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Movie Guru Rating:

Meditative (3 out of 5)

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The Depp Factor

With this pretty boy, Pirates of the Caribbean becomes one heck of a ride

by Adrienne Martini

Johnny Depp is a very pretty man. For years, this was his curse. His features doomed him to teen fare, like the mawkish Benny and Joon and 21 Jump Street. Pretty celebrity men tend to not be able to transcend their girly looks, which damn them to the same ghetto that boy bands inhabit.

Some break free, however. Look at Leonardo DiCaprio, who has delicate features and emotional range. Or River Phoenix, whose pouty lips ignited many a young girl's lust but who could tear up the screen with his skill as well. And, of course, there's Depp.

While he's made some real crap over the years—Blow, anyone?—he consistently picks projects that fit his quirky style, like Ed Wood or Fear and Loathing or Chocolat. In the projects that give him free range to explore all of the potential his characters present, Depp shines. But if cast only for his prettiness, which some producers see as a great way to boost the bottom line, the result is frequently From Hell.

Which is why Pirates of the Caribbean shouldn't work. It wants to be typical summer fare, a by-the-numbers action adventure exquisitely designed to separate 11-year-old boys from their allowances with as few frills as possible. The plot is pretty much what you expect from a swashbuckling romance based on a Disneyland ride, complete with a damsel in peril and a young boy on the verge of manhood. There are intricately choreographed swordfights and lots of heaving bosoms. Even the bad guys don't provide much in the way of surprises. They are very, very bad, except for the British, who are very, very boring.

Almost all of it seems to have had the life focus-tested out of it. Pirates isn't self-aware enough to be camp. It isn't creepy enough to be horror. It isn't smart enough to reinvent the genre. Producer Jerry Bruckheimer (Pearl Harbor, Con Air, Top Gun) has always been content to make his fortune by striving for mediocrity. With Pirates, he has done his damnedest to not stray from the middle.

But then Johnny Depp showed up, lured there, perhaps, by Bruckheimer's intriguing choice for the film's director slot, Gore Verbinski. Until last year, Verbinski's name was instantly memorable, while his films remained remarkably forgettable, like The Mexican. Then came The Ring—that creepy little thriller based on a creepier Japanese thriller—and Verbinski turned heads for his visual knack and casting prowess.

It's hard to say if Verbinski was what finally got Depp on board. Who knows how the machinations work in such a large, Hollywood machine? Without Depp, Pirates would have been yet another big-screen, two-hour-long ad for a theme park ride and Happy Meal toys. Instead, it is an obscenely enjoyable romp complete with bodice ripping and scenery chewing.

Depp, as Capt. Jack Sparrow, is simply having too much fun. From his insouciant entrance on the screen to his last slurred line, he is magnetic. It would be easy to hate Sparrow, given that his motivations are always selfish. In lesser hands—say those of another pretty boy like Christian Slater or, even, DiCaprio—it wouldn't work. With Depp, it does.

So much so that the film still moves forward on the head of steam Depp built up even when Sparrow isn't onscreen. Equally good (but not as pretty) actors like Geoffrey Rush and Jonathan Pryce do the best they can, but the script doesn't give them much to work with. Relative newcomers like Orlando Bloom and Keira Knightley seem a bit unsteady, like they can't quite find the right note that the whole film is trying to strum. But just when you start to notice all of this, Sparrow returns. And all is right in the cineplex again.

While a lot of the praise can be firmly plunked on Depp's shoulders, he couldn't pull it off without Verbinski and the production crew. Some of the film's best moments come from Penny Rose's costumes. Bloom's peach-fuzz mustache tells you more about his character than pages of dialogue. Swallow wouldn't be as watchable without his hat. And Knightley couldn't have pulled it off without the acres of fabric in her skirts. Rose has always had an eye for small touches—her work has helped films like Road to Wellville and Evita find their core. Here she adds touches that reward a careful viewer.

Don't feel that you need to pay rapt attention, however. Just sit back, admire Depp, and enjoy the ride.


  July 17, 2003 * Vol. 13, No. 29
© 2000 Metro Pulse