... is the only word for Helen Mirren - though 'regal' is good as well. It's a great shame that The Queen cannot play in a double bill with Valerie Lemercier's Palais Royal which is a brilliant satire on Diana and the bewildering affect she had on the great unwashed public which constitutes a new definition of mass hypnosis. Consider: you're a reasonably personable young girl with the IQ of a Swiss cheese and someone makes you an offer; you can marry this rich, influential guy and wind up with wealth, the latest fashions, jewels, etc BUT; your husband will never love you, he's in love with someone else, has been for years and always will be. Okay, you accept the gig and THEN, a few years down the line start bitching that your husband doesn't love you - but STILL consoling yourself with, to paraphrase Noel Coward, the bitter palliative of wealth, status and adoration of the public. This, the inexplicable adoration and mass mourning, is rehashed yet again here and Mirren walks away with it yet bouquets to Helen McCrory who brings out the long streak of cow in Cherie Blair and has, in passing, one of the most outre' lines in the script when she, the Queen of freeloaders, accuses the Royal Family of being just that and 'nutters' to boot. It's doubtful whether Tony Blair would really have the decency to defend the Queen in private as eloquently and movingly - not to say correctly - as he does here but that's a minor beef. If Judi Dench can nab an Oscar for a twenty minute gig as Liz I then surely Mirren can do the same as Liz II.
Review of The Queen
