The Iron Lady

The whole point of The Iron Lady, it seems, is to show that beneath the iron-clad image of its subject, there are dents. Unfortunately, the way it's presented, this film is also dented.

Its subject, of course, is Margaret Thatcher (Meryl Streep), the infamous former British Prime Minister and the only woman in that position. Rising from obscurity, Mrs. Thatcher earned a spot in Finchley's Parliament in 1959. And then, twenty years later, she began her eleven year reign as the Prime Minister. During which, her policies divided and slashed her country in half.

But for most of the film, we have an elderly, senile Thatcher conversing with the ghost of her dead husband, Denis (Jim Broadbent). Sounds like an interesting film could've been made out of that. But for now, let's focus on this film.

The film's real standouts are its Oscar-nominated makeup men, J. Roy Helland and Mark Coulier. Along with Marese Langan, their rendering of Streep and Broadbent across the ages is a striking feet. Its especially so in their characters' later years, when the prostheses renders them unrecognizable.

At first, I found some interest in Streep's performance as the senile Thatcher. What clenched it for me was the well-executed scene when we find out she talks to Denis as though he was there. But as it went on, and the film glossed over Thatcher's accomplishments, my reaction was "so what?" Ultimately, the film's treatment of its subject can be summed up as good intentioned indifference.

Why should anyone see The Iron Lady? Just so that they could say they did. Still, it's not that bad, but let's try not to imagine how it could've been worst.