When can a film be plodding, with way too many characters, hackneyed direction and an annoying air of self-importance and still be entertaining? When it is Richard Curtis’ Pirate Radio.
Originally titled The Boat That Rocked in its native England, Pirate Radio marks many of the standard boxes one thinks of when it comes to a Richard Curtis film, be it one he has written or directed. Set in the 1960s, the movie centers on a gang of music obsessed misfits living and working on a boat in the North Sea. Their days are spent drinking, longing for sex and playing tunes for an illegal radio station; the only one around that devotes its time to bands like The Beatles and The Who. This group of miscreants are a joy to spend time with, which is no shock coming from Curtis. Developing one-dimensional characters into gateways for countless gags has always been one of the filmmaker’s specialties and a great cast aids him here, including regulars Bill Nighy and Rhys Ifans, the latter playing a deliciously ridiculous DJ who speaks in a baritone which drives young lasses crazy. When left to their own devices, this crew keeps Pirate Radio clicking along at a nice pace, with Nick Frost (Shaun of the Dead) and Rhys Darby (“Flight of the Conchords”) both proving why they are two of the best scene-stealers working today.
Unfortunately, Curtis also wants to tell a story here and that has never been his strong suit. Love Actually works in part because its short stories don’t have time to be bogged down by lengthy narratives. With Pirate Radio, the plot keeps sneaking into the picture. Though all the fun is on the water, back ashore Kenneth Branagh is playing a righteous, grumpy-with-the-kids-today politician, whose sole goal in life is to take down this rock nonsense. Once and again, in no small part due to Branagh’s clear zest for the part, these moments are amusing. However, along with a dull through-line about a young shipmate’s search to discover his true father, all of the government intrusions lead to a 135 minute running time that is too long by some margin.
Yet, there are well over a dozen belly-laughs to be found, including Nigh’s failure to remember an entire decade of his life, the worst game of charades ever (“It’s a type of bird but it’s wearing a hat”) and the appearance of Emma Thompson as a hippie-dippie mama. The drama is clunky from beginning to end but Pirate Radio remains punchy and simply fun.
Pirate Radio opens wide all across Seattle today.
Roland Emmerich, also known as Uwe Boll with a budget, is back to destroy all the world’s historical monuments which have survived his past pictures (Independence Day, The Day After Tomorrow), that went kablooey already. In his new film 2012, co-written by Harald Kloser, Emmerich runs with the Mayan calendar’s prophecy that civilization as we know it will come to an end in December of 2012, with billions destined to die. While a loose reading of the facts, this interpretation (alternately read as a time when humanity will reach new enlightenment) has become the apocalypse-du jour since we all made it past the year 2000.
The movie begins in 2009 as Adrian Helmsley (a far overqualified Chiwetel Ejiofor) learns from a team of Indian scientists that Earth is changing from the inside because of increasing solar eruptions. The planets polarity will soon change, tectonic plates shall displace and those aforementioned billions are doomed, with the world’s leaders converge to plan for the encroaching catastrophe in secret. Anyone who leaks even the slightest piece of information is quickly assassinated, including a man whose car is blown-up in what we are told is the same tunnel Princess Diana tragically died in over a decade ago (poor taste move #1).
A group of Mayans commits mass-suicide (poor taste move #2), chaos ensues and a barrage of characters spend 158 minutes narrowly escaping collapsing freeways and exploding volcanoes in search of a rumored safe haven in Tibet. Amongst the survivors is a down on his luck father (John Cusack clearly having a good time), his ex-wife (Amanda Peet), some curly-haired Russian twins and pickle eating Woody Harrelson. Full of too many dull speeches to be fun and too dumb by entire continents to carry any emotional resonance, 2012 leaves one with a guttural feeling of boredom and disgust. There is nothing enjoyable about watching hundreds of people plummeting to their deaths from burning skyscrapers (poor taste move #3), even pixelated ones.
Emmerich’s movie lacks any weight, including in its effects. The screen is increasingly bombarded with CGI trucks, bridges and tidal waves. The filmmaking resembles the recordings of a frantic child throwing his toys in the air for two hours. Escapist entertainment like this ought to show you something you’ve never seen before, not warmed over retreads of society’s final days and jokes about how zany it is to get stuck behind old ladies driving.
2012 opens wide all across Seattle today.
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