Richard Linklater returns to the Berlinale with Blue Moon, a film that marks another deep dive into the complex interiority of artists. Eleven years after winning the Silver Bear for Boyhood, Linklater delivers a wistful, chamber-like character study set on the opening night of Oklahoma! in 1943. But instead of celebrating Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein’s groundbreaking musical, the film focuses on Lorenz Hart, Rodgers’ former creative partner, played with remarkable fragility by Ethan Hawke.
The film’s narrative unfolds primarily in a bar at Sardi’s, where Rodgers (Andrew Scott) basks in the adulation of the Broadway crowd while Hart, dealing with alcoholism and insecurities, hovers on the periphery. The film also explores Hart’s troubled personal life with subtlety. Hart lived with his widowed mother, Frieda, and struggled with alcoholism, often disappearing for weeks on drinking binges. His erratic behavior created tension between him and Rodgers, ultimately leading to Rodgers’ decision to collaborate with Oscar Hammerstein II in 1942. Hart’s deep sadness and depression are palpable throughout the film, and his discreet homosexuality, though not explicitly addressed, is subtly woven into the narrative, adding layers to his complex character.
The film explores most of Hart’s troubled personal life, but these aspects are embedded beautifully in the script in very subtle ways. Through Hawke’s performance, we understand Hart’s deep longing for connection, yet his inability to sustain close relationships. His self-destructive tendencies manifest in his drinking, which isolates him from those who care about him. The film shows moments of Hart’s outward confidence masking inner vulnerability—whether in his witty, self-deprecating remarks or in his desperate attempts to regain Rodgers’ attention. His admiration for beauty, both in art and in people, is a key part of his character, but it is often tinged with sadness, as he recognizes the fleeting nature of what he cherishes most. In one scene, he wistfully watches Qualley’s character, captivated by her presence yet acutely aware of his own loneliness. In another, he delivers an impassioned critique of the commercial direction of Broadway, revealing his frustration with a world that no longer seems to have a place for him.
One of the most striking elements of Blue Moon is its intertextual dialogue with Casablanca. The film’s setting in a bar immediately evokes Rick’s Café Américain, and a pianist in the background playing melancholic tunes further cements this connection. Throughout the film, several references to Casablanca appear, including variations of its famous quotes that subtly comment on Hart’s own sense of loss and displacement. The film even begins with a quote from Casablancaand nearly concludes with an ending reminiscent of the iconic farewell scene. This interweaving of references adds a nostalgic, cinematic layer to Hart’s existential musings, reinforcing the film’s meditation on beauty, time, and longing.
This is a film that does not shy away from being controversial. Talking about human desire has become somewhat taboo in our time. Many male filmmakers show reservations about exploring male desire for a woman, but this is not the case here. There is a clear appreciation of physical beauty. The film’s exploration of beauty as something appreciated for its own sake, rather than for personal gratification, resonates deeply with the themes of Thomas Mann’s Death in Venice.
Like Gustav von Aschenbach, Hart is captivated by the pure essence of beauty, embodied in this case by Margaret Qualley’s character. Her performance adds another layer to the film, playing a bright-spirited yet melancholic muse reminiscent of a Jazz Age starlet. Just as Aschenbach is drawn to Tadzio in an almost reverential, aesthetic obsession, Hart’s admiration for Qualley’s character blends adoration with an aching sense of longing. It is beauty as a transcendent, unattainable ideal—something to be worshipped rather than possessed.
What makes Blue Moon exceptional is how seamlessly Linklater integrates character development with the film’s musical and narrative structure. Hawke’s performance is a masterclass in portraying internalized turmoil, with his Lorenz Hart exuding a combination of brilliance and self-destructive tendencies. His transformation into the five-foot-tall, sexually ambiguous, and emotionally volatile lyricist is both theatrical and deeply human. The echoes of Mickey Rooney’s exaggerated portrayal of Hart in Words and Music are replaced here with a much more nuanced and introspective performance. Scott, as Rodgers, plays the perfect foil—grounded and composed, yet subtly haunted by his former collaborator’s downfall. Meanwhile, Qualley delivers a standout monologue about an unrequited romantic encounter, a scene that encapsulates the film’s themes of yearning and missed connections.
At its core, Blue Moon is also a film about the collision of art and commerce. As Hart rails against the mainstream appeal of Oklahoma!, arguing that art should provoke rather than placate, the film draws a direct parallel to contemporary Hollywood’s struggle between artistic integrity and market demands. Ethan Hawke, in a Berlinale press conference, emphasized that truly “offensive” or challenging art requires an audience that values and demands it.
Linklater, whose own career has largely sidestepped Hollywood’s commercial pressures, reinforces this perspective, acknowledging that filmmaking remains a balancing act between artistic vision and financial viability.
Ultimately, Blue Moon is an exquisitely crafted meditation on artistic struggle, the pursuit of beauty, and the inevitable passage of time. The film, like a Rodgers and Hart song, is beautiful, melancholic, and bittersweet. With an awards campaign likely in the works, Blue Moon may well secure recognition not just for Hawke’s mesmerizing performance but also for Linklater’s ability to capture the fragile brilliance of a creative soul at odds with the world around him.
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