Four stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic candor, profanity, underage smoking and other questionable teen behavior
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 4.29.16
I’m in love.
Much the way the young star of
this indie charmer worships the mysterious girl who lives across the street
from his school, I adore the filmmaking chops of Irish writer/director John
Carney.
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| Having worked up the courage to chat up the intriguing girl (Lucy Boynton) who often stands across the street from his school, Conor (Ferdia Walsh-Peelo) concocts an improbable scheme to get her attention. The problem, then, is making good on his grandiose claims... |
He came to our attention Stateside
with 2007’s endearing Once, and its
music-laden saga of a Dublin busker and Czech immigrant who meet and then bond
over their shared love of songwriting and performing. Stars Glen Hansard and
Markéta Irglová fell in love during production, and it showed; nothing could
have been sweeter than their Academy Awards performance of the film’s signature
tune, “Falling Slowly,” which deservedly galloped home with an Oscar.
Carney detoured with a couple of
less successful projects before returning to the music world with 2013’s
equally appealing Begin Again, which
found washed up, Manhattan-based music exec Mark Ruffalo embracing one last
career shot by encouraging the efforts of fledgling singer/songwriter Keira
Knightley. As with Once, the action
unfolds against a backdrop of catchy, radio-ready new songs: another instant
soundtrack hit for delighted fans.
Pleasant as it was, though, a
certain something was missing from Begin
Again: something that has become obvious with the arrival of Sing Street. As a writer, Carney clearly
has the most fun exploring his Irish roots; this new film’s hard-scrabble,
working-class Dublin setting affords a rich tapestry of young angst and earthy
ensemble dynamics.
Carney sets his story in the
1980s, as a bleak employment depression sends ferryloads of young Irish
citizens to London, in the (often vain) hope of landing a steady paycheck.
Against this backdrop, 15-year-old Conor (Ferdia Walsh-Peelo) finds life at
home increasingly distressing. Parents Robert (Aidan Gillen) and Penny (Maria
Doyle Kennedy) are heading for a messy divorce, heedless of the impact the
process is having on Conor, his sister Ann (Kelly Thornton) and their older
brother Brendan (Jack Reynor).
Financial stress contributes to
the trauma, and one immediate change affects Conor personally. To save money,
he’s moved from his posh Jesuit private school to an inner-city comprehensive:
Synge Street School, laden with cigarette-smoking bullies barely kept under
control by mostly ineffectual priests. The one exception is the smugly
authoritarian Brother Baxter (Don Wycherley), a tyrannical monster who takes
pleasure in humiliating his students.
Barely into his first day, Conor
runs afoul of both Brother Baxter and the hulking Barry (Ian Kenny), a vicious
older student likely passed from one grade to the next, just so his previous
instructors can get rid of him.
The one ray of sunshine is the
diminutive Darren (Ben Carolan), a budding entrepreneur with the adaptive
instincts of an underdog survivor. Glancing across the street, Conor also spots
a mysterious young woman dressed, made up and coifed to über-cool perfection.
She seems a vision out of the Duran Duran rock video that Conor and Brendan
watched the previous evening, on TV’s Top
of the Pops.
She never talks to anybody,
Darren says dismissively, so of course Conor charges across the street and does
his best to chat her up.
Raphina (Lucy Boynton), clearly
amused, tolerates this interruption. She intends to become a model, she says
proudly; it’s merely a matter of getting her portfolio into the proper hands.
Well, Conor replies, in that case you definitely should be in the rock video
that my band is making. Her eyebrows lift: You have a band? But of course, he
smiles.
And walks away with her phone
number.
Darren, impressed despite
himself, nonetheless pounces on the key issue: Do you have a band?
“No,” Conor answers, “but I’m
going to get one.”
And how, I ask, can you resist a set-up like that?
What comes next is as hilariously
enchanting as any number of “music tryout” sagas dating back to when Judy
Garland and Mickey Rooney first decided to “put on a show” (although director
Alan Parker’s The Commitments, in
1991, is the most obvious spiritual predecessor). Naturally, the motley crew
Conor and Darren eventually gathers comprises many of their school’s other
obvious misfits.
First up is Eamon (Mark McKenna),
a bespectacled lad with an odd fondness for rabbits — they run rampant in his
bedroom — who possesses diverse instrumental chops, thanks to his father’s
steady employment in pick-up bands. They’re soon joined by keyboardist Ngig
(Percy Chamburuka), selected because he’s the only black kid in school, and
therefore “must have rhythm.” The ensemble is topped off by Larry (Conor
Hamilton) and Garry (Karl Rice), who tackle drums and bass.
Conor takes charge because he’ll
be the singer/songwriter, a decision that goes down fairly smoothly. But he has
no experience with either skill, and this is where Carney’s film displays its
true heart, as layabout Brendan — a college dropout still at home because he
has nothing else to do — gives his younger brother a crash course in “true
music” via carefully selected, cutting-edge LPs.
It’s no accident, in a final text
crawl, that Carney dedicates this film to all the brothers of this world; the
dynamic between Walsh-Peelo and Reynor is achingly poignant. Conor’s unlikely
scheme to win Raphina’s attention reminds Brendan of all the dreams he once
had, and how they came to nothing; perhaps, then, he can succeed as a mentor.
And so Conor’s original songs
gradually emerge, each new one a clever reflection of the narrative thus far. While
they’re all lyrically deft, radio-friendly ear candy — performed with
increasing sophistication by the fledgling band — nothing beats the beguiling,
guerilla-style creation of the gang’s first video, complete with outlandish
costumes, Darren’s shaky-cam, and Raphina’s too-generous application of
make-up.
All the many delightful
ingredients notwithstanding, Carney’s true talent lies in the way he so
ingeniously creates a narrative environment in which the frequent performance
of songs feels organic and completely reasonable. His best films are true
musicals, but not in the sense of stopping the action to deliver some awkward
production number. It was natural for Glen Hansard’s busker to perform on the
street, just as it was logical for Keira Knightley’s budding singer/songwriter
to struggle her way into a career.
Similarly, it makes perfect sense
for Conor to keep trying to impress Raphina with new songs — all actually
co-written by Carney and Scottish musician Gary Clark — and for the band
members to bond as a self-defensive method of inheriting a bit of “cool” in
order to insulate themselves from the many school toughs.
Most impressive is the fact that
all of these kids — including Walsh-Peelo — are untrained, first-time actors.
Their performances have a fresh-faced naturalism; they look and sound like
“real kids” suddenly energized by this exciting new path. (I remember being
similarly delighted by all the “real kids” in 1981’s Gregory’s Girl, with their sometimes crooked teeth and
less-than-ideal features: such a
welcome relief from the perfect specimens groomed by the Hollywood star
machine.)
Boynton has been acting since her
debut in 2006’s Miss Potter, and it
shows in Raphina’s air of posh refinement (which is appropriate for her
character ... although she’s a bit old to be playing 16). Reynor also has been
busy for the past decade, and he brings subtle layering to his handling of
Brendan. Wycherley, finally, makes Brother Baxter an impressively creepy
monster.
This level of dramatic tension
also contributes much to the gritty authenticity of Carney’s script. The buoyant
songs and sweet young romance notwithstanding, this story has plenty of teeth,
some of the sharper ones taking a bite so subtly that we’re scarcely aware of
the torn flesh. These events unfold against the grim tidings of family
estrangement, child abuse and other unpalatable, real-world details: the grist
that makes Conor’s stubborn embrace of music so crucial, as potential
salvation.
Carney cheerfully admits, in his
film’s press notes, that the core story elements are autobiographical. It feels
that way, and merely reinforces the underdog fantasy that propels us through
this fictitious re-working: If Carney himself escaped such an upbringing to
become a respected filmmaker — and now songwriter — then surely it’s reasonable
to root for Conor, Raphina and all the rest of this story’s misfits.
Particularly when we have so much
fun doing so.
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