The King’s Speech is prominent in the shortlist for the 2011 Baftas (and other awards — lead actor Colin Firth has just won the Golden Globe award for best actor; it won a shelf of British Independent Film Awards; and it’s sure to get Oscar nominations).
It is firmly in the tradition of British “heritage drama” — stories about the upper classes, set in the past, appealing in particular to American audiences. More particularly, it walks the path of other British films successful internationally both with critics and audiences about the royal family. Stephen Frears’ The Queen did well a few years back; before that there was Mrs Brown, about Queen Victoria.
This stars Colin Firth as King George VI — or “Bertie” — who will become king when his brother, David, aka Edward VIII, abdicates to stay with his divorcée American wife. So far, so familiar. Less well-known is that Bertie/George (that is, the father of the current Queen, if you’re not up on your royals), suffered from a debilitating stammer — embarrassing for someone obligated by birth to public speaking, but potentially disastrous for a man who must, for instance, declare war on Hitler.
His wife, the late Queen Mother, played here as a game and slightly saucy young thing by Helena Bonham-Carter (who, remember, is a personal friend of the current Prime Minister), sets out to help cure him of his impediment, securing the services of an Australian speech therapist, Lionel Logue, played by Geoffrey Rush. George/Bertie’s relationship with his colonial subject is fraught, because as therapist he brooks no nonsense, and his patient is, after all, second in line to the throne, and then, well, King. (Oh how lovely the late Queen Mother is when she graciously allows the therapist’s wife to sit as they drink tea.) And, of course, in the turning point to Act Three, the (now) King and his therapist fall out — just at the moment when he needs his firm but friendly advice most.
This is when, as King, he must speak to the nation, nay the Empire, about war having been declared on Germany. Imagine the national disgrace should he stammer while performing so important a task. (All right, everyone already knows about it and Churchill has already done it, better. But he’s the bloody King.)
This climactic scene — spoiler alert! — sums up the film. It’s well-written, beautifully performed (Colin Firth will probably get the awards he didn’t get, but was generally considered due, for A Single Man), nicely shot, etc. But it depends on you buying into the idea that at this moment, announcing a war in which millions — millions — of people will die, what really matters is whether or not the King can get through his speech without stammering. Personally, I couldn’t give a shit.
There is an interesting story about the abdication of Edward VIII — which is briefly touched on, here: that he was notoriously pro-Nazi, and the Establishment was glad to see the back of him in favour of the more patriotic and amenable George. (In one of those strange examples of synchronicity, “David”/Edward VIII has also cropped up recently in the revamped Upstairs, Downstairs, and in Channel Four’s excellent Any Human Heart; there’s something in the air).
I don’t know much about the writer of The King’s Speech, David Seidler, though it feels relevant to mention that he’s American. The movie feels like it’s been designed to appeal to that market (and the American Academy). It would be wrong to criticise film-makers for making cynical choices for commercial ends: film is a commercial medium, and anyone working in it has to make a living, and in any case no choice guarantees success.
On one level, The King’s Speech deserves the accolades and audiences it has won: as a self-contained entity, it’s a good piece of work. It’s when you think about what it wants you to feel about the world (it ends with a caption declaring that George VII went on to be “a symbol of national resistance”) that it might turn your stomach.