Planning some extended family dinners over the holidays? Worried that folks might not get along, that festering tensions might surface, that people might get tipsy and say too much?
Well, here’s an idea: First, go see “August: Osage County,” the blistering film adaptation of the Pulitzer-winning Tracy Letts play starring Meryl Streep and Julia Roberts.
Because once you’ve witnessed the rollicking, vicious family dinner that’s the dramatic centerpiece of this movie, you’ll know you’re safe. No family meal of your own will ever seem truly unpleasant after you’ve witnessed this scene. Festering tensions? Try brutal wounds, caused by the bitterest of insults lobbed across the table with those mashed potatoes. The kind of insults that only those closest to you — we’re talking family — could ever dream up.
It is, of course, delicious that the most biting of these insults come from the mouth of the one and only Streep, who holds absolutely nothing back in a performance that could be called showy — except that’s it’s so compelling, and also deeply faithful to the script. Violet Weston, the 65-year-old matriarch of an Oklahoma clan, is simply one of the most spectacularly damaged characters in memory. And as written by the hugely talented Letts, who has both playwriting and acting Tonys to go with his Pulitzer, she’s someone you’ll want to meet — if only once.
Not that “August: Osage County,” directed by John Wells, works best as a movie, even with a screenplay by Letts himself. Those who saw the 2007 Broadway production will likely recall a nearly perfect theatrical experience, one that left you drained but grateful after three hours.
It feels less naturally suited to film, though if you haven’t seen the play, you might not notice. And a brief final scene feels tacked on for cinematic purposes. But these are not fatal flaws.
Virtually all the action takes place in one home, in the heart of the Oklahoma plains, stifling in the August heat. It belongs to Violet and her husband, Beverly, a 69-year-old poet and raging alcoholic. “My wife takes pills and I drink,” he says. “That’s the bargain we’ve struck.”
And, boy, does Violet take pills. It’s a shock to see the regal Streep looking this way: wrinkled and pale, with a craggy fuzz of gray hair peeking out of a dark wig, a result of chemotherapy for mouth cancer. She has stains on her baggy sweater and can’t keep her balance. She still smokes, and tufts of that smoke linger in the stifling air, because she doesn’t believe in air conditioning. Plastic shades are taped shut, blocking out natural light.
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