It's not particularly shocking that friends of Margaret Thatcher suspect the new Meryl Streep movie of her life might be a "leftwing fantasy." That's about what you'd expect given the opinion Hollywood and the right have of each other. But the reason for the suspicion is interesting:
The Iron Lady, a new biopic starring Meryl Streep as Baroness Thatcher, has drawn an angry response from friends over its portrayal of the former prime minister as a lonely figure sliding into dementia.
In the opening scenes, a frail Lady Thatcher is seen shuffling into a corner shop to buy a pint of milk and expressing shock at 21st-century prices.
Back at her Belgravia home, her security team fret that she has left the house unsupervised.
Another scene shows her oblivious to the fact that her husband, Sir Denis, is dead. She imagines him to be in the room and conducts conversations with him, before revisiting her glory years in a series of flashbacks.
Whether it's "appropriate" to release the movie while Mrs. Thatcher is still alive is more a moral question than a political one. But if dementia is indeed her condition -- and by most reliable accounts it is-- that would be an important part of telling the story of an important figure of modern times. It is made all the more interesting because her political soul mate Ronald Reagan suffered the same fate.
I'd be much more interested in whether the movie is fair to Thatcher as a historic figure and tells of her tenure with honesty and insight:
. . .it portrays Lady Thatcher as a strong leader during the Falklands conflict, the miners' strike and other crises.
[. . .]
Streep, 62, said she had approached the role with great empathy. “It took a lot out of me, but it was a privilege to play her, it really was,” she said.
“I still don't agree with a lot of her policies. But I feel she believed in them and that they came from an honest conviction, and that she wasn't a cosmetic politician just changing make-up to suit the times.”
That sounds promising, but this is Hollywood we're talking about, so it's best we don't get our hopes up.
Mental abnormality -- of whatever sort, dementia, mental illness, retardation, stroke-induced cognition diminishment -- is one of the last few things we have trouble discussing openly and directly. I tried to watch Diane Sawyer's intereview with Gabrielle Giffords, but it was too sad, so I turned it off. Reading the reactions to it, I'm struck that what made me uncomfortable is the same thing everyone else is trying to avoid. Everyone is praising the congresswoman for her courage and bravery and gushing over her remarkable progress, while tiptoeing around what seems the most obvious: She is not now nor will she ever be the person she once once. She has been irreparably damaged.
The ABC interview showed a woman who appeared confident and determined, but still far from able to carry on a detailed conversation. She spoke in a clear voice, but in halting phrases: "Pretty good ... Difficult ... Strong, strong, strong," she replied to questions about how she was feeling and how she'd fared over the 10 months since the shooting.
See? Sneak up on it. Careful, careful. Touch it. Oh, God. Run away, run away quick!
I think our deepest fear is that something like this could happen to us. Whatever else is wrong with us, at least we know what it is and who we are. What must it be like in the case of Reagan and Thatcher to know you're losing a little of yourself a little each day, that tomorrow you will be a little less aware than today, and that there's nothing you can do about it? What must it be like for Gifford to be aware on some level that she used to be more than she is, but can't quite grasp what? I had an aunt with Alzheimer's, and I have a vivid memory of her sitting at the dining table with everybody, watching us for cues, laughing when we did so she could pretend she was really there with us. Talk about heartbreaking.
