America loves little boys. Remember when everyone creamed
their pants over that Billy Elliot movie? “He wants to be a
dancer! Weee!”
With that rule, August Rush (by Disco Pigs director
Kirsten Sheridan) should do really well in theaters. But no one is
going to see it. Robin Williams is in it. And nobody feels strongly
enough about the gorgeous and not-at-all-offensive Keri Russell or her
costars Terrence Howard and Jonathan Rhys Meyers to go see a movie
based on their involvement alone.
That’s sad. Because despite the fact that the plot is goofy and rife
with romantic improbabilities, and despite the fact that the script is
loaded with cheesy moments like, “I believe in music the way some
people believe in fairy tales,” August Rush is actually a
charming little film about a musical prodigy who ends up performing
with the New York Philharmonic in order to find the mom and dad who
don’t even know he exists.
See, Mom’s a touring cellist and she went slumming one night with
the frontman of a rock ‘n’ roll band. Magic happened, then mistakes
happened, and then some people told some lies. So the adorable August
Rush (yep, that’s really the kid’s name) bounces from the orphanage to
Robin Williams to the New York Philharmonic, and he makes music only
because he firmly believes his parents will hear it and know he’s out
there.
It sounds bad, right? I know. And I’m just making it sound worse.
But the parts in the film where it shows August Rush composing and
hearing music in everything he sees—well, those are actually
pretty cool. Because music itself is pretty cool. It’s such a shame
that this movie about music is 100 percent uncool.