Cinema Catala Hollywood Movie Review

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Despite arriving on North American screens mid-way through the month of November with a cast that features three previous Academy Award nominees (Philip Seymour Hoffman, Kenneth Branagh, Emma Thompson) and a similarly honored writer/director (Richard Curtis), Pirate Radio is not being touted as Oscar bait. In fact, it comes to the U.S. with a less-than-stellar pedigree, having received lukewarm reviews during its U.K. theatrical run earlier this year and having subsequently been re-cut at Focus Features’ request. The result, although uneven, is generally enjoyable, especially for those who attend with the right mindset. Character and narrative are secondary concerns for a movie primarily driven to provide a Valentine to ’60s rock-and-roll.

It’s 1966 and the young people of Great Britain are less-than-happy with the domestic radio situation, which is almost all talk and news (with a little jazz thrown in for good measure). Into this breach come the offshore pirate radio stations, the most infamous of which is “Radio Rock,” a 24/7 rock-and-roll operation that saturates the airwaves from a ship anchored in international waters and boasts a listening audience north of 20 million. Radio Rock is the brainchild of Quentin (Bill Nighy) and features some of the best known disc jockeys, including an American known only as The Count (Philip Seymour Hoffman); the world-renowned Gavin (Rhys Ifans); Bob (Ralph Brown), the 3-6 a.m. guy whom almost no one has seen; and Simon (Chris O’Dowd), who’s convinced no one likes him. Into this setting comes Carl (Tom Sturridge). After being kicked out of school, Carl’s mom (Emma Thompson) sends him to spend some time on the Radio Rock ship under the watchful eye of his godfather, Quentin. Life aboard the ship is all sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll (although the sex only arrives once every two weeks when a boatload of women arrive for overnight stays). Carl, a virgin, is at something of a disadvantage when it comes to the opposite sex, but various members of the crew set out to help him remedy the situation. Meanwhile, on land, cabinet member Sir Alistair Dormandy (Kenneth Branagh), announces his determination to shut down Radio Rock. Since what they’re doing is breaking no current laws, he hires the unfortunately named Twatt (Jack Davenport) to find a loophole that he can turn into a noose.

For the most part, Pirate Radio, called The Boat that Rocked during its U.K. run, is a series of poorly connected vignettes about life aboard the ship during a time when the social views of the government were at odds with those of its younger citizens. As Dormandy and Twatt seek to stifle Radio Rock, we are shown a cross-section of British people enjoying the music in different settings. Some of the episodes work (such as the visit to the ship by Carl’s mother); others exhibit forced comedy that really isn’t funny (Carl’s attempts to lose his virginity, the “duel” between The Count and Gavin). The characters are mostly likable but none exhibits much depth. The best comedic elements derive from Kenneth Branagh’s satirization of ’60s stuffed shirt politicians. At times, it’s as if he’s channeling John Cleese in the way he sends them up. He also has some great lines about the role of government.

Ultimately, however, Pirate Radio is more about the music than it is about anything else. Hardly a scene goes by without at least one classic rock song being played. There are reportedly about 60 clips (ranging from a few bars to full singles) in the movie, which makes it a pretty comprehensive survey of the music of the era, with artists ranging as far and wide as Dusty Springfield, Herb Alpert, Cream, The Who, Cat Stevens, The Beach Boys, and The Moody Blues. Without such a rich and diverse soundtrack, there’s little doubt that Pirate Radio would have been considerably less endearing and enjoyable. Of the features on Richard Curtis’ resume (he wrote Four Weddings and a Funeral and Bridget Jones’ Diary and wrote and directed Love, Actually), this is arguably the least substantive.

Some of the marketing material is hyping the “based on a true story” aspect of the movie although, in fact, this was always intended to tell the tale of a fictional pirate radio boat. Some aspects are loosely based on historical events and some of the characters are composites of real people, but Pirate Radio should not be mistaken for anything other than a creation of a writer’s imagination. The distributors apparently would like us to believe these people actually existed and Radio Rock occupies an almost mythical position in recent British pop history.

Films with large ensemble casts rarely afford opportunities for individual standout performances, and this is no exception. Bill Nighy is amusing but hardly reaches the heights he scaled for his small role in Love, Actually. Philip Seymour Hoffman is very good in what may be his most limited non-cameo since Twister. Tom Sturridge, who is the closest Pirate Radio has to a lead, is a little on the limp side. Those who appreciate trivia will note that this is the first movie in which both Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson have both appeared since the dissolution of their marriage (although they do not share any scenes).

Two obvious cinematic references came to mind while I was watching Pirate Radio. The first, Pump up the Volume, also deals with issues of censorship and free speech over the public airwaves and, as is the case here, it sets up a radio pirate as the champion of a group of individuals whose voices and opinions are often ignored by those in power. The second and more unfortunate reference is Titanic. The scenes with a boat sinking in the North Sea are simply too familiar for the association not to be made.

One of the biggest complaints about the U.K. release of the film was that it’s too long and, even though the American version is shorter by 15 minutes, it still seems like there’s too little content for such a robust running time. Nevertheless, the music is great, the comedy provides occasional laughs, and there’s nothing fundamentally wrong with the movie. Distilled to its essence, it represents a respectable diversion.

Did You Hear about the Morgans? Yes and, to be perfectly frank, I wish I had been spared the experience.

I’m gullible. I’ll buy just about any premise Hollywood is selling, provided it is sold well. Did You Hear about the Morgans? proves these filmmakers couldn’t sell ice cream to a kid in the middle of the summer. Not only does the movie fail to convince, it doesn’t seem concerned about convincing. It’s a romantic comedy, so we’re supposed to take it on faith that the male lead and female lead will end up together at the end. Likewise, we’re not expected to notice the contrived contortions the script goes through to arrive at that destination. The film is so obvious about how it goes about things that it’s almost embarrassing. Unattended phone in the doctor’s office – think someone will use it who’s not supposed to be making calls? Lessons about shooting a gun – think that will come in handy when the bad guy pays a visit? And what about horse shoe expertise shown by one of the characters? Writer/director Marc Lawrence is inexcusably clumsy in presenting the roadmap. This is what critics mean when they say “the seams show.” The world inhabited by these individuals fails to become real. It’s never anything more than “just a movie,” and not an especially good one, at that.

Of all the actresses Hugh Grant has been matched with over the years, Sarah Jessica Parker represents a nadir. There’s nothing between these actors. There’s no pop or sizzle. The characters say they love one other, but those are just words. There’s no sense of affection. No passion, even when they fight. Their dialogue rings hollow. These two aren’t believable and their relationship is a black hole. Who cares? We’re supposed to be invested in getting them to connect by the closing credits, but this is one stock that never has value to begin with.

As Paul Morgan, Grant (over)uses his patented “aw shucks” charm to compensate for the fact that his character is a cheating ass. Then again, once we are introduced to his less-than-blushing bride, Meryl (Sarah Jessica Parker), we can understand the appeal of a one-night stand with someone else. What’s more difficult to comprehend is why he would want to salvage his marriage to someone so shrill, superficial, and self-absorbed. But he does, and that’s why they’re wandering a New York City street in the rain at night after having endured a tense dinner. They are unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time (kind of like anyone who has ventured into a theater showing this movie). They witness a murder and the killer sees their faces. The FBI places them in the “witness relocation program,” provides them with new (temporary) identities, and ships them off to Ray, WY to stay with the local sheriff, Clay Wheeler (Sam Elliott), and his wife, Emma (Mary Steenburgen). While there, Paul and Meryl work to rebuild their marriage while doing stupid things that will allow the killer to discover their location.

Did You Hear about the Morgans? wants to be a combination romance and fish-out-of-water comedy, but it doesn’t succeed as either. It wastes too many opportunities to have some fun with the concept of a materialistic city girl out of her element (consider how little is done with the staple cow-milking scene). Even Green Acres wasn’t this inept. Most of the jokes are halfhearted and poorly delivered (although, to be fair, Grant gets in a few good one-liners). The entire production is weighed down by the preposterous premise and the need to have a final confrontation with the killer. This is an albatross around the neck of a movie that already has too many other things pulling it to the ground.

By all accounts, Hugh Grant is in a state of semi-retirement. His ability to cherry-pick his projects to suit his tastes makes one wonder why he would select something with such a dubious script. I suppose it has something to do with director Marc Lawrence. This is the third movie they have made together (following the breezy Music and Lyrics and the limp Two Weeks Notice), and they appear to enjoy working together. Too bad the fruit of those efforts isn’t less rancid by the time it reaches theaters.