Beyond the Stuttering: Power and Relationship in “The King’s Speech”

A movie about a great deal more than just stuttering

I finally watched The King’s Speech this weekend. Like most speech-language pathologists, I’ve worked with people who stutter, though I’m by no means a specialist. As I watched the movie I found myself remembering clients—some who agreed to treatment but avoided the work; some who cried; some who transformed themselves; and at least one who blew up in a rage and ran out of the session.

When I was a master’s student, we were assigned homework to practice stuttering. We had to try out different kinds—repeating and elongating sounds, or blocking sound completely—and then we had to experiment with stuttering in public (the coffee shop near our clinic did a huge trade in faux stuttering).

My stuttering couldn’t hold a candle to Colin Firth’s. He was remarkable and mesmerizing (and painful). When I heard him speak in a post-movie interview, I kept waiting for him to revert to the stuttering he made seem to true, so embedded in his body. Similarly, when I heard the recording of the real King George VI, I heard someone who sounded like Colin Firth.

But as compelling as all that stuttering was, something else in the film impressed me more: the balance of power as managed by speech therapist Lionel Logue.

Lionel knew that the relationship was key to treatment. He wasn’t afraid to set the boundaries from the start, even at the risk of losing the client. He insisted that treatment take place in his office: “My game, my turf, my rules.” When the wife pulled out her wild card, “What if [the patient] is the Duke of York?,” Logue was momentarily awed, or at least surprised, but he held firm. “No exceptions.”

Power was negotiated many times in the movie:

• over names: Logue chose “Berti” (from the Duke’s name, Albert) as a way to make the Duke a real person of equal standing, and he requested that the Duke call him Lionel for the same reason. But the Duke persisted in using “Logue” until the pivotal moment when, playing with a model plane, he began revealing more of his painful story.

• over environment: In addition to the aforementioned initial scene about the treatment setting, Logue demanded that Westminster Abby be cleared for practice, standing up to the powerful Archbishop who wished to replace him. He also refused to let the Duke smoke in therapy.

• over legitimacy: My favorite moment—having just been harshly challenged and called a fraud, Logue sat in the King’s chair, thereby violating a boundary set in historic convention. He took the risk in order to goad the King into affirming his own legitimacy: “I have a voice.”

• over touch: Lionel touched the Duke when attempting to convince him that he could, in fact, be King. The Duke drew away in anger, rejecting the intimate move. He then cancelled the sessions until necessity brought him back, when both were willing to acknowledge fault and begin anew (renegotiating the relationship). Later, after his successful pre-war speech, the King reached out to touch Logue and called him “friend,” acknowledging the closeness between them (and revising his life story that he didn’t have friends). Interestingly, that is when Logue called him “Your Majesty,” as if to say, “Yes, indeed, we are friends, and I now also see you as the great King I knew you could be.”

It is no small matter to manage the parameters of power within working relationships. Suppose a king hired you, or a U.S. version of royalty (Bill Gates, President Obama, George Clooney)? Would you be able to maintain your core values and your boundaries? Would you be able to see this person as a real person, a partner in the working process? Or would awe, fear, self-congratulation, or greed (oooh, a client with deep pockets!) overwhelm you?

Lionel Logue was a stable force against which King George could struggle—pushing, pulling, arguing, avoiding, and embracing—all the ways a client may flounder while attempting something fearful. Logue created a genuine, safe relationship with crystal clear boundaries, and then he stayed available for as long as it took. No matter how outdated or unfounded many of his techniques, Logue was a master therapist of his time.

Questions for Reflection: What aspects of power in a relationship make you comfortable? Uncomfortable? When are you most aware of boundaries and challenges to them? With whom do you succeed most in managing power? Least?

Writing Prompts: “I manage power in a relationship best when ______” (then keep writing); “I end up in power struggles when ______” (then keep writing); “My boundaries tend to be strongest when ______” (then keep writing); “I know I need to watch my boundaries when ______” (then keep writing).

Tagged as: boundaries, Colin Firth, King George VI, Lionel Logue, power in a relationship, stuttering, The King's Speech