Ah, young love. It's the heady cocktail that entwines two young musicians -- Irish singer-guitarist Louis (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) and reserved, brilliant cellist Lyla (Keri Russell) -- in this imperfect-but-winning film. After meeting cute in Greenwich Village, they spend the night together. But morning brings the harsh glare of sunlight -- and reality: Lyla is whisked away by her protective father (William Sadler), never to see Louis again. Nine months later, when a pregnant Lyla winds up in the hospital after an accident, she's told that the baby she and Louis conceived that night has died. Only he hasn't. Instead, Evan (Freddie Highmore) is sent to a home for wayward boys, where he pines for his parents, believing he can will them to find him through his music. (He's a prodigy, able to tap into the harmonies of nature -- grass rustling, wind howling -- and command new instruments the moment he picks them up.) So when they fail to materialize at the dreary institution's doorsteps, he sets out to look for them. And with the help of a social worker (Terrence Howard), and the propulsive force of his music, he just might.