There’s some truth behind the past tense used in the title of The Boat that Rocked. Whilst British pirate radio might have rocked the airwaves back in the 1960’s, Richard Curtis’ onscreen depiction only ever manages to gently sway. It’s by no means a nauseating motion; there’s still a lot of lighthearted fun to be had, but Curtis’ screenplay tends to draw out the lean premise, causing the film to run out of steam well before it reaches its destination.
The Boat in question is that of ‘Radio Rock’, a fictitious 1960’s pirate radio station floating in the North Sea, just outside of British waters. Run by an mixed bag of disc-jockeys who live firmly by a life of sex, drugs and rock’n'roll, the station broadcasts pop music to millions of UK listeners at a time when traditional stations such as the BBC wouldn’t. The only people who aren’t tuning in are the British Government, in particular a nasty British Minister, who will stop at nothing to shut the station down.
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Back on the vessel, the film deals with the individual troubles of each of the characters, all of which have little to do with the overarching story. Given it’s a boat full of men (we’re told the lesbian cook doesn’t count), most of their tribulations have to do with their sex lives, or a lack thereof. Whilst young newcomer Carl (Tom Sturridge) hopes to lose his virginity for the first time during the Boat’s bi-weekly visits from the stations raving female fanbase, Breakfast DJ Simon (Chris O’Dowd) is busy looking for the right gal to settle down with. Meanwhile, the rest of the crew are either going at it like rabbits or dancing about listening to rock’n'roll. Yet due to the unfocused nature of the narrative as it tries to follow each character around equally, the film never truly finds its rhythm.
Without much in the way of a plot, the solid cast manages to keep things afloat. Philip Seymour Hoffman is ever cool as the American disc-jockey and a suave Bill Nighy charms as the station’s manager. Free from being forever associated as Simon Pegg’s co-star, a hefty Nick Frost initially takes control of the film as the resident sleaze, while relative newcomer Tom Brooke provides most of the laughs as the village idiot. However the side-effect of such a strong cast is that there is an over-abundance of characters vying for our attention. This leaves some personal favourites of mine, such as Rhys Darby of Flight of the Conchords fame, to get lost in the mix.
Perhaps the film’s greatest strength is its truly rocking soundtrack, featuring the Who’s Who of 60’s rock’n'roll (incidentally, including The Who). As people young and old across Britain are frequently seen tuning in and dancing along to each track, it’s hard not to be drawn in by the youthful, fun-loving nature the film exerts. Yet the habitually humourless script and unfocused narrative is enough to see this boat gradually sink under the weight of its 120 minute runtime.
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