When someone steals your words… and melodies

I was reading a book in Eason’s one day some years ago when I got the distinct impression the words were familiar to me. After a few minutes I realised why. They were my own ones. But someone else’s name was on the cover.

Plagiarism is as rampant in the music business as in literature. In Power Ballad (15) it occurs after a wedding where Rick (Paul Rudd) the washed-up singer in the presiding band, is jamming in a hotel room with Danny (Nick Jonas), a former boyband sensation, who joined him on stage earlier in the evening.

He plays him a song he’s been writing called Without You. Together they collaborate on trying to finish it off.

Six months later, Rick learns to his horror that Without You has become a mega-hit for Danny. It’s brought him back into the limelight after a lengthy career slump. He’s given it the Big Treatment but failed to name Rick as the brains behind it.

Rick contacts Danny’s agent, Mac (Jack Reynor). He asks him what’s going on. Mac fobs him off. He says to Danny afterwards, “Where there’s a hit, there’s a writ.” (One of the faults in the film is Mac’s failure to ask Danny: “Has this guy a point?”)

On the surface this is the story of a nice guy who’s dumped on by a not so nice one. If we look deeper it’s a parable about the fact that neither fame nor fortune conduce to happiness. An old message, admittedly, but given a fresh twist here.

The plot thickens when Rick’s anger at having his song robbed isn’t shared by his loved ones. He can’t prove he wrote it. Neither can his wife or daughter remember him singing it to them.

His relationship to them declines and he leaves the family home. He falls out with his fellow band members when he refuses to perform Without You at a wedding. They can’t remember him singing it to them either.

There’s only one thing for it: Hook off to L.A., where Danny lives, and have it out with him. Sandy (Peter McDonald), his best friend from the band, tags along.

The film becomes farcical at this point. There’s even a ‘Butch Cassidy’ moment prior to a jump. But it’s tremendously enjoyable. It’s directed, produced and written by John Carney, who probably also made the tea. The last scene is so sweet it almost made me cry.

In the role of an Everyman past his prime, Rudd is perfectly cast. As the sleazy agent, however, Reynor isn’t. He doesn’t look sleazy and he’s also too young. He was more suitable in Carney’s earlier feature, Sing Street.

Amy Huberman gets one line in the film. That’s what I said, one line. Are things that bad for her that she has to descend to this to earn a crust? Could BOD (that’s Brian O’Driscoll, her other half) not have thrown her a few bob?