Judy (2019) is a film that broke my heart, then put it back together again in a different shape. It’s not often that a film makes me cry; this one had me blubbing, even on a second watch. But please don’t let that put you off. 

Zellweger does the impossible. She embodies a once-in-a-generation talent, as though the film is an encore of Judy Garland’s. Somehow, Garland’s love and pain, and her ability to channel those both at once, come through in every doe-eyed glance, reticent step forward and tragic crack of her injured voice that Zellweger so masterfully emulates. 

At the first flashback, to Garland’s childhood whilst filming The Wizard of Oz (1939), you might think the film will go through her whole life. But these flashbacks are used sparingly, providing context to her anguish, struggles with disordered eating, studio-mandated medication, and relationship with her handlers. 

I recently rewatched The Wizard of Oz on the University’s Hollywood Cinema module. An introduction by José Arroyo included clips spanning Garland’s career. A unifying theme between them seemed to be unfulfilled love. In Judy, Garland’s unfulfilled love takes the form of a custody battle, which ironically compels her to perform in London, further from her children. Her other battle is with performance. She flits between an immobilising fear, and absolute command of the stage. 

Her relationship with a gay couple (stalwart fans who attend every show) is totemic of her enduring significance to the gay community. Through them, we are welcomed into a shared experience of art that goes some way towards making the pain of performance, and life, worthwhile. 

I was left with a feeling of immense gratitude towards Garland, Zellwegger, and anyone that gives, in order that we can all feel something more for a while, and take some comfort in humanity — whether a lullaby, or films like this one.