Be it ever so delayed, the latest ode to 60s rock, Pirate Radio has finally opened in theatres. And although its coming of age message to rock and roll all night and party every day is clear, it doesn’t exactly offer anything new to the meaning of those words. To its detriment, this film is a mishmash of such hackneyed rock and roll catchphrases like “rage against the machine”, “they don’t make ‘em like they used to”, “people everywhere have got to be free”. Then what you’ve got is a new cake made from the recipe used in several past similar films. Pirate Radio’s saving grace is that it does a better job at being clichéd than let’s say Detroit City Rock or Airheads. It also has a stellar cast, and an infectious anarchy-in-the-UK-fuelled enthusiasm.

The year is 1968, and in the kingdom of Great Britain, you’re lucky to get one hour of rock and roll on the public airwaves. Enter so-called “Pirate Radio”. Of course, by today’s standards, being a musical pirate means being a pariah, distributing music that you have no right to distribute simply because you can. Strangely enough, the pirates of Pirate Radio weren’t that much different. Much to the frustration of government regulators, they used a ship in the North Seas to broadcasted unadulterated rock and roll to the English masses 24 hours a day. I guess the major difference is that the 1960S Pirate Radio pirates had an actual boat, while the 2000s pirates ave their dorm rooms and basements. But at least the noble spirit of their 60s brethren lives on.

Apparently, Pirate Radio is based on a true story. But truth is relative, and I can’t honestly say how much of Pirate Radio I believe. Though I have little doubt that if you got a bunch of free-wheeling disc jockeys on a boat that Animal House-like frivolity would ensue. And what characters we have on the pirate radio boat? There’s the cynical though hard-rocking leader of the motley crew The Count (Philip Seymour Hoffman), the mysteriously debonair Midnight Mark (Tom Wisdom), the informational newsman 'On-The-Hour' John (Will Adamsdale), and the reclusive Bob Silver (Ralph Brown) on overnights. Captaining this ship of fools is the always sardonic Quentin (Bill Nighy), whose godson Young Carl (Tom Sturridge) arrives on the Radio Rock ship as either a punishment from his mother, or As her way of pushing him to meet his absentee father.

But despite the highly capable and talented comedic cast, along with that wonderfully derisive British wit, Pirate Radio doesn’t really have anything new to offer. There’s a lot of talk about these being the best days, and how young people will fight the power to write, make and listen to great music. Stop me if you’ve heard this one, as the old joke goes. There really seems to be no underline organization to the film’s story, instead it watches like a hodgepodge series of problems, interpersonal dilemmas and misunderstandings. Much of the plot centres on government official Sir Alistair Dormandy (Kenneth Branagh), and his loyal toadie Twat (Jack Davenport) who are willing to use any means at their disposal to try and shut down Radio Rock. Unfortunately, the rebels and the authorities are so physically separated by land and water that their interactions fell disconnected from each other, as if they are players in two different movies.

But you know what? That’s okay, because I laughed a lot. The actors are great, and they get to throw out some great lines. Not to mention the fact that the film’s Titanic-like climax is filled with equal parts humour and drama. True, Pirate Radio won’t win any points for originality. Nor will it win any added favour for its vintage rock soundtrack, since these songs can all be easily reconstructed with some diligent iTunes shopping. But I did enjoy the characters and their party-hearty attitude. Pirate Radio is like a British WKRP in Cincinnati, only on a boat. Darned if you can remember the plot line, but I’d wager that you will remember that you had a good time watching it.