Florence Foster Jenkins

A kind of 'companion piece' to THE KING'S SPEECH. After the monarch who couldn't speak publicly we are invited to meet the soprano who should never have sung to an audience. This is the more-or-less true story of the 1940s New York socialite who seemingly did not know how monumentally awful her singing was. Florence Foster Jenkins was a Woman of Substance in more than one sense: a mega-rich heiress, built like a leaking sandbag and possessed of an immense ego.

It's a gift of a part, and Meryl Streep goes for it at full throttle, combining elements of Ethel Merman, Hyacinth Bucket and Nellie Melba to stupendous effect. The supporting cast are also given juicy roles to wallow in and, boy, do they wallow! Hugh Grant's lightweight shtick works perfectly for Florence's second husband, who openly keeps a mistress but dotes like a puppy-dog on his ailing wife, indulging her musical delusion with a passion that fully matches her own. David Haig plays Florence's vocal coach in the manner of a pantomime horse.

Simon Helberg steals many a scene as her gay accompanist who finds it hard to keep a straight face but comes to be caught up in the typhoon of Florence's enormous self-belief. There are some delicious cameos among the members of the New York elite who support the fantasy with varying degrees of sincerity. The finale, Florence's sell-out concert at Carnegie Hall is a comedic if not exactly a musical triumph.

This is a slight story, crisply scripted, elegantly photographed and stylishly directed (by Stephen Frears). Streep steams through it like an ocean liner – there's more than a hint of Queen Mary the 'former first lady' as well as Queen Mary the excessively luxurious vessel. Yet another Oscar could easily come her way. In Dustin Hoffman's QUARTET I felt slightly cheated that the principals never actually sang. Here you look forward with a kind of awed dread to the moments when the fat lady sings!

Surely only those with some knowledge of musical history and consequently at least some love of music, or perhaps a penchant for eccentricity like myself, will ever have heard of Florence Foster Jenkins, reputedly the world's worst singer, so without a ready-made audience why a biopic now, (two, if you count the new French film "Marguerite")? Maybe someone somewhere saw in this tale of a deluded grande dame a star vehicle for a talented actress of a certain age as well as an audience-pleasing combination of comedy and pathos and that's exactly what you get. No real knowledge of the subject is necessary to enjoy Stephen Frears' hugely enjoyable biopic "Florence Foster Jenkins" which combines comedy, pathos and a close to career best performance from Meryl Streep, (who else), to terrific effect and if you think Streep can play anything, in her sleep if necessary, pause a moment. On a technical level she may be the most versatile actress in the world but much too often she's been accused of failing to connect on an emotional level. I've always felt her Margaret Thatcher a great piece of mimicry but hardly worthy of a third Oscar and there are those who will claim that her Florence Foster Jenkins is nothing more than a shameless ploy for that elusive fourth Oscar. I will simply say that if she is to win that fourth Oscar surely it has to be for this great performance. Streep clicks on every level; this a tragic-comic performance of the first water in which Meryl never puts a foot wrong and yes, technically it's a marvel too with Streep doing her own appallingly off-key singing, (no mean feat for an actress with a superb voice). This isn't just the best thing she's done since "Doubt" but one of the best things she's ever done.

Amazingly it isn't all a one-woman show; the big revelation here is Hugh Grant as Jenkins' husband, the man who loves her, you might say exploits her, and does his best to protect her. It's the least Hugh Grant-like performance of his career and he's never been better. Likewise "The Big Bang Theory's" Simon Helberg as Cosme McMoon, Jenkins' accompanist, is outstanding in a difficult role. It's also beautifully written by Nicholas Martin, looks great, (the period detail is spot on), and is very well directed by Frears. As we head into the silly season of superhero blockbusters and the kind of of films designed to keep the kids quiet in the summer months this splendid biography may be the last good movie we will see at our multiplexes for months.

Inspired by the true story of a former stage performer who tried to make it as a singer in the 1940s despite having no actual talent, 'Florence Foster Jenkins' is a far more layered motion picture than it might sound on paper. The film is actually more about Florence's husband than Florence herself, and convincing as Meryl Streep is in the title role, this is Hugh Grant's film all the way, delivering a fine turn as her devoted husband who smiles throughout all her terrible singing and works hard to keep the critics at bay to avoid her feelings being crushed. On an even more complex note, Grant has a girlfriend who he lives with in a separate apartment (paid by Florence), and amidst the layers of his character are his conflicting feelings of gratitude toward Florence and a desire to live his own life. Grant is very funny too with excellent support from Simon Helberg as a nebbish accompanying pianist and there are several laugh-out-loud moments as his attempts to keep Florence blissfully ignorant spiral out of control. Delightful as the film may be, it is not without its drawbacks. In particular, the film never feels like it properly delves into Florence's past (by concentrating on her husband more than her) and intriguing side elements like a fear of knives and a mysterious satchel are brought up without ever being properly resolved. Christian McKay also feels wasted in a very small role. The virtues here though far outshine the vices and with creative costumes throughout and a catchy, upbeat Alexandre Desplat score, 'Florence Foster Jenkins' is a pleasure to both watch and listen to, quite aside from the high quality acting and curious story.

A very lovely and touching movie. Thoroughly enjoyed it. How could you not love Florence?

There's something rather wonderful about people who manage to do things incredibly badly - William MacGonagall, the world's worst poet, and Eddie the Eagle Edwards, the world's worst ski-jumper, spring to mind; but Florence Foster Jenkins is in the pantheon as the world's worst singer. I have a CD of the few recordings she made, and not the least remarkable aspect of Meryl Streep's performance is that she superbly captures La Jenkins' extraordinary singing voice. This, however, is only one part of a beautiful performance, in which Streep gives us a touchingly vulnerable Jenkins. I saw this film expecting to laugh - and indeed there are some great comic moments. What I didn't expect, however, was to find myself sympathising with the title character so much, to the extent that I found myself rooting for her - not to give a magnificent recital, but at least to BELIEVE that she had. Hugh Grant plays Jenkins' sort-of husband (they never actually married in real life, though the film implies that they did) and manager. It's a fine performance, and he's lost none of his ease with comic scenes. He also has some heartwarmingly touching scenes in which he gives Jenkins the (platonic) love she is so desperate for, and when he tries to shield her from the truth. Even so, I was never quite sure how to reconcile this side of his character with the double-life he leads without Jenkins' knowledge. Simon Helberg is excellent as Jenkins' much put-upon accompanist, and Nina Arianda provides a good turn as a gold-digger who displays some unexpected heart. Highly recommended.