Lyla Novacek (Keri Russell) is a cellist studying at the Juilliard School and living under strict rule of her father (William Sadler). Louis Connelly (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) is the lead singer of "The Connelly Brothers", an Irish rock band. Lyla and Louis meet at a party after their respective concerts, and have a sexual encounter on the rooftop. The day after, they separate in a hurry, and are unable to maintain contact as Lyla is ushered away by her father to Chicago. Lyla is also aware that she is pregnant. Later, when in New York City, after an argument with her father over her unborn child, she is struck by a car. Due to the accident trauma, she gives birth prematurely, and her father secretly puts the baby boy up for adoption under her name, allowing Lyla to believe that her son died. Eleven years later, Evan Taylor (Freddie Highmore) is living in a boys' orphanage outside New York City, where he meets Richard Jeffries (Terrence Howard), a social worker with Child and Family ...Written by
On the signs for the concert, August's Rhapsody is called "August Rhapsody" even though on the music sheets it's called "August's Rhapsody". See more »
[as August enters the room]
You the one slept under my bed?
[watches her as she plays the piano]
Do you live here?
Me and my grandma do till our boat comes in. Do you like music?
More than food.
[looks at him strangely, then continues]
Do you know your notes?
I've never seen them like that before.
See here: "Every Good Boy Does Fine" on the lines. And "F-A-C-E" in between. And "Great Big Dogs Fight Animals". And "All Cars Eat Gas". Get it?
You're like an angel.
[thinks August is weird]
Okay. I ...
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"August Rush" gave us no rush. The story is filled with practical impossibilities necessary to the plot, such as the fraudulent adoption papers, or Evan/August/boy Novacek not being adopted before reaching the age of self-expression. Perhaps set as a period piece such inanities might have flown by, but even fairy tales have to ring true at some level. None of the interactions between Keri Russell and Jonathan Rhys Meyers make any sense. Terrence Howard and Mikelti Williamson are wasted as mere, inconsistent plot devices. Robin Williams seems to be making a different movie than everyone else.
Look, we're not cynics; we love "Love, Actually," "About a Boy," and all of Frank Capra, but the story has to seduce you in, not knock you to your knees; has to have a level of believability that doesn't require you to swallow logs when straining at gnats.
This was a dud. And we wanted it so bad to succeed.
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