Film Review - The Iron Lady

The life of Britain’s first – and only – female prime minister was always going to be juicy biopic material. It’s pure Hollywood: a larger than life protagonist; a meteoric rise that smashed through class and gender barriers, personal tragedy and political unrest.

Debbie Stowe

The trickiness for director Phyllida Lloyd is that Margaret Thatcher is still alive and battling dementia, leading to uneasiness over the film’s depiction of the present day. Would Lloyd go too easy on a woman seen as the embodiment of the greed and selfishness that begat the current banking crisis? Or, would scenes of a confused old lady belittle the image of one of the UK’s greatest prime ministers, a conviction politician who stood up for Britain and would brook no nonsense, whether from the EU, the Soviets or the sexist snobs in Parliament?

Most of the more recent buzz around the film has centered on Meryl Streep’s Oscar-winning performance. It is not exaggerated: Streep’s turn is so convincing that it’s easy to forget you’re not watching a documentary, and this alone would justify seeing The Iron Lady.

The film had no way to please everybody. One joke that did the rounds on its release was that it was “not suitable for miners” (Thatcher’s government closed coal mines to rancorous protests). Covering historical events that include an 11-year period in office that made her the UK’s longest serving PM in the 20th century, the narrative inevitably skimps on depth and rattles through major episodes such as the Falklands War, the IRA bombing of the Grand Hotel, strikes and riots and Thatcher’s growing international prominence.

But the frustration is only because what is shown of her history is so enjoyable, and more would have been welcome. Regardless of your politics, the film’s portrayal of Mrs T’s determined rise through the ranks, to the shock and discomfort of the Westminster cliques, is delightful. Although her belligerence is touched upon, The Iron Lady emerges as a likeable heroine, thumbing her nose at the old boys’ club.

Though done with sensitivity, the modern-day scenes, which show a rambling baroness, chatting confusedly to her late husband Dennis (Jim Broadbent), are not so agreeable, in part owing to the fears of loss of mental faculties and independence we all harbor, but also because they steal screen-time from Thatcher’s ascent and premiership. Less emphasis on this period might have served the film better.

Nonetheless, the contrast between an international stateswoman who defied all the odds to rewrite British history and stamp her indelible print on British life and the elderly dementia sufferer paints a powerful portrait of a colorful political titan, while encapsulating the tragedy of the inevitable human trajectory.

debbie.stowe@business-review.ro