John Carney’s Once makes its musical romance convincing by giving the songs time and trusting Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová together. We recommend it warmly, despite photography that sometimes makes it harder to concentrate on the people.
John Carney’s Once is a musical romance we recommend warmly, with a warning that its rough photography occasionally gets in the way. Glen Hansard plays Guy, an Irish busker in Dublin; Markéta Irglová plays Girl, a Czech immigrant drawn into his music. Carney, who also writes the screenplay, gives them something to do together before asking us to care about their attraction. Making music takes time and effort here, and the pair’s limited means help keep a potentially sugary story from becoming too comfortable.
The first performance of ‘Falling Slowly’, in a piano shop, makes the case for the whole film. We were moved more than we expected. The scene allows us to hear why these people might want to stay together: they can make something neither could make quite this way alone. Carney lets the performance run long enough for the pleasure of listening to become part of our interest in them.
Hansard and Irglová supply the music as well as the central performances, which helps the playing feel like ordinary work these people know how to do. Hansard sings with a force that makes frustration audible without another speech to explain it. Irglová’s presence is quieter, and their ease together keeps his intensity from exhausting the film. Some of the songwriting is earnest enough to make us wish for a little less insistence, though the melodies generally earn their place. The rawness of the singing is especially useful when the characters themselves remain guarded.
Tim Fleming’s cinematography is the substantial reservation. The roughness of the images can make it harder to attend to the performers, and we cannot accept every untidy shot as proof of sincerity. Still, the long, intimate shots give the pair time to be interesting without demanding that they perform every feeling for the camera. Tamara Conboy’s production design keeps the Dublin flats and piano shop plausibly ordinary, so the music never seems to require a more flattering room. Those modest surroundings suit a story in which money remains a practical concern.
Editor Paul Mullen understands how much depends on letting a performance last, and the sustained passages of playing are the right choice. Cutting them down to a few useful lines would make the relationship harder to believe. At 85 minutes, the film still feels compact, despite giving music room that a more plot-heavy romance might regard as dispensable. It is pleasing to watch a film about musicians that lets us judge their connection by listening to them work.
Anyone who dislikes musicals is unlikely to be persuaded by assurances that this one is different. The songs are central, and anyone impatient with earnest singing will spend much of the film waiting for people to stop. For us, the modest scale suits a romance whose strongest scenes involve two people trying to make music together. Give it an uninterrupted evening, with the sound at a level that lets the voices matter.
