Review: The King's Speech

Yesterday Mom & I had a girls' movie day out.  We'd both been hearing lots of buzz about the new film The King's Speech, starring Colin Firth as Britain's King George VI and Geoffrey Rush, the Australian elocutionist-actor who helped him to overcome his stammer.  The buzz is all true!

To say merely that the film is worthy is an understatement.  The acting, the photography & cinematography, the costuming, the score, the direction all come together to make what could have been a rather pedestrian "feel-good" movie into something really quite extraordinary.

This is a seemingly quiet film with filled surprisingly big moments.

Briefly, the story starts in the years just prior to WWII.  King George V (played by Michael Gambon, of Harry Potter fame) is on the throne and concerned about the succession after his death.  His eldest son Prince Edward (played with uncanny good looks by Guy Pearce) is handsome and charming and has the look of a potentially beloved sovereign, but he is weak and completely besotted with a woman unsuited to be his queen and consort.  Next in line to the throne after his brother is Prince Albert (Colin Firth), called "Bertie" by his family.  He is handsome and athletic, but shy and reserved with a stammer that is nearly incapacitating.  The king strongly encourages Prince Albert to speak in public with disastrous results.  It is the role of a royal, however, to do his duty and many avenues were sought to help him correct his "defect," with little to no success.

The prince had given up hope of ever finding a "cure," until his wife, the Duchess of York (winningly played by Helena Bonham-Carter) found the unorthodox Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush).  Naturally, Albert resists Logue's exercises and forced intimacy, but as the need for him to speak more and more looms, he finally gives in and slowly finds success.  It is still a hard road for him, however, and he relapses in critical moments.  First the king dies and his brother succeeds him.  But Edward, now King Edward VIII, is determined to wed the American divorcée Wallis Simpson and is soon forced by the government and the church to abdicate in favor of Albert, who becomes King George VI.  The abdication is not popular, and the new king struggles with a role he had hoped never to attain.  When war with Germany is ultimately declared, it is up to His Majesty to be a strong leader for the country (if in name only).  His address to the nation is his ultimate test!

It was hard not to be reminded of another tour de force royal performance.  Helen Mirren as Queen Elizabeth II was brilliant in showing emotion repressed.  Here Colin Firth must also portray a British monarch's "stiff upper lip," but this is a much more emotional story.  Perhaps with The Queen, the emotion has been repressed over a lifetime that it has become habit.  Perhaps Princess Elizabeth (adorably played by Freya Wilson) and Princess Margaret (an also cute Ramona Marquez) grew up secure in their parents' love, with Lilibet brought up knowing her place in the line of succession.  Prince Albert did not have such security.  He was often sickly, abused and teased, forced to use his right hand over his natural left-handed tendencies.  He had to learn to keep a good face in public, but he seemingly was a good father who loved his girls, he loved and trusted his wife and learned to become good friends with Logue.  I've also read that through the war years he also had a trusted friendship with Winston Churchill (played almost too much as a caricature by Timothy Spall, also of Harry Potter fame).  By all accounts here, he was wary of intimacy, but once he let someone in he was the warmest of companions.  I hope that was true and not just dramatic license.  I would be eager to know if Her Majesty has seen the film and feels it to be accurate at all.

This film is chock full of the best of Britain's acting roster:

Colin Firth does British reserve like no one else.  He is known the world over for a definitive Mr. Darcy, the epitome of English elite.  Here he shows the audience that being King and being human are not mutally exclusive.  All the big moments in the film are his, deservedly so.  I was particularly moved by the scene where he breaks down in front of his new queen, confiding how inadequate he feels to be king.  And the last scene, his big wartime speech to the nation, is as tense as any Hitchcock movie!  Oscar-worthy, no doubt.

Geoffrey Rush's portrayal of Lionel Logue is not unlike some of his other brash, unconventional characters; but he's just as likeable here, with a sense of fun simmering below the surface that you long for Albert to throw caution to the wind and join him for the ride!

Helena Bonham-Carter as Elizabeth, Duchess of York was a welcome change from her usual kooky roles.  Here she is a warm wife, loving mother and quiet but influential force of nature.  She should try this more often!

Michael Gambon is rather known for his crusty roles, and he doesn't disappoint here.  As George V he rules confidently, even in the face of changing technology and society.  He hoped Albert would be king all along, I think, and perhaps that is why he pushed him so hard.  Gambon always commands every scene he's in, and even if there is no Dumbledore twinkle in his eyes, he still conveys a hopeful pride and affection for his son.

It was a joy to see Claire Bloom as the stately Queen Mary, Sir Derek Jacobi as fussy Archibishop Cosmo Lang, the beautiful Jennifer Ehle as Myrtle Logue, David Bamber as a theatre director (that's 3 P&P alums!) and Anthony Andrews as Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin.

Guy Pearce, as I mentioned above, was dashing as King Edward VIII (later the Duke of Windsor), and Eve Best as Wallis Simpson made the most of a small but pivotal role.  Mom & I both felt she really looked the part! (there was a nice shot of a reproduction piece of one of her many jewels)

When I was younger we had a book called Littlest Princesses: The Intimate Story of HRH Princess Elizabeth & HRH Princess Margaret As Told By Their Governess.  When I saw young Freya Wilson and Ramona Marquez as the two young princesses, I thought of that book at once!  I must see if I can find it at Mom & Dad's, as I was so very fond of it!

I'm always glad to see Timothy Spall in the credits of any movie.  His portrayal of Churchill was a little over the top, and he looked more Hitchcock than Churchill.  And yet, the voice was right if the expression was a bit too dour and his stature a bit on the short side.  The Prime Minister was a dynamic personality, and Spall's portrayal certainly conveyed that.


The screenplay itself was very good, though I believe it was the acting that made it outstanding.  The direction, photography and cinematography looked both of another time and yet very crisply current.  The score added much as well, particularly in that last tense speech scene.  The costuming looked period without being fussy.  I did feel a bit badly for the ladies though, as the 1930s wasn't the most stunningly flattering of periods for fashion!  lol!


All in all, I was swept away by this film, and unlike some films my emotions ran the gamut.  I laughed, I cried, I smiled, I cheered (inwardly, of course - this is the Royal Family we're talking about!)... I was simply won over by it.




Picture credit: Colin Firth as King George VI in The King's Speech, Bedlam Productions/The Weinstein Company.
The King's Speech Official Site

Cultivating Kindness - Part One

I've been thinking about this topic for sometime, and I apologize if it ends up being all over the map when it comes to putting my thoughts down in some coherent form.  This past holiday weekend has been wonderful, and I am reminded even more on such days how grateful I am to have a loving, generous family.  In this gratitude, especially as the end of the year looms, I can't help but ponder why it's so difficult for people to be nice to one another during other times of the year.

Of course, I realize that everyone has his or her trials and burdens; and they can be very difficult to overcome.  I do not make light of that at all.  I have certainly undergone my own trials in this life; and yet... I hope that those burdens or stresses have not allowed me to take my frustration out on others by being rude or hateful or judgmental.  I'm not perfect, and I know that I am bound to have hurt someone's feelings along the way, though it was never my intent.  (I'm really sorry, by the way!)

I am wondering more about our society as a whole allowing incivility and stinginess to prevail over being well-mannered and generous.  When did that get to be okay?  It's demeaning on every level, and no one likes being humiliated.  Not only is it often allowed, it is also accepted... many people believing somehow that they are deserving of such scorn!  How did that happen?

Now I know that when it comes to the psyche there are a lot more issues than having your pigtails tugged in school by a boy who kind of likes you.  Bullying is very real and devastating , and done both by family members and classmates.  As a society we are outraged when we hear of such treatment, especially when it forces the person being bullied to feel they have no other way out but suicide or even homicide.  We only have to watch the myriad of "It Gets Better" videos to know such loss of life touches us.

But there is a subtler kind of intimidation that goes on that is completely condoned... or at least ignored.  We are bombarded by such images and messages each and every day.  Take, for instance, the news... it doesn't matter if it's one of the cable news channels or the local stations, the viewer is subjected to sneering pundits and obnoxious ambulance chasers masquerading as "investigative" reporters.  They purport to be giving us newsworthy information or informing us about the "issues."  I find it to be neither.  Rather we are subjected to intrusive and sometimes ridiculous questioning of individuals taken unaware at their homes and places of business with "Do you still beat your wife" kind of interrogations.  Whether or not the individual is "guilty" of some crime is irrelevant, so long as they are taken by surprise with such tactics.  Honestly, would anyone look innocent with a microphone shoved in one's face and badgered with such questions??  As for the cable news talking heads... what they offer is not news -- it is opinion.  Everyone, of course, has a right to one.  Just don't tell me what I should think - please give me both sides of the issue and let me make up my own mind, thank-you-very-much.

Did I mention I've all but given up watching the news on television?

And TV personalities are not the only ones who foster this offensive dialog (monologue?).  Our public servants are just as bad, hurling insults and using scare tactics to earn our votes - we only have to look at one campaign ad to see how a race is going to be run.  Each side always complains the other side is mud-slinging, but from where I'm sitting it looks like they're both down there wallowing in it.

I could go on giving more examples... the paparazzi... reality television... even Facebook and other internet sites!  Somehow the perception is that it's okay to do or say whatever you want, even if it's hurtful and intrusive or even somewhat dangerous to other people.  It's easy to put the blame on all these things too... these inanimate, faceless institutions.  But Facebook isn't the problem... getting a picture of a celebrity isn't the problem... it's the manner in which those who do these things conduct themselves... without integrity, without concern for the feelings of others, maybe even for one's own feelings?

As I mentioned above, this topic is something I've been considering for some time.  I'm not on a soapbox here, though it may sound like it.  I just want to understand how we got to this place, and why it's okay with people.  Should we let it go?  Can we re-learn civility?  Is being kind a weakness?

How do we cultivate kindness?

New and Improved!

Welcome to the new and improved look of Aibreán's Musings!  It was looking a little stale, and I felt a bit the same way about writing in general, and blogging in particular.  Look for a new blog post soon - maybe even tomorrow!

Preparing the Vessel

So obviously I have not written much here as of late.  Topics arise and I consider posting some thoughts all the time, but then I quickly feel them not worth the effort and abandon them, leaving my blog dated and somewhat barren.

The last six months have not been uneventful, however.  I traveled quite a bit – Portland, OR… Napa Valley, CA… Harsen’s Island, MI… Buffalo, NY… Woodstock, IL – and enjoyed each trip to its fullest.  In between those times, though, were some dramatic and scary events – a car accident that could’ve been much worse than it was, and the sudden – shocking – death of a close friend, pretty much right in front of my eyes.  Coupled with that I’d pushed aside the more difficult feelings regarding having cancer and what that meant for me long-term emotionally.  I knew I would have to deal with it eventually, but put it off  as long as I could, just grateful that the cancer was caught extremely early, and my ordeal soon over (NOTE: Ovarian cancer is one of the deadliest of the gynecological cancers – most women are not diagnosed until Stage 3 or 4.  Mine was caught at Stage 1 – a miracle in itself!).

Now, I don’t want to give anyone the impression that my outlook on life was anything less than hopeful. I have not been in a deep, incapacitating depression – BUT I’ve felt listless and unmotivated. My creativity has been left simmering too long on the stove to evaporate into thin air… my needs for physical activity and occupation are iffy at best. Yes, I recognize that there is some mild depression going on for certain, and I decided I couldn’t let it linger. Time to meet it head on and send it packing!

I talked with my doctor about it. I talked with my pastor about it. And I came to the conclusion that the yearning for a spiritual retreat was something I could no longer put off either – I needed to do it sooner rather than later.


My thought was to head to Saint Meinrad, the great Benedictine house in southern Indiana. Perhaps someday I will make it there still, but after discussion about my options near-by with my pastor, as well as with another friend (former pastoral associate) from church, I was pointed in the direction of the Sisters of Saint Francis in Oldenberg, IN. I could not have made a better choice.


I was greeted with a warm hug by the dearest lady imaginable – a doting auntie with depths of wisdom and sage advice. She took me around the retreat center like it was a home, and that I was truly an honored guest. My room was spare, but large – and even though it was simply appointed there was hospitality within its walls. The slim twin bed called to me, and after settling in (I unpacked, which I rarely do when I travel) I took a brief, refreshing nap.


That evening I took myself off to dinner (great pizza – and a treat for Sister… Graeter’s ice cream in a cup!) and then the grocery store for a few supplies. I read a bit, looked at my current writing project and turned in VERY early. During the evening, though, I took time to think about what I had been really feeling the past few months and how I wanted to approach my talks with Sister.


Earlier in the week I had talked with another friend who admitted she had been neglecting her spiritual vessel, and it needed filling. That image stayed with me… but I didn’t exactly feel empty. I have been feeding my spiritual self to some extent, though with little effect it seemed. So if I wasn’t empty, what was I? I continued to keep the image of the vessel before me all week, but it was full and I’d continued to fill it.


However, it came to me that I was like a crystal vase with flowers in it.


But the water wasn’t fresh, and the flowers a bit past their prime.


Perhaps the vase had its water replenished, but it was never fully emptied out and given completely fresh water, so that the liquid under the faded beauty above had become stagnant and brackish. I realized that the flowers and cloudy water that were me needed to go – my vessel needed a thorough spiritual scrubbing and fresh, clear water to fill it!


So Sister and I talked at length how I might go about doing that. Almost instantly a poem came to mind to her and she quickly looked through her bookshelf to find one that seemed to have a spot near her regular workspace. The poem is by Rabindranath Tagore from the collection: Gitanjali (“Song Offerings”)…

I

Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.


This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.


At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.


Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.


Published by Macmillian Company – NY 1915 with introduction by W.B. Yeats


It truly struck a chord with me and reminded me a lot of some Rilke poems I love from Book of Hours – the intimate discourse with God that I yearn for but struggle to achieve. Perhaps I just try too hard. I spend a lot of time talking to God, but precious little time listening… or frankly, just being with God.


Being vs. Doing – that’s the other thing I struggle with constantly. There’s a difference between taking a few moments just being present, and taking time being idle. Just Being gives one the okay not to think, not to do, anything. Being Idle brings with it feelings of guilt that my garage needs its own deep clean, or the laundry is piling up or the ceiling needs painting – thinking of so many things I should be doing I get overwhelmed with what to do first and not get anything done.


God doesn’t care if my garage is a mess. Really, He doesn’t!


But I do… and I will straighten it up at some point. But I will make time just to Be as well.


And that’s what I did on Saturday. I had my talk with Sister then spent the next two and a half hours roaming the convent grounds, just being… no agenda… no duties… all worries and concerns left behind me for the rest of the weekend. I took some pictures, walked down to the farm, trod the labyrinth (a little different than the usual Chartres-style I’m more familiar with), walked a bit through town… I came back and had a light lunch and looked through a huge labyrinth tome that Sister loaned to me, went back to my room and napped and day-dreamed, then spent a good hour or two writing down impressions and ideas for myself about how to fill my vessel.


Occasionally my neighbor on the floor would spontaneously burst out into song in the next room – such a joyful noise! I need to learn to be less inhibited and do the same…


For dinner I decided to walk a block down the street and eat at the Perle Strassen Pub – yummy made-from-scratch food that you don’t often find anymore – and an obvious neighborhood favorite. Once I returned to the retreat center I met up with Sister again to talk about my day, and I had lots to show her… she enjoyed the day’s pictures that I downloaded on to my laptop, I shared a second of Tagore’s poems that also spoke to me, I read a bit of my novel Maid & Hood to her then showed her a bit of my writings about our discussion. It was a good day, and I felt bursting with energy to share my creativity with her!


After our talk I headed back to my room and did some pleasure-reading and again turned in early, completely forgetting that daylight savings time was ending – so I went to bed even earlier than I thought!


I attended mass in the Franciscan chapel on Sunday. One of the brothers who lives in the rectory across the street celebrated mass, and he was jolly and bursting with enthusiasm! I also enjoyed the sisters’ tone chime choir that played during the Preparation of the Gifts. We were also joined by a group of students from a nearby university on retreat (their group was called Kairos -- in Christian retreat terms meaning “God’s time” – something else for me to ponder!), so that brought a youthful energy to a community that is mostly retired, senior-age nuns. (Though not that the sisters don’t have their own vigor, believe me!)


After mass I had the opportunity to have coffee (well, juice for me) with a sister who has been a pastoral associate at my home parish, but has been quite ill the past few years. It was a blessing to see her, and see how much better she is doing! I took another little walk in the cemetery after that, looking for the grave of a sister who was the aunt of a family friend. I quickly found it, said a brief prayer then headed back to the retreat house to meet up with Sister to have some lunch, sitting with a lively group of nuns who had many topics of conversation going.


By then it was time to start packing up. I stripped the bed and remade it with fresh sheets, blessing the person who would next sleep there, packed my suitcase and carted it all down to the car. Once that was all done I sought out Sister for one last chat (and to settle up, of course!). We prayed together, enjoying the sunshine streaming into her office as we sat there. She encouraged me to return, which I will… hopefully in the spring… so I can take stock of how I’ve been implementing my Fresh Clean Water Act within me.


I tried to keep some vestige of peace on the drive home, leaving off the radio and CD player in favor of witnessing the beauty of God’s creation along the way. Because, of course, as soon as I returned to my daily routine the next day there was very little of that serenity to be found! I’m still working at Being this week – and my Water needs to be dumped again already… yet, at least now I’m aware of it needing to be done. I watered my actual plants today, and I’m trying to remember as I physically nurture those houseplants that I need to take my fifteen minutes to nurture myself as well.

Pondering Wintersongs and Other Musical Notes

The entire month of December is filled with music... sacred chorales... cheesy sentimental songs... ancient madrigals... old-fashioned carols... incessant muzak... all these and more. Music sets the tone for our various holiday celebrations, whether that festival is religious, secular, cultural or somewhere in between. I've spent most of the past several weeks listening to Sting's new recording, If On A Winter's Night..., which has been a decidedly different and thought-provoking change of pace from the months preparing for the Christmas liturgies at my parish where I sing as a cantor and choir member.

This recording isn't strictly a Christmas CD. In fact, I would venture to say the use of the word Christmas in various songs is purely incidental. Yet, there is a sense of spirituality that is unmistakable, a hushed, sometimes haunting tone that transports the listener to a crisp, white plane of solitude where each step crunches underfoot as we make our way toward that comforting warmth of hearth and home.

I've always been a huge fan of Sting's and eagerly enjoy his forays into unexpected musical disciplines. On this particular recording there are traces of celtic, eastern, jazz, bluegrass and baroque, just to name a few. By the inexperienced or the amateur, a mixture of these styles might sound forced or precious; but in the hands of a masterful, intelligent musician as Sting -- as well as the group he gathered around him, out of their initial improvising and experimenting has come a sound that is both evocative and natural. I hestitate to call it fusion. This is a sound all its own -- where the celtic harp and the jazzy trumpet play in perfect harmony with one another, and the Appalachian fiddle and classical cello are truly kindred cousins.

The fact that this recording is largely acoustic also adds a dimension to the atmosphere of the music. Naturally in this day and age there is production on each of the songs, and some of that has been done in recording studios all around the globe, but the core essence of this music is those several artists Sting invited to his Italian villa last February to make music and explore his lyrical winterscape.

This month PBS also aired a concert from Durham Cathedral in the north eastern province of York in England where Sting and his friends performed most of this album live. I was more than a little envious of those people in the audience. Sting rarely needs to tour anymore, so a one-time concert like this is truly a gift. In a way it's a shame, since the opportunity to experience thoughtful, professional musicians in a live space without a lot of non-musical equipment is becoming less and less the norm. Digital instruments and spectacular light displays certainly have their place, and I've attended my share of over-the-top exciting concerts; but this is music as it's been made over all the centuries, despite the pretty atmospheric lighting and occasional amps and microphones.

I had a similar experience at a Loreena McKennitt concert several years ago. Yes, the show was a production with plenty of intimate staging and professional soundboard mixing off stage; however, what set this concert apart (as I believe the Durham Catherdral concert also shares) is that those gathered on stage were not just making music... they were making music together. There is a huge difference, believe me. Any two people can get on stage and make a pleasing, harmonious sound at the same time, but when they work together, allowing the ebb and flow of sound is when it's elevated to something more than just pretty noise.

And anyone that is in an audience and has the opportunity to experience that knows what I'm talking about and can feel that unity -- because in playing with one another the artists really allow us to play with them too. There is something primal in music, and Sting's If On A Winter's Night... touches something of that in us, I think.