Elderly heiress in 1944, a patron of the arts who often claims that music is her life, decides to make her operatic singing debut after a month of study--either unaware she has a terrible singing voice, batty and deluded, or simply indifferent to the possibility she might be a flop. Although "Florence Foster Jenkins" is well-coiffed, handsomely-produced and well-heeled, it's about a quirky American woman in New York City, and it's not just the British and Scottish locales substituting for America that help to dislocate it--the film has a very British sensibility, and is a bit too timid in taking us out of Florence's immediate circle (perhaps in fear of exposing the picture's origins). Meryl Streep plays the title role with her customary aplomb; she isn't a reckless actress--Florence herself was probably more apt to throw caution to the winds than is Streep--but she's enjoying herself here and works well with Hugh Grant (as her cheating-but-not-disloyal husband) and Simon Helberg (as her somewhat-embarrassed pianist). Stephen Frears directed, and he's lethargic at the start (with exaggerated cutaways to an audience watching a production in the theater Jenkins founded, silly reaction shots that could have easily been eliminated by a more nimble editor). However, the film picks up considerably in its second-half and proves to be an enjoyable piece of fluff. **1/2 from ****
Review of Florence Foster Jenkins
