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My decision to watch Blue Moon stemmed entirely from my admiration for Ethan Hawke, whose work has the rare and enviable ability to command my time (and money) without any pre-qualifications. I knew very little about the film going in and even less about the the superstar lyricist and primary subject of the film, Lorenz Hart. Having now watched the film—which feels remarkably similar to a stage-play— I feel well-acquainted with Lorenz’s spirit on account of having communed with him, his wit, and his heartbreak through Hawke’s depiction.

Indeed, it’s impossible not to marvel at Hawke’s winsome performance. Ninety percent of the film is essentially a monologue from his character, but the script is so tight and Lorenz’s energy so effervescent that it feels like one is watching a grand production on a small scale. Andrew Scott’s few minutes are also very tender, as he embodies the moving exasperation of a hopeful companion coming to terms with a friend’s unwillingness to help themselves. An extra-biographical appearance from E.B. White, played by Patrick Kennedy, also yields multiple notable one-liners. 

For instance, after Lorenz leaves the bar to find and converse with his paramour, a college-age poet 28 years his junior played by Margaret Qualley,  E.B White asks the convivial bartender what he thinks the young beauty sees in Lorenz. The bartender states the seemingly obvious: money and connections. E.B White, however, has a different perspective: 

“I think she knows she is being admired by one of the great appreciators of beauty.” 

And this, to me, seems like the real achievement of Blue Moon. It never once shies away from the reality of Lorenz’ struggles — alcoholism, self-centeredness, and the trauma of being gay in an era where it was uncomely to be so. But it never seeks to justify his shortcomings by pointing at his art either. Instead, it displays a bit of the soul from which that art emerged, and for 100 minutes turns it over slowly like a diamond in the light. The refraction which emerges is nuanced and flawed, but gorgeous nonetheless. How lonely it must’ve been to be a human that could perceive and inhale the depths of beauty so honestly, but never felt perceived and received with the reciprocal depth. Richard Linklater deserves real applause for honoring one of America’s great artists and giving his memory an opportunity to, perhaps, be loved “in that way.” 
I recommend.