A big question in the film industry was revolving around Richard Linklater and Ethan Hawke’s first collaboration since 2014’s Boyhood: could they come back with something that lives up to their last project, which was known for being super ambitious and wide in scope? Unlike Boyhood, Blue Moon takes a quieter, more low-key approach—a 100-minute real-time chamber drama that gently breaks down a once-inseparable creative partnership.
Blue Moon kicks off right in the middle of the action, dropping us into a tragic moment as Lorenz Hart (Hawke) passes away, a few nights after being discovered in a cold, rainy alley. From there, Linklater hits rewind, taking us back seven months to March 31, 1943—the night Oklahoma! opened on Broadway and changed American theater for good.
Rather than focusing on the production’s now-legendary creators, composer Richard Rodgers (Andrew Scott) and lyricist Oscar Hammerstein II (Simon Delaney), Linklater and screenwriter Robert Kaplow center their narrative on Rodgers’ former collaborator: Hart. He spends the night at Sardi’s, nursing down bourbon, while the rest of New York’s theater bigwigs celebrate the successful start to a promising production. As the city embraces the start of a new story, Hart confronts the end of his own.
Hart used to be one half of Broadway’s most exciting songwriting team, but now the story finds him feeling sidelined and a bit lost. The premiere of Oklahoma! only makes it worse—it boosts Rodgers’ career and cements his new partnership with Hammerstein. For Hart, this success not only emphasizes his absence but also confirms a deeper fear: that he may never have been essential in the first place.
Within the confines of the bar, Blue Moon captures a single, emotionally charged night, balancing Hart’s sharp comments with more vulnerability. Conversations with a handful of figures—including bartender Eddie (Bobby Cannavale) and a piano-playing regular nicknamed Knuckles (Jonah Lees —help him to dig a little deeper in his own thoughts. Interwoven throughout is Hart’s reflection on a newly romantic infatuation with a young woman, Elizabeth Weiland (Margaret Qualley), who represents his one final hope for connection and meaning.
Crafting a film so heavily dependent on dialogue and primarily set in a single location is quite intimidating. Yet Linklater, whose output is defined by an admiration for dialogue-heavy narratives, proves exceptionally well-suited to the task. Blue Moon unfolds with smooth pacing and lots of heart, thanks in large part to Kaplow’s moving screenplay—their second collaboration following Me and Orson Welles (2009). The script walks a delicate line: Hart’s fancy, yet sometimes all-over-the-place dialogue has to fit within the main story and emotional core of the film. That it succeeds without acting self-indulgent is a compliment to both the writing and Linklater’s confident, yet intimate direction.
The performances elevate the material further. Hawke shines in a role where he’s front and center in almost every scene. He nails the balance between being larger-than-life and showing real emotional vulnerability as Hart. It’s a seamless transition that helps elevate Hart’s journey. Qualley brings grace to Elizabeth, a character who might otherwise be read as slight. Cannavale’s Eddie, offering drinks against Hart’s better judgment, ends up symbolizing temptation and goes along with it. Primarily known for his more gruesome turns, Cannavale brings to life a more earnest, restrained side of himself that’s uncommon.
Yet the most striking supporting performance comes from Scott, whose Rodgers isn’t our villain or hero. Rather, he is an exhausted former partner, torn between admiration, guilt, and the fatigue of years spent managing Hart’s impulsiveness. Scott captures the quiet, complicated vibe of a creative partnership that used to work, but just can’t hold together anymore.
Blue Moon is a beautiful culmination to the creative partnership between Linklater and Hawke, which began thirty years ago with 1995’s Before Sunrise. Together, the Texas-based duo bring to life a man dealing with fading significance, isolation, and the need to be remembered — not just for what he did, but for who he really was. In Hart, they capture someone who feels both larger than life and deeply human. And in Blue Moon, they deliver a film that, in its quietest moments, speaks volumes.
Review Courtesy of Bryan Sudfield
Feature Image Courtesy of TIFF and Sony Pictures Classics