Film

The contemporary story in this back-and-forth movie mostly takes place in Julie’s cramped apartment, and Ephron makes it feel cramped. Sad Julie feels unfulfilled. Her husband (Messina) is saintly but bland. Julie cooks. Her eyes get big and moist. Her blog gets famous. Her eyes get big and happy. You’re likely to wish, as we did, that the movie could skip her story entirely and get back to Julia Child.

Ephron does better with the other source material, Child’s memoir My Life in France, possibly because she doesn’t Ephronize it as much. But the real praise belongs to Streep and Tucci (as Child’s husband, Paul). Undaunted by playing one of the most famous and distinctive women of the last century, Streep plunges ahead with enormous gusto, knowing instinctively just how far she can push her big, broad performance without sliding into camp. Better, she and Tucci make this unconventional couple’s deep and abiding love crystal clear. They’re the sort of people you want to meet at a dinner party.