Grade: B+

The sounds that delusional diva Florence Foster Jenkins made during her recitals—preserved on some cringe-inducing recordings—may not have been terribly sweet, but Stephen Frears’ film about her certainly is. It’s also beautifully crafted and impeccably cast, a charming ode to trying to fulfill one’s dreams, however long the odds might be. There have been several past treatments of her late-in-life career, on stage (“Souvenir” and “Glorious!”) as well as screen (“Marguerite”), but none as enjoyable as this delicious confection.

Jenkins (Meryl Streep), of course, is a New York socialite and musical philanthropist who, along with her debonair second husband St. Clair Bayfield (Hugh Grant), an actor of very modest ability, not only gives financial support to the likes of the Metropolitan Opera and Arturo Toscanini (John Kavanagh) in the early forties, but also presents elaborate tableaux vivants for the appreciative members of the music-loving Verdi Club that she sponsors She also gives private recitals where friends gamely tolerate her off-key singing, the awfulness of which she apparently can’t—or won’t—recognize, perhaps because the proceeds go to worthwhile causes, perhaps because they simply like her.

While the film offers some perspective on Jenkins’ earlier life—gently bringing up the early bout of syphilis that left her weak and perhaps affected her hearing—its emphasis is on 1944, when, at age 76, she decides to bring her dubious talent into public view with a recital at no less than Carnegie Hall. Despite keeping up a relationship on the side with a younger woman (Rebecca Ferguson), her husband is utterly devoted to Jenkins (he’s rigorously kept scoffers from her recitals, and paid journalists for kind, or at least equivocal, reviews), and after some initial qualms gives his full support to the project, enlisting young pianist Cosme McMoon (Simon Helberg) to provide the accompaniment, as well as continuing her sessions with a voice coach from the Met.

As portrayed here by Frears and screenwriter Nicholas Martin, who generally follows the historical chronology but certainly doesn’t strive for documentary accuracy, the big evening is a rowdy affair, with many seats given away gratis to servicemen who have already heard the records she cut and were more prone to ridicule than applaud. It’s only the commanding intervention of airheaded Carole Lombard type Agnes Stark (Nina Arianda), who had previously had to be carried out of one of Jenkins’ private recitals by her apologetic husband (Stanley Townsend) for laughing hysterically, which calms everyone down and allows the program to proceed. Jenkins’ triumph is short-lived, however, since hard-nosed columnist Earl Wilson (Christian McKay) has wormed his way into the recital and writes a devastating review that, despite the best efforts of Bayfield and Moon, Jenkins will see—and be crushed by.

“Marguerite,” the French film by Xavier Giannoli that was inspired by Jenkins’ story and released here earlier this year, was more ambitious than this one, speculating on the psychological causes of its heroine’s decision to do a public concert as arising from her husband’s philandering, and adding a romantic subplot about a young reporter and an aspiring soprano. It was a good, funny, thoughtful film, but Frears’ uncluttered take on the real person, if simpler in narrative, is more fun. Part of this arises from the nimbleness with which the director treats the material, putting it across with the sort of elan that studio-era Hollywood seemed able to muster effortlessly in the thirties and forties but has become almost a lost art today. The luscious period look of the picture—courtesy of production designer Alan McDonald (employing locales in London and Manchester to stand in for World War II New York), art director Patrick Rolfe, set decorator Caroline Smith and costume designer Consolata Boyle, whose contributions are set off by cinematographer Danny Cohen’s lustrous images—adds to the deliriously old-fashioned feel.

But Frears is also aware of the value of star power, giving fitting leeway to Streep, who’s obviously reveling not only in emulating Jenkins’ off-key warbling (not an easy task), but in giving this flamboyant woman a deep underlying vein of poignancy. That comes out clearly in her scenes with Grant, who employs the dapper, genial persona he’s long cultivated to the best effect in years here, while toning down the bumbling that’s too often afflicted his work. Perhaps the most revelatory performance, however, comes from Helberg, who brings both his accomplished pianism and his extraordinary comic timing to McMoon. His wide-eyed reaction shots are irresistible, and Frears isn’t reluctant to take advantage of them; but Helberg also shows a quieter, more reflective side, helping to bring out the bond of real affection that developed between McMoon and Jenkins. The remainder of the cast basically plays second (or third, or fourth) fiddle to the three stars, but Arianda certainly makes her mark, while McKay is appropriately smug and superior as hanging judge Wilson.

“Florence Foster Jenkins” may be applauded chiefly as a tour de force for Streep, and it is. But that underestimates the film. It’s at once a funny and touching tale of a woman who wouldn’t let mere lack of talent destroy her desire to share her love of music with others.

Grade: B+

Disney takes a hint from the prophecy of Isaiah 11:6-8 with “Zootopia,” imagining a world in which all varieties of mammals live together, to use Coca Cola’s old catchphrase, “in perfect harmony.” Well, not quite: the stronger animals obviously retain feelings of superiority over weaker ones, and there’s always a sneaking suspicion that all aren’t equally trustworthy. By and large, however, lions and sheep, rabbits and foxes, rats and cats are supposed to get along—at least in theory, if not always in practice.

It’s an amusing conceit that the studio treats with a degree of adroitness that’s nearly worthy of Pixar. The result, however, is less toddler-friendly than the usual Disney fare. Older kids and adults, however, will find this a clever piece of family entertainment that wittily uses whodunit convention to deliver messages about tolerance, self-confidence and friendship in eye-catching fashion.

The heroine is Judy Hopps (voiced by Ginnifer Goodwin), a rabbit from the Bunnyburrow district who even as a child stood up against bullies and has always dreamed of being a cop despite the misgivings of her carrot-farming parents (Don Lake and Bonnie Hunt). Accepted into the academy of the capital city Zootopia as part of an inclusiveness program started by Mayor Leodore Lionheart (J.K. Simmons), an imperious lion, she uses smarts to get through the rigorous training regimen and winds up a rookie in the squad of skeptical police chief Bogo (Idris Elba), a tough guy cape buffalo who’s used to stronger, bigger officers and sends her on meter-maid patrol. It’s while she’s handing out a record number of tickets that she encounters Nick Wilde (Jason Bateman), a con-man fox whose scams with a diminutive confederate (Tom Lister, Jr.) infuriate her but offer no grounds for an arrest.

Irritated that her skills are being underestimated, she makes a deal with Bogo to prove her worth: she’ll resign from the force if she fails to solve the department’s most pressing case—the disappearance of a slew of missing mammals, most recently a sedate, family-man otter whose wife (Octavia Spencer) begs for help—within two days. The only clue she finds in the skimpy file provided by one of her few department friends, cheetah receptionist Clawhammer (Nate Torrence), takes her to Nick, who must have been one of the last citizens to see the otter before he vanished. Once again, she uses her brain to blackmail the fox into helping her, and as the pair bicker their way to success in their search (which puts them into myriad dangers and leads eventually to the unmasking of the unexpected mastermind behind the disappearances), they become buddies despite all the predator-and-prey obstacles that lie between them.

Hopps and Wilde make an engaging pair in the tradition of frenemy couples from 1940s film noir, but they’re also surrounded by an array of winning secondary characters—Bogo and Clawhammer for a start, but also others like Dawn Bellwether (Jenny Slate), Lionheart’s put-upon sheep deputy; Mr. Big (Maurice LaMarche), an arctic shrew who’s a Godfather-like crime lord surrounded by polar bear bodyguards, as well as his daughter Fru Fru (Leah Latham); Yax (Tommy Chong), a hippie-like yak who runs a nudist club; Gazelle (Shakira), a pop diva who’s also a rights activist; and Flash (Raymond S. Persi), one of the three-toed sloths who run the slower-than-molasses DMV in a sequence that every driver will recognize. The final reel goes into action-movie mode as, despite a setback that threatens their trust in one another, the heroic team follow the clues leading to the instigator of a plot that involves making random members of the community “go savage” in an effort to undermine the inter-species amity that Zootopia represents.

In addition to being a darned good yarn crammed with amusing characters and teaching uplifting ideals, the picture looks great—especially in the IMAX 3D format that’s one of the viewing options. The character animation is inventive and the backgrounds eye-popping, while on the aural side the picture benefits not only from the sterling vocal work by Goodwin, Bateman and all their unseen colleagues, but from Michael Giacchino’s boisterous score, which incorporates a few nods to the classic work of other film composers at appropriate points—something that movie music buffs will certainly appreciate.

While “Zootopia” might not be as accessible to young viewers as most of Disney’s earlier animated fare has been—they’re hardly in a position to appreciate a homage to film noir—they’ll certainly embrace its energy, and profit from its call to follow your dream, be all you can be, and get along with those unlike yourself. Adults who do get all the allusions will enjoy it all the more.