Profiles in Courage

Watching The King’s Speech last night, I saw what my dad liked so much. It was the archetype of a conservative hero.

Prince Albert, forced into the role of King, was, despite his apparent weakness, deeply imbued with a sense of responsibility to his country and its people. Through tremendous strength of character, he overcame a stultifying and emotionally blighted upbringing and the resulting speech impediment, rising to his vital duty in his country’s hour of greatest need. Unlike his wastrel brother, who shamelessly abandoned his responsibility and chose a shallow life of self-indulgence, Albert accepted the mantle. He took up his cross. With the dogged and creative help of an unorthodox friend and mentor, and the unflagging support of a devoted wife who was his equal in heroism, Albert persevered in excruciating effort to overcome his disability and be the king his country needed, saving England and the world. He did so, moreover, without self-congratulation and without self-pity. This is what my father saw.

I only saw, at first, the stellar acting, the beautiful photography, the richness of period detail. The story was interesting—that Albert’s tortuous rise should align with the advent of radio, his perfect nemesis, was particularly compelling—but the handling of it was fairly pedestrian. I was not transported by the film. It was not until reflecting later that I recognized this was my father’s perfect parable.