Though it bears almost zero contemplation post-screening, Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl, Gore Verbinski's feature-film adaptation of a Disneyland ride (following the freakishly bizarre The Country Bears and presaging Eddie Murphy's The Haunted Mansion--pray that "It's a Small World After All" doesn't also get a movie), is a bloody, crafty, hilarious pirate yarn that makes expert use of its special effects and over-qualified cast. It allows Johnny Depp to revise his Hunter S. Thompson character from Terry Gilliam's Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, placing one foot of the film in Terry Gilliam's ethics of the stratum surreal and the other in Spielbergian theme park attraction, and it allows Geoffrey Rush a platform to finally justify his sad penchant for dangerous levels of ham. Pirates of the Caribbean is that rarest of beasts: a blockbuster from twin uniqueness-vortexes Jerry Bruckheimer and Disney that is respectful of its Errol Flynn/swashbuckling genre, smart about itself and its audience, and infused with a sense of mischievous malice that forgives the occasional lag in pace or lapse in logic. It's this generation's Bedknobs and Broomsticks--and yes, that's a good thing.

Captain Jack Sparrow (Depp) is a fey, eternally smashed pirate with a taste for rum (comparisons to swishy spokes-mascot Captain Morgan are inevitable and, actually, dead on) who finds himself without a boat at the swordpoint of stuffy limey Norrington (Jack Davenport), at the mercy of earnest blacksmith (and duellist) Will (Orlando Bloom), and at the beck of comely Elizabeth (Keira Knightley). Buckles are swashed, motley crews are assembled, and many ships are borrowed without permission as Captain Jack and Will endeavour to uncover the secret of Elizabeth's gold medallion, reclaim Capt. Jack's ship (stolen from him by treacherous first-mate Barbossa (Rush)), and fight a horde of skeletons beneath impossibly huge full moons.

The strengths of Pirates of the Caribbean lie mainly in Verbinski's sincere tributes to boy's life pirate operas, from volumes of unnatural fog to the good teeth/bad teeth barometer of morality, to parrots on shoulders and characters who mutter "Arrrrrgh, shiver me timbers"--benefiting, as well, from Verbinski's and wonderful cinematographer Dariusz Wolski's (Dark City, Romeo is Bleeding, and Verbinski's own The Mexican) colour schemes and lighting, which provide Pirates of the Caribbean with a rich texture that again reminds of Gilliam. More, there's an admirable deep reality to the piece, never better than candelabras sliding about during a demented dinner sequence, mimicking the motion of a ghost galleon on a choppy brine. Though it's too early to tell, and his work too uneven to this point, Verbinski seems even to be staking a claim for an auteur consideration in his growing attachment to old guns, pulp fictions, mandalic treasures, and metamorphic (truth-telling) immersions in water.

Pirates of the Caribbean, at its heart of black hearts, is smarter than it has any right to be, ebullient somehow at an unwieldy 143 minutes and as violent a mainstream adventure yarn that is not R-rated as Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. It has more than its share of those essential chills necessary for any good children's entertainment, laudably resists making some sort of post-modern jape on the term "booty," and is led by a hero in Depp who is perhaps the very definition of "ambiguous" in all its delightfully sinful variations. Elizabeth is a strong female character in no particular need a man to grab her hand during moments of crisis, the British constabulary aren't vilified overly for not being pirates, and Will leaves an impression as the embodiment of Cary Elwes/neo-Flynn goodness. Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl is the kind of movie that proves the idea that ephemeral mainstream summer fare can entertain and betray a brain in its head; a linear narrative (that sadly veers into the repetitive at its over-extended conclusion); a sense of style not defined by strobe-edits and quick-cuts; and a sense of humour at last defined by wit and the peculiarities of character rather than excrement and leering. Shiver me timbers, indeed.

Buena Vista brings Pirates of the Caribbean to DVD in a Buena Vista transfer: the THX-certified 2.35:1 anamorphic widescreen image is at times soft and surprisingly grainy, especially during night exteriors. But though it should have looked better overall and some edge-enhancement distracts (that the film utilizes a ton of digital mattes is much more evident here than it was theatrically), the colours are saturated as they should be, the pale blue of the copious moonlit scenes satisfyingly cool-feeling. With its rumbling bass and the kind of immersive surround field that justifies the purchase of that 800-watt system, the DD 5.1 audio more than makes up for the picture's deficiencies, anyway. Imagine the improvement, then, in switching over to the DTS stream: trust me, you can't--it's showcase stuff. Play The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers for the video and Pirates of the Caribbean for the noise. (Use the THX Optimizer; it's never been more worth it.) Aside from the usual suspects of insta-trailers (for Spy Kids 3-D, Hidalgo, The Lion King 1½, Freaky Friday, and the "Alias" television series starring that mannish woman), Disc One of this three-pack sports a trio of film-length commentary tracks.

The first yakker features Gore Verbinski and Johnny Depp, who sound so similar that it's often difficult to tell them apart. Recapitulations of how the pair met (at a restaurant), how Depp saw his character (initially a lot stranger: a gangrenous nose and a mouthful of gold dentures), and the enduring legacy of vermin rapist Pepe Le Pew give way to fawning over Depp and giggling at Geoffrey Rush's intensive Method peculiarity. (He was prone to calling Verbinski at odd hours to chat motivation.) It's a pretty worthless commentary, in other words, except for a moment where the two tip their hats to the film's grizzled focus puller (he was an ex-military pilot), illuminating in the process the sheer volume of talent required to pull off an undertaking the size of Pirates of the Caribbean. Both share an admiration for Keira Knightley (duh) and both think Orlando Bloom is a little touchy. Who knew? Who cares?

Commentator of the Year: Keira Knightley

They saved the most embarrassing for last--screenwriters Stuart Beattie, Ted Elliot & Terry Rossio, and Jay Wolpert come off as dorks of the first water. Sure, they know their way around Byron, but long about the tenth time somebody mentions that they weren't trying to portray the reality of pirates so much as the romance of pirates, well, you get my drift. The track hits bottom at the very end as either Elliot or Rossio provides the backstory and timeline for the film in stultifying detail as a "reward" for us having stuck through the track from start to finish. (A nice "Thanks, goodbye" really would have sufficed.) Though they take an endearing pride in the finished product, I didn't much care to know what was changed or how quickly rewrites were accomplished on set. It's hard to listen to--more so because I like the movie.

Disc Two begins with "An Epic at Sea" (38 mins.), a making-of docu that disappoints mainly because it's just B-roll interspersed with junket outtakes. I've seen a million of these things by now and it's remarkable how similar they all are; imagine the post-game press conferences held by professional sports coaches. Nothing new here, in any event--just the cast members discussing their characters, how great it is to be in a pirate movie, how great Gore is, how great Jerry is, and so on and so forth. It's lively, though, making it hard to sleep through. "Fly on the Set" (21 mins.) does a much better job right out of the gate, showing Verbinski and his crew trying to restrain the barely-restrained chaos of some of the film's bigger action set-pieces. It's really pretty incredible to witness the number of illusions that were achieved without the aid of CGI in Pirates of the Caribbean--it's assumed that all of today's magic occurs inside a mainframe, but the truth of it is that a few stubborn stunt people and technicians are still around to make the dangerous look (sur)real. Fascinating viewing worth a second spin.

"Diaries" is split into three subheadings, starting with "Producer's Photo Diary" (4 mins.), which sees Bruckheimer narrating his still photos of extras and the like (don't quit that day job, Jerry). In "Diary of a Pirate" (10 mins.), character actor Lee Arenberg records a video diary of his experiences that intrigues for its "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern" perspective on things. (A moment where Verbinski comes by the poor trailer section of town to choreograph a specific bit of business is revelatory: whatever Verbinski says about wanting to subvert genre in his commentary, the secret of his films' success is that he takes genre quite seriously, and that respect shines through.) "Diary of a Ship" (11 mins.) covers the six-month voyage of the brig Lady Washington (the Interceptor in the film), with Captain Sousa detailing the hardships of this historically-correct replica ship's maiden voyage from its home waters in Washington state to L.A. to, eventually, St. Vincent. While a modern engine drives the ship, the footage of the crew working on modifying it to the filmmakers' specifications from inside-out--as well as the inherent dangers of sea travel--imbue the piece with suspense. It's a tension borne out in the Western Caribbean as the Lady Washington encounters choppy waters that snap its jib boom, necessitating a retreat to a port of refuge. Scary stuff for a landlubber like m'self.

The disc continues with "Below Deck," an interactive function that invites you to click on different parts of a digital pirate ship to learn more than you may want to know concerning the life of a pirate. The mini-docs therein (approx. 3 mins. apiece) are done in the Ken Burns style of narrating semi-animated photos and illustrations with sound effects and dialogue. My favourite is the "Punishments" bit found through the "On Deck" subsection, which speaks of justice, Patriot Act-style--I mean, pirate-style. What'd I say? For what it's worth, it's possible to select "A Scalliwag's Tale" (22 mins.) from the "Below Deck" sub-menu and play through the vignettes in toto (with scholar David Cordingly offering the talking-head portion of the proceedings) without the irritation of point/click. Truly neat stuff. A "Blooper Reel" (3 mins.) of people cutting up, dropping swords, losing wigs, and the like is sort of funny in the way that gaffes are funny. I like Johnny Depp--his demeanour in this collection of flubs reminds of another weird anecdote related in the writers' commentary wherein one of them recalls Depp getting angry that they wrote "exposition" for him to recite. Smart guy, that Johnny. Nineteen "Deleted Scenes" (19 mins.) are playable by selection or at once and run the gamut from the useless (more evidence that Bloom's character is something of a twit initially) to the verging on sublime (extended underwater footage of Knightley's dunk and the calling of the pirates). Verbinski's very good at underwater process shots. Every elision is restored and anamorphically encoded at 2.35:1--they'd slip into the film with nary a ripple, although the majority of them are too short to really register in a movie that's already overlong.

"Moonlight Serenade Scene Progression" (7 mins.) retraces the initial mass-reveal of the skeleton phantoms on board the Black Pearl from storyboard to location shoot to CGI. Verbinski notes in his commentary the battle waged over the budget for these shots (leaving aside that it would go on to earn a ton of money and its fair share of accolades, Pirates of the Caribbean started out as a Bruckheimer flick based on a theme park attraction), but its importance to the rhythm and mood of the piece (manic and insane) is conveyed by the execution and, now, documentation. An "Image Gallery" is exhaustive, divided into six sub-menus with one of them ("Storyboards") itself split into four chapters. You could spend an hour surfing this portfolio, but then you'll have spent an hour browsing production art with only this to say about it: "That's a lot of images." "Pirates in the Parks" (18 mins.) is a vintage Hamilton Luske-directed "World of Walt Disney" episode that takes audiences on an inside look at the theme park ride via artist's renderings, the animatronics shop, a tour of a scale model guided by Uncle Walt himself, and finally a boat's-eye-view trip through the "Pirates of the Caribbean" proper. It's just fascinating, time-capsule stuff; the real marvel of Pirates of the Caribbean is the faithfulness with which Verbinski adapted the creepy-campy ride for the screen. Both platters feature a DVD-ROM function for InterActual-equipped computers that allows access to animated storyboards, the full script, and more interactive F/X functions, pirate histories, and ride details.

But ahoy there, mateys: Disney recently tacked "The Lost Disc" onto the original 2-disc Special Edition--which, c'mon now, is overkill by this point, isn't it? Avast, onwards: "Becoming Captain Jack" (8 mins.) sees Depp running down a stale list of topics: the notorious homage to Keith Richards; the idea of drunkenness as terminal sea legs; Depp's affinity for Verbinski and vice versa; et cetera. It's not useless, but neither is it terribly edifying anymore. Of a similar ilk is "Becoming Barbossa" (6 mins.), a short time spent with Geoffrey Rush talking in the Depp way about his pirate, the practice of which, forgive me, strikes me as a little weird and masturbatory. It's why I tend not to want to interview actors, as what they do is oftentimes ineffable or steeped in mysticism and theory--and, more, though they can tell you what they were thinking, it seldom clarifies the secret to their stardom. "Thar She Blows!" (6 mins.) is a look at blowing up models that, along with the director commentary revelation that Bruckheimer never failed to crack up no matter how many times a woman in the film would slap Depp, says everything there is to say on the subject of the über-producer. John Knoll, ace Special Effects Supervisor, walks us through the construction of the mock-Interceptor, of a man-made lake, and of blowin' stuff up real good. Conclusions: it takes ages to build a giant model of a ship and it's fun to blow stuff up real good.

The sub-menu for "More Fly on the Set" has an Easter Egg "up" from the main selections: once a doubloon is highlighted, one click plays a minute-long radio spot for the theme park ride. "More Fly on the Set" itself contains three additional intimate looks at mass confusion and the hardships facing a director of a large-scale action film. The three segments together last fifteen minutes or so and there is no option to play them back-to-back. I gotta say again that the interest level is fading fast now that I'm well into what seems like the second day's worth of extras. Breaking up the monotony a little is "The Monkey's Name is Jack" (5 mins.): no one has a kind word for the titular animal (actually two monkeys, I guess)--all that's missing as "Jack"'s trainers relate the joys and sorrows of raising a performing monkey is the wisdom of Brooke Shields' mom. Animal rights whackos will delight in the play for monkey rights made on their behalf herein. "Sneak Attack Animatic" (4 mins.) reveals the "rough cut" visualization of the underwater trudge of the pirate skeletons (it functions as a sort of animated storyboard), and "Pirates Around the World" (4 mins.) gives examples of what a scene plays like in French Canadian, Thai, Castilian, Russian, Portuguese, Italian, Latin Spanish, German, French, and Japanese. Knightley speaking Russian is, frankly, almost more than my little heart can take--if there were a Russian language option on the disc, let's just say there isn't enough cold water in the world...

"Spirit of the Ride" (7 mins.) marries clips from the film to excerpts from the abovementioned instalment of "World of Disney" and interviews with Depp, writers Elliott and Rossio, Verbinski, Bruckheimer, et al, in which they remember the ride from their childhood. Consensus: it was perverse and freaky as hell. Which brings us finally to "Dead Men Tell No Tales" (14 mins.), a documentary included on the second disc as a DVD-ROM supplement (along with a script-to-screen interface and storyboard comparisons for some 229 scenes, i.e. practically the whole film) that few probably bothered to check out. It's not only a great featurette that boasts of archival footage and anecdotes from surviving artists and engineers, but also a lovely way to round out this enormous DVD project. Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl Special Edition 3-Disc Set is the equivalent of a ten-day Roman binge: tasty, yes, but get thee to the vomitorium.-Walter Chaw

© Film Freak Central; filmfreakcentral.net. This review may not be reprinted, in whole or in part, without the express consent of its author.

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DVD VITALS:
Running Time
143 minutes
MPAA
PG-13
Aspect Ratio(s)
2.35:1 ONLY, 16x9-enhanced
Languages
English DD 5.1,
English DTS 5.1,
French Dolby Surround
CC
Yes
Subtitles
French
2 DVD-9s + DVD-5
Region One
Touchstone

the critic

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PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN
Original Motion Picture Soundtrack CD
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Published: December 7, 2004