Chapter 155: Captain Jack’s Audition, Part 2

Chapter 155: Chapter 155: Captain Jack’s Audition, Part 2

Jerry Bruckheimer’s words were much more direct than Irene’s. Of course, given his status as a producer, he didn’t need to bow to any actor.

The smile on Jim Carrey’s face stiffened for a moment before returning to normal as he shrugged. "Alright, I just wanted to make this character a bit more interesting."

Seeing this, Irene quickly stepped in to smooth things over. "Mr. Jim Carrey, thank you very much for taking the time to perform despite your busy schedule. We will inform your agent of the results later."

Jim Carrey grinned at Irene. "Alright, beautiful director." With that, he exited the room, as if he hadn’t heard Jerry’s words at all.

Soon, the third actor to audition, Robert De Niro, pushed open the door and walked in.

His entrance was completely different from the previous two. There was no exaggerated styling or intense aura. He was simply dressed in a well-tailored dark suit with a white shirt underneath, his tie perfectly knotted, his hair neatly combed, and his face without any makeup—it was exactly how he would look attending an event on a normal day.

He walked into the audition area but didn’t start performing immediately. Instead, he first walked around the space, his gaze slowly scanning the props like wine barrels, compasses, and cutlasses, as if observing the environment or perhaps contemplating the character.

Walking up to the rum bottle, he stopped, picked it up, slowly unscrewed the cap, brought it to his nose to sniff it, then slowly screwed it back on and placed it back in its original spot.

"Power is not gained through swords. It is gained through the hearts of men," he spoke, his voice deep and powerful, carrying a sense of world-weariness from long experience.

His eyes were deep, as if hiding countless secrets, possessing the aura of a big boss exactly like in The Godfather.

When simulating the scene of commanding the crew to set sail, his gestures were slow and solemn. Every command was clear and precise, carrying an unquestionable authority, as if he weren’t commanding a group of pirates but leading a massive family business.

However, when it came to showing the eccentric side of Captain Jack, his performance seemed exceptionally stiff.

Irene asked him to simulate a scene of joking with the crew after drinking. A smile barely squeezed onto the corners of his mouth, but his eyes remained serious, and his jokes carried a commanding tone, completely lacking any lighthearted or humorous feel.

The Fox representative wanted to say something, like "You could let loose a bit more," but was stopped by Jerry’s look.

"Thank you, Mr. Robert," Irene said in a polite but distant tone. "Your interpretation has great depth and majesty, but it might not quite fit Captain Jack’s temperament. What we want is a soul that is more free, more rebellious, and more unrestrained."

Robert De Niro nodded, his face expressionless as he gave a slight bow. "I understand." Then he turned and left the audition area, his back still straight, carrying a hint of indisputable pride.

Irene sighed inwardly. Who on earth recommended Robert De Niro? They didn’t consider actor compatibility at all. This wasn’t a serious drama, and she wasn’t doing this to win awards. This gentleman and her movie were simply not in the same dimension.

The consecutive auditions of three actors left everyone present a bit discouraged, especially the Disney and Fox representatives who had recommended Hugh Jackman and Robert De Niro. After all, anyone could see that the pirates they portrayed didn’t match the film’s style, and the possibility of choosing them was already very slim.

The CAA representative, however, looked pleased. Although Jim Carrey’s performance was a bit too over-the-top for Jerry’s liking, that could be adjusted after joining the cast. At least he was much better than the other two.

Only one auditionee remained. Irene took a deep breath and looked toward the door with a bit of anticipation.

The last one to appear was Johnny Depp.

He hadn’t dressed up deliberately like the other three. He wore only a faded linen shirt with the collar open, revealing several layered old necklaces—one with a silver skull pendant and another with a black rope chain.

His hair was a messy heap on his head as if it hadn’t been washed for days. Wisps of hair covered half of his eyes, and he had used an eyebrow pencil to draw faint lines at the corners of his eyes to simulate the marks of long-term exposure to sea breezes. On his finger, he wore that shark tooth ring with a matte texture.

He wasn’t in a hurry to speak or pick up props. Instead, he stood in the center of the audition area, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath for a few seconds, as if smelling the sea salt in the air.

When he opened his eyes again, his gaze had completely changed—hazy, languid, with a hint of cynical cunning, as if he had just woken up from a hangover.

He slowly walked toward the wine barrel, his steps swaying as if he were treading on a rocking ship deck. Every step was an uncertain stumble, yet he strangely maintained his balance.

Reaching the wine barrel, he didn’t stop immediately but leaned into it, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor with his back against the wooden barrel. One leg was stretched out while the other was bent, his arm resting casually on his knee—a posture of ultimate relaxation.

"Rum is the blood of a pirate. Without rum, the ship won’t even move," he said, his voice raspy and lazy, the ends of his words trailing off with a slight slur, as if his tongue were tied in knots.

As he spoke, he blinked frequently, his gaze wandering—looking at the rum bottle in his hand one moment and at the ceiling the next, as if talking to the air.

He picked up the bottle, tilted his head back to "gulp" down a mouthful, his throat bobbing, then let out a loud burp and casually wiped the corner of his mouth. The movements were natural and crude, with no trace of deliberate acting.

When simulating the scene of being captured by an enemy, he didn’t struggle or show anger. Instead, he winked at the "enemy": "Hey mate, take it easy, you’re about to snap my arm."

While speaking, he suddenly raised his hand, caught the opponent’s blade between his index and middle fingers, gave it a gentle twist, and let his body fall backward. Simultaneously, he bent his legs and hooked the opponent’s ankle with his heel. The entire sequence was fluid, carrying a sort of lazy agility.

Then came a piece of improvisation. He suddenly spotted a white feather on the table, his eyes lit up, and he reached out to pick it up, carefully tucking it into his hair before swaying his hips and dancing a strange set of steps.

His pace was sometimes fast and sometimes slow, his body swaying from side to side as if performing a pirate dance only he understood. He hummed a tuneless melody, the lyrics muffled and indistinct, sounding like French or perhaps Spanish—a touch of romance within the madness, a hint of tenderness hidden in the wickedness.

A brief silence fell over the studio. Some people showed expressions of pleasant surprise, while others were utterly confused. Such a pirate had never been seen before.

Irene’s brow furrowed slightly as she fell into deep thought.