Florence Foster Jenkins

Based on a true story, Florence Foster Jenkins follows Meryl Streep’s title character, a wealthy heiress whose efforts at becoming a legitimate singer are hindered by her total lack of talent – with the movie also detailing Florence’s relationships with her husband (Hugh Grant’s St. Clair Bayfield) and her long-suffering pianist (Simon Helberg’s Cosmé McMoon). It’s a limited premise that’s employed to progressively interminable effect by director Stephen Frears, as the filmmaker, along with scripter Nicholas Martin, proves unable to transform his real-life subject’s life into a story worth telling – with the relative promise of the movie’s opening half hour giving way to a midsection that couldn’t possibly be more stagnant and repetitive. This is despite a typically immersive performance by Streep, with the actress delivering a compelling turn that’s matched by a talented supporting cast (Helberg’s charming and often hilarious work stands as a continuous and increasingly rare highlight within the proceedings). But in spite of strong acting and solid visuals, Florence Foster Jenkins grows more and more tedious as time progresses – with the screenplay’s stubborn emphasis on Florence’s nails-on-a-chalkboard singing style exacerbating the movie’s unwatchable vibe. (It doesn’t help, either, that the film takes an aggressively surface-level approach to its subject.) The disastrously dull atmosphere ensures that the feel-good bent of the movie’s third act falls completely flat, naturally, and it’s ultimately impossible to label Florence Foster Jenkins as a anything less than a total misfire that wastes the talents of everyone involved.

*1/2 out of ****