Long before there were shows such as TV's "American Idol," there was another disillusioned woman who thought she could sing. But unlike today's memorable TV contestants who are criticized by the show's judges, Florence Foster Jenkins had no such limitations. Instead, Ms. Jenkins went on to fame and fortune and became somewhat of an oddball celebrity in the 1940s.
How bad was her voice, anyway? This woman's singing was so awful that to call her "tone deaf" would be a gross understatement. Certainly, some folks must have told her so. But, undeterred by what she called their "professional jealousy," Ms. Jenkins forged ahead. And, amazingly, she attracted a following.
First, it was among her Park Avenue friends who attended her concerts in the Ritz Carleton hotel. But eventually, word of her voice spread to the public. It also spread to record producers, who put her voice on vinyl. And her records sold. And her concerts sold. Eventually, when Florence Foster Jenkins appeared at Carnegie Hall, the show was the hottest ticket in town.
Stephen Temperley's Souvenir never fully explains the attraction crowds had for this strangely famous singer. But he manages to create a funny, charming play about the relationship between Florence and the play's only other character, Cosmé, her longtime accompanist. If there were other people in Florence's life, the play hardly mentions them. Ditto for Cosmé. During his narration, Cosme briefly mentions this or that romantic love, but one learns little about either of them -- except for their shared love of music.
Cosme, who has a more conventional view about musicality, is initially horrified by Ms. Jenkins' "liberties" with the notes. But she is financially generous, and he needs to pay the rent, so their odd allegiance is formed.
Humor predominates, but there are ironic moments as well. For instance, while Florence fills the theaters with her voice, Cosme cannot sell even one of the songs he composes during his leisure time. He bitterly notes that his only song to be sung at Carnegie Hall is one that Ms. Jenkins' selects as a "favor" to him. He begs her to change her mind. But she thinks he is just being modest, so she refuses. So it is sung -- badly, of course. To make matters worse, Madam Flo (as he eventually refers to her) insists on wearing one hideous outfit after another.
The success of any two-character play falls heavily on the shoulders of both actors. In this case, both parts are exceptionally well cast. As Florence, Linda Stephens excels in every category. As Ms. Jenkins', she manages to butcher some of the most beloved operatic tunes in history. Her voice searches up and down the musical register in a fashion that reminds one of a mooing cow. Her singing is so audaciously awful that one marvels at how Richard Carsey, as Cosmé, can keep a straight face -- even as the audience howls with laughter. Stephens fits the bill physically as well. Aside from her voice, she makes Ms. Jenkins intelligent, well-educated and perfectly groomed. She also gives her character an endearing sense of noblesse oblige. Her Carnegie Hall appearance, for instance, is Florence's way of boosting the morale of American troops. This admission may be the secret to the woman's real-life popularity. During World War II, people perhaps needed a diversion -- something upbeat to keep their minds busy. Carson, a well-regarded conductor, uses his musical talents to make Cosmé completely convincing.
From beginning to end, Souvenir is a gem. Although the real Ms. Jenkins is just an odd footnote in American history, the playwright graciously permits us to enter her world and admire her conviction, if not necessarily her singing.
