Hollywood Royalty and Neil Diamond Spark Drama at Aspen Family Bash

Max Sterling, 12/25/2025Amidst the snowy backdrop of Aspen, Neil Diamond's film "Song Sung Blue" sparked joy and nostalgia during an intimate screening with Hollywood icons like Goldie Hawn and Kate Hudson. The film, a heartfelt tribute to music and community, embraces authenticity in a world craving genuine connection.

This past December, just before the world collectively retreated into its annual holiday hibernation, Aspen played host to a gathering heady enough to leave even the most seasoned locals starstruck: the Hawn-Russell-Hudsons, a dynasty of screen charisma, colliding with none other than Neil Diamond in the form of an intimate screening of "Song Sung Blue." Family tradition wrapped in sequins and snowdrifts, if one had to sum it up.

There they were—Kate Hudson, seemingly immune to time as she approached 2025's front door, fiancée Danny Fujikawa, Oliver Hudson, Wyatt Russell with his ever magnetic partner Meredith Hagner, not to mention Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell themselves: a family gathering so star-powered even Mariah Carey, lurking somewhere behind a tinted visor at a nearby bakery, might've paused mid-pastry to peek. This isn’t a town unused to seeing raw celebrity, but there’s a difference between paparazzi fodder and a table read that could pass as a Kennedy Center Honors afterparty.

Center stage, though, belonged to Neil Diamond. Eighty-four and walking proof that you don’t really outgrow your core vibe, Diamond entered the cozy screening like a man perfectly aware that his songs had already outlived three waves of pop culture and a global pandemic or two. The event felt less public relations and more private love letter—a nod to enduring music and the families that carry it around the calendar.

So, “Song Sung Blue.” You might expect a jukebox biopic, warmed-over and neatly packaged for late-night cable. Instead, director and cast seem to have made something better—stranger, even: part road trip, part paean to the power of faded dreams, and part joyous romp through that uniquely American tradition of banding together under someone else’s old hits and giving it another go. Hudson and Hugh Jackman (yes, Wolverine as a Wisconsin cover band enthusiast) reimagine Claire and Mike Sardina, two Milwaukee dreamers who swap disappointment for adulation in the local Neil Diamond tribute scene. Why not, really?

Milwaukee’s blue-collar landscape becomes the movie’s heartbeat—cracked linoleum, unfussy bar stages, joy bursting from modest apartment windows on a midwestern Tuesday. The cast essentially forms a musical Venn diagram no studio marketing department could contrive: Michael Imperioli, Ella Anderson, King Princess, Mustafa Shakir, Jim Belushi, even Fisher Stevens—layers deep with musical credibility, indie weirdness, and sitcom comfort. The result is something messier, more genuine than the perfectly marketed nostalgia packages studios usually churn out when the Oscars approach.

Hudson herself isn’t even a Neil Diamond lifer; she grew into the fandom on-set. There’s something charming about her transformation—it's visible in the way she leans into the euphoria of “Sweet Caroline” with the abandon of an unselfconscious high school senior. She mentioned in a recent interview that, above all, the project radiates inspiration more than familiarity: the script, the music, the dynamic of almost-outsider family finding new harmony. The kind of story that seems quaint, right up until the part where you realize you’ve genuinely started rooting for a couple whose greatest aspiration is pulling off sequins in a three-dollar bar.

Remarkably, the film’s path to screens dodged the stale red carpet of traditional PR. Forget the back-to-back morning show appearances or those vapid influencer partnerships that seem specifically designed to sell streaming subscriptions. Jackman and Hudson, along with Focus Features, went off-grid: hitting Milwaukee, Memphis, Cleveland, Austin—rarely LA or New York, but always cities with something to lose and something to sing about. At Kopp’s, a Milwaukee institution, Jackman dished out “Song Sung Blue-Berry” frozen custard and inspiration in equal measure, handing over musical instruments to local high schoolers as if launching the world’s friendliest pyramid scheme.

Jackman, who always sounds one sentence away from launching into the Broadway version of a TED talk, played up the film’s universality. “Sure, this is about Milwaukee,” he told the local Fox station, “but it’s every working-class city. In Australia, in the Midwest, anywhere.” The genuinely moving footnote: Claire Sardina herself, the woman behind the whole thing, honored with a bench at the Wisconsin State Fairgrounds, thus joining the hallowed ranks of local legends with their own resting spots.

Hudson, meanwhile, seems to be reveling in a moment she's earned—Golden Globe nod, nods from the big O (Oprah, that is), and a campaign that feels less careerist and more communal than what passes for a press tour in 2025.

It’s worth mentioning, sidelong, the marketing campaign’s honest homespun energy—an approach that’s caught on among other studios lately, perhaps as a subtle rebellion against streaming-era sameness. Could this be Hollywood’s soft answer to AI-generated algorithms and late-capitalist content fatigue? Maybe.

Neil Diamond’s shadow lingers everywhere, and not just for the soundtrack. At these traveling screenings, sometimes you’d find a Neil Diamond impersonator belting out “Forever in Blue Jeans” in Las Vegas, or a lineup of local crooners riffing through the catalog in Nashville. In Cleveland, the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame dusted off Diamond’s most disco-ball-worthy jumpsuits, putting them on display for a new generation more familiar with TikTok than Top 40 radio. The campaign, patchworked together across time zones and genres, seemed like an embrace of fandom itself—a low-fi reminder that, for all the glossy tribute acts and stadium tours, music is a communal ritual, not a streaming metric.

“Song Sung Blue” isn’t a winking meta-comedy, nor does it try to out-cool itself with postmodern irony. It’s earnest, a word Hollywood often files away under “charmingly retro,” but here, it works. There’s a dose of veteran gratitude as well—the film’s partnerships with the USO and the Bob Woodruff Foundation squared up as heart-on-sleeve thank-yous rather than box-ticking charity gestures.

And Aspen? The setting suited the sentiment: wind howled through the pines, Goldie, Kurt, their kids and grandkids all shoulder to shoulder, laughter warm enough to fog the windows. Outside, the kind of storm that barely raises an eyebrow up here. Inside, the certainty that family, music, and a little cinematic magic can still cut through end-of-year cynicism. Hollywood, for a moment, felt real, and Aspen held proof you could come home—so long as home meant a Neil Diamond singalong, another scoop of something blue, and enough sparkle to brighten any midwinter night.

Now, with 2025 already spinning up its next batch of trends and award-season contenders, it’s tempting to say that “Song Sung Blue” is a throwback. But maybe it’s not—maybe it’s just timely in a world jaded by options, proof that second acts aren’t just possible, they’re sometimes more interesting than the first. On second thought, isn’t that what good music, and good movies, have always promised?

Aspen, that snow-soaked playground where the mountains are as much a backdrop for Hollywood legends as they are for unfortunate skiers trying not to snap an ACL, has always had a certain magnetism that pulls the famous and fabulous together. Every so often, though, the town hosts a moment that feels cut from a forgotten MGM musical—a little surreal, deeply nostalgic, with all the glitter and heart you expect, only ramped up by the oxygen deprivation.This past December, just before the world collectively retreated into its annual holiday hibernation, Aspen played host to a gathering heady enough to leave even the most seasoned locals starstruck: the Hawn-Russell-Hudsons, a dynasty of screen charisma, colliding with none other than Neil Diamond in the form of an intimate screening of "Song Sung Blue." Family tradition wrapped in sequins and snowdrifts, if one had to sum it up.There they were—Kate Hudson, seemingly immune to time as she approached 2025's front door, fiancée Danny Fujikawa, Oliver Hudson, Wyatt Russell with his ever magnetic partner Meredith Hagner, not to mention Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell themselves: a family gathering so star-powered even Mariah Carey, lurking somewhere behind a tinted visor at a nearby bakery, might've paused mid-pastry to peek. This isn’t a town unused to seeing raw celebrity, but there’s a difference between paparazzi fodder and a table read that could pass as a Kennedy Center Honors afterparty.Center stage, though, belonged to Neil Diamond. Eighty-four and walking proof that you don’t really outgrow your core vibe, Diamond entered the cozy screening like a man perfectly aware that his songs had already outlived three waves of pop culture and a global pandemic or two. The event felt less public relations and more private love letter—a nod to enduring music and the families that carry it around the calendar.So, “Song Sung Blue.” You might expect a jukebox biopic, warmed-over and neatly packaged for late-night cable. Instead, director and cast seem to have made something better—stranger, even: part road trip, part paean to the power of faded dreams, and part joyous romp through that uniquely American tradition of banding together under someone else’s old hits and giving it another go. Hudson and Hugh Jackman (yes, Wolverine as a Wisconsin cover band enthusiast) reimagine Claire and Mike Sardina, two Milwaukee dreamers who swap disappointment for adulation in the local Neil Diamond tribute scene. Why not, really?Milwaukee’s blue-collar landscape becomes the movie’s heartbeat—cracked linoleum, unfussy bar stages, joy bursting from modest apartment windows on a midwestern Tuesday. The cast essentially forms a musical Venn diagram no studio marketing department could contrive: Michael Imperioli, Ella Anderson, King Princess, Mustafa Shakir, Jim Belushi, even Fisher Stevens—layers deep with musical credibility, indie weirdness, and sitcom comfort. The result is something messier, more genuine than the perfectly marketed nostalgia packages studios usually churn out when the Oscars approach.Hudson herself isn’t even a Neil Diamond lifer; she grew into the fandom on-set. There’s something charming about her transformation—it's visible in the way she leans into the euphoria of “Sweet Caroline” with the abandon of an unselfconscious high school senior. She mentioned in a recent interview that, above all, the project radiates inspiration more than familiarity: the script, the music, the dynamic of almost-outsider family finding new harmony. The kind of story that seems quaint, right up until the part where you realize you’ve genuinely started rooting for a couple whose greatest aspiration is pulling off sequins in a three-dollar bar.Remarkably, the film’s path to screens dodged the stale red carpet of traditional PR. Forget the back-to-back morning show appearances or those vapid influencer partnerships that seem specifically designed to sell streaming subscriptions. Jackman and Hudson, along with Focus Features, went off-grid: hitting Milwaukee, Memphis, Cleveland, Austin—rarely LA or New York, but always cities with something to lose and something to sing about. At Kopp’s, a Milwaukee institution, Jackman dished out “Song Sung Blue-Berry” frozen custard and inspiration in equal measure, handing over musical instruments to local high schoolers as if launching the world’s friendliest pyramid scheme.Jackman, who always sounds one sentence away from launching into the Broadway version of a TED talk, played up the film’s universality. “Sure, this is about Milwaukee,” he told the local Fox station, “but it’s every working-class city. In Australia, in the Midwest, anywhere.” The genuinely moving footnote: Claire Sardina herself, the woman behind the whole thing, honored with a bench at the Wisconsin State Fairgrounds, thus joining the hallowed ranks of local legends with their own resting spots.Hudson, meanwhile, seems to be reveling in a moment she's earned—Golden Globe nod, nods from the big O (Oprah, that is), and a campaign that feels less careerist and more communal than what passes for a press tour in 2025.It’s worth mentioning, sidelong, the marketing campaign’s honest homespun energy—an approach that’s caught on among other studios lately, perhaps as a subtle rebellion against streaming-era sameness. Could this be Hollywood’s soft answer to AI-generated algorithms and late-capitalist content fatigue? Maybe.Neil Diamond’s shadow lingers everywhere, and not just for the soundtrack. At these traveling screenings, sometimes you’d find a Neil Diamond impersonator belting out “Forever in Blue Jeans” in Las Vegas, or a lineup of local crooners riffing through the catalog in Nashville. In Cleveland, the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame dusted off Diamond’s most disco-ball-worthy jumpsuits, putting them on display for a new generation more familiar with TikTok than Top 40 radio. The campaign, patchworked together across time zones and genres, seemed like an embrace of fandom itself—a low-fi reminder that, for all the glossy tribute acts and stadium tours, music is a communal ritual, not a streaming metric.“Song Sung Blue” isn’t a winking meta-comedy, nor does it try to out-cool itself with postmodern irony. It’s earnest, a word Hollywood often files away under “charmingly retro,” but here, it works. There’s a dose of veteran gratitude as well—the film’s partnerships with the USO and the Bob Woodruff Foundation squared up as heart-on-sleeve thank-yous rather than box-ticking charity gestures.And Aspen? The setting suited the sentiment: wind howled through the pines, Goldie, Kurt, their kids and grandkids all shoulder to shoulder, laughter warm enough to fog the windows. Outside, the kind of storm that barely raises an eyebrow up here. Inside, the certainty that family, music, and a little cinematic magic can still cut through end-of-year cynicism. Hollywood, for a moment, felt real, and Aspen held proof you could come home—so long as home meant a Neil Diamond singalong, another scoop of something blue, and enough sparkle to brighten any midwinter night.Now, with 2025 already spinning up its next batch of trends and award-season contenders, it’s tempting to say that “Song Sung Blue” is a throwback. But maybe it’s not—maybe it’s just timely in a world jaded by options, proof that second acts aren’t just possible, they’re sometimes more interesting than the first. On second thought, isn’t that what good music, and good movies, have always promised?