Florence Foster Jenkins (***)

There's the old joke that goes something like this: "Pardon me, how do you get to Carnegie Hall?" "Practice, practice, practice!" It would seem that the origins of this joke (who many attribute to Jack Benny) might also ring true for a woman like 'Madame Florence,' as she is affectionately called throughout the titular film. A run down New York socialite with a flair for camp, Ms. Jenkins' story is presented with heart and restrain.

Stephen Frears' film follows in the footsteps of his recent work to examine the life of a woman (remember how marvelous "The Queen" was with Helen Mirren, or "Philomena" with Judi Dench) in extraordinary circumstances. I suppose with this third film, he has made a sort of trilogy examining the place of elderly women in an ever-changing society.

It's 1944 in the midst of war, and we get to know Florence; a quiet type with a retired husband (Hugh Grant, and how marvelous he is). Together they have founded the Verdi Club, which seeks to be in the ranks of high society and serves potato salad like it's going out of style. St Clair Bayfield, her husband, supports her every will and only wants to make her happy. We realize that since Florence contracted syphilis in her youth, they don't share the same bed. In fact, they don't share the same house. St Clair sees a woman on the side, and to those who seem concerned, he explains "there is so much love to give."

Inspired by a performance while in the audience at Carnegie Hall, Florence decides to start up vocal lessons again. Hiring a meager pianist and taking lessons from no less than the greatest vocal coach in all New York, she sets out to prepare for a live show. Here's the catch: she couldn't sing to save her life. In her inner circle of friends, they praise her charm and powerful pitch. To the outsider (as the pianist soon realizes), it's all a farce.

I admired the way the film broke away the mold to reveal the softer side of a marriage that is anything but conventional. The relationship between Florence and St Clair, while at times a bit like mother and son, never feels quite like that of a marriage, but I suppose that's the way it goes. As crazy as the story is (as a true story, no less), the film is still structured in a way that becomes a bit predictable and perhaps a bit too long. Her first vocal performance on screen is one that will surely make audiences laugh, but by the time we hear "Queen of the Night" in the final performance, it's funny yes, but perhaps a bit monotonous.

Meryl Streep delivers a capable performance as the 'rough around the edges' socialite, but I think Hugh Grant is the man who steals the show. Returning to film out of a semi-retirement (who knew?), he makes a large splash on the screen as a charmer who is both mysterious and good. It's a fun role that is exciting to watch. As for the rest of the cast, it's hard to remember a single name or face. The two leads simply take over the show.

I thought the film was apt but perhaps not alongside the great work that both Frears and Streep have delivered in the past. The story is a quirky bit of historical trivia that will perhaps ignite a bit of interest to the life of Mrs Jenkins, who knows. Like the few recordings of the real woman singing that remain, maybe all we will remember is that there once was a bad singer who sold out Carnegie Hall. That's interesting enough for me.