Florence Foster Jenkins demands your laughter, then punishes you for even thinking about it. Review by Matt Cummings To be fair and completely honest, the period dramedy Florence Foster Jenkins wasn't exactly on my list of summer-must-sees; and to its credit, the film is well cast, proficiently acted and directed, and looks terrific. But the final effect is missing something, and I think I have the answer. For New York patron of the arts Florence Foster Jenkins (Meryl Streep), life for the 1940's socialite is filled with music and lavish gatherings. But Florence hides two important secrets: she contracted syphilis from her first husband, and as a result she cannot hear herself too well. She also desires to be an opera singer, but is blissfully unaware that she can't sing. I mean she's awful, dreadful, even comical according to some. But her husband St Clair (Hugh Grant) dutifully supports her anyways by hiring a pianist Cosme (Simon Helberg), who is al
