Film Review: Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides

Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides. Rated M (supernatural themes and violence). 137 minutes. Directed by Rob Marshall. Screenplay by Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio.

As big budget, box office-storming extravaganzas go, it’s difficult to imagine a more successful motion picture franchise than Disney’s Pirates of the Caribbean (which originated in 1967 as a Disneyland attraction).

The first three films – The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003), Dead Man’s Chest (2006) and At World’s End (2007) – have made the studio billions of dollars while ensuring that Johnny Depp’s endearing ‘Jack Sparrow’ is one of the most instantly recognisable fictional characters in contemporary cinema.

In this latest instalment – On Stranger Tides – the rules of engagement have changed. Significantly, Gore Verbinski (who directed the first three films) has been replaced by Mr Marshall (Nine, Memoirs of a Geisha, Chicago) who fares less well with the strangely more conventional material. Gone, too, are Pirates … stalwarts Orlando Bloom and Keira Knightley – replaced by two new ingénues – Sam Clafin as ‘Philip’ the Missionary and Astrid Berges-Frisbey as ‘Syrena’ the Mermaid.

Mr Elliot and Mr Rossio’s screenplay about the search for the Fountain of Youth is far less creatively ambitious than their scripts for the previous films in the series, while regular Pirates … cinematographer Dariusz Wolski keeps us, quite literally, in the dark for far too much of the time.

Mr Depp (who obviously relishes playing this role) storms his way through the proceedings with typical flair, while newcomers Penélope Cruz (as love interest and co-conspirator Angelica) and Ian McShane (as Blackbeard) bring some much-needed passion to the screen. Geoffrey Rush continues to have a ball with the, now, one-legged ‘Barbossa’. What is somehow regrettable is that the couple of memorable sequences between him and Mr Depp (involving a pair of goblets) chiefly serve to momentarily re-ignite the constantly inspired comedic delight of the previous films – delight that is sadly lacking in this entry into the franchise.

But the mermaids are great!

Pictured: Johnny Depp and Geoffrey Rush in Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group.

Film Review: The King's Speech

The King’s Speech. Rated M (coarse language). 118 minutes. Directed by Tom Hooper. Screenplay by David Seidler.

When King Edward VIII (Guy Pearce) abdicates for the love of his paramour Wallis Simpson (Eve Best), his brother the Duke of York (Colin Firth) becomes a reluctant King George VI. Championed by his wife Elizabeth (Helena Bonham-Carter, romping through as the young woman who would become The Queen Mother), the King-in-Waiting has been working with Australian speech therapist Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush) to conquer his childhood stammer. What awaits the determined (and hopefully articulate) young royal, are the most tumultuous events of the 20th century.

The grand themes of triumph over adversity and severe personal affliction waft through this fresh-out-of-mothballs period jaunt that frequently reminds us just how much more suited to the stage (as was originally intended) it would have been. Only twice (in a atmospheric scene in a fog-filled London park and an equally picturesque drive to a snow-bound country estate) does the story seem to take to the screen – the rest of the time remaining determinedly and self-consciously stage-bound.

Firth delivers a familiar riff on his signature wounded, doe-eyed, domiciled every-husband persona (much as he did in Nanny McPhee and A Single Man), and while his performance is technically quite brilliant, it is equally emotionally shallow. Firth and Rush (relishing a quirky, colonial Henry Higgins) have all the best scenes, but the jousting is never entirely convincing – chiefly because the quest to be able to speak fluently never seems as important to the young prince as it does to his adoring wife.

While it owes a debt to The Queen and Peter Morgan’s fascinating study of behind-the-scenes royal protocols that drove it, Seidler’s screenplay is terrifically taut – with a fine comedic line that escorts the film into almost impossibly cheerful (and accessible) territory.

You could, however, be forgiven for not fully appreciating the historical significance of the either the abdication, the ascension or the ‘speech’ of the title. Seidler’s apolitical screenplay steadfastly refuses to engage with the critical rupture in the history of the English monarchy – nor, more peculiarly, the Hitler-lead rise of fascism in neighbouring Europe. Hitler’s appearance (courtesy of some compelling archival footage) appears to be more of a distraction rather than the reason for which the King will be required to speak to his subjects in a manner in which they have never been spoken to before.

Hooper’s direction and Danny Cohen’s (Dead Man’s Shoes) cinematography are all over the place stylistically, and not even the consummate skills of editor Tariq Anwar (American Beauty) can account for the extent to which the coronation scene (the rehearsal for which is the absolute highpoint) hijacks the momentum.

Ultimately, it is only its Pygmalion-inspired triumphalism on the eve of World War II that ensures it limps home.

Pictured: Colin Firth and Helena Bonham-Carter in The King's Speech.

This review was commissioned by the Geraldton Newspaper Group.