The Book Tower

Possibly it was the high altitude, or maybe just because I was trapped on a plane, but I managed to sit through Richard Curtis’s The Boat That Rocked in its entirety. Although the film takes a point in recent history that’s so fascinating that you may find it incredible that the idea isn’t already taken, the film manages to make a complete fudge of depicting pirate radio in the 1960s.

Curtis employs a couple of his usual regulars, Bill Nighy and Rhys Ifans, and adds Philip Seymour Hoffman in what should have been inspired casting. Familiar faces also include Nick Frost, the brilliant Ralph Brown (from Withnail and I) and two stars of The IT Crowd who play their usual gormless selves. Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson also appear again the the same cast, although they don’t get to meet onscreen. All the actors do their best but this is a film that only barely reaches Carry On credibility; skilled performers reduced to delivering their usual turns (specifically with Nighy and Ifans). Imagine the call:

Oh hi Bill, it’s Richard here. Yeah, not so bad thanks. I was wondering – could you turn up for a few days filming please and do your usual? Yes, it’ll be a full Bill Nighy turn. Insoucience, slightly camp etc. Okay, speak later – need to call Rhys and get him to repeat his Peter Cook impersonation.

The Boat That Rocked is set in 1966, the year before pirate radio was brought to an abrupt halt. Branagh and Jack Davenport play nasty men from the ministry who, by hook or by crook, plot the end of the seafaring DJs. As you might typically expect, the film includes a rich soundtrack from the era, although the music doesn’t appear to be confined to ’66 and resembles the soundtrack to Heartbeat with its anything from the 60s will do approach. Similarly, fashion and decor looks suitable from the era although just as little research probably went into styling the film.

What’s ultimately irritating about this movie is its sheer laziness of script and characterisation. The pirate radio stars don’t come across as stars at all, just a bunch of stupid idiots, which too many frankly embarrassing scenes where the repetition of the word ‘lesbian’ just isn’t amusing. The dialogue remains embarrassingly sexist throughout and Curtis seems unable, or unwilling, to write substantial female characters. The appreciation of pirate radio by the British public goes little further than shots of people at home or at work, generally going about their business, stopping and enjoying the hilarious radio sounds. Similar in fact to the Radio 2 tv ads from a couple of years back.

The Boat That Rocked isn’t terrible, just disappointing. It’s a bit of a waste of time, although it isn’t a crime against cinema. That award goes to the new Terminator movie…

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So onto Port Douglas, which is something of a return to reality after Dunk Island but still retaining a holiday sleepiness. And it’s hot. Really hot. The sand is so scorching at Port Douglas that it is unwise to walk across it with bare feet. Foolish as I am, I found myself running across it screaming a foolish remark about ‘hot coals’. Unfortunately I also became seriously menaced by mozzies for the first time during my visit to Australia.

Port Douglas is an interesting mix of retired couples sauntering around and young people in bars, who appear unable to resist the urge to pick up a guitar and sing. I have a particularly disturbing memory of a version of Dock of the Bay that must have had Otis Redding turning in his grave. Port D has a couple of interesting bookshops, and a few internet cafes that range from onstreet booths to ice cream stores who have the audacity to charge for the privilege of using their IE6.

During our I stay we hired a car and drove up to Port Tribulation, although were unwisely equipped for what I would call four wheel drive country. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the drive and we managed to take in a river trip (seeing some very sorry looking crocs) and some boardwalked rainforest. All quite brief as next stop was Brisbane.

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Actually I forgot to mention the jetlag that comes with a visit to the other side of the world. If you are prepared to get up very early, say 3am, and go to bed at a modest hour, say 8pm, then the jetlag isn’t an issue. And I find that the timeshift allows for some good quality, dream free sleeps, with those early hours perfect for quiet reading or frequenting otherwise sleepy internet cafes. A trip to Australia shouldn’t be any less than two weeks, because it takes that long to get back to normal sleeping and waking.

After Sydney our destination was Dunk Island, named by Captain Cook after his friend the Earl of Sandwich (who, as we all know, invented the sandwich). It was also home to E.J. Banfield, who penned Confessions of a Beachcomber (although not, I must add, an Australian romp from the 1970s starring Robin Asquith but something far more sober). Dunk is situated just off the Cairns coast and is accessible by 10 seater plane, a type of transport exciting for children but memorably grim for timid adults such as myself who tend to hang on to their hats and convince themselves they are in a brief sequence from an Indiana Jones film. It’s a 30 minute flight, with breathtaking views if you can bear to open your eyes.

Guests are flown directly to Dunk Island’s holiday resort, where you are constantly fed until bursting point although it must be added that the service by young Australian twenty-somethings is a little haphazard. It’s almost as if a prolonged stay on the island dulls your senses. Activities are divided between doing nothing, following one of several island walks and water pursuits. For the very first time I went snorkelling and, garbed in a comforting lifejacket, did fairly well. I also surprised myself by taking command of a small motorboat (or “tinny” as the locals corrected me) for some light sailing.

In my opinion six days and nights on a tropical island is just about right (I don’t know how Robinson Crusoe lasted so long without going doolally). It’s a great break, but one longs for some return to civilisation. Which will be the subject of my next post…

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