"The iconically picaresque picaroon"

HERE'S HOW I SEE IT: Where did you go, Captain Jack DiMaggio? A cinematic nation turns its lonely eyes to you

LINKS: Daily Herald review of Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides

I miss that guy. The arrival in 2003 of Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow is one of the most indelible moments of movie alchemy in my filmgoing lifetime. Watching him do that thing he do for the first time was like watching a present-day wizard turn a solid concept into cinematic gold. I was writing a bi-weekly column for Movies.com at the time and, a few months later, I issued a "memo to the Academy"-style demand that Depp's daring, hugely entertaining performance be recognized with an Oscar nomination. What do you know, it happened. (Because of me! OK, fine, of course not because of me.) He'd been quietly respected for years, but the Best Actor nomination for Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl finally blew the lid off of the "Johnny Depp is the Real Deal" jar.

I disagree about most of the shortcomings attributed to The Curse of the Black Pearl, especially the bit where critics whine about how it's "too long." As though movie length were a quantifiable measure of greatness. Just say what you really mean: This movie bored me silly. Sure thing. I don't agree, but whatever. Different strokes. It's not like Black Pearl is merely a grand showcase for a brilliant performance, either, though it is that. It's the kind of all-out, all-aboard, all-cylinders-firing adventure movie that Hollywood manages to concoct correctly only a couple of times each year. The contact high from Black Pearl buoyed me for almost all of the lesser-but-still-entertaining Dead Man's Chest. The good vibes dissipated to such an extent while slogging through At World's End that I actually accused it in print (I'm not proud) of being too long. With On Stranger Tides, in theaters today, the movie had the challenge of winning me back on its own merits, and it's frankly not quite good enough for that.

There are numerous problems with what the franchise has gotten up to since Black Pearl, but the biggest of them is the reason that we all sat down to watch the sequels in the first place. Captain Jack never came back. Not really. Depp showed up in the same costume, but the creative team had gotten the wrong idea from all the hubbub about his performance, and all the talk about Keith Richards. If you watch Black Pearl again — and if you've been pining for the old Pirates magic, it's the only real fix — you'll notice a funny thing about Jack. He's not a buffoon. In his review of On Stranger Tides, Roger Ebert writes of Jack that "whether he is a competent swashbuckler is hard to say." It's a problem that developed in Dead Man's Chest and has gotten worse ever since. Because Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio and whoever else thought that what made everyone giddy about Jack was what I call his "foppish nutter" aspect. The mincing walk. The fluttery hands. The cock-eyed proclamations.

Fine. It was all part of the game from the start. What Black Pearl got right, however, is that it's the smaller part of what's appealing about the character. Remember when women initially thought Captain Jack was hot? That was all because of the cool customer part of his character, the guy who steals the Interceptor from under Norrington's nose, or genially forces Will Turner to reckon with piratey heritage, or dives into the bay at Port Royal to rescue Elizabeth Swann. It's lines like, "Do we have an accord?" as opposed to, "Where is the rum?" The rum bit is funny when that's 30 percent of the character, with the other 70 percent being reckless-but-capable rogue who bides his time ("the opportune moment," remember?) and always lands on his feet — more often by dint of his own wits and skill than by accident. That's my Captain Jack. That's the guy I wish I still knew. Yo-ho, yo-ho, wake me up if he ever shows his face again.