THE STREET KID & CAPONE: FROM BELFAST TO CHICAGO

As a filmmaker, there are stories that live with you, gnawing at your creative soul until you finally bring them to life. For me, THE PRINCE OF SAILORTOWN is one of those stories. It’s a film rooted in the grit and romance of history, following Alexander Robinson, a Belfast boxer who trades the turbulent streets of Ireland for the equally treacherous underworld of Prohibition-era Chicago.

The heart of this project beats in its characters, its taut storytelling, and the delicate dance between actors and director. Today, I want to take you behind the curtain, breaking down a pivotal scene that has become, in my mind, a microcosm of everything this film represents. From the crackle of the dialogue to the weight of a single glance, this scene is as much about the unsaid as it is the spoken word.

CRAFTING DRAMA THROUGH NORMALITY

The scene opens at a garden party, a quintessential tableau of 1920s grandeur. Think children chasing each other across manicured lawns, women in beaded flapper dresses clinking champagne glasses, and the faint hum of a jazz quartet. It’s idyllic, almost disarming.

But that’s precisely the point. Beneath the surface, the setting is a powder keg. This was intentional, of course. As a Director, I’m drawn to juxtapositions: joy edged with danger, beauty masking brutality. It’s this duality that pulls an audience in, compelling them to anticipate the moment when the façade cracks. In this case, that crack comes in the form of Alexander and Al Capone’s simmering confrontation, two men circling each other like predators sizing up their prey.

POWER OF PROPS

Actors often ask me about props. Should they be incidental? Integral? My answer is always the same: they should serve the character. In this scene, Alexander uses a toothpick in a way that borders on genius. It’s such a small thing, a throwaway item, but in the hands of a talented actor, it becomes a statement.

The toothpick was wielded sparingly but with precision, pressed between his lips to feign nonchalance, removed mid-dialogue to punctuate a point, or fiddled with nervously to betray a crack in his tough exterior. That toothpick became an extension of Alexander’s inner turmoil: a young man trying to project confidence while navigating the lion’s den of Capone’s world.

DEVELOPING CHEMISTRY

This scene lives and dies on the chemistry between Alexander and Capone. Their dynamic is electric: the brash ‘wayward son’ and the seasoned ‘father figure.’ It’s a relationship that’s as much about what’s not said as it is about the cutting dialogue.

Casting this dynamic was no small task. I needed actors who could not only hold their own but challenge each other. Watching their performances unfold on set was like watching two chess grandmasters. Every glance, every pause, every flicker of a smirk carried weight.

Tone is everything in a scene like this. Too much melodrama, and you lose the grit. Too much subtlety, and you risk dulling the edge. We worked tirelessly to find that balance, sharp dialogue laced with an undercurrent of menace.

ACTION OVER DIALOGUE

While the dialogue in this scene is razor-sharp, it’s the actions that tell the real story. Capone, with his effortless control of the room, moves as though the world bends to his will. Meanwhile, Alexander’s bravado is betrayed by the subtle swagger of his walk, too forced, too deliberate. These small details reveal the power imbalance between the two, adding depth to their interaction.

HISTORICAL CONTEXT

Bringing 1920s Chicago to life wasn’t just about flapper dresses and vintage cars. It was about capturing the texture of the era. For instance, Alexander’s tattoos, a controversial choice for a man of his time, became a symbol of his outsider status. Likewise, Capone’s sartorial elegance contrasted with his brutal reputation, underscoring the contradictions of his character.

These details aren’t just window dressing; they’re storytelling tools. They ground the narrative in its historical context while adding layers of meaning. Alexander isn’t just a young man navigating a dangerous world, he’s a symbol of cultural and personal dislocation, a “fish out of water” trying to survive a world that demands he sink or swim.

My hope with THE PRINCE OF SAILORTOWN is that it leaves audiences not just entertained but inspired. Inspired to look beyond the surface, to find the story in the silence, and to embrace the messy, beautiful humanity of characters like Alexander Robinson.

This is why we make films, not just to tell stories but to create moments that linger long after the credits roll.