Loud and proud

Rating: 8/10 (3 July 2010)

Pirate Radio, otherwise known as The Boat that Rocked, is an exciting, somewhat-based-on-fact account of a floating radio station anchored off the coast of Britain in the mid-1960s. The (mostly) Brit cast is unfailingly hilarious, and the movie doesn't dwell on emotional issues, thus keeping the festivities from getting too dull. And, indeed, it rocks.
The story takes us through the coming of age of one Carl (Tom Sturridge), who's been sent to live on the Radio Rock ship to live with his uncle Quentin (Bill Nighy), who runs the pirate radio station. There, Young Carl is indoctrinated in the ways of rock and roll - the movie's set in 1966, with Beatlemania in full swing - as well as the ways of the world. Escorting him into maturity are The Count (Philip Seymour Hoffman), Dr. Dave (Nick Frost), Simple Simon (Chris O'Dowd), and Midnight Mark (Tom Wisdom). Added to the mix is the legendary Gavin Kavanagh, played with élan by Rhys Ifans, returning to the airwaves after being exiled to the US.
Meanwhile, the British government takes notice, and one straight-backed bureaucrat, played with oily glee by Kenneth Branagh, is determined to shut down all of the pirate radio stations. Branagh seems like he's playing John Cleese playing a stubborn stuffed shirt, and truth be told I didn't even recognize him as Kenneth Branagh until well into the picture.
There's plenty of music - a lot of it anachronistically thrown into the mix - but hardly any musical montages, which is a refreshing change. I figured we'd see scenes of the crew swabbing the deck to the kicking tunes of Jan and Dean. But no, we hear a lot of great period music in the background, which only serves the plot well.
Ifans is a real delight as the egomaniacal Kavanagh, with a voice so velvety smooth, he's like a white Barry White. Aw, yeah. Hoffman is his equal as the irascible, irreducibly singular Count, an expat from America who doesn't cotton to the stupid, draconian English laws. Each is necessary; without the other, each would be just another faux leader of this band of misfits, but together... well, together they can work against each other. It's fun watching their egos clash.
The movie works chiefly because everyone seems like he's having a grand old time playing records and thumbing his nose at the establishment. This was just before the great sweeping activism bug that bit America (or just at its cusp), and rock and roll was a huge, huge part of that; it seems quaint, now, that Britain in the sixties forbade its playing on the radio. Can you imagine that today? Now, we have subscriber-supported satellite radio on which any number of foul-themed shows can appear with impunity, and the airwaves themselves are a little more lax than they used to be.