The King's Speech

Tom Hooper's The King's Speech unites commoner and King with a national goal as the threat of war becomes increasingly more palpable. Providing brief glimpses into the trials affecting representatives of both domains, the film trivializes neither while promoting the ways in which they complement one another. The Duke of York (Colin Firth) stammers and is a source of mild embarrassment for his family when compelled to deliver public addresses. None of the doctors to whom he has been sent has been able to ameliorate his situation which becomes increasingly pressurized as his chances of becoming King improve. Enter Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush), a speech therapist whose alternative methods have gained renown and censure within his profession's culture. A confident, bold, and successful practitioner, Logue isn't intimidated when The Duke seeks his help, conducting his experimental business as usual. But a relationship develops wherein the therapist finds himself navigating political currents with which his social histories are unfamiliar. As The Duke learns to speak, Logue learns to hold his tongue, which makes him a trusted advisor as he adjusts and redesigns the manner in which his advice is offered, making it less treasonous. As progress is made, the commoner becomes a friend, and their dynamic deconstructs class barriers as the inevitable clash with Germany approaches.

Of course these class barriers are deconstructed because this situation is exceptional and it's only after every possible traditional outlet is sought out in vain that a plebeian alternative is considered, which seems to be saying that only in exceptional circumstances can royalty mingle with the common person in order to find a working solution, which isn't exactly progressive. Entertaining film nonetheless which suggests that if it wasn't for the relationship established between King and commoner Britain would not have had an august figure to sustain its resolve throughout World War II. Some of the scenes are rushed, there's the occasional inappropriate piece of gaudy cinematic melodrama, and the Duke of York's personal troubles receive much more attention than those of Mr. Logue. But The King's Speech does champion experimental forms of professional conduct and the determined individuals who resolutely pursue them while providing the working person with dignity and humanizing the life of a King.

Nice to see Derek Jacobi looking like pesky old Claudius throughout, Hooper's tribute to the stammering Roman Emperor so brilliantly theorized by the 1976 BBC miniseries.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

Julian Schnabel's latest portrayal of the life of a famous artist examines the process whereby Jean-Dominque Bauby wrote his novel The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (Le Scaphandre et le Papillon). In the opening moments, Janusz Kaminski's delicate cinematography brilliantly accentuates life through the eyes of a paralyzed man who wakes up to discover he can think, hear, and understand, but cannot move or speak. Diagnosed with locked-in syndrome, Jean-Dominque (Mathieu Amalric) suffers in the immediate aftermath but quickly learns to use his imagination to revitalize his life. A speech therapist helps him to express himself with the aid of a linguistic technique whereby she recites the letters of the alphabet and he blinks whenever the letter uttered corresponds to that for which he is searching. By engaging in this process, Jean-Dominque is able to communicate with the outside world and produce his first novel, a testament to the strength and endurance of the human spirit.

There were several points during the last 40 minutes where Diving Bell could have concluded successfully, and this feature was likely deliberately stitched into the narrative, symbolically highlighting the fact that Bauby's novel (and life) could have ended at many points had his intransigent imagination not held true to his vision. Certainly sad, definitely daunting, if a paralyzed man who can only communicate with the movement of his right eye can manifest his chef d'oeuvre, anyone can. All it requires, is a little less self-pity, and a little more self-realization.