Whatever goodwill one harbored toward the first Pirates film is quickly dashed by its sneering successor, Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest, which is less a film than a two-and-a-half-hour trailer for the final installment in this accidental trilogy. This is a movie that manages to contain half a dozen endings and still no ending at all; the final scene has all the payoff of a surrender, despite the appearance of an actor meant to juice up the proceedings just as you're ready to beat a retreat. Such is the inertia brought on by an hour's worth of padding meant to flesh out a double feature that could have been a short.
The entire original crew returns, both in front of the camera and behind. The sole new face of any consequence is Bill Nighy (Love Actually's washed-up rocker, Billy Mack), and it's obscured beneath pounds of prosthetics that make him look like a side of calamari at a family-style restaurant. He's Davy Jones not the Monkee (that would have been more interesting), but the mythic beastie of seafaring legend who is said to collect and control the souls damned to the deepest blue. Among his cursed crew is Stellan Skarsgård as "Bootstrap" Bill Turner, the father of young blacksmith Will Turner (Orlando Bloom), loathed the first time around for abandoning him as a young lad. The second movie has slightly weightier motives than its predecessor, so sooner or later we'll come to find that one can either choose "the dark side of ambition or the promise of redemption" and that both are separated by a very fine line.
Turns out Captain Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp, still offering his impression of Tattoo You-era Keith Richards) needs to square his debt to Davy Jones and can do so only by fetching Jones' still-beating heart from a locked chest on some remote island. One way or another, all the old pals return to join in the quest: Will (Bloom, still valiantly and vainly trying to prove himself a movie star), his fiancée, Elizabeth Swann (Keira Knightley, given little to do but scream and fall down), Commodore James Norrington (Jack Davenport, now a bitter, broken-down rum pot), and sordid sidekicks Pintel (Lee Arenberg) and Ragetti (MacKenzie Crook).
But the movie isn't as simple as a pirate searching for the thing that will set him free (again). The story is so needlessly convoluted as to render it all but incomprehensible. Why, for instance, would Captain Jack vehemently oppose Will's plan to stab Davy Jones' recovered heart when doing so would kill the demon and set him free? Jack's refusal to do so is a cynical machination, setting up the third and wholly unnecessary third film. (Imagine if Luke could have killed the Emperor in The Empire Strikes Back but said, "Nah, maybe next time.")
The only pleasures to be taken from Dead Man's Chest are a couple of nifty action sequences that take place entirely on land one concerning Jack and his crew's escape from the requisite dark-skinned (though really just deeply tanned) savages who want to kill and eat them, the other involving a three-man sword fight on a giant waterwheel as it rolls down a never-ending hillside. They're so clever and dazzling and imaginative, you can't shake the feeling that the filmmakers spent so much time mapping them out that they were spent by the time it got around to things like storytelling and character development, perhaps figuring the first movie took care of all those now-unnecessary bits of business. If nothing else, Dead Man's Chest serves its heartless purpose: It makes no sense if you haven't seen the first movie and is utterly pointless without the third installment that ostensibly will wrap up this mess. Maybe it was made by pirates, too.