Slipshod sea shanty comedy barely makes it out of port
Fisherman’s Friends 12A cert, 112 min ★★★★★ Dir Chris Foggin
Starring Daniel Mays, James Purefoy, Tuppence Middleton, David Hayman, Dave Johns, Noel Clarke
In 2010, a Cornish, all-male folk ensemble released an album of sea shanties that got to number nine on the UK chart. As quirky, inspirational stories go, it’s hardly up there with Calendar Girls, but it has none the less been puréed into a double helping of feel-good mush for the post-oscar, pre-summer slump.
In real life, the Fisherman’s Friends were discovered by Johnnie Walker, the DJ, during a holiday to the fishing village of Port Isaac – a tale that lends itself more naturally to an item on breakfast television than a feature film. So writers Meg Leonard, Piers Ashworth and Nick Moorcroft have reworked it into a formulaic comedy of opposites, including an obligatory town mouse/country mouse romance.
In the fictionalised version, the group are initially signed as a practical joke, after a braying record label executive (Noel Clarke) and his jaundiced A&R man Danny (Daniel Mays) see them playing a harbourside gig during a stag weekend on the coast. The prank gives the film an excuse to strand Danny in their picturesque village for what feels like weeks on end, as he starts to believe the froth-tossed harmonies of yore might connect with a modern crowd.
As such, he has to persuade the 10 singers to give stardom a crack, starting with their sceptical alphabaritone Jim (a very good James Purefoy), whose pretty daughter Alwyn (Tuppence Middleton) becomes another good reason for Danny to persuade the locals he’s the real deal.
Director Chris Foggin has assembled a talented and likeable cast, with Dave Johns, David Hayman and Sam Swainsbury as three of the ruddy-cheeked shanty chanteurs. But their attempts to breathe life into the lumbering script is like watching them wrestle their body weight in freshly landed haddock – a lot of energy is expended on distinctly fishy results.
Considering it was shot on location in spectacular north Cornwall, it is a gruesomely dreary film. London looks similarly drab – by design, at least.
Even in the realm of scrappy British underdog comedy, there is a clear line between endearingly ramshackle and downright slipshod. Fisherman’s Friends blithely crosses it, never to return, from the moment it chugs out of port.