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As a (slight but long-term) fan of London’s Saint Etienne I’d been meaning to watch the trilogy of short films they made with director Paul Kelly for some time. Examining three different aspects of London, the body of work is made up of Finisterre (2003), What Have You Done Today, Mervyn Day? (2005) and This Is Tomorrow (2007), each one being around an hour long and a kind of wistful meditation on the changing face of the city (and thus as they deal to various extents with the past, present and future Saint Etienne’s very distinct brand of retro-futurism seems like a good fit for the soundtrack to me, for they are a band that has always looked back to classic European and American pop and also to more modern sounds of the dancefloor, albeit filtered through the lens of white pop classicists). I understand that the fourth collaboration between band and filmmaker, 2014’s How We Used To Live  a collage about 20th century living that uses British Film Institute archive footage, and which I haven’t yet watched sits seperately from these earlier works.

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Finisterre poster

Finisterre, co-directed by Kelly with Kieran Evans, is a modern take on the city symphony film, the footage darting from spots in suburban London a few of which I definitely recognised, a few that seemed familiar, many that I don’t currently know and probably never will – to more recognisable yet characterful places in the centre. The band and others, such as artist Julian Opie and musician Lawrence from the acts Felt, Denim and Go Kart Mozart (who would later be the subject of Kelly’s 2012 film Lawrence of Belgravia) discuss the places that mean something to them, which tend to be old, traditional cafes, gig venues, record shops, pubs and other places along those lines. But that’s not all; there are wide-reaching cityscapes, close-ups of boarded-up shops and everything in-between. The directors show a knack for catching small architectural details, interesting graffiti and stencils (the latter still a relatively new artistic phenomenon back then), and they use typography as a means of tracking changing times and design fashion, an approach that is consistent across all three films. It’s a fleeting glimpse of a city in flux, and it does to an extent feel like a personal one: this is Kelly and Saint Etienne’s London, primarily, not yours or mine, even if there is some overlap with the types of faces and places you see. The South Bank, Camden, Chalk Farm, Soho, Croydon… Finisterre darts from one spot to the next, knitting it all together, and the emphasis on London’s music scene and nightlife makes it seem warm and positive.

The voices of born and bred locals are more to the fore in What Have You Done Today, Mervyn Day?, a 45-minute short about Hackney Wick and the lower Lee Valley in London’s East End (pictured top). Watching today, this is the part of the trilogy that feels to me like the most valuable snapshot, given that the area of the city it examines has been heavily gentrified in the years since it was made, and is markedly different now to how it was in 2005. Kelly spoke to the BFI in 2014 about the three films, addressing the remaking and remodelling of the era. “There was a lot of change going on in London, but we didn’t necessarily see that as a negative thing,” he said. “London was being revitalised. But we wanted to document anything that we thought was going. At the time, there were lots of places that we thought ‘We’ve got to capture this,’ but by the time we got there it would be gone. There was a sense that things were going very fast. It seems to be changing even faster now, accelerating at a pace.”

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Still from What Have You Done Today, Mervyn Day?

Mervyn Day the title is a rather niche reference to a 1970s goalkeeper who played for local teams West Ham United and Leyton Orient is an atmospheric portrait, proudly examining the area’s industrial and sporting past, finding plenty of time for the waterways, overgrown and neglected corners and crumbling, condemned buildings of 2005. There are hints of the present and future: radio reports of the London terror attacks are incorporated, while the then-recently successful bid to host the 2012 Olympics is referred to in hopeful terms by some, who correctly identified it back then as an opportunity for renewal, collaboration and sporting endeavour.

East London’s gentrification was already well underway by 2005. As Kelly pointed out to the BFI, it was the influx of artists taking advantage of cheap rent in Hoxton and Dalston during the late 1990s that kicked it all off, but it went through the roof immediately after this film was made. However, as one resident points out on the soundtrack, this is a part of London that has regularly seen periods of dramatic change, partly due to its proximity to the Thames and the City of London (ie the financial district). The arrival of larger numbers of younger, middle-class professionals than normal is nothing new for an area that had just previously welcomed a large influx of Bangladeshi residents, or had seen a sizeable portion of the community’s white working class families move out of London into Kent and Essex. I’ve walked around here a couple of times in 2018. Some edges are still tatty; not everything has changed.

There’s a surprising amount of dereliction on show in this film, considering how close everything depicted is to one of the wealthiest square miles and some of the most valuable property in the entire world, but it’s all shown for a purpose, to highlight lost industries, to demonstrate how things  places, communities, events  can be forgotten, or how economic shifts take place and the use of land changes. Our guide through all of it is a mopey teenage lad on a bike, perhaps a Saint Etienne fan, perhaps a future Olympian, while David Essex and Linda Robson – defiantly uncool but absolutely inspired choices of celebs who were raised in the area – provide commentary.

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DVD cover

Of the three films, I was less enamoured with This Is Tomorrow, which charts the building, role and later renovation of the Royal Festival Hall on the South Bank, but it’s still well worth a watch. The area was bombed during the Second World War; the building of the concert hall as part of the Festival of Britain in 1951 helped to put south London on the map, so to speak; and much has sprung up around it since, so it fits with some of the trilogy’s overarching themes, such as London’s changing face and land being used for different purposes. Kelly’s eye for detail is evident once again and there’s an interesting selection of interviewees, including philosopher Alain de Botton. Also present is Robin Day, one of the most significant furniture designers of the 20th century, whose seats adorn the hall. The film was commissioned by the Royal Festival Hall itself (or rather the people who work in it and for it), and as such it’s more of a conventional documentary than the other two films in A London Trilogy, somehow less personal and by necessity rendering the people of London irrelevant.

I felt sad watching the three films; I see here the London that I moved to, albeit in 1999 rather than 2003, 2005 or 2007. What I should say, then, is that I definitely see the London I lived in for many years. I also felt a degree of warmth towards the films which came, oddly enough, because of Kelly’s insistence on poking around in dingy, messy corners of the capital. You don’t see these spaces committed to film too often, and I think such scenes here are part of a kind of more general, quiet celebration that I’m glad exists.

The London Trilogy is available to watch on BFI Player in the UK and can be purchased from lots of the usual outlets.

An impressive documentary that concentrates on Nina Simone’s personality and politics, both of which were key to her magnificent career as a singer and pianist. It’s full of superb concert footage, with a few car crash moments thrown in, such as the opening sequence showing a clearly troubled Simone on stage in Montreux. The people interviewed for the film were close to the singer, and they give plenty of insight into her life, detailing her activism, the abuse she suffered at the hands of her husband (a violent, controlling manager) and the other ups and downs of her recording career and life. The question posed by the title refers to her ‘wilderness’ years, playing little clubs in France and Switzerland, and is answered in a fairly satisfactory way. (***½)

A decent, competently-made documentary by Brendan Toller about the life of Danny Fields, a mover and shaker – here described as a ‘connector’ – in the American music scene for most of the 1960s and 1970s. Your enjoyment will probably depend on your interest in the cultural stories of the era, as the film describes in reasonable detail Danny’s time spent with Andy Warhol and The Factory in-crowd, his life as a pop magazine editor, his subsequent years as a talent scout with Elektra – he says he’s the guy that told the label to release The Doors’ Light My Fire as a single – and his long-standing friendships with Nico, Iggy Pop, Lou Reed, David Bowie and more. He also managed The Ramones during their early years, so you can see there’s a lot of rock mythology to fit in here, but Toller does a decent job of paying as much time as possible to it all. Fields is an intelligent guy with a varied career behind him, so his interviews are enjoyable to listen to, and the other talking heads are engaging, interesting figures in their own right: Judy Collins, Iggy, Lenny Kaye, Wayne Kramer, Alice Cooper, Jonathan Richman and more all say nice things about the subject. The animations that are used occasionally feel a bit cheap and scrappy, though maybe that’s understandable for a Kickstarter-funded project. (***)

[Note: this is the eighth film in my 2016 Blind Spot series. For a list of the other well-known or well-respected films I’ve already watched or I’m going to be watching for the first time this year, see this post.]

John Badham’s Saturday Night Fever is well known for being one of John Travolta’s two musical star-making turns, although it’s very much the yin to Grease‘s yang. The film’s simple story – written by Norman Wexler and based on an article for New York Magazine by Nik Cohn – concerns the teenager Tony Manero, a kid who lives for the weekends, alleviating the mundanity of his day job and the negativity of a raucous family by entering a more colourful, uplifting world of music and dancing in a Brooklyn disco club. Manero and his various dancing partners move together in sync, running through a series of pre-rehearsed moves, and for just a few hours a week he’s the king of the dancefloor, fawned over by local girls and admired by guys for the flap of his shirt collar, which at one point is a striking deep black contrasting against his bright white suit. After closing time, however, Tony’s back to being a nobody, arguing with his family and hanging around with his immature, homophobic, racist, sexist and violent friends, who seem to constantly drag him into troublesome situations.

The dance sequences and the songs featured here have rightly become iconic, and their cultural significance shouldn’t be underestimated, even if the fashion on display elicits chuckles today. The Bee Gees feature heavily on the soundtrack as performers and writers, as everyone knows, but there are lesser-known gems by MFSB and David Shire in there too, among others. It became the biggest selling soundtrack of all time, with canny marketing types trailing the film with a couple of Bee Gees songs several months before its release. In fact it’s hard to think of a film from the late 1970’s that’s as reliant on its music than this one, even when considering the likes of Grease, All That Jazz and New York, New York; it shows you how important disco was to many New Yorkers at the time, even though there’s a constant sense throughout that a more interesting disco scene lies just a couple of miles away in Manhattan, while history also dictates that a more interesting scene full stop was unfolding at the same time in The Bronx.

Perhaps the film has been misremembered because of all those clips of Travolta throwing shapes, or (more likely) because it was subsequently re-cut and re-released with a PG rating, but the original R/18-rated version is a street movie with plenty of edge, with some unexpected dark moments, most notably a gang-rape (with the victim cruelly described as ‘a cunt’ by Manero after the event). So it’s quite a nasty, downbeat film at times, which has presumably surprised a lot of people over the years who were expecting two hours of saccharine, Bee Gees-sponsored good times (or indeed anyone who initially watched the ‘kid-friendly’ version before later catching the original, uncut ‘adult’ version). Even the ending, which could easily have been structured around a victory in a disco dancing competition or something similar, is decidedly gloomy; there’s just a small amount of hope cast Tony’s way amid a whole lot of rejection, unhappiness and bluster-dampening. Yet some light shines through, and there’s genuine warmth from some of the supporting actors, such as Sam Coppola (Tony’s boss at the paint store) and Donna Pescow (the club girl who has fallen for Tony). Travolta is magnetic throughout, and not just on the dancefloor, though all the good work was undone in Sylvester Stallone’s terrible 1983 sequel Staying Alive.

Directed by: John Badham.
Written by: Norman Wexler.
Starring: John Travolta, Karen Lynn Gorney, Barry Miller, Joseph Cali, Paul Pape, Bruce Ornstein, Donna Pescow, Sam Coppola, Val Bisoglio, Julie Bovasso, Martin Shakar, Lisa Peluso.
Cinematography: Ralf D. Bode.
Editing: David Rawlins.
Music:
The Bee Gees / David Shire / Various.
Certificate:
18.
Running Time:
118.
Year:
1977.

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This is a biopic of the jazz trumpeter and singer Chet Baker that pulls the same trick as two other recent films about troubled musicians, Don Cheadle’s Miles Ahead and Bill Pohlad’s Love And Mercy, by dramatising and flicking between two distinct and different periods in the life of its subject. So we encounter Baker (Ethan Hawke) in black and white, on the way up and playing the legendary New York jazz venue Birdland, where his West Coast swing is dismissed by an unimpressed, bepop-playing Miles Davis (‘come back when you’ve lived a little’). But these are reveries experienced by the trumpet player as he wistfully makes his way through the mid-1960’s, in colour, having lived a little too hard. In this later period we find him struggling to stay off the dope, trying to settle down with actress girlfriend Jane (Carmen Ejogo) and attempting to relaunch his career (following a bad beating in which his teeth are knocked out by a dealer, which gives rise to the oft-used ‘you’ll never play again’ line). The two periods momentarily cross over in an interesting fashion, with a film-within-a-film structure employed briefly by director Robert Budreau, but for the most part the action stays with Baker and Jane in sunny, beige California while the musician and the actress struggle to find work and ponder a future together. (Jane is a fictional character, apparently based on several different girlfriends Baker had around that time, and her main purpose here is to shed light on the fact that in this story the musician’s one true love is heroin.)

Plenty of attention has been paid to the film’s formal elements, such as the lighting, framing, period set design and costumes, while there are some nice touches to telegraph Baker’s semi-return to former glories: for example, a volume control slider in a studio becomes a tool by which those of us with untrained ears can measure Baker’s playing as it improves; put simply, as he gets better he is recorded at a higher volume. Additionally, Hawke’s performance is excellent; possibly his best to date, in fact, and he successfully captures Baker’s soft voice and languid mannerisms while also portraying the musician’s fragility and self-doubt in a believable, understated fashion. He’s at his best and his most affecting when singing, surprisingly, and it feels like a definitive portrait of Baker despite the fact that the writer/director has taken some liberties with the facts.

Despite these pleasing elements, and despite the fact that Born To Be Blue rejects the conventional linear biopic structure in favour of something…uh, jazzier…Budreau’s screenplay still routinely touches on all the usual subjects – the drugs, the relationship break-ups, the low ebb, the stirring comeback – as if he’s ticking off the boxes on a standard music biopic checksheet. Additionally, while the scenes set at Birdland may give jazz aficionados the willies, for me they lacked the magic of similar scenes from Pohlad’s film, in which Paul Dano’s Brian Wilson orchestrates the Pet Sounds recordings; also there’s something a little reductive here in terms of the way the film distills an entire music industry to just a couple of important/unimportant stages, one recording studio, one manager and one tour promoter. (This could of course be a decision that was made due to budgetary constraints.) Still, Born To Be Blue certainly make for an interesting counterpart to Cheadle’s movie, and is worth seeing for Hawke’s turn alone, which dovetails extremely well with the melancholic, soulful nature of Baker’s music and the film more generally.

Directed by: Robert Budreau.
Written by: Robert Budreau.
Starring: Ethan Hawke, Carmen Ejogo, Callum Keith Rennie, Stephen McHattie, Janet Laine-Green, Kedar Brown, Kevin Hanchard.
Cinematography: Steve Cosens.
Editing: David Freeman.
Music:
David Braid, Todor Kobakov, Steve London.
Certificate:
15.
Running Time:
97.
Year:
2016.

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One of the lines that best sums up Ladies And Gentlemen, The Fabulous Stains arrives when the film’s main character, teenage punk singer Corinne Burns (Diane Lane), gives an interview to a TV news crew. Her band The Stains are about to become an overnight sensation, but the first night of their tour supporting up-and-coming English rockers The Looters and has-beens The Metal Corpses – two all-male bands – ends in tragedy: Metal Corpses guitarist Jerry Jervey has overdosed and died backstage. Corinne displays her preternatural ability for conjuring up media soundbites and rhetoric by flippantly telling a reporter ‘He was an old man in a young girl’s world’, much to the chagrin of a male, conservative, sexist news anchor. And yet this is the world of LAGTFS: the male bands are petty, uninteresting dinosaurs when compared to the spirited, confident and outspoken Stains, and there’s a sense throughout that nothing can deny Corinne and her youthful bandmates (guitarist/sister Tracy, played by Marin Kanter, and bassist/friend Jessica, played Laura Dern). However, this being a rise-and-fall type of picture there’s still plenty of material that ruminates on next-big-things being chewed up and spat out by the pop machine, and as the story’s influenced by punk the question of selling out predictably arrives as soon as The Stains begin to appear on posters.

Though The Stains are American, Writer Nancy Dowd – who is listed in the credits as Rob Morton because she disapproved of the final cut – was inspired by the English band The Slits, one of the most interesting and progressive of all of the mid-to-late-1970’s punk bands (journalist and artist Caroline Coon, who knew The Slits and other bands of that era, served as a technical advisor during production). Dowd sets her three protagonists up as working class girls from the fictional town of Charlestown, Pennsylvania; it’s a place where the steel industry is dying, and the trio have few job prospects as a result. Music is a means of escaping the dreary surroundings, and Corinne has formed a band despite the fact that none of them can play their instruments (as always with films about wannabe musicians they improve as time elapses) and – going against the norm – they don’t have a drummer. She is initially inspired by The Looters, who play at a local venue. This visiting band of British punks are basically The Sex Pistols in all but name, working their way towards disintegration on the road as a gruelling tour of the US takes its toll. In fact two former members of the Pistols appear as members of The Looters – drummer Paul Cook and guitarist Steve Jones – and they’re joined by Paul Simonon of The Clash on bass and a young Ray Winstone, who plays vocalist Billy as a cross between Joe Strummer and Johnny Rotten. The casting of real musicians lends a degree of authenticity to the stage performances by The Looters, and the three in question manage to avoid disgracing themselves when called upon to act.

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Ray Winstone and Paul Simonon in Ladies And Gentlemen, The Fabulous Stains

The film’s notable first and foremost for its strong feminist stance, its attitude and its spirit, which is all manifest through the words and deeds of Corinne and her bandmates. Lane’s character is a strong presence on stage, refusing to pander to expectations or apologise for wearing revealing outfits while defiantly haranguing audience members for not being able to understand her. The character is just as interesting when she’s not performing: smart, funny and ready to tell just about anyone who patronises her to fuck off. Naturally as The Stains become more famous, and are shifted to the top of the bill as a result, the male musicians surrounding them struggle to accept the change in fortunes (particularly the egotistical Billy). As such the film highlights the level of sexism present at the time within the male-dominated music industry and the media, and this is something Corinne and her band tackle head on, so it’s a shame – and perhaps something to do with record producer Lou Adler’s presence as director – that The Stains are advised by men throughout before eventually allowing themselves to be repackaged and marketed as a softer bubblegum pop act (though there is at least some rejection of this by Corinne, as well as the band’s clued-up fans).

A test screening in Denver did not go well at all, and the film suffered a troubled period of gestation as a result. A revised ending was shot two years after filming initially wrapped – Lane and Dern are clearly older – and in this new footage the band is presented as a kind of watered-down MTV version of their earlier incarnation, their rough edges somewhat blunted and their outfits much more colourful and kid-friendly. Perhaps the director thought he could create a new version of The Monkees for the 1980s, complete with crossover hits and a TV spin-off, but unfortunately Adler’s finished film turns the band into a bland Josie And The Pussycats tribute act. Coon was critical of the way he handled the ending, but wrote that Dowd’s message of Women’s Liberation survives ‘despite the depredations inflicted on it … by the director’s Hollywood misogyny’. (For what it’s worth in their commentary for the film’s DVD release both Lane and Dern said they felt excited by the new ending at the time because they could see the link between The Stains and acts who were appearing on MTV in real life, such as Madonna and The Go-Gos.) Despite the re-shoot LAGTFS never received a proper release, and only belatedly made it to DVD in 2008, but it still managed to pick up a cult following in the years that followed, famously inspiring musicians like Courtney Love and Kathleen Hanna in the late 1980s. It is ramshackle, and at times shoddily-made, but that’s part of the charm and it fits perfectly with the nature of the music and the band concerned. Some of the actors struggle – Barry Ford as tour manager Lawnboy, for example – but all of that’s kind of beside the point. The film’s worth cherishing because of its attitude and its strong feminist agenda, it has bags of energy and spirit from start to finish, and it’s an effective satire on the music industry and the media. Plus … where else can you see a crowd made up entirely of teenage girls all simultaneously giving the finger to a sneering Ray Winstone?

Directed by: Lou Adler.
Written by: Nancy Dowd.
Starring: Diane Lane, Laura Dern, Marin Kanter, Ray Winstone, Paul Simonon, Paul Cook, Steve Jones, Fee Waybill, Barry Ford.
Cinematography: Bruce Surtees.
Editing: Tom Benko.
Music: Various.
Certificate: 15.
Running Time: 87 minutes.
Year: 1982.

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John Carney’s latest has much in common with two of his earlier films, Once and Begin Again, both of which feature songwriters and identify the unifying, uplifting power of music. Sing Street – an upbeat, endearing tale of a teenage outcast in 1980s Dublin who forms a band at school – is his best yet; if nothing else it’ll win the award for the film that tries the hardest to put a smile on your face in 2016, and if you can ignore some of its cornier elements it’ll succeed in doing just that. Ferdia Walsh-Peelo stars as Conor, a young lad whose parents (Aiden Gillen, Maria Doyle Kennedy) are in the process of splitting up, their marriage disintegrating due to an extra-marital affair and concerns about finances; to save money Conor is moved from his middle-class Jesuit school to the brutal and notorious Christian Brothers school in Syng Street, where he quickly attracts the attention of a bully and the fearsome headmaster (Don Wycherley). Conor’s also shocked by the strict regime in place at Syng Street and instantly realises that he doesn’t fit in, but he does at least spot a girl named Raphina (Lucy Boynton) opposite the school gates, and sets about wooing her by asking her to act as a model in a video for his band. There are two problems, however: Conor doesn’t actually have a band, and Raphina already has a boyfriend (though as Conor’s older brother Brendan (Jack Reynor) attests when he discovers some valuable information about the relationship in question: ‘no woman can ever love a man who listens to Phil Collins’).

The film’s at its best when it focuses on the band that Conor puts together, which is named Sing Street after the school they all attend. They’re a bunch of likeable misfits who start off shakily but quickly improve, driven partly by Conor’s will and the talents of co-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Eamon (a well-judged performance by Mark McKenna). Conor recruits four other members in total with the help of the band’s young manager (Ben Carolan), and watching them rehearse, converse, respond to pop trends and make lo-fi DIY music videos is a real joy; I was never in a band as a teenager but it seems pretty much anyone who was that has seen Sing Street has effusively praised its writer-director for his ability to nail the experience, from the absurdities and the awkwardness to the sense of hope and the sudden burst of creativity experienced by many. This is of course the era of MTV, and before long the band set about recording their first promo video, for a hilariously on-point song called The Riddle Of The ModelTo Raphina’s amusement – and the audience’s – the band members perform in an array of different costumes which makes them look like a cross between Elvis Costello And The Attractions, Adam And The Ants and The Village People. Weirdly they sound a little bit like the Franz Ferdinand/Sparks collaboration FFS, and Conor proudly declares ‘We’re futurists!’ to anyone who asks.

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Lucy Boynton in Sing Street

Sing Street is almost as entertaining when Carney highlights the influence of Top Of The Pops – and some of the acts it featured – on families and teenagers in the 1980s. The entire family gathers before the TV for the show and Duran Duran’s video for Rio is heralded as ‘the future’ by Conor and Brendanl; dad, meanwhile, grumbles about miming performers and The Beatles in the background. Soon enough Conor is sporting a Simon Le Bon-style hairdo at school, which morphs into a Robert Smith-style get-up when Brendan introduces his younger brother to The Cure; later Spandau Ballet appear on TV and straight away the band members and other schoolkids are seen sporting oversized pastel jackets that presumably belong to older brothers or fathers. Developing in tandem with the band and its image is the burgeoning romance between Conor and Raphina; it’s a little by-the-book, I suppose, but rather sweet and I liked the way it wittily references the same Duran Duran video at the end.

It’s mostly very uplifting – think of a cross between The Commitments and We Are The Best!, though I’ve seen School Of Rock mentioned too – but Carney’s a savvy operator and he’s aware that all the best pop music reflects the sadness in life, too. He also knows that it works as a medium because of the escape that it offers. For all Brendan’s bluster in his own bedroom it quickly transpires that he has his own problems, while also within the family home Conor’s mum and dad seem to be unable to break out of their own respective fugs. In fact the film portrays a world in which nearly all of the parents are splitting up, or have already divorced, or have separated due to other circumstances (e.g. a prison sentence), or who beat up their children and turn them into playground bullies in doing so. Pop music is presented throughout as a means of escaping these problems. Meanwhile at school Conor is abused by the headteacher, another adult whose actions explain why some of the pupils have developed certain characteristics and behavioural patterns. The film doesn’t dwell on the darker subject matter, but it’s clear that Carney has thought about variations in tone and there’s a nice balance struck between upbeat, funny band moments, teenage growing pains and the more serious material. The creation of this equilibrium feels like it has been a forced at times – there’s a sympathetic and encouraging art teacher to cancel out the negativity of the headteacher, for example – but overall I think the director does a decent job of mixing downbeat social realism with the flights of fancy and comedy. It’s a crowd-pleaser, it has a lot of heart, and although it’s fairly predictable I was won over within five minutes.

Directed by: John Carney.
Written by: John Carney.
Starring: Ferdia Walsh-Peelo, Lucy Boynton, Jack Reynor, Aiden Gillen, Maria Doyle Kennedy, Kelly Thornton, Ben Carolan, Mark McKenna, Percy Chamburuka, Conor Hamilton, Karl Rice, Ian Kennedy, Don Wycherly.
Cinematography: Yaron Orbach.
Editing: Andrew Marcus, Julian Ulrichs.
Music: Gary Clark, Various.
Certificate: 12A.
Running Time: 105 minutes.
Year: 2016.

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