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!

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.

Mrs. Jenkins ended up having quite a fan base by the time of her passing. It wasn't because of her singing talent, it was because people saw in her the same qualities they hid within themselves: dashed hopes, failure, delusion and PASSION.

This lady loves music and loved performing. She had the means to finance her dreams. I'm sure that made a lot of people envious.

This film has some hilarious moments but also some quite touching ones. I think this film will reignite your love and admiration for the underdog. It might even make you feel better about yourself for doing it.

The other reviews calling it mental illness are bitter and harsh.

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.