Getting Straight (1970)

Without any hesitation my favourite film by Richard Rush, preferred even to highly acclaimed "The Stuntman", shot ten years later. Scored after hippiesploitation classic "Psych-Out" it gets a grip on the 60's counterculture in transition... when days of love & protest suddenly exploded in wild rage and resistance never witnessed before. Stepping down the duct of intoxicating, artistic power – freshly reclaimed by New Hollywood brats like Dennis Hopper, Bert Rafelson, Mike Nichols or Peter Bogdanovich – Richard Rush finally broke away from exploitation flicks and reached to his rebellious homeground, coming up with a modern tale of love and identity crisis in a cracking American society. Apart of a vivid story "Getting Straight" is also significant for Rush joining his forces with great Laszlo Kovacs for the last time – this duo could have pulled it off like no one else in my opinion – making you raise your eyebrows when all that well-balanced, technical mastery starts popping out.

But it would have never been such a great picture if not Elliott Gould with his vibrant, absolutely brilliant performance as Harry Bailey – impoverished, ex left wing activist, who wants to drop back into straight society (that's where the title comes from) by finishing his M.D. and starting new life as a school teacher. But as Harry is to gather soon: in this life it's not what you do decides about your destiny, but who you really are. He might not want to live a life of political radical anymore, but his past can be hardly shaken off in the midst of student riots on the campus, which get more nasty and brutal every day. On the top of that his girlfriend Jan (Candice Bergen) has just had enough of his intellectual, arrogant temper and starts a fling with a rich gynecologist... to decide if her middle class dreams are still there to be followed.



As Harry's final oral exam is closing in with all the odds staked against him, he slowly begins to lose his new conviction in shitstorm around. Although an excellent student for few university good ole' boys, he seems a danger for many other professors, who demand to keep rabid revolutionaries at bay. In the same time young activists cannot get over him going full front square, expecially his dropout friend Nick, who never seems off LSD or hash brownies. Hanging now between two worlds, Harry needs to choose what values he wants to stay committed to. But sometimes the most important decisions are taken as if we weren't in driver's seat at all. Zonked out or straight, you need to move forward sooner or later. But as our main character discovers in the end, we're all entangled pretty deeply in a web of emotional and spiritual relations, which determine our steps.

With countercultural vibe a la "Easy Rider" or "The Graduate", dashing photography by Kovacs and spirited script by Bob Kaufman (based on a contemporary novel by Ken Kolb), Elliott Gould shows his horns in a classic, theatrical manner, rarely seen in American cinema. His acting energy waves high as he utters charged, badass bits on the screen involved in verbal duels with either his girlfriend or stodgy professors. Although not without a certain comedy edge, the movie is more of an artistic commentary on the late 60's with a hearty layer of anti-establishment musings and rather intellectual, slow-pacing action. It's not one of those later silly comedies screwing around with cliches of hippie naivete to pass revolutionary stance as a drug fueled fad, which in the end turns economy into making more money on alternative lifestyle and products... it stays true to it's time and it watches today as good as it did 42 years ago.

Constructed around two weeks of real time, narration of Rush's film might seem truly obsessed with details and monologues, but it sneaks away from a trap of barely scratching a surface of the topic on the other hand. "Getting Straight" should be treated as an obligatory viewing for auteur cinema aficionados and also a precious jewel for those having a soft spot for counterculture related works. I'd say it's main value lays in smart perspective of 60's revolution as that one of profound social, cultural and individual change with interesting take on the evolution of main character and looking down on both sides of the baricade... as a curiosity Harrison Ford plays here an episodic role. Followers of Richard Rush's film career should definitely give it a go as well. They won't be disappointed, I promise.

Cockfighter (1974)

One of the most uncommon New World Pictures projects was exclusively Roger Corman's idea, adapted from a rather obscure novel by Charles Willeford. And though it was meant to be someting of an artistic provocation – I reckon, a replay of "The Intruder" – it became an instant disaster and flopped miserably. "Cockfighter" has been given to Monte Hellman, one of the oldest Corman's pupils, who came back around after directing "Two-Lane Blacktop" for Universal (till this day his most famous film), which never scored bigtime against it's powerful vision and raving press reviews. Nestor Almendros was hired as a cinematographer for the picture (later Academy Award winner for Days Of Heaven in 1978) and was paid to fly from Paris to USA – it was his first American movie. The only problem was Monte Hellman, who he felt like passing on this project when he saw a scouted dirt pit in Georgia with smashed Southerners around, betting heavily on blood-thirsty cocks.

"Cockfighter" has irrevocably retained this split. A strange picture, expressed in quick cuts, bloody close-ups and out of blue voice-over – it didn't manage to develop characters' potential either. Although definitely an artist's alley, it got dominated by second unit shots of Lewis Teague in an editing stage – film's editor, who volunteered to fill it with rough, shocking footage, demanded by Corman. Unfortunately this move cut it's legs totally, boiling it down to a vague half-way runner between typical New World exploitation product and a possible, multi-layered tale of love and passion in a violent world, which as we might only presume was something closer to Hellman's spirit. Inside screening uncovered a sheer brutality of the rough cut and it must've been really repulsive one as even Corman turned away from releasing it with so much chicken blood and guts flying around. As an effect the final cut was something of a compromise between Corman's salesman drill and director's artistic vision, but it satisfied nobody



"Cockfighter" is a story of Frank Mansfield acted by Warren Oates. Although he's a top cockfighting coach, he loses opportunity to win MVP of the year award when shooting his mouth off and getting his favourite rooster slaughtered in a hotel room before the big day... his love for whiskey is only part of the problem as there's alsoa girl, who loves him madly and is repelled by his unconditional blood lust. Shaken by the loss he takes an oath to keep his mouth shut untill he finally takes the trophy. That makes Warren Oates' performance a mute one for most of the time (which might as well be the best thing here) and his inner dialogues externalized by mentioned, bizarre voice-over. But shaping up is not that easy and Frank needs to hit the bottom before getting a grip again. Short on cash he sells his parents' house – which gets tolled away – and comes back to the game with a new partner (Omar Baradansky - weird Polish-American countryside businessman), who provides him with fresh chickens. Together they take on the toughest competitors of this southern sport step by step and eventually get down to the beat.

Apparently cockfighting was still a country entertainment in the South when the film was made, but in the same time it was a public embarassment and the topic hadn't a slightest chance to storm the box office. Tabooed at least, but most likely totally disgusting event for drive-in crowd, hardened by exploitation roughies – if it was made today, animalists would get a heart attack – it screened for a very short time. After expected wows didn't exactly come as a wave, it got yanked off by Corman, recut and reissued as Born To Kill. Joe Dante has done another oddball trailer with famous helicopter explosion – used in almost all New World Pictures teasers – but even these desperate gimmicks couldn't save the picture and it was shelved eventually. Somehow it survived underneath the surface and became a minor cult movie afterwards, considered a second, most important work of Monte Hellman. Although pacing is kind of wonky, Corman's influence overwhelming and it doesn't reach weirdness of "Two-Lane Blacktop", it's an interesting example of digesting the southern mystique by one of the most interesting American directors of the golden era. 70's curious zone!

Five Easy Pieces (1970)

One of my all-time personal favourites, "Five Easy Pieces" is an absolutely electrifying drama perfectly summing up bittersweetness of the 60's – a period of irreversible cultural transformation, which changed societies, but individuals even more. This great vision of Bob Rafelson, photographed by Laszlo Kovacs, played out by Jack Nicholson and Karen Black is one of the best, that American auteur cinema has had to offer. Emotionally exuberant picture featuring verbatim acting creations and surprisingly simple story flows high due to masterminded narration, transgressive pacing and spot-on shoots, utilizing non-ordinary angles. It's quasi antic connotations make it a little bit more than just a social critique and it's enigmatic ending embodies all, that truly timeless cinema should be associated with. While this is just one nugget in the epoch's pile of gold, only few 70's artistic flicks matched it with their passion and genuine storytelling qualities.

Bob Rafelson was one of these crucial forces in the late 60's and early 70's American cinema, which later lost their impact and were forgotten, covered up with other names like Francis Ford Coppola or Martin Scorsese. Still, he remains one of the most original auteurs and producers, who managed to inject new blood into the Hollywood system. In fact his "Head" (1968) besides casting The Monkees comes as one of the most original, surrealistic romps made in the 60's and although initially flopped, became the ultimate cult movie later on. That's where his collaboration with Jack Nicholson has started, who co-wrote this yummy flick. With "Five Easy Pieces" Rafelson was nominated for Oscar as a director and script writer – he took the first one in glory together with New York Critics Award. This on the other hand leaves me upset about Academy Awards today, won by pictures, which wouldn't probably even take a nomination 30 years before – for which I don't even bother watching them usually – but every time has it's "spirit" and the golden years will rather not come back.

"Five Easy Pieces" is a story of Robert Eroica Dupea, impersonated by Jack Nicholson – a romantic dropout from upper middle class nest of anything but average, classical musicians. Bobby – as we get to know him in the beginning – severed ties with his family and has gone down South to live a life of a physical labourer, moving from job to job, from town to town. Although at some point he's refused to pursue his family's artistic heritage (as his brother and sister did without a blink of an eye), he cannot find peace as a "class refugee", working in the oil fields, bowling, fucking girls and downing beers with his pal. But his girfriend Rayette (Karen Black) seems a perfect symbol of what he desperately struggles to embrace. She's easygoing, warm-hearted and pretty in a way, but brainless and lacking any wider horizons. Confused about his past Bobby plays along, but mixed emotions and guilt of losing the higher ground eventually provoke a fight with his buddy and then with Rayette. In the end he's just a non-committed drifter, who can only keep fear at bay for so long.



One of these days he doesn't want to take it anymore and visits her sister Tita in a recording studio. Narration makes clear, that she's a subpar pianist, but leaving a question about Bobby's talent open. Although she's very happy to see him, she needs to lay a very sad news on her brother. Their father had two strokes recently and doesn't seem to be feeling well. Jerked around by guilt and melancholy, Bobby decides to drive up the country to Washington, to visit his old home and check on his father. Making it a bundle, he decides to leave his girlfriend, but she makes a scene and thus they carry on together. However, he doesn't want to bring Rayette down, ashamed over her working class, non-educated background. Instead he forces her to stay in a cheap motel not far from the island, on which his family's been living.

As Bobby finally arrives, he finds his father terminal and a new tenant at home – a young pianist and his brother's girlfriend. That wakes up a yearning for a new affair as well as natural, musical talent. When he plays beautiful notes of Chopin – while camera rolls over family photos showing him next to his father – his status as the most talented one becomes obvious, explaining uneasy family tension around the life he chose. Although his savage nature and very unpredictable character will be more than a girl can take, Bobby beds her in the course of an action just to find out afterwards, that he's still not a good fit for quiet, classical pianist lifestyle and eventually leave home with Rayette. That leads to an unexpected, beautiful ending, which becomes the most precise depiction of Bobby's hasty, rebelious personality.

Rafelson's work is one of the most important American films ever made, paving the way for Jack Nicholson to the stardom. In "Five Easy Pieces" actor continues, what he started in "Easy Rider" finally breaking free from a burden of secondary roles. Although, we're gonna see Jack Nicholson doing even better (in "Last Detail", "Carnal Knowledge", "King Of Marvin Gardens" or "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest"), this is the role to be acknowledged and remembered as it's here, where his pure hysterical energy and talent for bringing out character's metamorphosis got revealed in a raving streak of confrontations. But this masterpiece would never reach this level if not Laszlo Kovacs with his cameraman virtuosity – his total eye is just amazing. Obviously, top-notch screenplay by Rafelson and his clear, artistic vision come on the top, creating a perfectly structured tale with spontaneous narrative curves, invoking profound conflicts of the human nature as well as basic dilemmas of free thinking individuals in a modern, mobile society. This is an obligatory viewing for any serious film buff!

Two-Lane Blacktop (1971)

Four people coming from nowhere, drifting, heading nowhere but rich in stories to tell, even if there are no words to describe them as their life is embodied solely in their racing vehicles or their never ending journey. This fiery classic by Monte Hellman has all the ingredients of a great cult movie: brilliant screenplay with extremely weird characters, passion, dark underbelly, fantastic photography and music. It's one of these late 60's & early 70's artifacts, which made to the silver screen only due to the fall of Old Hollywood, using created gap. Financed by Universal, Hellman's film flopped at the time of it's release against high expectations and very favorable press reviews, which dubbed it "the best movie of 1971". A blame in this case has been definitely on the studio executives, who folded the marketing machine promptly after the premiere and then tossed the picture down from big theatres to the drive-in circuit, where it played with exploitation goodies of freshly founded New World Pictures.

Nevertheless, the film eventually found it's public by becoming an obscure night player on American TV. This was fortunate and helped a lot to shelter Hellman's vision in fandom, which slowly has put it up to a cult status. By 2000 it was finally released on DVD after members of The Doors agreed to pass on the royalties to Moonlight Drive, one of many classic songs featured on the soundtrack. Since then "Two-Lane Blacktop" has begun it's second, glorious run, discovered by next generation of movie geeks and die-hard diggers of auteur cinema. Justice has been definitely reclaimed as next to "Easy Rider" and "Vanishing Point", this ravishing road flick is the shit, which shouldn't be missed by any serious cinema fanatic... and it's viewing is highly rewarding, bringing you these uncanny emotions of embracing the acid vision or a dream – both important levels of the epoch's speech. "Two-Lane Blacktop" is indeed an unique piece of creative lunacy.

Monte Hellman was initially another chap, stepping up the ladder of Roger Corman's "shoot today & edit tomorrow" film school in the 60's, which served as a catapult for such personalities as: Francis Ford Coppola, Dennis Hopper, Martin Scorsese or Peter Bogdanovich. He was actually one of this legendary crowd, who glued together "The Terror" (1963) when Corman left it after shooting few nonsense scenes on leftover props from "The Raven" (1962). In 1965 Hellman managed to get $150,000 from Corman to direct two westerns almost simultaneously. They were "The Shooting" and "Ride in the Whirlwind", both starring Jack Nicholson, released in 1968 and considered first "acid westerns" in history – today explained as a bizarre cross of revisionist western and hippiesploitation movies. Although these pictures never made a huge blast leaping high over exploitation pot boilers with their enigmatic plot structure, they are fascinating works, which have lead directly to Hellman's early 70's cult classics like "Two-Lane Blacktop" or "Cockfighter" (1974).



By the time Universal agreed to finance the production of "Two-Lane Blacktop" and forked $850,000, Monte Hellman has been already loking into a firm script by William Corry, but felt it's essence was kind of subpar and should have been reworked to match his ideas. This was assigned to Rudolph Wurlitzer – a fresh writer who just published his experimental novel, Nog (1969) – and Floyd Mutrux, who never got the credit by losing his case in Writer's Guild. Wurlitzer rewrote the screenplay completely, coming up with a copy of a more sophisticated nature, leaving a lot of symbolic space to play around for Hellman. Almost all shots were taken on Route 66, before it was transformed into a transcontinental highway and lost it's mythical allure, and then... the main actors were actual cars: heavily tuned up Chevy '55 and a brand new Pontiac G.T.O. '70 – both machines representing diverse values of car culture.

The film hits as an experimental theatre on the road featuring two hot rodders without a name: The Driver (James Taylor – a cult singer) & The Mechanic (Dennis Wilson – The Beach Boys drummer) going after any fluke in their Chevy '55. They're not really into money when dragging, they're just simply looking for means to make next part of two-lane blacktop... always ahead in their machine, which seems undoubtedly a centre of the world due to Hellman's witty frames, catching it as purely alienating space. Director seems to say with his camera: "That's it, man. There's nothing else" as dialogues are scarce and usually involve running a car or it's technical problems (very nerdy stuff, understandable only for club members). Even when guys meet a young hippie girl – another Summer Of Love dropout – who sneaks into their car to get a lift, they are not destined to end in some place with her. It's just another part of the game.

Action gets raised when they meet Mr. G.T.O. (fantastic role by Warren Oates) - a Pontiac driver, a guy who takes the road challenge and a compulsive liar, who keeps fabricating exploits about his life, passing them to hitchhickers... all for sake of going further down the road as if he'd like someone to cover his lack of purpose. The only moment when he starts to unveil his identity happens during the race, at front of The Driver, who squashes him immediately... as nobody really cares on the road, especially if they're racing for the wheels and the only thing that matters is the moment – very 60's psychedelic, hot rod ZEN message indeed. As they travel across America, the emptiness of their lives becomes strikingly apparent, but it's the only thing left after countercultural dreams went under... a freedom to ride.

This bitterswitness, soaked in post-revolutionary depression is a crucial undercurrent here, making "Two-Lane Blacktop" such a great picture. Even if we desperately try to grasp the meaning, it sneaks away as soon as the characters make another 100 miles. We basically run in the passenger's seat for this whole time just to get, that there are no simple answers, light always comes with a shadow and life will keep carrying on, no matter if you've already moved on or you're still hanging in there... the ending of the movie stands out as one of the greates scenes of American auteur cinema movement being correspondingly bold and confusing.

Cocksucker Blues (1972)

As it was likely to happen and eventually it did, the most notorious documentary about a rock group ever made never got a chance for a public release. While an artistic vision of Robert Frank embodied in "Cocksucker Blues" doesn't offer any justification itself, it's potentially damaging effects on the image of the group who ordered it, definitely do. Despite coming through as one of the grittiest documentaries you'll ever see, it grabs The Rolling Stones by the balls handing these lads over on a hot smokin' plate. However it's more than that as one of the most famous photographers of the last century and a real Beat Generation documentarist not only shot ravishing footage of famous British rock stars, but also stamped his persona on the reel. What he said about "Cocksucker Blues" afterwards appears very significant too: What goes on on the tour was worse than what you see. Even if after watching the movie it hits as a strong statement, it's probably true anyway.

Although definitely a masterpiece of beat cinema, it was actually made when Beat Generation cohorts have already burnt out as comets while the remaining ones – whose pieces of life-as-art have flown freely around and inspired the others – joined the second circuit of culture. Still, it might be seen as the ultimate prank of counterculture's godfathers. "Cocksucker Blues" was initially ordered and produced by Marshall Chess, the president of freshly started Rolling Stones Records and filmed on multiple locations in United States, which The Rolling Stones were passing on their Exile On Main Street '72 Tour. Being first US tour of the group since 1969, when they played infamous gig on Altamount Higway in California (during which 4 people died), the expectations of the American public were very high. It shows clearly in the movie when die-hard fans are being interviewed outside local venues sometimes declaring their need of seeing the group is strongest than will to live... My life is half-wrecked anyway – we get to hear from one of the hippie burnouts.

"Cocksucker Blues" underground fame has been rising for a long time and finally achieved a real cult status. It's scarcity helped! First screening of the film in 1976 was closed to the public as Robert Frank has got involved in a long lawsuit over the rights to it's release with The Rolling Stones themselves – musicians tried to block it, scared to death by it's nihilistic agenda. The court ruled in favour of Frank's demand eventually – the movie could have been shown... but only if director was present in person. This ruling obviously stopped it's theatrical release and was a primal reason why "Cocksucker Blues" never made to DVD. As screenings became very rare, the only existing copy of the movie was finally bootlegged (as usually by these cool anonymous film lovers) and effectively circles around in the Internet today. This is our luck as this shit is a real must-see for those who have a passion for drug fueled madness rarities from the epoch of spiraling hedonism.



Robert Frank's insider, homemade 16 mm style is a foggy tunnel of casually edited scenes from the tour. A camera jumps in and dives into the hotel rooms where The Stones sleep and do drugs, where they fuck and play cards, where they drink and mumble to the camera... usually strung out or zipping up their pants after a good dick wetting, or just waiting for a quick fix and a bottle of whisky to be delivered. The king of decadence and intravenous drug use quickly pops forward – it's Keith Richards, who occasionally rumbles around throwing TV sets from hotel balconnies for fun. Otherwise he's just getting fucked on junk, continually cooked on demand by one of his skinny girlfriends. In one of the best scenes he cannot even stand... he's just there on a bench zonked out like a can of mushed peas, leaning on his girl who's equally wasted.

Except hotel footage, The Stones are captured on stage usually giving a top notch performance. When they join forces with Stevie Wonder and his band, the scene goes on fire while Uptight becomes Satisfaction and Mick grabs Stevie and together they kick off a live soul dance to a romping, cracking-ass work of extended brass, rhythm and guitar section. Steamy stuff, which becomes a cloud of blurriness when band comes off stage to get loaded all over again. Frank catches genuine moments of ultimate bendover as Mick Jagger gets so washed up that his monologues become nothing more than worn humming without any sense or clue. In the meantime roadies go on a frenzy of fixing their veins or coke snorting with occasional group fucking – a famous scene of screwing stripped groupies on a private plane would be probably enough to wake up most of The Stones fans. We even get some famous drug fiends featured – Terry Southern is cleaning his nose passing the bump to Tina Turner and then being involved in a long chat over precious qualities of white powder. Mick Jagger comes through as a coke fan too... but from time to time he'll pass a joint and get hungry.

60's were over for The Rolling Stones, guys! Hard stuff dominates in "Cocksucker Blues" and while lads are tumbling down, their golden period wears off, they get to be seen as a bunch of not so highly aspiring rock'n'rollers with simple vices. Frank's approach is great as it doesn't sugarcoat the shit! His film is very dark and gloomy lacking any voice-over with the only exception being a quote from William S. Burroughs in the end of the movie. A very witty choice indeed as the life of the band has just become a non-stop sex and drug party with rollercoaster amplitude of moods and sliding concentration on music matter. Occasional, non-verbal commentary like showing TV with '72 presidential campaign going on or dexedrine ad, fills this picture of a killing music tour by the biggest rock stars remained on stage. You wanna find out what The Stones got into when the 60's went down crashing? Just grab this and forget about other documentaries.

The Rum Diary (2011)

It took a bit for Johnny Depp to wrap up and screen this personal tribute to his great friend – Hunter S. Thompson, but it proved to be worth his while. Despite market odds and endless postponement of the premiere, the effect of his actor's and producer's work uncovers a very funny and romantic take on Thompson's novel, widely recognised by fans and critics as his worst book. Speaking of book and movie correlation, I need to stress that coin's flipside is still in Depp's favour as he scored the points by proving a screen adaptation can be far better than a book on which it's based, if you tweak and shape it up a little bit. Certainly, there can be no good film without a good story. Neither the book or the film are genuinely good stories in this case, but if I was to choose one, my money would land on the film! I advise you to check it out even if you didn't like the book, cause it reveals a lively vibe of it's own.

"The Rum Diary" was started by Hunter S. Thompson around 1959 in Puerto Rico to be edited and finished around 1962 in New York, where he went into writing another novel shortly, "Prince Jellyfish", which has never got published as a whole, however it's excerpts have made it to "Songs Of The Doomed" (1991). "The Rum Diary" has been returned to Thompson by every publisher it was sent to at that time – virtually nobody was interested in giving it a go. Eventually, it stayed in the drawer till 1998, when Hunter pulled it out convinced by his agent Douglas Brinkley to do so. He didn't really support the idea initially, but cocaine and booze checks were running high so did the lawyers' fees, hence he couldn't refuse this little extra cash. It got smartly packaged by the publisher as a missing link to gonzo journalism, but this really doesn't matter as Thompson's fans would buy just anything to go through some stuff unpublished before. That's how Hunter basically made it through late 80's and 90's with Gonzo Papers series.



I was one of these victims and didn't really swear after making through it, instead I just put it back on a shelf pondering this peculiar mixture of alcohol extravaganza and sloppy writing. Downbeat style of the book shows clearly a growing depression of a rookie journalist, who found himself on the crossroads with little ideas where to go and how to handle his career. It's as bad as it gets. Hemingway's and Fitzgerald's styles are retraced, crossed and rewritten, but the efect resembles bleak xerocopies of Robert Frank's photos. Thompson's characters are poorly drawn while narration is giddy and dull as a pavement. There's nothing here really to admire, but if it's the only Thompson's book you've read, I guess you need to fill the gap quickly.

"The Rum Diary" is basically an insider's prose. We're being served with daily exploits of bunch of losers, dropouts and winos trying recklessly to lick the last drop from a glass before the curtain drops and everything tumbles down into a black hole. There are no drugs, no acidheads and getting laid is very hard – these themes belong to another land called gonzo, that was years to come at that point. The book is actually so void and boring, that it becomes frustrating in the end! As far as Thompson's oeuvre is concerned, I'd put it in line with "Hey Rube!", another writing disaster but from a different planet. It's definitely something of Hunter's first leap into the world of literature, a writing exercise, like "Junky" was respectively for William S. Burroughs – in fact there are many similiarities. It lacks undoubtedly Hunter's later psychedelic madness, his insightful comment and fascinating, twisted sprint through galaxies of social and political reality. What we get in "The Rum Diary" comes in fact nowhere near "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas"... it's just a bummer.



Bruce Robinson's film is loosely based on the novel and I'm deeply convinced it's a good thing in this case. Ross Kemp character (Hunter's literary alter ego played by Johnny Depp) is not as gritty as pictured in the book and the backdrop follows the same logic leaving out the scruffy details. Apart of that, a screenplay brings drugs to the screen – Ross and his buddy Bob get loaded on acid – which kind of reitarates Terry Gilliam's "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" scenes and forks out Thompson's countercultural message. The money problems – crucial for the book – are smoothly resolved by Kemp's interaction with Mr. Sanderson and most of the original characters don't get to be developed in a script at all. This lightens up film's narration allowing director to follow the romance plot and show off Kemp's rebellious spirit a bit more. While almost two hours long movie may leave you wasted sometimes, action tools in "The Rum Diary" save the day letting us enjoy the ride smoothly. No real bumps to my eye at least. Acting is fair, getting very good in few particular scenes – cast knows well the shapes and the lines passing either on tragic or on comedy side depending on the context.

While this movie is not gonna crack your head open, it's not gonna bust your balls either. However, this middle shelf quality grows out essentially from Thompson's mediocre story. It's been fixed, but you cannot make fireworks out of a lighter and a wood chip – a small fire is the only possibility. If the story doesn't sparkle, even good acting is not gonna help much as it cannot boil all the elements together by itself. The most important thing is, that Johnny Depp produced a movie he liked and that Hunter would probably enjoy to see as well. By delivering "The Rum Diary" he made an official tribute to one of the greatest writers of the last century, his friend and tutor. By following a possible-to-do line and not trying to shoot the moon by going into production of let's say "Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail '72", he accomplished a fine example of cinematic judgement. This seems great thing to do after all and that's one of the reasons why "The Rum Diary" defends itself firmly. Well done, colonel!

Hunter S. Thompson (1937-2005)