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.

Welcome to George Clooney season. Those who find the actor, who has been described by some as a modern day Cary Grant, engaging will have reason to smile as Hollywood begins its annual push toward the Oscars. Clooney will bring his winning personality and high-wattage smile to no fewer than three productions with Academy Award aspirations. Fantastic Mr. Fox and Up in the Air are yet a short distance down the road, but The Men Who Stare at Goats has arrived. Not only does it have the strangest title of the three late 2009 Clooney vehicles, but the storyline is also probably the most bizarre.

That title – The Men Who Stare at Goats – is, in and of itself, an indication that this movie is not directed squarely at mainstream multiplex-goers. It’s hard to imagine an army of 14-year old boys and their dates lining up to see this movie, which is designed with a more sophisticated audience in mind. The film is more than a little odd but it has fun with its offbeat premise and moves along breezily until it gets bogged down in the third act. (Watch out for the appearance of Kevin Spacey – that’s when the momentum starts to flag as a more direct focus on narrative undermines some of the wit and comedy.)

The Men Who Stare at Goats opens with the following caption: “More of this is true than you would believe.” But isn’t truth always said to be stranger than fiction? We are introduced to Ann Arbor journalist Bob Wilton (Ewan McGregor), who is looking for the story of his life; he wants to impress his wife, who has unceremoniously dumped him. His quest leads him to Kuwait, where he hopes to become embedded with a group of troops entering Iraq. There he meets Lyn Cassady (Clooney), an ex-Special Ops military officer who claims to have been part of the “New Earth Army,” a covert group of “psychic spies” who use their “Jedi mind powers” to influence others. Cassady agrees to take Wilton with him on a mission across the border. Along the way, he tells him about the New Earth Army’s history and its commanding officer, Bill Django (Jeff Bridges), who ran a very different kind of unit.

The first half of The Men Who Stare at Goats is superior to the second half. For about 45 minutes, the film is content to play with the absurdity of the concept of having a covert group of “psychic spies.” It also works brilliantly as a parody of the military and its rules and structure. Unfortunately, past the midpoint, the movie begins to pay more attention to plot and, when it does this, the humor erodes. The more The Men Who Stare at Goats focuses on developing and advancing the narrative, the less enjoyable it is because Cassady’s “mission” turns out to be rather uninteresting.

The director of The Men Who Stare at Goats is Grant Heslov. This is his feature debut behind the camera, but not his first opportunity to join forces with Clooney. He co-wrote (with Clooney) and produced Good Night and Good Luck and filled similar producing duties for Leatherheads. The two men clearly know each other and work well together, and it shows in the easy way this movie unfolds. Heslov is not performing without a net. Who better than Clooney to lend a helping hand – a man who has learned from Soderbergh and the Coens and directed three films in his own right (two of which he collaborated with Heslov)?

The movie contains one of the best in-jokes of recent times. The psychic spies go by a number of different names, among them the “remote viewers” and the “Jedis.” This allows for multiple references to Star Wars. Of course, it will be lost on no one in the audience that Ewan McGregor played none other than the young Obi-Wan in the prequel trilogy. So this creates a little amusement every time McGregor and Clooney discuss the Jedis and Jedi powers. McGregor provides us with this quote: “What’s a Jedi Warrior?” He then ends up pursuing the path of the Jedi in the end. It would be interesting to know whether Heslov and screenwriter Peter Straughan were aware of McGregor’s pending involvement when those lines were written. If they were, it was an amusing way to work in one of the actor’s most (in)famous roles. If they weren’t, it was a case of an eyebrow-raising coincidence.

Fans of The Big Lebowski, which has achieved a major cult status since its theatrical release, will note similarities between Bill Django and the “The Dude” of the earlier film. Both are played by Jeff Bridges, who has apparently drawn from the same wellspring of inspiration for these laid-back, New Age-y parts.

The Men Who Stare at Goats is enjoyable to watch “in the moment,” but it doesn’t leave a powerful or lasting impact, at least insofar as the comedic elements are concerned. (Re-watching it a second time after initially seeing it a month earlier at the Toronto Film Festival, I was surprised how fresh the humor was – mainly because I didn’t remember most of the jokes.) As entertaining as the production is, however, the fact that it contains a kernel of truth reminds us of one damning truth: This is the kind of thing that American tax dollars are being spent on. The Men Who Stare at Goats is a comedy, and I laughed quite a few times while watching it, but that sobering reality almost makes me want to cry.