Piracy & The Black Heart
An essay about the Feri Black Heart of Innocence in the guise of a movie review. Formerly published in Witch Eye number, umm, 9 I think or maybe 10. Figured that "Talk Like A Pirate Day" was a fine time to share it with the general public.
Captain Jack Sparrow is the Black Heart of Innocence in action… From his sexy stance on the crow's nest of a sinking ship to his bemused remembrances of past sins while being fitted for a hangman's noose, Sparrow never misses an opportunity to flirt, drink or show off.
Watching him, you're never sure who's side he's on, never sure if he's a noble fellow in a harsh world, or a bastard scoundrel who knows how to smile and wink his way out of trouble. He's got a bold, lascivious approach to life and everything in it. Of course, there's more to the movie than Captain Jack: cursed pirates, Aztec gold, the governor's virginal daughter, the uptight commodore and the blacksmith's apprentice, all dancing to Jack's tune as he sashays around the Caribbean. Nobody knows when he's being honest, or whose side he's on; maybe he doesn't know himself. Obviously, it's not important to him… he's got more interesting things to worry about than internal consistency or external honors. Like where his next drink is coming from. And how to reclaim his ship.
In the "hidden symbolism" department (see, we *can* find esoteric messages in a Disney adventure flick), Jack acquires two ships named for traditionally masculine qualities-the "Interceptor" and the "Dauntless"-in search of that most feminine treasure-the "Black Pearl."
As a side effect of his quest, he casually challenges every standard of morality in the people around him. He starts by pulling the ship guards into a conversation and then an argument, making them forget their duties long enough for him to sneak onto the ship. He rescues the drowning heroine, bringing them the uncomfortable awareness that the governor may owe some kind of moral debt to this condemned criminal. Later, he forces Will Turner to acknowledge that, regardless of the evils of piracy, it doesn't make the pirates themselves evil, or even bad men. And he seduces the prim and proper Miss Swan into drunken debauchery (although exactly how far he gets with her we'll probably never know).
Perhaps the most interesting dynamic in the movie is that between Captain Jack Sparrow and Commodore Norrington, who captures him several times, and is committed to seeing him hang for his past crimes-regardless of the merit of his other actions, from saving Elizabeth to ridding the seas of evil, cursed pirates. Norrington's worldview doesn't allow for redemption, or weighing the good one has done against the bad… a condemned criminal must die, regardless of how much good he's also accomplished.
And Jack accepts this worldview.
He doesn't like it, and he doesn't submit to it-he strives to evade it with all his luck and skills. But he doesn't mope about how "unfair" it is, nor try to convince Norrington to change his mind or his ethics. The Commodore's black-and-white morality is no more wrong or alien to him than Turner's lovestruck heroism, or Annamaria's calculated assistance, or Barbossa's vengeful cruelty. Other people's motivations are not important to him-he may need to understand them, but he's got no itch to change them to something closer to his own.
He wants his ship, his rum, and the occasional pretty lass (or maybe lad, but this *is* Disney; you'll see no hint of that onscreen-but the slashfic detailing the trip to Tortuga is incredible), and if other people want medals and commendations, or fat happy children, or comfortable, peaceful nights, that's their problem, not his.
This is the Black Heart: a sensual, direct approach to life with an innocent assumption that this is the right way to be, the only way to do things. Only someone who's equally strong in his own convictions, all the way to the core, could resist being pulled in-so his life is filled with random encounters with people who wake up the next morning, wondering what happened to their morals and how they've changed. That's how I spot the Black Heart of Innocence: not with an objective list of traits or activities, but an affect on the people nearby: do they find themselves saying, "What was I thinking? I don't do things like that!"
Reality bends itself around the Black Heart. The gods themselves are compelled to its will-it's not all of Barbossa's plundering that brings an end to the Aztec curse, but Sparrow's dark purity, his ambiguous sense of honor, and his absolute trust that, when the time's right, others will follow his lead.
Captain Jack Sparrow is the Black Heart of Innocence in action… From his sexy stance on the crow's nest of a sinking ship to his bemused remembrances of past sins while being fitted for a hangman's noose, Sparrow never misses an opportunity to flirt, drink or show off.
Watching him, you're never sure who's side he's on, never sure if he's a noble fellow in a harsh world, or a bastard scoundrel who knows how to smile and wink his way out of trouble. He's got a bold, lascivious approach to life and everything in it. Of course, there's more to the movie than Captain Jack: cursed pirates, Aztec gold, the governor's virginal daughter, the uptight commodore and the blacksmith's apprentice, all dancing to Jack's tune as he sashays around the Caribbean. Nobody knows when he's being honest, or whose side he's on; maybe he doesn't know himself. Obviously, it's not important to him… he's got more interesting things to worry about than internal consistency or external honors. Like where his next drink is coming from. And how to reclaim his ship.
In the "hidden symbolism" department (see, we *can* find esoteric messages in a Disney adventure flick), Jack acquires two ships named for traditionally masculine qualities-the "Interceptor" and the "Dauntless"-in search of that most feminine treasure-the "Black Pearl."
As a side effect of his quest, he casually challenges every standard of morality in the people around him. He starts by pulling the ship guards into a conversation and then an argument, making them forget their duties long enough for him to sneak onto the ship. He rescues the drowning heroine, bringing them the uncomfortable awareness that the governor may owe some kind of moral debt to this condemned criminal. Later, he forces Will Turner to acknowledge that, regardless of the evils of piracy, it doesn't make the pirates themselves evil, or even bad men. And he seduces the prim and proper Miss Swan into drunken debauchery (although exactly how far he gets with her we'll probably never know).
Perhaps the most interesting dynamic in the movie is that between Captain Jack Sparrow and Commodore Norrington, who captures him several times, and is committed to seeing him hang for his past crimes-regardless of the merit of his other actions, from saving Elizabeth to ridding the seas of evil, cursed pirates. Norrington's worldview doesn't allow for redemption, or weighing the good one has done against the bad… a condemned criminal must die, regardless of how much good he's also accomplished.
And Jack accepts this worldview.
He doesn't like it, and he doesn't submit to it-he strives to evade it with all his luck and skills. But he doesn't mope about how "unfair" it is, nor try to convince Norrington to change his mind or his ethics. The Commodore's black-and-white morality is no more wrong or alien to him than Turner's lovestruck heroism, or Annamaria's calculated assistance, or Barbossa's vengeful cruelty. Other people's motivations are not important to him-he may need to understand them, but he's got no itch to change them to something closer to his own.
He wants his ship, his rum, and the occasional pretty lass (or maybe lad, but this *is* Disney; you'll see no hint of that onscreen-but the slashfic detailing the trip to Tortuga is incredible), and if other people want medals and commendations, or fat happy children, or comfortable, peaceful nights, that's their problem, not his.
This is the Black Heart: a sensual, direct approach to life with an innocent assumption that this is the right way to be, the only way to do things. Only someone who's equally strong in his own convictions, all the way to the core, could resist being pulled in-so his life is filled with random encounters with people who wake up the next morning, wondering what happened to their morals and how they've changed. That's how I spot the Black Heart of Innocence: not with an objective list of traits or activities, but an affect on the people nearby: do they find themselves saying, "What was I thinking? I don't do things like that!"
Reality bends itself around the Black Heart. The gods themselves are compelled to its will-it's not all of Barbossa's plundering that brings an end to the Aztec curse, but Sparrow's dark purity, his ambiguous sense of honor, and his absolute trust that, when the time's right, others will follow his lead.