In one scene near the beginning of “The King’s Speech,” the Duchess of York (Helena Bonham Carter) sits next to a poor stuttering boy in the waiting room of a London speech therapist. The Duchess is there under alias, uncomfortably mingling with the commoners while her husband, Prince Albert (Colin Firth), secretly works on his stammer.
The scene bodes ill for the rest of the film, based as it is on that silly, unimaginative, even oppressive old trope of “royalty in disguise.” Too many scenes like this and “The King’s Speech” risks becoming just one more throw-away nod to royal pomp and happenstance, the cinematic equivalent of tasteless elevator music.
But then everything changes. Albert starts his speech therapy with Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush) and the chemistry of the film is made.
The true history ostensibly being told, that of Albert’s transformation from a scared, stuttering prince into a king able to lead his nation against Nazi Germany, takes a back seat to the likewise-true, if fictionalized tale of the Albert-Lionel public speaking team.
This is really a story about the friendship between the king and a commoner, and refreshingly unique in its decision to portray the king as the commoner of the two.
On top of its many other virtues — brutally honest close-ups, good pacing, little pathetic sentimentalism — the movie’s main attraction is its large cast of talented English actors.
Carter and Firth, able as they are, are just the beginning. Guy Pearce, Michael Gambon and Timothy Spall all fit their roles organically, whether playing a comically dour Winston Churchill (Spall) or a majestically inbred George V (Gambon).
He is a middle-class angel of equality and his every expression is worth all the rusty crowns of Christendom.
In fact, watching him kick the Archbishop of Canterbury out of Westminster Abbey almost overshadows the eponymous speech that should be the movie’s climax. He’s a joy to watch, and in an Academy based on merit, he would be rewarded for this role with a treasure trove of Oscars.
