‘Highway 99: A Double Album’ Review: Ethan Hawke Goes to the Tender, Conflicted Heart of Merle Haggard in the Rich Documentary He’s Deserved

For viewers of Ken Burns' expansive 2019 documentary "Country Music," the fleeting glimpses of Merle Haggard’s life may have left a longing for a deeper exploration of the singer-songwriter, who passed away in 2014. Haggard—a towering figure in the Bakersfield sound movement that challenged Nashville’s polished production in the 1960s—risked being narrowly remembered for his 1969 hit “Okie From Muskogee,” a song whose ironic patriotism sometimes overshadowed his nuanced catalog. Thankfully, actor and director Ethan Hawke has stepped in as an unlikely but devoted posthumous champion with his new film, "Highway 99: A Double Album," offering the kind of immersive tribute Haggard’s legacy richly deserves.

Premiering at the Telluride Film Festival, the film unfolds with the unhurried rhythm of one of Haggard’s own train songs—a nod to his youth spent hopping freight trains. Structured in two parts with a literal intermission clock, Hawke sustains engagement across its three-plus hours by weaving archival footage with live performances from nearly 30 contemporary artists, including Norah Jones and Jason Isbell, whose acoustic covers serve as poignant musical interludes. These segments not only honor Haggard’s songbook but also contextualize his enduring influence on Americana music. A potential soundtrack release could further cement this cross-generational dialogue.

Despite the star-studded lineup, Haggard’s own magnetism remains the film’s core. His personal charm was so compelling that two of his ex-wives rejoined his band, The Strangers, after their divorces—a testament to his complex allure. Hawke opens the documentary driving through Bakersfield in his father’s car, reflecting on how he came to love Haggard’s music through years of cassette tapes. Though there’s initial concern the film might veer into autobiography, Hawke skillfully balances personal reverence with historical excavation, especially when illustrating Haggard’s early trauma: the death of his father at age nine led to years of delinquency, incarceration, and escape from 17 institutions before he turned 21.

Haggard’s artistic contradictions are thoughtfully examined—from "Irma Jackson," a progressive anthem advocating interracial love, to the conservative-leaning "Okie From Muskogee," and finally to his late-career support for Hillary Clinton in "Let’s Put a Woman in Charge." As music historian Dr. Lydia Miller notes, “Haggard refused to be pinned down politically; his work reflected the tensions and evolutions of American identity itself.” The film also touches on lighter moments, like Dolly Parton recalling a late-night profession of love from Haggard, or Rosanne Cash sharing his fascination with alien conspiracy theories during his later years.

Among the most moving elements are the audio excerpts from Haggard’s final interview with Ken Burns, conducted in 2014 when the singer was gravely ill. His labored breathing gives way to familiar wit and warmth, capturing a artist reconciling his legacy. Hawke’s documentary not only rescues Haggard from reductionist memory but presents him in full—tender, troubled, brilliant, and profoundly human. In doing so, "Highway 99" achieves what all great music bios aspire to: it makes you want to immediately revisit the records, and hear them anew.