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| Simon Helberg (l), Meryl Street and Hugh Grant |
There was a time when director Stephen Frears was,
if not quite an angry young man of British cinema certainly a fairly grumpy
one. Films such as My Beautiful
Laundrette, Prick Up Your Ears, and
Dirty Pretty Things made important statements about the country we lived in
and established his reputation.
Now as an elder statesman, although from brief
dealings with him he won’t thank anyone for using that term, Frears has settled
into a more accommodating career of quality middlebrow entertainment. Mrs Henderson Presents, The Queen, Philomena
and others of his recent vintage are films aimed at the older audience. Frears
fire may have dimmed, it still appears but only in flashes, but his talent has
not.
His latest film Florence Foster Jenkins continues in that vein. Handsomely mounted,
impeccably performed, and directed with consummate skill it charts a gentler
path than others might around a story that manages be both touching and funny.
New York socialite and patron of the arts Florence
Foster Jenkins was, reputedly, the world’s worst singer. When she sang dogs
several streets away covered their ears. And yet she felt compelled to stage a grand
solo performance at Carnegie Hall.
It is a story that has compelled film and theatre
makers for years; the French film Marguerite
is based loosely on Florence and Maureen Lipman played her on stage in Glorious!.
It would be easy to present Florence as a figure
of fun to be mocked and ridiculed but debut feature writer Nicholas Martin’s screenplay
takes a more nuanced view. Florence surely was not as unaware of her lack of
ability as this film makes out, but that doesn’t stop Martin having a go at the
petty corruption of the musical establishment who were happy to milk her
considerable fortune and massage her ego.
Frears takes a middle path with the material. It
could be savage, it could be pantomime, but here he brings the touch of the
farceur presenting a story that always threatens to break into hysteria but
happily manages to stay just within the boundaries. The ending is doubtless
romanticised but by this stage Florence has earned it, and so has the audience.
Meryl Streep is marvellous in the title role.
Again the temptation to go big has been resisted, just as she did in the underrated
Julie and Julia, Streep takes a heartfelt
view of her character. There is a tragedy at the heart of Florence’s story and
while Streep is happy to play for the laughs when they are there, this sense of
loss and resentment informs the performance and keeps it grounded and human.
There is wonderful support from Simon Helberg as
her accompanist and some nicely judged cameos from Christian McKay, John
Sessions, John Kavanagh, and a marvellous turn from David Haig.
The real surprise for me however was Hugh Grant as
her husband and manager, St Clair Bayfield. Theirs was a complicated
relationship but his love for her seems genuine and unconditional.
A failed Shakespearean, Grant has a lovely speech
about realising that he was never going to be a great actor. However he also
realised that being a good actor was enough, and realisation liberated his
performance. Listening to the speech I couldn’t help but compare Grant’s own
career; he would never be great but he could be good, and in this film he has
the maturity and intelligence to be very good indeed.
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