Disclaimer: This article contains spoilers for “Sing Street” (2016).
On April 15, John Carney’s 2016 masterpiece “Sing Street” turned ten. A decade on, what lingers is not the spectacularly catchy songs, the beautiful depiction of male friendship, or even the fantastically random inclusion of Eamon’s rabbits, but the importance of creation.
Set in recession-era Dublin, the film follows fifteen-year-old Conor Lawlor (Ferdia Walsh-Peelo), who forms a band to impress a girl living across from his school, Raphina (Lucy Boynton). In doing so, he stumbles upon a sense of identity — or at least the beginnings of one. But Conor’s musicality is shaped largely by the guidance of his older brother, Brendan (Jack Reynor). There is a palpable closeness between the two of them, and while Conor’s male role models leave something to be desired — his miserable and somewhat emotionally absent father and Brendan, who we first meet as a pothead college dropout still living with his parents — it is clear he craves his brother’s approval.
It is then no wonder that after being introduced to Duran Duran, a band disliked by his parents but loved by his brother, Conor eagerly adopts the label of “futurist,” wanting to follow in the band’s footsteps. When attempting to convince his friend Eamon (Mark McKenna) to join Sing Street (the band name borrowed from their school Synge Street) by flexing his knowledge of Duran Duran, he regurgitates word-for-word his brother’s statement on John Taylor, reciting “one of the most proficient bass players in the UK at the moment.” It works, despite Conor’s flub calling the bassist James Taylor instead.
Every song Conor and Eamon write reflects a “musical lesson” Conor received from his brother in the days before. The standout, “Drive It Like You Stole It,” channels “Maneater” and the wonderfully garish “Gold” by Spandau Ballet. Conor — who, undergoing this new transformation, is baptized Cosmo by Raphina — even frequently changes his look to reflect these influences.
Brendan, then, is at once a rather sad symbol of what Conor’s life could have looked like and a catalyst for Conor’s ability to create. The education he provides becomes the foundation of Conor’s artistic ability, his taste, and his way of moving through the world. In a burst of frustration, Brendan finally articulates his invisible role: “You followed the path that I cut for us. Untouched. You just moved in my jet stream. And people laugh at me, Conor. The stoner, the college dropout. And they praise you, which is fine! But once, I was a fucking jet engine!”
In the film’s beautifully bittersweet final image, Conor and Raphina sail away to England in search of the hope they cannot find in Ireland. As a large boat cuts through the water in front of them, Conor and Raphina are carried along in its wake — Conor and Raphina riding its jet stream. On shore watching them sail away, Brendan pumps his fist and cheers. What the audience is left with is a quiet, visual tribute to Conor’s older brother, who helped set him on his path, even as he remains behind.
What allows “Sing Street” to endure ten years later is this understanding of art as a means to propel oneself forward rather than as an escape. Conor is not saved because he avoids the fate of his parents or his brother, but because he dares to create something despite the circumstances in which he finds himself. His music and his band don’t take him out of his life in Ireland; rather, they transform all the hurt he feels into something usable and meaningful. His mind may be elsewhere when creating, but reality is never far behind.
Even the film’s most exuberant moments are undercut by this tension. When filming the music videos, the professional camera documents “Cosmo’s” vision, whereas the shaky VHS footage shows the shoddy reality of their creations, regardless of the musical talent they possess. At its most poignant, the “Drive It Like You Stole It” montage cuts between the perfect ’50s American prom scene dreamt up by the ambitious Cosmo, before cutting to the empty gymnasium where a defeated Conor stands on a heartbreakingly barren stage. His dreams constantly collide with limitation, yet the act of creation persists.
At its core, “Sing Street” is a tribute to the necessity of making art. The film is semi-autobiographical, with John Carney himself having attended the real Synge Street in Dublin. Like Conor, Carney also formed a band while there, with similar success: “I got the girl that I fancied.” But more importantly, art — whether a 2016 film or music in 1980s Dublin — is what allowed both the real and fictional Conor to make sense of the world.
Within the film, emotion is translated into song: the abuse Conor suffers from Brother Baxter becomes “Brown Shoes,” his infatuation with Raphina takes shape in “The Riddle of the Model” and “Up,” and later, their budding love finds a home in “A Beautiful Sea” and “To Find You.” In the real world, Carney mirrors this process using “Sing Street” to revisit, reshape, and understand those formative experiences.
It is the act of creation that ultimately separates Conor from the sad stagnation of the world around him, not because he escapes it, but because he has the gall to try. Much of the power of the film comes from its understanding of originality. After destroying Conor’s tape of the band covering “Rio,” Brendan chastises him saying, “You don’t need to know how to play. Who are you, Steely Dan? You need to learn how NOT to play, Conor. That’s the trick. That’s rock and roll. And THAT … takes practice.” The film argues that intention, not skill, defines creation.
There is much of Brendan’s character that is echoed in the bubbly, manic-pixie-dream-girl-by-her-own-design character of Raphina. At one point, she jumps into the sea despite not being able to swim simply to prove that “you can never do anything by half.” Because to create and to create well, you need to take a reckless leap of faith.
“Sing Street” has always been a personal favorite of mine. It is sincere, hilarious, heartwarming, yet never fails to make me cry. I remember watching for the first time and thinking that the boys felt so much older than me and that Conor’s decision to go to England was so brave and even a tad romantic. Looking back now, having grown older than most of the actors, that same decision feels painfully idealistic.
Strangely, I can’t help but root for them. As much as my instincts want to reach into the screen and stop them from boarding that boat, there’s a part of me that wants to see them sail away, revelling in the idea that ambition, creation, and originality might actually be enough for them. Conor and Raphina have nothing but each other, some music tapes, and some headshots — and still somehow, I believe that they’ll find the hope they are so desperately searching for in England, and that they just might be okay. Ten years later, Sing Street reminds us that even the smallest acts of creation snowball in meaningful ways, propelling us forward when everything else feels uncertain.
