Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides

Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger TidesIn 2003, the powers that be at Disney had a shiny bright idea: “Let’s make a movie based on a ride in our theme park. Better yet, two.” As source material goes, you probably couldn’t find anything weaker unless you looked in the mirror one morning and decided to write an epic about the pimple on your chin:  Zachary the Zit and the Temple of Acutane.

Despite this, one movie, Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl,  managed to transcend its shit-for-brains premise and make it to the pinnacle of entertaining. (The other, The Haunted House, has been relegated to an answer to a trivia question.)

Of course, the whole Pirates franchise would have suffered a similar fate if not for Johnny Depp’s twitchy, effete portrayal of Captain Jack Sparrow. If driven solely by the power of the pretty—Keira Knightly and Orlando Bloom–it would have sunk deep, beyond even Davy Jones’s reach. Because, let’s face it, Orlando Bloom’s vacuous beauty is perfectly suited for the role of largely silent elf and not much else. Which left Knightly with the job of carrying the personality for two, and generating the heat in a mostly tepid love story.

Jack, fortunately, stole the show. Buoyed by coherent and sometimes clever plot line that showcased Sparrow’s mercurial nature, the movie was a swashbuckling bit of fun. As for the next two movies, well, neither had anywhere near the charm of the first but I found them enjoyable.

Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, however, represents the point where the whole franchise straps on waterskis and goes looking for the metaphorical shark. Bloom and Knightly are gone: Will Turner having taken up the position of undead captain of the Flying Dutchman and Elizabeth raising their son and crafting dildos from corset rings in his absence.

Bloom’s replacement is Phillip, played by Sam Claflin. On the upside, Claflin has a smattering of charisma, but his role–uptight Bible guy with a naughty crush on a mermaid–generates more of a “WTF was that all about?” than genuine emotion.

The plot, convoluted and disjoint, is centered around the search for the Fountain of Youth. At the movie’s start, Jack is attempting to rescue his first mate, Gibbs, by impersonating a be-wigged judge. The court thinks Gibbs is Jack Sparrow, the identity problem an allusion to the fact that someone really is impersonating Jack.

That somebody is Angelica (Penelope Cruz), one of Jack’s jilted lovers. No, that’s really not a spoiler. That “twist” practically announces itself with a tickertape parade. Angelica is or isn’t–who knows; who cares?–the daughter of Blackbeard the pirate (Ian McShane). Jack’s meeting with his doppleganger begans with a sword fight and me falling asleep. Yep. I fell asleep during an action scene. It’s a pity I woke up before the movie’s end.

Angelica and her dear old dad, Blackbeard; Barbossa (Geoffrey Rush looking particularly foul) and the British Navy; and some Spaniards are all looking for the Fountain. There’s a few more sword fights, a lot of tromping through jungle, some vampiric mermaids (who are rather cool), and a rather anticlimactic scene at the Fountain. (Spaniards show up and destroy the fountain because it’s eeee-vil. No one lifts a finger to stop them.)  ZZZzzzzz.

The movie is a study in what not to do with characterization. Angelica, for example, is on one hand, ready and eager to betray her pirate father, then, at the end, happy to sacrifice her life for him, even after he betrays her. This, some will argue, makes perfect sense; she’s supposed to be sneaky and unreliable.

Wrong. Even unreliable characters, scallywags and the like, should demonstrate a measure of consistency. Jack, in the first Pirates movie, does this perfectly, sometimes doing the “right” thing, all the while remaining true to his changeable nature.

Oh, and the whole notion of Jack in love is a tremendous break in character canon. Jack isn’t the kind of character who falls in love. He’s the kind of guy who can take full advantage of a drunken weekend in Tortuga, precisely because he has the emotional depth of a thimble. I suppose, in the hands of a skilled writer, it would be possible to challenge Jack with the notion of affection, but here, his attachment to Angelica feels as awkward as a useless appendage, i.e., as arm coming out of an ass. (The problem may be that Cruz is a shitty actress and she and Depp have less chemistry than oil in water.)

Depp’s portrayal of Jack feels as halfhearted as everything else in the movie. Talk about “phoning it in.” Depp is so disinterested that at times it seems like he’s running lines in his head for his next movie.

Visually, the movie is a blah. Jungle, boats, more jungle. It’s like they pulled out the B-crew for visual effects. Angelica, on seeing the Fountain of Youth, says, “It’s beautiful.”

“No, it’s not,” I replied. The set was composed of lumpy, gray styrofoam Stonehence-esque rocks, and I expected the lads from Spinal Tap to come marching out of the mists, guitars in hand, drummers exploding. Maybe that’s why no one seems terribly put out when the Spaniards arrive and destroy the mythical set piece.

A lackluster disappointment.

But It’s a Dry Heat

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