Song Sung Blue

There is something both charming and outdated, but also discreetly radical about Song Sung Blue, written and directed by Craig Brewer, a film that features a middle-class American couple, the kind often seen in the background of television reports, and treats their tribute to Neil Diamond with the same seriousness that most biopics reserve for tormented geniuses. Based on Greg Kohs' 2008 documentary, the film traces the rise, fall, and stubborn rebirth of Lightning & Thunder—Mike Sardina and Claire Stengl, later Claire Sardina—a mechanic and a hairdresser from Milwaukee who turn glitter, cheap sound systems, and a shared obsession with Neil Diamond into a lifeline. The result is a deeply sincere, often disarming film that will appeal to audiences and keep building emotional crescendos until the whole thing starts to feel as exhausting as it is moving; a tear-jerking Christmas movie that can be touching, sometimes exasperating, and rarely less than entertaining.

It is in the first part of the film that Song Sung Blue is most compelling, and we understand why so many viewers leave with a smile on their faces. We meet Mike Sardina, played by Hugh Jackman, at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, where he softly sings Song Sung Blue to mark his twenty years of sobriety, before seeing him rushing between gigs, rehearsals, and odd jobs in Milwaukee, a Vietnam veteran with grease-stained hands and the sparkling eyes of a showman. At the Wisconsin State Fair, he meets Claire Stengl, played by Kate Hudson, dressed as Patsy Cline for a show called Legends, where impersonators of Don Ho, Buddy Holly, and Barbra Streisand vie for the audience's attention. Their flirtation has the ease of people who have been unhappy for a long time and instantly recognize another dreamer; the first jam session at Claire's house—a keyboard, a Neil Diamond songbook, a slightly worn living room—provides the thrill of seeing two people who are not songwriters create something new from songs they love. Brewer captures the domestic banality that surrounds them—the children, the exes, the bills, the house located under the airport flight path—then lets the music take over, transforming this little corner of Milwaukee into a church dedicated to Neil Diamond.

As actors, Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson are the driving force behind the film, even when the script falters. Hugh Jackman slips into the role of Mike's cheeky character, Lightning, with the confidence you'd expect from someone who starred in The Greatest Showman and Broadway revivals; At first, it seems almost excessive, as if he's trying too hard, but little by little, his performance reveals a man who keeps performing for an imaginary balcony, because that's how he keeps the darkness at bay. Offstage, Hugh Jackman adds a lingering humility and a touch of self-loathing—the recovering alcoholic who knows he's not a star, just a guy who wants to entertain and pay his rent—and it's in this tension between the ridiculous showman in sequins and the beaten working-class family man that the character resides. Kate Hudson, however, steals the show in this film. As Claire Sardina, she abandons the sparkle of romantic comedies that marked much of her early career and taps into something more raw: a middle-aged mother who refuses to stop aspiring to more. Her Milwaukee accent, her Patsy Cline covers, her talk of wanting not just a house and a garden but also a stage—it all feels specific and lived-in, and when tragedy strikes, she lets the character sink into anger and despair without ever losing her underlying warmth. Together, Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson have the chemistry of a couple who could be bickering like cats and dogs in the kitchen, then take the stage and become pure electricity in front of an audience.

Unsurprisingly for a filmmaker who directed Hustle & Flow and Dolemite Is My Name, Craig Brewer is at his best when Lightning & Thunder are performing on stage. Guided by executive music producer Scott Bomar, he lets Neil Diamond's repertoire breathe rather than cutting it into fragments like a trailer; Play Me, Holly Holy, Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show, and, of course, Sweet Caroline are allowed to unfold in generous, emotional sequences that also serve as narrative montages. There's a raucous rehearsal in a garage where Crunchy Granola Suite transforms a suburban street into an impromptu block party, a disastrous concert in a biker bar that somehow strengthens the band's resolve, and the almost surreal euphoria of opening for Eddie Vedder and Pearl Jam—a moment that would seem like pure screenwriter's fantasy if it weren't true. One of the film's recurring gags, Mike Sardina's insistence on opening the concert with the mystical “Soolaimon” rather than the hit everyone is expecting, becomes a mischievous character trait: he's a man who wants you to feel the depth of Neil Diamond, not just shout “bom bom bom” at the right moment, and the film supports this by treating the music with unironically serious, almost devotional reverence.

Where Song Sung Blue falls short is in its sudden shift from a feel-good story about outsiders to a full-blown realistic melodrama. The bizarre accident that befalls Claire Sardina—a car crashing into their garden, followed by a devastating injury—is staged with a shocking frankness that works at first, but it's only the first in a series of misfortunes that pile up until you start to feel traumatized rather than moved. Amputation, depression, opioid addiction, Mike Sardina's recurring heart problems, Rachel's rushed pregnancy, insurance nightmares, financial collapse: all part of the couple's real story, but the fiction pushes the envelope at every turn, often moving so quickly from one crisis to the next that the tone shifts from an uplifting Hallmark movie to something resembling a hysterical soap opera. In moments like the hospital sequence where Mike nearly collapses and begs his stepdaughter to fetch a defibrillator from a wall, or Claire staggering around the garden singing Patsy Cline songs in a drug-induced haze, the film teeters on the edge of unintentional kitsch. What should be a thoughtful reflection on disability, trauma, and long-term care instead becomes a series of “very special” moments that are powerful in isolation but gradually lose their impact because the script is too eager to rush us to the next performance.

This feeling of breathlessness is compounded by the film's length and structure. At just over two hours, the film has enough time to delve deeper into its characters and explore their blended family, but Craig Brewer's script continues to gloss over the connections between scenes in favor of another montage or concert. Rachel, played with raw vulnerability by Ella Anderson, is given a heavy storyline involving an unplanned pregnancy that is introduced, presented as a crisis, and effectively resolved in a few scenes; Mike Sardina's frightening heart episodes are treated as dramatic punctuation rather than a sustained narrative arc; even major turning points, such as Claire's stay in rehab and the subsequent reevaluation of her marriage, are rushed through at a speed that minimizes their significance. Structurally, the film has three endings when one would suffice, each aiming for catharsis, each tugging at the heartstrings a little less. You can feel Craig Brewer's affection for these characters in his reluctance to linger too long in the darker corners, but the result is a film that wants to honor every aspect of the true story of Lightning & Thunder and doesn't quite have the discipline to decide which blows to land and which to leave implied.

What keeps you engaged, even when the melodrama starts to run out of steam, is the world surrounding Mike and Claire and how it all fits together. Michael Imperioli brings a weary gentleness and deadpan humor to Mark Shurilla, the Buddy Holly impersonator who trades his glasses and bow tie for a spot as guitarist in Lightning & Thunder when he decides he's too old to die every night at 22. Jim Belushi brilliantly plays Tom D'Amato, the casino tour promoter whose bad bookings and big heart seem straight out of a slightly louder 1990s studio comedy, while Fisher Stevens' dentist-manager is the kind of character you immediately recognize in small-town life: a little overwhelmed, unfailingly loyal, convinced that his friends are on the verge of fame. On the family side, King Princess brings a touch of fragility to Angelina, Mike Sardina's daughter who lives in Florida and befriends Rachel, played by Ella Anderson, over shared joints and disappointments. Hudson Hensley gently plays Dayna, Claire's young son who simply wants the adults to be happy. There is even a memorable role for Thai restaurateur Shyaporn Theerakulstit, whose love for Neil Diamond transforms his karaoke bar into a kind of sanctuary for Mike, while performing without Claire is the only way to keep his bar afloat. All these characters, sometimes sketched in just a few scenes, contribute to a textured picture of working-class life in Milwaukee, where airport noise, broken-down cars, and tight budgets coexist with the genuine joy of getting the crowd singing on Saturday night.

Beneath the sentimentality and melodrama, Song Sung Blue quietly advocates a different vision of show business. It's not about reaching the top of the charts or revolutionizing music; the biggest stakes in the film are opening for Pearl Jam, getting a better contract at a casino, or even selling out a local theater on the same night that the real Neil Diamond is performing across town. Mike Sardina even says it clearly: he knows he's neither a star nor a songwriter, he just wants to entertain people and make a living. At a time when most musical films still revolve around the myth of extraordinary talent destined for greatness, there is something refreshing, even slightly subversive, about a film that insists that an average life, filled with late-night gigs, odd jobs, and a sea of jeans, can be just as meaningful. The film's unapologetic sentimentality, its refusal to belittle these characters with irony, and its total ease with sing-along songs, even if they're not very cool, make it a kind of confessional film for the church of Neil Diamond, preaching that getting through tough times together and keeping on singing is a form of grace in itself.

Ultimately, whether Song Sung Blue strikes you as a diamond in the rough or an overly sweet jukebox will probably depend on your tolerance for strong feelings expressed without a safety net and your affection for Neil Diamond's sincere pop. As a film, it's undeniably uneven: the tone shifts can be jarring, the themes of disability and addiction are sometimes treated simplistically, and the script's desire to incorporate all the twists and turns of the real story means that not all of them land as intended. Yet as a showcase for the performances of Kate Hudson and Hugh Jackman, as a love letter to the cover bands most of us only see from across a bar, and as a reminder that cheesy music can still get a room rocking, this film has a beating heart that's hard to resist. Despite all its flaws, you leave the theater feeling more emotional about these characters than you would about many other, much more accomplished films in the running for awards, and humming snippets of Holly Holy despite yourself. Song Sung Blue is not a flawless classic, but it is a generous, moving, deeply human film that knows exactly who it is singing for.

Song Sung Blue
Written and directed by Craig Brewer
Based on Song Sung Blue by Greg Kohs
Produced by Craig Brewer, John Davis, John Fox
Starring Hugh Jackman, Kate Hudson, Michael Imperioli, Ella Anderson, King Princess, Mustafa Shakir, Jayson Warner Smith, Hudson Hensley, Fisher Stevens, Jim Belushi
Cinematography: Amy Vincent
Edited by Billy Fox
Music by Scott Bomar
Production company: Davis Entertainment
Distributed by Focus Features (United States), Universal Pictures (International)
Release dates: October 26, 2025 (AFI Film Festival), December 25, 2025 (United States), December 31, 2025 (France)
Running time: 131 minutes

Seen on November 23, 2025 at Le Grand Rex cinema

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