A biopic on the opposite spectrum from this year's J. Edgar, The Iron Lady asks no hard questions about Margaret Thatcher. It's oddly reverential and even more strangely structured. A too-large chunk of the film has a senile, elderly Thatcher hallucinating her dead husband. It leads to all kinds of clumsy flashbacks and does little to illuminate who Thatcher was.
Essentially, the film is a Cliff's Notes version of her life and career. The only reason why it succeeds at all is because of a dazzling star turn by Meryl Streep. She often carries entire movies, but she's usually assisted by a large ensemble. That's not the case here. She carries the whole thing on her own, transforming totally into Thatcher. Whatever insight is gained into the woman is brought by Streep. Her performance is warm, witty, and has a definite edge. She camps it up appropriately considering the humor found in the script. It's a testament to just what kind of miracles she can work.
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