Did you know that in the 1960s the British government banned rock n’ roll on the airwaves? And that rushing to the defense of freedom were hundreds of radio stations that were literally exiled to the sea? It’s true, it’s true! Well, not entirely. Not that it matters much to writer and director Richard Curtis. Pirate Radio, re-titled from its UK name The Boat That Rocked (I kid you not), is about one of the many ships that refused to kowtow to authority. Since it’s been directed by Curtis (who at one point directed good movies like Four Weddings and a Funeral), that means the movie wildly overstays its welcome and the drama has been sawn off by dopey feel-good Brit comedy isms.

Amazingly, Curtis doesn’t even show the original government actions that provoked some radio stations to flock to the sea. He doesn’t show the first stations, or Pirate Radio itself, being launched. And he doesn’t show how the law(s) were defeated either (it-sort of-tells us through captions, the lazy way). He shows us next to nothing of the actual broadcasting. Come to think of it, there’s very little about rock music in this empty picture. Curtis throws out a few obligatory nods to try and trick us into thinking he’s a rocker. There is a strong soundtrack that includes cuts from artists like The Rolling Stones and The Supremes. Also, there is the first caption in the film which takes pains to explain that 1966 was the greatest year in the history of rock  because of The Beatles, The Stones, The Who, and The Kinks. Isn’t a strong concurrence with that statement a prerequisite for seeing the movie? It’s stupid and insulting, but perhaps not as much as when the ending captions reassure us that for all the tumults of its earliest days, rock has had a pretty good forty years. Cue the collective sighs of relief.

Rock n’ roll and the laws against it barely register, making the entirety of the movie hinge on the situations of the men onboard (men, mostly men, save for the lesbian cook who has to have her sexual orientation mentioned every single second she’s visible onscreen) all of which are tedious and icky. Pirate Radio becomes increasingly embarassing and uncomfortable. Almost none of these little predicaments have any ring of truth to them in the slightest. Even worse, Curtis throughout the movie cuts to the reaction shots of people in England listening to Pirate Radio, just thrilled at what they’re hearing (it’s similar to what Peter Weir did with The Truman Show). On an even lamer note, Philip Seymour Hoffman’s character declares-as if it’s some sort of epiphany-that their time on the boat will turn out to be the best years of their lives. It’s a shockingly deep point: you mean that free food, drugs, easy sex, and no rules would be a blast? Wow!

Pirate Radio is a flaccid comedy, enlivened only by Rhys Darby from Flight of the Conchords who actually brings a some heart and laughs to the movie and a cameo appearance from Emma Thompson (she looks terrific, although she’s currently in a vastly superior film that also takes place in 1960s England, An Education). The rest of the acting leaves much to be desired: it’s nice to see Hoffman, who usually plays very negative and angry people, take such an easy-going part as the fun-loving, defiant American DJ. Unfortunately he’s the ghost of the movie, popping in and out without consequence. As Carl, the 18 year-old main character busted for smoking and figuring himself out on the boat, Tom Sturridge is impossible to relate to: he plays the part with a self-aware every-awkward-move-I-make-is-totally-cute look on his face that quickly becomes unbearable.

I can forgive anachronisms. I don’t care that “Father and Son” wasn’t recorded and released by Cat Stevens until 1970 even though it’s included on the soundtrack. The accuracy of the picture isn’t that interesting to me either. However, if a movie pitches itself as being about the fight to keep rock music alive and kicking in the face of arbitrary government force, it should deal more with that than simply showing us how much better rock music was then and how much more these stoned out proto-hippies cared about it. And it should do a lot better than making a terrific actor like Kenneth Branagh the government minister passionate about shutting down the pirate radio stations and reducing his entire performance to stiff-ass scenery chewing. Pirate Radio wants to be a comedy. Or maybe a great rock picture. Mostly this awful, insulting wreck is a template for more smug 1960s worship.