Ratings
The Daily: 3.5 of 5 stars
Rotten Tomatoes: 64%
More on 'Iron Lady'
IMDB
Official Website
Phyllida Lloyd’s “Iron Lady” is light on the iron, heavy on the lady. A biopic of sorts (at best) of Margaret Thatcher, the film is most interested in humanizing its divisive subject, and it does so ingeniously. Presenting That- cher as a sad old lady at the mercy of her decaying brain, which can’t stop ruminating on the past (in a series of flashbacks that trace the making and undoing of the prime minister), “Lady” reduces a titanic politician to human status while immortalizing her on the big screen. It’s a neat trick. The movie dodges the question of whether Margaret Thatcher was a good thing for the world and instead meditates on whether the world that she helped mold was a good thing for Margaret Thatcher.
This overt selectiveness seems wise. The film never had a chance of covering everything anyway, and its seeming awareness of its shortcomings makes it uncommonly unpretentious as epic biopics go. The lack of an apparent political agenda may read as pointless to Thatcher’s staunchest lovers and detractors, but at least it doesn’t insult their intelligence by preaching.
That said, the old bird’s-eye view does end up flattering Thatcher, as the film is more prone to flashing back to her glories and glossing over the objective ill effects of her rule (the 1981 Northern Irish hunger strike is barely mentioned). Most telling is a scene in which a news broadcast about Thatcher plays, hailing her achievements, and is cut off by one of her employees just when the announcer begins to explain the views of her critics. This film is as revisionist as any biopic, but at least it’s transparent about it. “The Iron Lady” doesn’t pretend that it isn’t unadulterated showbiz; it’s not trying to be a book.
For what it is, it is wildly consumable, fluffy instead of stuffy and quickly paced instead of the melting glacier of bureaucracy that it could have been. Old-person humor abounds as we watch this silly old sausage dance alone, wrestle with DVD packaging and admonish a hallucination of her husband (Denis Thatcher died in 2003) over how much butter he’s putting on his toast. The impromptu finishing school that Thatcher’s team puts her through when she runs for office is essentially “My Fair Prime Minister,” and the resulting one-liners may zing throughout cinema history. “The pearls are non-negotiable” became iconic words the moment Meryl Streep said them on screen, and you can tell she knows this from the all-Streep twinkle in her eye when she says it.
And speaking of Streep, an iron lady in her own right, her acting probably accounts for the existence of “The Iron Lady” in the first place, but it doesn’t make the film. The performance feels lived-in as always, but it’s a lived-in caricature. Streep mostly disappears into the role, but the result is part million-dollar squinter, part Dame Edna. Her Thatcher moves as if her body is full of hot air and her feet are full of sand. Bumbling ensues. Nuances are, by and large, small enough to be unnoticeable, but a broad approach is understandable in a movie that wonders what would happen if Downing Street intersected with “Sunset Boulevard.”
“The Iron Lady” has more to say about fame than politics, which is deliciously at odds with its subject’s ethos. Surveying our times, the withering Thatcher laments, “It used to be about trying to do something. Now it’s about trying to be someone.” She’d probably disapprove of the movie for doing the very things that make it relevant entertainment.
The Daily: 3.5 of 5 stars
Rotten Tomatoes: 64%
More on 'Iron Lady'
IMDB
Official Website
Phyllida Lloyd’s “Iron Lady” is light on the iron, heavy on the lady. A biopic of sorts (at best) of Margaret Thatcher, the film is most interested in humanizing its divisive subject, and it does so ingeniously. Presenting That- cher as a sad old lady at the mercy of her decaying brain, which can’t stop ruminating on the past (in a series of flashbacks that trace the making and undoing of the prime minister), “Lady” reduces a titanic politician to human status while immortalizing her on the big screen. It’s a neat trick. The movie dodges the question of whether Margaret Thatcher was a good thing for the world and instead meditates on whether the world that she helped mold was a good thing for Margaret Thatcher.
This overt selectiveness seems wise. The film never had a chance of covering everything anyway, and its seeming awareness of its shortcomings makes it uncommonly unpretentious as epic biopics go. The lack of an apparent political agenda may read as pointless to Thatcher’s staunchest lovers and detractors, but at least it doesn’t insult their intelligence by preaching.
That said, the old bird’s-eye view does end up flattering Thatcher, as the film is more prone to flashing back to her glories and glossing over the objective ill effects of her rule (the 1981 Northern Irish hunger strike is barely mentioned). Most telling is a scene in which a news broadcast about Thatcher plays, hailing her achievements, and is cut off by one of her employees just when the announcer begins to explain the views of her critics. This film is as revisionist as any biopic, but at least it’s transparent about it. “The Iron Lady” doesn’t pretend that it isn’t unadulterated showbiz; it’s not trying to be a book.
For what it is, it is wildly consumable, fluffy instead of stuffy and quickly paced instead of the melting glacier of bureaucracy that it could have been. Old-person humor abounds as we watch this silly old sausage dance alone, wrestle with DVD packaging and admonish a hallucination of her husband (Denis Thatcher died in 2003) over how much butter he’s putting on his toast. The impromptu finishing school that Thatcher’s team puts her through when she runs for office is essentially “My Fair Prime Minister,” and the resulting one-liners may zing throughout cinema history. “The pearls are non-negotiable” became iconic words the moment Meryl Streep said them on screen, and you can tell she knows this from the all-Streep twinkle in her eye when she says it.
And speaking of Streep, an iron lady in her own right, her acting probably accounts for the existence of “The Iron Lady” in the first place, but it doesn’t make the film. The performance feels lived-in as always, but it’s a lived-in caricature. Streep mostly disappears into the role, but the result is part million-dollar squinter, part Dame Edna. Her Thatcher moves as if her body is full of hot air and her feet are full of sand. Bumbling ensues. Nuances are, by and large, small enough to be unnoticeable, but a broad approach is understandable in a movie that wonders what would happen if Downing Street intersected with “Sunset Boulevard.”
“The Iron Lady” has more to say about fame than politics, which is deliciously at odds with its subject’s ethos. Surveying our times, the withering Thatcher laments, “It used to be about trying to do something. Now it’s about trying to be someone.” She’d probably disapprove of the movie for doing the very things that make it relevant entertainment.
