New York Dispatch. 1.

For the New York City cinephile set, autumn is heralded not by crimson foliage or a hint of chill in the air, but rather by the arrival of the New York Film Festival. A "best-of" fest, it's a chance to catch the films you first heard about at Cannes, Berlin, Rotterdam, etc. Back for its 44th year (and my own personal 20-year anniversary), its lineup includes many familiar faces, and a surprising number of titles arriving with distribution deals intact. And while it's wonderful to see films like Belle Toujours and Offside at the festival, I'd gladly trade them for titles that might never find their way here - such as Still Life, Dong or Colossal Youth. Still, it is a remarkably solid year, and save for some obvious Oscar bait (Little Children), the majority of the sixteen films I've seen so far have been impressive.

One of the most impressive (partly due to lowered expectations) is this year's opening night film, Stephen Frears's The Queen. Quite frankly, I imagined this would be another bog-standard biopic, where a stellar lead performance is mistaken for a good film - i.e, this year's Ray or Capote. Yet The Queen is anything but - it's a masterfully written acerbic dramedy that is less about individuals than it is institutions. And though it's clear which side of the political divide Frears and screenwriter Peter Morgan reside, they cleverly avoid easy targets and clichés.

The film opens with the Blair landslide that ushered in the dream of new era and a more modern Britain. (Remember Cool Britannia?) Buckingham Palace is displeased from the outset, and the Queen is quick to correct a staff member: "He's only the Prime Minister-to-be. I haven't asked him yet." Blair (spitting image Michael Sheen) is portrayed as the young overzealous idealist who forgets nearly all protocol on his first formal meeting with Her Royal Highness, and who speaks to her on the phone while wearing his number 10 rugby jersey, his Stratocaster just inches away.

The death of Princess Diana becomes Blair's first challenge as Prime Minister, and the bulk of the film focuses on the events that transpire in the days following the accident, and the right royal nuisance her death becomes for Elizabeth Regina & Co. The growing resentment by the public towards the Queen for her refusal to return from her hideaway in the Highlands or to issue a public statement is immediately seized upon by Blair's people as an opportunity to curry favor with the masses.

Morgan's deft handling of the characters provides the film with a certain vitality that doesn't let up for a second. Though the private faces of these public figures is based on little more than speculation and conjecture, he's not working in a satirical vein, but rather striving for the all-too-human moments, even from those who believe their sovereignty to be by the grace of God. We see Blair as a reluctant leader with mommy issues, while his wife Cherie (Helen McCrory) is a borderline Lady Macbeth who likens the royals to a group of "freeloading, emotionally retarded nutters." His shifting loyalty is most interesting, especially in light of his current situation.

Far from the image of the dainty lady in the black hat mechanically issuing her trademark cupped-hand wave, Helen Mirren's Queen is a headstrong, cellphone-carrying, Range Rover-driving monarch for whom compromise is a last resort. It's the rest of the royal family that are the nutters, including her slightly deranged mother (Sylvia Syms), socially awkward, paranoid son (Alex Jennings) and dangerously antiquated husband (James Cromwell), who believes anything can be solved with a good walk.

Mirren's performance is the one to beat this year, and it will be a surprise if she doesn't walk away with a gold statue next February. Daring for its depiction of a living monarch and sitting Prime Minister, and bound to stir up controversy, The Queen is an endlessly entertaining peek into a 1200-year-old institution that was nearly brought down by the power of the media.

Posted by dwhudson at September 29, 2006 12:37 AM