• Blue Moon

1/27/26 (Tues)

Richard Linklater’s 2025 film is a credible fantasy about the great lyricist Lorenz Hart on the opening night of Oklahoma!, his long-time partner’s first venture with another lyricist – and his mixed feelings when the show, which he mocks as unsophisticated schlock, turns out to be a massive critical and popular success.

Hart’s numbers with Rodgers over the preceding quarter century were and are known for their urbane wit and intelligence and remain among the most golden songs of America’s Golden Age of Song. But in terms of musical theater, the lyrics always sound like the literate Hart, not like the characters on stage. While the team created numerous innovative musicals, the songs themselves remain New York-bound in sensibility. It was Hammerstein who took musical lyrics into the next dimension as specific expressions of character and story; his Oklahomans sound Oklahoman. His songs are integral to the story they are telling, and the story is inseparable from the songs, creating an American equivalent of opera. When Hart is watching the new show, he is viewing his own obsolescence. His reaction is complicated by his personal demons, including a midget-like stature (a miniscule 147cm or 4’10”) that complicates his desire for a romantic partner and his descent into alcoholism. The film examines him over the course of the opening night.

Hart’s death later that same year is telescoped in the opening scene, where he is seen staggering drunk down a street (singing someone else’s song for some reason, “Everything Happens to Me”) and fainting in a gutter. We then flash back several months as he is in the theater with his mother watching the title number in Oklahoma! He is rolling his eyes at the predictability of rhyming “land” and “grand” – he just doesn’t get it. To him it’s about the rhyme; he doesn’t see that for Hammerstein, it’s about the people singing.

He leaves mid-show for the bar, where he talks incessantly to the bemused bartender about a gorgeous young woman whose heart he’s certain he’s captured. The bartender isn’t quite sure whether to believe him, not least due to questions over Hart’s sexuality, and Hart may in fact be trying to talk himself into believing it. As everyone comes to the bar after the show, praising it to the hilt and celebrating the inflow of ecstatic reviews, Hart sinks increasingly into denial. Desperate to keep the partnership going, he approaches Rodgers with grand ideas for a musical about Marco Polo, but the ever-businesslike composer, while suggesting first a revival of one of their old shows, tells Hart matter-of-factly that he needs to pull himself together, lay off the booze, and get serious. Both know that it’s a losing battle. (The revival did happen, and the sparkling new songs written for the show boasted some of Hart’s best lyrics. But the show itself was clearly a relic of the past. Hart showed up drunk on opening night and had to be taken by his sister-in-law back to her home. He disappeared from there and ended up in the gutter, where this film begins.)

The dialogue was terrific if a bit crude at times. It makes sense that the dwarfish, alcoholic Hart would use cynicism and self-deprecating humor to avoid facing the truth. The real Hart reportedly commented often on his physical unattractiveness, and as a balding munchkin with oversized head and hands, his complexes came honestly. Whether he was gay is not proven, though he certainly had experience in that area. Alan Jay Lerner recalled, “Because of his size, the opposite sex was denied him, so he was forced to find relief in the only other sex left.” That said, he proposed to at least three women, though that in itself means nothing, as marriage was fairly normal for gay men at the time. In any event, all rejected him. Diahann Carroll recalled that Richard Rodgers referred to his former partner many years later as “that little fag”.

Still, the film is ambiguous on this as well. Hart is besotted here by a 20-year-old college student named Elizabeth Weiland, described as daughter of Theater Guild director Theresa Helburn (who in real life had no children), and the film revolves in large part around their supposed relationship. The film’s screenwriter says he acquired carbon copies of letters from Weiland to Hart, but the contents of those letters, if they do exist, have not been released, making it unclear just what the connection was – they may well have simply been fan letters. It seems clear here, to us if not Hart, that her interest in him is strictly his celebrity. Their dialogue feels real, and her statement to Hart, “I love you, just not that way”, sounds like something he must have heard many times before.

It’s hard to know where biography stops and fiction begins here. All I’ve read suggests that Hart was at least openly excited and generous in his praise for Rodgers after seeing Oklahoma!, though he was undoubtedly bothered and bewildered; he reportedly told Rodgers that night to forget about him and move on. The film suggests improbably that Hart’s remarks inspired EB White (story about a mouse named Stuart), George Roy Hill (“focus on friendship rather than romance” – to future director of Butch Cassidy and The Sting), and an already obnoxious 13-year-old Stephen Sondheim (with a line later used in Forum), but we’ll chalk that up to poetic license.

This was not a musical, of course, but I still found it strange that the creators didn’t draw from Hart’s many rueful numbers to explore his psychology. The unfairly little known “This Funny World” was a fantastic choice in that sense, and I wish there were more. One question: why did they use Irving Berlin’s “Cheek to Cheek”, of all numbers, for the closing credits?

Ethan Hawke was a strange choice as the diminutive lyricist (Peter Dinklage would have been more interesting in establishing the stakes), and honestly I kept thinking he was on his knees. Hart’s complex about his height was a large part of the constant self-disparagement that numerous of his acquaintances have commented on. Hawke’s casting didn’t really convey that. But no faulting his performance, which ably conveyed the sadness behind the laughter. I loved his despair when the famously randy Rodgers is luring Elizabeth effortlessly into his web (and undoubtedly his bed).

Bobby Cannavale was the other standout as the bartender warily eyeing and listening to Hart as he self destructs. Andrew Scott was fine as a clearly end-of-his-rope Rodgers, doing his best to offer support for his long-term partner while, practical as ever, making it clear that he’s already planning his next show with Hammerstein. I’m not sure how real that is – both the Rodgers and Hart team and Hammerstein did shows on their own after Oklahoma!, and there’s no way they’d have been planning their next show prior to opening night of this one – and we’ll never know given Hart’s death soon after. But it rings true in Scott’s no-nonsense portrayal. Margaret Qualley as Elizabeth shows adeptly from the start that she has no interest in Hart other than his fame and acquaintances. Her monologue was unnecessarily long but delivered to perfection. In contrast, Simon Delaney didn’t give off Hammerstein vibes at all and made little impression.

If we look at these as imaginary characters, the film is smart and consistently interesting, and on that level I thoroughly enjoyed it. As a biographical record, it does a disservice to Hart in highlighting his snarkiness rather than the exuberance that most of his contemporaries recall. As noted, it’s also odd that we don’t get more of his lyrics; most songs are just passing references or background music, a shame given how many seem to comment on his insecurities. Moreover, the film assumes a knowledge that not all audiences will have, such as names like Doc Bender (his alleged sex and drug procurer) and contemporary references. It’s difficult to recommend to casual audiences. The real Lorenz Hart biography is still to be made.