“Nobody ever loved me that much.”
Free of unnecessary stylization or the formulaic framing of so many musical biopics we see today, the structure of Blue Moon gives its actors full power in shaping the story, honing in on a specific and meaningful moment in Lorenz Hart's life.
Richard Linklater’s Blue Moon takes place over the course of one evening in 1943. The evening, in particular, is March 31, or the opening night of the now-classic musical Oklahoma! by composer Richard Rodgers. But the story here hardly concerns Oklahoma!, or even really Rodgers (played in the film by Andrew Scott). Instead, it follows Rodgers’ former collaborator, lyricist Lorenz Hart (Ethan Hawke), as he spends the evening in Sardi’s bar, grappling with his own career and the loss of the musical partnership he once shared with Rodgers.
Approaching middle age, Lorenz finds himself fading away in terms of relevancy, haunted by the legacy he and Rodgers had created through songs like “My Funny Valentine”, “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered”, and of course “Blue Moon”. He’s at the bar alone ahead of the Oklahoma! afterparty, but makes playful conversation with bartender Eddie (Bobby Cannavale), who listens and tries not to serve Lorenz anything to drink. Almost immediately upon entering this scene, the tone of the film is set. With blink-and-you’ll-miss-it dialogue, Lorenz and Eddie appear to audiences like a typical stage duo. If it wasn’t clear at the beginning, audiences will soon pick up on the fact that the film doesn’t plan to move from its location at Sardi’s, a choice which only furthers the feeling that it’s a sort of filmed play. Though some might take issue with this stripped-down approach, I loved the immersion that it provided. Free of unnecessary stylization or the formulaic framing of so many musical biopics we see today, the structure of Blue Moon gives its actors full power in shaping the story, honing in on a specific and meaningful moment in Lorenz’s life.
And as Lorenz, Hawke is undeniably great. With most of the dialogue belonging to him, the film at large rests squarely on his shoulders, and he doesn’t drop it for a moment. He manages to be in complete control as Lorenz, linguistically and intellectually, while always betraying the sense that, emotionally, things are very much the opposite. As he so often does, Hawke allows the character’s voice to eclipse his own persona, and commands scenes so believably that you forget it’s a performance at all. Very quickly, I felt like I knew the person, or the kind of person I was watching in the film. Which isn’t to say that Hawke is portraying an archetype by any means, but that he manages to capture something so individual to Hart that is also is knowable to anyone in the audience, regardless of their knowledge about the film’s real-life counterpart.
Supporting Hawke are strong performances from Margaret Qualley and Andrew Scott, who, in their short scenes, illuminate the complications and contradictions of Lorenz’s personal life. It’s a film that relies upon conversation above all else, which naturally includes all the things that aren’t (or can’t be) said, and in this way every performance shines. The film is of a style that likely won’t appeal to everyone—I’m betting it’s one that people will either really enjoy or not, depending on their own preferences, but for what it’s trying to do, I’m not hesitant to say that it succeeds brilliantly. Smart, self-assured, and quietly tragic, this is a film that I already know will reward many careful rewatches.
Blue Moon had its Canadian premiere at TIFF and will be released in select theatres on October 17, before a wide release on October 24, 2025.
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