Critics reviews

Zellweger finds the tragedy of Garland’s life in odd moments—staring at a pretty slice of cake she is afraid to eat, turning the plate around.

The force and feeling of Garland’s singing were her power and triumph. Zellweger and her colleagues make us respect that honesty.

The take is also cautious, too comfortable; it never makes you flinch or look away. Wholly embracing Garland’s freneticism at its rawest might have registered as excessive or campy, but it would have deepened the portrait.

Most of the time, “Judy” renders Garland’s pathos, as well as the details of her life story, in the form of dramatic clichés and contrived arcs.

Zellwegger’s purposefully raw performance, defined by those soulful eyes framed by perpetually running mascara, taps into a painful legacy of starlets who’ve been used, abused, and ultimately discarded by the Hollywood machine.

Without Zellweger, the result might have been a trudge, or an embarrassing mess, but her performance fills it to the brim with nuance and narrative purpose, and if that’s not enough, she sings that huge, heartbreaking repertoire with all the knobs turned up to 11.

Zellweger—herself in the midst of a career comeback after a recent six-year sabbatical—presses on in her own way, with a face that is always up to something, nose twitching, eyes fluttering, lips vibrant with movement and feeling, like they’re always on the cusp of some abrupt new emotion.