Thursday, January 13, 2011

The King's Speech last night.

What a gorgeous film.

As with most of the rest of the history of the world, I knew nothing of the story. Well, I knew at least about the disreputable woman. But history is littered with these. To be more precise, I knew nothing of George VI's stammering ascendance to the thrown (oh my god look at that - she must be tired).

Whatshisname Pride and Prejudice man Firth Colin was superb. A brilliant performance that was beautifully neither under nor overdone. His swift tipping into rage was marvellous though not as marvellous as the seamlessly tortured recreation of life with a terrible stammer.

Helena of the face that suits any age was lovely.

Geoffrey Rush. Beautifully delicately slightly eccentric but incredibly sensibly wise all at the same time.

Guy Pearce was my only hmmm. Couldn't take his accent seriously. At all. But that possibly isn't his fault.

My only actual disappointment was that the godforsaken multiplex cinema audience didn't burst into spontaneous applause at the end. This has reportedly been happening at the Filmhouse.

It first happened to me after Strictly Ballroom at the Broadway Cinema in Nottingham, aged - well, less than I am now. I'd never known such a thing before. Perhaps this was when the cinematic love affair began.

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