‘Blue Moon’ Riffs on Lorenz Hart’s Legacy, Not Melody

Blue Moon is a sharply written and unexpectedly funny, talky character piece that leans more toward theatrical melancholy than musical tribute.

The latest collaboration between director Richard Linklater and Ethan Hawke, Blue Moon is a reflective biopic of Lorenz Hart, the once-renowned lyricist who, with Richard Rodgers, helped shape early American musical theatre.

Inspired by letters between Hart and his protégé Elizabeth Weiland, the film captures a fictionalised snapshot of a man reckoning with irrelevance and regret under a veneer of biting wit.

One night, one room, one man spiralling

Set almost entirely on March 31, 1943—the opening night of Oklahoma!—the story takes place at Sardi’s, the legendary New York theatre restaurant, where the afterparty for Rodgers’ (played by Andrew Scott) first musical with Oscar Hammerstein II is being held. Hart isn’t attending the party so much as haunting it.

As Rodgers’ new era takes center stage, Hart spends the evening sulking, reminiscing, and spiralling into bitter monologues while waiting for his 20-year-old protégé, Elizabeth (played by Margaret Qualley), to show up. He contemplates on his work, the state of theatre, past artistic encounters, and Elizabeth, who he’s recently become enamoured with.

The story unfolds in real time through long stretches of conversation. Hart delivers scathing and hilariously barbed takes on what he sees as corn-fed Americana, to those willing to listen, while hoping to rekindle his connection with Rodgers.

The bartender (played by Bobby Cannavale) is his reluctant audience: playfully exasperated, gently mocking, but indulgent. Cannavale effortlessly brings a grounded presence and sharp comedic timing, often stealing scenes with his dry wit.

Hart isn’t drinking (much), but he’s clearly drunk on himself—lonely, bitter, and fading from relevance in a rapidly changing artistic world.

Hawke holds the spotlight in Blue Moon

Hawke’s layered performance is the heart of the film. He plays Hart with a careful mix of delusion, self-awareness, arrogance, and aching sadness. At times, you cringe and roll your eyes at his dramatic rambling, but there’s a trace of something relatable—someone desperate to be wanted.

Hawke makes Hart both pitiful and oddly compelling; you can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy as Hart spirals. He believes he’s the main character, but knows he’s a forgotten extra. Hawke excels in these kinds of roles—half artist, half ghost—drifting between charm and collapse.

Blue Moon leans hard into theatricality with its single location, small cast, and stage-like pacing The lighting, costuming, and score build a moody, nostalgic tone. There are even moments that flirt with metafiction: characters refer to one another as “extras,” and the bartender even directly asks Hart, “Do you ever feel like you’re in a play?”

Caught in its own monologue

But this play-like quality is also where the film falters. While Linklater is known for his love of conversation-heavy storytelling, this one doesn’t always land with the emotional resonance of something like Before Sunrise.

The pacing drags, and the heavy dialogue occasionally feels indulgent—bordering on pretentious. While there are plenty of laughs and the cast gels well, the film doesn’t quite invite you to ruminate so much as it meanders.

Still, the script is clever, and Hawke’s delivery gives it rhythm. There’s an admirable intimacy to the whole thing. The film focuses less on plot than mood, character, and legacy— reminding us that while Rodgers and Hammerstein endure, Hart has faded into obscurity.

It’s a sharp character study, but not a love letter—it seems less interested in reviving Hart’s legacy so much as sitting with his decay.

Ultimately, this is for theatre lovers and dialogue junkies—those who don’t mind spending 90 minutes inside the mind of a fading artist lamenting the turn of time.

Fans of slow, talky, character-driven films will find things to enjoy and something to chew on. It has a Coffee and Cigarettes energy—actors in rooms, talking about art and life while yearning for connection.

It’s not a crowd-pleaser, nor is it trying to be. But for those in the mood for a theatrical meditation on legacy, relevance, and the ache of being overlooked, it just might resonate.

In the end, Blue Moon is moody, well written, and anchored by a standout turn from Hawke alongside its solid ensemble. But it’s not the musical tribute one might expect. It’s more of a farewell shrug to someone long forgotten.

For a film so full of words, it doesn’t leave you with much to say but it speaks volumes about what it feels like to be forgotten

★★★

Blue Moon screened as part of this year’s Sydney Film Festival.