A sensational Renée Zellweger stars as the legendary Judy
Garland in Rupert Goold’s lovingly staged and deeply
compassionate biopic “Judy.” Too often the legacy of Garland’s talent threatens
to be overshadowed by the traumas of her life, but with a transformative
performance that goes beyond mere mimicry, Zellweger helps find the humanity
beneath the notoriety.
Adapted by
Tom Edge from Peter Quilter’s Tony-nominated stage play “End of the Rainbow”
and arriving on the 50th anniversary of Garland’s death, “Judy” smartly doesn’t
attempt a cradle-to-grave retelling of Garland’s life. The narrative maintains
a tighter focus, taking place during the final year before the actress-singer’s
death in 1969.
The main throughline of the film sees a middle-aged Garland arriving
in London in the winter of 1968. Hired by theater impresario Bernard Delfont (Michael Gambon), she’s been invited to take up a
five-week residency at the glitzy nightclub The Talk of the Town, where she’ll
perform a sold-out series of nightly concerts.
It was a
period of professional struggle for the star, and her reputation as an
unreliable performer has made her practically unemployable. Meanwhile a
prescription-drug addiction and poor decisions in marriage have left her broke
and all but homeless.
She’s
desperate to earn enough money to maintain custody of her young children, Lorna
(Bella Ramsey) and Joey (Lewin Lloyd). As much as she wants to be with them,
this much-needed job forces her to leave them in California with her bitter
(fourth) ex-husband Sid Luft (Rufus Sewell).
Fighting her
own desperation and shaken confidence, Garland is never entirely sure if her
voice will show up when she needs it to. And she doesn’t endear herself to the
nightclub’s band leader (Royce Pierreson) by refusing
to rehearse, then turning up late and frequently inebriated to her own shows.
As she
struggles to keep her personal demons at bay, she relies on the support of a
much younger lover Mickey Deans (Finn Wittrock) and an endlessly patient
wrangler (the wonderful Jessie Buckley, who was recently so great in the Irish
musical drama “Wild Rose”), who’s tasked with making sure the star gets to the
stage each night no matter what state she’s in.
Throughout
the film, we see brief flashbacks to Garland’s teenage years. Born Frances Gumm, Garland (portrayed in her younger years by an excellent
Darci Shaw) was a natural born performer, one whose
remarkable talent turned into an exploitable commodity within the abusive
studio system.
Beginning
with her audition for Dorothy in “The Wizard of Oz,” the role that would launch
her to stardom at the age of 16, the flashbacks give us just enough to impress
upon us the misery of being a child actor. She’s endlessly scrutinized and
micromanaged by MGM studio head Louis B. Mayer, who attempts to motivate her
through insults to her appearance, and keeps her on a steady diet of uppers and
downers to maximize the amount of time she’s able to keep performing for the
cameras.
Garland
spent her entire young life on movie sets, where she was forbidden from eating,
socializing with her peers, and barely allowed to sleep. It made for a lonely,
exhausting, and often degrading existence. The only companion we ever see her
with is frequent co-star Mickey Rooney, who dodges her shy flirtations and
reminds her that the studio has made it clear that dating is absolutely verboten.
With a few
short scenes we get a clear picture of a childhood that was stolen from her,
and that sense of melancholy infuses the film, emphasized by composer Gabriel Yared’s rich, restrained score. It contrasts slightly with
the sumptuous look of the film, with lovely cinematography by Ole BrattBirkeland and Kave Quinn’s tactile production design.
Mostly known
for his stage directorial work, Rupert Goold (“True
Story”) directs the film with a theatrical sensibility. He ensures that the sad
narrative never devolves into tabloid misery, capturing the joy Garland found
in performing, and spent her life chasing. It’s also a pleasure to see musical
numbers that aren’t cut within an inch of their lives. Even when the script
resorts to a few biopic clichés — particularly late in the film — Zellweger’s
bravura performance brings pathos, capturing Garland’s stubbornness, strength,
her self-deprecating sense of humor, and her vulnerability.
There’s a
sweet sequence in which Garland meets a gay couple (played by Andy Nyman and
Daniel Cerqueira) after one of the shows, and accepts
their invitation to join them for dinner. Their presence ultimately gets a
little heavy-handed, but serves as a touching tribute to Garland’s importance
to the gay community.
It’s a
portrait that’s both clear-eyed and generous. In Renée Zellweger empathetic
portrayal of the wounded and wobbly Hollywood icon, she imbues “Judy” with the
heart and soul of the beloved performer.
This article appears in Sep 25 – Oct 1, 2019.
