Marathon man

There was no getting away from Bach in London over Easter weekend.

The banks were closed for the holiday. The Circle and District lines were closed for repairs. Le Pain Quotidien at Goodge Street was closed due to a water shutoff. Costa Coffee near Harrods had three patrons and a barista. But the Royal Albert Hall was open for Sir John Eliot Gardiner's Bach Marathon. Even scaled down from 12 hours to nine due to a funding cut, it was a true marathon and a true holiday - what another Eliot called “pentecostal fire / at the dark time of year”. 

For the millennium celebrations 13 years ago, Gardiner and his perpetually Bach-ready ensemble presented Bach's surviving church cantatas on the right feast days in churches from London and Paris to Cracow and Iona, and wrapped it up with three performances at St Bartholomew's Church on Park Avenue in New York in late December 2000. At the end of a century of Bach relentlessly made new (a story I have sought to tell in my book Reinventing Bach) this Bach Cantata Pilgrimage was ambitious in the extreme, and not just because of all the gear lugged and miles logged. With it Gardiner took hold of a lifetime of musical experience in Bach and rooted it in our common life by incorporating it into the most history-conscious of journeys, a pilgrimage.  

Set against the Pilgrimage, the Easter Monday Bach Marathon was a sprint. But it’s better to change comparisons altogether. Where the Pilgrimage presented Johann Sebastian Bach in situ, the Marathon took shape as Bach in the round. One critic saw the elliptical Hall only a third full and called the concert an event without an occasion. But from the stage (where I took part in two panel discussions) it seemed plenty eventful, an occasion all its own. Instead of fitting Bach into an established pattern - Good Friday, or Whitsunday, or the Proms - Sir John Eliot came up with a fresh one. Into the fag-end of Easter, the seam between winter and spring, the gap between sacred holiday and worldly getaway to Spain or wherever - into that liminal space he brought the music of Bach.

That’s what he has been doing all along. Though not openly religious, he puts the sacred side of Bach’s music front and center, evangelising for Bach (as in his documentary Bach: A Passionate Life, which aired on BBC2). Though intent on Bach, he is no Bach specialist; he holds his identification with the composer in check, and the name of his group - the Monteverdi Choir - keeps it there. 

The Marathon was a Gardiner production through and through, and yet the differences from his usual approach were obvious. Renowned for his work with choir and orchestra, he opened up the program to instrumental soloists: pianist Joanna MacGregor, violinist Viktoria Mullova, cellist Alban Gerhardt, and pipe organist John Butt (who has led performances of Bach's sacred works in church, concert hall, and recording studio).  The effect was striking. Not so often have audiences had the chance to hear Bach's great going-down-to-Hell cantata Christ Lag in Todesbanden (1708) followed by Bach's chaconne for solo violin, composed a few years later; pretty rarely are the Goldberg Variations and the Mass in B minor, both from the 1740s, featured on the same programme. Side by side in the Bach biographies, side by side in our record collections, those works don't get to jostle against one another in the concert hall.  Here they did, and the music sounded different for it. The cantata and the chaconne struck bottom contrapuntally as works of mourning.  The Goldbergs and the Mass rang out as a double dose of brightness - music which, like the amp in This Is Spinal Tap, “goes to 11”. 

The juxtaposition of the life in Bach's music with life outside the Royal Albert Hall was telling, too. A church musician for most of his life, Bach was never so busy as at Easter, and here and now the yearly musical run-up to Easter can be a marathon in its own right. In London before Easter I ran into Bach wherever I turned. There he was at Handel House (which seats 24) in a recital by the lutenist Yair Avidor and the improvisatory violinist Jennifer Bennett. There he was at the BFI in a screening of Pasolini's great film of the Gospel According to St Matthew, which uses the St Matthew Passion in the soundtrack. There he was in two different ballet series advertised along the escalators on the Underground. There he was at Trafalgar Square in a St Matthew Passion recording run under the bloody live re-enactment of Christ's suffering and death beneath Nelson's Column. There he was in a church from his own time - St George, Hanover Square (built 1724) - as the Passion (composed 1729) marked Good Friday.  There he was on my publisher's phone line: the cello suites as music to hold on to. The Bach Marathon managed to situate Bach in Holy Week and in the turning world, too.  

A conductor is a shaper of sound, and with the Bach Marathon Sir John Eliot shaped a highly original Easter Monday. It was an occasion all right, and the couple of thousand of us who were there were a crowd - more Londoners than I had seen all weekend out in the city. The people wheeling their suitcases through Heathrow and Euston that day couldn't have known what they were missing.

Paul Elie is the author of "Reinventing Bach" (Union Books, £25).

Portraits of J S Bach (left) and his father (Photograph: Getty Images)
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Pirates of the Caribbean’s silly magic still works – but Johnny Depp doesn’t

This fifth sequel makes no sense, but my former teenage heart still jumped. It’s Johnny Depp who’s sunk. [Aye, spoilers ahead . . .]

“One day ashore for ten years at sea. It's a heavy price for what's been done.”

Ten years ago, Will Turner (Orlando Bloom), having replaced the sprawling villain Davy Jones as captain of the Flying Dutchman, spent his only day on land before leaving his bride, the incumbent King of the Pirates, Elizabeth Swann (Keira Knightley), for ten years, to fulfil his cursed fate and bring the dead at sea to their eternal rest. Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp) was sailing away to new adventures, again running after his beloved ship, the Black Pearl. It was 2007, I was 14, and the trilogy I had put all my teenage heart into was ending with the third instalment, At World’s End, on a bitter-sweet and loyal salute to the series.

But whatever the posters said, that wasn't quite the end, and what came after was awful.

First, the third film’s traditional post-credits scene showed Elizabeth waiting for her husband’s return, a ten-year-old boy by her side. She, the King of the Pirates, who in the same movie had just led a fleet to defeat the East India Company, had been sitting on the sand for ten years, raising a kid, instead of sailing, even while pregnant, to save Will like a fictional Ann Bonny? I was furious. Then, in 2011, Disney released On Stranger Tides, a sequel so hideous that even this former fan could not bring herself to like it. Bloom and Knightley had moved on, and without the original lovers’ duo, Johnny Depp’s legendary Sparrow had no substantial character to balance his craziness. Somehow, it made money, leading Disney to plan more sequels. Hence the fifth story, Salazar’s Revenge (Dead Men Tell No Tales in the US) hitting theatres this weekend.

Admittedly, it didn’t take the fourth or fifth movie for Pirates of the Caribbean to stop making sense, or just to be a bit rubbish. After the surprise success in 2003 of The Curse of the Black Pearl (young man associates with pirate to save young woman from more pirates and break a curse, adventures ensue), Disney improvised two more stories. Filmed together, there was 2006’s Dead Man’s Chest (couple’s wedding is interrupted, curse threatens pirate, fiancé wants to save his father from said curse, adventures ensue) and 2007’s At World’s End (everyone goes to the end of the world to save dead pirate while piracy is at war with East India Company and man still wants to save his father, adventures ensue). Chaotic plots, childish humour, naively emphatic dialogue and improbable situations quickly lost much of the audience.

Yet I’ve loved the trilogy for it all: the swashbuckling, sword-fighting and majestic ships on the high seas, the nautical myths, the weird magic and star-crossed love story. Everyone knows the main theme, but there are more hidden jewels to Hans Zimmer’s soundtrack. “One Day”, the melody to the couple’s last day together, is a beautiful backwash of nostalgia, as they embrace in the froth. Detailed costumes and stylish sets (At World’s End had stunning shots, such as a Chinese junk navigating the icy waters of the world's end) worked their magic every time.

As expected, there's little subtlety in Salazar’s Revenge. It’s over-the-top comedy and loud action, unnecessarily salacious jokes and copied scenes from the original. Its villain, Capitán Salazar (Javier Bardem), is a parody of a nightmare, but then not everyone can convey terror from under layers of CGI the way Bill Nighy could. It is a story of sons and daughters – Turner’s son Henry is following in the family tradition, trying to save his father from a curse – usually the sign that a series is dangerously lurking into fan fiction (here's looking at you, Harry Potter’s Cursed Child). Praised for being a feminist character, the new female lead Carina (Kaya Scodelario) spends half the film being sexualised and the other half defending the concept of women being smart, where previous films let Elizabeth lead a fleet of men without ever doubting her sex.

But the promise has been kept. Exactly ten years after leaving in a flash of green, Will Turner returns and brings some of the original spirit with him: ship battles and clueless soldiers, maps that cannot be read and compasses that do not point north. Zimmer’s theme sounds grand and treasure islands make the screen shine. The Pearl itself floats again, after disappearing in Stranger Tides.

Yet the one bit of magic it can't revive is in the heart of its most enduring character. Johnny Depp has sunk and everyone is having fun but him. Engulfed in financial troubles and rumours of heavy drinking, the actor, who had to be fed his lines by earpiece, barely manages a bad impersonation of the character he created in 2003. Watching him is painful – though it goes deeper than his performance in this film alone. Allegations of domestic violence against his ex-wife Amber Heard have tarnished his image, and his acting has been bad for a decade.

It should work better, given this incarnation of his Jack Sparrow is similarly damaged. The pirate legend on “Wanted” posters has lost the support of his crew and disappoints the new hero (“Are you really THE Jack Sparrow?”). The film bets on flashbacks of Jack’s youth, featuring Depp’s actual face and bad special effects, to remind us who Sparrow is. He is randomly called “the pirate” by soldiers who dreamt of his capture in previous movies and his character is essentially incidental to the plot, struggling to keep up with the younger heroes. He even loses his compass.

Pirates of the Caribbean 5 is the sequel no one needed, that the happy end the star-crossed lovers should never have had. It is 2017 and no one will sail to the world’s end and beyond to save Depp from purgatory. But all I wanted was for "One Day" to play, and for the beloved ghosts of my teenage years to reappear in a sequel I knew should never have been written. The beauty was in that last flash of green.

And yet the pirate's song sounds true: "Never shall we die". Pirates of the Caribbean has, at the very least, kept delivering on that.

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