Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson Shake Up the Midwest With "Song Sung Blue"

Olivia Bennett, 12/25/2025Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson charm in "Song Sung Blue," a heartfelt film celebrating Midwestern dreams and the joy of artistic pursuit. Directed by Craig Brewer, the film offers an earnest tribute to ambition, family, and community, making it a delightful holiday watch.

At its center is a story plucked from the quirkiest corners of real life. Mike and Claire Sardina—two Midwestern souls with a Neil Diamond tribute act more sincere than many a Grammy winner—anchor the film’s tender core. "Lightning & Thunder," as they’ve christened their stage persona, isn’t chasing stadium crowds. Their backdrop is the local karaoke circuit, their dreams stitched out of sequins and sheer grit. Any notion of ironic detachment has been neatly side-stepped; what unfolds is not so much a satire as a love letter to art made for the joy of making it.

Craig Brewer, steering the directorial ship, seems bent on sidestepping the snark that could have been—had this been 2015, perhaps, a more cynical approach might have ruled. Instead, empathy emerges as the star, with the filmmaker’s reverence for the 2008 documentary source material shaping every frame. Irony is nowhere to be found; a gently unvarnished optimism takes its place, one that honors the ache of ambition as much as its fleeting glory.

As for Jackman, anyone expecting a tongue-in-cheek Diamond impersonation will be surprised. His Mike Sardina is earnest, raw, and far closer to the bone than his ringmaster in "The Greatest Showman" ever dared. There’s a humility in the performance, a generosity, as if Jackman has slipped not just into Diamond’s glittery shirts but into the neuralgic worry of an artist with everything to lose. Milwaukee, for all its world-weariness, becomes a stage for something uncommonly kind.

Consider his words—Jackman, ever gracious on his latest promotional spin (and, really, does the man ever seem to tire?), gestures towards universality: “A story about a beloved couple from Milwaukee…but also about towns like Milwaukee all over the world.” There’s a reassuring sweep to that, as if America’s patchwork of dreams could be stitched together by a single chord, or perhaps an out-of-tune cover of “Sweet Caroline.”

Kate Hudson, meanwhile, refuses to play the sidekick. Her Claire delivers Patsy Cline numbers with the vocal power of someone who knows her way around heartbreak, and the script doesn’t shortchange her—there’s a vulnerability, gritty and unvarnished, that lingers long after the final number. Even their on-screen daughters—portrayed by rising talents Ella Anderson and King Princess—get more than token arcs, their subplot a charmingly unforced study in the blurry boundaries of friendship and family.

Of course, the promotional machine hasn’t skimped on spectacle. In an era where big-budget films jostle for holiday streaming supremacy, "Song Sung Blue" flips the script—forget sterile industry junkets or those blue jeans worn only to signal wink-wink rebellion. Instead, the film’s rollout sprawled from Memphis to Muncie with bravado. There were pop-up Neil Diamond tributes at the Wisconsin State Fair, impromptu serenades of “Song Sung Blue” in legendary blues bars, and Jackman shaking hands at neighborhood choir rehearsals. Perhaps it’s a touch over-the-top, but honestly—who’s counting?

Claire Sardina herself has been honored with a tribute almost too delightfully earnest for words: a bench, bright and blue, now graces the Wisconsin State Fair in memory of her serendipitous meeting with Mike. The gesture encapsulates the film’s spirit—both larger-than-life and unmistakably grounded in real, lived-in affection for ordinary magic.

But strip away the hoopla, and what remains is something genuinely moving. Brewer treats Lightning & Thunder’s journey as a kind of Americana myth—an ode to hope that shimmies defiantly, even in the margins. The supporting players keep things weird and wonderful: Michael Imperioli’s unhinged Buddy Holly echoes around the edges; Mustafa Shakir does something joyously electric in a James Brown homage, channeling the feverish energy of a late-night roadhouse. A lesser film might have leaned on sentimentality; here, the eccentricity feels vital.

It’s labeled a Christmas film, and while there are trimmings—tinsel, yes, but the emotional center is richer than most of this season’s sugar-rush fare. Joy in "Song Sung Blue" feels earned, sometimes chaotic, and it rarely sparkles in conventional ways. Glamour, such as it is, arrives courtesy of thrifted blazers and hand-sewn sequins, not the Tiffany diamonds crowding so many December close-ups. One reviewer called it “calorific,” which, given the movie’s mix of nostalgia and ragged hope, seems about right.

There’s a peculiar catharsis embedded in this film—spilling out from the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame’s Neil Diamond exhibit to late-night karaoke bars in Austin, then circling back to the bittersweet memories of a Vietnam vet chasing sobriety. It’s there in the soundtrack as well—“Forever in Blue Jeans” blasting across a half-lit bowling alley, the sort of scene that toes the line between kitsch and authenticity (and often falls happily into both). Is the film perfect? Not in the least. But if perfection is what’s needed at the holidays, perhaps it’s time to swap out diamonds for a little honest-to-goodness denim and take a chance on imperfection.

No movie this season has embraced its audience quite so boisterously—or so sincerely. "Song Sung Blue" is a bauble on the evertoppling tree of American pop culture, charmingly off-kilter and, perhaps, exactly what’s needed as the 2025 Blockbuster Season threatens to drown out everyone’s inner earworm. The result is something rare: a film that makes room for absurdity, kindness, and, yes, just enough corniness to make a Neil Diamond track sound brand new.

There are movie premieres—and then there is Hugh Jackman, traipsing through Milwaukee high schools with the cheery gusto of someone campaigning for class president and local legend. Picture it: this is a man holding court over frozen custard at Kopp’s, not sashaying down some sterile red carpet, but savoring every blue-jeaned handshake and cheese curd. The so-called “grassroots tour” for "Song Sung Blue" has abandoned Hollywood’s swanky afterparties; in their place, a rollicking meander through the heartland, with a warmth so robust it nearly outshines Jackman’s signature megawatt grin.At its center is a story plucked from the quirkiest corners of real life. Mike and Claire Sardina—two Midwestern souls with a Neil Diamond tribute act more sincere than many a Grammy winner—anchor the film’s tender core. "Lightning & Thunder," as they’ve christened their stage persona, isn’t chasing stadium crowds. Their backdrop is the local karaoke circuit, their dreams stitched out of sequins and sheer grit. Any notion of ironic detachment has been neatly side-stepped; what unfolds is not so much a satire as a love letter to art made for the joy of making it.Craig Brewer, steering the directorial ship, seems bent on sidestepping the snark that could have been—had this been 2015, perhaps, a more cynical approach might have ruled. Instead, empathy emerges as the star, with the filmmaker’s reverence for the 2008 documentary source material shaping every frame. Irony is nowhere to be found; a gently unvarnished optimism takes its place, one that honors the ache of ambition as much as its fleeting glory.As for Jackman, anyone expecting a tongue-in-cheek Diamond impersonation will be surprised. His Mike Sardina is earnest, raw, and far closer to the bone than his ringmaster in "The Greatest Showman" ever dared. There’s a humility in the performance, a generosity, as if Jackman has slipped not just into Diamond’s glittery shirts but into the neuralgic worry of an artist with everything to lose. Milwaukee, for all its world-weariness, becomes a stage for something uncommonly kind.Consider his words—Jackman, ever gracious on his latest promotional spin (and, really, does the man ever seem to tire?), gestures towards universality: “A story about a beloved couple from Milwaukee…but also about towns like Milwaukee all over the world.” There’s a reassuring sweep to that, as if America’s patchwork of dreams could be stitched together by a single chord, or perhaps an out-of-tune cover of “Sweet Caroline.”Kate Hudson, meanwhile, refuses to play the sidekick. Her Claire delivers Patsy Cline numbers with the vocal power of someone who knows her way around heartbreak, and the script doesn’t shortchange her—there’s a vulnerability, gritty and unvarnished, that lingers long after the final number. Even their on-screen daughters—portrayed by rising talents Ella Anderson and King Princess—get more than token arcs, their subplot a charmingly unforced study in the blurry boundaries of friendship and family.Of course, the promotional machine hasn’t skimped on spectacle. In an era where big-budget films jostle for holiday streaming supremacy, "Song Sung Blue" flips the script—forget sterile industry junkets or those blue jeans worn only to signal wink-wink rebellion. Instead, the film’s rollout sprawled from Memphis to Muncie with bravado. There were pop-up Neil Diamond tributes at the Wisconsin State Fair, impromptu serenades of “Song Sung Blue” in legendary blues bars, and Jackman shaking hands at neighborhood choir rehearsals. Perhaps it’s a touch over-the-top, but honestly—who’s counting?Claire Sardina herself has been honored with a tribute almost too delightfully earnest for words: a bench, bright and blue, now graces the Wisconsin State Fair in memory of her serendipitous meeting with Mike. The gesture encapsulates the film’s spirit—both larger-than-life and unmistakably grounded in real, lived-in affection for ordinary magic.But strip away the hoopla, and what remains is something genuinely moving. Brewer treats Lightning & Thunder’s journey as a kind of Americana myth—an ode to hope that shimmies defiantly, even in the margins. The supporting players keep things weird and wonderful: Michael Imperioli’s unhinged Buddy Holly echoes around the edges; Mustafa Shakir does something joyously electric in a James Brown homage, channeling the feverish energy of a late-night roadhouse. A lesser film might have leaned on sentimentality; here, the eccentricity feels vital.It’s labeled a Christmas film, and while there are trimmings—tinsel, yes, but the emotional center is richer than most of this season’s sugar-rush fare. Joy in "Song Sung Blue" feels earned, sometimes chaotic, and it rarely sparkles in conventional ways. Glamour, such as it is, arrives courtesy of thrifted blazers and hand-sewn sequins, not the Tiffany diamonds crowding so many December close-ups. One reviewer called it “calorific,” which, given the movie’s mix of nostalgia and ragged hope, seems about right.There’s a peculiar catharsis embedded in this film—spilling out from the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame’s Neil Diamond exhibit to late-night karaoke bars in Austin, then circling back to the bittersweet memories of a Vietnam vet chasing sobriety. It’s there in the soundtrack as well—“Forever in Blue Jeans” blasting across a half-lit bowling alley, the sort of scene that toes the line between kitsch and authenticity (and often falls happily into both). Is the film perfect? Not in the least. But if perfection is what’s needed at the holidays, perhaps it’s time to swap out diamonds for a little honest-to-goodness denim and take a chance on imperfection.No movie this season has embraced its audience quite so boisterously—or so sincerely. "Song Sung Blue" is a bauble on the evertoppling tree of American pop culture, charmingly off-kilter and, perhaps, exactly what’s needed as the 2025 Blockbuster Season threatens to drown out everyone’s inner earworm. The result is something rare: a film that makes room for absurdity, kindness, and, yes, just enough corniness to make a Neil Diamond track sound brand new.