Trite treatment sinks a tuneless 'Pirate Radio'

The roguish history of offshore pirate radio in the United Kingdom is certainly a wealth of great story material. Unfortunately, Richard Curtis' inane and dissatisfying new comedy, "Pirate Radio," has little to do with it.

As far back as the 1920s, radio broadcasters trying to dodge restrictive British licensing laws got around those limits by beaming their signals from ships outside the nation's territorial waters. Britain fought back in various ways, and outlaw broadcasters sometimes battled one another like real buccaneers on the high seas.

By 1966, the year of such landmark rock 'n' roll albums as The Beatles' "Revolver" and The Rolling Stones' "Aftermath," pirate-radio ships were supplying rock music to listeners hungry for more than they were hearing on official stations.

"Pirate Radio" concerns a fictional version of one of those ships, and the merry band of disc jockeys and support staff that occupy her. But that period setting and the crew's determination to rock hard could not feel more arbitrary as Curtis proves far more interested in his characters' nonstop sexual escapades, loony high jinks and sad-sack love lives.

The story's anchor is 18-year-old Carl (Tom Sturridge), a pleasant ne'er-do-well whose mother (Emma Thompson) sends him to the care of his godfather (Bill Nighy), manager of the floating station. Carl becomes an assistant cheerfully embraced by the on-air talent, one or two of whom (especially Philip Seymour Hoffman's token American, a worldly and determined advocate of radio freedom) capture the imagination immediately. Everyone else, however, resembles the cardboard comic cutouts of Curtis' directorial debut, "Love Actually."

Watching "Pirate Radio" and waiting for something inspiring or interesting to happen — something, perhaps, to do with fighting for the music these people supposedly care about — is fruitless. Much more consideration is afforded the loss of Carl's virginity and crew shenanigans during its downtime.

Kenneth Branagh brings an unpleasant edge to the film as a largely unbelievable government official trying to pull the plug on offshore broadcasts. Equally irritating is Curtis' use of songs recorded long after 1966, which doesn't help anchor the story in its pop-culture milieu. In just about every respect, "Pirate Radio" is less than seaworthy.

Tom Keogh: tomwkeogh@yahoo.com