Why Sing Street Deserved So Much More

There are some movies that don’t just entertain you — they remind you of who you were before you got cynical. Sing Street is one of those.

Released quietly in 2016, written and directed by John Carney (the guy who gave us Once and Begin Again), Sing Street should have blown the roof off awards season. Instead, it became one of those “if you know, you know” cult favorites — whispered about by music lovers and creative types who keep a soft spot for teenage dreamers.

It’s a film set in 1980s Dublin, following Conor — a 15-year-old kid trying to survive Catholic school, a messy home, and the general teenage sense that you don’t quite fit anywhere. When he meets Raphina, the mysterious girl across the street who looks like she walked straight out of a Duran Duran video, he does what any love-struck, directionless kid would do: he starts a band.

That’s it. That’s the plot. But Carney turns that simplicity into something transcendent.

Because Sing Street isn’t really about music — it’s about becoming yourself through music. It’s about the bravery it takes to create something when the world keeps telling you to play it safe. Every song the band writes mirrors Conor’s transformation, from awkward imitation to genuine voice. One minute he’s channeling The Cure, the next he’s figuring out what it means to sound like himself.

The songs (co-written by Carney and Gary Clark) are where the movie does its real storytelling. “The Riddle of the Model” is pure early ’80s cheese — synths and bravado covering insecurity. But by the time we get to “Drive It Like You Stole It,” it’s electric. It’s the anthem of every kid who’s ever wanted to escape their hometown, rewrite their story, and do something big before life hardens them into submission.

Carney has always had a gift for writing about creative people without romanticizing them. Once gave us two broken adults finding momentary magic in music. Begin Again captured the industry machine devouring authenticity. But Sing Street? It’s his most hopeful movie. It’s about the moment before you know how hard the world is — that brief, perfect window where dreaming still feels like a plan.

And somehow, it never tips into schmaltz. The humor’s sharp, the family dynamic painfully real, and the romance tender without cliché. The older brother, Brendan (played by Jack Reynor), might just be the film’s secret weapon — a burnout philosopher who sees his little brother getting the second chance he missed. When he says, “You’re not going anywhere, Conor. You’re just going — see where it takes you,” it’s not just advice. It’s a benediction.

So why didn’t Sing Street explode the way it should have? Timing, probably. It came out in the shadow of bigger, flashier musicals like La La Land, and its quiet, scrappy charm didn’t stand a chance in that kind of spotlight. But here’s the thing — Sing Street was never built for Oscars. It was built for the people who stayed up too late writing bad poetry, who drew band logos in their notebooks, who dreamed in eyeliner and cheap guitars.

It’s not a movie about making it — it’s a movie about believing you could.

That’s why Sing Street deserves another look, especially now. It’s a love letter to creativity as rebellion — to picking up an instrument, writing a song, filming a video, or starting something just because you have to.

In a world where everything feels like it has to be monetized, perfect, and algorithm-friendly, Sing Street reminds us that sometimes the best art comes from the kids who don’t know the rules yet — and wouldn’t care if they did.

So yeah, maybe Sing Street is underrated. But maybe that’s what makes it perfect. It’s still ours — a secret anthem for the dreamers who never stopped humming the chorus.

And hey — if anyone knows how to get in touch with John Carney, let us know. We’d love to chat with him. Seriously.