How Blue Moon sings to me

 

I've watched Richard Linklater's Blue Moon several times, enjoying it and being tortured by it more with every viewing.  The tale of Lorenz Hart's evening at Sardi's will not be noted as one of the best movies of our time or even the year, but it is already a favorite of mine, for assorted reasons.  

WARNING:  Do not read on if you have not watched the movie yet.

First off, the dialogue is funny, frequently laugh out loud funny.  Hart says a Jewish producer "circumcised" his Jewish name to Anglicize it (common in the past).  Hart promises Elizabeth he will introduce her to Richard Rogers, saying she will soon have her hands full of dick, also betraying his hopes.  E.B. White notes a young woman goes from being ineffable to unf-able.  Much of it is sparkling word-play and discussion of language, not surprising when two characters are lyricist Lorenz (Larry) Hart and essaying E.B. (Andy) White.  I even picked up a copy of White's essays after seeing the movie.  Hart's slamming of Hammerstein's "corn grows high as an elephant's eye" makes me laugh thinking of it:  "Yes, it scans, but fucking elephants in Oklahoma?"

Speaking of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical Oklahoma! whose premiere is the setting of the movie, I must admit I dislike that musical.  Yes, it was groundbreaking in the art of American musical theater, but when I taught Tunes for Goons at Kent State University (ok, the class for non-music majors was called "Understanding Music" in the catalog, but music majors preferred the unkind title), I focused on South Pacific as an example of the team's outstanding work.  Yes, Oklahoma!--I loved Hart's tirade about exclamation points in titles--has wonderful songs, but, like Hart, I truly can't stand it.  South Pacific has better songs, a much more inspirational story, and, most important, the range of "Some Enchanted Evening" falls where most of my money notes lie so I can sing the shit out of it.

A subtle theme of the movie is Hart's worry that his creative career may be drawing to a close.  His collaborator of two decades just wrote the hit of the decade with someone else.  He even jokes that the young piano player in the bar at Sardi's, Morty Rifkin, may have to be his next song writing partner.  Being sidelined in any career is painful, but I'd argue, from personal experience, that being pushed aside in the arts is more devastating, as the arts become part of one's identity--despite Rodgers saying in the movie it's a business.  My musical career of course cannot compare in the slightest with Hart's, but for a couple decades I was fortunate to have singing jobs and opportunities that would be envy of many.  When they dissipated and dissolved, as I knew intellectually that they would, I did move on to other interests, but there are times that I miss, painfully, the times I performed really good music really well.  

Though the movie feels like a play on the stage, as the action is confined to a small space and the emphasis of the movie is the dialogue--ok, sometimes Hart's monologues--of the characters, it's a movie for a lover of movies.  Set in early 1943, Hart and Eddie the bartender sometimes speak in lines from Casablanca, released in late 1942, coincidentally yet fortuitously a matter of weeks after the Allied invasion of cities in then French North Africa, among them Casablanca.  It won the Oscar for Best Picture a few weeks before the opening night of Oklahoma!  Casablanca is my favorite movie (I'm likely not alone in my affections) and their discussion of lines and jokes about it were hilarious--I will never hear about the Free French garrison in Brazzaville in the same way again (I always like it sounds like it's a short jaunt away instead of a journey of over 5,000 miles). I enjoyed how the consensus of Hart and Eddie on the best line in the movie, "Nobody ever loved me that much" which is essentially the theme of Blue Moon, differs from the applause lines of today, "Of all the gin joints in all towns in all the world, she walks into mine", "Round up the usual suspects", and of course, "Play it", whether about "As Time Goes By" or, in probably the most powerful moment in the history of movies, The Marseillaise.

A movie reviewer has much to applaud in Blue Moon.  Hawke has received an Oscar nod for his performance, but the performances of Andrew Scott as Richard Rogers, Bobby Cannavale as Eddie the bartender, Margaret Qualley as Elizabeth Weiland, Patrick Kennedy as E.B. White, and even Jonah Lees as Morty Rifkin the piano player were perfectly measured portrayals of their characters, with powerful honest moments of humanity, whether kind or otherwise.  The movie abounded with little touches, like Hawke's putting his cards on the (table) floor saying he hopes someone would someday be interested in him, the framing of the front door's curtain on Hart as he watches Rogers leave Sardi's with his love, (like Rick watches Victor and Ilsa in Casablanca) as both a closing stage curtain and funeral shroud, E.B. White whipping out a notepad to write notes about a mouse named Stuart, and of course a 1940s bar complete with cigarette machine and a cloakroom where folks could hide for a few minutes (not always for a quick conversation).

The movie could have been unsubtly titled "Nobody ever loved me that much" as unrequited love was the heart of the story.  Most of humanity, apart from the insufferable few who are never unloved, have had moments of unreturned longing.  A friend sent me an interview with Hawke where he notes the challenge of height which the short Hart mentions, but most of us have assorted imperfections which deter the affections of others whom we have loved.  Hart's being loved but "not that way" resonated with me, as I can recall a a few women, C in New Orleans and other places, G in Ohio, J in Washington, DC, who thought I was wonderful and even loved me, but "not that way."  Good fortune has frankly accompanied me from birth, but most of all in the greatest love of my life "loving me that way."  But some memories never fade, typically bad ones: annoying advertising jingles, moments of acute embarrassment, and, perhaps somewhat related, instances of unrequited love.

Most viewers would find this ridiculous but I think alcohol is a major character in the movie.  The movie is of course set in a bar, and, as I have given up alcohol for health reasons, its absence from my life makes me acutely if not inordinately aware of its presence elsewhere.  Decades of amazing creation by Hart were taken away from us because of his early death caused in part by his alcoholism, but the setting in the bar, with smoke floating about--remember when a bar had smoke floating about?--featured wonderful moments of alcohol, particularly to one who doesn't drink anymore.  The poem of a shot of whiskey, a glass of club soda, and a bottle, the beauty of so much pleasure in something so small as a shot glass, and the story of the deterioration of Rogers' and Hart's and relationship because of the distraction and attraction to Hart of alcohol made it if not a character perhaps an extra in the movie (speaking of fun bits, the discussion of all of us being extras in other people's stories is an unexpected treat).

Though it seems my adoration of the movie seems limitless, I do have some qualms about it.  A common failing in movies is the casting of actresses who implausibly play characters who are not found attractive by men who, in reality, no man would not sell their mothers to gypsies to even have a drink or cup of coffee with, just to gaze at her from across the table, let alone have sex with.  This occurs in every movie in which Keira Knightly is rejected by men, in every goddamn Christmas movie in which the female lead with longish blondish brown hair and perky breasts finds herself alone and unloved at the holidays, and, in Blue Moon, Margaret Qualley being ignored by the callow Yale junior, Cooper--what a perfect Ivy League name!   It is a total rejection of reality as she is a gem (Thank you, Oscar).  Another casting challenge to me was seeing young Sheldon as a young Stephen Sondheim.  I truly feel sorry for actors who become so associated with a role that they can't be seen as anyone else.  The actor had to begin his exit from his TV role, but why did it have to be in what will be one of my favorite movies?

Part of my, ok, love of the movie derives, to borrow from Casablanca, from my being a rank sentimentalist.  My love of Casablanca, of 1940s movies in general and, in particular, anything with Claude Rains, the music that permeates the movie from the piano of "Curly" Rifkin (actually played by Graham Reynolds, who masterfully weaved the songs of Rogers and Hart, George and Ira Gershwin, and the other giants of the time underneath the dialog), and, well, one particular line all summon a flood of drippy sentimentality into my heart and soul.  The line?  When Elizabeth details Cooper's disfunction (I must admit to some schadenfreude at Ivy League Cooper's erectile dysfunction), Hart exclaims "Jesus wept."  It reminds me of a bit in Jay McInerey's Bright Lights Big City.  The protagonist in the book and subsequent movie adaptation is a fact checker for a noted magazine (The New Yorker) and has an assignment he has procrastinated on and has to complete it at the last moment.  He asks about the author of the piece to be checked.  The reply from his colleague: 

"I just wanted to warn you.  Take nothing for granted.  I mean especially in this case.  He hasn't left Paris in twelve years, and spends most of his time in restaurants.  He never  double-checks anything."

The protagonist thinks:  "Jesus wept."

This in turn reminds me of a dear friend, Joe, with whom I would laugh over this bit and toss in "Jesus wept" in any, sometimes ridiculous, situation, like leaving a note to me to meet him at a friend's place.

Joe died a few months ago, and I would love to have talked to him about Blue Moon.  This whole essay, if you can call it that, would have been my part of the the conversation.  I wish I could hear his part, but I never will.

Odd how I started writing about a movie but ended up writing about me.  Such is the ever present danger of taking pen to paper, literally or figuratively.  The movie takes me to many places, from mirth to pathos.  A piece of art like this movie, rich with suggestion which can inspire many journeys, is a rarity.  Perhaps like the hit song which gives the movie its title:  Hart's lyrics chart a journey, common to musical theater as Rogers comments in the movie, of one finding love at the end of the story.  We hope that our lives will take the song's path.  Hart, the master musical theater lyricist, never made his song's journey.

Blue moon, 
you saw me standing alone 
without a dream in my heart
without a love on my own.

Blue moon,
you knew just what I was there for
you heard me saying a prayer for
somebody I really could care for.

And then there suddenly appeared before me,
the only one my arms will ever hold
I heard somebody whisper, "Please adore me."
and when I looked, 
the moon had turned to gold.

Blue moon,
now I'm lo longer alone
without a dream in my heart
without a love on my own.