The Silent Mary

I could call myself a huge PotC specialist, but I don't like to talk about myself. So... welcome, nice to serve you 😊

[silentmarytheghostship]

In this post, I'll explain the plot and the entire point of PotC 5.

It'll be incredibly long, but it'll be worth persevering until the end.

I admit, PotC 5 still baffles even me with its logic and complexity.

And I'm shocked by what I've discovered.

Read until the end.

Salazar's Revenge is no weaker film.

It is the most complex and mature finale in the series, demanding narrative, psychological, and systemic maturity from the viewer.

It's not a lack of excitement—it's a level of reflection that most viewers haven't yet reached.

This movie revolves around Sparrow on a completely different level and in a completely different way than others.

There, Jack was the hero.

Here, Jack isn't.

He's not even the best.

Here, Jack is the safety-valvre.

And throughout the entire movie, ONLY HENRY AND JACK understood this.

The rest of the audience focused on the immediate threat, not analyzing the depths of Salazar's psychology.

"Who will you trade the dead for if you kill me, Hector?"

"If you kill him, the dead will get even more furious."

Only they knew the stakes.

Salazar was Sparrow's most ill-suited and powerful enemy in the entire series.

He attacked precisely the mechanisms that had protected Jack his entire life—and he did so consciously, methodically, and without rushing.

It wasn't a matter of "who was stronger," but who was defeating whose advantages. Jack had no "loophole" to slip into.

Jack creates chaos. Salazar analyzes chaos and anticipates it.

Jack improvises. Salazar thinks several moves ahead.

Jack manipulates emotions. Salazar masterfully controls his own.

Jack drags out time. Salazar waits.

Jack relies on luck. Salazar acts as an inevitability, not a risk.

Moreover, Salazar sees Jack for who he is. He's a master at reading people. He takes Jack deadly seriously, takes his time, and refuses to be provoked.

This is a nightmare for Jack—it's impossible to win against someone who doesn't make his favorite mistakes.

Salazar dictates the pace, pauses are his, silence is his, conversation is a tool of domination.

Jack doesn't lead the scene—he tries to survive it.

Most of Jack's enemies see him as a clown, dismiss him, react emotionally, and want to "kill him quickly."

Salazar isn't like that.

Salazar is smarter than Jack and more intelligent. And, of course, stronger. Salazar was incredibly intelligent scientifically, and this is often underestimated, because the film shows it without lectures, but in action.

Below: physics+biomechanics+psychology+terrain usage+prediction+strategy+maths+experience+understanding of the opponent

And he knows that time is on his side.

Moreover, he is the only one who understands psychological mechanisms, not just emotions.

Therefore, his "please," pauses, smiles, and corrections—these aren't theater for effect. They are tools for regulating his opponent's mental state.

Salazar doesn't need numerical superiority.

He doesn't need brute force (though he has it),

he doesn't need luck.

He reduces reality to equations he controls.

Jack Sparrow thrives on random variables. Salazar is someone who perfectly eliminates these variables.

This made him the worst danger in the series. Too intelligent.

Not only did he know a hell of a lot, but he understood it all perfectly and used it perfectly in combat. So perfectly, in fact, that it was difficult to see in the film at first look.

Physics, mathematics, chemistry, biomechanics, psychology, sailing, terrain usage, and predicting were all a piece of cake for him.

And Jack had accidentally let him out of his cage. Oops.

And here we come to the crux of the matter.

Jack wasn't an end in himself.

He was the final element that gave meaning to Salazar's actions.

Salazar didn't just want to kill him.

He wanted to close the chapter named "Sparrow" in his life.

That's why he devoted so much attention to hunting.

This made him act selectively, not completely.

And suddenly, Jack is no longer a clever trickster.

He's the only barrier holding back the flood of everything.

And he understands this.

In the previous films, Jack was the "problem solver"—improvising, manipulating, and surviving unscathed.

Here, his role isn't to win, but to keep the world in check: as long as he lives, Salazar acts selectively, not destroying everything.

In the earlier films, Jack dictates the pace of the scenes and is the master of chaos.

Here, Salazar dictates the pace—Jack merely maintains the balance, acting as a buffer, absorbing the escalating catastrophe.

The fact that Jack could die at any moment isn't a tragedy for him, but for the world.

Salazar then loses his selective purpose, and his anger spills out unchecked—everything falls to ruin.

Jack knows that Salazar doesn't want chaos; Salazar is acting deliberately; Jack is the axis of the conflict.

Killing Jack doesn't close the case, but it definitively takes away possibility to control Salazar.

That leaves the world with a force that can no longer be negotiated or channeled.

Henry understands this too.

"If we kill Jack, we'll make them even more furious."

He knows this means escalation.

This is a loss of restraint, a shift from "pursuit with purpose" to "destruction without purpose."

Henry instinctively senses that as long as Jack lives, Salazar operates narrowly and precisely, and with Jack dead, there's no reason for selectivity.

And this is the difference between a targeted threat and a total threat.

Jack focuses attention, limits the scope of action, and gives meaning and direction to the conflict.

That's why he served as a safety-valvre in the film.

Jack was valuable because his life was the last thing that kept Salazar in check.

In other words: Jack's existence protects everyone from Salazar's full, unpredictable fury.

And in fact, this is a layer of narrative that most viewers instinctively sense but rarely dissect.

What if Jack had been killed before Salazar could get him?

That would have been catastrophic.

Without Jack, Salazar no longer has to "close" anything—he becomes utterly unpredictable.

Jack had held Salazar in check; his death means Salazar can act without compromise.

The characters' lives are immediately threatened because Salazar no longer has to play by any predictable plan. Salazar's chaos can lead to brutal, uncontrolled violence against anyone within range.

Salazar becomes an unstoppable threat because there is no longer an opponent to balance his power and cunning.

Jack lives to be a point of containment for escalation.

He is a "living anchor of chaos"—his presence ensures Salazar acts predictably and selectively.

Without Jack Salazar would be pure death and catastrophe for everyone around him.

That's why they searched for the trident.

By keeping Jack alive, they constrained Salazar's agression level, and sought to destroy him.

The trident wasn't just "another magical artifact."

It was the only way to stop relying on Jack as a safety-valvre.

They couldn't simply kill Jack, they couldn't simply defeat Salazar, and they couldn't live in this state indefinitely.

Poseidon's trident breaks all curses, removes Salazar as a "process" entity, ends the threat systemically, not individually.

In other words, Jack is no longer needed as a regulator, Salazar ceases to exist as a catastrophe, and the world returns to equilibrium without a substitute victim.

This is the only solution in which Jack doesn't have to die, Salazar doesn't have to be "kept on a leash," and the rest of the world doesn't pay the price.

Jack knows that as long as he lives, he protects others, he knows that his life now has a function, not a personal value, he knows that the trident is the only way out.

And Henry is the only one who sees Jack not as a legend, but as a man trapped. He understands that the world can't be based on one man forever, he seeks a structural solution, not a temporary one.

That's why their perspectives converge:

Jack holds the line, Henry seeks a way out, the trident is the key.

They kept Jack alive because he was the only barrier against Salazar—and the trident was the only way to make that barrier unnecessary.

The others, led by Barbossa, didn't understand this.

Barbossa thought "pirately," not systematically.

That's why his first instincts were agreements, flattery, stalling, "it'll work out somehow."

It worked on people.

It didn't work on Salazar. Salazar controlled this game.

To Barbossa, Jack was an irritating trickster, a rival, sometimes a bargaining chip.

He didn't see what Jack and Henry saw:

that Jack absorbed Salazar, that his life regulated the scale of the threat, that this wasn't a personal vendetta, but a control mechanism.

That's why Jack's line:

"Who will you trade the dead if you kill me?"

-Barbossa hears as the chatter of a desperate man.

But Jack speaks a systematic truth.

Why did Barbossa have to die?

Because Barbossa always chose a specific victim, not an abstract solution, always paying with someone's life.

In the end, he understood that he couldn't pay with Jack anymore, he couldn't pay with Henry, someone had to settle the score.

And for the first time in his life, he wasn't trading with someone else's life, but with his own.

And the decision was sealed by his daughter's danger.

There is also another explanation - he placed two curses on himself condemning him to death (Shansa and Silent Mary)

Why did Jack let Barbossa die?

Not because he couldn't save him.

Not because he didn't want to.

Only because he understood exactly what Barbossa understood—in that same instant.

Jack understands one thing:

If he stops him now, he'll rob him of his only true victory.

Throughout the film, Jack bears the burden, acts as a safety net, cushions the catastrophe.

But with the Trident, the system resets, Salazar can be killed, Jack is no longer needed as a barrier.

And then Jack understands:

Someone else must bear the cost of the transition, and Barbossa has already made his choice.

If Jack had saved him, he would have violated the meaning of this sacrifice, and Barbossa would have lost his daughter.

This is an act of respect, not indifference.

Jack doesn't stop Barbossa because, for the first time, he treats him not as a rival, not as a pirate, but as someone who finally understands the stakes.

Jack has already paid with years of life, fear, and loneliness; Barbossa has spent his entire life shifting the cost onto others.

This finale gives Barbossa an agency he's never used well before.

Jack sees this. And he has no right to take it away from him.

This isn't Jack's "victory."

Jack loses the last opponent who truly knew him, loses someone who walked with him all the way from chaos to consequence. He's left alone with the knowledge that the world is saved, but the price was real.

That's why Jack is different after this film.

Now do you see how deep it is?

Because beneath the surface of the action, this film does something very unconventional:

it turns the hero into a part of the system,

revenge into a trial,

and the ending into a moral reckoning, not a victory.

Jack doesn't "win."

Salazar isn't "defeated."

Barbossa doesn't "die because he has to."

This is a story about the consequences of past choices, about responsibility that comes years later, and about how sometimes the greatest heroism is holding the world together, even if no one notices.

That's why only Jack and Henry see it:

Jack, because he was already that changeable character,

Henry, because he thinks about the future, not ego.

The rest are playing the old game. And this story... long ago transcended it.

This should be the final film of the entire series.

It doesn't try to raise the stakes, but rather settles the score and allows the protagonist to finally stop being the center of the universe.

It settles the oldest debt.

Salazar isn't a new evil—he's the consequence of Jack's first great victory.

The saga began with cunning without a price.

Here, the price returns. Years later. With interest.

This is the classic "final stage of the hero": not the one who wins the fights, but the one who carries the responsibility until a successor or a solution emerges.

Besides, this film introduces the next generation—and gives it the future.

Henry understands the system.

Carina understands the truth (literally and symbolically).

Jack no longer needs to be the axis of the world.

Best saga finales don't end the action.

They pass the baton.

Barbossa's death seals the end of an era.

He and Salazar are the last captain of the old order.

Barbossa dies not in chaos, but in decision.

This is a narrative sign: this world has closed.

Jack's final image is not a triumph.

There is no fanfare.

There is no great victory.

There's relief, exhaustion, and silence.

That's what real endings look like, not cliffhangers.

This film is more mature than the others.

Understand this finally!

"At World's End" concludes the story of pirates, and "Salazar's Revenge" concludes the story of Jack Sparrow - that's why this film, though more modest, is a more mature and truer ending.

There's no war of the worlds, no great fleet battle, no hero's triumph.

There's process, burden, responsibility.

This is an ending about consequences, not adventure.

In "At World's End" the world changes because the hero acts.

In "Salazar's Revenge" the world doesn't fall apart because the hero exists.

(That's a huge narrative difference.)

Amen.

I'll pin this post to the top of the page.

Questions allowed.

And if it's possible for you—just this one time, please reblog this post. As many as possible.

Thank you! 😊

[silentmarytheghostship]

I feel as if Salazar has reduced everything to... simple geometry and its precision.

Figures built on straight lines refer to the crew.

Figures based on curves refer to himself.

Squares refer to the crew's static domination of the battlefield. Everyone stands in their place, in their square, and then everything is perfect. Easy access to enemies, strategic placement, difficult to dislodge, deck taken over.

Triangles refer to killing, especially on a static battlefield. Swinging the sword up and down creates a sound that signals "kill." Draw two triangle arms just above the floor, point your head at a specific square, and the job will be done.

What's more, another triangle is drawn in the air as you plunge the sword into the victim.

Push in, withdraw, lower the weapon. Triangle.

Triangles and squares. And that's it.

That's all control.

Arcs, circles, and semicircles refer to himself.

He merely guides the blade in a circle through a chosen angle. Nothing more.

He can choose a horizontal plane for pushing the opponent, a diagonal plane for knocking them down and condemning them to death by bleeding out with the help of gravity, a vertical plane for chopping with the combined weight of his own body and weapon, or a 360-720* plane for ripping the target in half, provided he won't fall and will hit after spinning.

Kinetic energy + mass + gravity + acceleration + centripetal force generated by the arm in circular motion. 45-720* is precisely the time and place for such antics.

Quarter circles and smaller arcs, however, refer to the ship – the angle of the hull's rearward bend.

And only the captain knows how to play such blocks, so – again – the curved line refers to him.

So, again, bow-related stuff, but with a slightly different twist – some extras like elasticity, chemistry, biomechanics, etc.

That's the whole secret.

Simple? Simple.

[silentmarytheghostship]

I noticed that Salazar can kill with a single blow (which we saw in his first scene)...

...but he uses his weapon primarily to intimidate.

As if this first scene were the basis for understanding the others.

It shows that he can kill accurately.

But then he just swings it next to the victim.

(Look he closely, he didn't want to hurt Sparrow. He hit next to his shoulder to make him run away in fear.)

So he decides when he kills whom.

And when he only scares.

He could just kill him instantly instead of making those theatrical moves with showing weapon to his victim and waiting to make the victim more scared and panicked, and make them understand their bad situation.

It's a theatre of fear. He likes seeing fear and feeling domination.

But this also demonstrates his control over the blade's trajectory... which is incredible.

Similar logic applies to the slamming of the sword's tip against the floor and the crew's automatic reactions.

It all boils down to the conclusion that he's literally demonstrating to his victims that... their lives are in his hands. He decides how long they live.

He's the god here, snapping his fingers, and with a little effort, whatever he wants happens.

One move here or there, and you're either alive or dead. You're standing or lying. You die slowly or you die quickly.

Murderous minimalism. He has extraordinary precision control over both his sword, his crew, and the entire battlefield.

(I should point out that in the film, it's shown that this weapon is a pendulum that needs to be swung and then tries to rip your arm off by pulling it in a circle, so you need a vise-like grip. But in return, you gain enormous momentum and kinetic energy, allowing you to rap the blade on the floor as much as you want; the weapon doesn't have to be sharp; it will still crush your opponent.)

Therein lies his power.

As if this sword were a judge's hammer.

Such a small movement, yet so much harm can be done...

He doesn't need to scream, run, etc. A small movement is enough. He'll get the job done. Without unnecessary effort or adding to his burden.

He can accomplish a lot with a single movement, but he chooses if, when, and to whom he does it.

But he doesn't have to kill.

The very fact that he can trigger a murderous machine is his weapon.

Psychological weapon.

Hence orders like "hold your point." The deck is a grid of cards, with dots in precisely defined, special places representing his crew members. One look and a tap, and whatever he wants happens. Because he's trained them to be automatic in their area.

As if he were a god snapping his fingers.

Interesting, huh?

[silentmarytheghostship]

It could be said that all the ship battles in PotC 5 – at the beginning and end of the film – were a duel of leadership skills.

And here it becomes clear that of the three captains (Barbossa, Salazar, and Toms), only Barbossa led with complete awareness and thoughtfulness.

Salazar relied heavily on terror and experience, meaning it was mostly reflexive and instinctive, while Toms acted procedurally.

Thus, Barbossa didn't lose the final battle outright.

The crew knew why they were fighting, which allowed for cohesion even in a surprising situation.

Unlike Monarch, where the lack of a point of reference led to panic, and Mary, where the brutality was obvious but chaotic.

In Salazar's case, the crew was synchronized instinctively, but unplanned, so effectiveness didn't depend solely on conscious leadership. The fear, panic, and terror of the victims were the reinforcing factor. Salazar knew how people reacted to him. And he reinforced this by sending one alive to tell scary tales.

As a result, his method worked brilliantly: appear, terrify the enemy, and bring about their destruction.

His crew attacked, but they didn't focus on specific individuals. So they were more dispersed in the chaos for the sake of attacking, venting aggression, and inducing panic with brutality.

However, on the Black Pearl, this mechanism didn't fully work. Barbossa prevented the crew from mentally breaking down. Even under stress and with the enemy outnumbered, Barbossa maintained control of the group's actions.

As a result, Salazar was forced into a fight that wasn't his specialty: a prolonged encounter with an opponent who maintained organization.

It's an interesting paradox. Salazar was the most dangerous captain as a tool for spreading terror, but not necessarily the best commander in a drawn-out battle. He essentially always relied on quickly breaking the enemy with a surprise attack and/or instilling fear.

(Perhaps there was also a physiological basis – the Triangle was heavily contaminated, and judging by the sounds and behavior of the crew, everyone suffered from asthma to varying degrees, so even instinctively, they operate best in a short window of time, which is due to reduced respiratory capacity.)

Barbossa, on the other hand, repeatedly demonstrates throughout the series his ability to quickly assess a situation, establish priorities, communicate them to the crew with simple orders, and keep his men on task despite chaos. These are the classic traits of a very good commander.

Combat psychology truly shows that people endure extreme stress much better when they have a clear goal and trust the person giving the orders. Barbossa ensures this very cohesion, while Salazar strives to destroy it in his opponent. When he fails, his greatest advantage diminishes significantly.

This means that the difference between Monarch's destruction and the Black Pearl's defense can be interpreted not as an inconsistency, but as a clash of two different command philosophies, each most effective under different circumstances.

Incredible, isn't it?

[silentmarytheghostship]

I spotted one single contradiction in the novelization:

"At the sound of footsteps, the soldiers leaned against the walls ~and each other~, ready to fight. But there was no fighting this enemy. The crew of the Monarch realized in a split second that they were ~defenseless~. (...) An army of ghosts attacked them."

Meanwhile, later:

"Gibbs and Scrum fought ~back to back~, successfully repelling the ghosts' attacks."

Compare the crew sizes.

The Sparrow's crew numbered a dozen or so, while the Monarch's certainly numbered well over 100.

The Monarch's crew—experienced and trained soldiers—were wiped out in seconds, while ordinary pirates were not defeated in minutes.

In both cases, the Mary's crew was very brutal, as we see in the film.

And in both cases—furious.

The only difference between the two battles was the location – the first was in the Triangle, which temporarily appeared in our world, while the second was outside the "Uncharted Waters" area, where the Triangle could appear.

Could the Triangle, or even just being in the "Uncharted Waters" area, affect the crew's power?

Possibly.

But after the Triangle's collapse, its function was taken over by the Silent Mary, which is why the Triangle anomaly follows it. As a result of the "friction" of the anomaly from another dimension against our world, a paranormal storm was created and follows the ship. And the source of its power was always Salazar.

So, both the Triangle and Salazar were with them.

So, can this "weakness" of the Silent Mary crew be explained other than by artificially extending the lives of the main characters?

It is possible, although it is not immediately obvious.

The captains' motivation and command system.

Psyche, faith, and their use.

The crew of the Monarch didn't believe in ghosts. And the atmosphere of the Triangle terrified them from the start.

And then they were attacked.

And they immediately realized they had no chance, that they were defenseless.

An army operates when there's faith in victory. When there isn't, it often disintegrates (or becomes less effective) almost instantly. When they realized it was impossible to fight, especially against such a ghostly enemy, they immediately broke down.

They had never encountered such savage, animalistic, chaotic aggression before. They had no procedure or plan for something like this because they considered it nonsense. And the captain did nothing to direct or calm them. They had no point of reference. And these were soldiers accustomed to discipline and orders. (The same logic can be seen with Beckett at the end of PotC 3.) Panic broke out, soldiers surrendered and tried to flee. In other words, there was almost no resistance to the ghosts. A few tried to defend themselves, but as the growing number of wraiths had nothing to do, having quickly exterminated the panicked majority, they attacked more and more people. Complete chaos erupted. The Navy doesn't want such powerful chaos, so they probably weren't even mentally prepared for such an eventuality. And Salazar's crew exploited that chaos. They had the psyche of a bloodthirsty pack. They attacked anything that moved. You see it in the movie. Since even such a large crew didn't defend themselves, they were wiped out almost instantly.

However, after the Black Pearl's surprise, Barbossa immediately directed the crew and set goals.

"Whatever happens, stay the course" – he understood the need to buy time. He calmed Carina and secured their arrival. He set a priority and an overarching goal.

"Defend yourselves! To the death!" (Or sth)

"This time we will not surrender the Pearl!"

– this is a POWERFUL motivation and a very clear goal. There was no turning back. He stabilized them. He was their reference point. He gave them a sense of purpose. That works more powerfully than hope. They didn't break down. He strengthened their courage. He removed panic – they weren't thinking about escape, but about defending the ship that had been their home for decades. They did everything they could to defend the Pearl and survive. And they did it together. Barbossa doesn't need an immediate victory. He just doesn't want panic, because he knows it will kill them (and that's what Salazar is counting on). Barbossa doesn't promise victory, but he gives them a reason to keep fighting, and more importantly, to fight as best as they can.

Besides, pirates generally thrive in chaos.

Their psychology is more flexible, more instinctive, and less dependent on rules. They are... accustomed to chaos.

This gives them a psychological advantage against supernatural threats.

Salazar often relied on chaos.

He knew his crew was a bloodthirsty ~pack~ of predators. He used them as weapons of mass destruction.

He "poured" them onto the battlefield like ants on a cake, and they slaughtered every living thing, even without a stated plan. Only chaos. This was often brutally effective, though not really strategical. And Salazar's presence on the battlefield further enhanced the crew's effectiveness and worsened the opponents' chances – on the one hand, a point of reference, on the other, pure fear.

The captain doesn't issue commands during the battle. The crew operates instinctively. They are brutal, but chaotic. The battlefield becomes a tool of aggression. Every opponent is bombarded with unpredictable brutality, truly difficult to control.

Barbossa minimized panic among the crew, set a clear goal, and gave meaning to even a very risky fight.

This is why the Pearl's crew was effective despite the sudden surprise, while the Monarch collapsed in a second in a similar situation.

It turns out that physical strength and numbers aren't the only deciding factors here – all three ships have formidable warriors.

What matters is how they exploit the people's psychology and the ability to manage chaos.

Toms couldn't prevent chaos or calm the people, Salazar exploited chaos, and Barbossa was able to prevent it and also inspire courage in the crew.

That's the whole difference.

[silentmarytheghostship]

I finally know exactly what might be wrong with Salazar!!!

As I mentioned, I devoted my time to writing a 22-page analysis of Salazar's biomechanics. It was incredibly thorough and meticulous. After reviewing every movement several times, I noted every detail, even the smallest one.

And only then did I begin to notice... something more in his behavior.

Honestly, I stopped being so sure about the hypothesis of a severe hip injury.

Because everything formed an even more complete picture.

I mean, yes, many of the symptoms visible even upon closer inspection consistently pointed to a severe left hip injury affecting the spine. They resembled such an injury, they were believable. But only after this extremely thorough analysis did I begin to notice... something more.

Look, for example, here:

In a state of intense anger, Salazar simply... recovers. He clearly has poor posture, but he doesn't limp and he doesn't use his canes.

I even have family members with serious hip problems, and observing them daily, it wasn't hard to compare their performance to Salazar's. Even when they attempt to run, it's clumsy and quite chaotic. Even with a sudden surge of adrenaline, they don't "heal" like Salazar. The limitations are still visible, they don't disappear, and later they complain of a strange feeling in their hip. Our captain, on the other hand, runs... too beautifully, effortlessly, and... risky to suggest hip and spine problems, despite the visible shortening of his stride and the fact that his run is quite slow.

What's more, take a look at this:

Here it's even clearer: when he concentrates, he "recovers."

And at that point, it stopped being consistent with a hip injury and started looking like... a shift in the nervous system's gears.

As if something was limiting him, but in intense concentration, emotion, and adrenaline, the difficulties simply shut down because the nerves "forgot" they were monitoring something, so the limitations "disappeared."

This is a well-known phenomenon, and I use it myself – I have extreme hearing hypersensitivity, so to avoid going crazy in the noise of school, I hyperfocus on difficult physics problems – even with earplugs set to full attenuation. Then the noise is less tiring because it's "put aside."

The hypothesis about a problem with the nervous system was consistent with all the other observations. In the beach scene, we witnessed Salazar's gait literally crumbling under the strain, and in slow motion, it gave the impression of... conscious movement control. Segmented, not automatic. As if something were shutting down under the strain.

And I had actually suspected neurological problems in him before, based on this – adding to that the fact that he couldn't hold a telescope on his own, a precise operation requiring sensory coordination. A hip injury alone doesn't explain such things!

What's more, in the scene before the flashback, "the sun is up and so is your time" also looks more like a neurological problem than malice! (judging also by the certainty, seriousness, and ordinariness of the captain's statement)

Combined with heterochromia (which I also mentioned here once), this looks like another neurological disorder – firstly, the captain wasn't looking in the direction of the sunrise, and secondly, he saw the sun when it wasn't even there. This suggests problems with contrast, and perhaps with color vision.

Such people often have trouble distinguishing between times of day because the contrast is distorted, so automaticity kicks in: any light = day. The sharpness doesn't have to be bad, but the shades can be terrible.

I observed the same thing in the scene with Henry – standing in front of his cell, he squinted, positioned his head oddly, and stared intently at the boy, as if trying to discern what he was looking at.

(He actually looked at him for a good dozen or so seconds!)

With distorted contrast, semi-darkness is a nightmare – the brain plays tricks on it, so it wastes time trying to make sure. And then the specter had trouble reading two simple words, written in large, bold letters: "Jack Sparrow." Did you notice how long he stared at the inscription before making the connection?

So it looks more like a whole system of neurological problems.

And indeed, his compensation system is too global and complex to be explained solely by a hip injury. He always walks on at least three "legs," sparing his left side. What's more, he feels the ground with his canes before moving. This is very visible at the very beginning of his first scene, but until now I couldn't explain it – he first felt the ground with his canes, then moved very carefully, taking short, testing steps, and only then walked more confidently and actually relied on his canes.

I also observed the same behavior—reflexively checking the ground with his walking sticks—in other scenes. I noticed that—this and the entire compensatory system, along with the postural defects, lameness, etc., - look as if... the nervous system had bypassed some serious limitations, shifting control from bottom to top - he completely spares the legs and hips, doing literally everything with his hands: supporting itself, taking the body weight, even pushing off while walking and checking the ground.

The nervous system can be incredibly flexible. And this would later lead to postural defects! Since he spares the legs, especially the left side of the body, supporting all his weight on its hands while standing in a bent position, it's only natural that the problems would eventually worsen as this lifestyle becomes established!

I was also curious about his too even gait—he limps, but stomps like a metronome. This is unusual given the limited hip movement. And... he stomps while wearing light shoes. This seems to be another compensation—the measured movements are so predictable that the brain ignores them, which helps relieve the strain on the damaged nervous system. He may be doing this automatically. The tapping, in turn, could also suggest... sensory and prioperception problems—perhaps compensating/supporting sensory impairments with hearing.

This would be consistent with the observations of lameness, sparing the legs, and checking the ground with the hands through the canes—it could be a matter of predictability. If, for example, less accurate (or intermittent) information is coming from the left leg, the brain is less certain of the exact location of the limb and its load. Therefore, for safety (to prevent this incomplete awareness from becoming painful), it implements greater caution—sparing that side, using information from the hand instead, a shorter stride, etc., which could ultimately develop into lameness, reduced range of motion, etc. A change in gait pattern to a more predictable one is visible in the film.

So, reversing this line of thought, he may have sensory impairments below the waist, or perhaps even paresis of his left side, which makes it less trustworthy, so the nervous system protects it by blocking and securing the hips! Hence both the lameness and the "recovery" in focusing on the task, as it's strongly linked to the nervous system! Furthermore, there are problems with proprioception, or the feeling and awareness of the body's position in space, and with starting movement – ​​hence, he's afraid to move because the nervous system may block the initiation of an action until he's sure of the safety of the area and his own position, so he first checks the area with his hand because his legs aren't entirely sure. This can be further exacerbated by vision problems – in the dim light, he might have fallen into a hole in the board, thinking it was, for example, the shadow of a barrel, so the nervous system remembers this and implements precautions. Furthermore, he may have problems with precision, sensory coordination, and vision impairment (+heterochromia)! All of this together explains the long aiming time - he has to aim well, coordinate his senses, and start moving without checking, which he can clearly have problems with due to damage and distrust of the nervous system - and this is where the searching for walls with his hands, the overuse of staffs, the need to hold a scope for him, and also this style of fighting with heavy weapons comes from!

Such a weapon stabilizes the body because it doesn't require quick movements, and allows him to simply win a fight by striking blindly, crushing his opponent with its kinetic energy! Even if in the twilight he sees a blur instead of an opponent, aiming at the blur—anywhere, as long as he hits—solves the problem! His nervous system simplifies everything to reduce the burden!

This—again—explains his addiction to canes. For him, such a cane combines the functions of a blind person's stick, a mobility-impaired person's crutch, and a deadly warrior's weapon! He can fight and resist with it, and compensate for sensory and visual impairments with touch! This is another common phenomenon among people with sensory impairments—they become accustomed to relying more on their more efficient senses! For example, when sensation says one thing and sight another, and the nervous system freezes in uncertainty, he can simply bypass the problem by checking the texture/firmness of the ground with the cane and its material/stability with the sound of a stomp! It's incredible, and evident in his first scene! Notice how he's tapping his sticks!

And you know what's the best? I didn't have to wonder what caused his problems, because the answer is obvious – he has severe damage to the left hemisphere of his brain! That explains a lot, and it's all right now, for free! Incredible!

This also explains why he was completely healed after the curse was broken! The skull wound disappeared, so the cause of the problems disappeared, so the problems disappeared!

I'm honored by this discovery.

The mystery may finally be close to being solved, after so much effort!

[silentmarytheghostship]

The battle at the end of PotC 5 is a true masterpiece of Sparrow's intelligence and teamwork against his worst enemy.

But also... Salazar's cunning (and humility).

Sparrow wasn't fighting Salazar, but his style and weaknesses.

He noticed them during their encounter on the beach – severe asthma, meaning respiratory problems. The "electrical" gait after exertion, meaning nervous system problems. The limpness, the stoop, cane, the odd leg position – likely hip and perhaps spine problems.

During the battle, he decided to exploit all of this.

That's why he waited for him and dragged him into the fun.

If Salazar uses something that acts as a warhammer and a cane simultaneously, putting 300% of his strength and 30% of his air reserve into a single attack, Jack makes that attack go to waste and forces him to repeat it constantly.

If Salazar is accustomed to ending a fight instantly, in one place, Jack changes locations.

If Salazar is accustomed to firing a powerful shot to kill instantly, Jack drags him into an area where that power will exhaust itself.

The cannons were a brilliant idea.

He noticed that Salazar was heavy, bulky, limping, unsteady, and had severe asthma. He wanted to take him out immediately, and he was determined. But his endurance wouldn't last long enough for repeated attempts and a chase. Especially on uneven and "intermittent" terrain.

So the pirate decided to finish him off.

By exhausting his strength with missed blows, forcing fatigue, overexertion, and pain with uncomfortable jumps, Jack led to shortness of breath, which aggravated the asthma that was destroying him.

And cold air and humidity are an asthmatic's nightmare.

In addition, an uneven, small, "intermittent," and "uncertain" surface like the cannons is a nightmare for people with hip and spine injuries/blockages. Jumping is the worst for the entire movement chain, especially after the cannons, where there's pressure not to slip and fall into the sea. This causes the muscles to work harder, exhausting them even faster. Everything starts to hurt, joints lose their stability, you run out of breath, and panic increases, both respiratory and stance instability.

However, he feels most comfortable, most effective on a level surface, preferably high above the water. That is, on the deck. There, he feels confident, can ram, land blows, utilize geometry, dictate the pace, and finish quickly.

So Sparrow moved the fight to extreme terrain right above the cold, salty water.

He combined all the worst possible conditions for Salazar.

And he watched, making sure the captain was still following him!

Salazar is left with pain, overload, lack of air, hip and spine destabilization, nervous system delays, growing physiological panic, and exhaustion.

Meanwhile, Sparrow, light, agile, accustomed to protracted fights, feels light and comfortable.

He literally pushed Salazar to the brink.

It was brilliant –

Jack absorbed Salazar, forcing him into pursuit, finishing him off, leaving Salazar without command in the battle, so the ghostly crew was unsure exactly how to act. They wandered from place to place, briefly accosting someone and moving on. They swung on ropes. They stared.

(However, some, only a few, tried to help the captain, like the one with the cannon and second one behind the wheel.)

Barbossa clearly defined the objectives and risks for his men, strongly motivated them, calmed down and spurred them on, so they were able to fight very effectively. They knew what was at stake and what it would gain them. They fought fiercely. They repelled the attacks.

And meanwhile, Carina searched for the island.

Everyone did what they did best.

Jack utilized his physical prowess and Salazar's determination, Barbossa utilized his leadership talent, and Carina utilized his tenacity and passion for the stars.

Fighting a single enemy on three fronts.

Brilliant.

Jack absorbed the worst of the threat, Barbossa absorbed the rest, and Carina searched for a solution.

But the problem was, Salazar was too smart for that.

He quickly realized that in the environment Sparrow had drawn him into, he had no chance. So he introduced a third variable into the equation – a figure – while he calmly, deliberately, and slowly climbed the walls and approached Sparrow from behind.

He created more peace and less pressure for himself, and the opposite for Sparrow.

Sparrow had a serious problem. He hadn't anticipated this. Salazar had compensated for his weaknesses and increased his chances, and the pirate now had to monitor two (sometimes even more) threats simultaneously and flee from both, because fighting was out of the question. So he stopped monitoring the precision of movement...

Moreover, Sparrow, in his elaborate plan, didn't anticipate that Salazar would suddenly change strategy, move to more favorable terrain, and use his specialty against him—knowledge from multiple fields simultaneously—to force and exploit micro-mistakes and micro-delays...

Salazar forced the mistakes, then knocked Sparrow off his axis and knocked him to the ground to prevent him from escaping.

He removed his geometry. He blocked him with himself.

He now had him underfoot. He could barely hold him.

And Jack had no way to escape.

A few crushing blows, and the pirate was completely defenseless.

But look – Sparrow, by prolonging the fight, finished Salazar off.

Salazar, with a single brutal surprise attack, knocked Jack out. He used his habits against Sparrow once. ONCE. That was all he needed.

See? Two opposites.

This wasn't a fight for results.

Rather the use of familiar principles learned in their world.

The opponents were in no way comparable.

This wasn't a fight of opponents, but... survival systems, ways of functioning.

This is a reversal of the rules:

Devil's Triangle: If you don't finish immediately, you die. If you finish immediately, you win life and control.

Our world: If you try to finish immediately and miss, you ultimately lose in terms of performance.

That's just on another level of cleverness.

[silentmarytheghostship]

While carefully reviewing the film to identify and document Salazar's symptoms (it took me 22 pages, lol), I noticed an interesting tendency:

Look at how Salazar's crew members are standing, and compare it to humans.

Either I was imagining things, or they all tend to flex their hips.

Moreover, they sway slightly side to side when walking, like Salazar, but not to such an extent.

In Salazar's case, it's probably the so-called Tandelenburg gait, or whatever his name is, resulting from a severe left hip injury.

But I was surprised to notice that not everyone in the crew walks perfectly straight and linearly.

Also, look closely again at how this guy stood:

—it reminds me a bit of hip stabilization—and how he folded: onto his knee. As if his hip was blocked a bit. And then everyone else ran backwards, with a similar lean to Salazar's. And they don't stand perfectly straight like the British Guards. Either their backs are slightly bowed, or their legs are slightly bent.

So there might be something wrong with their hips.

At least most of the crew stand similarly, but certainly their source is different than Salazar's - they don't seem to feel pain, and they walk independently. And they can run way faster and lighter than their captain.

You just see the difference between their length and lightness of stride, and his locked hips and... automatical caution. It's clear they could accelerate much faster, but they're running... recreationally. You can see it in their legs.

Honestly, this hip position, this stiffness, and this leg posture remind me of... rigor mortis.

That makes a lot of sense in their case.

They're dead, after all.

Interesting detail, huh?

[silentmarytheghostship]

I have an interesting hypothesis.

This will be a long post, but it's worth it because... it changes the course of history a bit.

I examined Salazar's words about family in the context of history.

In the novelization, he said that his father betrayed, went to prison, his mother was sentenced to forced labor to atone for his sins, and then she died in a homeless shelter. A year later, his father returned.

I was curious how long his father spent in prison, so I described the quotes and the realities in detail to ChatGPT and then asked a question.

And?

According to the internet, military treason in 17th-century Spain was punishable by death, and if the mother had been sentenced to forced labor, they would have made sure she neither died nor escaped.

So something was wrong.

Salazar twisted history.

Actually, he did the same thing in the film – he said pirates killed his father, when in fact he did it himself.

It's easier to blame someone. For a victim of severe violence, it's much easier and more manageable to say something else that doesn't involve emotional involvement and that will evoke sympathy from the other person than to tell the truth, risk losing control and being reminded of one's own weakness and vulnerability, being overwhelmed by emotions, and bursting into tears. And for someone with deep trauma, this "taking a moment to stop being tough" can be the most difficult thing.

This is the difference between a narrative that's easy to tell and a true, yet emotionally risky one.

And in the case of a character like Salazar, this could be particularly powerful, as he also maintains authority, control, an image of strength, and a lack of weakness in the eyes of others.

So the "pirates killed..." narrative serves another function:

it maintains the image of a soldier, not a victim.

So I began to investigate what really happened.

It went faster with Salazar's mother.

The path from work to the shelter is very typical for widows, wives of prisoners, and women deprived of economic support in the modern era.

When a husband goes to prison, a wife effectively loses her main source of income (pay, salary, assets managed by a man), social protection (status as an officer's wife), and often access to a support network (fellow garrison members, the protection of superiors).

Even if she was not formally guilty, her status immediately diminished.

If a husband lost his pay, had his property confiscated, or was under investigation, the family entered a very rapid process of decline – selling personal belongings, going into debt, losing their home, and moving to cheaper, poorer conditions. In the 17th century, there were no benefits or social security. It was a decline that took weeks, not years.

What sounds like "she was sentenced to work" in practice almost certainly means odd jobs (serving, laundry, sewing), working in the homes of wealthier families, and sometimes working at church or municipal institutions.

It was a desperate attempt to survive, not a court order.

But from the son's perspective, it might have seemed as if she had to atone for his sins, as the change in status was brutal: from an officer's wife to manual labor.

The poorhouse wasn't a nursing home in the modern sense. It was an overcrowded, poor place, often run by a church, intended for those who no longer had any resources.

If she ended up there and died, it usually means extreme economic exhaustion, no family to support, and no stable source of income.

Which suggests that the son was too young to help.

For the child, this creates a very simple moral narrative:

"He caused it."

And even if there was no formal sentence against the wife, no punishment for the husband's sins, the chain of cause and effect psychologically resembles punishment.

An underappreciated element of this tragedy is the loss of reputation, gossip, and social distance.

In small communities, this often meant a lack of help from neighbors, the inability to temporarily adopt a child or secure a good marriage for the children (which could have improved their financial situation), and isolation.

This... fits Salazar's fate. He had to ask for help, was rejected by everyone, and so on. This is clear from his story, as I've written about here before.

So it was very tragic.

This story is less about a single act of the father and more about how a 17th-century system without social security could destroy an entire household in a few years.

So what happened to the father?

Any of the things Salazar mentioned—taking bribes from pirates, acquiescing in enemy actions, betrayal, etc.—apparently, ALL of these were punishable by either death, decades of imprisonment, or severe torture.

And the father returned after a few years, at most. Unharmed—until young Salazar, terrified, cornered, and without hope of help, reached for a knife in self-defense.

(He said he was waiting for him with a knife in his hand, but that probably can't be true either. Think logically – a victim of violence hides from their attacker, especially when there's no one left to protect them, and Salazar was probably too young to figure out how to kill him effectively – hence the father, in his son's panic, was literally split open like a fish, which is consistent with the description. He deliberately puts himself in a position of strength during the tale so he doesn't have to remember that fear. Such things linger in the nervous system. )

So... Salazar rather wasn't telling the whole truth. Just like in the movie.

So what happened?

This course of events, specifically the father's sentence, fits... a severe beating of family members combined with a similar incident at work.

At least the internet agrees.

So, severe domestic violence + some aggressive incident in the military.

Which is precisely what the captain's behavior implies.

The son could have been compared to his father, he could have feared "inheriting" a tendency toward aggression and violence, he could have reacted with overcompensation (proving he wasn't like him) and a need for extremes ("I'm better"), and at the same time, he himself could have been impulsive like his father, which only reinforced the comparisons.

This is a classic mechanism: "I'm not like him" + "everyone says I'm like him," leading to escalating behavior.

And this would very well explain Salazar's emotional narrative, his harsh judgments of his father, and his tendency to use the word "betrayal" as a moral judgment.

For what the father did—violence—there could have been a short, light prison sentence without any major penalties. Especially in the old days, when it was not given as much importance as it is today.

This hypothesis seems more realistic and coherent than the high treason version, especially in the context of the length of the sentence (a few years at most), the economic consequences, and the nature of the son's tale.

Then, a very typical scenario for the era unfolds:

a man with a brutal temperament, problems in the army (discipline, brawls, perhaps violence), possible abuse or conflict with superiors, imprisonment for a few years at most, the family falls apart economically, the mother dies in poverty, the son grows up traumatized and constructs a moral narrative: "he was a monster and a traitor," and then there's the projection: "the son was also violent, so he must be like his father." Salazar proves otherwise by going to extremes. "I'll kill them all, I'll be a role model, I'll be a national hero," etc.

So... the truth may be even darker, deeper, and more tragic than we thought.

It's amazing how profound and ambiguous this film is...

But it's also amazing how many things we can attempt to explain.

Of course, this is just my hypothesis. But it's interesting and—in my opinion—coherent.

[silentmarytheghostship]

He swallows flattery.

Interesting, right?

He reacts to it emotionally.

He, who so quickly reads the victim's panicked chatter "just to survive", and destroys the illusion of safety fast...

"Haha, I see your desperation, fool..."

"...let me show you what I think about it:"

Remember the scene before the retrospection, right?

He was about to kill the pirate when:

"I-I've h-heard about a mighty Spanish captain, (panicked breath) El Matador del Maaar (stylized drawl to please the captain), a man who scared the sea, who— (the captain looks on with satisfaction, nods—"good, good, yeah, yeah, go on, go on..."—chuckling)—who killed thousands of men—

"NONONONONONo, men? No!!! Pirates! Hm? Pirates. Pirates!

When he hears:

"The mighty Spanish captain..."

he softens for a moment, lets himself be drawn in, even encourages him to continue talking.

It's almost childish, but this is someone who desperately needs to hear:

"Your suffering had meaning."

"Your suffering had meaning... it was sublime... beautiful... glorious..."

But I see in it... the need for flattery.

If he always heard "you're trash, you'll never amount to anything" from his father, maybe from other men from military, then "you're great, wonderful, invincible..." can really have a powerful effect on him, bring him a lot of pleasure. As if he really needed it...

Such words tap into something he probably never received as a child: recognition, a sense of worth, pride without fear, being "enough."

And then the praise becomes the emotional opposite of what he probably could hear from his father. (The way he talks about him speaks a lot and this scene seems a direct confirmation.)

If from the beginning, for years, he was drilled with "you're worthless," "you're trash," "you don't deserve value," "keep crying, I enjoy hearing that," then the subsequent "you're great" can be almost addictive.

Because someone sees strength in him, admires him, gives meaning to his suffering, lifts him above his former humiliation. And that's why it's so human.

What's most interesting is that beneath all the honor, rigor, fanaticism, and coldness, there may be a part of a person that's very hungry for recognition, a part that's never been loudly valued.

This also explains his reaction.

It hits precisely where he's been wounded his entire life.

And the correction, "Men? Pirates!", shows that his ego exists, but it's still tied to morality.

He doesn't want to be a butcher of people.

He wants to be a defender of order. A reducer of suffering.

That's why he immediately corrects this narrative.

And it's a great contrast, because a moment ago he was menacing, cold, and now he's suddenly nodding, getting "winded up," falling for a cheap compliment.

Interestingly, this doesn't necessarily mean he's vain in the simple sense.

More like he's emotionally starved for recognition.

And that's a huge difference.

Vanity says:

"admire me."

But this sounds more like:

"tell me that my life and suffering truly meant something."

That's intriguing.

Plus the fact that he decided to tell such a painful story, BUT with changed details. That's even more interesting.

The pirate probably wasn't even aware how much he tamed the monster in that moment, lol

[silentmarytheghostship]

You know what's really funny? The fifth movie essentially copies the first one. But let's be real- you don't like the trilogy because it's popular, so you ignore those films. A person will always find something cool and amazing in whatever piece of media they like- some things will be exaggerated, some things will be stretched. Roughly speaking, it's simple psychology :)

But who said hyperfixation is a bad thing?

I'm really grateful that someone finally appreciates my hyperfocus and meticulousness. FINALLY 🔥🔥🔥🤗🤗🤗🥳😘

But nooooo, the five part is something incomparably, completely different! Something completely new.

How dare you 😅🤭

[silentmarytheghostship]

You like symbolism and the opportunity to analyze character behavior. The trilogy is the perfect testing ground for that. Or is it that none of the characters in the trilogy hooked you that much, so there's no point in looking for anything there?

Honestly, I consider the trilogy a wasteland, written solely for the audience's amusement. I apologize for the brutality.

There's often such a glaring lack of logic, consistency, realism, artificiality, far-fetched plots, etc., that I get a little dizzy watching it.

In PotC 5, even with great effort, many things can be explained. And it's hard to even pinpoint anything specific in the trilogy.

Besides, there's a lot of literalism there that could be written differently, etc. I don't even want to delve into these films in depth.

Besides, look at the level of love for the trilogy and hatred for the fifth part. It's an intellectual chasm. The trilogy is for... all audiences. Boisterous action, cinematic stars, plot twists, spectacularity...

PotC 5, on the other hand, isn't for everyone. It's a quieter film, but incredibly deeper, less... empty in senses of maturity and effort of thinking. (Again sorry.) Those who are drawn to the intense emotions deliberately created by the trilogy are repelled by PotC 5, which—firstly—isn't an adventure film, but a horror film, so it's incomparable.

Secondly, it requires MATURITY, sensitivity, attentiveness, and a discerning eye. And there are skillfully hidden, truly disturbing details... after all, it's a pure horror movie. Even the execution—the color scheme, the number of people in the frame, the music, etc.—unequivocally speaks so. In many countries, it's a show for audiences over 16, while the trilogy is essentially for children. That speaks for itself. For those who enjoy only action, it's naturally off-putting.

And FINALLY, justice is served – Jack is no longer a supernatural trickster. The illogical superhero aura ends. And Barbossa is no longer fearless, and even his... stupidity is revealed. I love this. I love such fair, logical, even deserved exposure of overrated heroes. But for Jack's unwavering fans, it's hard to bear.

This film is much more logical, coherent, DEEP... and so real. Finally. Consistent. Something stems from something, and something could have caused/explained this or that; the actions don't come out of nowhere "because that's how we'll feed the plot." They're not illogical.

This film is, above all, INTELLIGENT. Not... empty. Again, I apologize for the brutality. It's multi-layered. I'm often amazed at the breadth of the filmmakers' knowledge – the trilogy's directors were satisfied only with familiar names, famous actors, an idea, and a ton of money. I don't know if it's still true, but PotC 3 is supposedly the most expensive film ever made.

Meanwhile, in fifth part, without such a massive financial push, a wealth of profound psychological, biomechanical, physical, mathematical, strategic, logical, realistic, and other insights were woven into the mix. That's stunning. And I'm deconstructing all of this on this blog.

Add to that the fact that only these creators managed to pull off the ghost concept, AND SO SMARTLY! And – after all the trilogy's antics – this one immediately evoked genuine anxiety, even fear, in the audience. It's incredible, such a sudden, yet so successful shift! I really missed that in this series. When I watched PotC 5 for the FIRST TIME, I immediately abandoned the trilogy. Before I saw this film, I was kind of forced to stick with PotC 3 because I had no better alternative.

And this film has a true ending, which I explained at length at the top of this page. But... for many, it's difficult to understand, because... it far exceeds the average in maturity for this series. And, of course, in terms of craftsmanship. 👏👏👏

This film is simply incomparable. There's an intellectual gulf.

Even comparing the characters is pointless because they're really not similar.

That's why it's so underrated. People accustomed to the blockbuster trilogy often simply can't adapt or don't live up to such a masterpiece. So they dismiss it.

But I appreciate it very much.

Maybe it's also because I like to deal with things that few people care about. But that's just a side note.

So... yeah 🙂 that's what I think about it.

I apologize if I offended anyone. It was not my intention to be a personal attack.

[silentmarytheghostship]

Buddy, you're pulling way too many assumptions out of thin air and building theories on them. You're not analyzing the character- you're straight-up making up facts. Disinformation, in other words.

No. It's building models based on data.

Not air. Just read them carefully.

Oh, and it's helpful to know movie and novelisation well :D

That's why those posts are so long, and sometimes one thing follows from the other. Just so you know what follows from what. I'm handing my entire train of thought to you on a plate, and additionally ilustrating them with GIFs. So you can think about that yourself and do with it whatever you want.

Everything always starts from the same question: why? What does this result from?What could have happened to make X and Y consistent?

I can't help but ask a million questions when I notice something new because I've always had a cosmic level of curiosity :D

And then I get hooked and feel I have to finish started topic. And so on and so forth.

And suprisingly many things appear when you combine movie, novelisation, own knowledge, sometimes even slow-motion for Salazar's biomechanics and ChatGPT for more difficult and complicated topics.

And I use vocabulary like "could," "probably," and "which would explain." I'm not saying these are certainties. I don't play a person you have to listen to. I didn't say you must always believe me. I'm simply building hypotheses based on interpretations of sources, behavior in the film, and my own knowledge.

A lot of things can be interpreted or theories can be used to explain them. This movie leaves lots of space for such things. If they explained everything, it would be like 20 hrs long. But in fact many many things are explainable if you have good eyes, lots of knowledge and like asking questions and then try to answer them. And then another answer arrive and it goes like that. I love speculating this way. This blog serves as a platform for such things.

I'm not dictating how things should be. I'm just presenting my point of view.

I never said you should believe me, always take everything 100% seriously, etc., etc.

You'll see for yourself. But the way I arrive at conclusions is comprehensive and interesting. And you can draw your own conclusions from that ;)

This can make you think.

Whether you want to believe me or not.

Today I thought I'd post a whole series of posts (because a topic never ends with just one). I recently tackled Salazar's home-related traumas. I started that topic a while back; it's on the blog somewhere.

I just remember something and start thinking about it. Analyzing it. Looking for something that can explain this or that behavior, and that will be consistent with both the film and the novelization.

But, as you can see, these aren't empty questions or made-up rumors. They're just extensive analyses because I ask too many questions and them combine them into conclusions that I later refine and put into a coherent whole that I consider good, valuable and understable enough to make them public :)

It's not like I sit down and suddenly come up with a pointless story about something. I think about strict topic for a long time and then piece together a series of conclusions. Often, I don't publish a thought until several days later - after many expansions and refinements.

Here, the thought process itself is as valuable as the conclusions.

I know that perhaps not everything here must be... relevant. But I still think the analyses are valuable.

And in the case of this film, something can be analyzed on many levels simultaneously. That's why I latched onto this film so strongly.

So... that's how I see it. :D

Btw: 99% of GIFs are self-made! :D

Btw2: I could show tons of questions I write in my phone to try to answer them.

I don't analyze only films—I also write even more extensive analyses of history, music, etc. DMTNT is just one of the topics.

I'm a model mind. Not "just" a science or humanities. So, I'm simultaneously interested in anything that can be taken apart and put back together.

Physics, biomechanics, psychology, sailing, musical instrument repair, art history, planes, mechanical constructions, historic church organs etc., etc., etc.

Yes, I know it's unusual :D

[silentmarytheghostship]

He killed his father as a child/young teenager. He killed a soldier. But he didn't go to prison or face the death penalty.

And yet, it's common knowledge that children were punished for bad deeds back then, too. You can even see it in movies.

So, apparently, when someone realized the soldier wasn't coming to work, they barged into the house to check on him and found him... ripped apart, but they also found their son – shaken, completely mentally broken, terrified, bloodied, and holding a knife. Perhaps crying in the corner.

And he understood. He connected it with the aggression in the military.

The boy defended himself. He killed in self-defense.

Hence, extenuating circumstances, even no punishment. Especially for a boy in a terrifying mental state.

But Salazar doesn't mention that. Of course, it must have been self-defense. But he doesn't accept it. It's ingrained in him. He remembers too well. And perhaps he speaks about it briefly, coolly, so as not to be overwhelmed by guilt and other drastic, powerful emotions again.

Fear, relief, grief for a lost childhood, anger, a sense of injustice.

And this very mix can be the most difficult.

Because it's easy to mourn a good father.

It's easy to hate an enemy.

It's much harder to cope with the loss of someone you simultaneously loved as a father, feared as a perpetrator of violence, and whose death could have brought relief.

These are emotions that are very difficult to organize, even for an adult, let alone a child or teenager.

That's why I'm not surprised that Salazar tells this story in abbreviations and moral labels throughout his life. Not because he doesn't remember. Rather, because he remembers all too well.

[silentmarytheghostship]

Salazar referred to his father as a traitor, and then said he would kill them all.

But he doesn't track down traitors, deserters, collaborators, and so on.

Then he would be working as an interrogator within the military.

And he hunts down morally corrupt people, violent people, evil people. Pirates. They are the embodiment of his father's evil.

Which in itself suggests that it was really about something else, worse, more personal than betrayal, but he hid it under a convenient label.

If his greatest obsession were betrayal of the state or service itself, one might expect him to be particularly interested in deserters, spies, collaborators, and corrupt officers.

However, his emotions are directed primarily against people he perceives as a threat to others.

This may mean that the word "betrayal" doesn't describe his father's act, but rather the emotional meaning of it. Because for a child, an abusive parent might be perceived as someone who betrayed their primary role. They betrayed trust. They betrayed those they were supposed to protect.

Perhaps the word "traitor" is shorthand for a whole package of experiences they are unwilling or unable to describe.

Then "My father was a traitor" would mean "He was a man who failed everyone he should have protected."

And this would indeed have a much closer connection to his obsession with fighting pirates than the issue of military betrayal itself.

In such a view, pirates and their father might be connected not by a specific type of crime, but by a shared moral trait: they use their power at the expense of the weak. This would much better explain why Salazar pursues them so obsessively.

[silentmarytheghostship]

I finally got to the real reason for Salazar's obsession with killing all pirates.

The novelization tells us that after his father's murder, young Salazar vowed to kill everyone like him.

And he did, in fact, cling to his goal with extraordinary determination.

Except... it was a strange and unrealistic goal.

But why so much so, and what was the real point?

Well, to ensure that no child ever again experiences from their father what he himself experienced.

Pirates are the embodiment of violence, brutality, and cruelty for fun. What his father did to him.

So... by fighting pirates, he wants to fix his own past.

So that no one else will experience what he did.

This reminds me a bit of the story of Balladyna, the heroine of a certain Polish book.

She lived in a house with her sister. One day, a nobleman came and announced that he would marry the woman who collected the most raspberries in a competition that was to take place the next day. Balladyna knew her sister was better, so seeing how skillfully she picked fruit and how many she already had, she killed her and took her basket of raspberries. She won the marriage with the nobleman.

But then she became delusional – she saw raspberry juice stains everywhere.

It's quite similar here.

Because if his father became a symbol of violence, cruelty, and exploitation of the weak, he might later begin to see similar patterns everywhere. And replicate the decision from then – to stop, that is, to kill.

And then fighting pirates ceases to be just fighting pirates.

It becomes something like, "I will never again let people like that do what he did."

The problem is, the world isn't that simple...

Because his father was a specific person.

And then Salazar began to fight against a category of people who, in his opinion, are "just like him."

This resembles the effects of trauma.

If he experienced years of violence as a child, his brain may have learned something very simple:

"The greatest threat is people like him."

Psychology knows such phenomena.

After difficult experiences, people often perceive threats more quickly, are less able to distinguish between real and potential threats, and react more strongly than someone without such a history.

That's why Salazar may have a tendency to think:

"If I see signs of cruelty, I must act immediately."

Because his life experience has taught him that delay is very costly.

And here a tragic paradox appears.

As a child, he was right.

He did live with a man who needed to be stopped.

The problem begins when this pattern expands to the entire world.

Because the world isn't made up only of such people.

That's why he can constantly fight his father, even after his father is long gone.

Mentally.

Every cruel person becomes a shadow of him.

Every tyrant resembles that man.

Every situation of helplessness resembles that home.

And then fighting pirates can take on a meaning far greater for him than simply carrying out his duties. Not just:

"I fight criminals"

but also:

"I will make sure no one like him ever hurts the weak again."

This isn't cold calculation.

This is a deeply personal mission.

And then he makes decisions not only based on what he sees before him, but also on what he remembers. And memory after severe trauma can be incredibly persuasive.

That's why he's so determined, obsessed, to kill every last one of the pirates.

If his motivation were not just to fulfill his duty and fight crime, but also to draw on his own personal experience of violence, his approach could become much more absolute.

Not:

"We must stop those who commit evil,"

but:

"We must not leave a single one behind, because all it takes is one to destroy someone's life, just as mine was destroyed."

This is no longer mere politics or strategy.

This is the reaction of a person who carries within themselves a deep fear of the return of something they once experienced.

And that's precisely why obsession is more important than anger itself.

A healthy commander can say:

"This is a dangerous man. He must be stopped."

However, someone driven by unresolved trauma might think:

"If I don't stop everyone, the tragedy will repeat itself."

This is the difference between a mission and an obsession.

In a sense, he's been struggling his entire life against the possibility of that nightmare returning. This could explain why his determination can be so ruthless and why he can't look at the problem with a cool, military eye.

[silentmarytheghostship]

He's... very, very complicated.

He's capable of both good and harm.

And that's precisely why he's so interesting.

We don't see a person who wakes up in the morning and thinks, "Whose life should I ruin today?" (If it was like that, he would torture his own crew like Jones.)

We see, rather, a person who strongly believes in bringing order, eliminating chaos, protecting, fighting evil, fulfilling a duty, and who can't afford to be weak.

And then sometimes he does things that hurt others more than he understands.

The term "evil by choice" doesn't quite fit here.

However, "a person whose good intentions have been distorted by trauma, fear, and an obsession with control" fits much better.

Anger becomes a kind of mask.

Not necessarily a conscious one.

He's simply learned over the years that sadness is dangerous, helplessness is dangerous, fear is dangerous, and dependence on others is dangerous.

However, anger gives a sense of strength.

So the body automatically chooses anger.

But when a person is purely cruel, it's usually difficult to find moments of tenderness, care, emotion, and gentleness.

If they exist, they show that something more than just aggression is at work underneath.

This doesn't mean that aggression disappears.

It just means that it's not the only truth about this character.

So the crew sees an effective captain, the enemies see a ruthless hunter, the gossips see his father's son, Henry sees an understanding, gentle and... protective monster.

And Lesaro might see a man who struggles his entire life to avoid becoming his father—sometimes losing that fight, but never giving up. This is the fear of repeating a pattern he hates. Loss of self-control and senseless violence against the weak.

And that's precisely what would make him a tragic figure.

Not because he's innocent.

Not because all his decisions are right.

Only because his greatest adversary isn't pirates, monsters, or the navy.

Only his own fear of what he might become...