by Tim Gordon
Several months before his death, lyricist Lorenz Hart holds court in a bar, displaying both his genius and insecurity in Blue Moon, a poignant portrait anchored by Ethan Hawke’s mesmerizing performance.
While modern audiences know Rodgers and Hammerstein, Richard Linklater’s Blue Moon pays tribute to Rodgers’ earlier, equally influential partnership with Lorenz Hart. Together, Rodgers and Hart wrote 28 Broadway musicals and more than 500 songs, including standards such as “The Lady Is a Tramp,” “My Funny Valentine,” and “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered.” Their work shaped the sound of American musical theater, witty, romantic, and deeply human.
Set on the night of Oklahoma!’s premiere, when Rodgers began a new chapter with Oscar Hammerstein II, Blue Moon unfolds as both an elegy and an emotional reckoning. Hart, left behind by his creative partner and the changing tides of Broadway, drowns his genius in drink while trying to hold onto his dignity and relevance.
Two-time Oscar nominee Ethan Hawke gives one of his finest performances as Hart, embodying the lyricist’s brilliance, loneliness, and aching self-doubt. He captures Hart’s manic charm and vulnerability with precision, wearing the weight of closeted desire like a quiet wound. Hawke doesn’t imitate Hart; he inhabits him, revealing a man both blessed and broken by his gift.
Bobby Cannavale brings grit and humor as Eddie, the club owner who witnesses Hart’s slow unraveling. Their late-night banter, laced with Casablanca quotes, reveals the tragic charm that drew people to Hart even as he pushed them away. Margaret Qualley shines as Elizabeth, the young woman who stirs both his affection and his melancholy. Andrew Scott’s Richard Rodgers is the perfect counterpoint, measured and composed, the mirror to Hart’s chaos. Their scenes together are charged with affection, resentment, and the unspoken ache of creative divorce.
The supporting cast adds richness: Simon Delaney as a kind-hearted Hammerstein, Patrick Kennedy as the reflective writer E.B. White, and Cillian Sullivan as a young Stephen Sondheim, representing the next generation of musical storytellers.
Visually, Blue Moon feels like a memory dissolving into melody. Cinematographer Lachlan Milne paints with muted blues and golds, while smoky clubs and dim hotel corridors capture Hart’s internal isolation. Linklater’s direction is patient and compassionate, balancing artifice and intimacy with remarkable control.
The film’s honesty is its greatest strength. Linklater doesn’t sanitize Hart’s addiction or despair, yet never loses sight of the beauty behind his pain. Snippets of his songs drift through scenes like ghosts, reminders that even as Hart’s life crumbled, his words endured.
By the time Oklahoma! opens, ushering in a new era of musical optimism, Blue Moon delivers its quiet heartbreak: genius offers no immunity from loneliness. It plays less like a biopic and more like a requiem for friendship, art, and the fragile souls who give everything to create beauty.
Hawke infuses Hart with a haunting blend of sorrow and grace, delivering one of the most affecting performances of his career. Blue Moon serves as a tender reminder that behind every timeless melody lies a story of longing, loss, and the impossible pursuit of love through art. One of Hart’s favorite lines from Casablanca was, “Nobody ever loved me that much.” Linklater’s film feels like an answer to that lament, a cinematic embrace that finally gives Hart the love and understanding he was always searching for.
Grade: B-
