Few Hollywood-based stories have been as tragic as the life and death of Judy Garland – from the wide-eyed young girl with an angelic voice, to an adult who could command even the biggest stages, despite her slight frame and almost milquetoast demeanour, she was always in the public eye, right until her untimely demise, one of the many premature deaths caused by the stress of an industry that was ruthless at the best of times. In what would be her final acting role, Garland starred in I Could Go On Singing, in which she plays an acclaimed American singer on a tour of the United Kingdom, who reconnects with an old lover and their son, who has grown up without a mother, and as per their agreement, she is not to reveal to the young man that she is the person who gave birth to him, in order to maintain the distance between this part in their shared history – but when she discovers his talents and charm, she struggles to not express the maternal pride she has been keeping concealed for years. A simple but effective drama that draws on many complex themes, all the while offering the audience a compelling glimpse into the lives of these characters, Ronald Neame (one of the most inarguably versatile and skilled directors working around the time) and screenwriter Mayo Simon weave together a compelling and meaningful story that captures our attention from the first moments, and eventually becomes a truly engrossing, well-constructed drama about the virtue of finding the joy in every situation, a process that is often easier said than done – but once you realize the true pleasures contained in even the smallest of moments, the yearning for another day becomes all the more impactful, and we find ourselves seeing life in a radically different way. Poetic and meaningful, and also extremely well-made, I Could Go On Singing is a wonderful film, albeit not one that is all that easy to watch, especially considering the real-life subject matter that may not have inspired the story, but instead looms eerily over the film, especially in hindsight, since knowing what was to come in the aftermath of this film adds a level of sadness that only supplements the poignant emotions at the heart of the narrative.

I Could Go On Singing is a film that exemplifies the power of a well-constructed story, and how it doesn’t take too much effort to effectively capture the sensation that is so palpable throughout this film. It’s a delicately-constructed and very meaningful story, but one that is also vital in how it approaches certain themes. Neame was not a stranger to stories about fame – his masterpiece The Horse’s Mouth was a fascinating deconstruction of the art world and its preoccupation with personalities, and while this is not nearly as satirical or sardonic as that, it is still a film that addresses the theme of fame, just filtering it through a more intimate lens. We are introduced to a small cast of characters, all of them essentially forming a family, both biologically and in terms of an unspoken professional bond, and they navigate the challenges presented to them through these connections, which are both enlightening and frustrating, depending on how one views the film’s approach to certain subjects. Motherhood in particular is a very distinct theme – the central conflict of the story is that the main character is a mother without a child, someone who had given birth but never had the opportunity to raise their son, instead watching him grow from a distance, learning about his life through proxy conversations with his father, who doesn’t keep her away from their son for selfish reasons, but rather for the sake of the boy’s emotional and psychological well-being. It is a fascinating and harrowing subversion of the common theme where it is mothers that tend to be the protectors, this film taking a different view in looking at someone who yearns to fill that role, but for one reason or another has never been able to achieve it. Her problem is that fame has always been her priority – the character of Jenny Bowman is someone who is far more invested in furthering her career, to the point where even efforts to reconnect with her son have to orbit around her musical endeavours, her intentions being to convince him to follow her and allow him to be given a new start at life as yet another member of her entourage, rather than as her child. It is a compelling concept that the film explores in vivid detail, and while it can sometimes feel quite prickly, these elements are undeniably vital in the construction of the overall story.

Without any hesitation, we can proclaim that the only reason this film works is because it is based around Judy Garland, using her as the impetus to tell the story. It isn’t based on her life (at least not officially), and it is possible that any other actor could have technically played this role, since she didn’t have exclusive rights to playing troubled music hall singers going through an existential crisis of identity – but she was just so good at it, it is impossible to under-estimate her brilliance when it came to playing a role like this. Many don’t particularly care for her performance here, especially in comparison to some of her other films that were more endearing, rather than those that felt like they were reflecting some of the darker aspects of her life. Ultimately, this film works because it views Garland as an undeniable talent, but doesn’t perceive her as infallible – Neame refuses to place her on a pedestal, and while there is an undeniable abundance of respect for her that pervades throughout the film, it doesn’t propose that she was anything other than another mortal, a person with the same desires, concerns and moments of sadness that drove her to lead a life many would consider far more tragic than it needed to be. However, it is a far more compelling film than its detractors give it credit for, and we do need to look at it as less of a statement on Garland as a person, and more her status as a true entertainment icon. The entire project was seemingly designed to be an opportunity for her to showcase her skills, which had seemingly been laying dormant for years. The title of the film was even changed to promote the fact that Garland would be in her first musical film in about a decade, having avoided singing on screen for years, instead pursuing other ventures, as part of her efforts to take a more subdued role in the industry. Part of the success of this film also comes in the form of Dirk Bogarde, who was very influential in getting the film made – hired to play the male lead across from Garland, he becomes the heart of the film. playing a stoic and sophisticated character who has a very tender heart. His admiration for his co-star was palpable, so much to the point where he insisted on rewriting some of the scripts to make them more empathetic and compelling, giving Garland’s character more depth, since his belief was that the original script treated her too much like a fragile figure, rather than the embodiment of grit and resilience that we have now come to accept as her true persona.

However, the comparisons between reality and fiction are inevitable, and the fact that this was Garland’s last film performance is eerie, and makes it difficult to divorce this film from her real life in many ways. There are far too many parallels between the character of Jenny Bowman and Garland herself for us to consider this as entirely original, and not based on her own life in some way. It is difficult to figure out how much of this character existed on the page, and the extent to which Garland brought her own experiences into the process (by all accounts, the production of this film was a collaborative effort, rather than just a matter of shooting as the script was written), as well as figuring out how much of our perception of this film was based on what we know in hindsight – it certainly is a case of life imitating art in some degree, and it is doubtful that anyone in 1963 knew how tragically her story would end only a few years later. If anything, I Could Go On Singing offers a more ideal scenario, where this character doesn’t fall victim to illness and addiction, but instead emerges triumphant, defeating those demons that haunt her and overcoming the challenges that bound her and kept her from realizing her true potential. This film does have a very difficult relationship with Garland, and one has to wonder how it may have been perceived if another actor had occupied the role – but sometimes the most challenging conversations are those that need to be had the most. The film is notably not nearly as exploitative towards Garland and her legacy as it may appear, and it often becomes a matter of understanding precisely how far a story like this can go before starting to become too harsh – and Neame, as a perpetual master of his craft, establishes such a strong, consistently meaningful understanding of how to use her as not only a cultural figure, but as a talented performer in her own right, ultimately giving her the kind of complex character study she often found difficult to secure, since not many of her peers were all that willing to embrace her as more than just this ethereal individual that existed better in theory than she did in practice.

At the heart of this film we find a story that presents to us some many complex ideas, some of which are not always easy to embrace, and we often feel like we are intentionally kept at arm’s length throughout the duration of this narrative, an intentional choice to put a distance between the audience and the characters. A more self-aware film would have allowed us to have more access to the psychological states of these characters, but it is difficult to begrudge the film for taking a more stoic approach, especially considering the subject matter with which it was working. It’s a harrowing, haunting but also deeply beautiful film, a story that touches on themes of identity, celebrity culture (particularly the challenges many faces when navigating the relationship between fame and their personal lives) and family, all of which form the foundation for this film, which understands and respects the boundaries set by the star of the film. It is a complex character study that presents an increasingly melancholy but oddly inspiring story of a life gradually falling apart, being kept buoyant by the sheer resilience demonstrated by the main character. It’s a challenging film, but not one that lacks reward and nuance. Beautifully detailed and profoundly meaningful in many ways, I Could Go On Singing is a strong depiction of Garland’s unimpeachable talents, which can sometimes be overshadowed by the knowledge that this was her final acting appearance – but taken on its own, it is difficult to not fall under the spell of this film, which is a powerful and striking examination of one individual’s journey to self-realization, which comes about through her increasingly desperate attempts to find her place in the world, which is a far more terrifying concept than many tend to imagine, but one that we all need to undergo at some point in our lives, this film just showing one of a myriad of such stories.