If anything defines a John Carney joint, it’s an enduring affinity for musical underdogs. Whether it’s a budding romance between struggling musicians in Once or dreams of ‘80s synth-pop stardom in Sing Street, Carney’s music-fuelled, inherently crowd-pleasing lens has cultivated a mini-universe of working-class dreamers for whom music is not only a means of expression but one of survival and self-discovery. Power Ballad marks yet another foray into Carney’s established cinematic niche, notably drawing star power from Paul Rudd and, to a lesser extent, Nick Jonas with an air of familiarity to Carney’s well-worn thematic and emotional well.

Though Power Ballad, at times, feels like a reheated version of Carney’s earlier efforts, perhaps that’s the point. Despite treading recognizable and easily predictable terrain, it unfolds as a joyous hang with endearing, conflicted characters who, much like Carney’s shtick, are seemingly past their prime.

In tracing their frantic, scrappy quests to recapture their former glory, Power Ballad rides an assortment of catchy pop tunes and lovable performances to craft a likeable tale of personal vindication, where the beauty of making art for art’s sake filters into an appreciation of what really matters: Family, friendship, and the sense that you’re already where you’re meant to be. In other words, It’s a welcome return to dad rock cinema.

Rudd stars as Rick Power—whose name is one of many adorably corny choices that litter the film’s brisk 98-minute runtime—the American lead singer of the Dublin-based wedding band, The Bride and the Groove. Having given up his rockstar dreams after marrying his sweetheart Rachel (Marcella Plunkett), and having his daughter Aja (Beth Fallon), Rick feels an overwhelming sense of ennui come over him—stemming from the nagging feeling that he was the rockstar that never was as he sullenly refers to himself as a “human jukebox.”

That is, until he and the band perform at a gilded castle wedding that Danny Wilson (Jonas), a famous singer struggling to shed his washed-up, boy-band persona, is also attending. Rick and Danny strike up an instant connection, reinforced by Rudd and Jonas’ seamless chemistry, which not only lights up a giddy wedding duet but spills into an equally riveting and hilarious private jam session, which Carney renders with his signature flair for lived-in intimacy and musical detail.

It’s a rare sequence where Power Ballad sheds its more conventional trappings to illuminate these creative processes as moments where we peer into ourselves to ponder the people and experiences that ultimately shape who we are. As their drug-addled musical exchange continues, Rick plays an original composition, the infinitely catchy, film-headlining “”How to Write a Song (Without You).” What seems like a touching moment soon turns into a living nightmare, as Danny dubiously steals and takes credit for the song  to jump start his flailing career.

As Rick finds out, months later, he enters a downward spiral of rage, ridicule, and regret as he fails to prove to his family that he’s capable of writing an original hit, all the while Danny’s representatives avoid his every plea for attention and compensation. As he alienates himself from his family, he makes a last-ditch effort to travel to Los Angeles and demand credit from the now chart-topping Danny, who struggles to make the right choices amid his newfound fame.

As Peter McDonald’s Sandy—Rick’s bandmate and his de facto best friend—often steals key scenes with his inextinguishable Irish wit and comedic timing, it becomes clear that Power Ballad is less about its predictable destination and more about a charming, soul-searching journey. While far from Carney’s most memorable pouting, few filmmakers know how to turn the emotional dial to 11 with such earnest, sonic flair.

Power Ballad releases June 5th.