Pirates of the Caribbean 3: At Wit’s Endon June 20, 2007
For those of you playing the Hijinks Ensue home game (score cards available at Kroger with any purchase of a 20 oz. soda or can of Pringles) thats (2) comics about pirates and (2) mentions of forced sexual intercourse between bears and men.
The first Pirates was pure movie-going fun. It was a simple story (thank god Disney didn’t make a movie about the Tea Cups) but visually enriched, jaunting in its pace, and action-packed (the movie was literally PACKED with various actions). The sequel was equally enjoyable and achieved things with Octopus-face technology previously thought possible only in maritime nightmares. The threequel, however, was really just the REST of the 2nd movie. I get it. I took the red pill. I know what the Matrix is, Cowboy Curtis. And much like the Matrix 3pete, the 3rd one was a turd.
The movie stretches itself thin while struggling to retcon a bunch a bullshit about Pirates of the world sharing a common bond and noble way of life (in the same way modern day murderers and rapists will give each other a knowing wink and nod when they pass in the grocery store). Then theres a 20 minute segment with Witty Jack in Pirate Purgatory. As it turns out, Hell is other pirates. Specifically other Jack Sparrows. Jack is damned for what seemed like an eternity to captain the Black
Rock Pearl on an ocean of desert salt crewed entirely by copies of himself. Johnny Depp with 40 other Johnny Depps. You know he’d hit that. Unwashed dopple-johnny (depp-ganger?) orgies would abound.
I was hoping the Keith Richards’ cameo would provide some much needed entertainment value. His performance wasn’t just sublime, it was subliminal. Blink and you’d miss it. Oh and just in case you don’t understand that Keith is a musician of sorts, he holds a guitar in his scene to clarify things.
3 hours and $25 (Buncha-Crunch be expensive, yo) later a Jamaican lady grew 200 feet tall and I went home.