The Broadway Allure of Richard Linklater’s Blue Moon
Linklater, who never makes the same film twice—except when he does it three times, as in Before sunrise, before sunset, And Before midnight—is an inveterate formalist who will try everything in good faith. A former figurehead of the American independent industry who rose without selling out and who resents producing work regularly, his closest analogue is probably Steven Soderbergh, but with a shaggier, more open sensibility. Last year’s underrated Hitman was offered a meditation on identity and impulse disguised as a sexy neo-visual adventure. Here, the director adopts the form of something old-fashioned and even slightly uncinematic – the melodrama of the dark night of the soul, set in a single location and in near real time – in an attempt to evoke an idea of a hallowed showbiz past and distill the powerful, melancholy essence of a Broadway lifer.
Linklater is also interested in pivotal moments, whether through the end-of-high-school bacchanal of Dazed and confused or the temporal game of Childhood. (Its adaptation in progress and in preparation for Merry we ride also fits this model.) Blue Moon gives its protagonist a front row seat during the changing of the showbiz guard; the main reason Larry (Ethan Hawke) ends up at Sardi’s in Manhattan — beyond the fact that he’s a regular with a long-marinated liver — is to celebrate Rodgers’ box office success with Oklahoma!the crowd-pleasing track he created in collaboration with the more populist-minded lyricist Oscar Hammerstein II. The latter was once described by critic Mel Gussow as “monumentally felicitous and effective”; in this he was Hart’s opposite, and behind the scenes, his bête noire, even as they exchanged praise for each other’s genius.
As Linklater’s film opens, Larry is unhappy and distraught, and happy to tell anyone within earshot why. After a sold-out show of Oklahoma!, Larry begs for indulgence from bartender Eddie (Bobby Cannavale) and ivory tickler Mort (Jonah Lees) as he becomes apoplectic over the bogus nature of his old pal’s new hit. “Oklahoma exclamation point! “” he sneers, as offended by the title’s punctuation as by its inherent exaltation of all things Americana; If Rodgers’ fateful decision to change creative partners midstream crushed Larry’s self-esteem to smithereens, Hammerstein’s salt-of-the-earth lyrics are like salt in the wound. When the conquering heroes finally appear, Larry is diplomatic and tells Richard (Andrew Scott) that Oklahoma! is a classic and should last twenty years. The praise is disingenuous, but the underlying diagnosis of the show’s triumphant, cornpone populism is apt: imagine a cowboy boot dancing square on a human face, forever. What Larry particularly hates is the way Oklahoma!’The potato-eyed exuberance – cherished promises and platitudes with all those fringes on top – seeks to infantilize an audience previously weaned on its own repertoire of sly double entenders. It wasn’t just Richard who broke up with Larry, but an entire popular art form.
