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Neil Diamond’s popular songs triumph over their lack of critical esteem. At the point when his songwriting (“Holly Holy,” “Cracklin’ Rosie,” “Sweet Caroline,” and many others) sounds cloying, its emotional appeal — its realness — kicks in, not to be denied. And when a crowd sings along, sentiments you think you are smarter than become almost overwhelmingly joyful. Diamond’s mysterious craft is the secret charm that makes Song Sung Blue so very moving.

Director-writer Craig Brewer understands Diamond’s appeal, finding its purest expression in the story of Mike and Claire Sardina, real-life leaders of a Neil Diamond tribute band billed as Thunder and Lightning that was the subject of a 2008 documentary by Greg Kohs. The pair met when Claire, one of middle America’s many unknown but talented itinerant musicians, used her Patsy Cline–inspired gifts to audition to join Mike’s gig. He had previously expressed himself through impersonations of Elvis Presley, Bon Jovi, ZZ Top, and Don Ho.

Brewer vivifies this little-known subculture performed and attended by devotees of musical legends — from Elvis and Buddy Holly to James Brown and Barbra Streisand — when Claire (Kate Hudson), who is immediately smitten by Mike (Hugh Jackman), intuits, “You don’t want to be an impersonator, you want to be a Neil Diamond interpreter.” The difference means everything to their spiritual identity — and ours.

Diamond’s songs celebrate universal emotions (such as the pop devotional “I’m a Believer”). Mike insists, “This is about Neil and this is about his fans.” Brewer grasps this quintessential fact of pop-cultural connection better than when he made Dolemite Is My Name, the 2019 Eddie Murphy biopic tribute to comedian Rudy Ray Moore. Brewer has become our only deft craftsman of the underclass, a filmmaker who respects its culture, homespun virtues, and recognizable, spiritual aspirations. His debut film was the auspicious Southern hip-hop myth Hustle & Flow. Diamond’s gemütlichkeit lyrics inform Brewer’s empathy for all-American strivers like the Sardinas.

There’s no shame in Mike and Claire’s hard-luck rapport. He’s a 30-years sober alcoholic, and they both have children from previous failed marriages. Their esprit de corps is not just sexual but mutual understanding of adult complexities and showbiz. Watch them in sync on Diamond’s “Cherry, Cherry.” Pop’s common language is in Claire’s poignant divorcée desires: “I want to sing. I want to dance. I want a garden. I want a cat.” Hudson’s smile has matured into the radiance of Goldie Hawn (her mother) — and she can sing, too. We see her experience and ardor when she explains to her daughter, “You see magic all the time because you’re young, but I don’t.”

Claire’s authenticity matches Mike’s indefatigable male initiative. Mike’s open-hearted, ex-Marine response to news of the unwanted pregnancy of Claire’s daughter Rachel (Ella Anderson) is a slightly goofy lecture about SMEAC — Situation, Mission, Execution, Administration, Command — that answers her defeated romanticism with fatherly pragmatism and a showman’s aplomb.

Nothing in the Bruce Springsteen hagiography Deliver Me from Nowhere compares with the performances of “Song Sung Blue” and “Forever in Blue Jeans,” songs that face hardship with faith gleaned from Diamond’s good tunes. It’s not the hit-parade method of Broadway’s biographical jukebox musicals. Diamond’s oeuvre provides uplift throughout Mike and Claire’s tragedies, whether the jubilant “Crunchy Granola Suite” or the ecumenical “Soolaimon,” an unabashed all-religions anthem (“God of my wants, God of my needs”) that blends African, Arabic, and gospel beliefs. It compliments Mike’s wisdom from AA: “Young people don’t realize how good they have it. Touch their toes and screw all night. Most things just don’t work out. Hope is hard.”

The Sardinas’ struggle transcends showbiz celebrity-worship films like last year’s tiresome Dylanolatry sermon A Complete Unknown. Diamond’s “Holly Holy” fulfills Claire’s need for camaraderie: “Maybe if you’re there with me, I can have that catharsis,” she pleads with Mike. Brewer heightens this need in scenes where faith perfectly answers the Sardina family’s crisis. Diamond’s lyric “Touch a man who can’t walk upright, and that lame man he’s gonna fly” articulates his listeners’ spiritual longing. It’s uncanny storytelling, last witnessed in Anvil! The Story of Anvil, Shoplifters of the World, and Better Man. Diamond’s genius — yes, call it that — isn’t mere nostalgia. Brewer shows everyday America through a song as commonplace as Diamond’s “Forever in Blue Jeans” (a working-class celebration that Brewer aces in a montage showing the jealousy of Rachel’s boyfriend over the auto-mechanic skills that Mike taught her).  Song Sung Blue reminds us that pop music — and movies — can be salvific.