Kon-Tiki is a dramatisation of Thor Heyerdahl’s 4,300-mile, 101-day journey across the Pacific by balsa-wood raft, which took place in 1947, and was a remarkable achievement, unlike this film, which so isn’t. True, it does what it says on the tin. There’s an ocean, and it’s traversed. There is jeopardy, most notably in the form of a big plasticky shark. But it’s played as such a straight-up-and-down, old-fashioned, formulaic adventure that it lacks any intimacy or feeling and almost can’t be bothered with its own characters. Consequently, it’s as bland as it is blond, and it is exceptionally blond. As styled by Th’Oreal, I guess you could even say.
To jog that old memory of yours, Thor was a Norwegian ethnographer and adventurer who was convinced the Polynesian islands were not initially populated by Asians, as conventionally thought, but by South Americans. To prove his theory, he built a raft as early South Americans might have built one, assembled a crew, and sailed from Peru to the Tuamotu Islands.
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