The Rum Diary

I have read the book and this movie holds true to the voice that Thompson writes with - this is what makes the movie works. Depp's role, unsurprisingly, mimics his portrayal of Hunter in Fear and Loathing (only with less drugs, not counting alcohol).

The movie can, realistically, be summed up in one "revelation" Depp's character has with a rather unusual counterpart. Throughout the film we see examples of the opulent lifestyle of few and downtrodden livings of the many.

What Depp confides with his "friend", allows us to use what we have learned up to that point in the movie and chew on for the remainder of the movie, is this - the banks hold the wealth while leaving us (and the starving children) to stare at empty brass plates hanging on their front doors. Whether you agree with it or not, this is not a stretch to compare with the "occupy" movement settling into America and around Europe today.

This movie is good. Much like the original book, this movie doesn't try to entertain the viewer; it allows the viewer to sit back and follow along as one man experiences a lifetime of ups and downs in a matter of weeks. And be prepared to go out for a drink afterward, you'll need it.

The film begins with main character Paul Kemp (Johnny Depp) waking up in a luxurious hotel room in Puerto Rico after a heavy night of drinking. After chomping down a few aspirin, Kemp stumbles into the editors office of the San Juan Star and is given a dead end writing job. After a few chance encounters, Kemp becomes the center of intrigue and corruption while consuming copious amounts of alcohol.

"The Rum Diary" was originally a novella from the twisted mind of Hunter S. Thompson an eccentric journalist and novelist who in addition to smoking, snorting, injecting, drinking every drug, alcohol and carcinogen known to man, managed to change the face of journalism by calling it as he sees it. His writing can repel and enchant with equal measure and has a breakneck spontaneity which is rivaled by its frazzled incoherency.

Incoherency would be the best word to describe this film. The story lacks any kind of focus jumping from a love story, a corrupt land deal, drunken antics, workplace politics and racial tensions. Watching "The Rum Diary" was like talking to a drunk grad student; little flashes of genius may linger but after what seems like four hours you realize you're talking to a drunken idiot and looking for the door.

Thompson's other work adapted to screen shares a similar inconsistency but say what you will about "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" at least it was interesting. Director Bruce Robinson seems unsure behind the camera trying desperately to balance themes and while Terry Gilliam threw spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks, Robinson compensates by drawing out its screen time and keeping the camera-work and editing as dull and uninspiring as possible.

The films only saving grace is the inclusion of Giovanni Ribisi as a cirrhosis addled, syphilitic cohort who takes LSD while listening to records of Nazi propaganda. His arguments with the Star's head editor (Richard Jenkins) provide some of the few precious moments of humor.

The epilogue appears while Johnny Depp sails into the horizon explaining that while its the end of the story "...its the beginning of another." I would have liked to have seen the other story. At least by then the sardonic wit of Thompson was finally present.

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"Rum Diary" is a retro movie made in the style of all too many films from the early 1970's; the "heroes" are smug, slacker, inconsiderate slobs, but because they talk the talk of peace and love, we are are supposed to overlook their cruelty to individuals and boorish behavior. The kind of movie where the good guys are people that in the real world, you wouldn't want living next to you, or even sitting next to you on a bus or plane. Even with the great Johnny Depp, and a $5.50 seniors' rate ticket , this movie was almost a total yawn. It was so bad,that the ushers requested that we leave our cell phones on.Or at least I wish.

Rum Diary (2011)

If you're looking for the craziness of later Hunter S. Thompson, you'll find shreds of it here. In a way this is a more cogent movie than say "Fear and Loathing…" but it's also a bit prosaic beneath the wilder stuff that peppers the surface. Johnny Depp stars and runs the show in his usual strong if uninspired way as a new, hard-drinking reporter with a failing English language newspaper in Puerto Rico.

There is a true surface here that's pretty amazing--the cars, the low down rot of the apartments, the racism between the rich white Americans and the indigenous Puerto Ricans. The depth you might expect and want here is slim, however, even though all the pieces are in play for a great drama--a charming troubled writer in a land filled with prejudice and violence and great natural beauty. It pushes the clichés too hard, and it's generally agreed (even by Thompson) that the material is weak and "rambling." The movie doesn't rearrange it enough to make it work.

You can in a way watch this for those surfaces, if you don't need too much more. There are several secondary characters who do their best to be a bit insane, including Giovanni Ribisi as a drugged out waif of a reporter, something like what Thompson himself might have become later in life. (See of course the Depp in the imperfect 1998 "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" for a sense of the famous freewheeling selfish addled sometimes brilliant Thompson.)

The director here also adapted Thompson's book and if he gets the credit for the nice ambiance of the film he also gets the burden of how clunky, choppy, and sometimes slow it is, even with such exciting material. It's not a horror, it's watchable, but you'll flag here and there. Even the end, without giving a thing away, is a bit deflating.

Johnny Depp's vanity project The Rum Diary - 'vanity project' for that, at the end of the day is all it is - is based on a novel of the same name by Hunter S. Thompson Depp is said to have found among Thompson's belongings after the writer's suicide. The novel, completed in 1960 wasn't published until 1998 and, well, you have to ask yourself why. If the film of the novel is anything to go by I suspect it was simply because it wasn't very good. But as I have never read it, I can't tell you either way.

Mediocre novels have been turned into great films by great scriptwriters and directors. Unfortunately on this offering Bruce Robinson isn't one. Or if he is, he this is one occasion when he hasn't pulled it off. (Robinson made his name with his semi-autobiographical film Withnail & I, and I have to admit that didn't do too much for me either.) Depp has previously dabbled in Thompson's work with Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas. That didn't come off either, which suggests to me Depp has something of a blind spot where Thompson is concerned. And this is Robinson's first film as director in 19 years. That, too, should tell us something, and possibly something not particularly complimentary.

The film itself is oddly old-fashioned, in storyline, cinematography, direction and production. In the hands of another director Thompson's rather slight story might well have been turned to gold. Here it remains base metal. Almost everything about it, from the soundtrack to the dialogue, from the 'plot' to the humour - it has been billed as a comedy - is flat and lifeless and, well, mediocre. This kind of schtick was churned out weekly by journeymen writers and directors until the digital age changed what the punter wanted to see. Depp, it has to be said (and this is a personal view) always has an attractive screen presence even when the film he's starring in is third-rate (and I have seen him in some real clunkers - Blow comes to mind).

Amber Heard has virtually no role and I simply did not buy the romance between her character and Depp's. Michael Rispoli, Giovanni Ribisi, Aaron Eckhart and Richard Jenkins (who was excellent as the penny-counting hit-man's paymaster in Killing Them Softly) turn in workaday performances and do the best of a bad job given what little they had to work with. Situations which, I'm sure, were intended to raise a laugh do nothing of the kind. I really did want to turn off halfway through but held out in case it somehow went from second to third gear. But it didn't.

Sorry, Johnny, perhaps you should get better advice and listen to others rather than your own gut.