The British are Coming! The British are Coming! At least that's the cry of exuberance you're likely to hear issuing forth from dedicated cinema Anglophiles with the release this week of Colin Firth in the eagerly anticipated The King's Speech, his first starring role since playing gay ( superbly ) in last year's queer movie of the year, A Single Man and lesbian icon Helen Mirren heading a strong cast in director Julie Taymor's adaptation of Shakespeare's The Tempest. I am happy to lead the charge for both movies—more so with the first though the second certainly has its share of cinematic assets—not the least of which is Mirren's spellbinding performance.
The King's Speech is another in a long line of films that pulls back the curtain on the backstage behavior of the closeted world of the British royals and offers an interesting history lesson to boot. The movie is primarily set in the mid-'30s and chronicles the events that led up to England's entry into WWII in 1939. Firth plays George VI, who has been saddled with a tremendous stutter, something he has mostly been able to hide from the public. But the invention of radio has changed everything and now the common folk want to hear words of encouragement from their Royal Highness.
This still isn't George's problem until his older brother—the fey, party mad Edward ( Guy Pearce ) , who has ascended the throne—decides to chuck it in order to marry the twice divorced Wallis Simpson ( and reportedly ever after regret it ) . Now there's no way out and George ( or "Bertie," as the family calls him ) must step up to the mic ( literally ) and lead his country as clouds are darkening over Europe and the approach of WWII becomes imminent.
Luckily, Bertie has finally been having success with his terrible stammer after his wife ( a subdued Helena Bonham Carter ) has set him up with the unorthodox but successful methods of a Australian speech therapist named Lionel Logue ( Geoffrey Rush, who also executive-produced ) . From the start, the oddly eccentric Logue—who insists on informality and has a passion for reciting Shakespeare soliloquies—has had his work cut out for him with the stiff Bertie who has resisted his approach. "My castle, my rules," Logue has insisted and hesitantly the relationship between the two has taken hold, moving in fits and starts ( whether on purpose or not—it echoes George's speech patterns ) .
The sparring between Firth and Rush are the heart of the film and give it a lively vitality—Rush, whose sly performances are often overlooked in the service of others is marvelous ( take another look at his work supporting Cate Blanchett in Elizabeth and that Grade B cast in, yes, House on Haunted Hill ) . The eagerness Rush brings to the scenes with his two sons when they okay it for him to perform yet another Shakespeare soliloquy brings bundles of charm to the movie. Firth, alternately droll and outraged, essays the physical challenge with his typical panache. It's the kind of performance that both audiences and critics typically love to reward ( Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man, Daniel Day Lewis in My Left Foot, Oscar winners both ) and in this case, would be deserved.
Director Tom Hooper ( working from a script by David Seidler ) takes what on the surface has all the makings of one of those cough syrup stories—something that's good for you but not particularly involving or memorable—and thanks to Firth and Rush, plenty of elegant period detail ( and nice work from the film's composer Alexandre Desplat ) and makes The King's Speech a royal dish worth sampling.
Helen Mirren, Oscar winner for The Queen—another great movie peek behind the curtain of royalty—plays a queen of another kind in Julie Taymor's adaptation of Shakespeare's The Tempest. Switching the gender of the revenge seeking male character Prospero to Prospera turns out to be a delightful, inspired choice—simply because the switch allows the powerhouse that is Mirren to take on the role. And whenever she's on screen the words jump to life and at times, the ground literally quakes with her emotional intensity.
But once the plot is set in motion—Prospera who has been banished to a remote island along with her now grown daughter, utilizes the magic powers of the fairy Ariel ( Ben Whishaw ) to bring her enemies to her for purposes of revenge—Mirren is mostly off screen. In her stead, we spend too much time with her intended victims—especially the buffoons played by Russell Brand and Alfred Molina.
Brand, a comedic inheritor to the English rock-n-roll royalty that was Keith Moon, with his excesses, and Dudley Moore, is certainly a good box office casting choice. But matched with powerhouse actors like Molina, Alan Cumming, David Straitharn, Chris Cooper, and Tom Conti, Brand is revealed as a one trick pony who quickly wears out his welcome ( Djimon Hounsou and Melinda Sue Gordon also struggle with the material and are at a distinct disadvantage next to the Shakespearian pros ) .
For devotees of the Bard, the film's relatively brief running time ( at around 90 minutes ) is going to be another strike against Taymor's rather cool adaptation and it does give the movie a strangely truncated feel—Shakespeare lite, if you will—which in some ways makes this a literal Tempest in a teapot—much ado about not so much.
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