The power struggle that surrounds poor, pathetic George is another variation on the old corruption-beneath-the-glitz story that writers have told and retold over the millennia. What makes it fascinating again is the idea that the bizarre and irrational demands placed on kings and queens are enough to drive any reasonable person stark raving mad. The film hints that in a disturbing way, George's medical condition actually liberates him, giving him an excuse to vent all the base impulses he's suppressed for years.
As played by British actor Nigel Hawthorne (best known stateside for his work in the TV import "Yes, Minister"), the man is an imp trapped in the body of an elder statesman. Once the madness kicks in, he turns into a comic monster who uses the age-old customs governing how royalty are treated as an excuse to have a childishly grand old time. Some of the film's biggest laughs come from the sight of George spewing nonsense phrases or rambling on and on about nothing in particular, then eyeing whoever's listening with a vaguely menacing expression until they suppress their urges to laugh or gasp, and respond with the standard expressions of toadying approval.
His work here conjures the ghosts of several classic screen clowns. During the verbal sparring matches, he comes on like Groucho Marx surrounded by a kingdom full of Margaret Dumonts. During much of the slapstick--particularly a scene in which he wakes up the servants at his castle at the crack of dawn, runs around the surrounding countryside in his nightshirt, and demands that they follow him--he's like a blueblooded cousin of Harpo. And during scenes of bawdy, excremental humor, his expression of dementedly merry enthusiasm suggests Mel Brooks mugging his way through The History of the World, Part 1 (I think that at one point, George actually does exclaim, "It's good to be the king!"--and if he doesn't, the line is unspoken punctuation to everything he says and does, anyway).
There's no special filmmaking excitement on display in The Madness of King George; Hytner's direction reminded me of the smart-yet-bland aura found in a lot of British-produced Ealing Studios comedies from the '50s--except during a couple of striking sequences set inside George's castle, in which assorted hallways, bedchambers, and gigantic stairwells are photographed with an almost Wellesian grandeur. But the film is still immensely involving, primarily because of its large and talented cast. Helen Mirren is a joy as George's devoted wife, Queen Charlotte, who stands by her man even when he can't remember who she is, and Rupert Everett is also quite fine as the foppish Prince of Wales, who schemes to use George's madness as a pretext for seizing power. I was also fond of Rupert Graves, who plays the king's right-hand man and liaison to parliament, the unflappable Captain Grenville, with such an amusingly stiff upper lip that at times he suggests a Chuck Jones cartoon version of a royal bureaucrat.
The performers are so good that they rescue even the clunkiest scenes, like the one in which George and his doctor sit in lawn chairs and perform a passage from that classic of royal madness, King Lear. The scene itself underlines the script's main points a bit too emphatically, but Hawthorne has such a marvelously expressive voice that I didn't really care. While listening to him, you might find yourself thinking, as I did, that George is a sweet man who deserves to be cured, but not until he's finished reading.
The Madness of King George. Samuel Goldwyn. Nigel Hawthorne, Helen Mirren, Ian Holm, Rupert Everett, Rupert Graves. Written by Alan Bennett, from his play. Directed by Nicholas Hytner. Now showing.
Queen Margot. Miramax. Isabelle Adjani, Daniel Auteuil, Jean-Hugues Anglade, Vincent Perez. Written by Daniel Thompson and Patrice Chereau. Directed by Patrice Chereau. Now showing.
