"Postcards From The Edge" v. "Death Becomes Her"

4/22/2019

...And this is where it starts to hurt me, because I fucking LOVED BOTH OF THESE MOVIES SO MUCH. Not only did I love Meryl's performances, but I truly loved the living shit out of both of these movies. AND THEY ARE SO GODDAMN DIFFERENT.

In Death Becomes Her, we get a delicious combination of both Bitchy & Campy Meryl:

And in Postcards, we get Scrappy & Big Dick Energy Meryl:

How on EARTH am I supposed to compare these WILDLY DIFFERENT performances? I'm going to have to get technical again.

DEATH BECOMES HER

1) CHARACTER: Extremely well established, a decadently villainous and self-indulgent bitch that Meryl clearly takes So Much Pleasure in showing us. 5/5

2) RANGE: Meryl starts as a sultry, vulnerable temptress in desperate need of Diehard With Hair, transforms into Exhausted & Anxious Clock-is-Ticking Bitch, then comes fully into her own as Immortal And Fucking Loving It Mega-Bitch. 10/10

3) DEPTH: There's another element of this category I feel needs to be discussed: commitment. Remember Nicole Kidman in Moulin Rouge, when she's flopping all over the floor of the Elephant Room miming orgasms to seduce Obi-Wan-MacGregor? Or Meg Ryan in the famous When Harry Met Sally orgasm scene? Or Rosario Freaking Dawson in literally any movie where she has to pretend to be madly in love with some overweight, overage, under-talented male co-star? CO-FUCKING-MMITMENT. Meryl knocks this one OUT OF THE PARK. Please note the tongue waggle at 1:15 on the "You Pushed Me Down The Stairs" clip below. It is nothing short of iconic. 15/15

4) CHUTZPAH: She fights to get the man. She fights to get the boyfriend. She fights to get the face lift. She fights to get the Satan-sponsored, soul-selling, total body makeover. She fights to get Goldie out of the picture. She fights to get Diehard With Hair back on her side as her eternal body mechanic. 20/20

TOTAL: 50 POINTS

Meryl & Carrie singing on set of "Postcards"

POSTCARDS FROM THE EDGE

1) CHARACTER: Meryl takes all the spoiled brattiness and Butch #BDE Energy from Silkwood but replaces the low class accent with upper class guilt. It's stripped down in comparison to a lot of her other roles, and I love it. 5/5

2) RANGE: Meryl plays a fantastic drug-fueled Hot Mess, an endearingly sympathetic Struggling To Be Sober Mess, a painfully familiar My Mom Made Me A Hot Mess, a delightful Fuck You Dennis Quaid For Making Me Messier Mess, and that final ADR scene with Royal Tenenbaum... UGH, right in the feels. 10/10

3) DEPTH: I really hate myself for what I'm about to do here, I just need you to know that. Generally speaking, I would much rather watch an actor (even Meryl) just ~be~ rather than put on all these extra airs and accents and prosthetics. I loved getting to just watch Meryl BE in Postcards, without any of her usual distractions, or the added element of fantasy or sci-fi that we see in Death. However... I feel like she's holding back here. Not that she needed to be louder or bigger or meaner, but she needed to... well, go deeper. There's a stubbornness and resistance in her character, and I sort of feel like she let that get in the way of the moments when we really needed to see her feel shame or rejection, and I do not think the fault is her's (or Carrie Fisher's), but the simple fact that the movie was trying to remain on the lighter end of an R rating... share the spotlight with so many other stars. 12/15

4) CHUTZPAH: Meryl fights with her director. She fights with her doctors. She fights with her sobriety, her boyfriend, her mom, her director again, and none of it even holds a candle to how much she's fighting to self-destruct. As a long time lover of Carrie Fisher and her story, I hurt through every second of this movie, and wished there was a way I could've fixed her. Also, I just found out that Meryl Streep sang at Carrie Fisher's memorial service, so, brb crying for fucking ever. 20/20

TOTAL: 47 POINTS