Before Hunter S. Thompson gave birth to Gonzo Jonzo, he was just another 22-year-old in 1960 fleeing to Puerto Rico after wrecking his editor's car. After landing a job at the soon-to-fold El Sportivo magazine this boozy Caribbean respite provided him with all the material he would need for his sophomoric effort into the world of conventional fiction-writing, The Rum Diary.
Only for a true Thompson freak, the book is saved from its utter plotlessness by the characters he creates (or embellishes?) around protagonist Paul Kemp, a San Juan reporter who occasionally files stories while drinking and fighting around the humid commonwealth. Written in the late 50s and published in 1998 with the help of Johnny Depp, the release of The Rum Diary to American theaters has been long-awaited for those poor souls who chose to major in journalism after seeing Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
Like Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club, the film is better than the book. Depp's subdued invocation of the Good Doctor's dialect is spot-on as he chases unfavorable leads and the promising Chenault (pronounced Sha-nelle), played by Amber Heard. There's even a scene where they have a long ménage à trois on a short pier with a candy-apple red 1960 Corvette.
The booze-imbued storyline leads to much fire-spitting craziness provided by Moburg (a perfectly scene-stealing Giovanni Ribisi) a rock-bottom burnout on a Hitler kick who stays with Kemp alongside second-banana Sala (an ever-wise Michael Rispoli) through the demise of their publication and the dissolution of their prosperity.
The Rum Diary is the perfect gift this holiday season for those who don't need another typewriter for Christmas.
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