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HOLLYWOOD HUES
Johnny
Depp is easily one of Hollywood’s most effective actors. And along
with Orlando Bloom and Keira Knightly, they churned out a delightful
buccaneering adventure Pirates of the Caribbean. But did that
make Hollywood happy? No. They had to do it again, as they only can, and
this overlong, avowedly supernatural sequel Dead Man’s Chest is
an insult to the freshness of spontaneity of the parent film. Trust
Hollywood to flog a dead pirate. The first film was a tribute to the
pirates and sword-fencing films of the early 1950s, films like Crimson
Pirate, and their ilk. Johnny Depp breezed through that film like a
breath of fresh air. In Dead Man’s Chest after the initial
burst he struggles with the ghosts of those ancient mariners (made to
look like monsters). So do his co-characters Will Turner (Orlando Bloom)
and Elizabeth Swann (Keira Knightly) who are mere pawns.
Dispensable. The synopsis claims the curse of the Black Pearl has been
lifted, an even more terrifying threat looks over its captain and scurvy
crew." Rubbish. It turns out that Jack owes a blood debt to Davy
Jones (Bill Nighy), ruler of the Ocean Depths, who captains the ghostly
Flying Dutchman, which no other ship can match in speed and stealth.
They have to find his chest, but before that the key to it. Outlandish,
sorry outoceanic stuff. There are some good gags for starters, like the
cart wheeling windmill but once they dabble with those "monstrous
mariners" the film takes a nosedive. The flamboyant soothsayer
(Namie Harris) provides some dramatic relief but not Will’s dad
Bootstrap Bill (Stellan Skarsgard) who is neither here nor there. The
squeakish parrot cries "don’t eat me," and the swift monkey
scurries about but the movie is virtually at a standstill. Director Gore
Verbinski is all at sea, pun quite accidental, and the mindless script
doesn’t help one bit. The asides to "a bottle of rum" of Treasure
Island are well taken as is the gag of sliding down the sail with a
knife, a la Burt Lancaster in Crimson Pirate, but they are just
straws in the wind of this very dull entertainer. Like so many of these
modern Hollywood mega-films, this one goes on and on, as if to provide
quantitative entertainment. Thirty minutes could easily have been
clipped of the 150. It’s not like buying rice. Phone Booth was
only 87 minutes long but more satiating than anything over 120
minutes. If you’ve seen the original film, steer clear of this
sequel. It’s better to relish that flavour, even in retrospect, than
venture to this apology of a sequel.
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