On Being Common

Those of us who are not royal are known as commoners, a slang term for the common people, the ones without titles, without lands, without wealth, without all things regal. The concept was part of a popular commercial film several years ago based on the precept from a royal princess that the King of Denmark could not find happiness with a mere "common." 'Tis better to have a comfortable marriage without real love/passion with a person of one's station in life than it is to have a passionate marriage between a royal and a "common" who can never truly understand the depth of the royal lifestyle. Royals understand without being told, while commons can never understand no matter how often they are told.

The same theme emerges from the riveting Academy-nominated film, The King's Speech, when Bertie seeks professional help for his stammer, but feels violently betrayed when he is told that his speech therapist is a common man. Bertie does not take into account that it was his assumption that Lionel is a doctor, not that Lionel ever professed to be anything other than who he is. Although Lionel's treatment of the King's stammer is effective, the intimacy Bertie shares with a common tears their relationship asunder.

There are always deeply-seated reasons for who we are, what we believe, and how we live our lives. Sometimes, it is the little things that make a huge pile of self-doubt, and other times, it is one event, one person, one time in our lives that covers our world with a dense layer of concrete that no one can ever penetrate. For the King, it is his very existence as a royal that undermines his life and manifests as a stammer. Add to that an overly-critical father, a demanding, remote, affectionless mother, and a brother whose lifestyle is both envied and dismayed as he approaches his destiny as the next King of England. Bertie is the solid one, the planner and plodder, but the one for whom confrontation is anathema. His stammer lessens in a comforting environment and escalates in a threatening environment, and there is no environment more threatening than being crowned King of England when that is the last station in life that the individual wants to achieve.

The film is absolutely incredible: it feels real because the actors don't portray their characters, but are the characters. The anguish of the King is juxtaposed with the calm strength of the common man who keeps his confidence, as well as builds it. Many times, in the midst of deep, important scenes on the screen, the well-timed laugh loosens up both the King and the audience so the story can continue. When the King breaks through his royal reserve and inserts "fuckfuckfuck" into his speech to stop his stammer, it relieves not just his tension about the next word to come out of his mouth, but the audiences' tension for him to get past the word, as well as the stammer. The audience wants the stammer to be conquered so the man can become the King the people need him to be, not a King whose every word is an elocution contest.

Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush shine in this film because they are actors, not stars. Actors portray characters; stars portray themselves with a variety of character names in a variety of films. (I am tired of watching films wherein "upstarts" are given "starring" roles because they draw great "box office." Translation: put in a name the younger crowd will recognize so this dog earns enough revenue to pay the bills, commercialism at its worst.) Firth and Rush shine in a film that is gritty, that is real, that is important on levels that are important to the audience. Imagine a film without sex, without violence, without commercialism -- and what you see is an important film, a film with a message for even the most common viewer. The supporting cast creates the dichotomy between a common man who is born royal, and a scene after Bertie's confirmation as the new King drives the message home as his two young daughters meet him the hallway with a curtsey and address him as "Your Majesty." The King is no longer just "father" to the girls, but King to all his subjects, including his own intimate family.

It makes me a bit sad to realize that I sent my young guest to see Tyler Perry's latest film, which I knew she'd enjoy because it's much easier, while I sat in a theatre filled with my peers, all of whom experienced an uncommonly great film. Because there is no way to put an old head onto young shoulders, I'm sure I made the right decision this time, but I long for the days when movie-goers are less common and more regal in their box office decisions, especially while making the decision to go for the cheap laugh or engage in the experience.