I braved a torrential downpour to make it to the TIFF 2025 screening of Blue Moon on the opening day of the festival, my attire clinging to me, soaked and heavy, as I shivered my way into TIFF Lightbox House, Screen One on the 4th September, 2025.
The rain was relentless, pounding the streets of Toronto’s Entertainment District, but nothing could stop me from seeing Ethan Hawke in Richard Linklater’s latest.
By the time I sank into my seat, I was chilled to the bone, yet buzzing with anticipation. What I experienced over the next 90 minutes left me trembling, not from the cold, but from the raw, electric intensity of Hawke’s performance and the film’s unflinching dive into Lorenz Hart’s soul.
Blue Moon unfolds in a single barroom, a claustrophobic stage where Hawke, as the lyricist Lorenz Hart, unravels with a mix of wit, despair, and manic charisma.
I felt every word he spat out, every glance that hid his pain. This wasn’t the violent intensity of Hawke’s Training Day or the quiet brooding of First Reformed. Here, he wielded words like daggers, his Hart a whirlwind of charm and bitterness, grappling with unrequited love and fading fame.
As a Nigerian, I saw echoes of artists back home, fighting for their voice in a world that sometimes overlooks them.
Hart’s struggle with identity and societal expectations echoed the pressures faced by artists, where creative expression often contends with social and economic constraints.
The film’s 1930s setting, with its sharp dialogue and smoky atmosphere, pulled me in, but it was Hart’s universal struggle; his need to be seen, to matter, that hit me hardest.
Andrew Scott, Margaret Qualley, and Bobby Cannavale matched Hawke’s energy, their banter a lifeline and a mirror to his chaos.
Linklater’s direction made the bar feel alive, every clink of glass and sidelong glance amplifying the tension.
Yet, the film didn’t shy away from Hart’s flaws—his alcoholism, his unspoken love for Rodgers, his fear of being forgotten.
Blue Moon relies entirely on emotional and psychological depth. Hawke’s ability to convey Hart’s unraveling through words, glances, and subtle gestures creates a tension that feels almost physical.
It was intense, almost suffocating, but never violent. I left the theater shaken, the rain outside now a faint echo of the storm I’d just witnessed on screen. Blue Moon is Hawke at his most searing, and for me, it’s a TIFF memory I’ll carry forever.
Babajide Fadoju writes from Burlington, Toronto
5th September 2025