Meryl Streep in "Julie & Julia." (Columbia)

Julie & Julia

Too many cooks spoil the broth, but one too many plotlines in Nora Ephron’s Julie & Julia (PG-13) isn’t nearly enough to taint the irresistible pleasures of Meryl Streep’s latest bravura performance – or of the greater film that surrounds that main course. As you’ve no doubt heard, the movie is two biopics in one: the story of Julie Powell (Amy Adams), a modern-day blogger inspired to recreate every one of the 524 recipes in Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking over the course of a year; and the origin story of Child herself, a 6-foot-2-inch American (Streep) who occupied her time in 1950s Paris by finding a vocation that changed her life – and the lives of everyone who has ever cooked with butter.

Though Powell and Child never meet face-to-face in the film – the story cuts back and forth between midcentury France and post-9/11 New York City – Child’s spirit is front and center throughout every frame; even when we’re watching Julie try to bone a duck or poach an egg, she’s clearly being guided by the absent chef. (She’s Luke Skywalker to Child’s Obi-Wan Kenobi.) That’s the secret ingredient that enables the success of this technically uneven movie: Streep is so powerful as Child that the scenes with Powell alone always risk feeling like a letdown ... but Powell is as mesmerized as we are by Child, which allows us a dash of empathy for this hopelessly outmatched B-plot and everyone in it.

As for those stories themselves: We watch as Child, the wife of a midlevel American diplomat (Stanley Tucci), makes her way in a new town that was seemingly made for her. The idea of a glass ceiling preventing a woman from entering, let alone graduating from, the Cordon Bleu cooking school barely registers against Child’s magnificent fearlessness; once the inveterate foodie gets her head around the idea of becoming a chef, by God, that’s just what she’s going to do. Meanwhile, 50 years and a continent away, Powell is dealing with feelings of inadequacy (her friends are more successful than she) and depression (she’s a cubicle drone in an insurance company dedicated to 9/11 claims, which would bring anyone down). She loves to cook, though, and Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking is sitting there, asking for her attention.

Et voila: a blog is born, along with all the standard movie conventions of initial optimism followed by discouragement followed by the obligatory marital strife brought about when her infinitely tolerant husband (Chris Messina) has a moment of clarity about his wife’s narcissism. It’s not hard to see where this is going, but Adams, a skilled enough actress, has the pluck needed to elevate this generic narrative out of Lifetime-Movie-of-the-Week territory.

But then there’s Streep as Child – and, to be fair, Tucci, who is paired as excellently with his co-star as a good Cabernet might be teamed with a plate of boeuf bourguignon. It’s become almost boring trying to come up with new ways to praise Streep’s acting skills, so let’s look for a second at how hard it must be to be the unlucky sap who has to hold his own against her on screen. Tucci makes it look easy, offering up the right level of spice in his individual performance without ever overwhelming the star of the show. (The two had a little of the same chemistry in 2006’s far less effective The Devil Wears Prada.) Yes, Streep is brilliant as Julia: transcending mere impressionism (and let’s face it, between Child’s mannerisms and that sing-song voice, there’s a lot there to mimic) to really replace our idea of the “proper” Child, if only for two hours. Throw in the saucy addition of stalwart Tucci, and our cups runneth over.

As Child becomes increasingly competent (and confident) as a chef and begins the years-long process of writing her French Cooking opus, the film simmers nicely, giving the occasional modern-day Julie moments the feel of a distracting but not offensive palate cleanser. Julie & Julia is a fun film to watch, but it did make me hungry for the full-bodied Child biopic that might have been, had blogging not gotten in the way. As it is, however, two-thirds of a loaf is far better than none.  8

Erich Van Dussen is managing editor of Rochester Film Journal. Contact him at info@rochesterfilm.com.