Hindsight is 20/20 or so the aphorism goes. In the case of Judy Garland, however, hindsight is more like 20/90: 90 percent focused on the abused, drug-addled victim of Hollywood greed and 10 percent on the delightful human being who began her entertainment career as Frances Gumm, age 2. In the new biopic "Judy," Renee Zellweger delivers a fascinating impersonation of a near- anorexic end-of-life Garland, but there is so much more to Judy Garland than what this movie would have us believe.
Among the most touching moments in the film is the fabricated dinner with two gay fans who stick with her to the end, but mostly this movie left me dry-eyed. The problem with this and every other Judy Garland biopic is that it portrays her as a pathetic victim rather than a heroic rebel who suffered greatly because she had no capable protectors. No doubt she was a handful, but the men in her life served only to show what double-handfuls they were by comparison.
Judy Davis's portrayal of Garland in the TV miniseries "Me and My Shadows" made her out as marginally less pathetic, especially in the scene where President John F. Kennedy asks her to sing "Over the Rainbow" to him over the telephone. She inspired so many, her talent was enormous, and to reduce it to the final lost years of her life does her no justice.
I saw "The End of the Rainbow," the play upon which this movie is based, about a decade ago in London and almost walked out because it was so miserable. Like the play, this movie is enough to make you regret that you ever enjoyed "The Wizard of Oz" or "Meet Me in St. Louis" because it makes you believe that Judy Garland made her way through those performances drugged and abused, as if she never had a good day in her life.
Anyone who has observed Garland's story through the years knows that there were two times when she was truly happy--one was with her children, the other was delivering a song as if she were giving birth to it.
At one point in "Judy" the nasty studio chief Louis B. Mayer presses Garland to choose between a career of Hollywood fame and glamour and a life as a dreary Midwestern farm wife. Somehow it makes us believe that she would have been better off cast in "The Wizard of Oz" as Auntie Em rather than Dorothy. Less obviously, it points out that she would have been the same woman with the same voice minus the studio bullying, the scrutiny of tabloid so-called journalists, and the sadistic voyeurs and users who somehow enjoyed her misery and felt that she had brought it upon herself.
Misery loves company, so if you want to sit in a theater for two hours and watch a reenactment of the last horrific months of Judy Garland's life, by all means squirm through "Judy." Otherwise, for a much more interesting and nuanced appreciation of Garland's contribution to 20th century popular music, watch the blogger Isabel's "Be Kind Rewind" tribute, "The 'Judy' Companion." She observes that this film makes a spectacle of suffering. That is the real tragedy of Judy Garland's life: the spectacle that has been made of it.
Among the most touching moments in the film is the fabricated dinner with two gay fans who stick with her to the end, but mostly this movie left me dry-eyed. The problem with this and every other Judy Garland biopic is that it portrays her as a pathetic victim rather than a heroic rebel who suffered greatly because she had no capable protectors. No doubt she was a handful, but the men in her life served only to show what double-handfuls they were by comparison.
Judy Davis's portrayal of Garland in the TV miniseries "Me and My Shadows" made her out as marginally less pathetic, especially in the scene where President John F. Kennedy asks her to sing "Over the Rainbow" to him over the telephone. She inspired so many, her talent was enormous, and to reduce it to the final lost years of her life does her no justice.
I saw "The End of the Rainbow," the play upon which this movie is based, about a decade ago in London and almost walked out because it was so miserable. Like the play, this movie is enough to make you regret that you ever enjoyed "The Wizard of Oz" or "Meet Me in St. Louis" because it makes you believe that Judy Garland made her way through those performances drugged and abused, as if she never had a good day in her life.
Anyone who has observed Garland's story through the years knows that there were two times when she was truly happy--one was with her children, the other was delivering a song as if she were giving birth to it.
At one point in "Judy" the nasty studio chief Louis B. Mayer presses Garland to choose between a career of Hollywood fame and glamour and a life as a dreary Midwestern farm wife. Somehow it makes us believe that she would have been better off cast in "The Wizard of Oz" as Auntie Em rather than Dorothy. Less obviously, it points out that she would have been the same woman with the same voice minus the studio bullying, the scrutiny of tabloid so-called journalists, and the sadistic voyeurs and users who somehow enjoyed her misery and felt that she had brought it upon herself.
Misery loves company, so if you want to sit in a theater for two hours and watch a reenactment of the last horrific months of Judy Garland's life, by all means squirm through "Judy." Otherwise, for a much more interesting and nuanced appreciation of Garland's contribution to 20th century popular music, watch the blogger Isabel's "Be Kind Rewind" tribute, "The 'Judy' Companion." She observes that this film makes a spectacle of suffering. That is the real tragedy of Judy Garland's life: the spectacle that has been made of it.