‘Song Sung Blue’ Review: Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson Sing the Hits

A sweet serve of feel-sad, feel-glad corn done right, Song Sung Blue tells the remarkable true story of a Milwaukee auto mechanic and his hairdresser wife who face hard knocks together but never let their dream die — even if it’s on life support during the toughest times. While that might sound like Hallmark treacle, Craig Brewer’s captivating retelling of the triumphs and tribulations of a Neil Diamond tribute act is grounded in real feeling and irresistibly rousing music. Most of all, it’s held aloft by winning performances from an ideally paired Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson, the latter doing her best work since Almost Famous.

I’ll confess I was an easy mark for this movie. A key childhood memory is sitting on my aunt’s living room floor — she was groovy enough to have a “feature wall” of contrast wallpaper — playing the Hot August Night double album from start to finish while everyone else was outside digesting barbecue. By the time I hit high school, Diamond’s music had been deemed uncool, so naturally, I disavowed any fondness for it. But decades later, his songs became a time-travel vehicle; I was surprised to find I knew just about every word. I guess it was a given that Song Sung Blue would win me over.

There’s no denying that this is a bona fide boomer movie, so it prompts questions as to whether that generation can still be nudged toward the multiplex and whether younger audiences will be even remotely curious. But this is the kind of robust entertainment — wholesome though not at all toothless, alternately joyful and heart-wrenching — that doesn’t get made much anymore, which should boost word of mouth for the Focus Features Christmas release. It’s a family movie in the best sense of the term, a crowd-pleaser with a ton of heart.

Jackman plays Mike Sardina, a divorced Vietnam vet marking his 20th anniversary of sobriety in the late ‘80s when he meets Claire Stengl (Hudson) at a “Legends” gig at the Wisconsin State Fair. The bill includes impersonators doing Elvis, Willie Nelson, Streisand, James Brown and Buddy Holly, the latter the specialty of Michael Imperioli’s Mark Shurilla, who is also the show’s promoter.

Mike, who performs as self-styled rock god “Lightning,” backs out after a disagreement with Mark, but not before exchanging some flirty banter with Claire. Just as she’s about to go on as Patsy Cline, she tells him he should be doing Neil Diamond.

From Hustle & Flow through the brilliant Eddie Murphy vehicle Dolemite Is My Name, writer-director Brewer has shown an affinity for underdogs seeking fulfillment as performers. It’s obvious what drew him to Greg Kohs’ 2008 documentary of the same name about the husband-and-wife duo. Brewer is working in a more conventional style here than some of his earlier films, but there’s sincerity and emotional authenticity to this movie that suggest deep personal investment, not to mention hardcore music fandom.

Composer Scott Bomar serves as executive music producer, and song after song is an uplifting knockout. Naturally, “Sweet Caroline” gets the royal treatment, but just as Mike insists there’s much more to Neil Diamond than that over-saturated, infernally catchy hit and its singalong chorus, so too does the movie cast a wide net over Diamond’s vast catalogue.

Some of the more memorable numbers are the romantic ballad “Play Me,” the spiritual “Soolaimon,” the stirring, gospel-inflected “Holly Holy” and the even more roof-raising “Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show.” Unlike so many music biopics that shuffle frustrating song fragments just to get through all the greatest hits, Brewer gives the songs space to play out at length, editor Billy Fox’s many montages serving both to amplify and advance the narrative.

This approach is evident from the first time Mike visits Claire with an album of Neil Diamond sheet music to kick around ideas for his act. By the time that first session is over, he has asked her to be Thunder to his Lightning and the pair have surrendered to their mutual attraction. The chemistry between Jackman and Hudson makes you root for their characters as a couple and as a music act.

Scenes that by rights should be eye-rolling clichés somehow end up disarming. One is the first full rehearsal in Mike’s garage, with his longtime associates The Esquires on horns and keys, and Mark on guitar, after deciding he’s too old to keep impersonating Buddy Holly, who died at 22. They rip through “Crunchy Granola Suite” with such gusto, Mike and Claire sharing vocal duties, that even the crabby neighbor across the street is dancing while watering her lawn.

Claire is also a refugee from a broken marriage, prone to bouts of depression, but singing is a great mood-elevator, as is Mike. Her tween son Dayna (Hudson Hensley) is easily won over by his new stepdad, while teenage daughter Rachel (Ella Anderson) is more resistant. But she also comes around after forming a fast friendship and sharing a joint with Mike’s daughter Angelina (indie musician King Princess), visiting from Florida where she lives with her mother.

Mike’s dentist, Dr. Dave Watson (Fisher Stevens), who doubles as his manager, hooks the duo up with low-rent casino booker Tom D’Amato (an amusingly cartoonish Jim Belushi). He screws up their first important gig by promising a motorhome-convention audience and delivering a biker club, who are strictly ZZ Top. But out of that wreckage comes a marriage proposal and before long, Lightning and Thunder are a Milwaukee sensation, getting local news coverage and an enthusiastic following.

Their big break comes when Eddie Vedder (John Beckwith) calls, asking them to open for Pearl Jam. (Yes, this really happened!) But just when you might be starting to wonder if there will be any significant conflict, tragedy strikes, sidelining Claire and sending her plummeting into severe depression and anger. Mike tries to make the best of things, hosting karaoke nights at a family-run Thai restaurant where the owner (Shyaporn Theerakulstit) is a massive Neil Diamond fan. But without Claire, performing loses its magic for him.

The repeat misfortunes in these characters’ lives stir in resonant notes of pathos, even if some, like Rachel’s unplanned pregnancy, are given minimal airtime. But the movie keeps you on board through spiraling lows and resilient highs — even through three endings when one would have sufficed — in large part because the leads are just so damned charming.

Jackman is no stranger to this kind of showman dreamer. His exuberant personality and natural humor make him an ideal fit for the performance elements, whether singing “Cracklin’ Rosie” in his underwear while practicing his Neil moves or belting out hits onstage in dagger-collared satin ‘70s shirts and sequined jackets, his hair billowing in the gust of a fan. But the actor doesn’t shortchange the soulfulness of his character either.

The real surprise, however, is Hudson, giving a vanity-free performance that makes her entirely believable as a Midwestern hairdresser and loving mother whose happiness when performing is infectious and her devastation heartbreaking.

Her versions of Patsy Cline evergreens “Walkin’ After Midnight” and “Sweet Dreams” are rich and warm and full-bodied. She also matches Jackman note for note in wonderful performance interludes, in which Mike and Claire’s love radiates over the audience, and she soars in a solo on Diamond’s soft rock ballad “I’ve Been This Way Before.”

Imperioli, Anderson, Stevens and Belushi ably lead the appealing ensemble in a film that’s sugary but never sickly, even when it borders on schmaltz. Brewer’s direction is polished and fuss-free, trusting in the strength of the characters and their stranger-than-fiction story to do the work, always anchored in bittersweet real-life experience.