When the name Judy Garland is uttered, what's the first image that comes to mind?
For me (and perhaps a number of people), it's a young Judy performing 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' whilst gazing into the distance, a look of hope etched across her face. It's an iconic scene in the cinematic lexicon, but as Judy's director Rupert Goold and writer Tom Edge hauntingly propose, the on-screen idolisation of Judy likely came at a price for Judy's personal life and health.
First seen as a young girl (Darci Shaw), Judy is taken for a walk down the Yellow Brick Road on the Wizard of Oz set. Producer Louis B. Mayer (portrayed here with pervasively chilling manipulation by Richard Cordery) points down the road and says that Judy could be like other girls and lead an ordinary life. But the allure of stardom wins out and, in a pointed bit of direction, Judy walks away from the Yellow Brick Road and into a life controlled and mandated by those only focused on turning Judy into what they want her to be, no matter the cost.
Jump 30-odd years in the future, and Judy (Renee Zellweger) has fallen on hard times. Unable to afford a roof over the heads of her and her children Joey (Lewin Lloyd) and Lorna (Game of Thrones' Bella Ramsey), she leaves the children with their father and her ex-husband, Sid (Rufus Sewell); full credit goes to both Zellweger and a wonderfully understated Sewell for expressing a full history of bitter pain and eroded affection in just a few scenes.
Struggling for cash and desperate to be reunited with her children, Judy takes a performance engagement in London. Her erratic behaviour and apparent ambivalence prove frustrating for handler Rosalyn Wilder (Jessie Buckley, showing impressive grace and range following her vivaciously energised lead turn in Wild Rose) and event organiser Bernard Delfont (a sadly under-used Michael Gambon). Even though Judy delivers some strong on-stage performances and a romance with the charming Mickey Deans (a confidently charismatic Finn Wittrock) offers some respite, her demons are never far from arising...
To say that Zellweger is great in the titular role is an understatement. She is extraordinary, embodying Judy Garland so thoroughly you'd be forgiven for forgetting who you're watching for large stretches of the film. During Judy's successful on-stage performances, Zellweger flawlessly exudes the spell-binding persona which drew and continues to draw so many to Garland; it doesn't hurt that Zellweger has a magnificent voice and stage presence, selling every note and movement without a single fumble. The first on-stage performance, when Judy stumbles uncertainly in front of the audience before seemingly shedding all her woes and belting out 'By Myself' with almost titanic prowess, is a scene of beautific focus. Jany Temime's sublime costume design only accentuates Judy's glamorous persona and allure.
When she's off-stage, Zellweger is just as captivating. Judy is a human riddled with insecurities and faults, many of which were arguably instilled during her younger years. Shaw deserves a mention for her tenderly heartfelt work as a young Judy, offering an affecting portrayal of innocence slowly being down-trodden; there are powerful moments where editor Melanie Oliver deftly criss-crosses between Judy as a child being ground down by the show-business machine and Judy as an adult, alternating between numbly carrying on and holding on by a thread. Zellweger delivers exquisitely three-dimensional work, with Judy's likeability often at sudden odds with her vulnerabilities and spiky defensiveness. The moments where Judy lowers her defences are among the film's most emotional; an extended sequence where Judy spends time with two fans is unexpectedly touching, largely thanks to Zellweger's easy chemistry with the two characters (one of them played with especially touching weight by Andy Nyman). Meanwhile, a late phone conversation between Judy and her daughter Lorna is quietly shattering, aching with such authenticity that you feel almost voyeuristic watching it. Both Zellweger and the deeply assured Ramsey sell this scene with touching pathos. While Ole Bratt Birkeland's cinematography excels throughout in mixing both vibrant and grounded hues to encapsulate Judy's highs and lows (as well as highlighting Kave Quinn's bewitching production design), perhaps the most visually profound moment of the film follows this phone conversation. No moment in Judy exemplifies the titular figure's loneliness more sharply than Judy walking away from the brightly lit telephone box and down a dark London street.
As portrayed in Judy, Judy Garland is human to a fault. When she sets foot upon the stage and the magic combination of sheer performing skill and crowd adulation take hold, however, she is a transcendant figure. In the inevitable performance of 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow', Judy the star and Judy the person collide in emotionally mesmeric fashion. What happens in the scene may not be historically accurate, but that doesn't matter. What matters is how Garland's legacy, however much pain and damage she endured, inspires and enlightens people even to this day. Judy Garland may have gone far sooner than she should have, but the hopeful and bittersweet message of this painfully poignant portrait is that, through the love people have for the love she shone, her star will never dim.
Verdict: A bio-pic of remarkable emotional clarity with very little overt manipulation, Judy offers a passionately heartfelt depiction of the titular icon in all her tumultous humanity. Zellweger shines in perhaps the pnnacle of her filmography, and she is ably assisted by a strong supporting cast and illustrous production values. While this doesn't completely escape all of the biopic cliches, they still ring more emotionally true here than in so many familiar films. Offering a profound statement of the Hollywood system and how stars are at risk of becoming products to be sold by the studio, Judy doesn't shy away from the dark, uncomfortable depths of Garland's pain. Lingering with agonising tenderness, Zellweger's turn helps elevate Judy into a resonant triumph.
Final Rating: 4.5 out of 5
When she's off-stage, Zellweger is just as captivating. Judy is a human riddled with insecurities and faults, many of which were arguably instilled during her younger years. Shaw deserves a mention for her tenderly heartfelt work as a young Judy, offering an affecting portrayal of innocence slowly being down-trodden; there are powerful moments where editor Melanie Oliver deftly criss-crosses between Judy as a child being ground down by the show-business machine and Judy as an adult, alternating between numbly carrying on and holding on by a thread. Zellweger delivers exquisitely three-dimensional work, with Judy's likeability often at sudden odds with her vulnerabilities and spiky defensiveness. The moments where Judy lowers her defences are among the film's most emotional; an extended sequence where Judy spends time with two fans is unexpectedly touching, largely thanks to Zellweger's easy chemistry with the two characters (one of them played with especially touching weight by Andy Nyman). Meanwhile, a late phone conversation between Judy and her daughter Lorna is quietly shattering, aching with such authenticity that you feel almost voyeuristic watching it. Both Zellweger and the deeply assured Ramsey sell this scene with touching pathos. While Ole Bratt Birkeland's cinematography excels throughout in mixing both vibrant and grounded hues to encapsulate Judy's highs and lows (as well as highlighting Kave Quinn's bewitching production design), perhaps the most visually profound moment of the film follows this phone conversation. No moment in Judy exemplifies the titular figure's loneliness more sharply than Judy walking away from the brightly lit telephone box and down a dark London street.
As portrayed in Judy, Judy Garland is human to a fault. When she sets foot upon the stage and the magic combination of sheer performing skill and crowd adulation take hold, however, she is a transcendant figure. In the inevitable performance of 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow', Judy the star and Judy the person collide in emotionally mesmeric fashion. What happens in the scene may not be historically accurate, but that doesn't matter. What matters is how Garland's legacy, however much pain and damage she endured, inspires and enlightens people even to this day. Judy Garland may have gone far sooner than she should have, but the hopeful and bittersweet message of this painfully poignant portrait is that, through the love people have for the love she shone, her star will never dim.
Verdict: A bio-pic of remarkable emotional clarity with very little overt manipulation, Judy offers a passionately heartfelt depiction of the titular icon in all her tumultous humanity. Zellweger shines in perhaps the pnnacle of her filmography, and she is ably assisted by a strong supporting cast and illustrous production values. While this doesn't completely escape all of the biopic cliches, they still ring more emotionally true here than in so many familiar films. Offering a profound statement of the Hollywood system and how stars are at risk of becoming products to be sold by the studio, Judy doesn't shy away from the dark, uncomfortable depths of Garland's pain. Lingering with agonising tenderness, Zellweger's turn helps elevate Judy into a resonant triumph.
Final Rating: 4.5 out of 5
