Rated R

Without even glimpsing a preview, this film carries default appeal on a number of fertile grounds.

First, it’s based on a novel by Hunter S. Thompson, the mad gun-toting, motorcycle-riding, drug-gobbling, booze-swilling journalist who authored “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” and “Hell’s Angels.” In fact, “The Rum Diary” was one of Thompson’s first literary efforts, written in the early 1960s (although it was not actually published until the late ’90s). Thompson, who died by his own hand in 2005 and subsequently had his ashes blasted from a cannon, is an American cult icon with millions of rabid fans insatiably hungry for any new Gonzo material.

As an added bonus, the film’s central protagonist, Paul Kemp, is played by Johnny Depp, who already won over Hunter S. enthusiasts with his stunningly accurate portrayal of the good doctor in Terry Gilliam’s 1998 adaptation of “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.” Depp has mastered Thompson’s idiosyncratic lilt and body language to even greater perfection than Bill Murray did in 1980’s “Where the Buffalo Roam.” So what if Depp is pushing 50 and Thompson wrote “The Rum Diary” when he was in his early 20s? That’s not the only place where the film diverges from the book.

Third, the movie is directed by British director, actor and screenwriter Bruce Robinson. Although Robinson’s directing credits have been sparse, he was responsible for 1987’s hilarious “Withnail & I,” which, like “Fear and Loathing,” follows a pair of drug- and booze-addled men on a misguided binge (and which features artwork by long-time Thompson collaborator Ralph Steadman). It’s easy to see why Robinson would come out of directorial hibernation to take a crack at a Thompson joint.

Discussion about a film adaptation of “The Rum Diary” began at least a decade ago, with many stops and starts along the way. Robinson supposedly started drinking after years of sobriety as he worked on the script, and it shows (not in a bad way).

The movie is set in 1960 in San Juan, where Kemp, an aspiring novelist, has taken a job with the local daily newspaper, The San Juan Star. The paper is a sinking ship with lagging circulation, and its overstressed editor, Lotterman (Richard Jenkins), wants Kemp to cover only bowling tournaments and other tourist-related fluff stories. This becomes a growing source of frustration for Kemp, who would prefer to write about the rampant poverty and exploitation he sees on the island.

Kemp moves in with two other employees of the paper, a long-time reporter named Sala (Michael Rispoli) and a burnt-out, fruitcake photographer named Moburg (Giovanni Ribisi). The three engage in near constant drinking—rum, beer, scotch—while sweating through existence in their fetid environs.

The plot’s other important player is Sanderson (Aaron Eckhart), a wealthy real estate mogul with a plan to convert a pristine island off the coast of Puerto Rico into a hotel-riddled tourist haven. Sanderson wants Kemp to do some PR writing for the project in the hopes of putting a positive spin on a slimy, greed-fueled venture. The idea doesn’t smell right to Kemp, but he’s tempted by the vast sums of money it promises. And he lusts relentlessly after Sanderson’s agonizingly luscious and flirtatious girlfriend Chenault (Amber Heard).

Herein lies the central tension of the film—should Kemp take Sanderson’s offer and become one of the wealthy American “beasts of obesity” he so loathes, or should he stick with a doomed newspaper where he could potentially have a meaningful impact?

Those of us familiar with Thompson’s real life know what he must choose. What makes the movie such a treat is to watch this largely embellished character discover his journalistic purpose and voice—“a voice made of ink and rage,” he explains—while also witnessing the Gonzo debauchery that comes with it.

And there’s plenty of debauchery. We’ve got cockfighting, car chasing, fire breathing, carnival dancing and more, plus the obligatory digression into hallucinogenic drugs—an episode which does not occur in the book, but which here leads to Kemp’s transformative revelation about his life’s mission. 

Taken out of the context of Thompson’s life and work, this is a mediocre movie with an ending that’s not quite as satisfying as it’s meant to be. But, for any fan of “Fear and Loathing,” or of Thompson in general, it’s imperative viewing. Depp delivers a toned-down presage of Duke from “Fear and Loathing,” and Rispoli serves as a worthy substitute for Duke’s attorney/drug buddy. Eckhart does well as a charming but depraved money glutton, and Jenkins is reliably solid as Lotterman. Ribisi goes a little overboard as Moburg, but his character sort of calls for it.

The film also pays meticulous attention to the fashions and styles of the early ’60s, with occasional hints at the political climate of the times, including brief footage of Nixon campaigning for president, which draws prophetic disgust from Kemp.

More than anything, this is a loving tribute to Hunter S. Thompson, a tale about the making of a ruthless journalist and brilliantly bent writer.