Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest – a Review

Since the first Pirates of the Caribbean stormed into theaters three years ago, I’ve been waiting along with everyone else for the much-hyped swashbuckling sequel. But alas, Dead Man’s Chest just happens to be the worst thing to happen to pirates worldwide since Jerry Seinfeld was mocked by Bryant Gumbel for wearing the “puffy shirt” on the Today show.

Whatever think-tank Disney assembled to help put together this unintelligible script deserves to be put into Davy Jones’s locker, right along with Gore Verbinski, who directed, Jerry Bruckheimer, who produced, and Orlando Bloom, whose goody two-shoes turn as Will Turner made me seasick in the film’s first ten minutes.

And what’s worse, there were still 73 hours to go in the movie. Okay, maybe not quite that many, but it sure felt that way. Even Johnny Depp’s amusing portrayal of the drunken, bad-breathed, bi-curious pirate, Captain Jack Sparrow, couldn’t save the utterly empty Dead Man’s Chest.

If you decide you absolutely must see this film, I suggest you bring along a scorecard to keep track of the boatloads of very forgettable buccaneers who pop up in this movie for seemingly no reason at all. In fact, I haven’t seen this many talentless, useless Buccaneers since the Tampa Bay football franchise wore orange uniforms. By the way, you’ll also need to draw up an elaborate diagram to illustrate the dozens of plots and subplots that ultimately go absolutely nowhere, and whose only purpose is to preface Pirates’ Chapter 3.

Perhaps the good version of this script got lost at sea, which is a fate far better than having to sit through the length of Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest.