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.
