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Rated 3.02 stars
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ReelTalk Movie Reviews
More Streep than Thatcher
by Frank Wilkins

Awkwardly shot and haphazardly purposed, Phyllida Lloyd’s biopic The Iron Lady takes a look at one of the twentieth century’s most powerful and influential political leaders, Great Britain’s former Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher.

While certainly a significant genre switch for the filmmaker who struggled to bring Mamma Mia! to the big screen back in 2008, Lloyd’s clumsiness at the helm of The Iron Lady, appears to be more the fault of the scatterbrained script by Abi Morgan (Shame). It meanders aimlessly, touching on themes of letting go, lifelong love, acceptance and defying the odds. Then, at times, the film feels like nothing more than an Oscar-bait star vehicle for Meryl Streep (as Thatcher) to flag her wares in front of a contemptuous Academy looking to reward the next The Queen or The King’s Speech.

To be fair though, Streep is so remarkably spot-on in her portrayal, and shows to be working on such a higher plane than any actor in the business today, the film almost succeeds on her performance alone. She brings empathy, humanity, and an attention to detail that goes far beyond an impersonation.

Set in the present day, The Iron Lady spends three days with Margaret Thatcher, now in her 80s, dawdling around her London flat, complaining about the high price of milk and preparing a Spartan breakfast for her husband Denis (James Broadbent), who died some years ago. As she struggles with finally letting go of his clothes and other items that channel his presence, Margaret is flooded with memories of her embattled past that flashback to her early years as a grocer’s daughter (played by Alexandra Roach), her marriage to husband Denis (Harry Lloyd) her time as a politician in British Parliament, and as eventual Prime Minister of Great Britain.

Lloyd and Morgan are clearly intending to contrast Thatcher’s current state of helplessness with the all-consuming power and enthusiasm of her past. They run through a highlight reel of Britain’s challenges, including the UK miners’ strike of the mid-80s, the Falklands War, and the heated conflicts within her own conservative party, yet never really address the political importance of these events, instead, remaining apolitical while seeking a measure of dramatic comfort in retreating to the bereaved melancholia of her current state of dementia. As a result, The Iron Lady becomes a film about Margaret Thatcher the person, rather than Margaret Thatcher, leader of Great Britain. And that story just isn’t very interesting.

As a young politician, she stared down the condescension of powerful Tories with a volatile mixture of mesmerizing charm and steely resolve, wiping sexism and class prejudice from her shoulder in a way that makes Thatcher’s story an inspiring triumph. Yet, the cost of that victory appears to suggest that those same double standards flourish in her own home. As she tends to her imagined husband’s menial needs like buttering toast and picking the proper suit for the day, the once divisive politician and self-proclaimed independent mind is painted with a broad brush of housewife-generality. Confusing.

A much more interesting movie would have been about how she convinced her party and the British citizenry to vote for her. Or how she reconciled her world-changing decisions when she lay down at night. Or what led Russia to dub her “The Iron Lady.”  Instead we get a disturbing look at her most unremarkable achievement -- dementia.

Streep delivers a powerful depiction of Margaret Thatcher. But with that comes the potential to overpower everyone else in the film. With the exception of Broadbent and Olivia Colman as her daughter who tends to Margaret’s needs in her elder years, no one else gets much notice. It’s the Meryl Streep show, but unfortunately there’s not much for her to do. Lloyd and Morgan seem more interested in Streep than Thatcher, rendering The Iron Lady an acting trophy case rather than a triumphant film about a great leader who is both tremendous and flawed in all kinds of ways. What a shame.

(Released by The Weinstein Company and rated “PG-13” for some violent images and brief nudity.)

Review also posted at www.franksreelreviews.com.


                                                                                                                                                                               
 
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