Madonna is the walking definition of success. It doesn't matter what she puts her hand to, be it singing or dancing or adopting babies from developing countries using slightly questionable methods, Madonna possesses both the talent and the determination to be the best. Unless she's making a film, that is, because then she can usually be relied upon to be among the worst.
But, God love her, Madonna isn't going to let a little thing like a quarter of a century of being an international laughing stock get in the way of her cinematic ambitions. This weekend it was announced that Madonna will write and direct W.E., a biopic about Edward VIII and Mrs Simpson that could star Vera Farmiga. In an ideal world it'll be Madonna's chance to prove to the film industry that she's a force to be reckoned with.
Historically, though, the odds are stacked against her. Whichever way you look at it, Madonna has something of a tendency to foul up every single film she ever goes near. Dick Tracy was woeful. Swept Away was worse. Body of Evidence was about as erotic as an afternoon in an animal pathology clinic. Thanks to The Next Best Thing, Rupert Everett now dresses up as an old lady for a living. Her Eva Perón was the least bearable Eva Perón in history, which is really saying something. And her dreadful, stilted 20-second cameo in Die Another Day was enough to spook the 007 producers into completely overhauling the entire James Bond franchise.
Lesser mortals would have got the message by now, but Madonna doesn't know the meaning of the word failure. She'll keep plugging away until people realise that she's as good at making films as she is at rolling around the floor in an outlandish, uncomfortably gynaecological leotard.
And maybe W.E. will be the film that finally proves it. After all, Madonna has demonstrated an admirable lack of vanity by not choosing to play Wallis Simpson herself. And the producers are responsible for the likes of The Madness of King George, The Young Victoria and Shakespeare in Love, so the pedigree is certainly there.
That said, the promise of a historical drama written by the woman responsible for the immortal couplet "I like to singy singy singy/ Like a bird on a wingy wingy wingy" can't fill too many people with enthusiasm. Nor, for that matter, can the prospect of a film about a seminal moment in the history of the British monarchy directed by a woman whose own British accent sounds like Dick Van Dyke choking to death on a pair of bootstrings.
So let's manage our expectations. W.E. probably won't reverse the course of Madonna's film career, but it has to be better than Swept Away, surely. And who knows, it might even secure her place as the world's greatest one-name film director. That's right – Madonna has only got McG to beat. That shouldn't be too hard, should it?
