Meryl Streep’s epitaph will surely read: “There’s nothing she couldn’t do”.
And, yet, as I waited in line to see this chameleon actress’s latest film, Ricki and the Flash, my palms were sweaty, my brow creased. Not because I’d just been to the gym (ha!), but because I was anxious that Meryl, playing a rocker in her 60s, might be in peril here. The film’s poster – her clad in a black leather jacket and skinny jeans, a guitar slung over her shoulder, long blonde hair, with a sassy look on her face – made me wince.
I couldn’t help thinking that there was something slightly embarrassing about her character: I don’t want to see Meryl Streep rockin’ out! And, cringe upon cringe, I thought that Ricki and the Flash would be a syrupy celebration of ageing in the style of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel but for the rockers’ set. Sexless linen dresses replaced with tight leather pants. Horrible.