Who Wants to Live Forever?

From regions beyond, something unholy and decaying arises.

Long thought dead, it shambles haltingly back into the realm of the living, a twisted mockery of life itself.

 

No, it’s not a zombie pirate. And it’s not the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise either, you snarky bugger. (Although, fair.)

 

It’s this blog!

Hi!

My first official post here at Mike Overthinks Movies, as you may – or more likely, may not – remember, was about Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl, coinciding with that film’s tenth anniversary. In the years that followed, my infrequent returns to this digital inkwell have mostly been a matter of ticking off the ten-year anniversaries of the Pirates installments that followed, culminating in 2017 with my long-winded and granular analysis of the series’ then-conclusion: Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End.

 

But then they made another movie! For some reason. So now I have to make another blog post. Because… well, that’s my brain for you.

 

That’s right, the fourth Pirates film, On Stranger Tides, turns ten years old today. I feel great about that fact. I am not at all terrified by the ravages of time. No siree.

 

But you know who IS terrified by the ravages of time? Captain Jack Sparrow! Which is precisely why he’s resumed his ongoing quest for immortality, this time seeking it via the mythical Fountain of Youth.

Hooray for segues!!

On Stranger Tides was conceived as a deliberate attempt to take the Pirates franchise in a new direction following the conclusion of the Will Turner/Elizabeth Swann story that made up the first three films. Rather than maintain the intricate, continuity-focused plotting of Dead Man’s Chest and At World’s End, the retooled series would instead follow in the footsteps of Indiana Jones or Mad Max: the only thing guaranteed to carry over from movie to movie would be Jack Sparrow himself, with anything beyond that being up for grabs. This, to me, always felt like a pretty significant leap to attempt, given that, well… the second and third movies had already been made. The on-ramp to “fun, stand-alone romps” was way back in the end credits of Black Pearl, and by the time of this film’s release, that was already eight years in the rear-view. Still, I can get behind the idea, and my problems with this film lie primarily with the execution.

 

Speaking of execution…

Segues!!

On Stranger Tides begins in London with the trial of Captain Jack Sparrow, who has been captured and now faces a death sentence at the hands of the King’s justice. Luckily for Jack, he is not actually the defendant in the case against him. That honor goes to his faithful (and falsely identified) first mate, Mr. Joshamee Gibbs. And luckily for Mr. Joshamee Gibbs, the judge presiding over this sham trial is not a real judge, but rather Jack Sparrow himself.

 

Following a botched escape attempt, Jack finds himself in an audience with King George II, who moves to enlist him on a voyage to follow the trail of Ponce de León’s seemingly failed expedition for the fabled Fountain of Youth. Jack, it seems, doesn’t fancy himself a privateer, so following another, slightly less botched escape attempt, he finds himself in a seafarer’s tavern, where he is informed that Jack Sparrow is in town seeking a crew. Given that HE is Jack Sparrow, and he is NOT seeking a crew, Jack is understandably perplexed by this, until he discovers that the Sparrow doing the recruiting is in fact his old flame Angelica, posing as the Captain for the sake of clout.

 

You may pause here and notice the already twice-occurring motif of a fake Jack Sparrow. You may wonder: Is this setting up something bigger? A pattern of doppelgangers that will run throughout the movie? Maybe a philosophical question of who the “real” Jack Sparrow is, hiding behind the easily imitated façade of his bravado and drunken swagger?

 

Nope. It goes nowhere. It’s just a thing that happens twice.

Good instincts, though!

Anyway, Angelica tries to enlist Jack on a voyage to follow the trail of Ponce de León’s seemingly failed expedition for the fabled Fountain of Youth. He starts to refuse, but is struck with a dart that knocks him unconscious, and he awakens several days later below decks of the Queen Anne’s Revenge, the infamous ship captained by the legendary Blackbeard, a.k.a. Edward Teach. And what do you know, it turns out Blackbeard – along with Angelica, his daughter – is on a voyage to follow the trail of Ponce de León’s seemingly failed expedition for the fabled Fountain of Youth.

 

If it feels like I’m hammering this point home, that’s because I think it speaks to one of On Stranger Tides’ primary shortcomings. The film’s writers (Ted Elliot and Terry Rossio, returning once again from the first three installments) desperately want to send Jack to the Fountain of Youth. Jack is surrounded on all sides by characters who are actively seeking the Fountain of Youth. Jack himself has every reason to want to find the Fountain of Youth, since he’s still trying to achieve immortality after making the difficult choice to give it up back in At World’s End. But rather than lean into this obvious angle, we meet Jack having already abandoned the quest, and by the film’s halfway point, when he learns that the Fountain’s gift requires sacrificing the life of another, he’s renounced it entirely. Instead, the plot is engineered in a way that literally forces Jack to go after the Fountain largely against his will.

Besides being unsatisfying, this creates a real problem. With Will and Elizabeth gone, Jack is finally, unambiguously positioned as the franchise’s main character. But in this, his first solo outing, Jack might just be the least motivated we’ve ever seen him. Despite being the protagonist, he continues to be written like a supporting character: contributing to the action while never truly pursuing a goal of his own.

 

Now, sure, across the film’s first two acts, Jack DOES a lot of things. He attempts a mutiny aboard the Revenge… but only after Blackbeard shanghaies him. He blows up the lighthouse at Whitecap Bay… but only after Blackbeard starts a mermaid feeding frenzy. He jumps off a waterfall and retrieves Ponce de León’s chalices from the Spanish camp… but only after Blackbeard threatens Angelica’s life if he doesn't. This is, quite frankly, not the Jack Sparrow I recognize from the first three films. The Jack Sparrow of the original trilogy wanted very many things very badly, and was always, always, working to get them, even when nobody else noticed. Not so in On Stranger Tides. Time and again, the character who takes decisive action to drive the plot forward – the character who, by rights, earns the title of protagonist here – is Blackbeard. That’s an interesting choice, and one that could have worked if Blackbeard was more nuanced. But alas, there’s very little depth to him at all. He’s scared of death, just like Jack is, and is willing to kill, brutalize, and torture in order to escape it, just like Jack isn’t. He’s going after the Fountain because that’s what he’s decided he wants, and his motives never change or falter. The only person who's truly in a position to oppose him is Jack... but Jack also wants the Fountain – or at least wouldn’t say no to it – and as such, the path of least resistance is for him to go along for the ride. The result is a movie where things keep happening, but nobody ever makes any choices.

 

And actually, before we get too far away from it, I want to say something about that waterfall.

 

The Fountain of Youth is supposed to be in Florida, right?

Meaning this is... Florida?

Mr. Gibbs Says: The highest naturally occurrin' point in Florida is Britton Hill, with a relative elevation o' 65 feet. There's a public park there now. It's lovely.

 

Oh, right. Mr. Gibbs’ whole thing in this one is that he memorized Sao Feng’s secret map. That’s convenient. Thanks, Mr. Gibbs!

 

In all fairness, I won’t try to argue against the notion that Jack is at his best in a reactive role. The beauty of Captain Jack Sparrow is that he’s not a planner. In any given moment, he can and will figure out what he needs to do to get him out of his current predicament, and execute those actions flawlessly. He just… doesn’t often think about any of the moments beyond that. That back-and-forth rhythm of “out of the frying pan, into the fire, out of that fire, into a bigger fire, back into the frying pan” is exactly what makes him so entertaining to watch. Elliot and Rossio obviously understand this – they created him, after all – and perhaps they were scared of pushing him too far away from that dynamic, which I can sympathize with. The problem On Stranger Tides faces is that I don’t think the pair made the right adjustments for where Jack sits in this particular story, nor do I think it would have been too hard to do so.

 

One of the most beloved reactive characters in all of film – someone else who famously makes things up as he goes along, and who somewhat controversially fails to impact the overall plot of his flagship film – has already been mentioned earlier in this post: I’m talking, of course, about Indiana Jones.

 

In recent years, it has been observed by some… zealous Internet commenters (I would be harsher, but, well… look at the name of this blog) that the primary events of Raiders of the Lost Ark, complete with the villains’ untimely demises, would still end up occurring even if Indy had never tossed his iconic hat into the ring. Whether or not you agree with this assessment, the fact remains that Indy does spend a lot of the movie playing catch-up, in a race for the Ark against enemies whose progress toward their goal is largely independent from his own. This setup really isn’t all that different from On Stranger Tides, when you think about it: Blackbeard is more than capable of finding the Fountain without Jack’s help – seriously, why was Angelica so insistent on bringing him? – and Jack’s primary concern is figuring out what to do once they finally get there.

 

What’s different about Raiders is that, despite the parallel plots, Indy is always fundamentally driven. Just as the Nazis could still find the Ark without Indy and Marion, Indy and Marion could potentially find the Ark without the Nazis, and they’re working to do just that. Even after the Ark is lost, Indy keeps pressing on, motivated by a desire to keep Marion safe. On Stranger Tides tries to set up a similar relationship between Jack and Angelica, in which he feels obligated to protect his former love from the side of Blackbeard that she's blind to, but I don't think they sell that idea hard enough. Actually watching the film, it’s hard not to feel that, if it weren’t for Blackbeard, Jack would still be in London getting drunk with his dad.

 

Mr. Gibbs Says: London covers a total area o’ 1,579 square kilometers. The tidal rise o’ the Thames River, which runs through it, is 7 meters.

Oh, Mr. Gibbs. Is this really what you've been reduced to? Map facts?

 The Pirates franchise has always been full to bursting with characters who make promises they have no intention of keeping, and I know for a fact that Elliot and Rossio know how to write those sorts of gambits and double-bluffs. The plot even gives us a built-in bit of rock-paper-scissors logic: Jack needs Blackbeard’s ship, Angelica needs Jack’s knowledge of the map (I think), and Blackbeard needs Angelica’s daughterly affection. If the entire movie had been an extended exercise in those three subtly using one another for their own gain, competing to see who had the best poker face, things could have been much more interesting, and more propulsive to boot. In the film as it stands, Angelica is the only character who isn’t completely up-front with their intentions from the jump, which drains almost all the tension from the situation. Perhaps there’s something to be said for the simplicity that change brings, but I’ll say it again: it doesn’t sound anything like the series I know and love.

 

When I first saw On Stranger Tides a decade ago, my gut reaction was to call it a solid second-place finisher among its brethren -- below the original, of course. The two-part epic that came between them was just too overwhelming and confusing for my younger self. I’ve since come around on those other two movies (at least comparatively speaking), and looking back on this film now, ten years older and… let’s say four years wiser, I could hardly disagree with my gut more. I’m still not entirely convinced that this is a bad movie, but what I do know is that it represents a serious missed opportunity. Here more than ever, Jack is placed front and center within the narrative, and nothing at all is done with him. I’m not even sure he grows or changes at any point. The vague dichotomy set up between Jack and Blackbeard, in which both want to live forever but only one will harm others to achieve it, isn’t interrogated at all, especially since this isn’t a stance that Jack adopts after witnessing Blackbeard’s cruelty. He’s already arrived at it thanks to the previous film. In fact, the very first thing we see Jack do in this outing is risk his neck to help a friend in need, an act that would have been nearly unthinkable for the Jack of Dead Man’s Chest. While I guess that does represent growth for the character overall, this film, specifically, fails to push it any further, and that’s a disappointment, to say the least.

 

Ah well.

 

At least it still gave us a pretty lady to look at.

What? I HAD to include a picture of the pretty lady! It's tradition!

 

That’s all for now. See you all in.... *sigh* … six years.

At Wit's End

I have thought about At World’s End more than you have.

More specifically, I have thought about the writing that went into At World’s End more than you have. If you really, truly, think that you’ve expended more mental energy on this film’s plot than me, there’s a good chance that you are either Gore Verbinski, Ted Elliot, or Terry Rossio, in which case I would like to say hello, thank you for reading, and that I am a big fan of your work.

In all seriousness, At World’s End is a film that has vexed me for years – not because I hate it, or even dislike it. I actually like it a lot. I simply remain convinced, down to the very core of my being, that it could have been better, and for the life of me I cannot confidently identify how.

Nevertheless, At World’s End turns ten years old this week, which means, as was the case with The Curse of the Black Pearl and Dead Man’s Chest before it, it’s time for me to finally try quantifying those thoughts for all you nice people to politely skim.

A word of warning: I am really going to be digging into this one. We’re going deep, especially at the end. That’s why I would advise you to re-watch the movie before reading this. However, given that the movie is three hours long, I have a backup plan. Namely, summarizing the plot as concisely and in as much detail as possible. The problem is... I don’t want to do that. It sounds hard. So to pick up the slack, I’ve once again called upon the help of my trusty first mate and reliable performer of thankless tasks: Mr. Joshamee Gibbs.

"Take what ya can. Give nothin' back.
Seriously, the job market's terrible. I'm doin' this on commission."

Whenever you’re ready, sir!

Mr. Gibbs Says: The pirate world is starin’ down the barrel of a full-on crisis. Lord Cutler Beckett, head of the East India Trading Company, has gained command o’ the Flyin’ Dutchman, the scourge o’ the sea, and is usin’ it to massacre pirate crews left an’ right. This is all according to Beckett’s plan, o’ course, for by whittling down our options, we pirates are forced to turn to our last resort: the Summoning Song is sung, and the Brethren Court is called.

Meanwhile, in Singapore, Jack’s crew (sans Jack, and plus one Hector Barbossa) seek an audience with the Pirate Lord Sao Feng, hoping to be loaned a ship and some men, in addition to certain very special navigational charts. Sadly – or should I say luckily – the whole thing goes pear-shaped, and when the EITC attacks, it finally occurs to Sao Feng just who the enemy of his enemy is.

From there, we travel to the world’s end and brave Davy Jones’ Locker, where we find ourselves reunited with our dear Cap’n. On the way home, Elizabeth catches a glimpse o’ her father, Governor Swann, who was killed after learnin’ too much about the heart o’ Davy Jones. Turns out that whoever stabs the heart must give up ‘is own and take Jones’ place. The Dutchman must have a captain, after all.

Back in the world of the living, we enjoy the shortest of respites, durin’ which Barbossa convinces Jack to join him at the Brethren Court. But soon enough, we encounter more bad news. See, in all the commotion, Master Will – facing, as he was, both a treason charge and the eternal torment of his twice-cursed father’s pirate soul – had struck a deal with both Sao Feng AND Beckett, and both were lyin’ in wait for us when we returned. Will’s offer was to hand over Jack in exchange for the Pearl, the only ship on the seven seas fast enough to run down the Dutchman. O’course, bein’ a pirate, Sao Feng isn’t exactly inclined to follow through on his half of the bargain, takin’ the Pearl for hisself. O’course, bein’ a conniving businessman with no moral compass t’ speak of, Beckett gets the same idea. No sooner has Sao Feng wrested the Pearl from Will’s grasp than he loses it in turn.

Onboard Beckett’s flagship, the Endeavor, Jack strikes up a deal o’ his own: he’ll lead Beckett to this mass gathering of pirates, on the condition that he be spared in the massacre Beckett has planned. Surely he simply forgot to include his loyal first mate in that assessment.

Barbossa does manage to reason with Sao Feng, bringin’ him back into the pirate fold by revealing the Ace he’s got hidden up his sleeve: Calypso, a goddess bound in human form, powerful enough to stop Jones, Beckett, and the EITC – but it’ll take the entire Brethren Court to free her. Sao Feng agrees, though he insists on takin’ a little leverage along: in this case, Miss Elizabeth, who the Pirate Lord had erroneously pegged as bein’ the goddess Barbossa spoke of.

The mistake be a reasonable one, says I. 

T’ make a long story short, we reclaim the Pearl, make a daring escape from Beckett’s forces, and split up with Sao Feng, both headed to Shipwreck Cove, where the Brethren Court hold… er… court, I s’pose. The Pearl is swift, but Sao Feng’s ship, the Empress, ain’t so lucky, as it falls victim to Jones and his Dutchman. A dying Sao Feng passes his Piece of Eight on to Elizabeth, makin’ her one o’ the nine Pirate Lords, as she and the rest o’ the survivors are brought aboard the ghost ship. There she encounters Will’s father, ol’ Bootstrap Bill, who warns her once more about the curse that awaits Jones’ killer.

O’course, for good ol’ Jack, that curse is lookin’ more and more like an opportunity: an eternal life on the sea – with one day ashore every ten years, to stock up on rum and other such essentials. He says as much to Master Will, after catchin’ him in the act of leaving his own trail for Beckett. With a wink and a shove, he sends Will over the edge, a victim of his own treachery.

Back on the Dutchman, Elizabeth and her crew are freed by the lady’s erstwhile fiancé, Admiral James Norrington – now in Beckett’s employ – though the gesture costs ‘im his life. Will, meanwhile, gets picked up by the Endeavor, where he discovers that Jones hisself was the one who taught the Brethren Court how to imprison Calypso, his former lover. Will demands he, Elizabeth, and his father all walk free. In exchange, he’ll guide Beckett to Shipwreck Cove, using the magic compass that tricky Jack had slipped him.

As the Brethren Court prepares to meet, Tia Dalma (née Calypso) reminds Barbossa that she didn’t bring him back to life out o’ the kindness o’ her heart. She wants to be freed, so she can take revenge on those who imprisoned her those eons ago. Hector makes his case to the Court, but Elizabeth favors all-out war, an action that only a Pirate King may declare. Jack, notin’ that parley also falls under a Pirate King’s jurisdiction, calls for a vote, and casts his ballot for Elizabeth, breakin’ a potential nine-way tie. King Swann sets up a meetin' with Beckett and Jones, exchangin' Jack for Will and puttin’ him aboard the Dutchman, just as the Cap’n wanted.

Barbossa, over Elizabeth’s protestations, performs the ceremony to free Calypso. Will tells her o’ Jones’ betrayal, and she slips away into the sea, causin’ the mightiest storm this old hand’s ever seen.

The Pearl and the Dutchman take each other on, though Will and Elizabeth, in a case o’ what I would call questionable priorities, find the time to join hands in holy matrimony. By and by, Jack finds hisself holdin’ Davy Jones’ heart hostage, only for the squid-faced fiend to create a whole new mess by stabbin’ poor Master Will through the heart. Facin’ a tough choice, the Cap’n allows young William to stab the heart in his place, and the storm breaks as Jones, now dead, falls into the drink.

With the Dutchman now under Will’s command, it and the Pearl broadside the Endeavor, destroying it and killing Beckett. The rest of his fleet turns tail, leaving the age o’ Piracy to continue on just a mite longer.

…

Whew. Everybody okay?

As you can see, this is a plot that features a lot of moving parts, especially near the middle. Everyone kind of explodes out in all directions to whizz around for a while before suddenly regrouping. Which is pretty standard for storytelling. After all, if the first act is about establishing a problem, and the third act is about solving it, the second act should, in theory, be about acquiring the tools – both mental and physical – that are necessary to solve it. What strikes me about this particular story, then, is that when you break it down, not that many tools are acquired during that middle bit, and the ones that are tend to be pieces of information. (One of those pieces of information – that whoever stabs the heart of Davy Jones must become the Dutchman’s new captain – is acquired extremely early on, and yet goes on to be acquired a second time after that. Perhaps just to make sure we don’t forget?)

Instead, the priority seems to be maneuvering the various pieces into their proper positions for the endgame. The result is a movie that has a lot happening to little effect, or at least relatively inconsequential effect. Take, for instance, the three-person scene between Will, Beckett, and Jones aboard the Endeavor. I do quite like it, not least of all because it features this exchange:

“You betrayed her.”
“SHE betrayed ME!”
“And after which betrayal did you cut out your heart, I wonder?”

Oh, snap.

Nice, right? It’s a well-written line, and it shades in Jones’ character. But the only thing that scene truly accomplishes is revealing to Will – and the audience – that Jones taught the Brethren Court how to bind Calypso. Will also hands over Jack’s compass to Beckett, allowing him to find Shipwreck Cove, but both Will and Jack had already promised to lead him there, and Will was doing so from aboard the Pearl. So the question becomes: is this revelation about Jones information that Will, specifically, needs to know? He does use it later in the film to send Calypso after Jones and the Dutchman, but that storm-whirlpool combo isn’t exactly what I’d call a targeted attack. So I would have to say that, no, it is not.

And yet, what happens to make this scene possible?

Mr. Gibbs Says: First things first, the Cap’n needs to throw Master Will overboard. That’s simple enough, o’course, but then, ol’ Jack’s never come across a task he couldn’t approach with a hearty bit o’ flair. So it still takes a couple o’ minutes. Subsequent to that, he has to find his way back to us, which Elizabeth manages during the parley, when she hands Jack over to Jones as an exchange. Naturally, the Code is quite clear on the fact that only a Pirate King can call fer such a parley, which means we find ourselves needin’ to backtrack even farther, and ensure that Elizabeth finds herself on the Empress when the time comes for Sao Feng to shuffle off this mortal coil. And THAT bit o’ difficulty can’t be sorted out unless Sao Feng believes, at least for a time, that our fair Elizabeth and the goddess Calypso are one and the same. It’s all a bit… much.

I want to be clear – this isn’t sloppy writing. Every action is motivated, with nothing happening simply because it ‘has to.’ And these intricate gambits are executed with a high degree of elegance. One little bit of intricacy that I love is the fact that the sword Will gets stabbed with in the end is the very same sword he makes for Norrington in the first film, and that Norrington uses to justify dropping the charges against him in its final scene. That’s pretty neat. No, my argument is simply that intricate gambits aren’t necessary in the telling of this story. Because, in spite of the way Mr. Gibbs made it sound, the plot of this film is extremely simple. To be honest, from beginning to end, only four things truly NEED to happen.

1. Jack needs to be brought back from the Locker, so that the Brethren Court can be assembled (and also because we miss him).
2. The Brethren Court needs to meet, so that they can declare war on Beckett and Barbossa can collect his Pieces of Eight.
3. Beckett needs to find Shipwreck Cove, so that he can engage the pirates in battle.
4. Jack and Will need to get aboard the Flying Dutchman, so that one of them can stab the heart of Davy Jones.

Everything else that happens, with the minor exception of Barbossa’s Calypso subplot, is simply a means to one of these ends. The chain of events I just laid out, while ultimately tying into the Calypso element as well, mostly occurs to facilitate that fourth goal of getting Jack on the Dutchman for the climax. By contrast, how does Will get on the Dutchman?

He swings aboard on a rope during the battle.

Kinda makes you wonder if Jack could have done that as well.

So, okay. It’s pretty convoluted, but that’s fine, as long as the logic checks out (it does, mostly – but we’ll get back to that), and as long as the character work is strong enough to make us care. In other words, it’s time for my favorite subject: arcs.

Pirates, Cursed Seamen, and Trade Magnates: What Are Their Arcs? Do They Have Arcs?? Let's Find Out!

As was the case with Dead Man’s Chest before it, At World’s End tries to be more of an ensemble movie than one built around a single protagonist. This time, we divide things up even more, offering us five characters with five different sets of goals.

• WILL needs THE BLACK PEARL to KILL DAVY JONES and SAVE HIS FATHER
• BARBOSSA needs JACK to ASSEMBLE THE BRETHREN COURT and FREE CALYPSO
• BECKETT needs ALL PIRATES IN ONE PLACE so that he can KILL THEM
• JACK needs TO BE ALIVE AGAIN so that he can LIVE FOREVER
• ELIZABETH is PRETTY MUCH JUST ALONG FOR THE RIDE AFTER ACT ONE

As we already noted, this makes the plot nice and twisty and (relatively) engaging, but it also makes it difficult to find an emotional through line. It would be nice if we could put the focus back on Will as we close out the trilogy, or even make Elizabeth the main protagonist, just so that everyone in the core trio gets a turn. But while our two star-crossed lovers certainly have the most things happen to them – as I said once before, they end the film as Pirate Grim Reaper and Pirate King, respectively – neither one undergoes any notable growth as a person. Elizabeth absolutely comes into her own as a capable woman who has surpassed any need of rescuing, but she’s arrived at that point before the film starts. (She might even have arrived at that point before the last film ended.) As for Will… y’know, he sure is there on screen. Walking around. Doing stuff. He really wants to save his dad, that Will. Good for him.

Pictured: Will Turner, doing his best

This all means that, once again, our hopes for a traditional protagonist rest on the shoulders of Captain Jack Sparrow. And, once again, Jack’s arc actually looks pretty good, in theory. It even does a lot to salvage the seemingly arc-derailing send-off that he got in the second movie. Let’s look at it while adding in the context from that earlier film:

Mr. Gibbs Says: The poor Cap’n’s been havin’ a rough go of things. After bein’ raked over the coals for his selfishness, Jack finally does something to help someone besides hisself, and it proves to be the death of him – in a sadly non-metaphorical sense. After his so-called friends (and faithful crew) miraculously return him to the world of the living, only to reveal that they got selfish reasons o’ their own, he decides that bein’ charitable just ain’t his bag. He’ll be looking out for hisself, first and foremost, and that means makin’ sure he never, EVER finds himself in that Locker a second time. And yet, at film’s end, with immortality restin’ in the palm of his hand – again, in a distinctly non-metaphorical sense – he chooses to be selfless, and gives it up for the sake o’ love. Someone else’s love, at that.

Like I said, that’s pretty good. I would rather the arc not have to span two movies, but the breaking point is well chosen, and length is essentially the only reason these are two movies anyway. What I’m getting at is, he has an interesting, nuanced starting point, and an ending point that provides closure. The difference between those starting and ending points is substantial enough to be satisfying, but small enough to make sense. That’s the frame of a good arc.

The problem, then, is that Jack’s movement through this arc isn’t very well motivated. You could argue that not a single thing that happens in this entire, two hour and fifty minute movie moves him in a direction where he would be willing to make that sacrifice. Elizabeth does nothing to make amends for her betrayal, Will doesn’t seem inclined to forgive and forget being handed over to Jones, and Jack shows no affection towards either one of them. In fact, if you’ll forgive the tangent, I would go so far as to say that none of the relationships, between any of the characters, are advanced at all in this film. For a movie this long – and one that closes out a trilogy, no less – that’s not great. The characters work with one another to further their own goals, but for Jack in particular, that’s true of literally anybody. And it means that all of our de facto hero’s growth happens in that singular moment aboard the Dutchman. His arc is… well, not really an arc so much as a choice.

There’s a charitable reading of this somewhere; while we can throw out the idea that Jack has always been a fundamentally good person – remember that he previously served Will to Davy Jones on a silver platter – he does always have his own best interests at heart. And I can see him being self-aware enough to recognize that this time, a selfless act really will be to his benefit in the long run. As his father points out to him, it’s not just about living forever. It’s about living with yourself, forever.

I honestly don’t know if I like that suggestion enough to forgive the misstep overall, because, as in the last movie, we can clearly see those dominoes being set up over the course of the first hour. But I will say that it’s close. It’s very close.

I don’t have much else left to say, except for one minor point. So in the spirit of the film, I’m going to use that one minor point to justify the inclusion of… well, of just a whole big thing. You’ll see.

There is a MAJOR plot hole in this film that I’m amazed no one else has picked up on, if only because there are scenes upon scenes dedicated to otherwise filling the space it occupies. Lord Beckett, after successfully forcing his opponents’ hand and bringing about a meeting of the Brethren Court, is in need of someone to lead him to their location. Over the course of the film, both Jack and Will promise to do this, and both of them fulfill that promise in their own way. At least half of the second act is dedicated to it, and this bargaining chip is the only reason Jack even escapes his confrontation with Beckett alive. Given that so many moving pieces go into his acquisition of this information, one gets the sense that Shipwreck Cove must be impossibly difficult for outsiders to find.

If only Beckett had an ally who had been there before.

Say, someone who had attended the very first meeting of the Brethren Court.

*Cough Cough*

Yeah. I don’t know what to tell you.

OR DO I?

Four years ago, in my first real post on this blog, I made the claim that At World’s End is about as well-told as it could possibly be, short of a page one rewrite.

So guess what I did?

No, it’s not REALLY a page one rewrite, but it definitely involves some substantial changes. Let’s just say that if my version went through WGA arbitration, I’d get a writing credit for sure. But I’m tired. So to lay it all out for you, I’m once again going to give Mr. Gibbs the floor.

Perhaps ye knows too much. Ye've seen the way I think. Ye know how I likes to talk. Now proceed at your own risk. These be the last friendly words you'll hear. You may not survive to pass this way again.

Mr. Gibbs Says: Before I say anythin’ more, we’re gonna have to make some changes lookin’ back. A year ago, I suggested an alternate ending to our last bit of excitement what ended with Cap’n Jack’s untimely demise. We’re going to assume, for our purposes, that this ending holds true, minus th' part where the Dutchman's crew goes free. And if’n you don’t feel like going back to check, suffice it to say that both the Kraken and Davy Jones are dead. Perhaps that sounds drastic to ye, but trust me, I know what I’m doin’.

That exchange aboard the Endeavor that we quoted above and all agreed was so nice? We’ll change it, just a touch, so it’s not so obviously Calypso bein’ discussed, and slot it into the last movie in place of the Liar’s Dice scene, which I never liked anyway.

Now then.

For a time at the beginning o’ this version, we’re gonna play coy about who’s captaining the Dutchman in Jones’ absence. Point o’ fact, that be the secret that Elizabeth’s father is killed for learnin’: not that the heart MUST be replaced, only that it HAS been.

The rest o’ the first hour wouldn’t change much, until we return from the Locker. Rather than a triple alliance, between Sao Feng, Will, and Beckett, Will has made separate alliances with each of ‘em, promising the Pearl to Sao Feng and Sao Feng (plus Jack) to Beckett. I reckon that gives Sao Feng more incentive t’ join us in the end, and clears up what everyone thought they were getting outta the deal. I fer one never understood why Sao Feng would want to risk a deal with Beckett when his only leverage was the promise of a lone, already-dead pirate. When we split up, both Elizabeth AND Will would go with Sao Feng – one as an honored guest, the other in the brig.

When the Dutchman attacks… aye, that’s where things get tricky. I can’t seem to shake the thought that Will shoulda been the one to become a Pirate Lord and then Pirate King – both for irony’s sake, given his hatred o’ pirates back in th' first film, and because his later death would return the Brethren Court to its status quo. But the title suits Elizabeth just as well, makin’ this, essentially, a matter o’ preference. What really matters is the revelation o’ the Dutchman’s new commanding officers: Ian Mercer, Beckett’s attack dog of a right-hand man, acting under the supervision of one James Norrington.

Elizabeth has the same confrontation with Norrington in regard to her father’s death, but now Master Will has a chance to speak with his father, face to waterlogged face. It’s here that we learn, fer the first time, that only the Dutchman’s captain can free a member of its crew, and that killin’ the captain brings about dire consequences. I reckon ye can be nice an’ leisurely-like with this sequence, considerin’ that the relationships between those on board are stronger, and there be no threat o’ Jones hangin’ over everyone’s head. When Norrington does eventually let the prisoners go, he belays Bootstrap’s attempt to raise an alarm, an order ye figure the elder Turner must be happy t’ obey. (I always did wonder how Elizabeth escaped the way she did, with the Dutchman’s crew on high alert and barely a minute’s head start.) When Mercer tries to give Norrington hell for it in the morning, the Admiral calls his bluff, sayin’ only that Beckett would be mighty cross should he end up dead.

From here, ye can either have Jack leave a trail for Beckett as he promised, or have William do it from the Empress, layin’ the groundwork for a deal with Mercer. Again, it’s a question o’ preference. (Though notice that with Jones out o’ the picture, the thought of Beckett needin’ help to find our hideaway regains its significance.)

When our trio reunites at Shipwreck Cove, Jack learns of this new possible immortality, and his clever mind gets right to work. He jumps ship on the Calypso idea, so t’ speak, and backs Will’s (or Elizabeth’s) plan for war. Once the king be elected (whichever o’ the two ye like), Jack sneaks off alone to board the Dutchman. No doubt gettin’ caught and tryin’ t’ invoke parley his own damned self.

Changes t’ the final battle would be minor, to a point. Jack fights Mercer for the key rather than Jones, but there still be a whole mess o’ confusion about. Will duels with Norrington, but when the Admiral nearly strikes down Elizabeth, come to help, Will acts on instinct and stabs his wife’s former fiancé through the chest, revealing that HIS – not Mercer’s – is the heart bound to the Dutchman.

Ol’ Jack arrives on the scene, heart in one hand, dagger in t’other, but Elizabeth pleads with the Cap’n not to do it. Norrington, if ye can believe it, feels less strongly about the whole thing. He doesn’t much care fer bein’ cursed, y’see, and welcomes Jack takin’ his place if that’s what he really wants. T’ prove his point, he drops his sword. Furious, a disarmed Mercer scoops the sword up and plants it into the nearest torso, which happens t’ belong to poor William. Seein’ this, Bootstrap dives on Mercer and… well, let’s just say he kills ‘im.

Observin’ his former love’s grief, Norrington offers his heart to Will – if Jack be willin’ to hand it over, that is. All eyes turn to him, and o’course, he does the right thing in the end. A dyin’ Norrington says his farewell to Elizabeth, and plunges into the sea, his sacrifice in the name o’ love calming Calypso’s fury an’ ending the storm. (I like the thought o’ seein’ his corpse send out a shockwave once it’s beneath the waves, sort of a parallel to Elizabeth’s necklace at the start o’ the first film. Bookends, and all that.)

The rest would play out just as it did. After all, if ye change EVERY part o’ somethin’, is it even that thing anymore? Huh. How’s that for a paradox? Came up with that meself, I did. Think I’ll call it the Ship O’ Gibbs Paradox. Aye.

So there you have it. A trilogy of films four years in the making becomes a trilogy of blogposts four years in the making. I feel like I should say something poetic to put a nice bow on things... but like I said, I’m tired. Mr. Cotton, you can have the last word. Don’t waste it.

"*Squawk!* Abandon ship! Abandon ship! *Squawk!*"

Oh, that's real nice.

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…"