My Year With Meryl: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)


When people think of movies that gross big bucks in the summer time, they’ll often think of action films, sequels, bloated studio tentpoles that cost 200 million dollars or more; most people don’t think of movies made for a female audience, and they certainly don’t assume a film with a lead actress who’s—yikes—older than fifty could possibly star in a movie that makes money. Studio executives have been known, now more than ever before, to make their summer movies for a specific demographic—teen boys—and any movie aimed at women that happens to earn a few dollars is typically regarded as a fluke. In the summer of 2006, when blockbusters like Poseidon and Superman Returns were failing, a sharp, clever, exceedingly funny film broke through and became a modern comedy classic. The Devil Wears Prada is not only one of Meryl’s most entertaining films but it was arguably her first true blockbuster.

Meryl has had a few noteworthy stages in her career. In the late 1970s, she was a supporting actress, appearing in small roles in five films and one mini-series that started to get her noticed. Throughout the 1980s, she appeared in one heavy drama after another, in complex roles that netted her a whopping six Academy Award nominations for Best Actress in a span of just seven years. From 1989 to 1992 she stretched her comedic muscles by making four comedies in a row. She moved into action with The River Wild, gave a startling performance in The Bridges of Madison County, then played it sort of safe for the rest of the 1990s with a series of mediocre dramas. In the first half of the 2000s she made a few memorable turns in Adaptation and Angels in America, and started becoming more unpredictable with her choices. And then in the second half of the 2000s she became something truly unexpected, probably by no one more than Meryl herself—a box office superstar.


She made The Devil Wears Prada when she was fifty-six years old, an age when most actors, especially women, have been relegated to the role of the supportive mother or the wise schoolteacher. Women in their fifties almost never receive exciting lead roles in movies, and it’s practically unheard of for a woman in that age bracket to be able to open a movie. So when The Devil Wears Prada opened to twenty-seven million and went on to earn 125 million in the United States alone, more than a few people turned their heads. The only movie Meryl was a lead in prior that even came close to such a mammoth box office take was Out of Africa, in 1985, with eighty-seven million—and that won Best Picture. Many assumed The Devil Wears Prada’s high gross was a rare success story, but then it kept happening. Two years later, Meryl’s female-driven Mamma Mia opened on the same weekend as The Dark Knight, and still made 144 million nationwide (and 610 million worldwide!), her highest film gross to date. A year later Julie & Julia soared to ninety-four million, and It’s Complicated topped out at 113 million. Even 2012’s Hope Springs, a low-key relationship dramedy, made sixty-four million. For the last few years, Meryl has enjoyed a fascinating new stage of her career, and it all started with The Devil Wears Prada.

Meryl’s 2006 blockbuster is not a perfect film by any means. It’s predictable most of the way through, and while Anne Hathaway, Stanley Tucci, and especially Emily Blunt shine in their roles, the movie would not work nearly as well without Meryl’s memorable portrayal of the boss from Hell. Hathaway, who received a major career boost of her own with this project, plays Andy Sachs, a recent college graduate who comes to New York to be a famous journalist and ends up working as second assistant to Miranda Priestley (Meryl), one of the most important and notorious fashion magazine editors in town. Working alongside first assistant Emily (the hilarious Blunt), Andy tries to survive under the dictatorship of her maniacal boss who expects everything and more for those who work for her. Miranda barks seventeen orders at Andy, then changes them, then demands her to find an unpublished Harry Potter manuscript in a matter of hours. It at times gets to be too much for Andy, especially as she tries to make a relationship work with her boyfriend Nate (Adrian Grenier). As the year goes on, however, she hits her stride at work and becomes Miranda’s most trusted assistant. Will Andy ultimately become the next Miranda Priestley and abandon the person she used to be, or will she get out before it’s too late?


David Frankel, who had previously directed episodes of Sex and the City and Entourage, made The Devil Wears Prada colorful and fun, with a brisk pacing that almost never falters. From the quick-moving opening titles to the various fashion montages to an ending that wraps things fast and satisfactorily, this is not a slow-moving drama that takes its time. The Devil Wears Prada is meant to be a crowd-pleaser from beginning to end, and on that level, it shines. It’s a movie that knows what it wants to be but at the same time never panders to its audience. The screenplay by Aline Brosh McKenna, which was adapted from Lauren Weisberger’s popular novel, has a familiar structure, but it’s the dialogue throughout that makes this film stand out from others. Miranda’s vicious speeches and outrageous demands always yield laughs, and Emily’s put-downs to Andy might be the funniest of all. Many movies in this genre can feel too pedestrian, too manipulative at times, but such is never the case with The Devil Wears Prada.

Casting always makes or breaks a film, and in this case, the casting of the four major characters is perfect. While Andy’s boyfriend Nate could have been played by anyone—Grenier is OK but doesn’t have a lot to work with—and Simon Baker is adequate but nothing special in the role of the scheming Christian, the four leads all leave memorable impressions. Anne Hathaway was most known for playing a Disney princess before this movie (Meryl was reportedly skeptical of Hathaway’s casting in the beginning), but it was her completely charming performance in The Devil Wears Prada that signified a new chapter of her blossoming career. She is appropriately dowdy in the beginning, wearing awkward sweaters and eating onion bagels, and as well as her outer transformation into the more fashionable Andy works, it’s the change on the inside that pops off the screen. Hathaway holds her own against Meryl all the way through. Emily Blunt was plucked from near obscurity for this movie—she had mostly acted in British television productions before—and was an inspired choice for the smart-mouthed, hot-tempered Emily. “I’m one stomach flu away from my goal weight” is probably the line people remember the most but she has countless zingers all the way through. Stanley Tucci, who went on to play Meryl’s loving husband in Julie & Julia, makes the role of Miranda’s right hand man Nigel an original and ultimately endearing character, when he could have been played more selfish and stereotypical by another actor. He is at his best here, too.


Meryl received her fourteenth Academy Award nomination for The Devil Wears Prada, one of the few she has nabbed for a comedic film, and she, more than any other actor in the film, takes a role that could have easily—very easily—been one-note and obvious, and makes it three-dimensional in every way. Remarkably, Meryl gets us to care about Miranda by the end of the movie, no small feat. When we are first introduced to her, she is the tyrannical boss who trudges down her office hallway like a Tyrannosaurus Rex willing to squash anyone who gets in her way. The early scenes where she spits out one venomous line of dialogue after another give the film some of its best entertainment value, and the monologues when she voices her disappointment in Andy are always shockingly vitriolic. Despite her being the villain of the movie, Miranda can’t always be a hateful witch, and no one knows that better than Meryl herself. Occasionally we see traces of Miranda’s personal life at home, but it’s in a heartbreaking scene in a Paris hotel room, when Meryl wears no make-up and trembles as she talks about the break-up of her marriage, that shows more than anything else Meryl’s mastery. She finds just the right balance of Miranda’s vulnerability and still brewing cynicism in this moment, the scene that made Meryl want to do the movie, and probably the scene that netted her the well-deserved Oscar nomination.

The Devil Wears Prada will never be viewed on the same level as Meryl’s masterful dramas like Kramer Vs. Kramer and Sophie’s Choice, and in a career that has seen two comedic gems—Defending Your Life and Death Becomes Her—this film might not even be considered her great comedy achievement. But in the year since its successful release it has become one of Meryl’s most beloved movies and features what will always be one of her most memorable performances. Meryl could have played the role of Miranda as a superficial villain but instead infused in her just enough humanity to show why she became this way and what she really wants out of her life and career. The Devil Wears Prada is grand entertainment every step of the way, and it remains one of my all-time favorite Meryl movies.


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My Year With Meryl: A Prairie Home Companion (2006)



Meryl singing—it makes any movie she’s in better. Her show-stopping number in Ironweed is that film’s best scene, Death Becomes Her has an awesome Broadway-style opener, and Postcards from the Edge ends with a truly grand finale. Of course when most people think of Meryl and singing, they think of Mamma Mia, but probably half of her entire performance in A Prairie Home Companion, the final film by legendary director Robert Altman, is comprised of Meryl belting out songs, often with her on-screen sister, the great Lily Tomlin. While the film hasn’t much of a plot, the entertainment in this movie comes from watching terrific actors sing their hearts out, in the final film of one of the most important film directors of the twentieth century.

A Prairie Home Companion has been a live radio variety show hosted by Garrison Keillor since 1974, and, as of 2015, it still runs every Saturday. Music is the main feature of the show, typically American folk music that includes country, blues, and gospel. The film, shot in the summer of 2005 and released in June 2006, shows a look behind-the-scenes at the famous radio show, albeit a fictionalized one. For example, the radio broadcast in the movie is the long-running public radio show’s last, despite the fact that in real life it’s still going strong. And while major musical talents have appeared on the show, no celebrities on the level of Kevin Kline or Tommy Lee Jones—both of whom have starred with Meryl in Sophie’s Choice and Hope Springs, respectively—have lent their talents to the actual broadcast (although Meryl herself appeared on one show, in character from the movie!). The film is faithful to the show, however, with it given a slow, thoughtful pacing by director Altman that suits this material well.

The film takes place over one night, before, during, and after the final broadcast. Keillor, the show’s creator, appears as himself, while many great film actors play fictionalized roles. Almost every Robert Altman film has an amazing ensemble—even a clunker like Dr T. and the Women got an astonishing cast—and A Prairie Home Companion is no different, with actors like Woody Harrelson, Kevin Kline, Maya Rudolph, Lily Tomlin (who appeared in his masterpiece Nashville three decades earlier), John C. Reilly, Tommy Lee Jones, and Meryl, in her first and only performance in an Altman movie. Lindsay Lohan, playing Meryl’s daughter Lola, is miscast, with a character who’s given way too much emphasis in the finale, and Virginia Madsen, hot off her Oscar nomination for Sideways, plays a strange character called the Dangerous Woman that doesn’t add much to the narrative. The joy in this movie comes when Keillor, who wrote the screenplay, stops trying to give the story emotional weight and conflict, and allows these fine actors to talk about their lives and sing their favorite songs.


Altman is known for making movies that ramble, and feel true to life. Gosford Park, the last movie to net him an Oscar nomination, is a mystery set in a large country house that plays out like few mysteries do, and his classics MASH and Nashville amaze with the way multiple characters and storylines overlap with one another. A Prairie Home Companion has the feel of his classic films, and it is in every way the appropriate swan song for Altman, who shows the kind of sweetness and care he brought to all his movies. In a career that spanned more than fifty years, it’s astonishing that he and Meryl never worked together up until his last movie. She reportedly jumped at the chance to work with Altman, and, just like how Henry Fonda and Katharine Hepburn created magic in On Golden Pond, two great artists coming together once is always better than nothing.

Meryl plays Yolanda Johnson, one half of a sister singing team from Wisconsin. They are the last remaining duo from a famous country music act, bound and determined to keep singing long into the radio show’s final broadcast. Lily Tomlin plays her sister Rhonda, and the chemistry between these two jumps off the screen from their first moment they share backstage. Despite the ten-year age difference between the actresses in real life, they feel like sisters from the get-go, finishing each other’s sentences, cracking at each other’s jokes even before the other completes the telling of it. While A Prairie Home Companion is a true ensemble piece, Meryl gets plenty of moments to shine as this plucky, tender, loving mother (a total opposite from her other major role in a film that came out the same month—The Devil Wears Prada).


Her songs are definitely the highlights of the movie. One effective moment takes Meryl from backstage to the microphone all in one take, before she starts on one of her songs. She sings a goofy duet with Keillor about rhubarb pie and takes the stage with most of the cast at the end to sing a farewell ballad, but it’s the two main songs she sings with Tomlin that bring out the best in her. “My Minnesota Home” is a gem, with Altman keeping the camera floating back and forth between Meryl and Tomlin’s faces as they belt out the nostalgic lyrics. And then there’s “Goodbye to My Mama,” which was so moving to Tomlin, who lost her mother soon before shooting this movie, that it didn’t take much for her tears to start flowing. This is probably the most devastating song in the film, one that Altman plays out mostly in one long take, and it’s a treat to hear Meryl sing the lyrics.

In Meryl’s career, the year 2006 will likely most be remembered for her ingenious turn in David Frankel’s The Devil Wears Prada, a movie that still remains one of her great entertainments. It’s the film she received an Academy Award nomination for that year, and it’s the Meryl movie you’re probably most likely to find playing on cable. But she also made a worthwhile ensemble movie that year, one that is so wholesome and sweet it feels like few films that get made anymore. A Prairie Home Companion doesn’t have a complicated plot or much tension, but that’s okay. This is the kind of film you sit back and let wash over you with its myriad of small delights.


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My Year With Meryl: Prime (2005)


Meryl has made a lot more great movies than she has bad ones. For every Kramer Vs. Kramer and The Hours, there’s only the occasional movie like The House of the Spirits. In 2007 she had a string of bad films—Rendition probably being the worst—and her Oscar-winning The Iron Lady has its haters. Arguably the most forgettable movie she’s made in her long list of credits, though, is the 2005 comedy Prime. Here is a film with a decent premise and two strong female leads that starts off okay but then goes nowhere. More than maybe any project she’s appeared in, Prime has the feeling of something she did for a paycheck, or because she had a free chunk of time and wanted to work. This is not to say that the movie is a boring, joyless experience. It’s totally watchable, with a few moments of genuine tension and a couple funny Meryl moments. As a whole, though, the film just doesn’t add up to much.

Prime, which remains one of the few projects Meryl has headlined that received not a single award nomination of any kind, blends comedy, drama, and romance in a story of missed connections and ironies that Woody Allen probably could have done more with. Uma Thurman, fresh off her performance in Kill Bill (and taking over a role that Sandra Bullock dropped out of when the director refused to make script changes) plays Rafi, a career woman who’s been unlucky in love. She meets regularly with a psychoanalyst Lisa (Meryl), who is the person Rafi feels most comfortable discussing her sexual escapades with. She meets a cute younger man David (Bryan Greenberg) at a film event, and the two begin dating. Even though she is thirty-seven and he is twenty-three (both prime numbers! a coincidence?), they connect in a genuine way and he soon moves into her apartment. Rafi shares every intimate detail of David with her psychoanalyst Lisa, but here’s the catch: Lisa is David’s mother! What will happen when Lisa finds out that Rafi’s dating her son? Will their relationship continue? Will Rafi and David be able to stay together? Do we care?


The best scenes in the movie are the therapy sessions, when the camera is locked off and allows us to observe Thurman and Meryl playing off each other. There are at least five of these scenes, and it’s during these moments that the narrative comes to life, especially once Lisa knows her patient is dating her son. But when these two aren’t sharing the same frame together, the movie suffers. Ben Younger wrote and directed Prime, his second theatrical film, and to date his last theatrical film. His first movie Boiler Room was a top-notch corporate thriller with Giovanni Ribisi riveting in the lead role, Vin Diesel before The Fast and the Furious, and Ben Affleck in a memorably villainous supporting turn. Prime is of a different genre and style, and it just doesn’t suit him. He says in the behind-the-scenes DVD documentary that the story was inspired by real life circumstances; maybe he should have gone deeper into his imagination, to pull out something more original. While the Meet Cute between David and Rafi in the beginning is effective, their relationship, especially the growing amount of bickering, soon becomes tiresome, and it’s only the fleeting moments of Meryl in the second half that gives the film any life.

One of the main problems with the movie is Bryan Greenberg, an actor with little charisma. While he is pretty to look at, and would be at home in an ensemble on, say, a CBS TV series, he lacks the star power necessary to carry a whole film. He tries to hold his own with Thurman and Meryl, and while he doesn’t give a bad performance, he never pops off the screen. There’s no chemistry between him and Thurman (their kissing scenes are so intense it’s weird to think what Sandra Bullock in Thurman’s role would have been like), and he often looks lost in the scenes he shares with Meryl, like he was doing everything in his power to not blow his lines in front of an acting icon.


The film is predictable and calculated all the way through, with an ending that the director might have thought of as daring, when in reality it can be seen a mile away. The movie lacks energy, in a story that very much needs it. There’s too much emphasis on quickly cut flashbacks. The title is weird, even the poster is bland. There’s nothing in Prime one hasn’t seen before, so it’s difficult to see what attracted Meryl to the project. In the behind-the-scenes documentary, she says that the script made her laugh. That’s as good a reason as any, I guess, but one would hope she has a bit higher standards for the projects she commits to be in, especially at this point in her career. Of course, she would shoot The Devil Wears Prada less than a year later, and all is right with the world.

The story of Prime had the makings of an interesting comedy romance, but it got boggled in the process, with the wrong storyteller, a miscast male lead, and a tone that never strikes the right balance. Meryl creates an amusing character, a psychoanalyst with bushy brown hair and a no-nonsense voice who has neuroses all her own. Her facial expressions as Rafi talks about David’s perfect penis get some laughs, and a sitcom-y moment when Lisa pulls her husband down to the ground in a furniture store is entertaining. Meryl does the best that she can with a script that is often more tired than inspired. In the end, Prime is proof that even the finest of actors can’t save every movie they’re in, even when they have the best of intentions.


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My Year With Meryl: Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events (2004)


When Meryl received the AFI Lifetime Achievement Award in the summer of 2004, a who’s-who of acclaimed Academy Award-winning dramatic actors took to the stage to honor her, including Jack Nicholson, Diane Keaton, Robert De Niro, and Clint Eastwood, among others. The actor who kicked off the show, however, was more known for comedy than for drama, and to many, he might have seemed an unlikely choice to even be in the building, let alone begin the ceremony. That night Jim Carrey gave one of the funniest, and most heartfelt, opening speeches ever at an AFI Lifetime Achievement event, but he wasn’t just there to provide laughs. Carrey had recently wrapped his newest movie, one that teamed him for the first time with Meryl herself. Yes, one of the most unlikeliest cinematic pairings ever can be seen in Brad Silberling’s Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events.

That is not to say that Carrey isn’t worthy of starring alongside Meryl in a movie. Known for talking out of his ass in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective for much of the mid-90s, he came into his own as a dramatic actor later in the decade in The Truman Show and Man on the Moon. Like Robin Williams before him, Carrey became one of those rare actors who could bounce back and forth between broad comedies and complex dramas with ease. The same year that A Series of Unfortunate Events was released, Carrey gave what many consider his best dramatic performance in Michel Gondry’s fantastic, similarly long-titled film, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. He was at the peak of his career when he chose to play the cartoonish and most certainly villainous Count Olaf in A Series of Unfortunate Events, an opportunity that allowed him to play two scenes off of Meryl, in one of her goofiest performances to date.


A Series of Unfortunate Events is based on the first three books of Lemony Snicket’s beloved children’s series. The Nickelodeon-produced film, directed by Silberling (Casper) and written by Robert Gordon (Galaxy Quest), tells of three young siblings—Violet (Emily Browning), Klaus (Liam Aiken), and baby Sunny (Kara and Shelby Hoffman)—who become orphans when a fire kills their parents, and then sent to live with the mysterious Count Olaf, an eccentric distant relative only interested in inheriting the kids’ money. When Olaf unsuccessfully tries to have them murdered, the kids momentarily go to stay with their odd uncle (Billy Connolly), then their agoraphobic aunt (Meryl). But Olaf arrives and steals the kids back, leaving their quirky Aunt Josephine to be eaten by leeches (yes, this is one of the few movies that Meryl perishes in, albeit off-screen). In the end, Olaf tries to marry young Violet to get the kids’ money for good.

Many parents were reportedly mortified by this film upon its release, given the dark nature of the story and the vindictive nature of Count Olaf. This is a bad, bad man who makes Carrey’s previous larger-than-life characters The Riddler and The Grinch look like Mother Theresa. The film performed okay but not great at the box office, making a little over 200 million dollars worldwide off a 140 million dollar budget, but it’s not the Tim Burton-like approach that keeps the movie from ever soaring. Carrey does what he can with a juicy villain role, and the art direction and make-up (the latter of which won an Academy Award) are outstanding. The main problem with A Series of Unfortunate Events is that it just never takes off, never fully engages the viewer with a worthwhile story. So much of it comes off flat, with set piece after set piece that slows down the narrative rather than speeds it up. Also, unlike the Harry Potter series, which this film was obviously trying to emulate in some respects, the two main kids come off rather dull.


Meryl has fun with her small part of Aunt Josephine. She’s in so little of the movie that her role barely registers as a glorified cameo—she has only a few more minutes of screen-time in this than she has in the previous year’s Stuck on You, in which she played herself—but her participation in A Series of Unfortunate Events is interesting for a few reasons. One, she gets a couple of scenes with Carrey, an actor that few would have expected her to ever share screen-time with. Two, it remains the only live-action children’s film she’s ever appeared in; besides voicing characters in The Ant Bully and Fantastic Mr. Fox, and providing narration for other short animated works, she has stuck to adult fare. Three, she has rarely played a character as loony and off-the-wall than the one here. Aunt Josephine looks ridiculous, with her huge ruffled shoulders, tiny glasses, and poofy blonde hair. She is also incredibly stupid, a quality Meryl almost never plays. Whether she’s screaming at the local realtor (an uncredited Jane Lynch) or being seduced by a disguised Count Olaf, Aunt Josephine is a wild, unusual character that many would have pegged someone like Joan Cusack or Helena Bonham Carter to play. But Meryl has a blast, clearly relishing the opportunity to break out of her comfort zone.

Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events will not be remembered as one of Meryl’s best movies. While all the elements are there, particularly an inspired performance by Carrey, the film never comes to life the way the viewer hopes. Most disappointing of all, Meryl is in so little of the movie that if you blink, you’ll miss her. While she didn’t need to be the star, it would have been nice for the screenwriter to incorporate her character a little more into the narrative. Meryl proved in 2004 that she could play supporting characters in two very different kinds of movies and still, with far less screen-time than the movie-star leads, steal the show. While her chilling performance in The Manchurian Candidate is more impressive, Meryl’s comical role in A Series of Unfortunate Events is a wonderfully goofy lark the actress rarely takes.


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My Year With Meryl: The Manchurian Candidate (2004)


Everyone loves a good villain. Actors often say that it’s boring to play the hero and that it’s a lot more fun to be the bad guy—therefore it’s surprising to note that in more than fifty motion pictures, Meryl has rarely played evil. She plays flawed characters each time out, but rarely the kind of person you run away from when you see her coming toward you. She has some nastiness in her in Death Becomes Her, and plays the boss from Hell in The Devil Wears Prada. She’s horrible to her kids in August: Osage County, and plays a witch in Into the Woods. Arguably, however, the most villainous role that Meryl has ever played is the Lady Macbeth-like Eleanor Shaw in The Manchurian Candidate.

Jonathan Demme’s 2004 remake of the classic 1962 film—the older movie having been directed by John Frankenheimer and starring such powerhouse actors as Frank Sinatra and Janet Leigh—received criticism from movie fans everywhere before it even went into production. Remakes have always been a sore subject for people who love film because almost always, that original film shouldn’t be touched, and doesn’t need to be modernized. Demme had just directed another remake—the critically maligned box office bomb The Truth About Charlie, an update of Charade—and the original Manchurian Candidate is so beloved than many were dumbfounded in how a remake could improve on it. Meryl must have agreed in some respect—to this day, this film remains her only remake—but the bigger-than-life character of Eleanor had to have been too hard to pass up.


Of course, it didn’t hurt that Demme recruited several terrific actors. Denzel Washington came on board to play the lead Ben Marco, one of many soldiers in the Gulf War who were kidnapped and brainwashed to further the malevolent plans of others. He’s magnetic in the film, as always, although it seems a missed opportunity to not have give one of our finest actors more screen-time with one of our finest actresses. Jeffrey Wright, Meryl’s Angels in America co-star, plays a small but pivotal role as one of the other soldiers, and Jon Voight is effective as a senator who believes Ben’s story and wants the truth to come out. Liev Schreiber was hand-picked by then Paramount Pictures CEO Sherry Lansing to play Eleanor’s son, Raymond Shaw, an ambitious political figure, and Kimberly Elise is strong as Rosie, a potential love interest to Ben who turns out to be more than we thought. Demme even cast newbie actors in small roles who have gone on to do bigger and better things—Vera Farmiga, Pablo Schreiber, Ann Dowd, and Anthony Mackie, to name a few.

And then there’s Meryl, in a supporting role that almost steals the movie. One might think that Angela Lansbury, who played Eleanor Shaw in the 1962 film, would have taken to the idea of an actress of Meryl’s stature giving a new spin on her memorable character, but Lansbury reportedly had displeasure at the idea. Lansbury probably didn’t believe that such a special film, one that earned her an Academy Award nomination and a Golden Globe award, should have been remade, but she also probably knew in her heart that Meryl was going to make the juicy character even harsher, meaner, and more memorable. And, yes, she would have been right. The 2004 remake is serviceable entertainment, a good but not great film, with plenty of suspense and fine acting throughout. It’s Meryl’s harrowing performance that makes the movie stand out.


She said in an interview that she never saw Eleanor as a villain. Really, how could she? An actor will be one-note on screen if he or she plays a character as purely evil. Every character, good or bad, has a motivation, something he or she believes in, and Meryl viewed Eleanor as someone who is strong and passionate about her wants and needs, especially when they come to her son. She modeled the character after several major political figures at the time (but not Hillary Clinton, according to Meryl), and she watched hours of talking-head political commentary. So reserved and soft-spoken in many of her films at the time (The Hours, in particular), The Manchurian Candidate shows a delectably sinister side to Meryl that is sometimes funny, sometimes sad, but most often chilling.

Her screen-time is limited, but she makes the most of every scene. Her first thirty seconds on screen immediately tell the viewer the kind of woman she is—that layered brown hair, the lime green business suit, those awful pearls hanging around her neck. Her constantly on-the-move body language is feisty and uncompromising, and the way she shoots a glare at her son gives the viewer an immediate sense of unease. Her monologue to a room full of political figures early in the film is the kind of awe-inspiring moment that wins awards. It’s a little calculated to be sure, but it’s also Meryl at her commanding best. Toward the end of the movie, the way she stops Raymond from walking out of the room is probably the scariest Meryl moment ever captured on film, and the disturbing kiss she shares with her son just might be the runner-up. Meryl is such a sweet person in real life, but in The Manchurian Candidate, she’s the opposite, a tyrannical mother who will let nothing and nobody stand in her way.

Meryl won the AFI Lifetime Achievement award in the summer of 2004. It’s an award that had been previously given to people like Bette Davis, Alfred Hitchcock, and John Ford, actors and directors at the end of their career with little else to offer audiences worldwide. Of course, in 2004, Meryl wasn’t near the end at all—she was just getting started, with dozens more movies still to come, starting with The Manchurian Candidate. While the film might not be one of Meryl’s best, and it’s disappointing that she and Washington don’t spend more time on-screen together, she soars, in her most villainous role to date.


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My Year With Meryl: Angels in America (2003)


After a somewhat stuffy dramatic period in her career in the late 1990s, Meryl came roaring back in 2002 with two of her freshest, most creative endeavors ever—The Hours and Adaptation. These movies showed audiences that Meryl was not interested in appearing in more mediocre dramas made better only by her participation. Instead, they showed that she was willing to take chances with a pair of unique scripts, and two young directors who wanted to push Meryl into exciting new territories. A spark of this creativity must have stayed with Meryl when she chose her next project, a magnificent achievement that marked her third masterpiece in a row. The HBO mini-series Angels in America, which went on to win nearly every Emmy it was eligible for, is one of the most engrossing, fascinating, and important projects that Meryl has ever appeared in.

Before the project premiered on HBO—an event that spanned two Sunday nights that December—it was one of the most anticipated mini-series to have even been produced. Tony Kushner had adapted his incendiary Pulitzer-Prize-winning play, and Oscar-winning director Mike Nichols had assembled a brilliant cast of actors, both famous figures and brand new faces. Meryl was starring alongside the powerhouses Al Pacino and Emma Thompson, and she was reuniting with Nichols for the first time since 1990’s Postcards From the Edge (they also made Silkwood and Heartburn together). Most exciting for Meryl fans, though, may have been that she wasn’t playing just one role in Angels in America, but four! While none of the characters truly make up a lead performance, her range and talent shines all the way through this beautifully constructed and perfectly executed six-hour production.


Set in New York City in 1985, Angels in America has many characters, plot threads, and themes. Prior Walter (Justin Kirk) is a gay man dying of AIDS, and having visions of an angel (Emma Thompson) descending to his bedside. His boyfriend Louis (Ben Shenkman) abandons him, unable to deal with his illness, and begins a relationship with a closeted gay Mormon named Joe (Patrick Wilson). Joe works for a closeted gay lawyer Roy (Al Pacino), struggles making an emotional connection to his wife Harper (Mary-Louise Parker), and eventually comes out to his mother (Meryl). The mini-series blends reality with flights of fantasy, some wild, some lyrical, always hypnotic. The ghost of Ethel Rosenberg (also Meryl) visits the dying Roy in the hospital, an irate Harper at one point finds herself trudging through snow in Antarctica, and there’s even a vision of Heaven (where Meryl plays yet another character).

Meryl is all over these six hours, popping up as one character you might expect, but also as three others you absolutely wouldn’t. With her cropped gray hair and pale white skin, Joe’s mother is the one who looks and feels closest to Meryl, although the arc this character goes on is one of the most moving in the entire mini-series. Without much to her in the beginning, other than traveling to New York to make amends with her adult son, she eventually transforms at the sight of something truly magical. Meryl is nearly unrecognizable as the ghost of Ethel Rosenberg, with her chubby cheeks and black, tight-fitted hair. These quiet, haunting scenes she shares with the great Pacino are electric. She is literally unrecognizable as a rabbi, who appears at the very beginning. Yes, after years of people probably making jokes about it, since most believe Meryl can play anyone or anything—she finally plays a man! More amazing, it doesn’t feel like a gimmick, with her long soliloquy being so mesmerizing and truthful that you forget you’re watching Meryl playing an old bearded guy. Meryl lastly plays a character at the very end—The Angel Australia—and who knows? Maybe she’s in more. Has anyone double-checked? No matter, she brings humanity and heart to each of the roles she plays, making this production one of the great tour-de-forces for an actress who has impressed us many times before.


Despite focusing on the AIDS epidemic and showing various men hiding their homosexuality and trying to come to terms with who they are, Angels in America is never a condemnation of gay men. The play was produced and performed in the early 1990s, long before the majority of Americans supported homosexuals in all ways of life, particularly when it came to gay marriage. This play, alongside other milestones like The Normal Heart and the 1990 film Longtime Companion, broke new ground in showing that the love and heartache every gay person feels is just the same as anyone else, and that stories brimming with homosexual characters were just as compelling and important as any production featuring only straight ones. The mini-series itself premiered long before Brokeback Mountain, long before Milk. Receiving Emmy awards for Best Mini-Series, Best Director of a Mini-Series, and Best Screenplay of a Mini-Series (not to mention acting awards in all four of its categories, including a Best Actress statuette for Meryl), this adaptation of Kushner’s beloved play was another much-needed work of art that pushed the nation’s acceptance of gay rights even farther in the proper direction.

Angels in America actually marked the second project in a row for Meryl that dealt with gay themes. She even kisses a woman in both—Allison Janney in The Hours, and Thompson in this. It’s great that at this point in her career, with thirteen Oscar nominations behind her and really nothing left to prove, that she would appear in two gay-themed films, before they were more commonly accepted. But what’s truly remarkable about Meryl is her constant hunger for challenging herself as an actress, and appearing in projects that might not necessarily be fashionable or easy to digest. She has appeared in more than fifty productions and counting, but in the end, Angels in America will likely go down as one of the best decisions she ever made. It’s not just an HBO mini-series. It’s not just a great story well told. It is, and has been, a film that changes lives.


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My Year With Meryl: The Hours (2002)


One of the best films Meryl ever made that she received no Oscar nomination for is Stephen Daldry’s The Hours, a haunting, gorgeous movie about three women’s lives that are intertwined despite the locations and decades between them. More accolades might have come Meryl’s way for The Hours, but the film community chose to acknowledge her equally strong work in Adaptation that holiday season. After a three-year absence from the screen, Meryl had not one but two fantastic films released in the same month—December 2002—and both were highly creative endeavors that played with the expectations of narrative and told of the power of books and hypnosis of writing. Both also featured Meryl not in the lead role, but as part of an ensemble.

And quite the ensemble The Hours is. Featuring Julianne Moore and Nicole Kidman as the other two women, as well as a cast that includes Ed Harris, Miranda Richardson, Toni Collette, Jeff Daniels, and Claire Danes, among others, this film is a who’s-who of great actors. In one of the two DVD audio commentaries, director Stephen Daldry (Billy Elliot, The Reader) said that he and the producers got their first choice for every single role, a rarity even in the most prestigious of Oscar-bait movies. It was producer Scott Rudin who suggested Meryl for the role of Clarissa, a woman living in 2001 New York who’s in a strained lesbian relationship and spends most of her time caring for her dying ex-boyfriend Richard (Ed Harris). Meryl was aware of the material before being offered the film—she had previously read Michael Cunningham’s Pulitzer-Prize-winning novel, which featured Meryl herself as a small character. Many deemed the book unfilmable, but screenwriter David Hare managed to translate much of the interior monologues into a highly cinematic experience.


The Hours is about three different women who all have the essence of one soul. The first woman is the famous, troubled writer Virginia Woolf, working on her books and fighting her bouts of depression in Essex, England, in 1923. The film uses a mix of Woolf’s real words and Hare’s manufactured ones to show a woman at the height of her creative powers. Nicole Kidman, a surprising choice for the real-life figure, won an Academy Award for her subtle, effective work. With a fake nose and pale, almost lifeless cheeks, she completely disappears in the role like she has never done before or since in her long career. While it was purely a political move for Kidman to win her Oscar in Best Actress and not Best Supporting Actress—with less than thirty minutes of screen-time in a two-hour movie, it’s difficult to make the case for this being a lead performance—she delivers tremendous work for the little time she has.

Virginia Woolf wrote the beloved novel Mrs. Dalloway, which the film’s second major character Laura Brown, a sad ‘50s housewife, spends much of her time reading. Fighting the romantic feelings she has for another woman and weighing the pros and cons of abandoning her family for a better life, Laura is the most complex character in the film. Julianne Moore, who received an Academy Award nomination for her role and also starred as a ‘50s housewife that same year in the equally outstanding Far From Heaven, breathes life into a woman who has no life, who cares for her child when she barely cares for him at all. Of the three stories, this is one that could have existed as its own movie, but the way Laura’s story is tied into Virginia’s and Clarissa’s makes the experience all the richer.


Clarissa’s story has the most screen-time in the movie, at over forty minutes, but while Meryl gets a couple great moments, her character is surprisingly the least interesting of the three women. Talented actors surround her all the way through, and this is a unique part in that it’s to date the only gay character she’s ever played. However, unlike the other two lead characters, Clarissa seems to react more than do. In her two scenes with her dying friend Richard, Harris gets to chew the scenery (all the way to an Oscar nomination of his own), while she looks on. She reacts more than interacts with her partner Sally (Allison Janney) and daughter Julia (Claire Danes), and the film’s mesmerizing final scene that brings Clarissa and Laura into the same space is almost completely guided by a verbose Moore, as a quiet Meryl looks on. Usually Meryl is the star of a movie, taking charge of one scene after another, but The Hours makes for a rare scenario in which she takes a back seat to other more colorful characters. The one scene that does offer her a moment to shine takes place when she reunites with an old friend Louis, played by Jeff Daniels. She is put together at the beginning of their conversation, but then she has an emotional breakdown, right in front of him, one that sends her down to the floor and wrings out more than a few tears. In this scene—the longest in the movie, at almost nine minutes—Meryl commands the screen, showing the vulnerability of a woman who normally refuses to show a shred of it.

Meryl has said that the experience shooting The Hours was a lot different than shooting Adaptation. While the atmosphere on the set of Adaptation was usually light and fun, on The Hours it was more serious and difficult. The core trio joked later that the production should have been called The Long Hours. Daldry is one of the most acclaimed and sought-after filmmakers—the man received a Best Director nomination for each of his first three movies, a record—and with this kind of difficult subject matter, he needed to get the tone of his film just right. Casting great actors was only the first step; endless hours of rehearsal and long days on the set were the norm. Not that she was complaining about it, as Meryl said in one of the two DVD audio commentaries. She works extremely hard on each movie she does, and she said that sometimes the movie works, and sometimes it doesn’t. The Hours is one that really, really worked. Sometimes her performances are better than the movies they’re featured in, but in 2002, Meryl made the rare feat of appearing in not just one but two excellent movies, and The Hours, to this day, remains one of her very best.


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My Year With Meryl: Adaptation (2002)


For the first time since she started making movies, Meryl took a hiatus from film acting. She wasn’t gone too long—Music of the Heart opened in late 1999, and she shot Adaptation in early 2001, a year and a half before it was released—but any Meryl fan will tell you that a year without her in a movie is never a good one. Aside from a scene of voice-over work as Blue Mecha in A.I. Artificial Intelligence (surprisingly the only time in her entire career she’s collaborated with director Steven Spielberg), she was absent from the screen for three whole years. Of course, she wasn’t going to be away for that long without returning to the screen with something fantastic, and in December of 2002, her fans were treated to not just one, but two excellent new Meryl movies, two of the strongest she has ever been in.

Adaptation, from the writing-directing team behind Being John Malkovich, was up first. One of the best films of 2002, Adaptation is still one of the most unique American movies of the last twenty years. It tells of a screenwriter named Charlie Kaufman (Nicolas Cage) receives quite the impossible task: adapt the acclaimed but mostly story-free book The Orchid Thief, by Susan Orlean (Meryl), about her adventures with a kooky orchid hunter (Chris Cooper). Wanting to break free from the absurdist tone of his first film Being John Malkovich, Charlie attempts to construct a script out of small moments and little conflict, but he struggles a great deal, especially when his cocky brother Donald (also Cage) starts writing a script of his own, a silly action thriller. With no clue how to proceed, Charlie injects himself into his screenplay, as he tries to locate the real Susan and John, as well as the perfect ending for his movie.


It’s interesting to note that the real Charlie Kaufman actually did receive the assignment to adapt Orlean’s book into a screenplay, and it’s remarkable that the endlessly creative, wholly unique script that came out of it actually became a major Hollywood production, with three of the finest actors around. Adapting a book into a movie is a difficult, highly intuitive process that had rarely been a source for narrative in a film before, and Adaptation succeeds in going a step further by making wise commentary on the three-act structure itself: do we abandon all the elements that make up what most audiences would consider a satisfying movie, or do we embrace it? Adaptation manages to do both, in a highly creative way. Most movies you walk into knowing exactly what to expect. You know where the necessary beats will be, what the twists will likely consist of. Adaptation loves surprising the viewer by taking him or her in different directions.

Most would agree that Meryl is one of our finest actors but some may also agree that she doesn’t take many chances when it comes to her choices in director and material. Too often, especially in the late 1990s, she picked good character roles in so-so movies, the kinds of dramas that might have aired on the Hallmark Channel if an actress of her caliber had turned the producers down. And Meryl is such a force to be reckoned with that maybe she makes an effort not to work with visionary directors (think Martin Scorsese, Quentin Tarantino, and Christopher Nolan) who might push her into realms we could never expect, and instead opts for the kinds of directors who stay out of the way (think David Frankel, John Wells, and Phyllida Lloyd) and let her do her thing. Adaptation was one of those rare occurrences where she teamed up with a young, creative team consisting of the great director Spike Jonze (who went on to win an Academy Award for Her) and the genius screenwriter Charlie Kaufman (who won his Oscar for the brilliant Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind).


As great as Meryl was in her dramas of the 1980s and 1990s, Adaptation shows a whole new side to the accomplished actress. For the first time since The Bridges of Madison County, she is allowed to be sexy on-screen, and to shed all her inhibitions. In the early scenes, she is an unhappily married journalist, trying to find meaning in the story she’s writing about the wacky orchid hunter, but when Kaufman’s imagination kicks into overdrive, Susan Orlean becomes a different person entirely, a cocaine-snorting, profanity-dropping, sexually-ravenous being who will gladly murder the snooping screenwriter of her bestselling book if she absolutely has to. Probably Meryl’s most famous and talked-about scene (one she has said in interviews she mostly improvised) takes place in a hotel room, when she takes one too many illegal substances and becomes obsessed with perfecting the sound of a dial tone. The light in her face, her complete freeness, is a delight to witness. She has such fun with her character that it’s a shame she doesn’t get more screen-time.

This brings me to the other interesting element about Meryl’s performance in Adaptation: it is very much a supporting one. The film is Cage’s all the way through, with Meryl and Cooper standout featured players. She was the star of almost every film she made in the 1990s, but in the new decade she more often took smaller roles in bigger ensemble pieces, usually to great success. Films like The Manchurian Candidate, Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events, and A Prairie Home Companion allowed her to take on new dynamic characters without having to carry the entire film on her shoulders. All of the actors in Adaptation are outstanding—Cooper won an Oscar for his performance, Cage is at the top of his form and hasn’t been as good since, and Tilda Swinton and especially Brian Cox make big impressions—but it might have been Meryl who benefitted most of all for taking a chance on this unique film. For her performance, she won her first Golden Globe in two decades and received her thirteenth Academy Award nomination, cementing her status in the early twenty-first century as not only the most acclaimed actress of her generation, but also one who’s not afraid to take risks.


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My Year With Meryl: Music of the Heart (1999)


“Meryl Streep replaces Madonna, acts with Gloria Estefan, and is directed by Wes Craven. It’s the end of the world as we know it.” I love Entertainment Weekly more than the average joe, but I rarely remember who was on the previous week’s cover, let alone a blurb from an issue released more than fifteen years ago. The 1999 Fall Movie Preview issue opened its entry about the awkwardly titled Music of the Heart with those perfectly worded two sentences, ones that set up a film that by all accounts could have been a disaster. Meryl is usually the first choice for a movie, not a second or third. She usually has talented, seasoned actors sharing the screen with her, not a Latina pop star making her film debut. And throughout her long career, despite belting out a couple screams in the disappointing thriller Still of the Night, she hasn’t come close to appearing in the kind of grisly horror films genre mastermind Wes Craven is so well known for. So what was this project exactly?

Meryl’s final movie of the twentieth century turned out to be a fairly standard biopic-drama, one that tells the inspirational true story of a violin teacher who changes the lives of her inner-city students. The film takes place in two time periods—1988 and 1998. In the first hour of the film, Roberta Guaspari is struggling as a single mother to two kids. Her husband has left her for another woman, and she takes a long-term substitute teacher position at a Harlem elementary school to make ends meet. Her positive influence on these kids—many from broken homes, most who live in less than ideal circumstances—is immediate, and violin playing gives them both confidence and a new creative outlet. Roberta doesn’t think she will make it through the first year, but a decade later she is still teaching, still inspiring the latest batch of young students. But when the school budget is slashed, and the violin program is excessed, Roberta faces potential unemployment, and no musical outlet for kids who desperately need it. She and the community band together to save the problem, and change lives in the process.


Meryl initially didn’t want to be in the movie. She probably didn’t love the idea of stepping in after Madonna left due to creative differences with Craven—it’s well known that Meryl really wanted to play Evita in the early 1990s, a part that ultimately went to Madonna and earned the singer-actress a Golden Globe award—but instead Meryl didn’t think she could learn how to play a new musical instrument in the short window she had before production commenced. Not only was she promoting her two fall 1998 releases—One True Thing and Dancing at Lughnasa—but she also had to train for hours every day to convincingly play a violin teacher. Craven wrote her a heartfelt letter that told of his passion of the project and his insistence that she be the perfect person to play the real-life Roberta. Meryl gave in.

A horror director since the 1970s, Craven had wanted to make a non-genre movie his entire career, with no one ever giving him a chance to do something different. The success of Scream, though, finally gave him the opportunity he was looking for, and he chose Music of the Heart as his prestige project that would break him away from all the things that go BOO. One of the best, and worst, elements of Music of the Heart is its simplicity. This is an engaging story, well told, with Meryl in top form, as always. It makes you feel good from beginning to end, and while the film is a tad long at more than two hours, it is never boring. At the same time, while Craven makes the transition into making a true-life drama with ease—he’s a born storyteller, and could probably make a terrific film in any genre of his choosing—the complete lack of any directorial style or flourishes is a little disappointing. He didn’t need flashes of his horror movie roots—a knife-wielding maniac chasing Meryl through the elementary school would have been out of place—but it’s a shame that he couldn’t make any significant mark, visually or otherwise. He stays out of the way in this one, and lets the story and Meryl’s performance do most of the work.


Music of the Heart may not be one of Meryl’s most memorable movies, but it’s the best one she made between Marvin’s Room and Adaptation, and she is certainly the best part about it. She is in almost every scene, commanding the screen by employing both her comedic and dramatic gifts, not to mention her musical chops. When she appeared on Inside the Actor’s Studio with James Lipton, she said that if she hadn’t have become an actress, she would have loved to have been a musician, and in Music of the Heart she got to finally show what she’s made of. She is great in this movie, not just in portraying an emotionally distraught mother and a teacher who truly cares about her students, but as a failed musician who gets a second chance when she plays a sold-out concert in Carnegie Hall. Meryl is so convincing as a violin player that one would assume she had been practicing the instrument her entire life; in fact, she’d never touched the instrument until she signed on for this movie. Meryl received her twelfth Academy Award nomination in early 2000, closing out the century with one last magnificent screen performance.

1999 is often regarded as a significant year for movies, much like 1939, or any year of the 1970s. Now modern classics Fight Club, Being John Malkovich, American Beauty, Three Kings, and Magnolia came out within three short months of each other. Released at the end of October (Halloween weekend, ironic given Craven’s involvement), Music of the Heart may have been a little too ordinary to stand out from the crowd at the time, but it holds up today as a terrific inspirational story, and an important reminder that music should never be dropped from a school’s curriculum, no matter the economy’s hardships. Music teaches kids how to work hard, to be strong and empathetic, and to achieve something much bigger than themselves. Roberta Guaspari, whose story was also captured in the documentary Small Wonders, gave her students a reason to dream when no one else in their lives could, and Music of the Heart beautifully captures this woman’s stimulating journey. It also gave Meryl one more great character to play before she would take her first, and to date only, break from film acting. She wouldn’t appear in another movie for three long years, but when she came back at the end of 2002, she was ready to give us a new decade of brilliance that not even her biggest fans could have dreamed of.



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My Year With Meryl: Dancing at Lughnasa (1998)


When I began My Year With Meryl, I was excited to watch a select few of her movies that I hadn’t yet seen. There was The Seduction of Joe Tynan, The French Lieutenant’s Woman, Heartburn, and Before & After, as well as her 1978 mini-series Holocaust. My favorite by far of the ones I hadn’t seen is A Cry in the Dark, the fascinating, heartbreaking story of a woman accused of murdering her child. Dancing at Lughnasa is officially the last of her movies I hadn’t watched, and it’s one that up until now I knew next to nothing about. When it came to this production, I was only aware of two things—Meryl sports an Irish accent, and she dances around with gusto at some point during the movie.

Unfortunately, now having watched the movie, I struggle to explain much more I know about it than those two aforementioned nuggets. Meryl has appeared in more than fifty films, and Dancing at Lughnasa, adapted by Frank McGuinness and directed by Pat O’Connor (Inventing the Abbots), is one of her most inconsequential. It has some nice cinematography, solid performances, and Meryl once again sporting a truly remarkable accent. But there is little to maintain your interest here. When the most excitement in a movie comes when a man rocks a rowboat back and forth, you know something is off. It’s not just that this film is slow; the story lacks tension and is almost bereft of conflict. Watching Dancing at Lughnasa is equivalent to witnessing everyday life play out on-screen—in real time.


Of course, it explains a lot that the film is based on a beloved stage-play. Sometimes movies can seamlessly make the transition from stage to screen (Meryl’s own Marvin’s Room is a prime example), but other times the material never really pops when it’s adapted for a major motion picture. The play by Brian Friel premiered in Dublin in 1990 and then ran on Broadway for more than a year, going on to win the 1992 Tony Award for Best Play. Watching the sisters interact on stage could potentially be an intimate and absorbing experience for the viewer, but on film, the story never comes to life. Set in 1930s rural Ireland, Dancing at Lughnasa tells of five sisters (Catherine McCormack, Kathy Burke, Sophie Thompson, Brid Brennan, and Meryl) who live together and go through various ups and downs in their lives, including falling in love and spending time with their elderly brother, a priest played by Michael Gambon. The film is told from the perspective of one of the sister’s young boys, a plot device that never amounts to much.

The most entertainment value in Dancing at Lughnasa comes from watching Meryl’s magnificent performance, which deserves a better movie. With her short black-and-gray haircut, lack of make-up, and dowdy clothes, she disappears into yet another role from her first scene on. It would have been possible for her to be distracting in an ensemble film like this one, given that it features four lesser-known actresses playing her sisters. The viewer could have gotten swept up in the stories of the other performers but not in Meryl’s, since she is American, not Irish, and she is a movie star. But these potential problems never come to pass, and Meryl makes her role of Kate Mundy, the stern older sister, her own.


The synopsis makes it look like Meryl would have a mere supporting role in this film the same way she plays small roles in other ensemble works, like A Prairie Home Companion, Evening, and The Giver (not to mention her teeny-tiny part in The Homesman). But Meryl is front and center in a lot of Dancing at Lughnasa, and while the film rarely captivates, she has a few significant moments. One in which she stands in an empty classroom, grief-stricken at the possibility that she might never teach again, is the kind of tender acting moment that works beautifully on its own. And then there’s the scene where the five sisters finally dance, toward the end of the movie. There’s nothing particularly special about the way this scene is shot or choreographed, but the one memorable aspect has to do with Meryl herself, the way she refuses to get up and take part in the joy. For so much of the movie she is the one in charge, ultra-serious, never to give in to frivolous pleasures. The way she starts tapping her feet against the floor, failing to hide her growing smile, only to then leap into the air and start dancing around the room like she has about an hour left to live, is the key moment from Dancing at Lughnasa I will never forget.

I have now watched at least once every Meryl movie ever made (except for ones not yet released, of course!). I have my favorites of those I’ve re-watched and written about, and my favorites of those I look forward to watching again soon. In the end, Meryl has been in a lot of great movies, time and time again, and only occasionally does she appear in a misfire. Dancing at Lughnasa is not poorly made, and it has the best of intentions, but it is not one of her more compelling works. She made two films in 1998. The one worth watching is One True Thing.



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