Poor, poor Maggie T. Finally, some vindication from the artsy left by way of this terribly hagiographic biopic, and yet too batty to enjoy it. Oh well. More’s the pity because, whatever one’s politics, there’s much to enjoy here, thanks mainly to a brilliant, bang-on central performance by Meryl Steep as The Iron Lady.
The Academy does love a good impersonation, and this year it has two exceptional ones to choose from—Michelle Williams as Monroe in My Week with Marilyn, and Streep—among an otherwise strong women’s field (Glenn Close, Viola Davis and Rooney Mara). But our money’s on Streep because 1) the greatest female actor of her generation is overdue an Oscar (she hasn’t won since 1982’s Sophie’s Choice), and 2) this is her most brilliant impersonation in a career marked by brilliant impersonations—Karen Silkwood, Karen Blixen, Julia Child (let us conveniently ignore Lindy Chamberlain). Streep doesn’t so much channel her inner Margaret as radiate her; whether she’s playing the older, post-politics, demented Thatcher who talks to her doting husband, Dennis (Broadbent), who appears only in apparition, or the younger, ball-breaking incarnation who, as Britain’s first female prime minister, domineered over her male-dominated cabinet as She Who Must Be Obeyed.
A few niggles—the script by Abi Morgan (TV’s Birdsong) spends too much time with the mental Maggie, and not nearly enough time when she was prime minister; Richard E. Grant (Withnail and I) as the usurping Michael Heseltine is a wasted bit of casting (he has all but two lines of dialogue; the Tarzan wig does most of the acting). This is Phyllida Lloyd’s second turn directing Streep following 2008’s Mamma Mia! Hers is not a perfect film by any stretch, but Streep’s performance is perfection. And an Oscar winner, too, we expect.
