This is a poor piece of work. Without Streep’s central performance, and that of the generally stellar cast in support, The Iron Lady would have all the emotional clout and artistic integrity of a Hallmark made-for-television movie.
On one level, how such a series of hopelessly compromising decisions could have been taken by the moving spirits behind the work, director Phyllida Lloyd and writer Abi Morgan, appears inexplicable.
Take as your subject the woman most closely associated with a period of dramatic social and political change and explosive class conflict—not just in Britain, but internationally—and reduce all that to a largely incoherent and uncritically presented backdrop. Then focus, in equal measure, on the frailty of a once powerful figure now suffering from dementia and a love story, presented in the form of a series of imagined interactions between Thatcher and her dead husband, Denis (Jim Broadbent).
This device is used to humanise Thatcher. As Phyllida Lloyd told the Guardian, her film is “About loss, about identity and old age and facing oblivion.… It’s about us. It’s about our mums. It’s about our dads. And us. How we will be.… We’re not asking people to vote differently. It’s just a contemplation of mortality. This isn’t a plea for forgiveness for policy. It’s a contemplation of the cost of a big life.”
I'm sorry but the review -- no offense to Meryl Streep -- makes me want to see the film just to sit there and boo.
I'm old enough to remember Margaret and her attack on British youth and on the assistance programs. What a piece of work.
I loathe Maggie Thatch. I wonder if they have her son in the movie? Getting arrested for trying to overthrow an African country?
He did, in the '00s.
Her whole family is trash. No real surprise there.
So it might be fun to see the movie and just boo Maggie Thatcher throughout.
Closing with C.I.'s "Iraq snapshot:"