It’s fitting that director Richard Linklater’s Blue Moon opens on the death of its central character, acclaimed songwriter and lyricist Lorenz Hart (Ethan Hawke). As the film winds back to focus on one pivotal moment of Hart’s life, it feels as though he is being eulogized in real time. Linklater’s film is an important and humanizing work, as it gives dimensionality and space to an artist who was worried he’d only be remembered for his hits. The world may have closed the book on Lorenz Hart, but it’s projects like these that encourage us to re-open its pages.
- Release Date
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October 17, 2025
- Runtime
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90 minutes
- Writers
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Robert Kaplow
- Producers
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John Sloss, Mike Blizzard
Hart, who was one half of Rodgers and Hart before Rodgers went on to work with Oscar Hammerstein II, was a lyricist known for Broadway hits like “The Lady Is a Tramp,” “Manhattan” and the titular “Blue Moon.” Yet his life and contributions have been largely overshadowed by Rodgers’ collaborations with Hammerstein. Blue Moon explores the nuanced pain of that overshadowing, celebrating an artist who had so much to give to the world but wasn’t able to overcome his personal vices and demons. It’s a heartbreaking and sobering story of someone who realizes that he has more to look back on in his life than he does to look forward to, and who realizes in real time that he’s become obsolete.
An irony of Blue Moon opening on Hart’s death is that when we first meet him, it’s hard to imagine someone so vivacious could ever die. The film takes place on March 31, 1943, where we see Hart leave just before the curtain call of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Oklahoma! He arrives at the after-party, where there’s only the bartender, Eddie (Bobby Cannavale), a pianist (Jonah Lees) whom Hart calls Knuckles, and author E.B. White (Patrick Kennedy). In this company, Hart sees an opportunity to wax poetic about his frustrations with the play, as well as share his musings on love, artistry and life. Hart also anticipates the imminent arrival of Elizabeth Weiland (Margaret Qualley), the college student with whom he is enamored. He hopes that, despite being riddled with insecurity and self-loathing, tonight could be the night when the two confess their love, and he can find some scrap of meaning being held in her gaze.
As Hart, Hawke displays once again why he’s a versatile actor of the highest caliber. It’s not that he simply adopts superficial mannerisms, or wears body language like a cloak that can be taken on and off. There’s a sense he has merged Hart’s pain and longing with his own, and that his performance is born from this union. When Hawke delivers the line, “How can you give voice to the whole circus of the world if the whole circus of the world isn’t already inside of you?,” you can’t help but be enraptured by the poetry, melancholy and urgency with which it is spoken. Hart bursts with hopes and dreams that feel impossible to hold inside his frame. Through Hawke’s performance, you get the sense that Hart saw everyday life as the greatest inspiration for his work; he didn’t just like writing words, he also loved listening to them.
A tragic but touching moment comes when, in a wardrobe closet, Hart listens to Elizabeth recount an embarrassing sexual encounter. Hart realizes instantaneously that Elizabeth loves him, just not in the way he desires. But he doesn’t stop listening to her. He holds her story as if she’s the only person in the world, and you can feel him come to life hearing a tale told by someone he cherishes. It’s his lifeblood as an artist.
Later on, Andrew Scott enters the picture as Richard Rodgers, bringing a measured resentment and fine-tuned professionalism to Hart’s other half. It’s evident that Rodgers wrestles with the fact that he owes his career to Hart, and as a result, he can’t untether himself completely from his restless colleague. Rodgers has an ingrained respect for Hart, but he’s frustrated with how Hart’s drinking problems and slacking work ethic have made further collaboration impossible. When the two argue, their dynamic feels rife with all the lived-in history of a friendship that has gone through hills and valleys.
Screenwriter Robert Kaplow gifts Hawke and other actors plenty of memorable lines (see: the aforementioned “circus of the world”), but the film’s love for Hart extends to cinematographer Shane F. Kelly’s compositions as well. Hawke’s body is often in the center of the frame, as if he’s on display somewhere, and Kelly isn’t afraid to go up close when Hawke is delivering a monologue. Both feel like a pronouncement of love for who Hart was. The tragedy of Blue Moon is not that Hart was reviled or despised; it’s that he was once celebrated, and is now being tolerated. It’s a tricky emotional environment to put viewers into, but the cast and crew execute it with aplomb. Films like these act as compassionate portraits, reaffirming the multitudinous humanity of people who had more to give before their time was up.
Blue Moon premiered at the Berlin International Film Festival, and was reviewed at the New York Film Festival. From Sony Pictures Classics, it opens in limited release on October 17, followed by a wide release on October 24.