Blue Moon is about Lorenz Hart, a famed lyricist who wrote some of the most beautiful songs in modern pop-culture, but who lived with such innate sadness it eventually devoured him whole. It is a story of someone who so thoroughly perceives themselves as unloved that even their wildest fantasies end with them just watching from the sidelines as others achieve their happy end.
Hart is larger than life in spirit, if not stature. He's played here by Ethan Hawke, who delivers a career-defining performance that captivates for a hundred minutes of what could be a monologue. Others come and go, but all eyes are on him. From the moment he first keels over on the street, more annoyed than alarmed at the realization his time has come, to his defiance of every reality as he holds court to his only friends, Hawke is nothing short of hypnotic.
That is also thanks to the mesmerizing script by Robert Kaplow, that is as funny as it is heartbreaking. It sings in the way pictures used to sing. Nobody, after all, is that quick on their feet, not even when they're putting on a show. But it's the kind of denial of facts those who live next door to disappointment have built for themselves. The bigger the show, the stronger the armor to face the next day. When Hart boasts about the party he's hosting uptown, it's every bit as real to him as it is a falsehood to others. Language accommodates reality; if we say something is true enough times, perhaps it will become so.
The film takes place almost entirely within the confines of a bar and lounge, where Hart has come to escape the triumphant premiere of Oklahoma!, the famous musical that came to define a period of American musical theater. It is composed by his friend and colleague of 25 years, Richard Rodgers, of Rodgers and Hammerstein fame. Once, it was Rodgers and Hart. Now, that ship has sailed.
Hart is, naturally, bitter about the whole thing. He even admits so, though he does it with a smile. He's also in love with a girl, Elizabeth, (Margaret Qualley), who speaks with the diction of a seductive typewriter. Everyone, from the bartender (Bobby Cannavale) to the coat check girl, knows that it's a one-sided infatuation at best. They play along because that's what friends do. In just a few moments, Kaplow's vibrant script tells us everything we need to know about this dynamic. Like many things in the film, it is a tender heartbreak. These people genuinely love Hart with all his shortcomings. It's just not the kind of love he needs.
Linklater's direction is minimal and nonintrusive, just as it needs to be. He gives his cast space to do their thing, and the staging is theatrical on purpose. We get the sense that as a subjective portrait, we see the world as Hart sees it. Why bother with any grim realities when the limitations of the stage make things so much simpler.
Blue Moon is all dialog, yet it never feels like there's too much of it. Every line serves a purpose. Every barb or half-forgotten strand of a story reveals a bit about Hart and how much he's hurting. Every swallowed protest or tight-lipped smile says we've been here before. Anyone who has ever dealt with addiction or had an addict in their life knows this dance all too well. There is always something big right around the corner, just as soon as their ship comes in.
For a minute, the party is intoxicating. We buy into the fantasy because it's in our nature to go against our better judgement. Blue Moon captures that elation, and then the long, sombre downhill as we watch everyone go back to reality. Only for us to pick up our things and rebuild the story, just so things can make sense for one more day.
