Rocks with a passion.

Rating: Null/10 (7 April 2009)

Rock and roll is a form of artistic expression that may not go quite as far back as the medium of film, but nevertheless shares common goals and reasons for their continued existence. That is, aside from the more obvious ostensible traits that each shares, there are certain under-the-surface qualities that broaden each beyond mere disposable entertainment into a realm of utter significance and profound enlightenment. Yet, this wasn't always the case; at least, not in the eyes of the Powers That Be within the more conservative of governments and states. Rock and Roll, just like its very distant cousin—the amateur film—was seen as a derogatory subsidiary of an art once controlled by the respective powers; put such a form of expression in the hands of hooligans and good-for-nothing layabouts, and your country is booking an advanced flight to hell, it would have seemed. Fortunately however, despite the power that those few "right-thinking" individuals had garnered through their political endeavours, they were nevertheless in the distinct minority.
The Boat that Rocked then, is a story about the underdog majority—a concept not frequently visited upon by anyone but the bravado of rock and roll itself. It's a story about passion and love driven by a love for music and freedom as a whole; indeed there are many times that Phillip Seymour Hoffman could easily be imagined sporting St. Andrews cross across his pained blue face, preaching about the sanctity of not only freedom of speech, but freedom of expression. Most importantly however is that The Boat that Rocked never gets caught up in its themes of such political incline; in fact, the majority of the feature's robust runtime is instead focused upon the characters, and how they begin to find solace within that very ship as they learn to call it home. From that rickety old boat, a select group of radio DJs would not only empower a generation of music lovers who wanted more than a half hour of pop music a night broadcasted by the BBC, but they would find a family and in turn create living memories of laughs, parties, sex and, well; rock and roll. Throughout the course of Radio Rock's voyages of the airwaves, we are compelled to feel for the struggle that these people are going through, but not only because of the freedom they stand up for, but because we also feel their bonds; the government, with their cold-faced callousness in trying to shut down rock and roll radio, are a threat to that family, and the sense of protective empathy that Curtis evokes is palpable.
Despite the many ties that bind film and rock music together however, there remains a distinct lack of such movies catering to the subject matter itself, never mind even including a soundtrack aligned to the pop world. Yet as history has proved on a few select occasions, bringing the two together can achieve a profound effect—something magical happens when a human, heart-felt series of images and characters with a story to tell are spliced together with the exact same sense of empowerment through music rather than images. The result is a moving one, creating tangible emotions within the viewer that are brought out almost instantaneously with the simple combination of music and image. Indeed, if there is any sole testament to the importance of a feature such as The Boat that Rocked, it's how it can be used as a tool and example of how music can add multiple dimensions to a story that would otherwise fail to exist. Not only does this boat's music tug at the heart strings; it also invigorates and excites at the right moments whilst also reverberating the same emotions that the actors are portraying. Granted, not all of them work, but most do and do so with a vigour that most films never even get close to.
Of course, this brings me on to the performances themselves which quite frankly come nowhere short of being absolutely delightful and charming to watch. Literally speaking, there is no weak link here; the ensemble as a whole not only work terrifically well on their own rights, but also share a bond that strengthens the movie's themes on friendship and simply having a good time. Indeed, it's of no stretch of the imagination to see that the actors had a lot of fun making this thing, and the characters on screen shine as a result. Again, it's hard to single out anyone in particular because it's the kind of feature that works best when taken as a whole, but be sure that all involved give standout performances that really are a joy to watch beginning to end.
When it comes down to it though, the entirety of The Boat that Rocks' viewing experience comes down to one of breezy, theatrical entertainment punctuated by the energy of the cast and silly fun balanced with heartache drenched in pathos that slowly develops within the script. It's a story that has everything from laughter and tears, to amusing song-and-dance sequences and empowering balls-out bravado rebellion that makes you want to punch the conformist suits in their stodgy, colourless faces. And yet, without the music itself, such a film wouldn't simply lack a reason to exist, but would also lack a much needed aesthetical limb. The Boat that Rocks is a rare breed of feature that lives and dies on it soundtrack, and that's why it's such a pleasure to affirm that not only does this boat live, but it rocks with a passion. It's fun, it's lively and it's downright hilarious at any given moment with just enough pacing and development of character to keep things emotively engaging all the same—oh, and did I mention the totally awesome soundtrack? - A review by Jamie Robert Ward (http://www.invocus.net)