Wednesday, befuddlement on the premise of a preview the night before national release and a mysterious no show started the ripple in the sea. With five minutes before the card screamed late entry, the walk was set and the pass lost into the hand of a capped man. A man from Buena Vista who would later appear with a single syllable for a name at the front of the cinema asking for ten people. Not a single volunteer stepped up until the rush shortly after the utterance of words kind to a lot of freeloaders, "prize pack." A quick culling and distribution following effete renditions of pirate imitations, aaaargghs and mateys were thrown impotently into the crowd. P2P was never mentioned.
Following the moose from Disney's Brother Bear a snide remark from a man behind was heard. Sarcasm was dripping in his humourless and corporated veins. Too out of it to fit into it and the agony could be heard in the woman who was glad it was dark. Armrests were low slung and cupholders knocked with the knees in cinema 10, an unexplained late change from 7. Two seats on either side, enough for the unexpected flailing of arms looking for relief on what was expected to be a long film. Fun, but long.
And fun it was.
The perfectly executed swagger and speech of Captain Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp), the snarling juice of Barbossa (Geoffrey Rush), the cut of Will Turner (Orlando Bloom) and the look of Natalie Portman in Elizabeth Swann (Keira Knightley). Floods of laughter roared and you could just sense the tide of mirth flowing through the dusty air as the projector cut through the dark showing just how bad the venting was. Sure, you could see the exposed beams, but that didn't mean a thing. The illusion of light caught reveals the filth flecking through the breathing. And what the hell was up with the echoes bouncing all around for even the slightest whisper of delicious dialogue? If the ride that Pirates of the Caribbean is based on is a rollicking romp, then the translation fared better than most adaptations.
Damn the film was fun.
Blackening of the screen for the start of the credits was met with a most responsive applause from a fifth of the crowd. When Gore Verbinski's name popped up so did pretty much everyone in the seats. A guy with a dry throat who thought drinking Coke would solve the problem clambered over knees not wanting to budge. Two minutes into an orchestral set of some sort and there still seemed to be what looked like a score, or slightly more, of people still watching the credits. The end result was a little grab just for those with an inkling for sequel possibilities.
The preview passes were already rounded up at the box office and the guy there tried to hand over a "fine" one but kept hitting stumbling blocks. Nobody manages to handle theirs with any sense of care for those looking for them back after the film. Anyway, whatever happened happened and the maximum limit of five was reached and to a night set sail.
Reviewed on Friday, 12 September 2003