Richard Crouse

SYNOPSIS: “Blue Moon,” the new biographical comedy now playing in theatres, stars Ethan Hawke as legendary Broadway figure Lorenz Hart, songwriter of “Blue Moon,” “The Lady Is a Tramp,” “Manhattan,” “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered” and “My Funny Valentine,” on one long, melancholy night at the bar at Sardi’s.

CAST: Ethan Hawke, Margaret Qualley, Bobby Cannavale, Andrew Scott. Directed by Richard Linklater.

REVIEW: Anchored by a tour-de-force performance from Ethan Hawke, “Blue Moon” is a deceptively simple character study of an artistic genius who was equal parts brilliance and frailty.

Set at the bar of the legendary Broadway restaurant Sardi’s, the action takes place on a single evening, March 31, 1943, opening night of “Oklahoma!” A triumph for composer Richard Rodgers and librettist Oscar Hammerstein, the show’s success left Rogers’s previous partner, lyricist Lorenz Hart, isolated, alone at the bar, save for the company of a bartender Hart nicknames Dr. Bacardi (Bobby Cannavale) and the restaurant’s piano player (Jonah Lees).

“We write together for a quarter of a century,” Hart says, “and the first show he writes with someone else is gonna be the biggest hit he ever had. Am I bitter? Yes.”

Charming, witty but with a deep sadness, Hart props up the bar, slowly losing the battle with the bottle, waiting for 20-year-old Yale student, Elizabeth Weiland (a sparkling Margaret Qualley) to arrive. Though closeted, he loves her, and she loves him, “just not in that way.”

As the evening unfolds, liquor flows in Hart’s direction as he pines for Elizabeth, lobs jabs at his former partner’s use of an “!” in the title of “Oklahoma!” and inspires essayist E. B. White (Patrick Kennedy) to write his novel “Stuart Little” as the evening takes a decidedly bittersweet turn.

A chamber piece—pretty much the whole thing takes place in the downstairs bar at Sardi’s—“Blue Moon” is a complex, humanizing slice of Hart’s life.

Hawke’s remarkable performance embraces the extremes of what Hammerstein and cabaret performer Mabel Mercer said about Hart. Hammerstein commented, “He was alert and dynamic and fun to be around,” while Mercer called him, “The saddest man I ever knew.” Hawke embodies those polarities and touches on many things in between in ways subtle and overt.

An extroverted introvert, Hart put on a brave face, spitting out witticisms—“Leave the bottle,” he tells the bartender, “it’s a visual poem.”—but each barb and every funny line betrays an undercurrent of insecurity and torment.

Hawke is in virtually every frame of the film, reciting pages of dialogue—“Who are you talking to?” asks the bartender. “Me,” Hart replies. “I gotta talk to someone interesting.”—and yet his stream of consciousness always engages because each speech, every word illuminates part of this complicated character.

“Blue Moon” is a showcase for a Hawke—he uses an elaborate combover and director Richard Linklater’s shoots him to reflect Hart’s diminutive stature—but the performance doesn’t rely on the physical transformation. Instead, it is Hawke’s nuances that create this sometimes funny, sometimes sad valentine to Hart.