1958, Puerto Rico: Paul Kemp (Johnny Depp) is a journalist on the hunt for booze, a story and a girl. If this sounds corny, that’s because it is. The Rum Diary, an uneven, if occasionally fun, romp under the tropical sun, is adapted from the far superior Hunter S. Thompson book of the same name, and led by the always-charming, sometimes-grating Depp.
Kemp is an almost-middle-age would-be novelist who moves south to work at a faltering paper full of somewhat lubricated newsmen much like himself. Depp has always played a good drunkard, and this time is no different, although after some corrupt American businessmen bring him in on their diabolical plans, his virtuous bent gets old fast.
Don’t worry, though: Kemp doesn’t spend more than a third of the movie actually pursuing the plot. A good deal of time is given to Kemp’s colorful adventures through the gorgeous, tourism-brochure-worthy countryside with fellow staffer Bob Sala (Michael Rispoli), qualifying it as a “buddy film” without being amusing enough to earn the distinction.
The film dwells, without becoming trite, on the seductive power of alcohol. Kemp describes his drinking as on the “upper end of social,” but when he wonders aloud what it’s like to be an alcoholic, the audience roared with laughter. He is haunted by the very real possibility of becoming like Moburg (Giovanni Ribisi), a wino who even processes the ethanol out of factory filters for a drink.
What little time is spent on the plot lacks Thompson’s knack for working the audience into a froth of righteous rage, despite the fact that neither the book nor the movie gets far past the “let’s whine about how bad things are” phase. Any movie that boldly declares the falsity of the American dream not once but several times is a tad too obvious for me.
The movie is just as sexist as the book, without the excuse of being written half a century ago. Amber Heard plays Chenault, a love interest so devoid of personality her sole activities are flouncing, lounging and seducing. Plus Depp is 23 years older than Heard – am I the only one who prefers a couple to be born within the same decade? Nevertheless, the screenplay is intelligent, taking cues from Thompson’s biting, elegant prose with quips such as “The island of Puerto Rico is an unwilling part of the United States: it’s like England with tropical fruit.”
Ultimately, the movie seems determined to eulogize Thompson, who was a maverick writer himself, and just as quick as Kemp to break a rule, denounce a power broker or drain a snifter. Yet this Kemp and this movie in general, are too upstanding and straightforward to be truly Thompsonian. While he would have enjoyed the idealization, I’m not sure even Dr. Gonzo would approve of this pretty but ultimately empty film, which reeks too much of the “bastards” of industry that Kemp himself denounces to ultimately carry any weight.
– Britta Hanson
