Sing Street Page #4

CONOR:

No more rugby. No cricket practice.

Debating. School plays??

FATHER WAITS:

They’ll have their own

extracurricular activities I

suspect.

(CONTINUED)

10.

CONOR:

Yeah, like flick knife practice.

And corporal punishment.

FATHER WAITS:

I’m sure that’s not true.

CONOR:

I’ve heard it is. I can’t do

corporal punishment. I’m light-

boned.

Father Waits laughs. Though Conor is wise-cracking, he’s

clearly genuinely nervous.

Father Waits gets up, putting a hand on Conor’s shoulder and

walking him to the door.

FATHER WAITS:

You’ll be fine, Conor. Trust me.

You know what’s gotten us to where

we are today, us humans? One

quality?

They pause at the open door.

FATHER WAITS:

Adaptability.

He winks, shaking Conor’s hand. Conor shuffles off down the

corridor.

Father Waits looks over to his secretary who has been

listening. He makes a doubtful expression. She nods in

agreement.

INT. CHURCH - DAY

A church on a school campus. 30 choir boys are at choir

practice on the alter. They are dressed in their own cloths.

There is no congregation. It’s Saturday rehersal. They sing

BACH.

We slowly ZOOM in to Conor, who is standing on the edges of

the back row. He sings, but is lost in thought.

A TEACHER is conducting them.

EXT. SYNGE STREET SCHOOL - EVENING

Conor walks past Synge Street School that evening. The gates

are open. The deserted school looms grey and forboding in the

dusk sky. He pushes the gate open and enters, looking around.

Litter rolls like tumbleweed across the pot-holed yard.

Stripped-down bicycle frames remain locked to the outdoor

bike shed. Old windows rattle in the wind.

(CONTINUED)

11.

The walls read like a tabloid newspaper: “IRA” “BRITS OUT”

“JENNY GREEN IS A SLUT ” are among the headlines.

The playing field of his previous school is another world.

INT. BRENDAN’S ROOM - EVENING

Back in his house, we are in Brendan’s attic lair. As far

away from the rest of the house as possible. This small room

is a shrine to music and art. And hash.

We have numerous ash trays. A homemade hammock. Posters of

bands on the walls. Shelves of books on pop art, philosophy,

and music. A poster of SIGMUND FREUD on the wall next to his

bed. A voice bubble has been drawn in, saying “It’s all your

mother’s fault”.

A portable TV on a box. An acoustic guitar with two strings.

But most importantly, a huge collection of Vinyl. Proudly

alphabetized. The only thing so in Brendan’s life.

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