Florence Foster Jenkins was a real woman, a patroness of the arts who supported almost all of New York’s musical endeavours and dedicated her life to her passion, singing. She was instructed by leading maestros and had orchestras and composers at her beck and call – her generous donations made sure of that.
Just one tiny hiccup: she couldn’t sing to save her life. Her singing was not unlike a dying 
squirrel’s trying to evacuate a burning building. Horrendous. But she had no flipping idea. Meryl Streep plays Florence with gusto. We all know Meryl can sing: she’s been in Mama Mia and Into The Woods. She’s got pipes. But in this movie she manages to unabashedly sound like someone took a hacksaw to those pipes and stuffed them full of gasoline-soaked rags. It’s stupendous. Her caterwauling never fails to get a laugh and it was amazing to me how long she could sustain that, how funny she could make the same joke, in slightly different, gutsy ways.
Hugh Grant plays Florence’s husband, St Clair, the man behind the “talent” who applauds her every croak and covers up the critics. Their love is tender but their relationship unique. It’s unusual to see a marriage so complex and interesting portrayed without judgement. Simon Helberg plays Mr. McMoon, the man engaged to be her accompanist. An able pianist, he struggles to attach his rising star to her pitiful performances, but it’s amazing how far money and connections will get you. Helberg, nearly unknown to me, creates a 
memorable character of his own in the shadow of two much bigger leads, but he manages to earn his own laughs and distinguish himself.
Meryl Streep is an absolute star and she’ll be a big part of why you love this movie. She finds nuance in her tuneless moaning and clinches the laugh time and time again. I couldn’t help it, not that I must wanted to. And Hugh Grant is charming as ever, and dare I say, reaching beyond his usual repertoire to be worthy of The Streep. It works. They have a distinct, affectionate chemistry that you want to be a part of. Director Stephen Frears knows how to tell a sympathetic story without disempowering anyone.
I thought a lot about the American Idol contestants purposely selected for their awfulness so that we may bond in our mockery of them. Florence Foster Jenkins was a 1940s era William Hung. No one has ever had the courage or the temerity to tell her she’s bad, and so she persists, believing that she’s good. Maybe even great. But Streep pulls it off infectiously, plays delusional faith in herself with sweetness and not inconsiderable vulnerability. And yet we anticipate her humiliation. Will she ever find out the truth? And who among us will be most devastated?
In truth, this film may not have a lot of staying power, unlike the lady herself who is remembered these 75 years later. She lived authentically, and those who loved her told the Good Lie. I was touched. Frears is careful to avoid cruelty, pushing the bounds of mockery and sincerity without ever overstepping, and so wins our respect. And frankly, so does Florence.
another. Like any first date, the movie doesn’t play all its cards right away. It flirts with us a bit, hinting at what’s still unsaid. The unfortunate thing is that this movie never puts out. It teases a lot of things that never actually develop. When our pants are down, nothing’s doing. This movie turns out to be a disappointing date: there’s no heat, no essential spark. It never delivers on its promise. And I was really frustrated with it dropping the ball so often. That’s just lazy.
brainwashing on the planet that could induce me to speak with a Jersey accent randomly. Or to replace my PhD-level vocabulary with baby talk. That shit is bananas.
have around mostly just to prop her up. Smith didn’t annoy me as much as I feared (this movie has so many bigger problems), but Robbie is the true star. She plays Quinn not with a truly villainous heart, but with a completely troubled one – with loads of vulnerability. When the witch tempts her with a vision, her true heart’s desire is revealed to be…a banal suburban existence, completely with a husband and an infant. Clearly the good Doctor is still buried within her, and is peaking through. Or maybe it’s the baby in her belly poking mama in utero. Because she must be pregnant, right? Why else would the Joker so doggedly rescue her? He’s not exactly the kind of guy who’s all about love, honour, and commitment. But what if she’s his baby mama? Why else would he be seen lying in a womb made out of knives, skirted with baby clothes? It must have been some bad-guy baby shower!
ironic conception of a Latino gangster-cum-circus clown hybrid kind of way. We didn’t see much of him so it’s hard to tell, but he also didn’t seem as evilly inventive as I’ve come to expect in a Joker. So he’s possessive and he’s got some hacker friends. Big deal. I’m sorry that so many of Leto’s scenes ended up on the cutting room floor because I found him to be the second most compelling character in the bunch, and he’s not even on the squad! He’s the Calvin Harris of the bunch. Or the Tom Hiddleston, I suppose, just trying to steal Taylor Swift away all for himself. Fuck the squad.
reasons this movie fails is that it tries too hard. The script is just so stupidly earnest. It makes wonderful actresses say such flighty, cliched things. And everyone cries all the time, at the drop of a hat. It made me really wonder why the script writer has so many fucking hats, and why she’s always dropping them. Secure your hat to your head, lady.
want you to watch me abuse it! I’m going to write a trite little movie that wishes it was a pretentious little novel! Script writing 101 says I should put in a conflict here! [Insert conflict]. I wonder if Sharon Stone can do polysyllabics? Either way she’ll be impressed when I whip out this tired metaphor! And I’ll make it super relatable by including a variety of white women with down-to-earth jobs like bra designer, fashion icon, and celebrity photographer. And I wonder if I can work in cancer? Watch out, heart strings!
Because the plot necessitates it, he can’t call an ambulance in the name of “discretion.” I hate this movie less than 10 minutes in. I have 0% sympathy for 100% of the characters.
fact that I liked 
By now you’ve probably read that a lot of people have felt let down by Suicide Squad. I was too. Its missteps aren’t as embarrassing as BvS’s were but its best moments weren’t as impressive either. Actually, while BvS ended with me feeling like I’d seen the biggest movie of the year, Suicide Squad ended with me wondering “Was that it?”.
love, Quinn is the only character in the whole ensemble whose actions always make sense and Robbie is the only actor of the bunch who never makes a false move.
Squad. Unfortunately, they don’t get nearly enough chance to just be themselves and play off one another. Like BvS, it’s far too interested in its needlessly complicated plot than it is in its characters.
y school in any Ohio, this is a Christian school in 1951 Ohio, where attending chapel services is a required part of the curriculum.
ng from me, but I could have used a lot more romance than Indignation delivered. I liked watching Marcus and Olivia deal with their issues. It was a lot more real than what we usually get from romantic movies. But too often, just as it was getting interesting between the pair, we’d cut to some other aspect of Marcus’ college life, seeing him ask important-sounding questions in class or arguing with the Dean or quarrelling with his two roommates. Many of these other scenes halted the movie’s momentum without adding anything important, and as a result ended up feeling like unnecessary filler.
(Sian Heder) and features three of the most complexly-written and -rendered female characters you’re going to see on the big (well small – it’s on Netflix) screen this year.
you can’t help but be drawn in. I am so proud to tell you about a movie in which women are taking care of themselves, and taking care of each other, and finding strength, not weakness, in accepting help from others. It’s heartening, just fucking inspiring, to see women taking this leap on behalf of all of us: reach out. Connect. It’s scary and risky and worth it.
Mysterious. Maybe a little…creepy? In an unguarded moment Bob (Aden Young) shows us his secret. Under layers of clothes and bandages, his flesh is disappearing.
TV’s The X-Files, The Flash, and Fear The Walking Dead, and in movies like Watchmen, Deadpool, Warcraft, and the upcoming Star Trek Beyond, but that’s just a fraction of his IMDB credits. The list is so long and impressive that you might wonder where he found the time to make this move into writing and directing, but it’s clear that movies are his passion.
ASSHOLES WATCHING MOVIES 