Plenty (1985)

Plenty is special because it treats postwar disillusionment not as a tidy moral lesson, but as a lived-in ache—restless, funny in a dark way, and bracingly intelligent. Meryl Streep gives one of those performances that seems to breathe between the lines, making Susan’s volatility feel human and oddly tender rather than showy, while Fred Schepisi’s direction keeps the film crisp, elegant, and quietly epic across the years. The vibe is literate and cutting—more wry observation than sweeping melodrama—alive with big ideas about desire, purpose, and the cost of wanting “more” when the world insists you settle. It’s not for everyone if you need a comforting romance or a neat redemption arc, but if you like ambitious adult dramas that linger in your mind, this one rewards your attention.

Plenty is aiming for a grown-up, postwar disillusionment drama about a woman who can’t make peace with ordinary life after extraordinary times, and that’s a worthy ambition. The problem is the film often feels emotionally refrigerated: you can admire the ideas and still struggle to actually care, because the storytelling keeps you at arm’s length. It also has a drifting, “what’s the point?” quality, where scenes accumulate more than they land, so if you need a clear emotional payoff, you may leave unsatisfied. That said, Meryl Streep brings intelligence and bite, and if you like talky, literary adaptations that sit in discomfort rather than resolve it, this could still be your kind of evening.