Meryl Streep, Hugh Grant, Simon Helberg
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…a lavish job…
This is a story of self-delusion on a very grand scale. The eponymous Florence Foster Jenkins (Meryl Streep) was an American society lady from the mid-20th Century who loved classical music and opera. All would have been fine if she had stopped at being a patron, but her flip into absurdity came when she tried to actually be an opera singer. In this film, we soon find out that there is no more chance of that than a tone deaf parrot winning The Voice. In fact, the real Jenkins, as history recalls, made it all the way to a (brief) appearance at Carnegie Hall. However, she was – though she did not really know this – a kind of novelty act.
There are touches of both cruelty and comedy here but Brit director, Stephen Frears (Philomena), also depicts the characters with sympathy. The film also looks very fine. It does a lavish job with the costumes and cars of the time. This is a Gatsby-esque world where the rich lead opulent and insulated lives caring only about each other and visible status and wealth. Underneath, of course, there is also bitchiness and cynicism. What were all those people doing when listening to Florence, one wonders? Should not their sycophancy be also called to account? Frears keeps the story in focus via the triangular relationship between Florence’s worried husband, St Clair (Hugh Grant), and her timid, not-high-born pianist, Cosme McMoon (nicely played by Simon Helberg). In relation to Hugh Grant, it is easy to forget that, beneath the easily-parodied foppish Englishness typecasting, he is a good actor. Undaunted by La Streep, his scenes illustrating the private side of their marriage are affecting, and anchor the film. Streep can get that larger than life quality which suits the role, but she also brings a convincing childlike element here which adds grace notes to her interpretation. Only at one point (no spoilers) do we get a scene where her fragile grasp on how she is perceived is punctured by a direct exchange and a reality check. It is an unnecessary closing of the narrative as we could draw our own conclusions.
By a strange coincidence, this film comes hot on the heels of the French version of the very same story (Marguerite). They are both good films. That is perhaps because at the heart of the story is a sense of human foibles which deserves our tender feelings.