As Blue Moon opens, we see Lorenz Hart (Ethan Hawke), the lyricist and partner of the musical duo Rogers & Hart,  stumbling in the rain and falling in an alley. He seems like a pathetic drunk; however as we watch the story unfold, we learn how he ends up in that alley and discover what a truly tragic and sympathetic figure he is. This is mainly done through Ethan Hawke’s brilliant and almost unrecognizable portrayal. 

Hawke adjusted his posture, wore a comb over, and the filmmakers used set design and camera angles to make him appear much smaller (Lorenz Hart was only 4’10” tall).   

After the beginning scene, we are taken to the opening night performance of Oklahoma!, which Hart attends with his mother and abruptly leaves before the show’s finale.  He ends up at Sardi’s, his regular hangout, bantering with his bartender friend, Eddie (Bobby Cannavale). The year is 1943, and the country is in the midst of World War II.  Audiences are looking for feel good – if not somewhat brainless entertainment. This is the antithesis of Hart, who identifies with and cites Casablanca, a film that seems to mirror his life.  

Until watching this film, I hadn’t really thought much about the line from Casablanca, “Nobody ever loved me that much,” which Hart repeats. It is a profound line for many reasons and the cornerstone theme of Blue Moon. We all long for adoration, especially from the one we adore, but how often in life does this occur – especially when we choose to adore those who do not see us the same way? Hart seems to need adoration more than most as he is both equally brilliant and insecure.  

We discover that the diminutive Hart has a deep obsessive, passion for the young, stunning Elizabeth Weiland (the wonderful Margaret Qualley), who not only towers over him but appears half his age.  The moments between Hart and Weiland feel completely real. Weiland shares a type of regard and affection for Hart, but not a romantic kind. He almost seems like a sort of brotherly figure, a mentor and confidant. On the surface,  it appears to be enough for Hart; yet, he is always waiting and hoping that she will somehow see him differently – the way he sees her.  

Weiland’s character seems effortless, confident and willing to float through life experiencing what may come like a true poet, even flirting with the married Rodgers. She casually admits that she always picks the wrong men.

There is a scene where Weiland talks about a Yale frat boy. It culminates with her describing the intensity of her passion for him—mirroring Hart’s feelings for her—and how it all went so poorly. It is a totally authentic moment, and it is heartbreaking.

Although the people around Hart care for him, protect him and even enable him, everyone seems to recognize his self-destructive tendencies. It makes sense why Rodgers has so much frustration as well deep affection for him. Hart is clearly difficult to work with—but seeing someone you’ve collaborated with move on and then succeed with someone else is painful. At 48, Hart should be a man in his prime, but instead he is a forgotten man at the end of his life. 

What makes Blue Moon truly special is the depth of character development and the way so much unfolds between the characters within the confines of a small space. 

Hawke was absolutely brilliant in this film, giving his best performance ever. His command of his character and how he navigated the scenes between the other actors were spectacular.  He transformed himself into Hart, and Richard Linklater’s direction was just amazing. The history and trust between these two artists is evident. From their days of working on the Before trilogy films to Boyhood, each has continued to hone his craft. 

I especially like how the film ends with one of Hart’s final memorable nights at Sardi’s – the place he felt truly accepted. The irony of Blue Moon is that Linklater & Hawke’s masterpiece has allowed audiences to appreciate Hart and give him what he wanted most, “to be loved that much.”  

4.5 out of 5 Stars.

To purchase tickets to see Blue Moon, visit BlueMoonFilm.com.