We Stayed for the Dog

Before the lights went down, most of the discourse around Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest was about whether a sequel could justify itself after the first film’s surprise success. For me it was never in doubt. It was going to be better. And it is.

The runtime runs nearly two and a half hours, but Verbinski packs it so densely—action, invention, actual plot—that I never felt it drag. The three-way sword fight on a runaway mill wheel is the kind of setpiece you lean forward for, grinning like an idiot while it keeps escalating past every reasonable stopping point. Everything in this film does that: escalates in exactly the right direction.

Bill Nighy as Davy Jones is an inspired piece of casting—all motion-captured tentacles and barnacled menace, somehow more expressive and emotionally present than half the human cast. The Kraken earns its mythology. And Johnny Depp, doing the thing only Johnny Depp can do, remains the best reason to show up. Jack Sparrow operates on some internal logic that never quite reveals itself, unpredictable and vaguely disreputable, and every scene is better for having him in it. Keira Knightley doesn’t hurt either.

We stayed through the entire end credits just to find out what happened to the dog. Worth it. Already impatient for At World’s End.