Florence Foster Jenkins: It Ain't Over Till She Sings

Florence Foster Jenkins is a crowd-pleasing biopic that is filled with excellent performances and delivers plenty of laughs. It is also the reason I went to the Met Opera last week to see The Magic Flute - I needed to hear what the Queen of the Night's aria is supposed to sound like when it isn't being butchered by Meryl Streep.

Set in 1944 New York, Streep stars as the eponymous Jenkins, a fabulously wealthy woman who loves to sing but is terrible at doing so. Hugh Grant plays St. Clair Bayfield, her loving husband who indulges her every whim and doesn't have the heart to tell his dear Florence that she can't sing worth a damn. As a result, when she decides to entertain the masses with a musicale, he must spend weeks bribing journalists and organizing a massive parade of toadies who will listen to Florence's warbling with nary a word except to praise her rapturously and demand encores. He hires Cosme McMoon (Simon Helberg), a very serious and ambitious pianist, to be her accompanist, and the first time Cosme hears Florence sing, his consternation is wondrous to behold. However, St. Clair convinces Cosme to stay, and what follows is a hilarious and moving partnership.

I don't think I need to sell anyone on this film. It stars Meryl Streep, which is an automatic guarantee of its quality, and she is unsurprisingly phenomenal in it. We all know she can sing, so what is truly extraordinary is how terribly she sings throughout this film. Yet Florence is such a lovable lady and has such a tragic backstory that you cannot help but treat her like all her closest friends - you want her to succeed and be protected from the truth, because she genuinely seems like she has a heart of gold. Hugh Grant walks quite the tightrope in this film, playing a supportive, besotted husband, who still has a lady on the side; it is credit to his dapper British charm that at no point do you find yourself remotely troubled by his actions. However, the true surprise to me was Simon Helberg, who manages to steal almost every scene he's in and holds his own against Streep and Grant. His character is very quiet, but the expressions on his face scream louder than any dialogue, and he brings the comedy to the forefront.

Florence Foster Jenkins is an amuse-bouche of a film. It is light and airy, and while it isn't frightfully sustaining on its own, it contains enough effervescent charm to make you glad you saw it. The performances are striking, the pace is just right, and the story is refreshingly novel. If you're slogging through drearier awards show fare, take a break with this film and watch how director Stephen Frears has skilfully put together all the right elements to concoct the perfect pick-me-up.