Film Footle: Pirates of the Carribbean: At World's End

As any purveyor of a "threequel" knows, the third film in a trilogy has to have more, better, bigger and louder than before. This is accomplished by POTC: At World's End.

However, as any viewer of a film knows, true enjoyment comes from a coherent plot, engagingly presented, that takes precisely the time it needs to tell the story and no more. Hmmm. Not so much.

It's not that it wasn't enjoyable. Some of the more fantastic, weird scenes were rather wonderful for appearing in an adventure film based on a Disney fairground ride. Afterlife hallucinations are a great cinematic gift, and these were handled with style. It's just that it was too much, too long and too aimless.

The plot, such as it is: to rescue Jack Sparrow from his sort-of eternal sleep in Davy Jones's Locker and to marshal the forces of the pirate lords who are trying to stop Tom Hollander's East India Company baddie rid the high seas of, erm, murder and theft (it was much easier to like the pirate anti-heroes when they contrasted neatly with the prissy pomposity of the dull protagonists... when they're just killers, thieves and rapists, it's not so convincing).

The problem is that there are about fourteen subplots, wasted opportunities to play off characters such as Barbossa and Sparrow against each other, pointless meanderings and a lot of inexplicable explosions (although these are good fun and break up the tedious chunks of exposition).

The humour is a little laboured, although the acting is energised and consistent. Probably the most annoying bit about it is the requirement for a suspension of disbelief at the wrong moment.

The thing is this. We're all very happy to believe, Buffy-style, in monsters, ghosts and ghouls if there is an element of humanity. The minute we're asked to believe that two people (who for the majority of the film have shown no interest in one another nor really spoken to each other) make an agreement that stretches even the most romantic credibility, our patience snaps and twangs painfully against our brain.

So here we have all the hallmarks of a film that's lively, excitable and sometimes funny pitted against a turgid plot and a near three-hour runtime that distends the patience of even the most aggressive Johnny Depp fan.

Oh well. I guess an indulgent "meh" is better than most threequels get. At least it's not The Godfather III. Oy.