Late in the year, it always happens. A film, made in Britain, finds its way across the Atlantic, delights the critics in the big cities, snags all sorts of trophies at awards time, then makes way for the next UK import late the next year, rinse and repeat. So it was late in 2010 as word of a film called The King’s Speech filtered here. Period piece, royalty, fine English actors doing their English best….not exactly something that rouses the general public all too eager to slide from one mind-numbing Hollywood blockbuster to another. But then the particulars of the film emerged, arousing curiosity. At the same time came word of audiences laughing, crying and applauding when it was done, signs that they were emotionally involved in the story, which is something peculiar to movie experiences on our shores. Finally, I could not avoid the persistent drumbeat and had to see The King’s Speech. And within five minutes, I was enthralled, drawn into a story of shame, duty, class-consciousness, friendship, honor and courage that soars way beyond normal cinema. It is, of course, the tale of Prince Albert, the Duke of York, paralyzed by a severe stammer, which is a big problem in the burgeoning age of communication (radio at that time). With the help of a peculiar speech therapist, he finds his voice and, thrust by fate onto the throne as King George VI, he rallies the British Empire as World War II breaks out. Hardly anyone now remembers that the father of Queen Elizabeth stuttered. However, David Siedler, a Brit who moved to the United States as a boy, considered George VI a hero because he, too, fought a stammer until his teen years. Siedler wrote the script for The King’s Speech decades ago, but waited until George VI’s wife, known to us as the Queen Mother, died before making an effort to bring it to the screen. In time, he found an able director, Tom Hooper, who did the terrific “John Adams” miniseries for HBO. Here is where the brilliance starts. Hooper deliberately de-emphasizes the grandeur of the royal family. Most of the scenes are shot in simple rooms and corridors, with minute attention to 1930s detail that adds to the story’s authentic impact. Without the unnecessary glitz, it allows for the human elements of the story to shine – especially the bond formed between the monarch and Lionel Logue, the failed Australian actor reduced to speech coaching to make end’s meet for his family. They start with mutual suspicion and, for a while, cannot make it past the vast difference in their social status. Yet they turn into friends, finding strength in each other through hard work and lots of good humor. Oh yeah, and while this is going on things are falling apart, both in the House of Windsor and the world at large. From Edward VIII’s abdication to marry the twice-divorced Wallis Simpson to the looming shadow of war, things conspire to force George VI into a role he never wanted for himself, but must face with uncommon heroism. Everyone in the cast sparkles. Michael Gambon (as Bertie’s father, King George V) and Guy Pearce (as the shallow Edward), in their brief time on screen, richly portray the root causes of George’s humiliation and shame. Helena Bonham Carter is a fetching and charming presence as the future Queen Mum. Geoffrey Rush glows as Logue, every bit the equal to his royal patient as he works his odd magic on Bertie. This brings us to Colin Firth. All the other fine elements of the film would not matter one whit if Firth, playing George VI, does not give one of the most resonant performances in recent movie history, making him all but a lock for the Best Actor Oscar. All who go through it say that stammering is a nightmare that makes any social setting a potential disaster. It’s impossible for those who speak clearly to understand that terror. As such, when an actor, well-trained and well-spoken, takes on a role like this, it can turn into camp if handled the wrong way. Against those odds, Colin Firth triumphs. He makes you ache for Bertie and allows you to sympathize with his perils, his inability to be the full person he wants to be. Yet there are times when he succumbs to human weakness and his royal bearing turns him into a pompous you-know-what. But when his better angels win out, it’s inspiring and transcendent. Firth captures all of those contrasting moods and proves his greatness as an actor. Some, of course, are quibbling about the history, as if films have somehow never, ever, fudged the facts before. Others have poor-mouthed the crowd-pleasing aspects, forgetting that the point is to get an audience involved, not just leave them cold. They can have their reservations. I’d rather state the important point – that, even after seeing it, The King’s Speech has stayed with me in a way few movies ever have. A tale about a monarch is not supposed to create such a feeling, but this one does.