The Prime Minister (ours) is on Twitter. That's basically a so-what situation given the present digital (and alas, political) climate, but a mere five or so decades ago, people in public office were much more selective about their methods of exposure. In fact, some of them had a definite aversion to speaking out at all, as "The King's Speech" so eloquently reveals.
Directed by Tom Hooper and starring Colin Firth as Britain's King George VI, "The King's Speech" is deeply rewarding entertainment for the modern thinking person — that sizable but no doubt dwindling segment of the population that draws satisfaction from rustling the pages of a book instead of scrolling down the side of an iPad, or facing a friend across a table instead of seeing what everyone's up to on Facebook.
Not that the "The King's Speech" is a predictable ode to the way we once were. On the contrary, though steeped in the silky sepia tones of the 1930s, the film has an engaging buoyancy that releases it from the purely period/political. And much like the titular king, it hems and haws (albeit with excellent posture) its way through a muddled cloud of emotions that are at once both intensely personal and completely universal. You'll get a chance to observe a human state that's become increasingly rare in both cinema and the real world: genuine, undiluted embarrassment. Rash-inducing shame. Vulnerability exposing its scarred hide.