While it is true that a piece of art should be able to stand on its own, where the context around its creation shouldn’t be a factor in the extent to which we enjoy it, there are some cases where our experience is made richer by knowing more about how it came to exist. This is one of the many reasons Blue Moon by Richard Linklater is so exceptionally compelling, since it offers us insights into the mind of an individual whose work has been so extraordinarily influential, even though his name is strangely not as well-known as those of his contemporaries. Whether its because he died before truly achieving the worldwide success that he deserved, or because his efforts were overshadowed by his former partner’s collaboration with someone else that brought them much more fame remains to be seen – but that’s the nature of the life and times of Lorenz Hart, a man who is mostly remembered by those who have a vested interest in the history of American musical theatre more than being a cultural icon in the same way as his previous collaborator Richard Rodgers, whose partnership with Oscar Hammerstein II is what is usually more notable. Yet, Hart was a genius in his own right – after all, how else would one go about describing the person who wrote the words to “Blue Moon”, possibly the greatest song in the history of American songwriting? The answers are not clear, but this is part of the appeal of Blue Moon, in which Linklater is finally able to realise one of his passion projects (a film he first attempted to make over a decade ago), which follows Hart on the evening that Oklahoma! (the first collaboration between Rodgers and Hammerstein) premiered on Broadway, tracking him over the course of a few hours as he sits drinking heavily and talking to anyone who crosses paths with him as he perches himself at the bar. A charming film that has an unexpected amount of edge as it sets out to subvert our expectations, Blue Moon is a fascinating character study that isn’t always consistent in what it wants to say, but proves to be wholeheartedly exciting in ways that we may not initially realise.

At a glance, Blue Moon doesn’t strike us as being a particularly revolutionary work – it’s a chamber drama set in a single location and centres on a hopelessly depressed man sinking even lower into a state of self-loathing and pity as he gets progressively more drunk and desperate for validation. Yet, by this point in his career, Linklater is not someone who should ever be underestimated or subjected to too much scrutiny before we actually see the project in motion. The results that come about through the director choosing to take this topic, which is based on a screenplay written many years ago by Robert Kaplow, who had written Me and Orson Welles and was patient enough to wait for Linklater to get the film off the ground, are some of his most dynamic and interesting works in quite some time. It’s a period comedy set within the entertainment industry (aligning it with works like Me and Orson Welles, which acts as a spiritual predecessor to this film), but where the core of the story is built from conversations surrounding more recognisable issues. In this case, it’s the subject of fame, which is something that becomes increasingly less appealing the more someone achieves it, an incredibly fascinating filter through which we view Hart’s story. This is not the traditional rags-to-riches story, nor is it an exploration of an artist who didn’t achieve what they wanted in their lifetime. Instead, it’s about a man who attained a certain level of fame, enough to have his name associated with his specific vocation (he’s not as well-known as other lyricists, but he’s certainly far from a footnote in his field), but not enough to be secure in the knowledge that he won’t fade into obscurity. The fact that Blue Moon begins with his character’s unceremonious death before flashing back to only seven months prior sets the expectations for the topics the film will be covering, namely showing how he spent his final days clinging to whatever scraps of relevance he could find, not realising that nothing destroys a legacy faster than actively pursuing one. It makes some very compelling statements on the nature of fame, doing so in an elegant and deeply moving way, which is why Linklater was such a fitting choice to bring this story to life on screen.

When choosing the cast of Blue Moon, Linklater clearly had one idea in mind, which we can see through the fact that it took him over twelve years to actually get the film made. Ethan Hawke has collaborated with the director on so many occasions, becoming the very definition of a muse for him over their years-long friendship (which stretches back over a quarter of a century), and the only reason it took so long to see this story realised is because Linklater wanted Hawke to age into the role, something that has recently been discussed by the star himself. The patience not only allowed the story to undergo the necessary rewrites over the years, but also took advantage of a version of Hawke that we’ve only started to see recently – this slightly haggard veteran who still possesses the childlike wonder and offbeat energy that made him such a fascinating performer in his youth, and someone whose talents have only become richer over time. Blue Moon is a wonderful showcase for Hawke – he’s perhaps not the first person we’d expect to play Hart, since both the physical resemblance and his own background don’t seem quite compatible with the character he is playing, but we soon realise that all it takes is a bad hairpiece and a lot of conviction to bring the role to life. One monologue after another, punctuated with moments of humour and pathos that Hawke works laboriously to make appear authentic and natural, which is not an easy feat. He’s helped along by a terrific supporting cast – Bobby Cannavale is the definition of a reliable secondary player, Andrew Scott is fantastic as Rodgers, oscillating between smug and earnest, and Margaret Qualley proves to be absolutely luminous, playing someone who would have been a bland archetype in the hands of someone who didn’t see the potential to turn her into a more complex character. It’s a film driven by the character work, and everyone is absolutely splendid, finding so much truth scattered throughout this otherwise very simple narrative.

There certain exists an alternate version of Hart’s story that positions him more as the Antonio Salieri to Rodgers’ Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, but to reduce their dynamic to such a one-dimensional, obvious trope would be doing an enormous disservice to a pair of characters whose relationship was more intriguing precisely because of how complicated it was, and the various changes it underwent over time. Blue Moon is exceptionally respectful of not only its characters but also of its audience, and as a result, it outright refuses to do what we expect, which is to construct itself as a tale of a jealous man slowly undergoing a downfall in which years of selfishness begin to catch up with him. Instead, it portrays Hart as someone who genuinely wanted to express himself artistically; he just struggled with finding the motivation to overcome his dependency on both alcohol and adoration from his peers and the public, both intoxicating him in ways that only make his story even more tragic, considering his relatively premature death. Linklater finds the perfect tone for this story, resisting either turning it into an overly comedic affair that is flippant about its underlying themes or allowing it to be a heavy-handed, melodramatic film that lacks the humour needed to tell of a life that most would consider the very definition of a tragicomedy. It’s a narrow tonal tightrope that the film has to walk, but it ultimately does work in its favour, since it doesn’t feel compelled to nestle itself within one particular area over another – in a moment where we’d expect it to be extremely serious, it has a levity and in those that we’d anticipate a joke is where we’ll find some of the most poignant observations. The tonal tug-of-war is a perfect match for what Linklater was setting out to achieve, and while it’s far from extravagant filmmaking (essentially being set in a single location for almost the entirety of the film), it has a quiet conviction only possible with a truly monumental veteran filmmaker at the helm. 

It may not be revolutionary in the traditional form, and perhaps even somewhat too conventional, but Blue Moon is a firm reminder that a good story can still be told without needing to rely on tricks and techniques that attempt to redefine the genre or medium. It’s a solid, straightforward film that achieves exactly what it promises – it moves at a steady pace (the 100 minutes are hardly felt), with the witty conversations being coupled with a genuinely lovely tone that exists at the perfect intersection between outrageously funny and deeply heartfelt, which is why it flows exceptionally well and feels like it actually has something to say, rather than simply being a retelling of a very common set of ideas. It may sometimes be a bit heavy-handed with the references – Hart telling E.B. White about his pet mouse named Stuart, a young boy named “Stevie” who just so happens to have aspirations to become a lyricist himself, the anxiety of securing the rights to Lilliom being just a few – but it does become a merit after a while, since we are constantly searching for the next niche reference that we feel so much smarter for spotting, even when the film places them there deliberately to evoke such a reaction, and lends it so much nuance in ways we don’t always expect. It’s a delightfully compelling film, anchored by a wonderful performance from the always terrific Hawke and a tremendous cast that know exactly how to catch our attention, and it becomes a work of extraordinary simplicity and neverending charm, being as funny and insightful as it is poignant and thought-provoking, which is all it ever aspired to be, and which Linklater accomplishes with the exact kind of prowess and consistency we’ve come to expect from him over the years.