Irish writer/director John Carney clearly loves music as much as I admire his films.
Starting with 2006’s charming Once — with its poignant, Academy Award-winning song “Falling Slowly” — and continuing through 2013’s Begin Again, 2016’s Sing Street and 2023’s Flora and Son — Carney has found fresh ways to explore the complicated, sometimes maddening relationship his characters have with music, and their muse.
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| After a blend of swapped stories, too much alcohol, and a mutual love of songwriting, Danny (Nick Jonas, left) and Rick (Paul Rudd) play original tunes for each other. |
Back in the day, American singer/songwriter Rick (Paul Rudd) established a modest presence and released a few albums. While performing in Dublin during an international tour, he met and married Rachel (Marcella Plunkett) ... and never left. Pop star aspirations were set aside 14 years ago, when their daughter Aja (Beth Fallon) was born.
Rick now is the charismatic lead singer of a pop/rock quintet dubbed The Bride and Groove, which is reasonably successful on the local wedding circuit. Unfortunately, Rick has a tendency to sprinkle one of his own early tunes among the band’s popular, by-request selection of power ballad covers such as Kool & The Gang’s “Celebration” ... to the constant annoyance of band leader Binzer (Rory Keenan).
While at home, Rick continues to noodle away at new songs. One in particular — a sentimental ballad titled “How to Write a Song Without You” — has obsessed him for years, but he can’t quite get it right.
He frequently shares his efforts with his disinterested daughter, who scoffs at romantic lyrics.
What do you want out of a song, Rick asks.
“Revenge,” Aja replies, without skipping a beat.
The band’s next booking is a posh gig at a massive estate reminiscent of Downton Abbey. Toward the performance’s conclusion, newlyweds George (Robert Mitchell) and Elaine (Mae Higgins) ask the band to let a “friend” share a song. He turns out to be American pop star Danny Wilson (Nick Jonas), a former “boy band” sensation now struggling to establish a solo career.
Later that evening, once all the revelers have retired, Rick and Danny bond over their shared love of music. After plenty of alcohol and shared stories, they play music for each other; Danny gratefully accepts Rick’s suggested feedback and lyrical notes. As dawn approaches, Rick plays “How to Write a Song” on the piano, which clearly impresses Danny.
Carney lets this warm and enchanting montage sequence unfold at a leisurely pace. Both actors are note-perfect as their respective characters thaw, surprise and impress each other, and develop a palpable level of mutual respect.
As they part, Danny hands Rick his record label’s business card, encouraging him to keep in touch.
Back in the States, label owner Mac (Jack Reynor) isn’t impressed by Danny’s efforts. The songs are good “album content,” he acknowledges, but they need a hook-ish single. Despondent, Danny returns to his opulent home — having done quite well during the boy band years — and sags beneath the weight of writer’s block.
Almost absent-mindedly, he plays “How to Write a Song” from memory on his grand piano. Upstairs, his girlfriend Marcia (Havana Rose Liu) detects a magical “something” that she hasn’t heard in any of Danny’s other songs. She insists that he play it for Mac, and he obliges ...
... and then Danny does The Most Awful Thing Possible.
Six months later, while shopping, Rick hears his song being played over the mall PA system. He quickly discovers that Danny has turned it into a chart-topping monster hit, which has completely re-ignited his sell-out stadium performance career.
Until this moment, I’ve never been impressed by Rudd as an actor; he usually overworks his penchant for bland, stoic supporting roles. But his performance here is a revelation; in a few brief scenes, Rick persuasively slides from puzzlement and surprise to dismay, anger, frustration and ultimately blind panic and total meltdown.
Because he never wrote down the song. No scribbled lyrics. No lead sheets. He never played it for his band mates, who regard his story with disbelief; even Rachel and Aja have no memory of the tune, amid the countless others they’ve heard him work on. Worse yet, Danny’s record label won’t return his calls.
Rick is certain that he recorded the song at least once, but he can’t find it amid the hundreds and hundreds of audio files on his computer.
Carney and McDonald’s shrewdly calculated script makes fascinating observations about these two characters. Rick might have been self-absorbed during his early days, but becoming a family man has grounded him while in Dublin; in short, he has matured into a decent, honorable and honest human being.
Rick meets Danny at the latter’s low ebb, when the valley between his two arcs of fame have left him humbled, vulnerable and on the verge of becoming a sympathetic character. We infer that he was a self-absorbed jerk during his boy band years, and — sadly — rediscovered fame once again transforms him into an arrogant, conceited sybarite who doesn’t give a damn about anybody else.
Except ... except ... as Jonas subtly plays the role, it’s clear that traces of guilt and decency hide behind Danny’s smug behavior.
It’s impossible to anticipate how all this will play out, but rest assured: Carney takes us on a helluva ride.
Peter McDonald is a total hoot as Sandy, the sole Bride and Groove band mate who believes Rick, and would follow him to the ends of the earth. Although inserted mostly for comic relief, Carney grants Sandy some serious moments of staunch friendship.
Reynor is impressive chill as the soulless Mac: this story’s primary villain, and a guy we love to hate.
Keenan exudes the authority and business savvy that make Binzer a capable band leader; Keith McErlean and Paul Reid get some choice moments as fellow band mates Kyle and Bernard.
Plunkett’s Rachel is a bit one-note; she doesn’t have any opportunities to stretch beyond competent bread-winner and devoted wife. But Fallon is terrific as Aja, forever at war between a desire for outward “teen aloofness” and genuine fondness for her father.
(I’m pretty sure Carney plays a busker, seen a couple of times, who cheekily performs a bit of “Falling Slowly.”)
The ubiquitous music is its own character, with its blend of familiar power ballad standards and original tunes; the latter — most notably “How to Write a Song Without You” — come from Carney and Scottish musician and producer Gary Clark.
Unfortunately, that key tune is performed a few too many times, as the story progresses; by the time the film concludes, we’re rather tired of it. (That said, it’s a catchy ear worm.)
Carney has delivered another crowd-pleasing hit.
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