I Could Go on Singing

The plot creaks along like a million other stories about the backstage foibles of an entertainment superstar, but I Could Go on Singing has Judy Garland at its center. So it already has a leg up on the rest by her presence alone. And while Singing may not be great; it does have a core of truth in the plot mechanics and her character. If her character had been renamed Judy instead of Jenny, it wouldn’t change the overall plot very much. She plays a singer who is a little self-destructive, a bottomless pit of need and yearning for love, yet not incapable of giving and lavishing those same yearnings on others. The characterization is more than a little autobiographical, and the stage segments were allegedly filmed live with Garland allowed to improvise the introductions and movements. In these moments you get tiny glimpses into the real, wounded spirit behind the blinding icon, and she (re)proves her serious dramatic chops as an actress.

It’s a pity then that the plot mechanics couldn’t match her iron will and defiant spirit. Singing lays on just about every cliché damaged superstar story you can think of – estranged child, rekindled romance, the conflicts between personal and professional struggles are just a few of the ones we can find in this film. If it’s never great, then it’s also never really awful. She manages to generate a believable relationship with Gregory Phillips, who plays her estranged son, and Dick Bogarde, who plays his father and her long-lost lover. In fact, many of the scenes between Garland and each of the men have a quiet, delicate poignancy and real emotional tug thanks to their subtle acting. None better than the climax where Bogarde meets Garland in the hospital after a bender, tries to talk her into performing and leaving him and their son alone, and she reacts with a tirade about how no one can tell her when or how to sing, it is her gift and she’ll use it how she wants. It’s a lacerating moment in which everything comes together to create a tension and dramatic perfection missing from much of the rest of the film. And the final scene, which sees Garland belting out the titular song, is heartbreakingly poignant for an entirely different reason. Harold Allen and E.Y. “Yip” Harburg wrote “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” which made Garland a star. Now here she is in her final film ending a movie with another one of their songs, it’s a bittersweet circular moment and the lyrics take on a strange new meaning knowing that she would die a few years after this.