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Nick Jonas steals Paul Rudd’s ‘Power Ballad’ in a profound story about art and honesty

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Nick Jonas steals Paul Rudd’s ‘Power Ballad’ in a profound story about art and honesty

Nick Jonas as popstar Danny Wilson and Havana Rose Liu as his girlfriend Marcia in Power Ballad.

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If you were to divide the total number of bands there have ever been by the total number of hits there have ever been, it would be clear that most bands have never had a single hit. That means if you’re a one-hit wonder, you’ve really been highly, highly successful. A single hit is a near miracle.

In Power Ballad, Rick Power (Paul Rudd) is a loving husband and father who sings in a good wedding band people really like. He once had a pop band and a record deal — he even toured, which is how he came to Ireland, met a woman, married her, had a daughter with her, and made his life there. He continues to make a living as a performing musician who makes people happy, which, again, qualifies him as more successful than he perhaps gives himself credit for.

At a wedding, he meets Danny Wilson (Nick Jonas), who used to be in a boy band and is trying to get a solo career off the ground. He and Rick see something kindred in each other, and they end up spending the night drinking and playing music and talking about songs they’re working on. Rick plays him an unfinished ballad called “How To Write A Song Without You.”

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A few months later, Rick is at the mall when he hears “How To Write A Song Without You” playing. As it turns out, Danny finished the song by adding a bridge, brought it to his people as his own, and has released it as a single. When Rick reaches out for credit, Danny denies everything (through his management). Rick has no proof that he wrote it. He sets out, with increasing intensity, to confront Danny.

Nick Jonas as Danny Wilson and Paul Rudd as Rick Power in Power Ballad.

Nick Jonas as Danny Wilson and Paul Rudd as Rick Power in Power Ballad.

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This story is, in part, about credit and money. That could seem like an incongruous direction for director and co-writer John Carney, who previously made beloved, big-hearted films like Once and Sing Street that are also about musicians, but where credit and money are beside the point.

The film isn’t really about credit and money, though. It’s about the fact that Rick has been working in music for decades and has never produced, for himself or the people he loves, much hard evidence that he’s good. Maybe that kind of hard evidence isn’t even a thing. Artistic success is hard to define, but Rick has never even gotten far enough to split those hairs. But now, suddenly, there is this (maddeningly unreliable) indicator of quality: He wrote a monster hit. He wrote a song people love. It’s easy to talk about wanting credit as if there’s something small or grimy about it, especially when money is involved. But if Rick wanting credit is grimy, then surely Danny denying him credit is doubly so.

Danny, for his part, is less a villain than a coward. His public image is souring, and he’s got a slimy manager (played by Jack Reynor, who deserves bad things here just as much as he did in Midsommar and The Perfect Couple) threatening to drop him. So when his girlfriend (Havana Rose Liu) overhears him noodling around with Rick’s song, misunderstands it to be his, and loves it, he can’t resist. The script cleverly includes the complicating detail that Danny did finish the song by writing the bridge, so it’s not as if he didn’t contribute anything. It’s a song they both worked on; it’s just that by the time Rick is trying to get things straightened out, it’s much too late for Danny to admit that he lifted the song from a middle-aged wedding singer and lied about it.

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By the end, Power Ballad has said some pretty profound things about art, including a warning that shortcuts are unsatisfying. Danny achieves huge commercial success with “How To Write A Song Without You,” but he has guaranteed that performing the song will always feel empty. Why? Because he’s pretending. He didn’t write the song, and he doesn’t even understand the song.

Danny wants to be a star, and he knows how to get what stars have. He has what it takes. But he also wants to perform a song and know that it came from him, that it is of his heart and mind, and that it is good. He is a talented performer who got greedy, and he decided he had to have what songwriters have. Ending a songwriting experience with money and recognition isn’t a requirement. But beginning it with your own brain is. Otherwise, you simply cannot have what songwriters have, no matter how many stadiums you play.

And while this isn’t a movie about AI, it’s safe to assume that if trying to take credit for a song somebody else wrote won’t truly satisfy, taking credit for a song no human being wrote won’t either. In fact, if Danny’s experience says anything, it’s that a good song may not have come from you, but at least it came from somebody. Somebody cared about the making of it, even if it was somebody else. After all, plenty of very good performers don’t write their own songs, which is fine — unless you fib about it.

It’s a terrific movie; the leads are both very good and perfectly cast. The song that is supposed to be a huge pop hit is a very plausible pop hit, which isn’t always how it goes. The ending is satisfying but bittersweet, like pretty much every ending Carney has ever made. Ultimately, Power Ballad posits that in art, as in life, it should matter if you’re honest. It should matter if you did what you say you did. And perhaps too optimistically, it suggests that a genuine one-hit wonder is likely happier than a superstar who’s lying.

This piece also appears in NPR’s Pop Culture Happy Hour newsletter. Sign up for the newsletter so you don’t miss the next one, plus get weekly recommendations about what’s making us happy.

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Why your favorite international artist might be reconsidering their next U.S. tour

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Why your favorite international artist might be reconsidering their next U.S. tour

Here’s something American concertgoers might not know: before a musician from another country can take the stage in the U.S., someone has to file paperwork with the federal government on their behalf. And not just any paperwork — a petition, hundreds of pages long, stacked with press clippings, award documentation, testimonial letters from other artists, venue contracts, a detailed tour itinerary, and evidence that the artist is legitimately accomplished at what they do.

And that’s just to start the clock in a process that may take over a year to complete.

This is the reality for international artists — from musicians to painters, dancers to comedians — who want to come to the U.S. to share their work. It’s a complicated, expensive process that arts advocates say has long made the country a difficult place for foreign artists to access. But now, they say it’s gotten much worse.

The time it takes to process a visa has dramatically increased. The number of available interview slots at U.S. embassies is backlogged. Application costs have surged. And there’s an added layer of uncertainty: paperwork can be perfect, fees can be paid, and yet artists still can be turned away at the border.

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For U.S. audiences, all of this means a quiet loss of global cultural exchange.

What does the artist visa process look like?

To illustrate the nonimmigrant visa process for artists, let’s take Kongero, a small, Swedish folk a cappella group that completed its second U.S. tour last fall.

First step: File a petition.

The group’s booking agent planned the tour and gathered all the necessary documentation to file a petition with U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS) to demonstrate that the group qualified for a P-3 visa, the category for culturally unique artists.

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What are your most cherished memories of the 2026 World Cup in L.A.?

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What are your most cherished memories of the 2026 World Cup in L.A.?

My favorite memory of the 2026 World Cup happened last month. By the late morning of June 18 in Koreatown, hours ahead of the Mexico vs. South Korea group-stage match, it was apparent that the neighborhood would be unrecognizable by kickoff.

I had heard rumblings about the Korean Festival Foundation’s watch party, but once I found out it would take place at Seoul International Park, I was almost dissuaded entirely. Although it is the beloved destination of my dog’s morning walks, its insignificant size and awkward location just off Olympic Boulevard didn’t seem appropriate for such a coveted event. So, I went to scout it out beforehand — and I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. There were already about 100 to 200 fans in the park, about six hours before the first whistle; laughing, drinking, lending a hand to vendor setups.

My apartment is only about six-odd blocks from the park, but closer to the game, I noticed a gigantic wave of red, lavender and white jerseys already crashing toward the watch party. It took my roommates and me about 30 minutes to walk the half-mile at 4 p.m., squeezing past fervent fans to eke out a spot in front of one of the two humongous screens situated on either side of Irolo Street.

Unfortunately for us, all of the good vantage points were taken. A mass in front of both screens was impenetrable; smaller televisions hooked up to generators were already seized by 10 too many eyes; even the roofs surrounding the park were full of attendees much bolder and athletic than me. We settled on the soccer field in the park, where we could juggle a ball around a bit while watching the match on our phones (and thank you to my girlfriend’s dad for his Peacock subscription).

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The first half onscreen was mostly uneventful, but off-screen, I was able to witness a sort of camaraderie seen rarely in sprawling Los Angeles. People were swarming vendors from eateries all around Koreatown, dance circles formed around speakers blasting banda music, and “oohs” and “ahhs” at every missed shot were in perfect sync. Then, it happened: a goal in the 50th minute by Luis Romo of the Mexican side. The park and its surroundings exploded into a collective cheer that tickled my rib cage and resonated deep in my ear canal to the point I had to cover my ears. I can hardly remember if I joined the chorus, or if the excitement was so heavy that I just felt like an equal part of it.

Seeing my neighborhood in this light will stick with me much longer than the 1-0 result, or the fact that neither of these teams (both of which I partially rooted for) made it far into the tournament. But these memories, I believe, are what the World Cup is really about.

So tell us about your most cherished memory of the 2026 World Cup in L.A. so far. And remember, no moment is too small. We may feature it in an upcoming story.

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Sam Neill, known for ‘Jurassic Park’ and ‘The Piano,’ dies at 78, his family says

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Sam Neill, known for ‘Jurassic Park’ and ‘The Piano,’ dies at 78, his family says

Sam Neill arrives at the premiere of “Apples Never Fall” on March 12, 2024, in Los Angeles.

Richard Shotwell/AP Photo/Invision


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WELLINGTON, New Zealand — Sam Neill, a smoothly elegant and versatile actor whose career moved from art film to blockbuster as he dodged velociraptors in “Jurassic Park” to playing Holly Hunter’s husband in “The Piano,” has died. He was 78.

In 2023, Neill disclosed he had been diagnosed with angioimmunoblastic T-cell lymphoma, a rare type of non-Hodgkin lymphoma. Neill died on Monday in Sydney, according to a statement posted to the actor’s social media page.

His death was “sudden and unexpected,” the statement said, adding that he “remained cancer free” when he died. A cause of death wasn’t specified.

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“Sam was surrounded by family and passed with the dignity that has characterised his whole life,” his family wrote.

Actor came to world’s notice with ‘Dead Calm’ and ‘My Brilliant Career’

Neill was one of a host of actors and directors who achieved international fame after an explosion of Australian films that began in the late 1970s, a list that includes Paul Hogan, Mel Gibson, Geoffrey Rush, Russell Crowe, Jane Campion, Peter Weir and Gillian Armstrong. His range was remarkable, playing opposite Helena Bonham Carter in the Alan Ayckbourn comedy “Sweet Revenge” to chopping off Hunter’s finger in “The Piano” to poking his own eyes out in the sci-fi horror “Event Horizon.”

In “Omen III: The Final Conflict,” he played Damien the Antichrist and he also played Cardinal Thomas Wolsey in “The Tudors.”

The actor first came to the attention of international audiences in Armstrong’s 1979 film “My Brilliant Career,” which also introduced Judy Davis. He later appeared in Phillip Noyce’s “Dead Calm,” a classy thriller set at sea and co-starring the then-relatively unknown Nicole Kidman.

Neill twice co-starred with Meryl Streep, in Australian director Fred Schepisi’s “Plenty” and — again for Schepisi — in “A Cry in the Dark,” a film about the sensationalized aftermath of a dingo killing a baby in the Australian Outback. He earned an Emmy nomination for his performance in the title role of the 1998 miniseries “Merlin” and another as narrator of 2017’s “Wild New Zealand.”

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