Clearly, there is nothing that a person masquerading as a wannabe film critic through the medium of Facebook can say that will either encourage or dissuade you from seeing The King’s Speech. It’s already garnered numerous nominations (seven at the Golden Globes) and laid down the gauntlet in this season of dramatic heavy hitters and posturing performances seeking the aureate standing ovation of a man 13 ½ inches tall.
Thankfully, it’s rather excellent.
What helps this film stand out as a front-runner are its bizarre multi-threaded themes: a bromancic British period-drama about a put-upon younger brother encumbered with an irritating impediment trying to go the distance and reach his goal with the aid of an unconventional and deadpan Antipodean, who’s as interested in Shakespeare as he is in glottal stops.
Yes, it’s 1930s Blighty and the Duke of York, Prince Albert is making his requisite royal rounds, but the factory visits and ribbon cuttings are hampered by his stammered speech. His wife, later to be the Queen Mother, seeks the advice of numerous speech therapists to no avail. In some desperation, she finds Lionel Logue, the aforementioned Aussie, in a basement practice, and after some cajoling of the Prince’s pride, Lionel strives to help his tongue-tied patient loosen up. When Bertie’s older brother abdicates his throne, the mantle falls on the Prince to don the crown and man the mic, delivering the King’s address to his subjects as the United Kingdom declares war on Hitler’s Germany.
The script is sublime, turning what could have been a bloated stuffy Royal romp (think mid-90s Fergie) into a witty and warm-hearted tale of two men broaching the class divide (think… eh… King Ralph?). Geoffrey Rush’s Logue is wonderful, at once the sort of quack you’d want to lift your lisp to sibilant triumph, with his unorthodox methods and pommy aplomb. The interplay between the males sparks of zinging one-liners. But perhaps it’s the scenes of Logue the failed actor that shape him as a rounded and real person, with Rush displaying a dogged sadness that helps him empathise with Bertie’s bruised soul.
Colin Firth is equally excellent and, robbed of his Oscar last year, he has really delivered something special. His Bertie is dutiful and doleful, shy and awkward, and shunning the limelight. Firth captures this Royal’s sense of duty to family throughout, while Tom Hooper’s direction sees Bertie’s place in the family shift throughout (obligated son, beleaguered brother, loving husband and nurturing father to his daughters and nation). Each truncated sentence is loaded with the pressure of inescapable duty, and you find yourself willing his voice to squeeze to an escape. Arkwright, he ain’t.
Honours also go to Helena Bonham Carter for a nice turn as Bertie’s encouraging wife, and nice cameos from Timothy Spall as a suitably hammed up Churchill and, Firth’s erstwhile Elizabeth Bennett, Jennifer Ehle as Logue’s wife Myrtle.
Seriously, top notch stuff. Five likes.
Thankfully, it’s rather excellent.
What helps this film stand out as a front-runner are its bizarre multi-threaded themes: a bromancic British period-drama about a put-upon younger brother encumbered with an irritating impediment trying to go the distance and reach his goal with the aid of an unconventional and deadpan Antipodean, who’s as interested in Shakespeare as he is in glottal stops.
Yes, it’s 1930s Blighty and the Duke of York, Prince Albert is making his requisite royal rounds, but the factory visits and ribbon cuttings are hampered by his stammered speech. His wife, later to be the Queen Mother, seeks the advice of numerous speech therapists to no avail. In some desperation, she finds Lionel Logue, the aforementioned Aussie, in a basement practice, and after some cajoling of the Prince’s pride, Lionel strives to help his tongue-tied patient loosen up. When Bertie’s older brother abdicates his throne, the mantle falls on the Prince to don the crown and man the mic, delivering the King’s address to his subjects as the United Kingdom declares war on Hitler’s Germany.
The script is sublime, turning what could have been a bloated stuffy Royal romp (think mid-90s Fergie) into a witty and warm-hearted tale of two men broaching the class divide (think… eh… King Ralph?). Geoffrey Rush’s Logue is wonderful, at once the sort of quack you’d want to lift your lisp to sibilant triumph, with his unorthodox methods and pommy aplomb. The interplay between the males sparks of zinging one-liners. But perhaps it’s the scenes of Logue the failed actor that shape him as a rounded and real person, with Rush displaying a dogged sadness that helps him empathise with Bertie’s bruised soul.
Colin Firth is equally excellent and, robbed of his Oscar last year, he has really delivered something special. His Bertie is dutiful and doleful, shy and awkward, and shunning the limelight. Firth captures this Royal’s sense of duty to family throughout, while Tom Hooper’s direction sees Bertie’s place in the family shift throughout (obligated son, beleaguered brother, loving husband and nurturing father to his daughters and nation). Each truncated sentence is loaded with the pressure of inescapable duty, and you find yourself willing his voice to squeeze to an escape. Arkwright, he ain’t.
Honours also go to Helena Bonham Carter for a nice turn as Bertie’s encouraging wife, and nice cameos from Timothy Spall as a suitably hammed up Churchill and, Firth’s erstwhile Elizabeth Bennett, Jennifer Ehle as Logue’s wife Myrtle.
Seriously, top notch stuff. Five likes.
Nice obscure King Ralph reference!!
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