Review: The King's Speech

Last week my friends and I saw Tron: Legacy in the dollar theater (which cost 4 dollars - LAME), and on the way home, my friend Ryan and I had a lovely discussion about how much we truly just enjoy good film.  I enjoy being his friend, because he has good taste, and because he has this cool girl who is going to be his wife, and because I'm going to be a bridesmaid, and because he makes me feel a little bit more normal.  Sometimes I worry that my love for films and movies and cinema and all things related is a little irrational.  Escapist.  Obsessive?  But then Ryan and I swap theories and share truths and I realize that movies just might be the complete art form of our generation.

The King's Speech is an example of that complete art form.  There aren't very many out there.  It's when the cinematography, and the script, and the costumes, and the score, and the acting, and the direction, and the technicalities come together in a way that creates art.  Geoffrey Rush, Helena Bonham Carter, and Colin Firth are extraordinary.  The story itself is already compelling, but the technical and artistic elements produce an emotional journey that is still with me, weeks after having seen it.

The film gives us a look at King George VI.  It introduces us to Prince Albert, Duke of York, who has a debilitating stutter.  His wife and two daughters are incredibly supportive and loving, but he can't even tell them a bedtime story without intense stops every few words.  He was never intended to be King, but his older brother (played by Guy Pierce) falls for an American chick who had been divorced twice (kind of not okay for a Royal), so he abdicates leaving Albert with the crown instead.  Shortly into his reign it becomes clear that Hitler is not going away, and because the radio microphone has become such a popular way to connect with the British people, he must prepare to declare war and instill them with a feeling of security in an insecure environment.

Along the way, his wife finds Lionel Logue, a speech therapist who succeeds in aiding Albert where so many doctors have previously failed. 

Some of you won't go see it because it has an R rating.  I'm not going to judge you for that in any way.  However.  And this is a big HOWEVER.  I must encourage you to perhaps look past the rating on this one.  Logue discovers that Albert does not stutter when extremely angry, and there is a scene where he utters a string of expletives, stutter free.  It's an important break through that helps Albert discover his voice.  Strong language can certainly be offensive, but I believe the context is crucial here.  Rumor has it that a PG-13 version is going to be released; it's wonderful that more individuals will be able to see it, but it might lose how tender the relationship between these two men is - losing that discovery sort of changes the entire second half of the film.

Regardless of the rating and regardless of the swear words, this is a beautiful movie.  I watched it during a slump, and when it ended, I felt extraordinarily light.  This is an experience that will change you: the way you perceive individuals with speech impediments, the way you approach your own struggles, the way you judge those you do not actually know.  Is it coincidence that my attitude shifted essentially hours after seeing this?

Maybe.

Probably.

Or maybe not.

And I can't stop thinking about it.  It has changed me.

The coda of the film consists of his speech, and it ends with his family waving to the crowd outside the palace.  The speech is accompanied by the Allegretto from Beethoven's Symphony No. 7 (which just so happens to be my favorite classical piece of music), the entire movement.  The final scene is accompanied by the middle movement from Beethoven's Fifth piano concerto (which just so happens to be my second favorite classical piece of music).

You can skip out on this movie because it has an R rating and because it has some strong language.  But you will miss something poignant and significant.  You will miss what comes with imperfect beings fighting, not because everyone expects them to, but because they simply must in order to be alive.  What is more inspiring than imperfect success?

It reminds me that I can still live with imperfection, that I can still move forward, that I can still succeed, even if it means sliding over a letter that brings me difficulty.  Some letters are just harder for some to say than others, but there is nothing shameful about coping with the impairments we've been handed.  It's actually pretty triumphant to discover your solution to the tricky sound, and even more wonderful to accept that once you've embraced the imperfection, you've conquered it.