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Raucous and as slow and nutritious as Heinz ketchup coming out of the bottle, Disney’s fourth installment of its theme park-based movie series is like the previous two, though a tad more coherent. Replacing director Gore Verbinski with director Rob Marshall (Chicago), and removing the romantic leads played by wispy Keira Knightley and equally wispy Orlando Bloom, neither of whom is missed here, Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides searches for the Fountain of Youth, finds more mysticism and gets religion. What began as an innocuously ghost-storied boat ride through the pirate-laden Bayou at Disneyland in 1967 has become a flat franchise based on characters no one could possibly care about. Pirates 4 is a big, long bombastic bore.

Johnny Depp returns as Captain Jack Sparrow, catapulting a supporting role into the leading character, which is like making Star Wars about C3PO, and he’s joined by a couple of pirate captains seeking Ponce de Leon’s mythical Fountain of Youth. After some antics in London, where he first meets with Barbossa, played again by Geoffrey Rush (The King’s Speech) and gone legit by joining the British navy, Captain Jack’s off on his quest, accompanied at times by a cross-dressing, double-crossing, devout Catholic first mate who may or may not be Blackbeard’s child. The character is portrayed by Penelope Cruz and I couldn’t understand half of what she said. But to be fair, I couldn’t make out half of what any character said (and neither, probably, will you). Not that it matters.

Blackbeard is played by veteran actor Ian McShane, the best thing about the movie, making the most of his role as the fabled pirate, who is to Pirates 4 what Tilda Swinton’s White Queen was to Narnia; the most interesting, if evil, character by way of being the most consistent. Writers Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio, whom I interviewed after the release of the second movie, remain at their best with light humorous banter, but with Jack Sparrow at the center, as against providing comic relief, the movie sinks to the bottom like a mermaid in a nosedive. Sparrow is an aimless and schizophrenic protagonist, and the lack of anyone sane, relatable and rational drains the picture of its purpose; why seek to preserve a bunch of unwashed and inarticulate malcontents speechifying about nonsense?

Add to that competing teams of preachy Christians, carefully positioned crosses, and an anti-climactic climax, on top of emaciated mermaids with fangs like something out of Piranha 3D and scenes of ecclesiastical redemption that feel more like the prolonged end of a visit to a long-winded relative’s house, and the nihilistic series’ finally delivers what it promises: nothing. The 3D, which exists for a few contrived, non-organic scenes of swords pointed at the screen, is not worth the extra money. Worst of all, the big reveal, the Fountain of Youth, never comes. It ends up as a foggy swamp which Cruz’s character falsely calls “beautiful”. What we’re left with is a band of croaky old pirates in orange tans and globbed with black eyeliner that seem more in line with The Da Vinci Code than an exotic cinematic adventure. Without much in the way of looting, comely wenches and derring-do, the dark series has always been more of a horror franchise mixed with absurdism and a splash of romance. Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides adds religion, tries too hard, and overloads what’s already a leaky boat. Skip it and you won’t miss a thing.

If the first 15 minutes don’t send you running for the exit, Disney’s I Am Number Four turns out to be a decent science fiction thriller. It’s strictly boy meets girl, and the story is derivative of movies you’ve seen before, but the lead actors are fine, the tension builds and the action makes sense. The bad aliens are daunting and you find yourself rooting for the good guys, human and alien alike. The theme, played out with a tough girl, a feminine girl, a stone-faced hero and a geek with a mind of his own, involves empowering oneself through intelligent choices. Not more complicated than that, and not much better either, but with amicable characters and good performances, the energetic vibe evokes The Terminator and the picture plays surprisingly well.

Using Elton John‘s pop songs, Gnomeo and Juliet is a perfectly harmless little animated picture that’s fun for the whole family. Playing on William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, and neatly handling its literary origins with a twist on his tragic flaw, the romantic story of a boy and girl gnome (those garden ornaments) who fall for one another is charming, humorous and utterly forgettable. I laughed out loud a few times, and the classic Elton rock songs were enjoyable, and while this entertaining show is the equivalent of a little ditty, it’s fine for what it is, which is not loud, obnoxious and devoid of value like most in the genre. Don’t bother paying extra for the 3D.

Following what appears to have been a cast and crew revolt against the film’s director and producers, actor Mel Gibson has reportedly been dumped from his cameo role in the sequel to last year’s vulgar hit The Hangover. The rebuke of the misogynistic, anti-Jewish, anti-gay former movie star, a Catholic fundamentalist who makes blood pornography and obviously knows how to put on an act, is at least four years overdue.

Back in early 2004, when Gibson refused to admit the press for screenings of his Passion of the Christ in favor of church screenings, I wrote in an online commentary (“Jesus Christ Superscar”): “Pain is at the core of [his] bloody Braveheart, gruesome The Patriot, tortured Mad Max and nearly every picture Gibson has made. His movies, including Ransom, Conspiracy Theory and Lethal Weapon, show that torment is his stock in trade.” I later observed that Gibson’s Judeo-Christian display of blood, sweat and self-sacrifice was a kind of companion propaganda film to Michael Moore’s popular piece of left-wing dogma, Fahrenheit 9/11, also released in 2004.

By the summer of 2006, with news of Gibson’s first publicly acknowledged tirade against gays, Jews, and women, I wrote that Hollywood’s silent sanction of Gibson’s behavior and ideas was pathetic. Following one of Gibson’s unapologetic “apologies”, it fell to an 89-year-old Jew, Kirk Douglas, writing in Variety, to put the matter in perspective: “Within the deep recesses of his mind, there apparently lies a cancerous sore of hatred for the Jews…Mel’s first apology was too contrite and seemingly not remorseful. His second was an afterthought—oh yes, about those Jews.” In the wake of a heavily hyped interview on Disney’s television network, promoting  Gibson’s imminent Apocalypto for the studio, I criticized Disney in a column for giving Gibson “a platform to equivocate about his anti-Jewish views, essentially blaming the outburst on those who criticized his commercially popular religious picture, The Passion of the Christ.” I can’t think of more just deserts for Mel Gibson, who was once capable of creating decent and enjoyable movie roles, than being fired from a production that’s sure to be as low, crude and disgusting as The Hangover 2.