The Rum Diary

At some point, we just might miss the period in which excessive drinking was considered stupid. Now that I think about it, society does deem certain vices as acceptable – but there’s a sliding scale. In tough times, are vices more acceptable than in bountiful times? Chalk it up to another paper I like to read, but not research. The Rum Diary is full of drinking. I guess that shouldn’t come as a surprise, what with “Rum” in the title and all, but I didn’t think they’d put alcohol in every single scene. You think I’m kidding, don’t you? There’s alcohol in the hotel, on the beach, on the boat, in the car, in the cab, in the sand, at the club, at the cock fights, in the jail, in the ghetto, at the newspaper office, in the swimming pool, everywhere. I would venture to guess that even the vegetation of Puerto Rico itself leaks alcohol with such abundance that it cannot be avoided no matter how one tries. There’s more alcohol than water in this film, which is odd as the meager plot revolves around beachfront property on a nearby island.

Do they put “Diary” in the title when nobody bothers to write a coherent screenplay? It takes a healthy 40 minutes for Johnny D-lite & co. to get to a plot, and even then it doesn’t take. Until that time, we get the not-so-madcap adventures of a drunkard. If I cared, I might feel sorry for Kemp (Depp). Why did he feel the need to drink constantly, company or no, day or night? Why was it a preferable vice to sloth, wrath or lust (all of which are provided amply in this version of Puerto Rico)? When we do get started, finally, Kemp, a defiant reporter, gets bullied into P.R. work for Sanderson (Aaron Eckhart) on a shady fatcat construction swindle. Ah, we’re masking a tale of politics and socio-economics now. Ok, you have my attention. Tell me how El Gringo is keeping Los Puertorriqueños abajo.

I’m deciding whether to dismiss or disguise the distaste and disconsolation at the discovery of dispensable Depp. In Rum Diary, Johnny Depp plays, for the first time in my memory, a character I didn’t enjoy. Such is (un)fortunately hidden by the fact that as there are so many poor characters in the film, Depp’s work hardly stands out. Aaron Eckhart is awful in every scene, even the ones he’s not in. This is the kind of performance that makes me say, “Why did we elevate his star after In the Company of Men?” Can he command the screen? Yes. Should he command the screen? No. All this pales in comparison to a role I believe Giovanni Ribisi took on a dare. A friend obviously bet Master G that he couldn’t stay serious to a loathsome, dirty and completely phony portrayal of a low-grade writer/junkie all while talking with a mouth full of gravel. Giovanni’s “Moberg” gets my award for “worst character outside a Tyler Perry movie.”

I should point out that Rum Diary is intended to be a mishmash comedrama.  An a-typically funny moment places Johnny Depp sitting on Michael Rispoli while driving a small car through the city (the front seat of the car has been stolen).  The sparse humor, however, simply isn’t enough for me to justify the ugly dramatic scenes that bookend this adventure, or any other in the film.

It’s impossible not to picture Rum Diary without noticing it’s pretty much a prequel to Fear and Lothing in Las Vegas. If you really liked that film, well, you probably will be more favorable to this meandering, plotless, drug-induced thing than I was.

Rated R, 120 Minutes
D: Bruce Robinson
W: Bruce Robinson
Genre: Tales of the written word
Type of person most likely to enjoy this film: (The late) Hunter S. Thompson (and fans thereof)
Type of person least likely to enjoy this film: Teetotalers