August: Osage County

January 9, 2014

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Will “August: Osage County” net an Oscar nomination for Meryl Streep? Of course it will. No film that’s even remotely prestigious, and hands this actress a meaty role, will fail to land her some attention from the Academy. The thing is, although she gets the chance to chomp on scenery as a drug-addled cancer victim, Streep is probably the last good reason to see this sharp-tongued family dramedy, adapted by Tracy Letts from his Tony- and Pulitzer Prize-winning play.

Streep plays Violet Weston, the miserable matriarch of an Oklahoma brood, whose husband, Beverly (Sam Shepard), has vanished, maybe for good, and whose kin corral around her in the wake of the disappearance. Among those convening in the time and place of the title are Barbara’s sister, Mattie Fae (Margo Martindale); Mattie Fae’s husband, Charlie (Chris Cooper); and Violet’s three daughters, Ivy (Julianne Nicholson), Karen (Juliette Lewis), and Barbara (Julia Roberts). Along with the summer temperatures, tensions keep on mounting, particularly between Violet and Barbara, who may be doomed to become her mother.

Streep has more talent in her little toe than most actors, but she can be overwrought and calculated, too, and Violet is the first character in years she doesn’t utterly nail. Her co-stars, on the other hand, bring the goods in ample supply. Lewis is a hoot as the supposedly ditzy sister who’s hiding emotional bruises, Cooper is heartbreaking as a father reluctant to stand up to his wife, and Roberts, the film’s definitive MVP, is aces in a rare role with teeth, dusting off her “Erin Brockovich” potty mouth to spew fiery, but potently eloquent, dialogue.

Letts has written better works than “August: Osage County” (like “Bug” and “Killer Joe”), but this is his most personal, based directly on his own family experiences. It’s a pity it couldn’t have been helmed by a director stronger than John Wells, who doesn’t suavely explore the story’s Native American elements, and doesn’t urge Streep to dial it back. The result is enjoyable but disjointed — less an extraordinary tale of dysfunction than a rather generic one.