The Iron Lady
The Iron Lady makes for soft drama. That, unfortunately, is how this half-hearted biopic about Margaret Thatcher pans out. One of Britain’s most controversial Prime Ministers, whose time in office provokes fierce opinion even to this day, deserves better on-screen treatment than this.
However, this isn’t to undermine the outstanding work performed by Meryl Steep in the title role. Once again, the actress excels at shedding any semblance of a screen persona and transforming into the character required. It’s just a shame that the film itself can’t attain the same heights.
Put simply, the complexities inherent in Streep’s performance aren’t mirrored in the wider drama, one which whisks us through the controversies of Thatcher’s reign and which also uses a clichéd flashback structure that is cheesy in the extreme, not to mention distasteful.
The film’s wrap-around structure starts with the ailing Thatcher in the present day, a frail woman who’s the shadow of her former self. She’s also given to visions of her deceased husband, Denis (a jovial Jim Broadbent) – a device that drags the story into insensitive areas. From here, the film flashes back to take in her life, charting her origins as the daughter of a London greengrocer to her eventual rise as the political colossus inside Downing Street. But this raises another problem with Abi Morgan’s script.
A few years ago, there was a drama on British television, simply entitled Margaret, starring Lindsay Duncan as Thatcher, and which focused on her exit from Downing Street. No doubt it was contentious and controversial – but at least it attempted to depict this stage in her life in some detail. Morgan’s script however is a slave to conventional trends, cramming all the juicy moments of Thatcher’s life into 2 hours in the hope of creating a character ‘arc’ but at the expense of any depth.
The Iron Lady is therefore a film about a controversial figure which is afraid of courting controversy, never engaging with the wider political context of the time but instead opting for potted history of the worst sort. The early scenes however are quite engaging: Alexandra Roach and Harry Lloyd as, respectively, the young Margaret and Denis, are both warm and likeable.
Likewise, when Streep’s incarnation moves in the testosterone laden arena of Parliament, there are delicious ironies that make one suspect an intelligent drama is on the cards. Fresh from being derided for ‘screeching too much’, she is instructed by Roger Allam’s Gordon Reece to firm up her voice, one of several moments in which we take pleasure in seeing how Thatcher’s ball-busting persona was constructed.
However, these remain little more than fleeting moments and the film soon descends into montage hell, the film ticking off all the significant moments in Thatcher’s career (the Falklands War; the Miner’s Strike) without dwelling on them in great detail. Can the film therefore have Thatcher without
Thatcherism? The answer is surely no – both the woman and her legacy are so bound up with one another than an attempt to separate them renders the project somewhat spineless, especially when one considers that more attention is paid to her dementia than her policies.
Streep’s dedication is the main reason to keep watching, the actress inhabiting the iron lady to such an eerie degree that it’s impossible to keep one’s eyes off her. It’s telling that the film’s best scene keeps the focus resolutely on her face: Thatcher angrily ejecting her cabinet, Anthony Head’s Geoffrey Howe and Richard E. Grant’s Michael Heseltine among them, only to remain completely alone. It is perhaps the only moment in the film where the personal and the political come together. Otherwise it’s a project that’s contentious for all the wrong reasons.
Sean's rating: 5/10
Haywire
It’s always fascinating to watch an A grade director work their magic on a piece of B movie pulp, and that’s exactly what Steven Soderbergh does with Haywire. Bringing his characteristic sly wit to bear on what is essentially a routine thriller, Soderbergh plays with the viewer’s expectations throughout, but his biggest gamble lies in casting martial arts star Gina Carano – the first time she has acted on-screen.
It’s a gamble that pays off. Carano holds the screen with forceful charisma, making her one note archetype role compelling and likeable. She plays special ops agent Mallory Kane, one who is contracted to perform various jobs by her weaselly handler (Ewan McGregor). Following a successful operation in Barcelona, she is then contracted to another in Dublin – only to be betrayed by those who employed her.
The moment of the betrayal explodes in a terrific moment of unpredictable violence, both Carano and actor Michael Fassbender going hell for leather chucking each other into tables, cupboards and cabinets. The explosive action is handled with aplomb by Soderbergh, who ignores frenetic edits and thumping sound effects in favour of something approach realism.
Such moments are representative of Soderbergh’s approach: Haywire is not designed as a mere action flick but also a commentary on them too. Everything is underscored with his playful approach, from a car chase that ends in a collision with a deer to a foot chase that unfolds at a walking pace. It’s yet further proof that Soderbergh is one of the most enjoyably unpredictable helmers in Hollywood, one who flirts with both the art-house circuit (Sex, Lies and Videotape) and the mainstream (Ocean’s Eleven).
And while it might be a bit generous to suggest that Haywire is an intellectual treat as well as a visceral one, there’s no denying it’s more than a mere Bourne clone. Handsomely lensed by Soderbergh (under his familiar alias Peter Andrews), crisply edited and with an enjoyably retro score from David Holmes (channelling Roy Budd’s work on Get Carter), the film is a bracing mix of the modern and the traditional.
As per usual, the stars have fallen over themselves to work with the director, the likes of McGregor, Fassbender, Channing Tatum, Michael Douglas and Antonio Banderas clearly having fun playing an array of sleazy, creepy agents whose allegiances are always in doubt. It’s enormous fun to see the physically imposing Carano take them on at their own game, even when Lem Dobbs’ by the numbers screenplay bogs down in convoluted machinations. But the real star is Soderbergh himself: letting his hair down but never compromising that peculiar brand of intellectual frivolity.
Sean's rating: 7/10
