Sing Street

Card over Black:

“The ‘60s never really happened in

Ireland. So the ‘80s will be the

‘60s. And the ‘80s will make the

‘60s look like the ‘50s.”

AN ALCOHOLIC.

Pre-title:

EXT. SYNGE STREET SCHOOL - DUBLIN CITY - MORNING

Two FIFTEEN year-old BOYS stand outside this rough, inner

city school on a cold, rainy morning. They are CONOR and

DARREN. Conor is a middle class kid with a posh accent.

Darren is a local boy, with a tough Dublin accent.

They are elbowed by passing STUDENTS entering the school

gates. Some of them mince past them, implying that they are

gay.

These two are outsiders.

Conor will be handsome when he grows up. While most of the

other boys have standard issue tight haircuts, Conor’s is

long and tousled. He sports two black eyes, making him look

like a panda. Darren has acne, buck teeth, braces and

bifocals. His face is a mess.

They are both looking across the road. We don’t see at what.

CONOR:

Who’s she?

DARREN:

I don’t know. She’s always there.

CONOR:

She’s beautiful.

DARREN:

Yeah. Good luck. She doesn’t speak

to anyone. Stuck-up cow.

CONOR:

Who says?

DARREN:

Ciaran Mackie from third year said

he tried to get her digits.

CONOR:

(confused)

You mean her number?

(CONTINUED)

2.

DARREN:

Yeah. No luck. He said she has a

boyfriend who’s a drug dealer.

She’s not interested any of the

boys in the school.

CONOR:

Oh yeah? Why’s she standing there

then?

Darren shrugs. Conor takes a breath, sets off, crossing the

road.

EXT. SYNGE STREET SCHOOL - MORNING

We track with him over his shoulder, arriving at a 16 year-

old GIRL, who is standing on the stoop of a HOUSE, an unlit

cigarette dangling from her purple lips. Conor stands in

front of her.

She has a great look: lots of black. Good makeup. Back-combed

hair. Early ‘80s teen-chic. She’s ahead of her time, and

anything but ordinary.

CONOR:

Need a light?

GIRL:

No. I’m trying to give up.

CONOR:

Cool. I don’t have any matches

anyway.

Silence. He doesn’t go away.

CONOR:

Why aren’t you at school?

GIRL:

I don’t go to school.

(beat)

I’m a model.

CONOR:

Cool. Like, for magazines, and

stuff?

GIRL:

I’m going to London soon. Just

waiting for my portfolio shots.

There’s no real work for models in

Dublin, you know.

CONOR:

Yeah. I know.

(CONTINUED)

3.

He thinks.

CONOR:

Oh yeah, I meant to ask- do you

want to be in a video? For my band?

GIRL:

You’re in a band?

CONOR:

Yes. And we need a girl for it.

There’s like a story. It’s called a

“Story-Board” video. You could be

the girl. In the story. If you’re

free. Have you been in a video

before?

GIRL:

No.

(beat)

Is that a problem?

CONOR:

I hope not. I’ll ask the producer.

GIRL:

Who’s the producer?

CONOR:

That kid behind me.

She looks over his shoulder, pulling onto Darren, who waves

nonchalantly.

GIRL:

When are we shooting? I’m pretty

busy.

CONOR:

Saturday after next. I can call you

with the details. If I had your

digits.

She puts the cigarette away, taking out her pen. He produces

his journal, handing it to her. She flicks through it, it’s

full of thoughts and drawings.

CONOR:

Lyrics.

RAPHINA:

So if you’re in a band, sing me a

song.

CONOR:

I’m not singing here.

(CONTINUED)

4.

RAPHINA:

What, you’ll have to sing in front

of thousands of people. I’m just

one. Sing.

CONOR:

What?

RAPHINA:

Sing anything off the radio.

He reluctantly sings a hesitant but tuneful few lines from a

popular song. She smiles. She writes down her number on the

cover. He smiles, turning back. Score.

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