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.

When Disney mothballed traditional animation in 2004 following a series of disappointing box office underperformers, the blame was placed upon changing tastes – that viewers preferred the more eye-popping style of computer-generated images to the “old fashioned” approach that had dominated for nearly 70 years. Little or no consideration was given to the decline in quality of the animated productions, especially where the story was concerned. Disney had strayed from the tried-and-true formulas that marked its greatest animated successes and the company was harvesting crops from neglected fields. So hand-drawn animation was dumped, but what at the time seemed to be a permanent measure became temporary once the Disney/Pixar merger was finalized. With Pixar in charge of all animated projects, the decision was made to revive traditional animation but, in doing so, to return to its “roots.” The result is The Princess and the Frog and, if you didn’t know better, you’d swear this had been made in the late 1980s or early 1990s, alongside The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast.

The elements are all in place. The movie has a loose connection to a fairy tale (The Frog Prince), seven Broadway-style animated numbers (penned by longtime Disney collaborator Randy Newman), a plucky heroine, likeable animal sidekicks (a jazz-loving crocodile and a firefly besotted with a star), a fairy godmother type, a villain who uses black magic, and a stew of romance and comedy. The Princess and the Frog is so in synch with the early entries into Disney’s so-called “second golden age” that one wonders how the company could have gotten away from these movies in the first place.

Much has been made about Tiana (voice of Anika Noni Rose) being Disney’s first African American “princess,” but Disney has never been afraid of branching out. Lead females have included an Arab (Jasmine, Aladdin), a lioness (Nala, The Lion King), a Native American (Pocahontas), and a Chinese girl (Mulan). Tiana has just as much spirit as any other Disney standout (and she spends most of the film as a frog anyway). It’s certainly time (or past time) for the Magic Kingdom to embrace a black character, but I suspect this has more meaning to those who write about such things that it will to the movie’s target audience – children of all ages, genders, and races.

Tiana is a hard-working waitress who holds down two jobs at the eateries of New Orleans. She dreams of amassing enough money to one day open her own restaurant – a dream engendered in her at an early age and encouraged by her father (voice of Terrence Howard) and mother (Oprah Winfrey). Her best friend, Charlotte (Jennifer Cody), has an equally ambitious goal: to marry a prince. This looks feasible when Prince Naveen (Bruno Campos), a foreign dignitary, visits New Orleans. Unfortunately, he falls afoul of the voodoo of Dr. Facilier (Keith David), who turns him into a frog. The first woman he meets is Tiana, at a costume ball where she’s dressed in a princess costume. He convinces her to kiss him, but the results aren’t what either expects. Instead of Naveen regaining human form, Tiana is turned into a frog. Now, with the help of a jovial crocodile named Louis (Michael-Leon Wooley) and the firefly Ray (Jim Cummings), the two must avoid the shadow-creatures of Dr. Facilier while attempting to locate the voodoo priestess Mama Odie (Jenifer Lewis), who may know how they can become human again.

From a visual standpoint, there’s little to differentiate The Princess and the Frog from the likes of The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, and Aladdin, all of which shared a similar style. The strongest link lies with co-directors Ron Clements and John Musker, who also helmed two of those three: The Little Mermaid and Aladdin. Backed by an army of animators, Clements and Musker imbue the streets of New Orleans and the bayous of Louisiana with the same subtle magic that gave life to an undersea kingdom and ancient Baghdad. The film’s comedy finds the right mix of jokes that will appeal to children and adults. The sidekicks are cute but not too cute. And the romance is of the sort that humanizes the characters. The best animated Disney films have often been romantic comedies, and this is no exception.

For the most part, the characters are voiced by low-profile actors, all of whom are well-chosen. There are some big names in the cast – Oprah Winfrey, Terrence Howard, John Goodman – but all have supporting parts. If one elects to trace the beginning of the decline of ’90s animated films to Pocahontas, it’s worth noting that this was the first time (but not the last) that Disney employed an A-list actor (Mel Gibson) for voice work. If there’s something to be said for relative anonymity, the statement was made by The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, and The Lion King.

Randy Newman’s songs are catchy and are effective within the movie’s context, but I can’t see any of them having “legs” beyond the screen the way tunes from the earlier animated musicals did. Newman, who has frequently worked with Pixar on computer animated films, was a safe choice as the composer and his score combines elements of jazz and gospel that amplify the locale and themes. One could liken Newman’s work on The Princess and the Frog with that of Stephen Flaherty and Lynn Ahrens on Anastasia: songs that are enjoyable and advance the story but are generally not remembered afterward (at least until the fourth or fifth viewing).

If there’s little that’s new or challenging in The Princess and the Frog, therein lies the core of its charm. The movie is delightfully “old school,” if that term can be applied to how the genre looked a mere 20 years ago when The Little Mermaid reinvigorated it. The structure and composition is the result of careful planning, but it comes across as inspired. Tiana is the next great Disney princess and The Princess and the Frog is a worthy entry into a genre whose resurrection is welcome.