A few days ago, at a film screening organized by the Asia Society, I met a veteran Hollywood producer and Oscar voter. She enthusiastically told me about Chloé Zhao's new film, Hamnet, confidently stating that it would win between two and four major awards next year.
Around the same time, I saw my friend, educator Dr. Baiyan Yang, praising the film on social media: “This not only demonstrates Zhao's artistic mastery and humanistic depth, but also ranks among the most moving works of our time.”
Director: Richard Linklater
Writers: Robert Kaplow, Lorenz Hart, Elizabeth Weiland
Stars: Ethan Hawke, Bobby Cannavale, Andrew Scott
With such high expectations, I started to investigate further. Indeed, the film is scheduled for a limited release in the United States on November 27th, while its premiere at the Telluride Film Festival has already caused a sensation among critics: a perfect 100% on Rotten Tomatoes and an excellent 95 on Metacritic. The Playlist even declared it "another masterpiece from Zhao."
Adapted from Maggie O’Farrell’s acclaimed novel, Hamnet departs from works that traditionally focus on Shakespeare’s career, opting instead to center on his wife Agnes (Jessie Buckley) and their young son who died prematurely. It portrays a family shattered by the plague, yet striving for renewal. Zhao’s almost documentary-like aesthetic and use of natural light make 16th-century rural England almost tangible: you can feel the dew on Agnes’s fingertips and hear the sound of her broken heart. The climax is especially poignant: when she sees a performance of "Hamlet" at The Globe, the name of her lost son is superimposed with that of the main character, and art merges with life in a moment of profound emotion.
Reports from the premiere noted that many viewers wept. Critics have called it "the most heartbreaking film in years," emphasizing that it not only depicts a family tragedy but also re-examines the emotional roots of Shakespeare's Hamlet. The performances of Jessie Buckley and Paul Mescal have been hailed as career-defining. What intrigued me most was Zhao's own comment earlier this year. Reflecting on her experience with Marvel's Eternals, she said it gave her insights into world-building, but that Hamnet brought her back to the intimacy of contained storytelling: "When resources are limited, everything becomes more meaningful."
That line has stuck with me. From the heights of Nomadland, through the controversial reception of Eternals, and now with the acclaimed success of Hamnet, Zhao's work has always carried her distinctive signature: an empathy for the marginalized, a reverence for nature and humanity, and a gift for transforming individual pain into universal emotion. In an era saturated with superhero blockbusters, a film with this literary depth and emotional resonance feels like a breath of fresh air.
Personally, I eagerly await its official release in November. Hamnet not only looks set to be a strong contender in the awards season, but it also shows us a director returning to her roots with greater maturity after having explored both commercial filmmaking and more intimate art. Perhaps this is ultimately what cinema is for: to find rebirth in the fragile balance between love and loss.
In less skilled hands, this could have been cartoonish or even unbearable, but Ethan Hawke is theatrical in the best sense of the word, commanding the screen with every gesture and word without ever overacting. His energy vibrates like the vibrato of a choir, like "the sexiest thing in the world," especially in the first third, when we are still getting to know Hart before Rodgers' arrival. It is in these scenes that "Blue Moon" works best, practically "levitating," to paraphrase the word Hart uses to describe the defining characteristic of great art, which lifts you off the ground in a way that borders on the divine. Linklater almost achieves this here in the film's best moments, even if "Blue Moon" falters somewhat in the middle section.
Once Hart's former partner arrives, a barrage of congratulations and excerpts from glowing reviews pepper their conversation as Hart tries by all means to regain Richard's favor without revealing what he truly feels about "Oklahoma!". The composer played by Andrew Scott is the antithesis of Hart in every way, just as the pair were described in real life. We are only with them for this one night, but there is a palpable chemistry between Scott and Hawke, as if they were an old married couple, but one doesn't realize the relationship is over, while the other has already moved on. Comfortable familiarity and an uncomfortable desire to escape coexist like the two quotes at the beginning, both true in an incongruous harmony. Scott is never overshadowed by Hawke, unlike most of the other characters who are indeed overwhelmed by Hart, anchored in his success and even in the pity he sometimes feels for his supposed "best friend."
Eleven years after Linklater won the Silver Bear for his Oscar-winning film, "Boyhood," Ethan Hawke could have the opportunity to achieve the same level of recognition for his performance in "Blue Moon." It's a transformative performance that the Academy loves, making Hawke seem five feet tall when in reality he should be the one dominating Scott, and not the other way around.
However, he never seems smaller than when Qualley's "Irreplaceable Elizabeth" doesn't give Hart the love he so desperately craves. Her monologue in the third act is striking, mirroring the "irrational adoration" Hart feels with Elizabeth's own story of unrequited love. Yet it's Hart's reaction, a rare moment of vulnerability snatched from him against his will, that intrigues more than the story itself.
Together, she, Hawke, and Scott form a fascinating push-and-pull dynamic, where they are simultaneously drawn to and repelled by each other. The fact that all of this unfolds in real time considerably intensifies that effect, drawing us into the whirlwind of Hart's bravado thanks to Hawke's characteristic charm, even if it's undercut by something barely concealed beneath the surface. Because even when he's clasping his hands together gleefully, eagerly awaiting the next part of Elizabeth's spicy story, Hawke plays Hart with an underlying sadness.
Towards the end, just as things begin to calm down, the script underlines it with some exclamation points of its own, some casual remarks about how "the best of Hart is yet to come" and that "it's like you're writing my obituary." Rodgers even suggests he go to Doctor's Hospital for help, the same hospital where Hart, in fact, ended up dying seven months later of pneumonia. We know this because that's where the film began, in a freezing, rainy alley before quickly becoming the melancholic chamber piece that it is. With this premonition, "Blue Moon" tackles Linklater's usual themes of time, memory, and even dreams in a more subtle but no less poignant way than usual.
This is made clearest in the words "Nobody loved me so much," Hart's favorite line from "Casablanca," which becomes his refrain throughout the film. Because here, we're watching a film set in the 1940s that draws emotional resonance from an old classic as we contemplate what's to come and consider what might have been; how Hart's legacy might have surpassed what Rodgers and Hammerstein achieved if he had handled life differently. However, "Blue Moon" doesn't end in tragedy, even if we already know the end of Hart's story. Instead, we end in the middle of a story that Hart liked to tell, creating the illusion of a party, of a gathering in a bar that never ends. A story without exclamation points, if you will, just as Hart would have wanted it.
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