Berlinale 75: "Blue Moon" isn't your traditional biopic
Sunday, February 23, 2025 at 3:00PM 
Watching Blue Moon, I couldn’t help but think of Inside Llewyn Davis, one of the Coen brothers’ most accomplished yet underappreciated films. That movie introduced Oscar Isaac in what remains his most astonishing performance, portraying a talented but ill-fated musician who arrived just a bit too soon to achieve success. A similar fate awaited Blue Moon’s protagonist, though his story unfolds decades earlier, in 1943 New York, amid the turmoil of World War II...
Richard Linklater’s latest film is not a traditional musical biopic but rather a character study steeped in bitterness and complexity. It follows Lorenz Hart (Ethan Hawke), a brilliant yet troubled lyricist who, despite past success, finds himself on the wrong side of history. His former collaborator, composer Richard Rodgers (Andrew Scott), has moved on without him, crafting a new era of Broadway alongside Oscar Hammerstein II. Hart, in contrast, is drowning in alcohol, cynicism, and the painful realization that his artistic sensibilities are becoming obsolete.
The film unfolds almost entirely within Fardi’s, a New York bar where Hart’s portrait has just been separated from Rodgers’—a symbolic and literal representation of their parting ways. It is the night of March 31, 1943, the evening of Oklahoma!’s triumphant premiere, a show Hart refused to write. Seven months later, as the film’s opening titles reveal, Hart will die of pneumonia after collapsing in an alleyway. What Blue Moon captures is the beginning of that final downward spiral. Hart’s tragedy isn’t just that he has lost Rodgers, but that his brilliance and artistic philosophy are no longer in sync with the times. He despises Oklahoma!’s sentimental simplicity, yet it is precisely that accessibility that will make it historic. His self-destruction is gradual, unfolding through earnest, often devastatingly kind conversations rather than dramatic outbursts. The harshest moments come not from cruelty but from kindness—words spoken with sincerity that cut deeper than any insult.
One such moment is a conversation with Elizabeth (Margaret Qualley), a beautiful, twenty-year-old student who cares for Hart but cannot return his feelings in the way he hopes. He knows this, yet he still entertains the possibility that she might, out of pity or whim, indulge his longing. Their exchange is intimate, tender, and playful, mirroring the film’s delicate balance between self-deception and clarity.
Based on real correspondence between Hart and the young woman, Blue Moon explores the paradox of genius: the ability to perceive profound truths yet remain blind to the most personal realities. Like Inside Llewyn Davis, the film reflects on how the very complexity that makes an artist extraordinary can also render them invisible, out of step with the world around them. Hart encounters White, an essayist who will soon find mainstream success—not through his essays, which Hart admires, but through Stuart Little, a children’s book about a charming mouse. Hart recognizes the brilliance in White’s earlier work, yet it is the simpler creation that will endure.
Linklater, however, avoids a simplistic contrast between complexity and popularity. Blue Moon does not frame Rodgers as a sellout but as an artist with a different vision, one just as legitimate as Hart’s. Rodgers is gentle yet firm, standing by his artistic choices without dismissing his former partner. He isn’t any less intelligent than Hart—just more attuned to what audiences crave. In one of the film’s wryest moments, both men express skepticism toward a rising young singer whose growing popularity baffles them. That singer? Frank Sinatra, who will soon build his career covering the very songs they wrote together.
Despite its historical setting, Blue Moon feels strikingly modern in theme. Linklater opts for a minimalist approach: a single location, a tight 100-minute runtime, and dialogue-driven storytelling that plays like a theatrical chamber piece. The result is an introspective, deeply personal film about artistic legacy, creative integrity, and the loneliness of those unwilling—or unable—to adapt. Much like David Fincher’s Mank, Blue Moon portrays a washed-up, alcoholic writer witnessing his era pass him by. Both films delve into the psyche of artists whose genius is overshadowed by self-destruction, bitterness, and the relentless march of time. Yet, while Hart may be a "loser" in the eyes of history, his brilliance remains undeniable—just as his reasons for numbing it with alcohol are painfully clear.
Blue Moon is unlikely to be a mainstream success. Its meditative nature, dialogue-heavy script, and niche subject matter will appeal to a select audience—those who appreciate the complexities of artistic struggle and the melancholy of brilliance unrecognized in its time. But perhaps that’s the point. Just as Hart, White, and Rodgers represented different schools of thought, so too does Linklater position his film within a larger artistic debate: is there still space for the difficult, the intricate, the unpolished in an industry that favors clarity and accessibility?
The answer may not be clear, but as long as there are filmmakers like Linklater willing to explore the question, there will always be those who find meaning in films like Blue Moon—even if, like its protagonist, they remain just a step ahead or behind their time.
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Reader Comments (3)
I was already skeptical of this project, and this review is not reassuring. Wondering why Andrew Scott (who won a prize at the Berlinale for playing Richard Rodgers in the film) wasn't cast as Hart. There's even a slight physical resemblance.
1) Does the film in any address Hart's closeted queerness?
2) Is the legendary Sardi's actually renamed Fardi's for some reason?
Yes but tell us more about the silver bear winner Andrew Scott
- The Hollywood Reporter
::sigh of relief::