Power Ballad’s Story of Artistic Theft Is Almost Overwhelming

(SeaPRwire) –   Writer and director John Carney has built a niche career crafting charming films set in Dublin, focusing on ordinary people who are passionate about making music regardless of whether it earns them fame. Titles such as Once and Sing Street are made to make viewers believe in the magic of do-it-yourself music. While these films are soft-spoken, they drive home the point that even strumming a guitar can bring life-altering change. They’re feel-good films touched with just the right balance of nostalgic melancholy.

At first glance, Power Ballad—co-written by Carney and Peter McDonald, who also acts in the film—promises more of the same winning formula. Paul Rudd leads the cast as Rick, a middle-aged rocker born in Kansas City who has resided in Dublin for 15 years: He met and fell for an Irish woman while touring with his former band and never returned home. His former rock-and-roll girlfriend Rachel, played by Marcella Plunkett, is now his wife, and the pair share a clever, endearing teenage daughter named Aja (portrayed by Beth Fallon) — a likely reference to the Steely Dan album, though no character ever explicitly says so.

Rick’s days have settled into a comfortable routine. He serves as the lead singer of Bride & Groove, a well-regarded wedding band, and it’s easy to see why clients book the group for their wedding celebrations. The musicians know their craft inside and out, breezing through cover after cover with polished, confident skill. Tracks like Kool & the Gang’s “Celebration” and Thin Lizzy’s “The Boys Are Back in Town” are well within their wheelhouse, and they could probably perform the sets in their sleep while still making the performances look enjoyable. Rick is a laid-back, charming performer, a lead singer whose easy smile lends itself to innocent flirtation. Every bridesmaid is safe around him—but even so, anyone can daydream, right? Rick’s bandmates, all roughly his age, range from friendly to short-tempered; the kindest of them is Sandy, played by McDonald, who lives with his mother and looks up to Rick as someone who has his life sorted out.

Yet Rick hasn’t entirely let go of his rock-and-roll aspirations. He adores his family, but he still can’t shake the urge to crave something more meaningful. When he and his bandmates perform a wedding at an upscale estate, a hugely famous wedding guest joins them onstage for one song: Danny, portrayed by Nick Jonas, is, much like Jonas himself, a former member of a phenomenally popular boy band. His solo career has struggled to gain traction, though, and he longs to return to his musical roots but has no idea how to do so. At first, Rick is annoyed at having to share the stage with a spotlight-hogging superstar, but the pair eventually build a rapport. After the reception, they stay up late into the night, drinking and swapping songwriting advice. Danny gratefully takes Rick’s tips for fixing a tricky melody. Rick plays Danny a track he has been tinkering with for years but has never fully finished. The two part ways on friendly terms, and Rick doesn’t expect anything more from the interaction. That’s why he is stunned months later, after Danny has returned to his home in Los Angeles, when the star releases a chart-topping hit song — exactly the track Rick shared with him.

The remainder of Power Ballad follows Rick’s efforts to reclaim his song. The story is filled with plenty of embarrassment and frustration, plus an event that puts his family in danger. This should deliver the signature Carney magic that fans expect — but for some reason, it falls flat. The cast cannot be faulted here; the weak script lets them down. As Danny, Jonas — with his silky smooth stage presence and warm, velvety singing voice — is strikingly charismatic. It’s easy to see how he could win over not just teenage girls, but their mothers too. (At one point, Danny shares one secret to building a successful boy band: you have to win over both children and parents with your wholesome image, since parents are the ones who control the purse strings.) And Rudd, as the contented middle-aged man who still craves a little extra out of life, is endearing in his signature boyish, Rudd-esque style, though he carries a quiet, profound sense of longing. Rick knows he ought to be fully happy with his stylish, beautiful wife and his sharp, wise daughter. (At one point, she tells her father that classic love songs no longer resonate with young women, as they have no interest in falling in love. When he asks what they do care about, she says, with the blunt, unfiltered honesty of a teenager, “Revenge.”)

If even Paul Rudd’s character can fall prey to middle-aged disillusionment, what chance do the rest of us have of avoiding it? More than that, though, Rick has been betrayed in an intensely personal manner, which is likely why watching him break down is so gut-wrenching. Power Ballad ought to be lighthearted and enjoyable, with that touch of mournful reflection Carney is so skilled at weaving into his work. But here’s the thing: when someone steals your song, it’s akin to stealing a piece of your soul. Watching that happen to a character brought to life by a warm, open actor like Rudd is almost more than viewers can bear.

The film ties up all loose ends by the end. Even so, Power Ballad left me feeling not refreshed, but slightly downbeat. We live in an era where people poised to earn massive profits from artificial intelligence insist that AI is merely a tool to help people work more efficiently and create more art; the mysterious origins of human creativity have now become something that can be bought and sold. Power Ballad contains no AI — both the creative process and the theft it portrays are old-fashioned, purely human acts. Even so, the film rests on a terrifying premise: that an idea you have guarded and nurtured for years can be stolen from you in an instant by someone with more power than you. Whether intentionally or not, Power Ballad centers on the value and fragility of human creativity. And perhaps, right now, its faith that every issue can be resolved with a happy ending is a fantasy that is too melancholy to stomach.