And a bottle of rum
What do they know? Audiences. Those people. They shelled out two million bucks with their frozen mitts to see Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest over the weekend, easily outstripping rubbish about crazy albinos or a fellow in tights. But enough about Rob's private life.
Is Pirates 2 any good? The Guardian thought that it captured some of the high-seas high spirits of the first film but took a while to get there, and the NY Times figured we were being slightly bullied into having fun.
I have to say that after noting warnings of its 154-minute running time, I expected a few yawns and a dirty needle scratching a familiar plot groove – the by now tired old rocker schtick from Johnny Depp, Keira Knightley doing damsel derring-do, Orlando Bloom glomming through whatever he does, lots of aaargh-land-ahoys from motley crews. And it was. But that was perfectly okay.
What it also was a terrific blend of CGI and prosthetic – the people behind the Davy Jones' band of human-sea creatures should take a saikeirei-type bow for their freaky efforts, and the kraken keyboard-jockeys should do just the same. And you gotta love your black-toothed voodoo princess.
If you tried to flog the final plot in Hollywood tomorrow, you'd be pointed eye-rollingly to Robert McKee's class. It's about as curly and frayed as Captain Jack Sparrow's chin braids. I counted three different Caribbean islands visited, several crews and reserves, twists, confusions, silliness, scenes that go on far too long because they're fun, and some thoroughly unnecessary gristly violence.
Depp, as Shparra', in his vaguely estuary-ish drunken piratical whisper, keeps to the script, whatever it says, including stuff about ruined weddings, aforementioned voodoo child, islands of cannibals, ships of half-dead men and pre-refrigeration organ transplants. At one point, I swear I thought he was going to climb a tree in search of enlightenment or coconuts. It just keeps on rolling.
Is Pirates 2 any good? The Guardian thought that it captured some of the high-seas high spirits of the first film but took a while to get there, and the NY Times figured we were being slightly bullied into having fun.
I have to say that after noting warnings of its 154-minute running time, I expected a few yawns and a dirty needle scratching a familiar plot groove – the by now tired old rocker schtick from Johnny Depp, Keira Knightley doing damsel derring-do, Orlando Bloom glomming through whatever he does, lots of aaargh-land-ahoys from motley crews. And it was. But that was perfectly okay.
What it also was a terrific blend of CGI and prosthetic – the people behind the Davy Jones' band of human-sea creatures should take a saikeirei-type bow for their freaky efforts, and the kraken keyboard-jockeys should do just the same. And you gotta love your black-toothed voodoo princess.
If you tried to flog the final plot in Hollywood tomorrow, you'd be pointed eye-rollingly to Robert McKee's class. It's about as curly and frayed as Captain Jack Sparrow's chin braids. I counted three different Caribbean islands visited, several crews and reserves, twists, confusions, silliness, scenes that go on far too long because they're fun, and some thoroughly unnecessary gristly violence.
Depp, as Shparra', in his vaguely estuary-ish drunken piratical whisper, keeps to the script, whatever it says, including stuff about ruined weddings, aforementioned voodoo child, islands of cannibals, ships of half-dead men and pre-refrigeration organ transplants. At one point, I swear I thought he was going to climb a tree in search of enlightenment or coconuts. It just keeps on rolling.
Other than that, you're on your own. I recommend smuggling in some rum for your coke. Yo ho ho.
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