The Queen

Sometimes, what I haven't posted is more surprising to me than what I have. Today's case in point: this amazing film by Stephen Frears with an arch script by Peter Morgan and a terrific cast. The Queen is dead, two days after bringing in a new Prime Minister—her 15th (the first being Churchill) and a short time after celebrating her 70th year on the throne. After years of short-reigned British royalty, Elizabeth II gave a reassuring continuity to a nation going through post-imperial crises, and she managed to walk the edge of being Her Majesty and, contradictorily, Public Servant. Self-sacrifice and Privilege rarely go hand-in-hand, but she did it, and did it well.

Written at the time of the film's release.  Re-published on The Queen's.

 

"Her Majesty's a pretty nice girl, but she doesn't have a lot to say"

Sir Paul McCartney

 

And another Beatles quote might be appropriate here, as well. George Harrison's horrified appraisal of Beatlemania: "We gave them an excuse to go mad." Surely that's how

the Royals must have felt seeing the outpouring of grief generated by the death of former Princess Diana over the week that this smart bitchy little film covers. The tone and volume of the crowds that surrounded Buckingham Palace, fueled by the predatory tabloids, approached hysteria and went well past the accepted levels of decorum practiced by its inhabitants. Flying the flag at half-mast for Diana? They hadn't even done it for the death of the King! The idea! There's a telling line QEII says in bewilderment: "But she isn't even an H.R.H.!"—a lovely combination of formality and informality within the Royal Family. But the film has its own opening quote, from Shakespeare--the one half-mocked by Jack Nicholson in The Departed--"Uneasy lies the head...etc, etc." But, in this day and age it can be asked, "Who wears the crown?" 

Is it the Queen, cosseted in formal procedure and pomp, restricted in her powers and budgeted by the government (the first scene of the movie has an arch little discussion between her and a portrait artist regarding democracy and the in-coming Labor party of Tony Blair. "You might not be allowed to vote, ma'am,* but it is your government." "Yes...it is," she replies, smiling at the constancy)? Is it the fledgling Prime Minister Tony Blair (Michael Sheen) who must bow and scrape to the Queen, but who uses whatever power he has to influence her actions? Is it Blair's eager-beaver, though cynical, staff, micro-managing and creating press-releases and agendas that sometimes frustrate, while bolstering the image of, the new PM? The Queen's consort, Prince Phillip, blusters about what is proper and how he'd do things (assuming he was in charge), and son Charles, dithering and deferential (there's a lovely moment as Charles enters a room where James Cromwell, playing Phillip--pointedly crosses his arms without even acknowledging that he knows his son is in the room), tries to sway the Queen emotionally and by proxies. Or is it the rabble with their devastated faces and the endless supply of flowers that becomes a memorial and a substitute for any public display from official sources? 

Then there is the late Princess herself, seen only in vintage news footage, at times clowning, at times vulnerable...and at times, with a look like she's viewing the proceeding with a knowing satisfaction. 

One wonders how the Royals themselves would see this film**...no doubt, as an affront to be taken in stoic, stony silence. Yet, one can understand their actions, and even have some sympathy for their dilemma, while also wanting to shake some sense into them.

The Queen is a fine, gossipy movie, with a literate script***(whether any of the things depicted behind closed draw-bridges is anyone's guess) by Peter Morgan—he also wrote last year's The Last King of Scotland, top-of-the-line performances led by Helen Mirren (who has the canny knowledge to know she's playing two roles: Elizabeth and an eerie "Elizabeth-as-Monarch," and, yes, she'll win the Oscar for Best Actress)**** and a direction by Stephen Frears that's smart and canny. The last shot is the most telling. Frears leaves us with an image of the Queen walking in her immaculate formal garden--her unruly Pomeranian dogs jumping and bouncing and using the facilities while Elizabeth pays no mind to the chaos.

Long Live the Queen.

 

* And make sure you pronounce that correctly. We're told that it is "Ma'am" as in "ham," not as in "harm." One of the conceits of the film is to show the "accepted" ways to present oneself to the Queen--always a prescribed way, no more and no less--surely a main reason for the atrophy the Windsors displayed in not responding to the public's reaction.

 

**I read somewhere in the Golden Globes coverage this morning that the Queen told Mirren "someone finally got (playing her) right."

***There's a funny scene where Blair, flush with his efforts to influence the situation starts to push for his own agenda. Elizabeth will have none of it, and warns her PM not to be too complacent for his crisis will come when he least expects it. It took every ounce of restraint to keep from yelling "Yo, Blair!" at the screen.

**** She did.

 

Post-script 02/07/07: Slate has quite an informative interview with director Stephen Frears

The Lady in the Van

Our Lady of Gloucester Crescent, Camden Town
or
The Wisdom of the Tribe

Homelessness isn't a new problem. There have always been homeless—some cultures have formalized this as "nomads"—just as there have always been poor. They are almost an integral part of the way industrialized economic systems are set up. Homelessness keeps the middle-class from becoming complacent. But, unfortunately, we should never be complacent about homelessness. They are our canaries in the coal-mine. And unfortunately, the elite fluttering high above the middle class haven't noticed the problem in their complacency. They haven't noticed the RV's on street corners, the crowded parking lots surrounding rural Wal-Marts, they're not checking the canaries. They haven't figured out that part of the issue might be circumstance, but part of it might be revolt. You can't charge property taxes on an SUV.

And there's no practical address to be traced, as well.

Allan Bennett (Alex Jennings) is a successful writer (he was/is, although it's not mentioned he was part of the "Beyond the Fringe" group), just successful enough through his work that he moves out of his Mother's house and into his own little flat, in a posh neighborhood that includes the widow of composer Ralph Vaughan-Williams. She's on the high-end of the scale. On the low-end is Miss Shepherd (Dame Maggie Smith) who is perpetually moving; she has to or the local bobbies will arrest her.

No one knows who Miss Shepherd is, or what her "story" is, but she's something of a blight, her van an eyesore—especially as she regularly paints it canary yellow—and attracts bad behavior in juveniles and one particularly nasty detective (Jim Broadbent), who rap on her windows at night and scare the pudding out of her. The neighbors, being mostly British, keep a stiff upper lip and hold their counsel and even do the occasional "turn" for her, especially on Holidays. That "turn" is usually taken with a curt "close the door, you're letting the heat out" and nothing else, but she is still acknowledged by the neighborhood as part of the community (while silently wishing she was part of another).

Her closest relationship is with the writer Bennett, who, out of curiosity and maybe due to some nagging guilt about leaving Mom, regularly interacts with her and, eventually, provides something of a safe haven for her in his courtyard. He also provides regular bathroom facilities for her, which is usually more trouble than it's worth. Bennett is of two minds about Miss Shepherd, but then he is of two minds about everything; he is, after all, a writer, and nothing goes in that doesn't eventually come out (if we want to carry on with the bathroom analogy). There is the Alan Bennett who lives his life and interacts, and then, there is the Alan Bennett who cuisinarts that living and spits out the re-imagining, the re-interpretation, and the re-gurgitation in order to make a living...as a writer. 

Bennett can not have one without the other, and The Lady in the Van has it both ways, by splitting Bennett into two personas (both played by Jennings), who regularly interact with each other, both observers—one observing, and the other observing the observer; he's his own worst...and best...critic, constantly questioning, commenting, second-guessing, and passing judgment on that first Bennett. Their conversations make up his own greek chorus and narrative as he simultaneously helps and tries to get "background" on this strange, idiosyncratic person living in his courtyard (provided by him so she doesn't have to keep constantly moving her vehicle per police command).

"Half" of the Alan Bennett's..."kravitzing"

For Bennett, he gravitates towards kindness while also suspecting it. He's practical and it is better to put up with Miss Shepherd (however irritating and inconvenient she can be at times) as there is the most wispy of kinships—they are both "fringies" (she's homeless; he's homosexual:"I need to warn you about those young men leaving your house late at night. They're Communists!" she hisses at him) and perhaps, he fusses over her fussing as compensation for or perhaps penance for now being a long-distant son. Maybe it's just curiosity, writerly interest, or morbid curiosity. But the two could not be more apart: she's flinty where as he's more personable; she's deeply religious, he's not; she judges, he doesn't.

What holds the thing together is Dame Maggie Smith. No one can play "dotty" as well as she can without stooping to sentimentality or mawkishness; the character rejects sympathy and Smith sluffs it off her performance like teflon. For every moment of charm, there are twelve where she's an unapologetic royal pain (which, these days, seems to be the way we like her). It's a pleasant movie, more for the blue-rinse set than anyone else, and not altogether unenjoyable.