Meryl Streep Owes Me Nothing, But Has Given Me Everything

I mean, there might be an argument for her owing me the sum of roughly two hundred, twenty five dollars. That is the figure I come up with if I add up the cost of the films she has starred in that I have paid to see in the theatre, or purchased on DVD, or mobile devices over the course of my 3_ years on this earth. Even then I am not sure if she has the back end on these things. Being seemingly savvy I suppose she does and even if she does, I am happy with what I have chosen to go see, so she doesn’t owe me money on these films. So, no Ms. Streep, you do not owe me a dime, but you (and Hugh Grant) have given me a true gift in the film Florence Foster Jenkins.

I wasn’t expecting more than a ridiculous romp through the tale of an eccentric, privileged, ninny who spent her days at luncheon and could buy her way onto the stage of Carnegie hall to embarrass herself. I had heard the story of Florence on NPR years ago. So I was quite familiar with her folly. Yes, her voice is indeed exquisite, exquisitely bad. She is infamous for attempting the most difficult coloratura material in the Opera canon. I went hoping to be impressed by how well Streep could copy exactly the manner of terrible singing that Florence achieved. That feat was indeed masterful, (as Streep always is)however the portrayal gave me so much more than the expected laughter and opportunity to marvel at the technical skill of the Ivy League grad.

In Florence Foster Jenkins, Streep peels back the layers to reveal a failed artist who is clinging to hope. Spoiler alert, through most of the film Streep plays Florence as blithe and charming, flitting about with a whimsy, and quick spirit that is both bubbly and tiresome at the same time. Yet in quiet moments the mask falls and she realizes she is a terrible singer, realizes her husband is having affairs on his many golf trips, and having them in the apartment she pays for him to keep separate from her. In spite of all this, she manages to carry on. The acting performance here, creates a whole person who after realizing her life dream will never be, marches on to achieve it at all costs regardless of reality.

Hugh Grant must be mentioned also in the fact that he has transcended his public fall from grace, (Divine Fall) and managed to portray a man here who is both villain and hero, cad and savior. I tend to think his playing of St. Clair Bayfield, is a more sympathetic depiction than the actual man had the right to receive. By all accounts in real life, it seems he married Florence for her money (he had none) and took care of all of her affairs. Now it seems he did a good job, but essentially he was a rent boy with breeding whom she paid handsomely to be married to her, while she looked the other way in terms of his dalliances. In the film, Grant truly imbues the arrangement with the same care and love that a couple married for a long time has for each other. His devotion is evident. Grant still somehow radiates a dashing charm, regardless of his open affairs. Is life imitating art, imitating life here?

Go see Florence Foster Jenkins. I had no plans to see this movie. I had made a pledge to myself after Into the Woods had a completely white cast, that I would no longer support movies that had zero actors of color in speaking roles. I still feel that way, but I made an exception here, for a few reasons. One, there are still so few movies with black leads that I would not see many films at all if I held to that. (I realize that is the point) Two, it is not up to Meryl Streep and Hugh Grant to solve the Hollywood white supremacist issue. Three, I fight the diversity problem by writing about it, talking about it, and bringing awareness to the issue every day. The way I see it, every once in a while I can go see a movie starring white leads. Hey, if I want white people to go see black stories…

I suppose what surprised me most here is that I saw so much of my own story in Florence. Before I came out at the ripe age of fifteen, I felt like an imposter. Though a talented singer myself, in terms of not telling myself the truth like Florence, I was singing quite poorly through the mask of straightness. My walk, talk, dress, and tone of voice were all attempting to ape heterosexuality. Trying to achieve normality through pretense is exhausting and it is liberating when you finally get to the point where you don’t care. In the last stunning scene on the stage when she realizes people are laughing at her, I think every closeted gay man comes to that point, where you realize how silly it is to pretend and how see through your mask is. The intersections of my identity resonated so much with the journey of Florence portrayed by Streep in other ways. As a black person in academia, it is enticing to lie to yourself and pretend you are not an activist for social justice, it is tempting to whitewash your resume so that hiring committees don’t see your activism, or opinions on controversial topics online. These things are all a part of who I really am and to pretend they aren’t there even for a tenure track job, is not worth it. Florence spent decades hiding the fact she knew she couldn’t sing. In the end, when she was forced to face it by that audience of soldiers at Carnegie Hall, she became stronger for it, and reveled in the truth.

This black activist must thank a white woman for bringing me back to myself and reaffirming my choices of truth and living in that truth out loud.

Thanks Meryl and Hugh.