Queen of the Club

Talking about being 61 to a reporter, Helen Mirren said, “I just think that everybody else is getting older, so you're not the only one. You're with your group - you're sharing the same experiences.”

That does makes aging easer to handle – being part of a a huge population of contemporaries to inspire and commiserate with you and, when the whining gets too much, to say “get over it.”

In “The Queen,” Mirren plays not only her royal majesty in an award-winning manner but offers a pretty familiar image of how women of a certain age used to look. Tweedy clothes, spongy shoes, tight perm and a purse by her side. Stiff, proper, pinched.

When I questioned the royal purse in a newspaper column I wrote about Mirren’s performance, a reader suggested that she probably was packing a gun. I was unable to confirm that, although it sounded tantalizing. I figured it held a lipstick or breath mints. Maybe treats for the dog.

As soon as Mirren stopped being queenly she was back to being her hip, luscious and confident self. She has a look that says, “This is me. Accept it. Enjoy it.”

I think it’s a good look for the club.