There’s a version of The Pirate King that sounds almost too eccentric to work: a PTSD-stricken veteran, a custody battle, and a pirate re-enactment troupe. And yet, in the hands of director Josh Plasse, this unlikely blend becomes something deeply human, disarmingly funny, and quietly powerful.
At its core, the film follows Todd Gillis (Rob Riggle, remarkable in his vulnerability), a man unmoored after his service in Afghanistan. Todd is grappling with trauma, addiction, and the looming threat of losing custody of his daughter, Emmylou (Adele Abinante). It’s familiar terrain in terms of subject matter, but The Pirate King distinguishes itself through its sincerity and specificity; this is not a story that feels written, but one that feels lived-in.
That authenticity is no accident. Plasse’s inspiration – drawn from a 22-day run raising awareness for veteran suicide and the real stories he encountered along the way – imbues the film with an emotional weight that never feels exploitative. Dialogue often carries the cadence of real conversations, and the characters feel textured rather than archetypal. The fact that Todd himself is based on Plasse’s own uncle adds another layer of intimacy; there’s a palpable sense that this story matters deeply to the filmmaker, and that urgency translates to the screen.
Riggle, best known for his comedic work, delivers what is easily one of his most affecting performances to date. He leans into Todd’s contradictions – the bravado masking pain, the humour masking guilt – and finds a delicate balance between brokenness and hope. It’s a performance informed by his own 23 years of service in the U.S. Marine Corps, and that lived experience gives the character a grounded, unvarnished truth. When Todd begins to open up, even in the most unexpected of settings, it feels earned.
And then there’s the pirates.
What could have easily tipped into gimmick instead becomes the film’s secret weapon. The pirate re-enactment community – brought to life with the help of the real Loose Cannon Company – injects the story with warmth, absurdity, and a surprising amount of heart. These sequences are often genuinely funny, but they’re never played for cheap laughs. Instead, they act as a metaphorical and emotional refuge for Todd, a place where he can reclaim parts of himself that the modern world – and his trauma – have stripped away.
The tonal balancing act is where The Pirate King truly excels. It tackles heavy themes – mental health, suicidal ideation, the long shadow of war – with care and compassion, but never loses sight of joy. There’s a belief running through the film that healing doesn’t come from isolation, but from connection – from finding your “crew,” however unconventional that may be; Matt Barr and Jordana Brewster bringing unpredictable energy to David and Laura, respectively, two of the lead reenactors.
Importantly, the film doesn’t position itself as a solution, but as a conversation starter. Its ties to real veteran charities, including Stop Soldier Suicide, underscore its commitment to impact beyond the screen. You can feel that this isn’t just a story being told – it’s a movement trying to be sparked.
By the time The Pirate King reaches its emotional conclusion, what lingers isn’t just Todd’s journey, but the sense of community that carries him there. It’s a film that understands that sometimes the path to healing is strange, messy, and unexpected, and that’s exactly what makes it meaningful.
In blending raw truth with offbeat charm, The Pirate King proves that even the most unconventional stories can hit the deepest.
THREE AND A HALF STARS (OUT OF FIVE)
The Pirate King screened as part of this year’s SXSW Film & TV Festival & Conference, which ran between March 12th and 18th, 2026. For more information on the festival program, head to the official site here.
