This comic drama’s dazzling B&W imagery and deep affection for New York have made it a Woody Allen favorite for many, somehow obscuring the sheer unlikability of the characters. Streep’s literary-darling Jill is no exception. But in a couple of head-turning scenes as the memoir-writing lesbian ex-wife of Allen’s Isaac — or, as he claims, “the immoral, psychotic, promiscuous one” — she’s the quintessence of intellectual hauteur.
Between Manhattan and her Oscar-winning role in Kramer vs. Kramer, 1979 was a big year for Streep. More than those releases, though, this lesser-known political drama offered the fast-rising star a complex and nuanced part. As a honey-drawled Southern attorney who has an affair with a married senator (Alan Alda, who also scripted), she’s a bracing mix of vivacity, sensuality, smarts and ambition.
Set in the New York art world, Robert Benton’s murder mystery pairs Streep with Roy Scheider. She’s the enigmatic beauty; he’s the psychiatrist who falls for her despite his nagging suspicions. Though this clunkily plotted thriller barely finds a pulse, Streep’s turn as a Hitchcock blonde is a tantalizing glimpse of what might have been had she delved further into noirish territory.
Streep is irresistible as the world’s sunniest dead person in Albert Brooks’ satirical rom-com. The action unfolds in Judgment City, a holding area for the recently deceased that’s a cross between Las Vegas and West L.A. As a shoo-in for heaven, she’s all giddy lightness, the perfect foil for Brooks’ neurotic angst.
With its sly references to “the living dead in Beverly Hills,” Robert Zemeckis’ black comedy about the search for eternal youth pairs Streep and Goldie Hawn as the ultimate frenemies. Streep, who didn’t love the green-screen aspect of the effects-laden production, is devilishly over-the-top as an actress of profound superficiality, her diamond-sharp comic timing outshining the eye-popping visuals.
At the opposite end of the spectrum from Death Becomes Her, the film version of Brian Friel’s elegiac play finds Streep in schoolmarm mode. The Irish memory piece, set in 1936 Donegal, revolves around a young boy’s five aunts, with Streep playing the eldest and most pragmatic. Nominally the film’s star, she’s truly an ensemble member, lovely and affecting in her understatement.
In the contemporary section of this period-hopping triptych drama (based on Michael Cunningham’s novel and directed by Stephen Daldry), Streep is riveting as Clarissa Vaughan, a modern-day Mrs. Dalloway trying in vain to keep grief at bay. Her breakdown scene before an old friend played by Jeff Daniels is a shattering moment, alive with unresolved emotion.
John Frankenheimer’s Cold War classic might not have been crying out for updating, but the Jonathan Demme-directed version revisits the material with smart touches — the smartest being the casting of Streep in a role made indelible by Angela Lansbury four decades earlier. As a monstrous maternal figure who’s also a political monster, she’s deliriously entertaining, twitching with calculation and oh-so-twisted desperation beneath the polished surface.
Robert Altman’s final film doesn’t always click, but at its best, the backstage story captures a mood of free-floating nostalgia and valediction. A fictional spin on Garrison Keillor’s long-running radio show, it finds its tender heart in the singing sister act played by Streep and Lily Tomlin. Their harmonizing, vocally and emotionally, is rich. And the sweet warmth of Streep’s portrayal is as engaging as her dulcet voice.
Wes Anderson’s gorgeous and delightful stop-motion feature contains some of the best voice performances in recent memory. Streep and George Clooney are especially compelling as Mrs. and Mr. Fox, partners in crime turned domestic partners. Another animated character might have spoken the words “I’m pregnant,” but only Streep’s Felicity Fox has done so with a sigh of such heart-stopping ambivalence.