I  wasn’t  paying extremely close attention to British politics in the 1980′s, but I did keep up with the news. I knew who Margaret Thatcher was, and I had no affinity for her.

So I wasn’t sure what to expect last week when I bought my ticket to see The Iron Lady. Except of course for Meryl Streep in an Oscar-nominated performance. Streep was marvelous. Jim Broadbent was adorable.

Not the typical biopic, this told Margaret Roberts Thatcher’s life story in flashbacks that were sometimes almost strobe-lit.

There was much melancholy. The aged Baroness Thatcher in twilight, more than a decade past her years as Prime Minister (1979-1990). Coping with life in early stage Alzheimer’s, bravely facing dinner guests, and talking with husband Denis. Who’s been dead for a few years. She finally gets around to clearing out his clothes, but it goes in fits and starts. Her daughter Carol is present, helpful, and kind, but the Baroness can only talk, fondly, about her son Mark – who is far away in South Africa and calls infrequently.

The cheerful stuff is served in flashback. Alexandra Roach is riveting as the young Margaret Roberts Thatcher. In geeky spectacles, Harry Lloyd charms Margaret – and the audience – as the slightly older Denis Thatcher. Streep’s middle-aged Maggie is fascinating. In graceful shorthand, the film shows us her strengths and the weaknesses that ultimately brought her down.

By the end of it all, I felt something like sympathy for Thatcher, and curious enough to start reading the biography.

However, my favorite take ever on high level British politics, remains the superb miniseries fictionalizing the post-Thatcher years: House of Cards, To Play the King, and The Final Cut. I may need to revisit them after I’ve finished the (500 page) Thatcher biography, as the antidote.