3/5 Ricki and the Flash Meryl Streep can’t play a rockstar. There’s just some things that woman cannot do. Right? Of course, if you have seen any movie in the past thirty years, you know I am completely wrong. Streep, a three-time Oscar winner, can do whatever she pleases and we all know it. A bitter, pilled-up mother? Check. A much-maligned, hard-willed British Prime Minister? Check. A no-bull wife of an animated fox? Check. The list goes on and on and on. I could do this all day. Add regretful rock star to the resume. Ricki, the fierce leader of the bar band The Flash who left her family to pursue a dream of music, is a killer and Streep is just the woman to play her. Jonathan Demme, the Oscar-winner behind masterpieces like Silence of the Lambs and Philadelphia, is no stranger to rock and roll. He has spearheaded documentaries and compilations for artists as varied as Kenny Chesney to Neil Young to the Boss. Mixing drama and music, his two specialties, should be a no-brainer. Sadly, Ricki, as great as the performances and musical numbers are, is just too melodramatic and predictable by half. This is a disappointment not just for Demme, but also for Oscar-winning screenwriter Diablo Cody, who awed us all with Juno. Cody gets strong, damaged female characters, but she cannot seem to figure out anything original for these strong women to do. | Director: Jonathan Demme Starring: Meryl Streep, Mamie Gummer, Rick Springfield, Kevin Kline Writer: Diablo Cody |
Way back in the day, Streep’s Ricki, whose real name is Linda, abandoned her husband and three children to run off to L.A. and become a rock star. Unfortunately for both her and her family, her running-away was in vain. Ricki released one album and has spent the past thirty or so years playing Tom Petty covers in a bar at night and bagging groceries during the day. Even though she is surrounded by people who love her, including her “boyfriend” Greg (Rick Springfield, fantastic) and Ben the bartender (Pitch Perfect’s Ben Platt), everyone can see that Ricki is hurting - mostly because she is prone to venting her personal troubles in Kanye West-style onstage rants.
After her daughter Julie, played by Streep’s actual daughter Mamie Gummer, is left by her husband, Ricki is summoned by her ex Pete (Kevin Kline) to help out and, hopefully, mend some burnt bridges between Julie and her two boys. You do not have to be a learned cinephile to see Ricki’s redemption coming from two miles away. It’s written in the stars from the first time Pete rings up Ricki. Don’t see the film for its plot; see it for the performances, all of which are beyond good.
Streep has shown off her singing chops several times before, most recently in last year's adaptation of Into the Woods, but rarely has she been more magnetic - the absence of ABBA songs made sure of that. I could watch Ricki and the Flash, the band, sing Petty, Springsteen, Pink, and Lady Gaga all night long. One original song, sung in a mid-film moment of familiar warmth, is particularly moving. By now, Lady Streep can probably give these dynamite performances in her sleep, but if that’s what she is doing, you sure can’t tell.
Following in her path of excellence is the supporting cast. Kline, Audra McDonald, and Gummer all have moving moments. Best in show, though, is Springfield. Those of you have had the displeasure of watching the disappointing second season of True Detective remember him as a creepy psychiatrist, but this Rick is much more charming. The lead guitarist in Ricki’s band, he longs for her affection; and when he finally/inevitably receives it, it results in the film’s most touching musical moment.
Even with a story this tired and boring, Demme and Streep manage to pull off some rousing individual moments. This may be far removed from Silence of the Lambs, but I think Demme still has some gas in his tank for more drama. Let’s hope so. As for Streep, that glimmer of hope is irrelevant. She is, and always has been, at the top of her game with no signs of slowing down.
After her daughter Julie, played by Streep’s actual daughter Mamie Gummer, is left by her husband, Ricki is summoned by her ex Pete (Kevin Kline) to help out and, hopefully, mend some burnt bridges between Julie and her two boys. You do not have to be a learned cinephile to see Ricki’s redemption coming from two miles away. It’s written in the stars from the first time Pete rings up Ricki. Don’t see the film for its plot; see it for the performances, all of which are beyond good.
Streep has shown off her singing chops several times before, most recently in last year's adaptation of Into the Woods, but rarely has she been more magnetic - the absence of ABBA songs made sure of that. I could watch Ricki and the Flash, the band, sing Petty, Springsteen, Pink, and Lady Gaga all night long. One original song, sung in a mid-film moment of familiar warmth, is particularly moving. By now, Lady Streep can probably give these dynamite performances in her sleep, but if that’s what she is doing, you sure can’t tell.
Following in her path of excellence is the supporting cast. Kline, Audra McDonald, and Gummer all have moving moments. Best in show, though, is Springfield. Those of you have had the displeasure of watching the disappointing second season of True Detective remember him as a creepy psychiatrist, but this Rick is much more charming. The lead guitarist in Ricki’s band, he longs for her affection; and when he finally/inevitably receives it, it results in the film’s most touching musical moment.
Even with a story this tired and boring, Demme and Streep manage to pull off some rousing individual moments. This may be far removed from Silence of the Lambs, but I think Demme still has some gas in his tank for more drama. Let’s hope so. As for Streep, that glimmer of hope is irrelevant. She is, and always has been, at the top of her game with no signs of slowing down.