She enlists a respected vocal coach for singing lessons and hires a bookish young pianist, Cosmé McMoon (The Big Bang Theory's Simon Helberg), to accompany her. What emerges from Jenkins' mouth sounds like a cross between a dying squeaky toy and a macaw being strangled.
I was surprised how much I laughed during this movie - not just at Florence's singing, but at the absurdity of her quest to perform technically-demanding music.
Florence records a 78rpm album, which, in the days before auto tune, emerges as a cacophony of cats mewling, fighting and screeching (Jenkins singing).
Her dream, to sing in Carnegie Hall, is made possible by Jenkins' money, not musical ability. She funds her own concert in 1944.
Florence Foster Jenkins is for anyone who has ever struggled through music lessons before finding joy in notes and rhythm. As Florence said, "People may say I couldn't sing, but no one can say I didn't sing."