Film Review: The King's Speech

For those of you who don't know your history, (I'm looking at you, Americans), George VI served as King of England between 1936 and 1952. History would have it that Albert (his birth name) was a diffident figure who neither desired, or ever envisaged, becoming King. This was in large part due to a stammer old Bertie had since a child. He was unexpectedly thrust the reigns of Kingship when his brother, Edward VIII, was forced to abdicate by then Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin on account that his relationship to twice-divorced American socialite, Wallis Simpson, was both politically and religiously unacceptable for a British monarch. In a period where the maligning forces of fascism threatened to engulf Europe once again in war, it was to the King that the people of Britain looked for words of comfort and fortitude. Obviously with dear Bertie's speech impediment he did not exactly inspire the confidence of a nation, and it is this tennet of George VI's life which The King's Speech focuses on.

Prince George (Colin Firth) has tried every modern (and ancient) medical practice known to man in an attempt to rid him of his life-impeding stutter. Suddenly slung onto the throne with war looming on the horizon, the nation looks expectantly to the new King to both lead a nation through the coming dark times and to restore faith in a monarchy shattered by Edward's abdication. Reluctantly, Prince George turns to unconventional Australian speech therapist (I know, I know, jokes withstanding) Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush) on the insistance of his wife, Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon (Helena Bonham Carter).

Upon looking at it for the first time, you might be forgiven for thinking that this is nothing more than another well-spoken BBC period drama on a Sunday evening. After all, it does have Colin Firth in it. But it has managed to drum up a buzz, with critics already hailing it as one of the best movies of the year. Now, whenever someone attaches such accolades to something I am immediately dubious. Usually this is code for 'building it up too much'.

First thing is first however, this is actually a good film. It's strength, ironically for a film about being tongue-tied, is in the interaction between outspoken 'colonial' Logue and unspoken aristocrat Prince George as their two worlds collide. Logue's treatments depend on impertinently bringing George down to the level of equal and out of his discomfort zone, waving his arms around like a lunatic and reeling off swear words you would never dream of hearing from the cream of such haughty aristocrats. "Fornication" Firth yells, descending into a tirade of shits and fucks in such spirited fashion that it is small wonder how one could find such an acrimonious barrage so uplifting. But Logue's techniques are less to do with mechanically fixing a stutter and more to do with healing a mind tormented by his father. King George V is once infamously deemed to have commented on parenting techniques, "My father was scared of my father, I was scared of my father and I'm damned well going to see that they're scared of me". Indeed, he instituted a regime aimed at instilling deference and duty in his sons by bullying and capitalizing on their 'weaknesses'.

By the end of the film a sense of terrible urgency develops when Herr Hitler begins the warm-up of his upcoming European tour as Bertie's therapy sessions become somewhat like a Rocky training montage. This underdog however must use his faltering voice to soothe a frightened nation through a radio broadcast as opposed to going twelve rounds with an unstoppable East European behemoth. Somewhat perplexing however in the final crescendo is that someone thought it a good idea to play Beethoven as background music during Bertie's important speech to a nation now at war with Germany. I don't know what they were going for here, but perhaps Elgar would have been more fitting. Oh the irony.