Isabella isn’t easy to warm to, but Sian Clifford makes it impossible to stop watching her. Think Little Edie from Grey Gardens, if she’d been handed a title and a better wardrobe budget. She’s clinging to a name that stopped meaning anything, performing for the camera like this is still a documentary about good breeding.
Clifford is the whole show. She enters a children’s talent show she’s also hosting and judging, grandeur fully cranked, then cracks just enough to let the grief leak through. I found myself wincing and laughing in roughly equal measure.
The film around her is thinner. The class satire has good instincts but flinches when it should land the hit, and by the end the mockumentary conceit is barely holding together.
Watching Clifford turn a stately home into a haunted house of her own making is worth it alone. Call it an aristocratic ghost story: Clifford haunting herself before anyone else gets the chance. Lady is a wobbly film held up by one performance carrying weight the script never asked for.