Action/Adventure; 2006; Rated “PG-13” for intense sequences of adventure violence, including frightening images; 2h 30m. Recommended.

The line for Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest was long for the Midnight showing, the theaters it was showing in were packed by a diverse (though mostly young) crowd, many decked out in some form of pirate attire, and no wonder — we are talking about the return of the cheeky and inimitable Captain Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp), along with that much tried couple, Will Turner (Orlando Bloom) and Elizabeth Swann (Keira Knightley). It looked to be a hit in the making, and in my opinion it deserves to be, other reviews be damned to the briny depths after a long keelhauling, yarrr.

Look, I’m not about to tell you that PotC: DMC, Pirates 2 for short, is brilliant or better than the first in the series. Nor am I going to say that it’s perfect, if we are speaking in terms of hardcore movie criticism. But that’s just it: Pirates 2, like its predecessor, is not intended to be a hardcore movie-lover’s movie. Depp, Bloom and Knightley do not fail to satisfy us even though they are not given much development, because the movie is a romp, a ride, a reason to whoop and have fun on a summer day. There’s no reason for an in-depth critique. Just watch some of your favorite actors do their thing in the fantasy world of pirates and relax! The plot is straightforward enough (not “unfocused”, as some have accused it of being), the action is fairly non-stop and its sequences are well-choreographed, and the eye-candy, as many have noted, is as abundant as pieces of candy corn on Halloween.

Pirates 2 introduces a lot of in-jokes and references to the Disney ride. References and in-jokes as they are, people unfamilar with the ride will not “get” them. But, then again, viewers don’t really need to; the references and in-jokes are not essential to “understanding” the movie, whatever that could mean. Like the ride, the movie rolls along through its scenes with the precision one finds in a good ride. It is, to an extent, formulaic that way. But so are a lot of better-known dances, and folks usually don’t complain that the steps are, in themselves, lacking. Folks complain when the dancers are lacking talent or panache or straightforward skill. So, let this be said. The actors in Pirates 2 do not improvise or introduce anything new to the formula of the movie, but they are good at their roles and deliver the steps without stumbles or faux pas. Their goal is to entertain, and that they do. After laughing and cheering throughout, the audience we sat in applauded at the end of the movie (which is, I daresay, quite a cliffhanger). We applauded as well, and left the theater feeling like we’d been adequately entertained. We’d had fun.

Documentary; 2003; Rated “R” for language; 1h 43m. Recommended.

On Wednesday, October 8, 2003, the Seattle Post-Intelligencer reported the deaths of Timothy Treadwell and Amie Huguenard. They were savaged and eaten alive by a grizzly bear in Katmai National Park and Preserve. According to the AP,

A self-styled bear expert who once called Alaska’s brown bears harmless party animals was one of two people fatally mauled in a bear attack in Katmai National Park and Preserve — the first known bear killings in the 4.7 million-acre park.

This is, in the end, a truly unfair characterization of Timothy Treadwell and, by extension, Amie Huguenard.

Treadwell was an exceptional man in a number of ways. Although he embodied the Malibu, California stereotype in his demeanor – thinning blonde hair, bright blue eyes with laugh lines etched beside them, fond of body-boarding, and often new-agey in speech and attitude – he was also capable of living for years in the vast, unforgiving wilderness of Alaska, where he sought both to protect the grizzly bears he lived among and to escape human civilization. As becomes apparent through the video footage he shot, he was attempting to protect the bears because he could not stomach human civilization. He projected onto the bears his own need to be free of it, his own need to be wild, his own need to be protected from it. But it is also not so simple as that.

Grizzly Man, Werner Herzog’s film – comprising video shot over the years by Treadwell (with few exceptions), narration by Herzog and his interviews with Treadwell’s friends and family – succeeds, in a most unsettling way, in giving the audience a clear look into human pathos and determination. Herzog’s approach is a gently unsparing one, a document of heartfelt admiration enhanced by very real criticism of its protagonist. Those who have seen 1999’s Mein liebster Feind – Klaus Kinski (eng.: My Best Fiend) will likely smile at Herzog’s passing comparison of Treadwell to Kinski.

Treadwell was an intense character with an undoubted love of the grizzlies he filmed and photographed. It is safe to say that Treadwell did not look at being killed and eaten by a grizzly as a horrible fate, per se, but it was not just him who died that day. Amie Huguenard, a good deal younger than Treadwell, was frightened of the bears and was on the verge of leaving him. The events leading up to the fatal attack seem, in hindsight, ominous. In the video footage – some shot by Huguenard – we see an odd tension develop. Something seems off about the day the final footage was shot. In part, this is so because Treadwell and Huguenard were in the park at a time they normally would not have been. The season is different, and so are some of the bears. The final footage, shot mere hours before their deaths, is weighted with feelings of discomfort and the kind of vague uncertainty that disturbs the stomach.

“My transformation complete – a fully accepted wild animal – brother to these bears. I run free among them – with absolute love and respect for all the animals. I am kind and viciously tough.” (Last letter from Timothy Treadwell, dated Sunday, September 14, 2003.)

In one of the most difficult scenes of the movie, Herzog attempts to listen to the final record of Treadwell’s and Huguenard’s lives. Treadwell did not have time to remove the lens cap of his camera, but for six minutes it recorded the audio of the attack. Wearing headphones and sitting across from one of Treadwell’s dearest friends, we hear Herzog begin to choke up. It is too awful. He cannot listen to it all, and he suggests that out of respect the tape ought to be destroyed. The documentary does not contain any portion of those final minutes.

What I keep going back to, though, are the scenes of Treadwell with the foxes who came to accept his presence. Where the bears seem disinterested or curious in a trepidatious way, the foxes play with Treadwell, follow him around, sleep beside him in the noonday sun. These moments illustrate very clearly the depth of Treadwell’s character, as well as its shortcomings. He loved the bears and the foxes, but in the end it was his desire to be more like the former than the latter that probably lead him – and Huguenard – to be lost forever in “the Grizzly Maze”.

Born into Brothels: Documentary; 2004; Unrated; 1h 35m. Highly recommended.

A bittersweet but ultimately uplifting look into the lives of eight children growing up in Sonagachi, one of Calcutta, India’s red light districts. Zana Briski, a photojournalist and founder of Kids with Cameras, gave each child a camera with which to document her or his world. The results were phenomenal and life-altering for many of the participants. Briski’s project differs from what one normally sees in a documentary; from the outset, it is obvious that she is very personally involved with the children. As she struggles with the children’s relatives and the government’s bureaucracy in order to help them escape a future with little or no hope, we see the world through the children’s photography and in interviews with each of them.

The children are endearing, though there is nothing saccharine in Born into Brothels. What is immediately apparent is that these are smart, inquisitive kids in dire straits. In their eyes is a maturity beyond their years, thrust upon them by the circumstances of their lives. It is apparent to them, as it is to us, that there is little hope they will ever have “normal” lives. The girls are especially at risk, as they are headed for “the line” – a life of prostitution on the streets. The boys are headed for the same dead ends their older male relatives have wound up in.

In the end, Briski’s efforts rescue a number of the children whose photography and lives we’ve been privileged to view, though not all the kids are so fortunate. Reviewer Collin Souter says it well: “Usually, documentaries ask hard, probing questions. Refreshingly, ‘Born Into Brothels’ is about a person with an answer”. In the end, the hard part of the movie is understanding that there is so much against any child in Sonagachi escaping, and knowing that, for the majority of children there, there is no escape. Briski shows, however, that something can be done (by someone in a position to do something), and her efforts for the children of the red light district send a clear and uplifting message. Her efforts are a clarion call for involvement where involvement is possible. She deserves a medal.

Me and You and Everyone We Know: Drama (with comedic elements); 2005; Rated “R”; 1hr 37m. Recommended.

Performance artist Miranda July’s strange and sweet debut film falls somewhere between Punch Drunk Love and Broken Flowers in tone and pacing, with a very light sprinkling of Welcome to the Dollhouse (sans the merciless self-hatred). “Offbeat” seems to be the keyword among reviewers, and it certainly is that. But to label it merely as offbeat is to miss its more accessible messages about love and the fleeting nature of our lives’ moments.

Following the lives of a few main characters through periods of transition and difficulty, July (who stars in the film) deftly hones in on the emotional pink noise that underlies daily life, extracting from it an intimate portrait of the human desire to lose oneself and thereby, with luck, find one’s meaning in what one loves.