The first Fisherman’s Friends thoroughly covered the unlikely rise of a real-life group of shanty-singing Cornish fishermen to the heady heights of minor success. Which leaves this entirely pointless sequel to that drama with very little actual story left to tell. Instead, it weaves drunkenly between themes, dipping its crab line into the murky waters of the woke debate: one grizzled sailor causes offence by propositioning a female journalist with the libido-extinguishing line “Would you like meat in your pasty?”
There’s a brief moment of tension involving a derelict tin mine; bereavement, substance abuse and male mental health issues also get lip service. But it all feels rather cursory, subplots as glue to tack together the Cornish tourist board-approved shots of cornflower-blue waters and cloudless skies. All this is topped off with thick, clotted-cream gobbets of sentiment and far more rousing close-harmony singing than anybody really needs to hear in their lifetime.
