And incidentally, the only reason I didn't walk out on this piece of crap movie.
I'll give Jemaine credit: his turn as dastardly sci-fi author Ronald Chevalier was the only aspect of Gentleman Broncos that wasn't completely a) offensive, and b) a waste of talent (Jennifer Coolidge, Mike White, and Michael Angarano weren't quite so lucky on that front). From Chevalier's enthusiasm for absurd cover art to his ruthless quest for success at all costs--even if it means stealing the manuscript of a henpecked teenage writer--Jemaine makes it work with his deadpan delivery and mopey, hooded expressions. If someone forces you to rent the DVD, try to convince them to fast forward to his scenes and only his scenes. The whole time, I wanted to sing the Flight of the Conchords' tribute to the Police's "Roxanne:" you don't have to be a prostitute, Jemaine/you can say no to being a man ho. Here's hoping Jemaine finds a project better suited to his abilities and more enjoyable and high-quality on the whole
Take it from a die-hard South Park fan who does not shy away from dark humor and off-color jokes: Gentlemen Broncos is offensive to EVERYONE: women, gays, anyone who isn't a white dude. And were I a white dude, I'd still be offended because Gentlemen Broncos doesn't make white dudes look too great either.
I'm totally cool with anachronisms: it's about giving yourself to the world of the film. But quirks do not replace substance. Look at Juno: beneath the hipster bait dialogue and Kimya Dawson was a heartfelt story of a teen girl who just wanted to do right by herself, her baby, and her friends, old and new. Hell, look no further than Hess' first and best effort, Napoleon Dynamite. The director seems to conveniently forget that what made his first film such a success and not just a mess of catchphrases, funny clothing and cows getting shot was that one thing called, oh yeah, HEART.
I've enjoyed Michael Angarano since his intelligently blabbering portrayal of young William Miller in the opening scenes of Almost Famous. What he needs now is a Brick. Not a slab of heavy concrete or heroin, but a Joseph Gordon Levitt style dark indie tour de force. Angarano's got the chops to be the next JGL if he plays his cards (and projects) right. He can start by firing his agent or manager or whomever talked him into the mess known as Gentlemen Broncos.
On to Pirate Radio!
Just like Mare and I are both fans of Jemaine Clement, Jackie and I share an affinity for the grizzled great Philip Seymour Hoffman. (Also, the assistants at PSH's production company are really nice ladies.) I didn't need much encouragement to review this film: as a fan of not only Hoffman but Pirate Radio director Richard Curtis (who also helmed Love Actually, one of my all-time favorite romcoms AND holiday movies), and rockin' soundtracks. Also, who doesn't love a movie about a group of underdog roustabouts bucking the system?
Well, in this case, me.
I didn't hate it. But I was disappointed.
Granted, Pirate Radio did a lot of things right. The story, based on actual events, is fluffy and fun: in the 1960's, Britain banned rock music from its airwaves. (Sidenote: don't you love hearing about relatively tame pop culture that was SUPER DUPER SHOCKING not even fifty years ago?) To circumvent the law and the seas at the same time, disc jockeys would broadcast from ships, attracting listeners and fans from all over the country.
One such ship is led by The Count (Hoffman, Extra Grizzly) and an almost exclusively male gang including DJ's Nick Frost (Simon Pegg's pudgy counterpart in Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz) and (drumroll, please) Rhys Darby, aka MURRAY FROM FLIGHT OF THE CONCHORDS! OH YEAH! (As you can tell, I was unnaturally happy when he popped up on screen). After getting booted from boarding school, teenage Carl (moppy-haired Tom Sturridge) is sent by his mother to live on the ship under the tutelage of his godfather Quentin (Bill Nighy, who like J.K. Simmons and Jane Lynch makes every movie better). Sex, cigarettes, paternity, and plenty of rock and roll are celebrated on the ship, but the good times might soon come to an end if stodgy Parliament member Sir Alastair (Kenneth Branagh, whom I heart) has anything to do with it.
So yeah, the story's cool. The cast rocks (did I mention that Mad Men's January Jones and the perpetually wonderful Emma Thompson make cameos?). The soundtrack features The Kinks, The Turtles, and various other one-hit wonders that helped lay the groundwork for rock n roll and music as we know it today.
With all this in mind, why did I not totally adore Pirate Radio?
For one thing, the characters are woefully underdeveloped. I'd argue that there were too many of them, but then I think back to Love Actually's knack for rendering even the day-iest day player with respectful and compelling detail. And besides the fact that they're played by some of Britain and America's finest performers, the characters are incredibly likable and when given a chance to speak, funny. I'm going to have to blame this on the shallow script and lack of direction. There was a definite sense of just letting everyone run wild, and while that can work okay for an improv piece, it's not great for a cohesive film.
Also, the story felt very scattershot: never settling on one specific plot point for any character, it was much like its freewheeling protagonist, not wanting to commit to anything concrete. Finally, I who have no problem with dude flicks, found the film kind of insulting to women. I know it was the '60's, but two of the female characters are downright sleazy, and the others aren't given much to do. Including women at all felt very condescending and "this one's for the ladies." Come on.
Again, did I hate Pirate Radio? Not at all. I didn't even dislike it. It was very . . . meh. There was a great movie with this same stellar cast about a pivotal point in music history, to be made by Richard Curtis. This lazy, indulgent piece wasn't it.
Though I really, really want the soundtrack.
