Big Screen Peter: The Rum Diary

 

review by Peter Lewis

Hunter S. Thompson became known for a sort of literary mania that pushed the sliding-edge of reality onto the paper. His frenzied, pulsating life seemed always to spill over onto the page, as his reporting invariably thrust him onto center-stage. The result of these efforts was both the creation of “Gonzo” journalism and the lasting legacy of Thompson.

But before the energy and mania of his days on the campaign trail, Thompson had a bit different mindset. One rooted a bit more firmly in the world of literature. It’s from this younger worldview that “The Rum Diary” was first born. For almost 40 years the novel sat unpublished. But now, with the help of Johnny Depp and director Bruce Robinson (Withnail & I), the vision of Thompson’s Puerto Rico circa 1960 comes to the silver screen.

The protagonist of the tale is Paul Kemp (Depp), a young writer who escapes the brutal winter of New York in search of a job at a newspaper in San Juan, Puerto Rico. Though the story is one of fiction, it’s largely based around Thompson’s own experiences as a young man in Puerto Rico. As a result, the expectation might be for Depp to play Kemp simply as a reprise of his lead role in 1998’s “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.” The previews certainly seek to play up that odd-ball mania.

Fortunately, save a stumbling, bug-eyed opening scene, Depp plays the role of Kemp much more moderately — a rarity for Depp over the past decade. Instead, we get a caring, invested man with a deft touch for the deadpan. While it was refreshing to see Depp underplay a role, his performance left something to be desired. His underselling of Kemp eradicated the urgency of the character, leaving the protagonist feeling sterile. The gap certainly wouldn’t have been bridged with more Raoul Duke-related mania, but the role would have benefitted from a bit more inspiration.

Really, the same could be said for everyone in the film. It’s undoubtedly prejudiced to compare the movie to its literary counterpart, but one of the characteristics of the book was its energy. The characters were live wires. They were real people. And sadly, the same can’t be said for the actors that populate this recreation.

Aaron Eckhart is passable as the smug and smarmy Sanderson. His fiancee Chenault, played by Amber Heard, does little but gyrate and shimmy her way around the movie. There is nothing in the film that hints at anything resembling a functioning pulse until the movie is winding its way to a close. Even Kemp’s newspaper pals are all given short-shrift. Save fellow boozehound Bob Salas (Michael Rispoli) and, to a lesser extent, the hilariously drunk Moberg (Giovanni Ribisi), we’re given a menage of poorly depicted roles.

None of the performances were particularly bad. Instead, they spoke to a consistently poor narrative development. Something that can be attributed directly to Robinson, the director and screenwriter. None of the mania came through. The violence, even the pizzaz that seems to inhabit all of Thompson’s work is filtered through a lens of adolescent hijinks. Instead of a visceral diatribe, we get a dilution, one that seems to be approximation of what the public expects from Thompson’s mind. And that sort of output, apart from being disingenuous, is unpalatable pedagogy. It’s a poor amalgamation of ideas and insights, feebly woven into a movie.

In short, it’s a stale lump of shit garnished with a few funny lines.

• The Rum Diary is playing at the Carmike 14 and the Malco Cinema 16 in Fort Smith. Link here for time and ticket info.

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You can also track Peter at his Web site, Warm Evenings.