There are pitfalls all around in a transitioning period piece like this one, yet Carney maintains a strategic distance from them effortlessly, keeping the film on its legitimate track. It’s to a great degree sure: It comprehends what it needs to be, what story it needs to tell. While “Sing Street” is frequently clever (in a dimly legitimate Irish way), it’s likewise so loaded with heart that by the end you’ve seen a film where dreams truly do mean something, where escape hatches exist, you simply must be sufficiently intense and sufficiently inventive to take a risk.
Taking a risk in “Sing Street” implies different things: beginning up a band despite the fact that you don’t play an instrument, wearing cosmetics despite the fact that you’re a kid, strolling over the street to converse with that beautiful denim-clad young lady you see each day on your approach to class. “Sing Street” never deigns to the desires, torment, and any expectations of its primary character, high school kid Conor (played by Ferdia Walsh-Peelo, so immensely capable it’s difficult to think “Sing Street” is his introduction), and, far and away superior, puts stock in the fantasies of each character in the film, even minor ones.