It is a weird thing to watch a genius pretend to be terrible. Usually, when we go to the movies, we want to see the pinnacle of human achievement—stunts that defy gravity, actors who weep on command, or singers who hit notes that shatter glass. But in 2016, Stephen Frears gave us something else. He gave us Meryl Streep playing Florence Foster Jenkins, a woman who famously possessed a voice that sounded like a "cuckoo in labor."
It’s hilarious. It’s also deeply uncomfortable.
Streep, who is a legitimately talented singer (just go back and watch Postcards from the Edge or Into the Woods), had to do something counter-intuitive here. She had to learn how to sing "wrong" while keeping the technique of a professional. If you just scream off-key, it’s annoying. If you sing with the earnest, misguided breath control of a woman who thinks she’s Maria Callas, it’s art.
Honestly, the real story of Florence Foster Jenkins is even stranger than the movie suggests. We’re talking about a New York socialite who managed to sell out Carnegie Hall despite—or perhaps because of—the fact that she couldn't hold a tune to save her life.
The Delusion of Florence Foster Jenkins
People often ask: did she know? Did she honestly believe she was good?
The movie leans into the idea that she was shielded by her common-law husband, St. Clair Bayfield (played by Hugh Grant with a sort of weary, protective grace). In reality, the bubble was real. Jenkins lived in a world of her own making. She was a massive patron of the arts in Manhattan, founding the Verdi Club and supporting musicians during a time when the city was the epicenter of high culture.
Money buys a lot of silence.
She surrounded herself with "loyal" friends who would never dream of telling her the truth. Why would they? She paid the bills. She threw the parties. But there’s a layer of tragedy here that the film hints at but doesn't fully dwell on. Florence suffered from syphilis, contracted from her first husband, Frank Thornton Jenkins, when she was just a teenager. This wasn't just a social stigma; it was a physical death sentence. The mercury and arsenic treatments used at the time likely contributed to her hair loss (hence the elaborate wigs) and potentially caused nerve damage that affected her hearing and muscle control.
Maybe she didn't hear the notes wrong. Maybe her brain just translated the screeching into something divine.
👉 See also: Nothing to Lose: Why the Martin Lawrence and Tim Robbins Movie is Still a 90s Classic
How Meryl Streep Mastered the " Jenkins Squeak"
Meryl Streep is known for her obsessive preparation. For this role, she worked with a vocal coach to learn the actual operatic arias Jenkins sang—specifically the "Queen of the Night" from Mozart’s The Magic Flute.
She learned them perfectly first.
That’s the secret. You can’t parody something effectively unless you understand the mechanics of the original. Streep had to hit the high F, but then "veer off" at the last possible second. It’s a feat of vocal gymnastics that most people overlook because the end result sounds so painful.
The recording sessions for the film weren't just about being loud. Streep and Simon Helberg (who played the pianist Cosmé McMoon) recorded the tracks live on set. This is rare. Usually, actors lip-sync to a pre-recorded track to ensure the lighting and timing are perfect. But Frears wanted the spontaneity of the failure. He wanted the audience to see the vein throbbing in Streep's neck as she reached for a note that was never going to happen.
The McMoon Factor
Simon Helberg is the unsung hero of the film. His facial expressions—a mix of terror, opportunism, and eventual genuine affection—mirror the audience's journey. The real Cosmé McMoon was a frustrated musician who took the gig because, well, he needed the paycheck. He eventually became her closest collaborator, helping her navigate the increasingly ridiculous demands of her "fans."
- The first stage of their partnership was purely transactional.
- The second stage was a sort of shared psychosis where they both ignored the laughter from the wings.
- The final stage was the Carnegie Hall disaster/triumph.
That Carnegie Hall Performance
October 25, 1944. That’s the date that cemented the legend.
Florence was 76 years old. She decided, against everyone's advice, to book the most prestigious stage in the world. The tickets sold out in two hours. Two thousand people were turned away at the door. It was the "must-see" event of the season, but for all the wrong reasons.
Celebrities like Cole Porter and Lily Pons were in the audience. They weren't there to be moved by the music. They were there for the spectacle. The recording of that night exists, and it is a harrowing listen. You can hear the audience trying to stifle laughs, which eventually turn into open roars of derision.
✨ Don't miss: How Old Is Paul Heyman? The Real Story of Wrestling’s Greatest Mind
Florence, ever the performer, thought they were cheering.
She died five days later.
Some say she died of a broken heart after finally reading the scathing reviews in the newspapers. Others, more cynically, suggest her body just finally gave out after the adrenaline of the performance wore off. Either way, the timing is Shakespearean.
Why We Still Care About This Story
There’s a weirdly thin line between a "bad" artist and a "visionary" one. Look at someone like William Hung or the Shaggs. There is something inherently human about the desire to express yourself even when you lack the technical skill to do it well.
Streep’s performance taps into that vulnerability.
If Florence Foster Jenkins had been a cynical person trying to grift the public, we would hate her. But she wasn't. She was a woman who loved music more than anyone else in the room. She just happened to be the one person in the room who couldn't produce it.
The Cultural Legacy of "Bad" Art
We live in an era of polished perfection. Auto-tune fixes every flat note. Filters hide every blemish. Seeing a movie about a woman who was unapologetically, vibrantly, and disastrously herself is refreshing. It’s a middle finger to the idea that you shouldn't do something unless you're the best at it.
In a way, Florence was the original "main character." She lived her life with a level of confidence that most of us can only dream of.
🔗 Read more: Howie Mandel Cupcake Picture: What Really Happened With That Viral Post
Key Takeaways from the Film vs. Reality
- The Health Struggle: The film mentions her illness, but the reality of 19th-century syphilis treatments was far more brutal. Her "eccentricity" was likely a side effect of heavy metal poisoning.
- The Relationship: St. Clair Bayfield was indeed a failed actor who lived off Florence’s wealth, but the film softens their dynamic. In real life, he had a whole separate domestic life with another woman, which Florence allegedly knew about and tolerated.
- The Voice: While Streep sounds bad, the real Florence was arguably worse. The historical recordings show a complete lack of rhythmic awareness that the film occasionally "fixes" for the sake of the movie's pacing.
How to Appreciate the Streep/Jenkins Paradox
If you're going back to re-watch the film or diving into the archives for the first time, keep an eye on the eyes. Streep plays Florence with a specific kind of wide-eyed innocence. It’s the look of someone who is seeing a movie in her head that no one else can see.
That’s the "Florence Foster Jenkins" effect.
It’s not about the bad singing. It’s about the courage to be seen. Most people are terrified of being laughed at. Florence invited the world to the biggest stage on earth and gave them every reason to howl, yet she walked off that stage feeling like a star.
Actionable Insights for the "Untalented" Creator
If you've been holding back on a project because you’re "not good enough," take a page from the Jenkins playbook.
Focus on the joy of the process, not the quality of the output. The world is full of mediocre people who are successful because they simply refused to stop. Florence didn't have talent, but she had "presence." She had a point of view.
Find your "Bayfield." Surround yourself with people who support your delusions just enough to keep you moving forward. You don't need a million fans; you need a small circle that values your spirit over your skill.
Understand the "So Bad It's Good" phenomenon. There is a market for authenticity. People can smell a "manufactured" star a mile away. They will always prefer a sincere failure over a fake success.
Florence Foster Jenkins didn't leave behind a legacy of great music. She left behind a legacy of great intent. And in the hands of Meryl Streep, that intent becomes something worth watching over and over again. Honestly, we should all be a little more like Florence. Maybe not the singing part. But definitely the "booking Carnegie Hall anyway" part.