As I was browsing through reviews on Rottentomatoes.com for Spider-Man 3 I came across a critic who compared it to the work of the great Swedish filmmaker Ingmar Bergman. This left me with two possible conclusions: 1) the critic had seen a different version of Spider-Man 3 than I had, or 2) he hasn’t seen much of Bergman’s work. Comparing Spider-Man 3 to Bergman (I assume his reference was to Scenes from a Marriage) is kind of like comparing the third Pirates of the Caribbean film to Fellini’s Satyricon or Kursoawa’s Yojimbo: anyone can do it, but what’s the use?

Herein lies much of the problem with today’s film criticism: the reviews serve just as much of an outlet to stroke the writer’s ego as they do to share their filmic experiences. Many critics, in my eyes, approach the art from the wrong angle. They are mostly malcontents who believe themselves and their abilities above that of the film they are writing about. This is a stance I try my best to avoid; I approach every film as an equal, to judge it on the basis of what it offers me. I therefore judge a film’s success by placing it in relation to myself. If there is nothing between us, something has gone wrong.

That is, I believe to be, the essence of criticism. Years ago Peter Howell of the Toronto Star wrote an editorial on how he told his father not to go see Bad Santa, who went and saw it anyway, thus determining that people don’t listen to critics. That I believe Bad Santa to be a truly bold and hilarious black comedy doesn’t help Howell’s point. His problem seems to be in grasping that criticism is not absolute. This is why I therefore don’t see it as the critics job to advise readers of what they should see and what they should avoid. Truth be told, people are going to see what they want to see, and the only way you may physically influence them is if you write positively about a film that they either have no knowledge of or had no interest in to begin with. The best I can hope for is that, come January when films like Keane or The King appear on my top ten lists, someone will venture out to their local movie store and give one of them a try.

This is why the best criticism avoids the redundancies of what worked and what didn’t (it can, I will admit, sometimes be hard when that’s all a film offers) and instead share with the reader ones own personal experience of a film. Director Sydney Lumet, in his invaluable book Making Movies states that a good film should leave an audience with a thought or a feeling. I feel criticism should reach for this as well: to leave readers with a thought or a feeling; some point of reference from which they can then explore their favorite films under a new light or put into words ones own emotional response to a film that the reader felt, but could not describe. Criticism is equal parts emotion and theory.

However, an elitist stance is an easy one to take, but not a fruitful one, because it simply gears oneself for disappointment. Of course, Hollywood blockbusters like Pirates of the Caribbean seem pale in comparison when one has been blessed enough to have seen Renior’s Rules of the Game or Fellini’s La Dolce Vita, but there exists no clear link between these two kind of films. The world is only one of balance when we are free to choose form different variables. Life is complete knowing that I can sit down and enjoy both The Fast and the Furious and Ingmar Bergman’s Fanny and Alexander. Therefore, as I have quoted many times before, Pauline Kael once wrote that movies are so rarely great works of art that if we can’t enjoy great trash then there is no point in going. Alas the statement finally requires a bit of retooling: movies are so rarely great art that if we can’t at least enjoy satisfying the simpleton in us, then what is the point in going?

Now I’ve been stalling because, between me (someone who writes about movies) and you (someone who reads about them), I find it a truly laborious task to review films like Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End. There are several reasons for this: 1) the film is unapologetically epic in scope, is populated by many colorful characters, and bears a plot that is complex beyond impenetrability: to try to describe this in less than 1000 words would be an act of shortchanging, 2) Pirates is the kind of film that places all of its worth before our eyes, what you see is what you get. One need not concern themselves with hidden meanings or deep emotional responses; Pirates is all surface and has no problem letting this all hang out before our eyes, and 3) it’s one of these films that some call “critic-proof.” Every critic in North America could say it’s the worst film of the year and it would still probably make 100 million plus on its opening weekend, so why bother?

What I will say is that Pirates 3 is a grand, epic adventure film. It was filmed, like the Matrix sequels, back-to-back with Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest. Doing this, as was the case with the third Matrix film, can be a damaging approach because what we end up with is one film that has been cut in half. It thus diverts from screenwriting mentor Syd Field’s “Paradigm,” which more or less dictates that a film is comprised of three acts, each act ending with a significant plot point which pushes the narrative forward into the next act. To cut one film into two sequels means that the first sequel is all build-up and the second, all pay-off.

Pirates 3, probably the best of the series, however, avoids this; it does not feel like the back end of a film in progress, but rather shows all the potential of the series finally coming together into full fruitarian. The special effects may be the best ever put on screen, the film is beautifully shot, and the actors are all wonderful. Johnny Depp has become so comfortable as Jack Sparrow that he creates effortless presence, Geoffry Rush as Capt. Barbossa goes way over the top, committing himself to the role fully and without conviction, and Bill Nighy, great actor that he is, creates a fully developed character in Davy Jones while only ever appearing on screen once. 

Now is the point where I will leave you with a thought or a feeling. In one of the last scenes, after an exchange between Johnny Depp and Keira Knightly as Elizibeth Swann, Knightly walks off-screen and Depp gives a smile unlike any Jack Sparrow has every given before. It is not theatrical like most of the acting in the Pirates films but rather is an expression of joy and happiness. It seems as if Depp himself is looking out from deep underneath his make-up and costume and letting us know that he has had the time of his life making this film. It’s an encouraging sight; I had the time of mine watching it.