that sexier and alluring, which is fortunate, given that her acting skills aren’t quite as devastating as her looks.

The film belongs to Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow the pirate, a rapscallion who is as woozy as somebody who has endured much too much time on a roller coaster. Mr. Depp doesn’t get the chance to show his gift for comedy often, and his mellow, dizzied underplaying here is a balm, an antidote to the raucous battles and swashbuckling.

Rinsing his consonants before spitting them out, Mr. Depp’s pirate suggests a man who has spent either a lot of time with Keith Richards after a tour through the Rebel Yell factory, or a man who has spent a lot of time watching Mike Myers do his Keith Richards impression. In any case, festooned with dreadlocks and braids in his hair and beard and wearing enough industrial strength mascara to indicate that Captain Jack was most likely impacted by another King of the Wild Frontier – Adam Ant – Mr. Depp offers a ratty, devilled turn that keeps the picture in motion during that extended period when there’s no much plot involved.

Be that as it may, when this extended state of narrative lassitude suddenly shifts, “Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl” brings in enough story lines for several movies. And in the words of Bart Simpson, it takes a knife-wielding maniac to show to us the way: In this case, it is the entrance of the Pirate Barbossa (Geoffrey Rush, who’s nearly as game – and gamy – as Mr. Depp).

He kidnaps Elizabeth because of the medallion. (There’s a side benefit. “She is the governor’s daughter”, one of Barbossa’s hearties chuckles). The medallion ends up being an enchanted piece of gold, which, with the blood of a special someone, can free Barbossa and his swabbies from their curse: they’re the larcenous undead whose skeletons can be seen in the moonlight at night.

Moreover, Barbossa now commands the swift, capable ship the Black Pearl, which he seized from Jack Sparrow in a mutiny, after which he left out Sparrow to bite the dust. Seeking revenge, Sparrow steals a ship and a new crew of his own, including Will, to seek after Barbossa.

There are plenty salty, fatty moment in “Pirates of the Caribbean” among the unmistakably staged fighting and rum-flavored comedy provided by Mr. Depp, Mr. Rush and the rest of the cast, including Jonathan Pryce as Elizabeth’s fainthearted, officious governor father. It’s a hip slice of summer ham.

Mr. Verbinski swings his complex twist, which compels him to turn most interiors into haunted houses for their joke potential, and his idea gives the film a ridiculously antic air. Hilariously, every time the Black Pearl sails into perspective, an ominous cloud swirls around it, even in brilliant daylight. It’s as if Barbossa carries his menacing mystique with him wherever he goes.

This is one of the few films that could justify the  use of a term that should to never be used as a part of portraying a movie – a thrill ride – since it is, after all, based on one. Mr. Verbinski especially uses the scene in which Elizabeth finds exactly what her captors want, in which she is tossed and shoved as if she was being slammed around on a rollercoaster, to remind us of this.

There are also several other instances lifted right off the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, the thorough shamelessness of “Pirates of the Caribbean” – a trait it shares – turns out to be part of the motif. Also, the good-natured professionalism of the cast – except for Mr. Bloom, who’s stranded by the one-note intensity of his role – adds to the cheerfulness. This broad, fluky comedy hits the notch of a remixed 12-inch single. In the end, it packs in so much plot data that there is an unwieldy surfeit of narrative treasure: it is bootylicious.

“Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl” is rated PG-13 for strong language, jokes so bad they are pretty damn good, gamy supernatural humor and savagery.



Written by Sukanya Roy
Artist, Critic, Writer, Photographer, Movie buff, Graphic Designer, Literature and Geography enthusiast, Soccer fan, and Imaginative.