The King's Speech

I’m not a frequent moviegoer, which stems from my family’s lack of interest in most forms of electronic entertainment. Thus, when my mother and father disappeared from the house for a few hours and returned, praising the movie “The King’s Speech,” I was both surprised and intrigued.

My initial qualms over the rating of the movie (as I do have a, ah, mildly delicate constitution) were quenched by my mother, who scorned the R rating as “laughable” and “unwarranted”. This from one whose nature is more prone than mine to feel the unwanted emotions (fear, disgust, shock etc) caused by the manipulating images on the screen.

A few days later, I found myself at the theater with a good-natured group of comrades. Oddly enough, I left the movie feeling unquestionably pleased. Wait. I walk out of the theater… from a movie in which no violence, intrigue, or hair-brained plots have been glorified and unforgivably expounded upon. None of that commonplace material one grows tired of merely by hearsay (as I’ve said, I don’t watch enough to profess being a connoisseur in this area.) No, this movie’s primary constituents were: believable actors, good dialogue, a simple story entwined with raw emotion, and even a bit of history. All in all, I greatly enjoyed it.

Now. Fear not for any major spoilers, though if you have a penchant for divining the outcome of events via minute tidbits of information, you might wish to halt your reading here.

One interesting scene found the protagonist, King Charles VI, attempting to read a passage from Shakespeare to his speech therapist, Lionel. The King utterly failed when he could hear his own voice, but while listening to blaring classical music, he was able to read fluidly from the passage. I have no idea if this has any scientific backing, as well as no clue as to why the King simply did not listen to music at every instance in which he was required to give a speech. But, the idea of something inside one balking at one's own voice, or at least, being affected by one’s own voice, is a relatable theme. I am greatly perturbed when I hear recordings of my voice on the family's answering machine. This is often the case for most people I’ve met (omitting the chorally gifted, who have the arduous task of hearing recordings of themselves singing).

More unusually, though, is my reaction whenever I, by chance, encounter a mirror. I move from initial, brief confusion to amusement and worry (amusement at my countenance, worry if my visage is unusually pale or emaciated). Is this lack of self-consciousness a bad thing? I can't say. This temperament has its pros and cons: on the one hand, I don’t have the psychological make-up to worry over my external portrayal; on the other hand, I may talk too loudly, or offend the eyes of others with my appearance.

Annoyingly, it is usually most prudent to work towards the happy-medium between the two poles. Optimistically, I feel that it is better to move from my current extreme to the other, as overtly self-conscious people tend to annoy more than their opposite.