The set was ready to roll, with Director Verbinski parked by the camera and Johnny Depp right beside him.
Even though Meng Tao was still wrapping up loose ends on the Hero set, the other martial arts choreographers from Luke's studio had already joined the Pirates of the Caribbean crew ahead of schedule. As the producer, Mr. Eisen naturally picked his own team to handle the film's action direction.
The scene they were about to shoot was one Luke had sketched out initially, then handed off to the stunt coordinators to flesh out and execute.
Johnny Depp, though, looked downright miserable.
"What's up? Still worried?" Director Verbinski asked.
"How the hell am I supposed to nail this fight scene?" Depp grumbled.
Johnny Depp wasn't exactly an action movie veteran—his skills in that department were average at best. So when he first read the script for this scene, he was floored. Can I even pull this off? he'd thought.
His resistance to the script changes stemmed largely from that doubt.
Director Verbinski had his own concerns. He thought the action sequence was way too ambitious—almost reckless in how little it accounted for the actors' ability to pull it off. But Mr. Eisen was dead set on shooting it as written and had convinced Verbinski to at least give it a shot.
What else could he do?
Verbinski figured if it flopped, they'd just backtrack and try again. So, with that in mind, they kicked off the scene.
The setup: Captain Jack Sparrow, chased by soldiers, ducks into Will's blacksmith shop. He uses the shop's mechanical gears to snap the chains binding his hands. But just then, Will returns, sparking a showdown.
"Action!"
The clapperboard snapped, and filming began.
Jack Sparrow, with his smoky eyeliner and a sly grin, said, "Just pretend you never saw me, mate. I'll be on my way."
Will blocked his path. "The only place you're going is prison, pirate."
"What's a blacksmith got to do with catching pirates?"
"Nothing, until you kidnapped Elizabeth!"
Jack slapped his forehead. "Oh, so you're the lass's admirer."
As he spoke, he drew his pirate saber with a flourish.
Will pulled his own sword—a longsword, not the typical Western rapier. Luke had insisted on this, arguing it matched his character's heritage. A rapier would've looked out of place.
Jack gripped his saber with both hands and swung it hard at Will, like he meant to cleave him in two.
"Holy crap, is Depp for real? Does he have to swing that hard?" a female crew member gasped from the sidelines.
"It's in the script," another crew member replied. "Depp's not a pro at action scenes. It's tough for him to gauge how much force to use."
Director Verbinski frowned. Fight scenes like this were supposed to follow a carefully choreographed routine—every attack and block planned out, rehearsed to death, then filmed exactly as practiced.
But Luke's plan for this scene? It was bare-bones. Just one line: Jack Sparrow swings his saber hard at Will.
Depp was doing exactly that. But how was Luke supposed to counter it?
Will raised his longsword and blocked with force.
Clang!
The impact rang out, a real, bone-rattling clash. Depp felt a surge of overwhelming force through his saber. His hands went numb, and the blade spun out of his grip, flying through the air.
The force shoved him back, making him stumble several steps before he crashed onto his butt. The saber landed with a thud, embedding itself in the ground between his legs—mere inches from disaster.
"Ah!" Depp yelped, a raw, instinctive reaction.
He'd come this close to losing his manhood.
What he didn't know was that knocking his saber away and landing it so precisely wasn't luck. Luke's master-level swordsmanship gave him pinpoint control. It was all calculated flair—no real danger to Depp, just enough to make it thrilling.
Though spooked, Depp's actor instincts kicked in. The director hadn't called cut, so he stayed in character.
The script's next beat: Jack, sprawled on the ground, notices the blacksmith shop is littered with freshly forged swords. He grabs them and hurls them at Will.
To Depp's surprise, despite not planning his fall, he'd landed right next to a rack of swords. He scrambled, grabbed a handful, and chucked them wildly at Will.
Jack flung four swords at Will, one after another.
Truth be told, Depp's throws were sloppy—no training, no precision, no real power.
The camera zoomed in on Will.
With fluid grace, Will swung his longsword, deflecting each incoming blade with precision.
Cling!
Clang!
Clang!
Cling!
The swords flew back, embedding into the wooden wall behind Jack, grazing his body but not touching him.
"F*ck!" Depp muttered, feeling like he'd seen a ghost. How was Luke nailing every deflection? And sending the swords back to pin the wall around him without a scratch?
It was like an Olympic pool champion playing against a rookie, effortlessly returning every wild shot to the perfect spot for an easy hit.
The director still didn't call cut.
Depp's mind raced to the next part of the script.
Jack, facing Will's advance, pulled a pistol from his coat and aimed it with a smug grin. "Your swordplay's impressive, mate, but what's it worth? Times have changed!"
Will stared down the barrel, calm as ice. "Go ahead, take the shot."
"Don't make me, lad! A handsome fella like you shouldn't throw his life away over a temper."
"If you're too scared to shoot, you're headed for a jail cell."
Will kept walking forward.
Bang!
The camera switched to slow motion. Smoke curled from the pistol as a copper bullet ripped through the air, heading straight for Will's chest.
(This part and beyond will be finalized with post-production effects.)
Will swung his sword with icy precision, the blade slicing through the air and—impossibly—cleaving the bullet in two.
Cling!
In slow motion, the bullet split, its halves tumbling harmlessly aside.
Jack's jaw dropped. Will stepped forward, resting his sword against Jack's neck with a smirk. "You say the times have changed?"