The British Broadcasting Corporation was the sole legal broadcaster from 1922 to 1973 of both radio and television in the U.K. It still operates under a Royal Charter issued by the British Crown.

So, while Americans in the ’60s grooved to pop and rock stations, the BBC, obliged to broadcast mostly live music due to its Musicians Union contract, stuck mainly to tried and true forms. To fill the void, pirate radio stations began transmitting rock and pop from beyond Britain’s three-mile territorial waters.

In contrast to the story told by “Pirate Radio,” most Americans would be surprised to learn that an American entrepreneur founded Britain's most successful pirate radio station. During its first broadcast, spearheaded by a Canadian DJ in December 1964, the station called itself Radio London. It was not the first pirate radio station, but it was the first to bring the concept of America’s top 40 to enthusiastic listeners. The idea was hatched by Texas businessman Don Pierson, who formed an investment group, produced the station's commercial advertisements in Dallas and hired another Texan to run the show.

The film, made for a British audience by British-educated writer-director Richard Curtis, succumbs to wish fulfillment by refashioning the tale to be more British. Ignoring the commingling of American know-how with the birth of commercial British radio, the movie relies on a willing cast to tell a fictional story tweaked by the period’s upbeat music.

This ode to flower power takes a decidedly nostalgic view of a lifestyle defined by recreational drugs and sex. Bill Nighy appears as Quentin, “Pirate Radio’s” bell-bottomed benefactor. Like Pierson from Texas, Quentin’s station was the first among pirate radio broadcasters to include regular news and weather bulletins, but unlike Pierson’s DJs from Australia, Canada, Kenya and the U.S., “Pirate Radio’s” DJs are almost exclusively British.

Life aboard this hedonistic flotel is seen through the eyes of young Carl (Tom Sturridge), a mildly misbehaving teen sent to live on the ship by his mother (Emma Thompson). She hopes that spending time with his godfather, Quentin, will improve the lad’s character. Curtis leaves it up to the viewer to decide whether Carl’s adoption by a randy crew of good-hearted DJs has done the trick.

The high quotient of upbeat music and loveable, recognizable stereotypes, offers some consolation for the film’s lack of plot. Imaginative costuming positions Nighy as a vision of colorful, Nehru influenced tailoring, while the velvet suits and feathered hats favored by star DJ Gavin (Rhys Ifans), exemplify clothes worn in America by the well-dressed pimp.

Back on shore, Kenneth Branagh’s slicked down Sir Alistair Dormandy personifies the upper-crust Englishman straining to protect an elitist code of behavior. In searching for a means to outlaw pirate radio, Dormandy enthusiastically serves England’s buttoned-down administration.

Huff and puff as the political winds might, their inability to effect the outcome of this fictional story flatters the inevitability of social revolution, when in truth the battle was hard fought on both sides. Director Curtis, a mere 11-year-old during the 1967 setting of this film, sentimentalizes the power of song, perhaps forgivably, but the untold story remains the more poignant.