Stormy Seas

So, ye come seekin’ adventure and salty old pirates, eh? Sure, you’ve come to the proper place. But keep a weather eye open, mates. Davy Jones is waiting for them what don’t obey…

If anyone, anywhere, has been following Mike Overthinks Movies from the start, you’ll remember that I began this blog in July of 2013 with an analysis of the original Pirates of the Caribbean film, which was 10 years old at the time. Now, over 1000 days and – wow! – seventeen posts later, it’s time for the sequel, Dead Man’s Chest, to commemorate the big 1-0. In its honor, I’m returning to that wonderful world of swashbuckling and high-seas adventure to reunite with our good friends Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann, and, of course, Captain Jack Sparrow.

For the most part, my 2013 self had nothing but good things to say about The Curse of the Black Pearl – mostly because it was, and still is, a great movie. Unfortunately, it is my sad duty to report that Dead Man’s Chest, while still a lot of fun at times, doesn’t quite live up to the standards of its predecessor. In fact, I think there are more than a few easily identifiable ways to improve the film that we ultimately got. But critiquing an existing film while also pitching a hypothetical one could get a bit confusing, so to help me with the workload, I’ve brought back my original co-host: a man who’s always ready to suggest a more pragmatic course of action, even when he knows from experience that it will be completely ignored. Please welcome back to the blog, Mr. Joshamee Gibbs.

Someday, someone will listen to you, Mr. Gibbs. It won't be as entertaining to watch, but it will be much safer for everyone involved.

I will discuss the movie as it is, and Mr. Gibbs will suggest, in that way that only he can, alternatives for a movie that might have been. Savvy?

I’ll do my best to prevent this from being a piecemeal analysis, but the fact is, Dead Man’s Chest is kind of a piecemeal movie. It holds together as a narrative, and few to none of its individual scenes are outright bad, but it never finds enough of an identity to cohere into a satisfying whole. It is so readily accepting of its status as a trilogy’s “middle movie” that it resigns itself to actually being all middle – something that just doesn’t fly when the previous film had a beginning, middle and pretty definitive end. To sum it up in a sentence, Dead Man’s Chest is so preoccupied with what it could be, or will be, that it forgets to actually be anything.

One of the greatest strengths of the first Pirates film was its ability to integrate a clear personal story into its high adventure trappings. For those with fuzzy memories, Black Pearl is the story of Will Turner, a man with an almost irrational hatred of pirates, who gets caught up in the dealings of pirates, ultimately befriending one and even learning to accept his own identity as a second-generation pirate. That story may not win anyone any awards, but it does add a genuine internal conflict on top of the external one, and while it’s a bit on-the-nose, it’s not at all superficial. On the summer blockbuster curve, that puts it above average.

Dead Man’s Chest, on the other hand, aims too high, trying to juggle three main characters instead of one, and not finding room for any of them to have a legitimate character arc. That said, all three members of our core trio do have specific conflicts that they’re working through; Elizabeth’s story, in which she decides that independence fits her better than any corset ever did, lands quite well as written, but is also given the least screen time. Will… well, Will mainly learns to hate Jack again, thus threatening to undo all the first film’s work. (The rest of his story sets up one of several hooks for the third movie, as he vows to move heaven and earth to resolve his daddy issues.)

In the end, though, it’s Jack Sparrow who holds the best claim to Dead Man’s Chest’s dramatic through line. Most of the perils our heroes face in the film are the various results of Jack’s selfishness and willingness to throw others under the bus. It’s only in the end that Jack finds his courage and saves the lives of his companions through a heroic sacrifice that leads to his death.

Spoiler Alert

Or at least, that’s what we’re supposed to feel has happened. As far as the execution goes… we’ll get to that later, but for now, let’s just say it leaves a lot to be desired. In the meantime, it occurs to me that the best way to tackle all this may be in simple chronological order. Don’t worry, I promise I’ll skim.

Dead Man’s Chest begins as Will and Elizabeth’s dishearteningly rainy wedding is broken up by the arrival of the series’ new – or is it only? – Big Bad: Lord Cutler Beckett, of the East India Trading Company. I’m glad to give credit where it’s due, and Beckett is a wonderful villain here. He’s overflowing with power and smug superiority, but he’s not particularly imposing on his own. Instead, what makes him dangerous is what he stands for. This dude is imperialism personified, and he is not nice. He’ll be featured more prominently in the third installment – something that could be said about a lot of things in this movie – but he makes the most of his handful of scenes here. Also to the film’s credit, Will and Elizabeth are pulled back into the pirate world specifically because they helped Jack escape at the end of Black Pearl. Picking that plot thread back up gives the continuation of the story (and especially the continued inclusion of these two landlubbers) a stronger sense of purpose than if, say, Jack had sailed up out of the blue requesting their help, Doc Brown style.

Anyway, Beckett sends Will to find Jack, Governor Swann accidentally breaks a sconce off the wall in a weirdly specific callback to the first film, and the game is afoot!

My big problems with Dead Man’s Chest, such as they are, begin and end with the Pelegostos tribe. They are, to put it bluntly, a twenty-minute diversion that adds nothing to the film but an action sequence and brings the plot to a screeching halt. No information is gained, no one has any emotional breakthroughs, no relationships are formed. Pintel and Ragetti show up, the group is almost eaten, and then they aren’t. End scene. Making matters worse, their inclusion is pure non-sequitur. Sure, Jack has a reason to head for the nearest land, but it’s a big leap from there to “cannibals.” In fact, this sequence might just be the only ‘AND THEN’ transition in the entire series. And as we learned three years ago, anything that comes after an “and then” probably doesn’t need to be in your movie to begin with.

Mr. Gibbs Says: It be no secret that that woman scares the bejeezus out o’ me, but when I saw the Captain was in such dire straits, I urged him to head upriver to Tia Dalma straightaway. Though she be weird and wicked, she’s also the surest source of safe harbor ‘round these parts. And while I may have come to enjoy the antics of those two dolts Pintel and Ragetti… I’m sure they would have found their way to Tortuga in time. As usual, though, Jack didn’t listen. And I got stuck hangin’ in a cage o’ bones with nuthin’ to show for it.

Okay, I guess the Pelegostos do bring one thing to the table: they introduce the idea of a god in human form, which will be crucial to the third movie. But that’s just not worth twenty minutes. Twenty minutes! Thanks to these guys, Davy Jones doesn’t appear until an hour into the movie. Spend that time on character instead. Or better yet, lop it off completely – this behemoth’s too long as is.

Once safely reunited, Jack and Will head off to meet Tia Dalma, who Mr. Gibbs and I agree Jack should have gone to see in the first place. It’s here that we finally learn something about Davy Jones. (Remember him? The main villain of the movie?) He was once a man, we’re told, but he was hurt so badly by a woman that he cut out his own heart. This idea, of either affirming or rejecting the futility of love, of numbing yourself to pain rather than facing it, sure sounds like it could be an interesting theme to hang the movie on. In fact, its mere presence gives Jones a lot more depth – the brief glimpse of him sobbing over the keys of his organ is a wonderfully evocative character moment – but it lacks any sort of follow through. There is a bit of a parallel to be found in Jack, who runs from his pain, but that feels to me like a reach, if not quite a stretch. Still, if that works for you, feel free to swap this particular criticism out for kudos – I don’t mind. The point is, the real meditation on Jones’ condition will, like so many other things, be saved for the third movie. See what I mean about this film being all middle?

Mr. Gibbs Says: When Master William is aboard the Flyin’ Dutchman, he gets a look at Jones’ key by playin’ the devil in a game o’ Liar’s Dice. It’s a clever strategy, t’ be sure, but I can’t help but feel that all it truly did was give poor Will a greater sense o’ guilt over his father, who gambled an eternity onboard the ship and lost. Nah, if it were me, I’d have talked with Jones one-on-one, tryin’ ta get inside his head and makin’ him show me the key that way. Who knows, maybe Jones, believin’ as he does in the fickleness o’ women, woulda given Mr. Turner some second thoughts over whether or not his own dear Elizabeth was worth all this trouble. Of course we all know she is, but if Will had that question put in his head, maybe bearing witness to a certain kiss near the film’s end woulda hit him even harder than it already did.

(Besides, when you get down to it, Liar’s Dice isn’t the most intuitive game. I’ve been playin’ for years, and I still can’t tell for sure if Mr. Cotton cheats or not.)

Never trust a man who lets a parrot do his biddin' for him.

Mr. Gibbs raises one very good point here, as well as one very troubling question. We’ll address these in order:

Ted Elliot and Terry Rossio have written all four Pirates movies so far, but The Curse of the Black Pearl remains their best effort. This is because, while that movie does contain a lot of fantastic action, it also recognized the value of letting two or more characters simply talk to one another. Will and Jack, Elizabeth and Barbossa, Jack and Elizabeth: all these pairings result in different forms of conflict, and all three are given some space to bounce off of one another, better illuminating who each of them are as people. Now, Dead Man’s Chest still has many instances of efficiently and creatively presented information – convoluted or not, it’s executed extremely well – but at times it seems like everyone always has to be doing something. Which is fine in theory: it keeps the energy up, and ‘show, don’t tell’ is a cardinal screenwriting rule for a reason. But when your hero and your villain are presented with a chance to have a dialogue, and instead you have them face off against one another in a dice game that was introduced only seconds earlier, you’re really toeing the line between expression through action and action in place of expression.

As for the question Mr. Gibbs raises, it’s one that I can very nearly find an answer to, but ultimately can’t.

Why in the world do Jack and Elizabeth have a romantic subplot in this movie? Why oh why oh why?

I do understand what these scenes are meant to represent (besides giving Jack and Elizabeth something to do while Will is on the Dutchman). Elizabeth is tempted by the freedom and adventure that Jack represents, especially in contrast to the stability a life with Will would provide. That’s legitimate, and good, and I sign off on that, but to have her giggle like a schoolgirl over Jack when he is being neither funny nor charming is laying it on rather thick. Yes, she flirted with him in the first movie, but what made those scenes so perfect was that she didn’t actually mean it.

Jack’s attraction to Elizabeth, by contrast, is pretty much purely surface level. And while, once again, that’s both in-character and entirely reasonable…

I'll just leave this here.

… it doesn’t do much to aid Jack’s evolution as a character in the way that the film is so clearly aiming for. Were this relationship to become a thing for whatever reason, only one party would need to change in a substantial way. That’s just the ending of Grease. And people don’t really like the ending of Grease. Believe me. You can ask the Internet.

Mr. Gibbs Says: Even an old sea dog like m’self can see that Master William earned Elizabeth’s love – not with gold, or other shiny things of a valuable nature, but through his dedication to her and his willingness to leave his comfort zone. The Captain’s a good man, mark me, but those be two things that, more often than not, are very foreign to ‘im. It’s a shame Elizabeth never laid out the difference between the two men in so many words… Jack would’ve waved it off, no doubt, as is his way – he may have even planted some doubts in her own mind – but he'd also be given a reason to take a good hard look at his life, something he could have stood to do a long time ago.

Speaking of things we should have done a long time ago, let’s talk about Jack’s arc. It’s evident to any viewer what that arc is supposed to be. Governor Swann sets it up early on in a line to Will: “That you would risk your life to save Sparrow’s does not mean that he would do the same for anyone else.”

He’s quickly proven right, as Jack almost immediately ships Will off to serve Davy Jones in his place. The Captain does attempt to haggle his way out of it first, since he’s not a complete monster, but he’s ultimately content to give himself credit for trying. On top of that, he’s willing to condemn 99 other men to the same fate. And yet, at the same time, he’s visibly conflicted; his compass no longer works because he isn’t sure what he wants anymore, and Elizabeth insists, in no uncertain terms, that the time will come when Jack is forced to make a choice, and prove himself to be a good man.

Sure enough, during the climactic Kraken attack, Jack is faced with a choice: run away and let his friends continue to fight his battles for him, or step up. He checks his compass one last time (in a nice touch, we don’t see where it points him) and returns to the ship. Yes, it’s only so that everyone else can run away with him, but hey, baby steps. Then things get messy. As everyone else escapes, Elizabeth tells Jack she’s proud of him, distracts him with a kiss… and promptly handcuffs him to the mast. To be clear, that is a strong character moment for Elizabeth, but it also robs Jack of all his agency. His earlier failings, the blatant foreshadowing – it was all for nothing. The only choice he actually gets to make is whether he will die bravely or die screaming. His is not a hero’s death. In fact, it’s a villain’s death, and I don’t just mean in broad strokes. I mean down to the way it’s shot.

Look at this. The way he’s so pleased with himself for escaping that he fails to notice the beast coming up behind him. I’ve watched this kind of scene before. You’ve watched this kind of scene before. This is how bad guys in monster movies get their comeuppance. And while Jack is a bad dude, comeuppance is very blatantly not what this movie has primed us to expect.

Jack was prepared to sacrifice the Pearl – which is a big step for him any way you look at it – but giving a character a moment of growth, only to immediately ask even more of them and find them wanting, does a fair bit to undercut that moment of growth, wouldn’t you say? It’s interestingly subversive, but I don’t feel comfortable declaring that subversive is what the writers were going for. The dramatic irony of the development certainly clashes with the tone of the subsequent tearful tribute and decision to rescue Jack from the depths.

Mr. Gibbs Says: So long as we’re discussin’ the Pearl’s battle with the Kraken, I’d like to get somethin’ off me chest. All along I had sorta hoped that Master Will, having been the only living soul to survive a Kraken attack, might have picked up on some sort of weakness that would have allowed us to best it.

Perhaps a habit of showin' its mouth in such a way that explosives could be dropped inside, should a crew be willing to sacrifice their ship as a form o' bait.

Of course, being swallowed isn’t always like to set off gunpowder, and certainly not rum. Could be that if it failed to go off, some brave soul would have to follow those kegs into the maw of the beast. To offer up a parting shot, as it were.

Mind, I don’t mean to question Will’s bravery or intelligence. It just seems to me that, if we were going to let Davy Jones get away, and lose the Pearl and Captain Jack besides, the least we could have done was take the bloody beast down with us. The next we saw of the damned thing, it was dead anyway.

With that, we’ve just about reached the end – or perhaps end of the middle, in keeping with our theme – but I do want to go on the record about one more thing:

The Isla Cruces sequence (the one with the three-way swordfight and giant wheel) is one of my favorite setpieces in all of action cinema. It’s not perfect, but there simply doesn’t exist a world where I would cut any of it out. It’s astoundingly fun. I have nothing else to say. I just wanted to be sure you knew that.

I will leave you, then, with a thought experiment that Mr. Gibbs was very keen on performing. He was eager to try and devise an ending for this movie that limits all the Davy Jones elements to a single film, without requiring any massive changes and still leaving enough loose ends for the conclusion of the trilogy. Personally, I don’t think it can be done – Bootstrap and the mystery of Jones’ love life are too significant to be left hanging – but were it possible, it would get my full support, so as I say my farewells, I give my faithful first mate the floor.

Mr. Gibbs Says: Picture it now: all our japes on Isla Cruces shake out roughly as they did, with one key difference. The former Commodore fails to take note of Tricky Jack’s sleight of hand, stealin’ only the empty chest alongside his letters of marque. The heart, meanwhile, stays safe and sound in Jack’s jar o’ dirt, a jar that just so happens to make its way into the bundle o’ gunpowder and rum during our bout with the Kraken. This bundle is then fed to the big beastie – for y’see, in my version, Will was a bit more helpful – but as we feared, it fails to blow. As we escape, the Captain, seein’ no other way out, chooses to stay behind in a moment o’ genuine heroism.

From aboard the accursed decks o’ the Flyin’ Dutchman, Davy Jones watches the Pearl vanish into the depths, no doubt gloatin’ in that blubbery way o’ his. But old Jack’s sudden nobility makes him rightfully suspicious. He opens the chest, only to find it empty. With his last breath, he curses Jack Sparrow as an explosion destroys both the Kraken and the heart, Jones turnin’ to ash in front of his crew’s very eyes.

With its captain dead, the Dutchman’s hold over the crew is broken, and they return to human form before bein’ allowed to pass on into the afterlife as they were always meant to do. From across the great expanse o’ sea, Will and his father share one final smile by way of a goodbye. Seems to me like a happy enough ending, Jack’s misfortune aside.

BUT! Back at Port Royal, in the offices o’ Lord Cutler Beckett, James Norrington still has himself an offer to make. He may not have the heart of Davy Jones as he had hoped, but he does have something almost as good: the Flyin’ Dutchman herself, the scourge o’ the sea, freshly adrift and in need of a new crew.

Sends shivers down your spine, don’t it? 

No? Ah well.

Maybe it’s just the rum.

"*Squawk!* Seven threes! Seven threes! *Squawk!*"

"Damned cheatin' parrot…"