The King's Speech

The King's Speech is a superb, refreshingly old-fashioned celebration of reluctant heroism, shot in sombre hues that capture the uncertainty of the age. Colin Firth plays George V’s second son Bertie, who has the throne thrust upon him after the abdication of his brother Edward VIII and must overcome his stutter to comfort his subjects in a live radio broadcast on the brink of World War Two. Having exhausted almost every medical avenue, Bertie's wife Elizabeth (a game Helena Bonham-Carter) enlists the help of Australian Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush), unorthodox speech therapist and failed Shakespearean actor. The film’s director, Tom Hooper, is known for his stylish, ambitious television dramas, including Longford, a study of the eccentric peer's attempt to rehabilitate Myra Hindley and a staggeringly assured exploration of faith, evil, remorse, sainthood, prison, the press and, most of all, forgiveness: it is arguably the finest British television drama of the decade. But this is his most impressive achievement yet.

Hooper has an understated command of social suspense and captures rather well the silent agony that precedes speaking in public: rather than flit between the audience and the speaker, the camera remains behind Colin Firth’s shoulder the whole time and follows him. The epiphanous ‘trial by broadcast’ motif seems to be a favourite of Hooper’s (Longford is framed by an interview on a local radio station; Brian Clough is interviewed twice on Yorkshire Television in The Damned United), but it is particularly prevalent here: the film is, amongst much else, a document on the evolution of radio (and an interesting companion piece to The Social Network, in this respect), whilst the need for individuals in the public eye to attune their personality through the use of technology is a more relevant concern today than ever. Hooper is also very good at capturing the ugliness of macho malevolence in sparkling supporting turns (Andy Serkis' terrifying Ian Brady in Longford; Stephen Graham's crafty Billy Bremner in The Damned United) and poor Colin Firth has to contend with two bullies, his hot-headed father George V (Michael Gambon) and his fey brother David (Guy Pearce). This makes his friendship with Lionel all the more moving. The chemistry between Firth and Rush is a joy and, like the Don Quixote-Sancho Panza incongruity of Michael Sheen's Brian Clough and Timothy Spall's Peter Taylor in The Damned United, traces the growing interdependence of two disparate souls.

Firth is outstanding throughout and will win the Oscar for Best Actor this year (what a fruitful harvest the autumn of his career looks to be bringing), but there are two moments in the film that push his performance into the realms of greatness. The first comes when Lionel lets Bertie build the model aeroplane and is the expression on his face when he talks about his dead brother Johnny; the second comes when Bertie first sifts through the mountain of kingly post and is the way his voice breaks when he weeps that the only thing he knows how to be is a naval officer. But Geoffrey Rush is the revelation: it is a gentle, cunning, compassionate performance from one of the finest character actors of his generation. If Firth pounds the heartstrings with his frozen consonants and haunted pauses, Rush plucks at them, pizzicato. His expression at the very end of the film, lost in a sea of admirers for the King, is a mix of pride, sadness, uncertainty, humility, possibly even envy: Rush's contoured, crooked face in that moment has the world-weary mystery of a Velázquez portrait.

The King’s Speech is a lovely film. It may suffer from the same rhapsodic notices that turned Slumdog Millionaire into a ubiquitous awards hoover, but it is a classy, heartwarming, often humorous triumph with two masterful central performances and an impeccable supporting cast (I particularly liked Anthony Andrews’ pained Stanley Baldwin). It considers notions of self-expression, performance, monarchy, modernity and the tensions between them; but most importantly of all, it is a film about the beauty of friendship. Tom Hooper has the scope, savvy and versatility to be the new David Lean. God knows how he’s going to follow this.