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American movies are often very good at mining those great underlying myths that make films robustly travel across class, age, gender, culture.
American cinema tends to express a patriotic relationship to national identity on a regular basis.
In ‘The King’s Speech,’ patriotism is utterly contained within a historical moment, the third of September, 1939, where the aggressor is clear, the fight is clear, it hasn’t become complicated over time.
I think English film is very embarrassed by patriotism, generally.
The thing that fascinates me is that the way I came to film and television is extinct. Then there were gatekeepers, it was prohibitively expensive to make a film, to be a director you had to be an entrepreneur to raise money.
I think I would say ‘The King’s Speech’ is surprisingly funny, in fact the audiences in London, Toronto, LA, New York commented there’s more laughter in this film than in most comedies, while it is also a moving tear-jerker with an uplifting ending.
My films seem to be about men’s struggle with failure.
I mean, we’ve all had those dreams where, you know, we try to cry out and our voice won’t come.
My dad said, ‘The thing that I was told that was really helpful was that I mustn’t be afraid of the things I was afraid of when I was five years old’. The shock of his childhood had put him in this defensive crouch against the world, and he needed to know that he had a nice wife and kids and it wasn’t the same any more.
When I was growing up my mother would say, ‘Your dad may have to learn about being a father because he lost his own and that would have affected him’.