This is exactly the kind of comedy I love. Classy and sassy, the picture sparkles its way across the screen and into our hearts. Not a moment is wasted, not a line tossed aside. While some of the humor is certainly face-value -- or, rather, voice value -- the film carries a sweet weight to it, keeping each comic beat balanced with a sincere concern for our subject. As you may know, the titular socialite wanted to be an opera singer, but famously performed with poor (if any) ability.
It would be so easy for the filmmakers to just mock her, as many have both during her life and since. To be sure, the first scene of her practicing is nothing short of riotous; I was crying so hard from laughter, I'm sure I missed half the scene. But as the film continues, we see the woman as a woman, more than as a caricature. The film suggests, mercifully well, that her poor vocal ability has less to do with her training and passion and more to do with the ravages of syphilis on her body and with the side effects of taking arsenic and mercury as prescribed by her physicians. Though the film feels conventional in its approach to a distinctly unconventional woman, we do see a few instances of her without her facade, namely in private moments with her husband and her accompanist. Her tenderness and generosity in these moments belie the exuberance we see in her public appearances.
Meryl Streep delivers in her uniquely knowing way (not that we could ever expect less) and reveals a character of joy and light, of passion and power, without ignoring the intense narcissism and privilege that that same character also possesses. She is infuriating as much as she is delightful, intoxicating in her vibrant energy, and exacting in her pursuit of pitch-imperfect singing. She nails the infamous voice, which certainly took a fair amount of skill for someone who can actually sing, and do so very well. Only slightly less astounding than our leading lady, Hugh Grant foils Streep's energy with masterfully sharp turns and a devilish twinkle in his eye; playing her faithful and endlessly supportive husband, Grant turns up the charm as he facilitates the action of the film, secretly hiding or bribing detractors and mockers before they can wound his wife's pride. He even safeguards his own opinions and behaviors so well that we feel not a sting as we discover his duplicity and his mistress. We understand, we sympathize, and we love every moment. Some credit is due to writer Nicholas Martin, to be sure, but Grant most successfully walks the thin line of our approval.
The surprise joy for me in this film came in the form of Simon Helberg (The Big Bang Theory), whose portrayal of accompanist Cosme McMoon is nothing short of enchanting. Effete and often bewildered, McMoon is revealed to be a small but highly ambitious man, seeking approval, recognition, and ultimately success from and over the people who have made his life difficult. His effeminacy and sickly-sweet demeanor at first endear Florence to him, but we may understand later, when she visits his rundown flat, that she feels a certain care and even responsibility for him. He grows exponentially as a young man and as a performer under her stardom, and by the finale, he is a new man, confident in himself and supportive of the woman he has not-so-discreetly regretted meeting.
Do yourself a favor and go see this movie. Its message is clear, and though the film hammers it home several times, it certainly doesn't lose its relevance or potency. Passion, far more than technique, is the true beauty of the arts. Ambition can be a great asset, if also paired with generosity and love. And, as Florence herself says near the end of the film, "They can say I couldn't sing, but they can't say I didn't sing." She had a gift and she used it to both express herself and to help others. How many of us can say the same?
IMDb: Florence Foster Jenkins
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