A quick prelude: Yes, I am aware that “New Moon,” the latest flick in the Twilight Saga, came out this week. No, I don’t care that I’m not reviewing it. That particular flick is going to make about 14 gajillion bucks with or without my approval and, at the risk of sounding smug, I’d rather not waste time with overwrought teen romance when there are much better flicks out there to watch. Also, I revel the chance to be unpredictable. Keeps it fresh, you know?

Right. On to the business at hand:

In the late 1960s, when rock and roll was entering into its most ferocious age, the British government refused to let it play on their air. While American kids were rolling in Beatles and Stones records, British kids had to make do with creeping into their rooms at night, putting their radios under a pillow, and tuning into outlaw radio stations broadcasting from boats anchored in the North Sea. These were the stations where you could hear the latest and greatest from The Kinks, Cream, the Jimi Hendrix Experience, and all the other acts that populated the rock stratosphere in the latter half of the flower decade.

Drawing on the cultural impact this phenomenon had on his own British upbringing, writer/director Richard Curtis (“Love Actually”) set out to make a film loosely based on these radio pirates.

Before I go further, I have to say that in movies, introductions are everything. You don’t get a second chance at a first impression, so you’ve got to make the first five minutes count. Curtis kicks of this flick in style, blasting off with the primal growl of The Kinks hit “All Day and All of the Night.” It’s a warm welcome, to be sure.

The film follows two basic stories intertwined with several smaller ones. The meat of the flick is based around Carl (Tom Sturridge), a meek British lad sent by his mother to live on his godfather’s boat. His godfather, Quentin (the marvelous Bill Nighy), just happens to be the producer and manager of Radio Rock, the hottest pirate radio station in the United Kingdom. Upon arrival, Carl is introduced to Radio Rock’s many DJs, among them The Count (Phillip Seymour Hoffman), Doctor Dave (Nick Frost), Midnight Mark (Tom Wisdom) and Bob (Ralph Brown). Suddenly surrounded by a band of merry mischief-makers, Carl’s coming of age tale begins.

Meanwhile, on shore, Sir Alistair Dormandy (Kenneth Branagh) has been tasked by the Prime Minister with finding a way to eliminate the pirate radio stations once and for all. To this end his enlists the aid of an associate, Mr. Twatt (Jack Davenport), who develops a number of schemes, among them making it illegal to advertise with the stations.

But the show goes on. Undaunted, when he loses his funding Quentin simply calls up former pirate radio DJ Gavin (Rhys Ifans) to fly back from America and save the ship with his enigmatic and often filthy brand of rock-charged charm.

Amid the battle between the government and the radio we see a number of other adventures, among them a sexual awakening, a rather offbeat wedding and lots and lots of really great music.

Much as I loved Curtis’ first directorial effort (and I really, really did), “Love Actually” had moments of stiffness to it, as if he was trying too hard to be sweet or funny or both. That stiffness is gone with his sophomore effort. Though it’s still got some flaws in the areas of pacing and comic timing, “Pirate Radio” has a rock and roll swagger to it that drips with the confidence of a director settling into his gig. Maybe it’s the music, maybe it’s the cast; maybe it’s the fact that this flick is just looser, but this time Curtis feels like a director, not just a writer slumming in the director’s chair.

Of course it doesn’t hurt that he’s surrounded by a stellar corps of actors. Hoffman commands the film, channeling a bit of his Lester Bangs performance from Cameron Crowe’s “Almost Famous” and combining it with an even higher energy to level to make The Count a character for the ages. Branagh plays the villain perfectly, capturing the restraint of the stuffy British upper-class with all the ease of the legend he’s become. Ifans, who only gets half a film to impress us, pulls off a gravelly-voiced sex machine with plenty of boozy charm, and still makes us laugh. Nighy is his usual reserved magnificence, and Sturridge, in his breakthrough role, hits it on the nose with a strong blend of nervous energy and warmth.

There are times that the flick drags, and times that Curtis tries really hard for a joke that never quite lands, but this flick is altogether a refreshing break from the overpolished drone of the movie world these days. “Pirate Radio,” flaws and all, recalls a time when music meant something, when it meant so much that people would go down with their ship for it. For that, if nothing else, we can be thankful that this flick hit theatres.

Matt’s Call: It’s not playing here yet, but I pray it will be. If not, anyone with a deep and abiding love for rock and roll will find this one well worth a half hour trek to the south.