That's the name of the band (their subhead: "The Saviours of Soul"), a retro rhythm-and-blues group in present-day Dublin, founded on the logical enough assumption that "the Irish are the blacks of Europe." A number of the members of the group (a cast of unknowns) are colorful and photogenic: the grizzled older-generation trumpeter who reputedly has played with all "the greats," the saxophonist who begins to gravitate toward jazz, the lead vocalist with the million-dollar pipes and the pigsty manners. And the hospital-corridor confab on vomit deaths in rock-and-roll is genuinely funny -- in contrast to numerous bits of briskly mechanical funny business (the unseen priest in the confessional who corrects the confessor on a piece of rock-and-roll trivia). For all the authentic working-class ambience, the movie is very narrow in scope: recruitment à la The Seven Samurai (a commonplace comical audition montage, with a howling dog in the wings), rehearsal, public debut and private dissolution. And while the music is appealing, it's narrow, too, in its recycling of R&B standards. Directed by Alan Parker. (1991) — Duncan Shepherd
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