Eloquently verbose, chillingly extraordinary and distinctly more authentic in eliciting that innate pirate spirit than any contemporary swashbuckling picture this side of Harlin’s Cutthroat Island and Spielberg’s Hook (to an extent), Gore Verbinski’s Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl is the kind of swaggering, fiendishly lampooning, convivial filth parade that none of those predecessors ever could have been. Though its premise is unpretentious to the point of elementary plainness it employs the jovial wits and thrills that the genre could require (and has at this point in time) and the blithering amoral hedonism (sensual, violent and otherwise) that the genre definitely does require. Despite its propensity for shallow underpinnings, the film is far more intelligent than one would prognosticate walking in, the script avoiding any major holes wrought by its outlandish premise, and running-gags in endlessly pleasing variety.
Aberrant, brain-fried and hopelessly likeable insta-cult-antihero Capt. Jack Sparrow (the show-stealing, jape-spouting Johnny Depp you’ve heard about) is a gonzo pirate arriving at the British controlled Port Royal a bit after having made a seemingly miraculous escape from an isolated atoll where he was abandoned by treacherous Barbossa (an amusing Geoffrey Rush) and the mutinous crew of the Black Pearl, an infamous sea vessel of piracy. Handsome young blacksmith Will Turner (a finely tuned Orlando Bloom) is in love with the Governor’s (Jonathan Pryce) daughter, Elizabeth Swann (a ravishing Keira Knightley), but is afraid to proclaim it as she’s expected to marry Norrington (Jack Davenport), a Naval chief. A savage raid on Port Royal by Barbossa and his finds Elizabeth kidnapped for purposes of reversing a curse and a partnership formed between Jack and Will, setting out for her rescue.
Though it may seem that any film based on a popular amusement park (Disney Land) exhibit is practically begging for an asinine cinematic iteration, PotC is nurtured brilliantly by virtuoso Verbinski whose most notable aptitude seems to be working within mainstream projects while maintaining artistic freedom and subsequent success. (And despite all of his valiant efforts, fortunately, producer Bruckheimer fails to sabotage the project.) An erstwhile commercial television pro with the visual prowess slick enough to make his Mouse Hunt work, The Ring remake feel genuinely frightening, and now concocting PotC as Terry Gilliam-esque as only likely to be bested by Gilliam himself, Vebinski’s keen profundity for comic timing and its complimenting visual organization is on glorious display with the weighty adventure. Spectacular, grandiose display. Furthermore, lively colors invite the film’s welcomed alacrity and all the more posture Verbinski’s grasp of his material with the equipoise of Golden Age pirate thrillers; the magnificent sets and costumes in accordance with the film’s incessant (and yet still baffling) harmony.
Perhaps, most of all, the film’s urbane yet innocuously lighthearted tenor was best conceived in the indefatigably smart script. As best as any rollicking adventure could, this treads its parallel themes and elements with an imperfect but nonetheless demystified stride. Though it triumphs, and rightly so, its subtext is admittedly just above the summer piffle that it so incisively apes and thus doesn’t offer anything particular than what’s shown superficially. But that’s a given. Otherwise it presents the traditions of pirate brutality (and pirate buffoonery) in artful fashion, and retells the archetypal hero’s journey with attractive deviation as well as a tame mastery of oft-rampant digital work, bringing the loathsome notion back to a safer and confident utilization. The film’s leading men are, of course, Verbinski in top form and Depp likewise. The heart of the pirate narrative beautifully evoked and massaged by these commandants, PotC is the kind of summer picture that most shoot for and miss ingloriously. Strangely, any shortcomings as a movie based on a Disney attraction are scant or near nonexistent. I’ve never had the pleasure of visiting the Pirates of the Caribbean ride that I can remember, but I might be inclined to do so after this.