I wonder if the toaster spends all of its downtime longing to be plugged in. Wonder if it waits, all its cold, dank, miserable metal parts, vibrating slowly in place only for the time when its coils light into a brilliant orange and release soothing, glorious heat from out of its mouth to the world that surrounds. And too, if the socket, sitting with baited breath, longs for the toaster's cord to enter so it can pass on to the toaster hyper, vibrant volts of electricity that it struggles dutifully, painfully to hold back. And from this connection creates another connection, a cold, couped-up piece of bread reveling in the heat of the toaster until it goes from caterpillar to butterfly and becomes an adult, crisp piece of toast. Then hard, sad, old maid butter melting on the surface of adult bread. Then tired, morning-crabby human satisfied by the warm, buttery toast. And the cycle goes on.

There is too much downtime for so many of us, I'm starting to think, in this Information Age. Too many days where we sit and are never plugged in. We can have wives, and husbands, and kids, and parents, and friends, but instead of plugging in to a proper outlet and getting real, ever-fulfilling electricity, it's like we're standing in the sun for that instant gratification of a few sunrays, even still knowing that such warmth never comes from within.

John Carney's "Once" -- an intelligent, simple, shockingly rich and fulfilling romantic musical -- is true connection from main character to main character, viewer to the screen and to the viewer you came with and your momma, too. Regardless of whether you've been kept cold by the day and age, or whether connection is your be, "Once" is sure to fill you up with the common electricity we all seek.

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Guy -- gruff but still young with a kind of sweet, rough orange beard -- sings heart-wrenching song on a fairly dead street in Dublin, Ireland. Girl -- subtly pretty with a thick Czech accent, medium length brown hair -- coming down the street stops and notices Guy is playing own music instead of the usual covers for the day crowd. Girl also needs vacuum repaired, which just happens to be Guy's day job at his father's shop. Before you know it, Guy and Girl are building a relationship, filling voids that exist in the lives of Guy who is facing a little-opportunitied existence in Ireland and Girl who is raising child in deep poverty and wishing for a father for the baby. Also, of course, minds for music, in their best time, they record beautiful acoustic folk-pop music with emotions bursting at the seems of lovely craft, revealing an awesome connection that radiates out to you.

The guy is played by Glen Hansperd of a little Irish band called The Frames, and the girl is played by a Czech singer by the name Marketa Irglova. They really are musicians. Glen really conceived the music you'll find on the soundtrack. They're really from the places they say they're from in the movie. Does that mean that there is no acting going on? Of course it doesn't. Hansperd and Irglova, in all their subtle actions, have to work to make this connection real to the viewer, and they have to do it without all of the obvious love movie scenes. Put it this way, the most action that goes down here is a kiss on the cheek from Guy to Girl, and considering it comes after an enrapturing catharsis that music geeks and romantics alike won't be able to resist, it's really nothing. It's the flavorful, non-artificial delivery of the spare and interesting dialogue, the gritty footage from hand-held cameras of our characters thinking and experiencing each others presence in natural lighting, and the rich gloss-free music that go so far to show how life-changing this experience of Guy and Girl together really was.

This is all not to mention how "Once" should open up new trains of thought for approaching a musical on the silver screen. With glossy, glamorous, star-studded Broadway stage-to-screen adaptations becoming the cool thing for a short period of time, "Once" plays the opposite of all that and comes off all the more human for it. There is music in this movie because it makes sense, not as an alternative to dialogue (which usually has great effect on stage, but is as cheesy as it gets on a movie screen). Guy and Girl go to a music store and play together because Girl knows the owner and he enjoys the music about as much as they do, putting on one of Guy's compositions as a harmonious duet. Furthermore, "Once" is about as ostentatious as a middle-aged woman shopping at JoAnn Fabric. The lighting, again, is natural so we get a feel for where the characters are at, while settings are also obviously strategically chosen as the movie progresses to accurately reflect the mood of the characters at a given time. No more is this evident then when Guy and Girl are at a recording studio and girl finds a beautiful piano in a dark room. As you'd think, the scene is really dark, but a small bit of lighting illuminates Guy's face perfectly as we see him clearly moved by hearing one of Girl's original works as she unloads the obvious burden of yearning for the man she left behind in the Czech Republic. With that, the music itself also reflects the struggles of both characters internally and in their falling for one another, and with the acoustic guitar strums and painfully honest vocal delivery, brings connection to humanity and away from the pretensions we're accustomed to from silver screen musicals today.

It would be short-changing "Once", though, to merely describe it as the antithesis to not just overbearing modern movie musicals but as the antithesis to the instant gratification culture we have become, though it would not be inaccurate. Instead, let's more describe it as a vital piece of cinema art that brings subtlety, true classic romance, and an independent movie-making spirit together and is sure to connect to the viewer. That is, if you still believe in connection.

Recommended: Yes