Home

Crowdfunding Countercurrents

CC Archive

Submission Policy

Join News Letter

Defend Indian Constitution

#SaveVizhinjam

CounterSolutions

CounterImages

CounterVideos

CC Youtube Channel

India Burning

Mumbai Terror

Iraq

Peak Oil

Globalisation

Localism

Climate Change

US Imperialism

Palestine

Communalism

Dalit

Humanrights

Economy

India-pakistan

Kashmir

Book Review

Gujarat Pogrom

Kandhamal Violence

Arts/Culture

Archives

About Us

Popularise CC

Disclaimer

Fair Use Notice

Contact Us

Subscribe To Our
News Letter

Name


E-mail:



Search Our Archive



Our Site

Web

 

 

 

 

Florence Foster Jenkins: The Appeal Of The Bad

By Dr. Binoy Kampmark

21 May, 2016
Countercurrents.org

She was a self-deluding Kardashian before her time: frenetically busy socialite, promoter of self and causes, and then, when it came down to it, a celebrity for celebrity’s sake. It could not be any other way. Florence Foster Jenkins may be one of history’s worse singers, but such an assessment is only useful as a comparative point, the critic’s barb on the level of music. To understand her as a phenomenon would be a quite different matter. With that comes humanity.

In terms of popular reference, she is to be found in every critic’s hatchet job, notably on anything related to music and folklore. Consider this review on May Silva Teasdale’s Handbook of 20th-century Opera from The Musical Times (Jan., 1977): “this literary Florence Foster Jenkins also attempts little notes on the character of different countries’ opera.” The horror of it all.

Through Stephen Frears’s effort, Jenkins comes alive as a tone-deaf spectacular, supremely confident that she will give it her best. There is no doubting her credentials as an impeccable human being. As a singer, however, she is both terror and terrifying, a vocal atrocity. Matters culminate in that most famous of performances at Carnegie Hall as the Second World War rages.

The film is touching on several levels (“a pillowy paean to silliness” as Robbie Collins in The Telegraph terms it), focusing on the Jenkins pull as social figure and philanthropist and the manipulations of her purse at the hands of performers and artists who would rather be caught dead than be associated with her performances. Money, however, is often louder than music, and individuals would always be happy to take sponsoring generosity.

What unfolds is an effort on the part of a person to do good works, in a fashion. The well-to-do women of that time, having no viable professional outlet, engaged in charitable projects. Jenkins, in the words of Meryl Streep, who plays her adeptly, “kept the musical life of the city alive – she underwrote concerts at Carnegie Hall and spread the money she had inherited from her husband and father.”

Jenkins’ accompanying pianist, Cosmé McMoon (Simon Helberg) is himself an initial victim, lured by the prospect of good pay, dragged away from smoky bars and late night saloons. He, however, wishes to be a “serious” musician, and fears that any career will be stillborn. The dilemma plays through.

That said, Frears also reminds us about timing. This is a country at war. A thriving New York City, while seemingly distant from the frontlines of both the Pacific and Europe, is still in need of cheer. Manipulating, even eradicating coloratura soprano lines with purpose, could do nicely, thank you very much.

That is where she becomes an object study in the phenomenon of celebrity, a touching reverse tale of the Emperor’s New Clothes. At the heart of it is a conspiracy at work. She is to be kept in the dark about how awful she actually is, immunised from sombre realities. Nothing is spared towards this task, a dedicated public relations effort that farms and feeds a manufactured image. Bad reviews are to be purchased and canned, the critics hectored, silenced if not emasculated. What she thinks is ultimately what matters. The dream cannot be allowed to die.

People flocked to her concerts, most knowing about the aural battering they would receive. Her recordings sold, and were played on the airwaves. A surviving 78rpm recording of the Queen of the Night from Mozart’s The Magic Flute remains an astonishing wonder. Without realising it, she was doing to music what the installation art would do to, well, art.

Hugh Grant puts in a sentimental show with some pathos as the promoting second husband and unsuccessful Shakespearean thespian St. Clair Bayfield. Ultimately, it is Streep who managed to bring a creature of force to life, showing luscious tenacity. The balance of drama and sentiment is rather good, and one cannot help but have feeling for the character as played by Streep. That may be as much a case of Streep’s performance than Jenkins herself.

The legend continues to have contemporary drawing power. Alongside Frears’s effort is Xavier Giannoli’s Marguerite, featuring the Jenkins-like figure of Marguerite Dumont. Another operatic delusion comes into play, and there are those around her willing to capitalise.

Fittingly, and even on some levels admirably, nothing could possibly stop a passion that would be released because of a belief that training would ultimately bring genius. Beneath the title of her 1934 program were the wonderful words of musical freedom: “O singer, if thou canst not dream, Leave this song unsung.” The bad can have a touching, heart tugging appeal.

Dr. Binoy Kampmark was a Commonwealth Scholar at Selwyn College, Cambridge. He lectures at RMIT University, Melbourne. Email: [email protected]





 



 

Share on Tumblr

 

 


Comments are moderated