M-M-M-MESMERIZING

Everyone has an Achilles heel. That one, inescapable handicap that prevents us from achieving “to be or not to be” status. In 1925, King George VI employed a man who promised to remedy the liability that threatened him most - his stutter.

Tom Hooper directs The King’s Speech like a finely orchestrated symphony. Characters lean on each other like bows on a fiddle; they complement like horn and trumpet. And no instruments in this film sound better together than Colin Firth’s Albert (the King), and speech therapist Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush).

After countless doctors try every humiliating exercise imaginable to cure his stammer (including filling his mouth with marbles), Albert’s had enough with therapy. But Logue’s approach is psychological – he treats “Bertie” like a friend. What begins for Bertie as a cautious and guarded, “if we were equals, I wouldn’t be here” affiliation with Lionel, unfolds as a partnership masterful and symbiotic.

To see Albert achieve a syllable sans superfluous hesitation is like watching a one-legged climber reach the peak of Everest. It is thrilling to witness Firth’s emotional breakdowns and breakthroughs. Scenes with Albert’s wife, played with resolute brilliance by Helena Bonham Carter, are poignant and raw. What a treat to see her back in British film mode, and out of the odd grasp that is (husband) Tim Burton’s work.

Fantastic supporting turns by Guy Pierce (the King’s brother) and Michael Gambon (King George V) create strong illustrations as to why Bertie would be swimming in self-doubt. Lionel unveils the science of Albert’s stutter, which proves to be a fear-based peripheral reaction to an inward lack of conviction.

But behind Lionel’s closed doors, the King is safe. And as breathtaking as it is to watch Firth’s character triumph and fail with each word he utters, it is Rush’s performance as a wannabe actor-turned speech guru that emerges as the glue to Hooper’s so eloquent mold.

Left alone in a room to conquer a microphone and broadcast a profoundly important nine-minute speech, Firth and Rush deliver one of the most simply riveting scenes in recent film memory. With Logue (quite literally) conducting the King’s every breath, the world fixedly gathers around their radio, straining to hear every might-be-annunciated word. And so do we.


- Hillary Smotherman