An unlikely monarch and an unlikely movie:
Firth is among the most inward of actors, able to communicate a puzzled discomfort with a simple shift of his eyes; and in the role of Bertie—as Logue insists on calling him—he shows us a man walled in by the starchy imperiousness in which he’s been trained (“You’re the first ordinary Englishman I’ve spoken to,” he awkwardly tells his new therapist), and straining to free himself in search of help. Firth’s ability to project a fully detailed character through the scrim of Albert’s disability—a strangling knot of glottal chaos—is a marvel of concentrated skill.
Carter is also fine as Bertie’s affectionate wife, officially a commoner herself, who can play the game of royal deportment and also set it aside when necessary. (“It’s ‘Your Majesty’ the first time,” she tells Logue’s flustered wife (Jennifer Ehle) with muted amusement, “then ‘Ma’am’ after that.”)
But Bertie made himself - with the help of his formidable Queen - a very fine King.