Music, Style & Culture

The Iron Lady

More a simplification than a whitewashing of Thatcher's regime, Meryl Streep is staggeringly brilliant.

Released in cinemas 6th January 2012.

It's saying something when Meryl Streep gives the performance of her career in this flawed biopic of Margaret Thatcher. So it's a shame to report the film itself is not worthy of her riveting portrayal of the controversial Prime Minister.

Streep must've had a blast filming Phyllida Lloyd's ghastly Mamma Mia!, as the star and director reunite for what is a fascinating but mistakenly-judged biography. The Iron Lady is a safe and inviting film, filmed with a warmth and tenderness that will be lapped up by the King's Speech crowd.

It's told from the perspective of the elderly Thatcher, a lonely and confused lady under armed guard in her home, who sometimes escapes to buy a pint of milk. Lloyd's and screenwriter Abi Morgan's approach is to show Thatcher's political career as a montage of flashbacks, prompted by the former PM's dementia-triggered visions of her late husband Denis (Jim Broadbent). The conversations between Margaret and Denis are mawkish, as the film is given more weight as a love story than a political biopic. Alarmingly manipulative, Thatcher-despisers will resent the tears shed as Margaret is persuaded to send Denis's clothing to Oxfam.

Abi Morgan's script emerges as an abridged and romantic vision of such an extraordinary figure, as vital moments in Thatcher's career are presented as short vignettes. The dialogue comes alive when Thatcher's acerbic wit and persuasiveness is called to the fore, but it portrays none of the tenacity that allowed her to rise to the top. For whatever your thoughts on Thatcher's policies, it can never be denied that her achievements as a woman in politics were heroic. Aside from shots of her driving off to her post as as a Finchley MP in 1959, leaving her two children behind, there's little to demonstrate the struggles she overcame.

The implication that Thatcher was elected leader of the Conservative party because she had her hair done is insultingly flippant, as is the sidelining of the rest of her party. Richard E. Grant's Michael Heseltine and Anthony Head's Geoffrey Howe can only be distinguished by their styling, not by the script. There's nothing of Thatcher's great political relationship with Ronald Reagan and minimal interaction with leaders of the opposition Michael Foot and Neil Kinnock. The miners' strike and Falklands war are portrayed as triumphant victories for the Tories to the point of propaganda. Approximately one minute is devoted to the IRA terrorist attack on her Brighton hotel, and the complexities of the hunger strikes are summed up in a couple of defiant lines. The morale-destroying effects of the brutally unfair Poll Tax are merely represented by rioters, a vision that will reflect badly in today's climate, where riots occur for the want of a flat screen television and a new pair of trainers.

To be fair to Lloyd and Morgan, this woman's life is too rich to sum up in 105 minutes, so to use a reflective approach is admirable. It allows for Olivia Colman's touching, faintly comical take on Thatcher's daughter Carol, and for Alexandra Roach's eager, wide-eyed portrayal of the young Margaret, full of promise.

All criticisms can be overlooked for Streep. She not only impersonates Thatcher to uncanny effect (the voice is astonishing), but delivers a committed, powerful performance that is both joyous and gutwrenching. Broadbent is less convincing - as genial as the actor is, his exasperated, chummy tone is just too familiar.

It's more a simplification than a whitewashing of Thatcher's regime, but is certain to enrage Tory critics, who should tread carefully. When the script is tight, the film is electrifying, but frequently gives way to overcooked sentimentality.

Rating: 6/10