The King's Speech

The UK’s great big shining Oscar hope, The King’s Speech came out of nowhere with its story of a King’s struggle that no one had really heard of and, on paper at least, not one that seemed particularly suited into enticing crowds into their local multiplex. Oscar buzz can do a lot for a movie, and the host of awards The King’s Speech had already garnered certainly helped it at the box office. Then it smashed the Oscars, claiming the big gongs of Best Picture and Best Director, and also the Best Actor for Colin Firth.

The whole thing reeks of success already though awards don’t matter much once you’ve taken your seat, the lights go down and the movie starts. What matters then is your own opinion and enjoyment and mine, about The King’s Speech, was rather favourable. Not blown away enough to ring out a trumpet salute about its grandeur, but enough to say that it’s a quality movie held fast by terrific performances about intriguing subject matter that is kept lively from start to finish.



The film opens in revealing the future King George VI’s (Colin Firth) major Achilles’ heel. Afflicted with a stammer, particularly crippling during public speaking, he steps up to a microphone and drags his way through a speech to an increasingly disengaging audience. As a prince it’s a mild royal embarrassment, but when the crown and title of king are looming, when a nation will turn to George and expect to see a capable man stand firm, to perform, to be a king the nation can look up to, the matter of overcoming his impediment becomes paramount.

Enter Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush). An immigrant Australian, failed amateur actor and near-accidental speech therapist, specialising in stammering. Found by George’s wife, (the future Queen Mother, Elizabeth, here portrayed with mischievous dignity by Helena Bonham Carter), the pair initially meet and, as is generally the celluloid way, don’t immediately hit it off. Yet despite their differences they work together, share together and become friends. The King’s Speech is as much about their journey to that friendship as it is about the king’s speech (here being a rallying response following the outbreak of World War 2).



Those not well-versed in either the structure of the monarchy or history might find certain elements of the film slightly veiled. I for one knew nothing about King George, nor that he had a brother (King Edward VIII, played by Guy Pearce with self-serving aplomb) who abdicated the throne after a brief spell to avoid scandal and shame. Other ‘famous’ figures from history appear, but are not ushered in with grand entrances. Winston Churchill is introduced idling on the sidelines of a party, and it’s only towards the end of the movie is he referred to by name.

Don’t get me wrong, this is not a criticism. I actually really liked the lack of pomp and circumstance. It’d be tough to say that these large figures of history were grounded in reality here, but they are at least made to feel real.

What is easy to cling to is the very personal story of King George and his affliction itself. Colin Firth’s performance, and the (Oscar-winning!) script, slowly chisel away the stiff upper lip to reveal a man who has had to rely on his own fortitude to compensate for the isolation and lovelessness of his upbringing. His father, King George V (Michael Gambon) is a towering, booming figure – an intimidating set of footsteps to try and follow.

Firth’s George is prone to temper tantrums and stubbornness, yet this is countered by the heart-warming love and banter he shares with his wife. Distant and likable. Aloof as a defence mechanism. He confesses to Lionel how little he understands about the people he is king of, and his own insecurities (best delivered in a short scene with George lightly sobbing in front of his wife and repeating a refrain that he is not a king) are only made apparent to us, the audience, because of how the movie lets us see the man behind closed doors, out of the public eye. Firth can handle stoic in his sleep, but it’s the fragility behind the kingly repose that earned him his well-deserved Oscar here.



Geoffrey Rush is equally excellent (any other year, a year where Christian Bale didn’t appear in his outstanding performance in The Fighter, he’d have had the Best Supporting Oscar nailed down) and, similarly, masks a fragile humility behind his very wise and competent speech therapist and eventual friend. He bags a lot of the best lines and shoulders all the energy the movie generates and yet manages to avoid showboating (which could have easily occurred).

Probably the biggest Oscar surprise for The King’s Speech was its Best Director success. That’s not to say Tom Hooper’s direction here is bad, but it’s singularly unfussy and unwilling to draw attention to itself. Most scenes are shot with a static camera rooted on the actors, usually up close on the faces so we can read what isn’t being said. It’s perfectly functional – crisp, clear and clean – but evidently my interpretation of what directing form ought to win awards isn’t aligned with the Academy. Credit for coaxing out the terrific performances, though, and for working with a small budget to deliver a high-calibre film.



I personally didn’t feel like The King’s Speech was a film I needed to see on the big screen. It’s a film about characters and story and those are universal and translate from a small screen just as well. But when a quality British film like this makes a big splash across the pond, scoops up awards over here and abroad, and gets people out of their homes and into their local cinema then I’m not going to be mealy-mouthed about it. Not all films have to shout to be heard, and The King’s Speech delivers its message with considered measure, dignity, and doesn’t stumble over its words at all in the process.