The Greatest Trick

A colleague of mine recently told me he was considering going to see Watchmen, but having read the comic, said he would first overdose on “happy” films like Singin’ in the Rain in order to counterbalance the negativity and darkness.

Watchmen is certainly a dark film, in every sense of the word. Those expecting Batman or Superman type heroics are in for a massive disappointment. Like the comic, this is a bleak, blood-soaked tale packed with sex and violence, where the “heroes” are not so much flawed but often downright reprehensible, capable of corruption, rape, murder and even playing God. By contrast, even the most repugnant of the “villains” are vested with redeeming qualities.

Set in a parallel 1985 where Vietnam was won and Nixon was elected five times, the story kicks off when the Comedian, a retired superhero, is murdered. His former colleague Rorschach (think Travis Bickle with a morphing ink-blot mask) is paranoid someone is picking off the group of superheroes he belonged to, the eponymous Watchmen.

Of the various former Watchmen, only one actually has superpowers. The enigmatic Dr Manhatten, a blue naked giant (no, really), was created Captain America style in a laboratory experiment gone wrong. Although he has served America over the years, even he does not think he can stop the impending nuclear war that everyone seems to think is inevitable. This impending threat is the backdrop to Rorschach’s investigations and as the story progresses, each of the other Watchmen – Nite Owl, Silk Spectre, Ozymandias (named after the Shelley poem) – have their elaborate stories explored in flashback.

Based on the celebrated graphic novel by Dave Gibbons and Alan Moore, this is an ambitious, complex and eagerly awaited work. The adaptation had been mooted several times over the years, and was even considered by such cinematic luminaries as Terry Gilliam and Paul Greengrass, but had always ended up in back in development hell. Eventually it was picked up by 300 director Zack Synder, but by this point Alan Moore wanted nothing more to do with Hollywood, and had his name removed from the film. He had always considered (as I had) that Watchmen was inherently unfilmable.

There are really three ways to approach adaptation. The first and obviously worst approach is to try to make it as commercially viable as possible, if necessary ignoring anything dark and difficult in the original text. Cinema history is littered with countless examples of such films, but comic fans will need only one film cited: Judge Dredd.

The second is to be slavishly faithful to the text, which is the approach Synder has taken despite inevitably losing chunks of the story, including the comic-within-a-comic Tales of the Black Freighter and the squid (fans will know what I’m talking about). However, this reverential (and in this case fanboyish) approach can lead to surprisingly timid and bloodless films – the first two Harry Potter pictures spring immediately to mind. Watchmen isn’t exactly bloodless or timid, but it is emotionally flat and probably incomprehensible to non-fans. Admittedly, the comic was radical in its epic approach, but the film just feels long and tedious. To be fair, there are some decent performances from the mostly unknown cast, including Billy Crudup, Malin Akerman, Matthew Goode, Jackie Earle Haley. Furthermore, Synder’s direction is often clever, framing shots so they appear like cells of the comic. However, it all feels like much ado about nothing. Even the soundtrack is badly judged. When I heard Simon and Garfunkel’s The Sound of Silence, I started to wish I was watching The Graduate. When I heard Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries, I started to wish I Was watching Apocalypse Now.

There is a third, and to my mind preferable, approach to adaptation: keep what is cinematic and reinvent the rest whilst remaining faithful to the spirit of the original. This is an extremely difficult trick to pull off, but it can be done. It involves subtracting what doesn’t work and adding something better. For instance Dangerous Liasons featured many changes from the text, but was so brilliant critics and audiences didn’t mind. The same is true of Hitchcock’s version of The 39 Steps, David Lean’s slimmed down Great Expectations, Michael Mann’s The Last of the Mohicans and even Peter Jackson’s take on The Lord of the Rings. Re-read the books and you’ll be surprised how much was changed or removed, but you’ll also admit that what was added made the films better. This is what ought to have happened with Watchmen. Divorced of the comic’s undeniably bold and innovative formatting, without reinvention what is left simply doesn’t hold together as a film.

On a moral note, the tone is relentlessly bleak and nihilistic in a way that appealed to me as a teenager, but not anymore. However, my main issue is with the film (and comics) attempts to grapple with difficult moral dilemmas in a frankly infantile way. For instance, the hoary old “do you kill millions to save billions” quandary rears its ugly head, but it is tackled in a banal and juvenile manner without bringing anything new to the argument. Spiritually this has a pointlessly pessimistic worldview where God is entirely absent. Add to that the presence of extremely graphic and bloody violence, sex, nudity and bad language this is something most Christian audiences will want to avoid. For all Watchmen’s supposed kudos as an “adult” comic, there is far more truth, honesty and intelligent grappling with difficult moral issues in Batman Begins and The Dark Knight (to give two recent examples).

Like my colleague, I can only suggest avoiding such negativity and watching Singin’ in the Rain instead.

Simon Dillon, March 2009.

The Manchurian Candidate was originally made in 1962, and starred Frank Sinatra as Captain Ben Marco, recently returned from the Korean War and troubled by strange dreams which lead him to question what actually happened when his platoon was ambushed. It touched on interesting subjects, such as brainwashing and the anti-Communist paranoia prevalent at the time, and was an effective thriller, if not exactly the most world-shattering movie event. This remake updates the setting to the Gulf War, but loses most of the interest along the way.

Marco, played this time by Denzel Washington, is suffering from strange dreams and the general feeling that things aren’t right. This is due to the fact that Raymond Shaw, former army buddy and winner of Congressional Medal of Honour for single-handedly saving their platoon during an ambush, is about to become Vice-President (manoeuvred into position by his mother, played by a grand-standing and scenery-chewing Meryl Streep). As Marco investigates his plight, and the events surrounding the ambush, it becomes clear that what he thinks happened is not the whole truth, and that he has to get to Shaw, who seems much less aware that his past is largely fabricated.

The problem is that we just don’t care enough. There are elements of the story that are supposed to be plot twists, or at least moderately surprising, but they just aren’t because of how the plot is set up in the first 40 minutes or so. In fact, from the moment that the viewer meets the three or four central characters, it is totally obvious what has happened in Kuwait several years ago, and the steps that have been taken to get where they are today. Washington is, as ever, dependable (read: dull), and Liev Schreiber as Shaw does a perfectly good job, but doesn’t really have a great deal to get his teeth into (unlike Marco at the end of the scene where they eat and chat together - about the only spark of surprise I felt while watching!) Meryl Streep was pretty unbelievable most of the time, from the patriotic yelling to the creepily intimate scenes, and the climax of the film, which was where the original really racked up the tension, was just lame and predictable. The most interesting thing about it, especially given the events of the past few weeks, is how it showed the circus-like nature of American politics, and how showbizzy it all is.

It felt too long, and yet at the same time was too quick to get into solving the central mystery - there was not enough distress for Washington before the pieces started to come together. And frankly, there was not enough distress for the viewer either - I felt totally distanced from the action and mostly bored. By some miracle I didn’t actually fall asleep, but maybe that’s more to do with watching it at a decent time of the evening! In terms of violence, there is some - some of the characters’ brainwashing is used to assassinate others - but other than that there is little to offend. Little to recommend it with, either.

Ben Stiller’s latest comedy satire Tropic Thunder ought to have been a classic given the amount of money spent on it. Unfortunately, I didn’t laugh nearly as much as I would have liked, and therefore took a much dimmer view of the comic but gruesome violence, profanity, and general insanity. John Landis pulled a similar, albeit cleaner, PG rated trick in 1986 with Three Amigos, and although that was no classic, it’s a better film.

To be fair, the premise is good. A bunch of egotistical actors making a war film are given a harsh dose of reality when accidentally left in the middle of a genuine war, all the time thinking they are still filming. The lead actors – Ben Stiller, Jack Black, Jay Baruchel, Brandon T Jackson and especially Robert Downey Jr – are all good, and there are amusing cameos from the likes of Steve Coogan and a near unrecognisable Tom Cruise.

There are also some very funny moments, particularly at the beginning with faux trailers that introduce us to the various actors. The high levels of bloody violence seen in recent war films are also spoofed to amusing effect, and one bit in the middle involving a Panda had me in genuine hysterics. But the movie is way too long, and feels bloated.

The problem with reviewing a film like Tropic Thunder for a moral/spiritual perspective, is that in saying what I must say – ie that it has no redeeming value whatsoever – will turn off one audience, and turn on another. A certain recipient of these epistles told me that whenever I say I cannot in good conscience recommend a particular film, it automatically goes to the top of his must-see list. Therefore, this person now has another film he will go out of his way to view, whereas many of the rest of you will no doubt avoid it on account of its filthy language, gruesome (if occasionally amusing) violence, and general unpleasantness. Personally, I would be more forgiving if I had laughed more, but unfortunately Tropic Thunder is patchy at best.

Simon Dillon, October 2008.

Or, to give use its full title, The X: Files: I want to believe I can get the last two hours of my life back. To be fair, it’s not excruciatingly terrible, but it feels like a very average episode of the eponymous TV series, only drawn out to two hours instead of a tight forty-five minutes. It’s a curiously muted affair; slow, flatly directed and incoherent.

I’m not exactly sure why writer/director Chris Carter wanted to resurrect his hit TV series, since that itself went on at least three series too many. By the time it reached its baffling finale, FBI agents Fox Mulder (David Duchovny) and Dana Scully (Gillian Anderson) had got so swamped in UFO’s, aliens, government conspiracies and other things far too bizarre and confusing to detail here, that even its most devoted fans were hard pressed to explain what was actually happening. Of course, this isn’t the first time The X-Files has hit the big screen. A previous movie was released in 1998, and whilst it was only understandable to those steeped in X-Files lore, I actually quite enjoyed it, if only for a very memorable sequence involving bees.

The good news is that I want to believe is a one-off story, designed to hark back to the earlier series where stand-alone plots were the norm. The bad news is that even as a stand-alone, it’s very confusing. As far as I could decipher, Mulder and Scully are asked to come out of retirement to provide their expertise on a confusing FBI serial killer case, where one of their own has been taken captive. The FBI have been relying on psychic former paedophile Catholic priest Father Joseph Crissman (a completely bonkers Billy Connolly) to uncover their clues, but are not sure if he is a fraud. This leads to an increasingly weird, but not nearly as disturbing as it should be horror tale that throws up questions of faith (more of that in a moment) as well as two-headed dogs. Oh, and there’s a subplot involving Scully trying to save a handicapped boy’s life through experimental stem-cell research that has something to do with the main plot. I can’t remember what exactly, and I don’t care. But then I don’t care about Mulder and Scully either, who are now entirely devoid of the sexual tension they had in the earlier TV series (which evaporated the moment they slept with one another). Occasionally, characters from the series reappear pointlessly (such as Mitch Pileggi’s Walter Skinner), whilst new characters such as the ludicrously glamorous FBI agent Dakota Whitney (Amanda Peet), look embarrassingly out of place.

The only thing this film has in its favour is a potentially interesting spiritual undercurrent exploring whether or not God speaks to us, sometimes through the last person we would expect. Typically in the TV series, Mulder was sceptical about God, whereas Scully had at least a modicum of faith as a result of her Catholic background. Here however, the roles seem to be reversed with Mulder wanting to believe Crissman is getting messages, if not necessarily from God, then from some benevolent higher power. Scully on the other hand seems to be having a crisis of faith not dissimilar to Mel Gibson’s character in Signs. The way this crisis resolves itself is also similar to that film, in that she experiences God speaking to her in a way that anyone else could dismiss as co-incidence, but that she knows is not. Of course, many Christians (including myself) have had similar encounters, so will find themselves nodding in agreement. But only if they can sit through many interminably humourless sequences, not to mention violence, gore and – far more offensively – long stretches of sheer boredom. If you really want a thought provoking sci-fi film about the subtle ways God sometimes speaks to us, watch the infinitely superior Signs.

Therefore, in final analysis, despite the presence of a spiritually interesting subtext, there’s not much to write home about here. It’s admittedly gruesome Frankenstein-esque themes fails to generate the necessary sense of moral outrage, and as a thriller it fails to gather pace or excite the way the TV series occasionally could. In short, The X-Files: I want to believe is for completists only, and frankly I suspect that even they will feel short changed. I still want to believe I can get my two hours back.

Simon Dillon, August 2008.

The violence in Wanted is nigh on indefensible. Sequences where bullets fly through the heads of victims in slow motion graphic detail, then rewind, are only there for one reason: titillation. Wanted is an exercise in puerile adolescent fantasy, and therefore a film that will turn off one audience and attract another.

Based on a comic strip I’ve not read, Wanted begins with spineless protagonist Wesley Gibson (James McAvoy) trapped in a meaningless dead end job and living with an unfaithful girlfriend. He knows his life is pathetic, but can’t be bothered to do anything about it. Then when Fox (Angelina Jolie) saves his life and tells him he is destined to become a member of the Fraternity – an thousand year old elite assassination secret society – his life takes a bizarre turn. He discovers his father has recently been murdered by a rogue Fraternity agent and decides to get even. But first he must learn to curve a bullet and do other equally ridiculous things, since Fraternity members all have something akin to superpowers.

This is where any pretence the film had at a Fight Club-style serious message gets lost. The Fraternity are an organisation that gets their instructions from – wait for it – a textile loom. Apparently, this mystical loom has a code embedded in the fabric that when decoded gives names of assassination targets that need to be eliminated in order to save lives. This plot contrivance is so utterly preposterous that even allowing for suspension of disbelief, it unravels at the slightest pull of a thread. Who built the loom? How has it survived for centuries? What happens if you switch it off? Why has no-one switched it off? Who was insane enough to go looking for patterns in the fabric in the first place, and why weren’t they sent to a loony bin?

Even leaving aside the monumentally daft “loom of Fate”, Wanted is absolute nonsense from start to finish. But it’s nonsense with several extremely exciting stunts. Two in particular – one involving a train, the other involving rats, are so ludicrously implausible yet undeniably thrilling, that it’s impossible not to get a little sucked into the testosterone fuelled fantasy. Russian director Timur Bekmambetov (best know for cult vampire flick Night Watch) helms his first English language effort here, and as such emulates everyone from John Woo to Sam Peckinpah, Michael Bay and the Wachowski Brothers, but shows little of the unique visual flair he demonstrated in his Russian language work.

Performances are almost an irrelevancy in the face of such a silly script, but I doubt James McAvoy is destined to become a great action figure. Angelina Jolie, who had recently proved she could act with the likes of A Mighty Heart (also apparently excellent in Clint Eastwood’s upcoming Changeling), takes a regressive, Tomb Raider type step here. Heavyweight actors Morgan Freeman and Terence Stamp also pop up in throwaway roles.

Ultimately, this is hedonistic, nihilistic mess of a film, with pornographic levels of violence, not to mention swearing and other miscellaneous content that will no doubt put off several audience members. And as I mentioned before, it is for precisely that reason that it will also attract several others.

Simon Dillon, June 2008.

Ang Lee’s 2003 version of Hulk was an interesting failure. Lee, known for such thoughtful, dramatic fare as The Ice Storm, Sense and Sensibility and Eat Drink Man Woman was a too cerebral choice for helming a Hulk movie, and the film he produced provided a plethora of existential musings on the ambivalent nature of anger, Freud and associated oedipal trauma but skimped on adrenaline pumping action. Its main problem was that it took itself far too seriously (if Schindler’s List and The Passion of the Christ can have funny bits, surely Hulk could have lightened up a bit). Subsequently, Marvel reacquired the rights and after the success of Batman Begins and Casino Royale, decided to capitalise on the current trend for “rebooting” a franchise (in other words, starting again by pretending all previous incarnations did not exist).

In contrast to Ang Lee’s version, The Incredible Hulk is a far more straightforward affair; a no-nonsense comic book movie which dispenses with the origin story in the opening credits and has action from the word go. But it’s also a much less emotionally involving story. In fact, the characters are more sympathetic in the 1977 TV movie by Kenneth Johnson (who went on to make the superb V miniseries).

That’s not to say Ed Norton isn’t good in the role of Bruce Banner, but there are maddening gaps in the plot. Rumours the film was pared down from a considerably longer cut under protest from Norton and director Louis Letterier might go some way to explaining this, but its pointless to speculate on whether this would have improved the film or not. In the meantime, we are left with the usual variation on Jekyll and Hyde – gamma radiations experiments that go wrong cause scientist Banner to become the Hulk when he gets angry. In this version, he goes undercover in Brazil trying to find a cure, leaving behind girlfriend Betty Ross (a suitably tearful Liv Tyler), whose exact involvement in the original experiment remains maddeningly unclear, again possibly as a result of the scenes left on the cutting room floor. The US military discover Banner within minutes of the film beginning (via a nifty Stan Lee cameo) and there follows a well directed action sequence reminiscent of last summers rooftop chase in The Bourne Ultimatum.

Unfortunately, as the film progresses, the action sequences become increasingly boring, and the characters less interesting. Despite the occasional interesting touch (a sequence involving sonic weapons for instance), the CG is only occasionally convincing, and a ludicrously overextended final smackdown between Hulk and monstrous nemesis Abomination (Tim Roth after taking a similar dose of gamma radiation) is utterly uninvolving and cartoonish.

Marvel clearly intend this to be a potential franchise. Alternatively, given a Tony Stark cameo at the end and with a Captain America movie announced, they might want to make an Avengers film with Iron Man, Hulk, Captain America et al, and are introducing these heroes with their own movies one by one. At any rate, on its own terms The Incredible Hulk is faintly entertaining fluff, but it’s not as smart or fun as Iron Man, which itself was no masterpiece. The smart money is still on The Dark Knight as this summer’s potentially classic comic book movie.

Simon Dillon, June 2008.

I MUST write something on my own blog! Terrible, I know, but I don’t think I’ve reviewed a movie since about September last year (hmm, just when I started Bible College, funny that). So I think I’ll make it fairly succinct, so I don’t stress over the whole affair.

Ken Branagh and Shakespeare - they’re a bit like bangers and mash. Rum and Coke. Fish and chips. I could go on, but you get the idea. His Hamlet is superb, his Much Ado very good, his Henry V, er, haven’t seen it. Probably very worthy. Anyway, this one is a bit odd. A 1930s version of the story (which I don’t know outside of this film, I must confess), interspersed with songs from the likes of Cole Porter, Jerome Kern and Irving Berlin, some of which work brilliantly and some feel like entering a whole other film. Anyway, to the story.

The King of Navarre (Alessandro Nivola) and his three best friends swear off women for three years to devote themselves to study, but the unexpected visit of the Princess of France (Alicia Silverstone, who really doesn’t seem to understand what she’s saying half the time) and her three handmaidens (oh, look at that, just the right numbers, how lucky Mr Shakespeare) forces them to break their vows. There are tricks with masks, there are mis-managed messages, there is a very silly character in the style of Malvolio from Twelfth Night, there is a court jester, etc etc. As far as I know it’s one of Bill’s weakest and least-known comedies, and our Ken kind of lives up to that. There are some fun musical numbers, and Ken himself totally convinces in terms of his delivery as Berowne, the last of the friends to admit he’s in love. But overall it’s very throwaway, and feels a bit of a mess at the beginning and the end.

Also, for a U, there is one dance number that is just a bit too suggestive for my liking.

Near the beginning of The Simpsons Movie, Homer turns to the audience and announces they are all suckers for paying to see something that is on television all the time. Evidently creator Matt Groening has gamely decided to wear a certain amount of cynical bad faith on his sleeve, apparently questioning his own judgement in allowing his monumental television creation a cinematic outing. And he is right to question it.

The Simpsons is unarguably a television animation milestone. At once subversive, satirical, hilariously funny, yet good-natured, and always with family values at their core, the series has gradually become part of the establishment. As such, it lost a lot of its edge in later series, but still manages to be consistently entertaining. Even if one disregards the main cast, there are literally hundreds of smaller characters who all have their own fervent following amongst viewers. The series shows no sign of coming to an end given the seemingly endless story possibilities.

Unfortunately, the film is not in the same class. After a promising start, in which Homer’s usual buffoonery causes an environmental disaster that dooms Springfield, the jokes begin to fall flat. A number of potentially interesting subplots – Lisa falling in love, Bart seeing Ned Flanders as a surrogate father – go nowhere, and many beloved characters do not make an appearance. Obviously, in a programme with this many sub-characters not all were going to get screen time, but I for one wish there had been more scenes with Mr Burns. However, at least Itchy and Scratchy get an amusing opening number involving the moon and several nuclear weapons.

All the usual vocal talents are present and correct (Dan Castellaneta, Julie Kavner, Nancy Cartwright, Yeardley Smith, Harry Shearer, Hank Azaria, et al), plus there are a few amusing cameos, including rock band Green Day and Tom Hanks. The animation is a bit more detailed and cinematic, as one would expect, with director David Silverman revelling in its “2-D” glory. Yet this still feels like an extended average episode, and therefore unsustainable over 90 minutes.

Politically, the film appears to come down on the Al Gore side of the fence with regard to environmental issues, and as such is a little on the preachy side (ironically, during a crowd scene, certain characters rail against preachy environmentalism). Morally, its celebration of family values can hardly be knocked, but it’s been done so much more entertainingly in the television series. The humour is a little ruder than usual, with a couple of gags Groening couldn’t get away with on television, but its still feels tame compared to the cutting-edge humour of the early series.

There is nothing I can say that will put off Simpsons completists from seeing this. However, if you are new to The Simpsons might I suggest checking out some of the brilliant earlier TV episodes instead, such as There’s no disgrace like home, Life in the Fast Lane, Itchy and Scratchy and Marge, And Maggie Makes Three, and my all time favourite story, the brilliant two-part Who shot Mr Burns. These sublime examples are a far better introduction to what some consider the greatest television series of all time than this lacklustre picture.

Simon Dillon, July 2007.

Pretty tricky to categorize, this - an adaptation of the apparently unfilmable novel Tristram Shandy (I haven’t read it, so I wouldn’t know) which does exactly what it says on the tin: presents a story that is a load of rubbish. It claims cleverness in every frame, but in fact falls short on a regular basis.

Directed by Michael Winterbottom, the film is a mixture of footage from an adaptation of The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy by Laurence Sterne, starring Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon, and behind the scenes ‘making-of’ footage of the actors and film crew going through the creative process in making said film, along with a little extra “depth” in Coogan’s personal story while this film is being made. This may sound confusing reading it here, but when watching, things become a bit clearer. So we begin with Coogan playing Shandy, then Shandy’s father, then Coogan playing Coogan takes over, and this is actually what we follow for the majority of the movie. And what is important to notice, and what is really the movie’s downfall in fact, is that when Coogan and Brydon play themselves, they are still playing roles, playing versions of themselves if you like - and Steve Coogan’s alternative version of himself isn’t pleasant at all.

I’m guessing this is all supposed to be part of the joke and the cleverness of it, but it didn’t wash with this viewer - it just made me more certain about the vanity-project-ness of the whole thing - “Oh, look, aren’t I clever for being able to play about 6 roles in a film, some of which are kind of like me but nastier so we must make sure he changes to become nice by the end, and we can even make ironic gags about me wanting to be the star of the film in the script about the film, blah blah blah…” It just ends up as a big ego-trip as far as one can tell, with the most consistently funny actor and character (Rob Brydon) sidelined in the film, just as they joke about his character being sidelined in the movie they are making. It also seems like they were actually going to try to film Tristram Shandy and gave up due to it being difficult, so made this other cinematic half-breed instead. It’s neither period piece nor making-of nor mockumentary - it’s just a bit of a mess.

Which is not to say that there is nothing good about the film - there are some nice gags, particularly about actorly vanity and the weird people you get on film sets (an amusing example being Mark Williams as a self-appointed historical adviser on the Tristram Shandy adaptation), and Brydon in particular is worth watching as the warmer and funnier of the two. But what you mostly get after watching it, along with its sexual references and swearing, is a nagging sense that there could be a good adaptation of this novel to be made - but this wasn’t it AND the alternative experiment didn’t really work either.

About halfway through Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End, someone comments that Captain Jack Sparrow is making it up as he goes along. That is exactly what the filmmakers did, since director Gore Verbinski rolled the cameras on this movie before the screenplay was even finished.

And boy does it show. As far as I’m concerned, the Pirates of the Caribbean sequels have taken over from the Matrix sequels as the most ludicrously overrated summer blockbuster franchise in recent memory. To be fair, the original picture was an enjoyable adventure romp with a plot that didn’t bear close scrutiny. Actually it didn’t bear any scrutiny, but its trump card was the character of Jack Sparrow and his highly amusing Keith Richards impersonation. Even though the joke wore thin in its overlong running time, it was sufficiently engaging to be remembered as an above average silly season flick.

But when its first sequel, Dead Man’s Chest, took a woefully misguided “Empire Strikes Back” approach, things got very bad very quickly, culminating in this truly dire third instalment. Picking up from the ludicrous events of its predecessor (Bambosa’s resurrection is just one of many story threads which have deeply unsatisfying explanations) the nonsensical plot doesn’t really have a chance. Maddening and unnecessarily complicated to the point of insanity, one gives up following it almost immediately. There’s a map that leads to the land of the dead where Will Turner, Elizabeth Swann et al try to rescue Jack. Then there’s some gobbledegook about the pirates captains of the world uniting against the East India Trading Company led by Lord Beckett, who now has that Davy Jones bloke with the tentacles working for him. Oh, and something about a weirdo voodoo priestess who turns out to be a sea god. These plot threads all culminate in a big sea battle where loads of ships face off against one another but only two actually fight.

Orlando Bloom, Keira Knightly, Geoffrey Rush and Johnny Depp all reprise their roles to competent if pointless effect. New characters come and go without much rhyme or reason (a wasted Chow Yun Fat as Captain Sao Feng for instance), and the old characters are too busy disentangling themselves from endless double, triple and quadruple crosses to engage the audience. It obviously goes without saying that the special effects are spectacular, and in fairness, Verbinski stages the set pieces with a modicum of flair, especially in the final battle. But such positives dwindle into insignificance in the face of a deeply and profoundly rubbish script. When I consider that this bloated, overblown monstrosity of a film probably cost the same as the national debt of a small Latin American country, something is definitely wrong if the best thing in it is a brief gag involving a telescope. The studio executives who green-lit this picture without a finished screenplay should be thoroughly ashamed of themselves.

I had hoped the third instalment of this monumentally tedious franchise would be the last, but it is my sad duty to report that after three hours of interminable drivel, things are left very much open for additional sequels (especially in a post credits sequence, if you can be bothered to sit through them). However, since the great unwashed continue to flock in droves to see Jack Sparrow et al, such ongoing sequels are, alas, inevitable.

Simon Dillon, May 2007.