‘DEAD MEN’ STILL SHOWS SIGNS OF LIFE
Captain Jack Sparrow’s fifth film foray finds him in worse-than-usual shape: He’s lost his luck, his ship, his crew, his parrot — everything but his mascara — while the ghost of his old nemesis Captain Salazar has escaped from the Devil's Triangle and is out to kill every beleaguered pirate at sea, with Jack at the top of the hit list.
The Pirates of the Caribbean, not unlike the Pirates of the Allegheny, are in a slump but striving hard to rise in the standings. The big difference is the relative value of the two franchises, but more on that later.
The nifty opening of “Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales” wastes no time showcasing the series’ signature special effects in dazzling underwater 3-D action. The delayed, breathlessly awaited entrance of Johnny Depp comes with his discovery — drunk, of course, and with a woman — inside a giant safe, followed by an amazing set-piece escape in which horses pull Cap’n Jack and his whole hideaway house away from British troops in hot pursuit.
That done, Jack learns his only hope for survival lies in finding Poseidon’s Trident — not the chewing gum, but the actual scepter (and its ancient operating manual), which gives the possessor total control of the seas. For this, he needs help from beautiful Carina (Kaya Scodelario), who is accused of being a witch but is, in fact, just a well-schooled astronomer and horologist — horology being the study of timepieces as well as a good source of jokes.
Carina, in turn, needs a love interest — and we need a handsome young male co-star — in the form of Henry Turner (Brenton Thwaites), son of Orlando Bloom’s heroic Will Turner in the first “Black Pearl” (2003) and “Dead Man's Chest” (2006) editions.
Javier Bardem as Salazar is wonderful, in his parched topographic makeup, as the villainous anti-pirate vigilante. Geoffrey Rush returns as Captain Hector Barbossa, who mutinied against Jack in “Black Pearl.” Nevermind that he died once or twice in the previous installments. Ms. Scodelario, of “Maze Runner” fame, is that rare, alluring combo of British-Brazilian, while Australian teen-throb Thwaites holds his own. There’s a cameo surprise or two. In the earlier films, Jack’s father was played by hoary old Rolling Stone Keith Richards. In this one, his uncle is played by hoary old Beatle Paul
McCartney!
I have no idea what Golshifteh Farahani or her tattooed character Shansa is doing here, but she does it with aplomb.
Co-directors Joachim Rønning and Espen Sandberg are not much aided by Jeff Nathanson’s screenplay, which juggles too many characters and back-story subplots, with too much snappy, sappy if occasionally funny dialogue (“If they disembowel you,” someone advises Jack, “ask for Victor — he’s got the softest hands.”).
But make no mistake: The special effects are truly spectacular. How Salazar’s crazy hair floats out toward us and the astonishing way his ghost ship “eats” the British ones is astonishing. So is the deadly attack of the dead sharks — “Jaws” revisited in the afterlife — people and carnivorous critters with parts of themselves missing.
And, at the risk of blasphemy, an astounding finale involving the parting of the sea puts Moses’ biblical miracle on the Red one to shame.
Fantastic visuals, an epic ride, never a dull moment in this coldly calculated, smoothly crafted concoction of action, slapstick and mumbo-jumbo magic. At 2 hours and 9 minutes, it’s the shortest of the five “Pirates” flicks and moves much faster than some previous installments. Hans Zimmer protege Geoff Zanelli provides an incessantly bombastic score, revved up to max decibels.
As for franchise value: It originated with the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland in 1967, one of the last overseen by Walt himself. Now — not counting all the other theme-park attractions, spinoff novels, video games, etc. — it’s the 11thhighest grossing franchise ever, with a $1.28 billion domestic and $3.73 billion global gross.
I’ve saved mentioning Johnny Depp’s performance because I revere (and fear and feel for) him: His Jack — slurring and stumbling around with boozy one-liners — has lost much of its original charm. His swash is buckling under the weight of self-parody and repetition.
This movie is fun. But with all due respect (to profits), I think it’s time to lower the Jolly Roger.