Begin Again
The Weinstein Co.
Rated R for language.
Running time: 101 minutes.
Three stars out of four.
It’s been out for a couple of weeks now, but I didn’t want to let too much more time pass before I wrote a little something about “Begin Again.” This movie charmed me so much that I had to go on record as saying so.
Yes, I realize it’s not the most original concept and that, on paper, John Carney’s latest film looks an awful lot like “Once,” the miraculous 2006 musical that put the Irish writer-director on the map. Two strangers at a crossroads in their lives discover each other through a shared love of music and form an unlikely but powerful bond in a magical version of a major city. They find unusual settings to perform alt-rock songs that spring organically from their lives. And they ultimately achieve an emotional intimacy that’s clearly some form of love but can’t be categorized quite so easily. (To top off the similarities, the female character in both of these equations is a visitor from another country.)
I know all this. I know all this, and I don’t care. The performances are so strong, the cast is so great, the tone is so winning and the music is so enjoyable that the whole combination just worked on me, familiar as it may be. Carney’s vision of New York City is a scruffily romantic one — a place where Mark Ruffalo’s character easily finds a parking spot right in front of wherever he’s going, but the car he’s driving is a beat-up, old Jaguar, the last vestige of his high-flying days as a music executive.
Ruffalo functions in the Glen Hansard role, if we may continue the comparisons to “Once.” His character, Dan, is the formerly idealistic but currently alcoholic co-founder of an indie record company. He’s separated from his wife (a smartly caustic Catherine Keener) and barely functioning as a father to his teenage daughter (Hailee Steinfeld). Keira Knightley, meanwhile, serves as the Marketa Irglova figure as Gretta, a sweetly no-nonsense British songwriter who came to the United States to support her burgeoning rock-star boyfriend (a natural and surprisingly good Adam Levine), only to be cast aside once his career takes off.
Carney cleverly shows their initial connection at an open-mic night, where Gretta is terrified to perform and Dan is wasted at the bar, then backs up each of their stories to show us how they got to that particular place at that particular time. It makes each version of Gretta’s song carry that much more meaning, particularly in one inspired moment when Dan envisions the greater possibilities of her tentative tune.
He has a crazy idea for her, and for her music: record an entire album all over New York City, in places as disparate as a subway platform, an alleyway and a rooftop with the Empire State Building soaring majestically in the background. She will sing and play the acoustic guitar; he will produce and procure a rag-tag band of starving artists to back her up. The wholesome, hopeful, let’s-put-on-a-show enthusiasm may sound hokey but it’s actually infectiously joyful. At the same time, Carney roughs up the edges just enough to make this fairy tale seem somewhat accessible and realistic.
Dan bribes kids making noise in the alley during one of the recordings by offering them cigarettes and letting them sing back-up. Gretta sleeps on a couch in the ratty apartment of a portly and profane pal from home, a Union Square busker named Steve (an extremely appealing James Corden). And Ruffalo himself, through his sheer presence, keeps the story grounded. This kind of self-loathing, self-destructive character — a fascinating mess — is his bread and butter. He and a de-glammed Knightley have such an effortless and unexpected chemistry that you can’t help but find yourself rooting for this album to turn their lives around, improbable as that sounds.
(Along those lines, the film’s original title was “Can a Song Save Your Life?” “Begin Again” may be a bit bland but it’s a far less clunky and cringe-inducing choice.)
Can Knightley sing, you’re probably wondering? She’s fine. She has a soft and lilting voice that suits the material, which has a bit of a Colbie-Caillat tinge to it. It would have been distracting if she’d opened her mouth and Adele came out. New Radicals lead singer Gregg Alexander is actually the one responsible for the songs, which are pleasantly engaging if not quite so powerful as any of the key tunes from the “Once” soundtrack. Still, they’ll leave you with an ooey-gooey warm feeling as you leave the theater — which is not such a terrible change of pace during this season of noisy blockbusters.
I saw “Begin Again” four times at a local movie house. The first time I heard the song “Coming up roses,” I sensed a Buddhist connection. I ended up posting a line-by-line analysis of that song and “Lost Stars” to make my point. I’ve been a practicing Buddhist for over 20 years, which is what sensitizes me to this type of connection. I’m amazed that none of the critics picked up on this possibility, especially with a title like “Begin Again.” My analyses can be found if you google: Steven Searle Lost Stars revisited.
This analysis addresses this question: Why was Steve’s bed in such a strange location?