Blue Moon Review: Ethan Hawke and Richard Linklater Reunite for a Bittersweet Portrait of Genius

A Night of Music and Melancholy

In Blue Moon, director Richard Linklater captures a single evening that feels like an entire lifetime. Set on March 31, 1943, the film follows Lorenz “Larry” Hart (Ethan Hawke) as he spirals through self-doubt and fading confidence while his longtime collaborator Richard Rodgers (Andrew Scott) celebrates the opening night of Oklahoma! just a few blocks away.

Once partners in some of Broadway’s most beloved standards, Rodgers and Hart wrote over a thousand songs together, including “My Funny Valentine” and “Blue Moon.” But fame and pressure took their toll, and Hart’s battles with alcoholism and mental illness ultimately fractured one of musical theater’s greatest duos. Linklater’s film unfolds across the course of one night, as Hart drifts from Sardi’s bar to the theater district, grappling with regret, lost friendship, and the relentless noise inside his own head.

Ethan Hawke Finds the Music in Melancholy

Ethan Hawke delivers another deeply felt performance, showing why he remains one of the most consistently interesting actors working today. Coming off the chilling menace of Black Phone 2, his work here couldn’t be more different. As Hart, Hawke channels chaos and charm in equal measure. He’s the kind of person who’ll talk your ear off, drink you under the table, and still somehow make you feel like you’ve known him forever.

Hawke gives Hart life as a man who knows he’s his own worst enemy. He’s witty, self-deprecating, and painfully aware of how far he’s fallen. The film doesn’t glamorize his alcoholism or eccentricities; instead, it shows a man drowning in brilliance and regret. It’s a touching and respectful portrayal that embraces the flaws while honoring the artistry.

Andrew Scott and the Power of Restraint

As Richard Rodgers, Andrew Scott delivers a performance that perfectly balances Hawke’s intensity. Their chemistry feels lived-in, layered with years of shared triumph and quiet disappointment. Scott plays Rodgers as composed and disciplined, yet weary from trying to manage the unpredictable genius of his former partner. When he admits that he had to finish some of the lyrics to By Jupiter himself, it’s a quiet moment of heartbreak that says everything about their fractured bond.

The film becomes less about the music they made and more about the emotional cost of creation. Linklater turns their professional breakup into something that feels as raw as a romantic one. There’s bitterness and affection, distance and deep familiarity. It’s a breakup story unlike most, because both men know they’ll always be tethered to each other’s legacy.

Linklater’s Direction and the Beauty of Restraint

Richard Linklater has always been fascinated by time, memory, and the small spaces between big moments. In Blue Moon, he captures that perfectly. The film is primarily set in just a few locations, but within that limitation he finds remarkable freedom. The camera glides through bars, dressing rooms, and darkened streets with the rhythm of a stage musical winding down after curtain call.

Linklater stages the film almost like a Broadway play. The dialogue-driven structure, the lighting cues, and the mood shifts all feel theatrical yet grounded. There’s humor tucked inside the melancholy and warmth beneath the sadness. The result is a story that moves at its own unhurried pace, letting the audience sit with these characters rather than rushing to conclusions.

At times, the film can feel slow or even meandering, especially for viewers expecting a conventional biopic. But for those who appreciate Linklater’s reflective storytelling, it’s a quietly powerful experience.

A Touching Tribute to Imperfect Artistry

There’s a scene near the end where Hart drunkenly hums “Blue Moon,” calling it “the biggest hit we ever wrote.” The line lands with devastating irony. The song that made him immortal is also the one that reminds him of everything he’s lost. It’s this balance of beauty and heartbreak that defines Blue Moon.

During the closing credits, we learn that Rodgers and Hammerstein went on to become the most successful songwriting team in musical theater history, while Lorenz Hart’s life ended tragically just months later. Linklater presents these facts without melodrama, allowing the audience to feel the weight of history settling in.

Blue Moon isn’t flashy or showy, but it lingers. It’s a story about art, addiction, and the fragile connections that make both possible. For Ethan Hawke and Richard Linklater, their eighth collaboration proves once again that few actor-director partnerships capture the humanity behind genius quite like they do.