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 on the night Oklahoma! premiered on Broadway 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.  Dripping with spoilers.

First off, the dialogue is funny, frequently laugh out loud funny.  Hart says a Jewish producer "circumcised" his Jewish name to Anglicize it (changing one's Jewish name was 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 for the evening.  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 and writing, not surprising when two characters are lyricist Lorenz (Larry) Hart and essayist E.B. (Andy) White.  I even picked up and started reading a copy of White's essays after seeing the movie.  Hart's slamming of Hammerstein's "where the 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 post-premiere celebration is the setting of the movie, I must admit I don't enjoy that musical.  Yes, it was historic, groundbreaking in the art of American musical theater, but when I taught an Understanding Music class at Kent State University 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 don't like the musical as a whole.  South Pacific has better songs, a much more inspirational story, and, most important to me, 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 musical 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 one's art becomes part of one's identity--despite Rodgers commenting in the movie that 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 still miss, painfully, the days when I often 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 its dialogue--ok, sometimes Hart's monologues--it's a movie for a lover of movies.  Set in early 1943, Hart and Eddie the bartender sometimes banter 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! so it's no wonder the dialog is so well known.  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 Captain Renault suggest relocating to 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 unintentionally painful.  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 stage curtain ready to close and a funeral shroud--Hart frequently disdains complements as sounding like a eulogy, E.B. White whipping out a notepad to write notes about a mouse named Stuart, and of course a storied 1940s bar complete with cigarette machine and a cloakroom where folks could hide for a few minutes (not always for just 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 experienced 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 possess assorted imperfections which have deterred the affections of others whom we have loved.  Hart's being loved but "not that way" resonated with me, as I can recall a few women, C in New Orleans and other places, G in Ohio, J in Washington, DC, who all thought I was wonderful but "not that way."  Yet good fortune has usually accompanied me in life 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 denied us because of his early death caused in part by his alcoholism, but the setting in the bar, with cigarette and cigar smoke floating about--remember when bars 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--the offhand 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 during the holidays, and, in Blue Moon, Margaret Qualley being ignored by the callow Yale junior, Cooper--what a perfect Ivy League name!--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?  And I think the only people who smoke in the movie are Hart and Eddie the bartender.  It's the forties!  Everyone smoked!

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 dialogue), and, well, one particular line all summon a flood of drippy sentimentality into my heart and soul.  The line?  When Elizabeth details Cooper's difficulties--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 he 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 in my notebook to meet him at a friend's place.

It was his last night in Sewanee.  It was absolutely 

imperative that he sleep well, turn in early.  

On a lark, he went to the store, bought some beer, 

and went to Saint Andrew's. 

He went to Brian's apartment.

Jesus Wept.

Joe

Be there now

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, about my losses in life.  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.  

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.

Hart, the master musical theater lyricist, never made his song's journey, but we hope that our lives will follow the song's path, accompanied by Roger's music and Hart's poetry.