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monicalorandavis · 4 years

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Let’s all quit fucking around and give Renee her Oscar for ‘Judy’ now

I am several months late to the ‘Judy’ party. But due to a trip getting cancelled last minute I’m having a staycation instead of a vacation. (Tomato, tomahto!) Needless to say, I’ve got time on my side and I’m watching movies, baby. Time for Judy Garland, baby. Because that’s showbiz, baby!!!

I regret even joking about the razzle dazzle of show business because for Judy Garland show business, the very business she adored, also destroyed her. And that whole journey through the dark, twisted roller coaster of entertainment is sort of the thesis statement of this whole thing.

“The biz” was a cruel bitch to the greatest entertainer of all time. Her nic-name was Miss Show Business for crying out loud and yet when we meet Zellweger, playing the title character in ‘Judy’, she’s in the final year of her life, struggling to keep a roof over her children’s heads. She’s gaunt, exhausted, addicted to pills, alcohol and can’t manage to meet a decent man to save her life.

And instead of nitpicking every wrong choice that led her there, director Rupert Goold allows us into the plodding sojourn that was Judy Garland’s final tour in England. She’d lost custody of her children to ex-husband no. 3 and finally went across the pond where her fans were still willing to pay top dollar for the Hollywood legend.

But when she gets to England we peer into the sheer loneliness that encompasses the lives of the super famous. No friends to share dinner with, kids thousands of miles away, and vulturous men always lurking on the sidelines. It’s grim and bleak and you can’t imagine things ever getting so bad. And yet they were. But, again, and I have to stress this because some power of Judy Garland compels me to underline this as a fellow woman in the arts, this is not the story of how Judy Garland ended up broke. It’s the story of how she tried her damnedest to make enough money to get her kids back because we actors are tryers.

She was a relentless performer who tried. Over and over again. She tried and tried and tried. She tried to put on a good show every night and we watch Zellweger lose the battle to those cloying pills and that seductive martini until she quite literally falls on her face. No, she doesn’t pretend like it didn’t happen. She gets up and is booed off stage and she barks back. And then she gets fired and gets word that her children want to stay with their father in Los Angeles. The final twist of the knife. Zellweger delivers that final conversation to her youngest daughter with aplomb and grace. The Judy Garland we wanted to know - Judy Garland, the mother. Tortured, flawed, generous and loving. A sensitive, soulful singer who had to fight for every scrap of dignity she ever got.

And I kept finding myself wanting to change how things turned out. She was so, so good. So talented. So kind. So willing to give herself to the audience, to new friends. She deserved more.

In one scene, that gives me chills to even think about, she asks two male fans to dinner and they can’t believe their luck. Only after dragging Judy Garland around the streets of London all night in hopes of a meal do they agree to host her at their home just blocks away. She obliges graciously and, of course because a living legend is in your home, they totally ruin the meal. And she couldn’t be a more gracious guest. She eats the terrible, soggy eggs, then, sings while her new friend plays the piano and, then, comforts him when he crumples into a ball of tears, overcome by this grand situation he finds himself in. She knows, and we know, that these two men are gay and the point is not belabored or sentimentalized. Instead, Goold treats us, the audience, like grown-ups with enough context to understand how important Judy Garland was to the gay community. She was their patron saint. Be it all the struggle, the pain under the surface and the resolve to put one foot in front of the other and sing her heart out in spite of it all. A metaphor for being gay, perhaps. Her life and legacy meant something to the community and still does. (The Stonewall Riots occurred on the day Judy Garland died and I think it played no small part in pushing things over the edge that fateful day.)

What a fight it was to be Judy Garland. A star who’d been spit out by Hollywood. Any actress over 40 will tell you their version of the story. And maybe no one understands that today quite like the star of ‘Judy’, Miss Zellweger.

I don’t think Renee Zellweger’s ever been better. She fucking soars. She sings her ass off (and I didn’t know the bitch could sing, not like this). In some instances, the resemblance is so striking between Zellweger and Garland it baffles the mind to reconcile that you are not looking at the original Judy, herself. Somehow, Zellweger completely transforms even the expression in her eyes as if the thought process, or the experience, or perhaps even the torment, is the same between both starlets. How else can an actor arrive at the exact same place as the person they are imitating? How do you achieve not just a version of a person, but the person, themselves?

I do not know what spiritual voodoo Zellweger achieved (move over, Christian Bale!). But this performance is an achievement of the highest order. I imagine Garland herself, at times her toughest critic, would be thrilled to watch the film even in its hardest moments.

Because Judy, and I suspect Renee, are consummate performers. Completely engrossed. Not engrossed. Obsessed. No, not obsessed. Addicted...

Judy Garland was completely addicted to the stage. Yes, Lady Gaga coined “I live for the the applause” but that’s only because she did her homework. Any diva in training gives their respect to the o.g. Judy Garland devoted her entire heart and soul to her performances. Often to her detriment, and to the detriment of those around her.

To be so completely talented, I imagine, is a curse to the performer. And when you’re a mother, a curse to your children. The performer’s gift has the power to kill them. It can drive them to the brink of self-destruction. The pressure and the anxiety of not performing at the same level again and again, night after night, drove Judy to the brink. The pills and the booze became absolutely necessary.

Years ago, I recall news stories about Renee Zellweger suggesting addiction and anorexia. She had wasted away, rumors swirling of drug abuse chased her - she’d been branded with a scarlet letter.

And then, I saw her in person, in Santa Monica. I was inside a Barnes and Noble bookstore (a rare occurrence nowadays in the era of dwindling brick and mortar). She was skin and bones. I barely recognized her. She looked...deranged. Her eyes were bulging nearly as much as the veins in her neck. I didn’t know why she was so distraught but my eyes fixed on her like a cheetah staring down a gazelle. She was just on the other side of the glass, and then she locked in on me. Suddenly, she was the cheetah. She stared at me, then a sour look fell upon her and she dashed away. I was shaken. I had never felt so judged by a famous person before. I had never shared such a fraught moment with a star of her caliber. But then, I wondered, maybe she hadn’t been looking at me at all. What if the glass was opaque and she wasn’t staring at me at all? What if she was looking at her own reflection that whole time? Could it be that she stared at herself that way, with that loathsome look in her eyes?

And now my heart breaks because I do believe she saw herself. She saw something in herself that she couldn’t stand and she fled from the reflection. Just like Judy would’ve ran. Just like Judy.

I’ve asked so many questions and I apologize but I must ask a few more:

What if Renee Zellweger doesn’t win an Oscar for ‘Judy’? Oof. Yes, I remember that she won for ‘Cold Mountain’ in 2004 but it was sort of payback because she’d been nominated for ‘Chicago’ in 2003 and was a shoe-in (but lost) and even that had been a sort of a gimme nom since she’d been nominated in ‘02 for ‘Bridget Jones’ Diary’ and lost even after she stole the entire world’s heart.

In a parallel way, Garland was famously snubbed for a ‘Star is Born’ in 1955 when she gave the performance of her life and lost to the quintessential Hollywood beauty, Grace Kelly. After a lifetime of comparisons and cruel remarks about her looks, it had to feel like a stab to the heart to lose to the pretty girl, the princess. Poor Judy. She just wanted to be beautiful and thin. But instead she was talented and charming. And that’s not to say she wasn’t beautiful and thin, she just didn’t fit the stupid, totally arbitrary model of beauty. And she eventually wasted away to a skeleton. Why did we do that to her? Why do we do that still?

I don’t know. But I do know that Renee Zellweger should win this god damn Oscar.

#judy #judy garland #wizard of oz #renee zellweger #oscars #oscars 2020 #grace kelly

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paradise-of-guilty-pleasures · 4 years

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Shattered Reflections {2}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Prince Hans is a mirror at heart, but wishes to shatter his reflections and correct his past mistakes. He returns to Arendelle, willingly surrendering himself to Queen Elsa’s judgement. Uncovering truths, unforeseen circumstances and a bit of je ne sais quoi, bring the Ice Queen and the Mirror Prince together in a way neither of them would have imagined.

A/N:

(( This is a collaborative RP Fic written by lovely fellow Helsa shipper FOW and myself. We RP for fun and just wanted wanted to share this story with fellow shippers, especially all my lovely shipper buddies over in the Helsa Discord Server. Long live the Province of Helsa! Thank you, Beta Reader Friends, your help is much appreciated. Hope you enjoy~ ))

P.S: ((This is the shortest chapter so far, I have a few more chapters ready to post, but I don't want to spam, posting them all at once, so I'll try post one chapter daily or every other day until the story is up to date.)) Previous Chapter: Chapter 1. Double Jeopardy

Chapter 2. Burn After Reading

Hans accepted the journal and his return to the dungeons without complaint, always polite. He was right: He never made a sound when he walked. He moved as silent as a shadow, but for the clink of his chains, which even then were quiet.

Given enough pen and ink, he proved to be a voracious writer. It helped that he had nothing better to do with his time, but he certainly took more time in getting his words down. He had to choose them carefully. He knew they could be used against him. For the moment, he wanted to stick to uninteresting topics. Just to test the waters. Yet, in spite of himself, his thoughts kept turning to his situation.

He never gave complaints. He rested without concern, and waited to see who would come for his letters.

Anna had NOT taken the news of the the 13th Prince's return to Adrendelle well, and far less knowing he was to be staying in the kingdom, even if he was to remain in the dungeon. Anna wished to go pay him a visit in the dungeon, just to punch him in the face again, but was prohibited from doing so. She was relieved that Elsa was not wasn't planning to contact the Prince either (at least outside the required daily journals to her).

Anna asked her sister why she even allowed the Prince to return to their kingdom, but even Elsa didn't know the answer to that herself.

Hans seemed to remain entirely neutral in the presence of the messenger. He insisted on folding over his journal pages and putting a wax seal on them (or rather, a splot of wax from the candle he wrote by, with 'XIII' scratched into it) to send to Elsa.

Whether the seal remained intact or not, he supposed he had no control. Perhaps it was better if he didn't know.

'Please burn after reading.'

'It's much different, writing a journal or letter that you know someone will read. Every word weighed like ounces of gold and scale often checked for accuracy. When one flake can tip the balances of someone else's opinion.'

'That is the way by which I lived in the Isles. Words spoken have echoes through later conversations, everything comes back as a scathing remark, or nitpick. Some days the picks go so deep or come from so long ago, one questions if they had any merit at all, or if they are going mad. I much prefer the dungeons. Would you believe, they echo less in Arendelle.'

'I said I was a prince 'in name alone', in truth all that means is that I have access to the castle grounds. I have found that the castle dungeons and the castle rooms are equally grim, and each echo their secrets to all in sundry. Neither prisoners nor princes are allowed their secrets, apparently. My father and brother are both ill, and have been for many years. My family didn't want to cut me off from visiting them, even if I am a treasoner. At least, not after they decided not to hang me I suppose. That proposition was short-lived. They have seen too well that scene, and they have no desire to see it again.'

'How grim. The Isles has a grim sense of humor. Or maybe it's just my family. I should never know, I imagine. I would hope to be there when my father dies, great man as he is, but I can't expect that time of mourning to be respected. Better to have taken my chances here. But chances at what? I don't believe in any gods. I don't imagine there to be a soul for me to save. My own peace, perhaps, but that's selfish even for me. My own inner stupidity, perhaps.'

'A tolerable first entry, I suppose. Have a nice day, your Majesty. My sincerest apologies to Her Highness for being inflicted upon her vicinity again. The Princess is welcome to throw things. -Hans'

Hard to say of that last part was a joke. It was a meandering, but that was simply what one got, with a journal.

Elsa read over the letter multiple times. It was not what she had expected, but it had given her a glimpse into his life, even if it was minimal. She had asked him for his thoughts and feelings, though she got more of the former rather than the latter.

The journal entry felt so stiff, but she thought since it was the first one that someone was reading it was understandable.

She read his request at the top of the page 'Please burn after reading'. She contemplated if she would fulfill his request, she had a candle at the ready, but she could not bring herself to burn it. Not yet at least, instead she folded the letter back up and placed it in her desk drawer under lock and key.

The next was sent with the same 'seal' as the first.

'Please burn after reading'

'Good morning, or whensoever you should read.'

'It would almost be easier if these were letters to and from, but then I could not stop myself from afflicting some persona on you.'

'My mother is an actress, you see. A very good one, but that is all she is good at. Acting, and picking one apart like a carrion bird. I have memorized Macbeth, and say the cursed play's name without fear, knowing I am more cursed than it could hope to be. For every character, an act. "For all the world's a stage and its people merely players," writes the Bard. It must be nice to not have to pretend, to be content. To not have to pretend to be content.' The repetition was no typo, nothing was crossed out or uncertain there.

'And yet, it all feels real at the time. It always does, no matter if the decision is conscious. Broken mirrors are unlucky, and I am by trade unlucky. But there are some things I would never admit to feeling, and some things I simply feel I cannot.'

'I have often wondered how Her Highness feels so much all at once. The Princess seems so full of life. Never take her to the Isles, it would be a shame to drain that charming nature. I wish this could have been avoided so to never temper her enthusiasm with jaded realities. But alas, Reality is a bastard.'

'Wishing you well,

-Hans'

So the Queen was actress? That was something Elsa had not known. She had studied much of the Southern Isles after the coronation, but much like information on Arendelle during the closing of the Gates, there was not much it (at least regarding the Royals).

Now she knew where Hans got his acting skills from.

There was so much dejection in his words, that it almost made her feel sorrow herself.

She wondered if he really incapable of feeling or if was another charade of his. If Anna was truly right that he had a frozen heart.

Again as she did with the previous letter, instead of setting it ablaze, she set it in her drawer with the other under lock and key.

She had pondered whether to have made his punishment writing letters rather than journals, but decided against it. She really shouldn't be writing letters to him, no matter how curious she was to get questions answered. She chose journaling because it was more informal and open for him to write the thoughts and feelings she requested, since it seemed to have been the way avidly written in his confiscated journal.

Though she should have realized upon her request that he probably wouldn't be as open to her as he was to himself and there was no way of knowing if what he wrote was truly himself or just another persona he hid behind.

The next letter was a trifle less organized. Still, however, with its carved seal.

'Please burn after reading.'

'Good whenever, Your Majesty. Assuming you read these at all. That sounds rather like a greek punishment, writing letters to one who never reads them. Although, it sounds a bit like a religion, too, doesn't it? Ah well. Philosophy is the act of asking a thousand questions and debating about answers none will ever have.' What an opener.

'I had thought this story to be one I and my crew had made up in a collective fever, utter nonsense brought upon by unfamiliar waters and frayed nerves. Reflecting on Arendelle, however, I think perhaps it may have been entirely real.'

'Once upon a time, I and my crew met Sirens.'

'We were on the Conch Cat, my ship, as a captain some years ago, shortly before my admiralty. I have since kept the Conch Cat, though it now likely has a new captain, in light of my removal from the Navy. That stung worse than any sentence for treason, but I digress...'

' We had traveled some way through a storm somewhere in the Pacific, and that storm was hellacious. It threatened to rip the mast down even with the sails pulled up, but as we sailed on, soon it halted. As if someone had snuffed a candle, it had gone, replaced with a fog so thick that one could not see the forward bow from the stern. We could only drift slowly and pray that both fog and storm relented before we found somewhere to become a shipwreck, but the fog was, at least, peaceful. Some minutes into our silent crawl across the water, we began to hear ringing laughter and singing. We could all of us understand the language we heard, but the voices sounded foreign- indescribably so. They sang a familiar song, about a woman missing her sailor fiancée. '

'My heart is pierced by cupid,'

'I disdain all glittering gold,'

'There is nothing can console me'

'But my jolly sailor bold.'

'We looked into the water, and found there a woman, with lily-white skin and long waving hair under the water, graceful as any fish, and with a silvery tail of shimmering scales in our amber lamplight. It was bizarre and curious, so of course every man leant to see (and likely, a part of that being that she wore no scrap of cloth, but mine was a purely scientific curiosity, if you'll believe it).'

'There was more than one, but it was one with long raven hair that I could best see from my position. Every man listened to their singing, and each looking over the sides, before I alone realized what was happening.'

'I called to the men to get back to their posts, and barely managed to grab the helmsman and drag him back by his collar, before one of the sirens leapt up to try and grab him. He still has scratches on the side of his face (that he swears to others were from a jealous lover). I recall that one having ringlets of red-gold hair, though I caught only a glance as she tried to nab him. Men jumped back from the sides, some grabbing others, and returned to their posts. I, however, remained curious. Why had they not affected me so much as they had affected the men? Some men had to be tied to rails, why should I be different? So I ventured forward again with a lantern, foolish as I am.'

'Your heart is pierced by cupid'

'If a man may be so bold,'

'But I have nothing for you,'

'For mine is beating cold.'

'They did not care for this addition, and our Barrelman managed to pull me back this time.'

'I ordered my men to pull the sails down and speed through the fog, damn the consequences and the mast as well, so we did. Someone launched a canon, it sounded as if it hit rocks but we had seen none. We survived the sirens, fog and storm with shredded sails but an intact mast by only the grace of any god listening, and escaped. We all drank ourselves to sleep that night, and spoke of it as a fiction the next day.'

'I think perhaps, after all, it was no fiction. But I only tell the story to men of the sea, who are used to a little fabrication and strange stories. I never tell it as a fact, but it is. Who would believe? I'm glad to tell it as a truth to someone."

'My best to you, always; -Hans'

His writing was less elegant than it had been the day before, with perhaps some scratching-out and scribbling that was uncharacteristic of his writing. The handwriting seemed less tight and controlled, the writing less thought-through. The send-off seemed almost careless in both its words and its handwriting. There was a curious section near the header of seemingly aimless hatch marks, to no real purpose. He just seemed a little less controlled and rigid than before. And perhaps, his topic of choice was stranger than usual. Getting a thought out that he would seemingly never otherwise have shared.

Elsa tapped her pen against her desk. His opener doubting whether she even read his journals made her want to send him a note of reassurance of her readership, now she was debating whether that was the right course of action or not.

His sea story though different than his previous entries, had piqued her interest. The tale of Sirens only a myth to some, but to her it read so real, for she knows Trolls are real and even her own powers were something that would seem like fiction to someone that hadn't witnessed them with their own eyes. The possibility of more Magic out there made her wonder if there was someone out there who's a little bit like her in the great unknown. Yet the sirens weren't the only thing that caught her attention in this letter, his lyrics of the song stood out to her

'Your heart is pierced by cupid'

'If a man may be so bold,'

'But I have nothing for you,'

'For mine is beating cold.'

It was mention of a frozen heart yet again.

A blank piece of paper sitting in front of her as she continued tapping her pen.

How would she even address him, even in a simple note? She kept hovering her pen over the paper ready to start writing, but pulling away as her mind went blank yet again.

Maybe she need not tell him, but show him that she read his words. Without much of a second thought at the center of the page she wrote:

' I believe.'

Short and simple, but to the point. She folded the paper, like he did his and now it was time to seal. She placed the wax, but the Arendelle seal didn't seem right. She poured more wax and this time with her magic made a snowflake to replace it.

The note was done, now it was whether or not she would choose to send it.

She cleaned off her desk, placing his recent letter with the rest under lock and key. The note she just wrote in her hands, she played with the edges as she looked at her snowflake insignia. She was lost in her thoughts, when a knock at the door startled her.

"Your Majesty," The head guard seemed uncertain at first. "Your prisoner seems... off, today. He hasn't expressed any change in particular, he just seems off in a way I can't place, my instincts say something is wrong. Do you have any thoughts or direction? He also insists that he would like to wash his own clothes, but I consider that too dangerous, and frightfully curious for a previous prince." The head guard frowned. He had been doing his job for some years, but something about all this felt wrong, and he couldn't quite say how. Something beyond the laundry.

Elsa sighed. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention Captain."

She had noticed a change in Hans in the way he had written the journal, but had not thought much of it, but now that the captain voiced his concern there was no ignoring that there was something definitely off with Hans today.

"I think I have to go see him myself, in order to decide a proper course of action." It was something she had not planned on doing, but she felt she had no choice now, she had allowed Hans to return so he was her responsibility.

She still had her note in hand as she stood up from her desk and walked towards the Captain.

The guard nodded. "Excellent plan, your Majesty. I will be there to maintain your safety." The Captain assured. That was what it always was, his job. But he took pride in it.

#Helsa #Iceburns #Hans x Elsa #Frozen #frozen fanfiction #Shattered Reflections

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