Fish Heads, Fish Heads, Eat Them Up, Yum
Pirates 2 is a narrative shipwreck, but features tasty aquatic bogeys.
BY GREGORY
I was standing in the post office when a gnarled old woman beside me suddenly exclaimed, “My God, what a hideous
picture!” My focus sought the object of her scorn, which turned out to be a large plastic promotional bag for Pirates of
the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest, flipped skull side up. Ho-hum. Then came the kicker: “Oh, but I’ll bet you like that,
don’t you?” she sneered at me. “It looks like your kind of thing.”
Given the location and its swarm of idiots (now there’s a band name; see ya at Spaceland!), I could have become upset,
however: (a) The wretch was right; adventure-fantasy is indeed “my kind of thing”; and (b) Probably quite unbeknownst
to its speaker, this mini-monologue followed precisely the beats of Rodney Dangerfield’s assault on Ted Knight’s hat-
style in Caddyshack (“Oh, it looks good on you, though!”). I picked up the wrinkled bag (the plastic one), and...
I had to laugh.
Strangely, I laughed more at the post office than I did seeing this sequel. Although I was generally kind to its predecessor
(see other critics for talk of theme-park rides and “Gay Keith Richards” and whatever; see my review here), and I’ll be
somewhat kind to this one, too, I nevertheless gotta admit: I’ve seen the movie, but I could just as easily have reviewed
the bag.
Verily, the movie is the bag. Writ large. From the opening Sell-It! shot of Keira Knightley’s pushed-up boobage to the
closing-shot cameo selling a totally different boob, Pirates 2 is nothing if not a big, fat, brain-battering funbag. Some
details I shall discuss, however it only takes one step back to appraise this juggernaut as being merely another projection
of producer Jerry Bruckheimer, in a gilded monkey cage, tirelessly flinging his excrement at the whole wide world, who
pay for the privilege of catching it in the face. Jerry, wouldn't it be easier just to turn people upside down and shake 'em?
Screenwriters Terry Rossio and Ted Elliott are really nice guys and they steal liberally from the same sources I don’t,
thus I like them and shall release their responsibility for this narrative shipwreck with the following: They obviously
meant well. Here are all the requisite insta-beloved characters (Depp as Sparrow, Knightley as Swann, Bloom as Turner,
etc.), and each is properly pestered by some nagging mortality -- and, in Depp’s case, some dimestore morality (another
Spaceland-ready band; I’m on a roll). Plus there are coveted trinkets to make people chase each other and (too
infrequently, too blandly) fight. Splash in the bloated, disjointed set-pieces, and a pop-genre movie begs little more (mind,
you are presently reading a review by the writer who recommended Van Helsing -- change milieu, same movie).
My semi-good cheer may be attributable to seeing this movie at midnight with a full house of spirited UCLA sillies -- I
counted not less than five tri-corns in the crowd, with a score times more Deppish bandanas, plus the odd, shiny cutlass
(wannabe-editors, that’s not the Oldsmobile). Together, we wanted to believe.
What I actually experienced, however, after a whole lotta screaming for the Transformers movie trailer and a whole lotta
booing and hissing for Bruckheimer’s iffy-looking Déjà vu and the upcoming Costner-Kutcher torch hand-off, was an
almost wholly unexpected Pirates movie. It’s mostly a moody thing, awash with dark and gruesome hues, possessed of
a lost and aching spirit.
Yay that!
I felt bad, however, for all the pretty girls in attendance with their pants
falling down and their hackneyed butt-tattoos hanging out, occasionally
going “Whoo” at the reservedly goofy and surprisingly sparse asides
and bits of business from their appointed sex-god, Depp. Judging by
their quarter-hour stretches of collective silent shivering in between
Pavlovian titters (Another band; rock me!), I’d hazard a guess that
these girls didn’t really get what they wanted, i.e.: “Gay Keith Richards.”
Meanwhile, Knightley is simply more show-horse than actress, and
Bloom -- though groomed to resemble Flynn or Fairbanks (in his dreams)
-- spends the entire movie apparently chanting the mantra, “What would
Keanu do?” It’s not a pretty picture. Giving these cartoon characters
“depth” was as bad a move as trying to make Superman seem Serious
and Important.
What does work – and surprisingly well -- is all the dark, bleak yuckiness.
I love it; it looks like how life actually feels. We get a taste of this early
on, as Depp-Sparrow escapes from what appears to be Saruman’s beach
house. Then -- apart from the annoying, intermittent sunlit bits (which all
look strangely washed out, for which I offer the producers a copy of
Color Timing for Dummies) -- things just keep getting darker: A ghost ship here, a voodoo swamp there (Naomie Harris
is particularly good as a bayou sorceress -- and fancy that: A studio effects-fest featuring a black person with actual
dialogue!...what's that now, about half a dozen since Billy Dee Williams and Ernie Hudson?). Much ado is made of
Orlando Bloom sorting out his paternal issues (and even back-injury issues) with barnacle-encrusted wraith Bootstrap Bill
(Stellan Skarsgård), which then leads to Bill sacrificing himself to an eternity on this ghost-ship full of monsters. Hey, if
they weren’t all dudes, I’d buy that ticket. (Or perhaps I already have.)
The plot itself is a hopelessly contrived and convoluted jumble of bits appropriated from other movies, however the story
beneath is fairly simple: Turner and Hooch…oops…Turner and Swann are arrested and imprisoned (for aiding and
abetting Captain Jack Sparrow) on their wedding day by a total dick named Lord Cutler Beckett (Tom Hollander) and
then they leave Swann’s dad Jonathan Pryce to contend with the bully, fleeing and chasing each other via extremely
convenient tall ships until Billy Joel’s eternally amusing masturbation euphemism Captain Jack (Depp) gets caught in the
mix via a highly dubious cannibal tussle. Thereafter, Swann wants Turner for sex reasons, Turner wants Jack’s weird
“Follow Your Bliss” compass for Beckett, and Jack is willing to sacrifice Turner to mad, supernatural pirate Davy Jones
(Bill Nighy, by 20,000 leagues the best thing -- and I do mean thing -- in the movie) in order to save his own skin. Then
everybody chases each other. Oh, and one of those sailor-guys does that thing where you stick a knife into the sail and
slide all the way down with it. Seriously, have you ever tried that? It's totally difficult. Things like that kind of happen.
As woefully insane Aziz (Hey Depp, remember him?) at USC once said to our class, “It’s that it!”
While the movie appears to be all about Depp, he mainly punches the clock throughout. (Apart from lame smatterings of
wink-wink, I recall only one well-delivered line, which didn’t even register with my audience: “To what do I owe the
pleasure of your carbuncle?”) Far better are supporting criminals MacKenzie Crook and Lee Arenberg, who give the
movie its direly needed Cockney oomph.
Best of show is Nighy (not coincidentally, also the best thing about Disney's bloated attempt at Hitchhiker's Guide) as
Davy Jones. His presence is remarkably nonsensical (he has a mutant octopus for a head and a bloated scrotum on the
back of his neck; he moves via bizarre supernatural limitations which serve nothing whatsoever except script-loopholes),
however I really liked him a lot as Archetype: Having sacrificed his own heart following a ruined romance, he became a
hideous and self-inflated monster (behold his proclamation: “I AM The Sea!”). Since 1977, many have attempted to
parallel Darth Vader, and although Pirates 2 suffers some very obvious Lucas-envy, in Davy Jones’ regard (apart from
the loosey-goosey, sometimes-Scottish accent) they may well have succeeded. He really is a cool villain. I could feel the
gleeful gyrations of the pretty blonde next to me as Davy Jones used his talented tentactles to play his huge organ.
Imagine what else he could do with those things!
Don’t start with me, though. It’s undeniable: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest is a determinedly sexualised
entity. In addition to the modelesque leads -- whose charms, pouting and inherent shallowness are equally attractive in
fantasy – this is a very, very fleshly “children’s” movie. It’s a virtual cornucopia of squishy, pink, sucking things --
maws, tentacles, you name it. Not since Alien have I witnessed such aggressive sexuality veiled in special effects. Brace
yourselves, adults, and children please stop reading here and now -- but in only two "words": Sarlacc cumshot.
(Okay, when that band breaks big, I want royalties. Ring-tone, anyone?)
That’s right: Depp takes a huge splat of white goo in the face whilst standing off against -- ironically? -- what could only
be described as the ultimate Vagina Dentata -- in other words, Lucasfilm’s desert-beast the Sarlacc, turned sideways and
aquatic. I fully realize that the scene may be interpreted quite innocently as a happy marriage of Jules Verne and Ray
Harryhausen (it is the Kraken, after all -- done as an actual squid this time) -- but that gaping, spewing, befanged CG hole
is a freshman Freudian’s dream thesis. Have fun with that.
I spent most of the rest of the movie playing Spot the Lift. Also from Lucas we get the fake-native "Hovitos" (complete
with blow-dart and the same chase) from Raiders, and the big, dangly bridge from Temple of Doom. Oh, plus a starter
gallery of action-figure ready Star Wars-esque rubberhead characters. From the Harry Potter franchise we get the
sombre lantern-lit boats via crane-shot. From the most recent King Kong remake we get some perilous chasm action.
From Richard Lester’s Musketeer movies we get an attempt at playful roguishness. From John Carpenter’s The Thing
we get a grotesque decapitated head (no, it’s even more grotesque than your average decapitated head) which sprouts
crab-legs and skitters away. From Keanu Reeves we get Orlando Bloom’s faux-husky voice. From Pat Benatar we get
Keira Knightley’s pointy jaw. Oh yeah, and Nighy plays that wicked organ: Hello, Captain Nemo -- how ya been?
While I am loath to recommend a movie based on its effects, that’s essentially what I am doing here. Every little spine,
external gland, tentacle, claw, leering eyeball -- all done to perfection: Bravo! The gloomy shots of the ships are also quite
brilliant (further enhanced by a wicked score that sounds like gangsta rap without the gangsta and the rap -- what a great
idea!) Otherwise, the dialogue is flat, the plot is crap, the editing sucks, the movie is way too long, and even the
swordfights are lame. These visual effects, though – they’re impressive. Most impressive.
Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest
Entertainment Value: 7/13
Style: Dark Scenes: 13/13; Light Scenes; 4/13 (Average: 8.5/13)
Philosophical Insight: 7/13
-Gregory Weinkauf, 7 July, 2006
With Thanks & Praise to Barnes & Barnes for the headline.
Pirates 2 is a narrative shipwreck, but features tasty aquatic bogeys.
BY GREGORY
I was standing in the post office when a gnarled old woman beside me suddenly exclaimed, “My God, what a hideous
picture!” My focus sought the object of her scorn, which turned out to be a large plastic promotional bag for Pirates of
the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest, flipped skull side up. Ho-hum. Then came the kicker: “Oh, but I’ll bet you like that,
don’t you?” she sneered at me. “It looks like your kind of thing.”
Given the location and its swarm of idiots (now there’s a band name; see ya at Spaceland!), I could have become upset,
however: (a) The wretch was right; adventure-fantasy is indeed “my kind of thing”; and (b) Probably quite unbeknownst
to its speaker, this mini-monologue followed precisely the beats of Rodney Dangerfield’s assault on Ted Knight’s hat-
style in Caddyshack (“Oh, it looks good on you, though!”). I picked up the wrinkled bag (the plastic one), and...
I had to laugh.
Strangely, I laughed more at the post office than I did seeing this sequel. Although I was generally kind to its predecessor
(see other critics for talk of theme-park rides and “Gay Keith Richards” and whatever; see my review here), and I’ll be
somewhat kind to this one, too, I nevertheless gotta admit: I’ve seen the movie, but I could just as easily have reviewed
the bag.
Verily, the movie is the bag. Writ large. From the opening Sell-It! shot of Keira Knightley’s pushed-up boobage to the
closing-shot cameo selling a totally different boob, Pirates 2 is nothing if not a big, fat, brain-battering funbag. Some
details I shall discuss, however it only takes one step back to appraise this juggernaut as being merely another projection
of producer Jerry Bruckheimer, in a gilded monkey cage, tirelessly flinging his excrement at the whole wide world, who
pay for the privilege of catching it in the face. Jerry, wouldn't it be easier just to turn people upside down and shake 'em?
Screenwriters Terry Rossio and Ted Elliott are really nice guys and they steal liberally from the same sources I don’t,
thus I like them and shall release their responsibility for this narrative shipwreck with the following: They obviously
meant well. Here are all the requisite insta-beloved characters (Depp as Sparrow, Knightley as Swann, Bloom as Turner,
etc.), and each is properly pestered by some nagging mortality -- and, in Depp’s case, some dimestore morality (another
Spaceland-ready band; I’m on a roll). Plus there are coveted trinkets to make people chase each other and (too
infrequently, too blandly) fight. Splash in the bloated, disjointed set-pieces, and a pop-genre movie begs little more (mind,
you are presently reading a review by the writer who recommended Van Helsing -- change milieu, same movie).
My semi-good cheer may be attributable to seeing this movie at midnight with a full house of spirited UCLA sillies -- I
counted not less than five tri-corns in the crowd, with a score times more Deppish bandanas, plus the odd, shiny cutlass
(wannabe-editors, that’s not the Oldsmobile). Together, we wanted to believe.
What I actually experienced, however, after a whole lotta screaming for the Transformers movie trailer and a whole lotta
booing and hissing for Bruckheimer’s iffy-looking Déjà vu and the upcoming Costner-Kutcher torch hand-off, was an
almost wholly unexpected Pirates movie. It’s mostly a moody thing, awash with dark and gruesome hues, possessed of
a lost and aching spirit.
Yay that!
I felt bad, however, for all the pretty girls in attendance with their pants
falling down and their hackneyed butt-tattoos hanging out, occasionally
going “Whoo” at the reservedly goofy and surprisingly sparse asides
and bits of business from their appointed sex-god, Depp. Judging by
their quarter-hour stretches of collective silent shivering in between
Pavlovian titters (Another band; rock me!), I’d hazard a guess that
these girls didn’t really get what they wanted, i.e.: “Gay Keith Richards.”
Meanwhile, Knightley is simply more show-horse than actress, and
Bloom -- though groomed to resemble Flynn or Fairbanks (in his dreams)
-- spends the entire movie apparently chanting the mantra, “What would
Keanu do?” It’s not a pretty picture. Giving these cartoon characters
“depth” was as bad a move as trying to make Superman seem Serious
and Important.
What does work – and surprisingly well -- is all the dark, bleak yuckiness.
I love it; it looks like how life actually feels. We get a taste of this early
on, as Depp-Sparrow escapes from what appears to be Saruman’s beach
house. Then -- apart from the annoying, intermittent sunlit bits (which all
look strangely washed out, for which I offer the producers a copy of
Color Timing for Dummies) -- things just keep getting darker: A ghost ship here, a voodoo swamp there (Naomie Harris
is particularly good as a bayou sorceress -- and fancy that: A studio effects-fest featuring a black person with actual
dialogue!...what's that now, about half a dozen since Billy Dee Williams and Ernie Hudson?). Much ado is made of
Orlando Bloom sorting out his paternal issues (and even back-injury issues) with barnacle-encrusted wraith Bootstrap Bill
(Stellan Skarsgård), which then leads to Bill sacrificing himself to an eternity on this ghost-ship full of monsters. Hey, if
they weren’t all dudes, I’d buy that ticket. (Or perhaps I already have.)
The plot itself is a hopelessly contrived and convoluted jumble of bits appropriated from other movies, however the story
beneath is fairly simple: Turner and Hooch…oops…Turner and Swann are arrested and imprisoned (for aiding and
abetting Captain Jack Sparrow) on their wedding day by a total dick named Lord Cutler Beckett (Tom Hollander) and
then they leave Swann’s dad Jonathan Pryce to contend with the bully, fleeing and chasing each other via extremely
convenient tall ships until Billy Joel’s eternally amusing masturbation euphemism Captain Jack (Depp) gets caught in the
mix via a highly dubious cannibal tussle. Thereafter, Swann wants Turner for sex reasons, Turner wants Jack’s weird
“Follow Your Bliss” compass for Beckett, and Jack is willing to sacrifice Turner to mad, supernatural pirate Davy Jones
(Bill Nighy, by 20,000 leagues the best thing -- and I do mean thing -- in the movie) in order to save his own skin. Then
everybody chases each other. Oh, and one of those sailor-guys does that thing where you stick a knife into the sail and
slide all the way down with it. Seriously, have you ever tried that? It's totally difficult. Things like that kind of happen.
As woefully insane Aziz (Hey Depp, remember him?) at USC once said to our class, “It’s that it!”
While the movie appears to be all about Depp, he mainly punches the clock throughout. (Apart from lame smatterings of
wink-wink, I recall only one well-delivered line, which didn’t even register with my audience: “To what do I owe the
pleasure of your carbuncle?”) Far better are supporting criminals MacKenzie Crook and Lee Arenberg, who give the
movie its direly needed Cockney oomph.
Best of show is Nighy (not coincidentally, also the best thing about Disney's bloated attempt at Hitchhiker's Guide) as
Davy Jones. His presence is remarkably nonsensical (he has a mutant octopus for a head and a bloated scrotum on the
back of his neck; he moves via bizarre supernatural limitations which serve nothing whatsoever except script-loopholes),
however I really liked him a lot as Archetype: Having sacrificed his own heart following a ruined romance, he became a
hideous and self-inflated monster (behold his proclamation: “I AM The Sea!”). Since 1977, many have attempted to
parallel Darth Vader, and although Pirates 2 suffers some very obvious Lucas-envy, in Davy Jones’ regard (apart from
the loosey-goosey, sometimes-Scottish accent) they may well have succeeded. He really is a cool villain. I could feel the
gleeful gyrations of the pretty blonde next to me as Davy Jones used his talented tentactles to play his huge organ.
Imagine what else he could do with those things!
Don’t start with me, though. It’s undeniable: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest is a determinedly sexualised
entity. In addition to the modelesque leads -- whose charms, pouting and inherent shallowness are equally attractive in
fantasy – this is a very, very fleshly “children’s” movie. It’s a virtual cornucopia of squishy, pink, sucking things --
maws, tentacles, you name it. Not since Alien have I witnessed such aggressive sexuality veiled in special effects. Brace
yourselves, adults, and children please stop reading here and now -- but in only two "words": Sarlacc cumshot.
(Okay, when that band breaks big, I want royalties. Ring-tone, anyone?)
That’s right: Depp takes a huge splat of white goo in the face whilst standing off against -- ironically? -- what could only
be described as the ultimate Vagina Dentata -- in other words, Lucasfilm’s desert-beast the Sarlacc, turned sideways and
aquatic. I fully realize that the scene may be interpreted quite innocently as a happy marriage of Jules Verne and Ray
Harryhausen (it is the Kraken, after all -- done as an actual squid this time) -- but that gaping, spewing, befanged CG hole
is a freshman Freudian’s dream thesis. Have fun with that.
I spent most of the rest of the movie playing Spot the Lift. Also from Lucas we get the fake-native "Hovitos" (complete
with blow-dart and the same chase) from Raiders, and the big, dangly bridge from Temple of Doom. Oh, plus a starter
gallery of action-figure ready Star Wars-esque rubberhead characters. From the Harry Potter franchise we get the
sombre lantern-lit boats via crane-shot. From the most recent King Kong remake we get some perilous chasm action.
From Richard Lester’s Musketeer movies we get an attempt at playful roguishness. From John Carpenter’s The Thing
we get a grotesque decapitated head (no, it’s even more grotesque than your average decapitated head) which sprouts
crab-legs and skitters away. From Keanu Reeves we get Orlando Bloom’s faux-husky voice. From Pat Benatar we get
Keira Knightley’s pointy jaw. Oh yeah, and Nighy plays that wicked organ: Hello, Captain Nemo -- how ya been?
While I am loath to recommend a movie based on its effects, that’s essentially what I am doing here. Every little spine,
external gland, tentacle, claw, leering eyeball -- all done to perfection: Bravo! The gloomy shots of the ships are also quite
brilliant (further enhanced by a wicked score that sounds like gangsta rap without the gangsta and the rap -- what a great
idea!) Otherwise, the dialogue is flat, the plot is crap, the editing sucks, the movie is way too long, and even the
swordfights are lame. These visual effects, though – they’re impressive. Most impressive.
Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest
Entertainment Value: 7/13
Style: Dark Scenes: 13/13; Light Scenes; 4/13 (Average: 8.5/13)
Philosophical Insight: 7/13
-Gregory Weinkauf, 7 July, 2006
With Thanks & Praise to Barnes & Barnes for the headline.
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