"The Madness of King George"

David Barson
Department of English
University of Otago
New Zealand

david.barson@stonebow.otago.ac.nz

Deep South v.1 n.3 (Spring, 1995)

Starring: Nigel Hawthorne, Helen Mirren, Ian Holm, Rupert Everett, Rupert Graves, and Amanda Donohoe.
Directed by: Nicholas Hytner.
Screenplay by: Alan Bennet (based on his play).

Disruption and madness are disturbing, but never more so than when they occur in a head of state. Nicholas Hytner's recent handling of Alan Bennet's stage play The Madness of George III (retitled for film as The Madness of King George), investigates the implications of such a crisis at a political and personal level. In his directorial debut for cinema, Hytner has revealed the very sensitive side of a figure who has been to date too easily dismissed as "the Mad King".

Nigel Hawthorne is cast in the role he first played on the British stage and carries this experience well to the screen. He offers a moving portrayal of a man tormented by a misunderstood illness. Also at issue, however, is the lack of understanding he faces from politicians, courtiers and family, with the exception of his supportive wife, Queen Charlotte, played by Helen Mirren. The tenderness Mirren brings to the role won her the Best actress award at this year's Cannes Film Festival. The intimate conversations between "Mr King" and "Mrs King" highlight the compassion George fails to find elsewhere. This is particularly evident in his tempestuous relationship with the foppish Prince of Wales (Rupert Everett). This is the study of a King in isolation.

In the transition from stage to screen a good deal of the play's focus on character seems almost overpowered by the lavish setting, yet, paradoxically the film allows for more expression of character at times due to the ability of film to show subtlety of expression invisible to the audience of a play. The stage version deals primarily with the deterioration and recovery of a man's mind, whereas the climax of the film seems to emphasise the drama involved in foiling the controversial Parliamentary Bill to remove the King from his throne. The Prince of Wales suffers in this shift of emphasis, as a great deal of the sympathy for him is lost in his portrayal as a spoiled, impatiently ambitious royal brat -- the pathos of the depths of his frustration at his life of enforced idleness and feelings of impotence are not as fully revealed to us as they are in the stage play.

The film makes a great deal of the loss of the "colonies" (although by 1788, the date of the film's opening, they had already been lost for some time), perhaps intending to draw a parallel with the loss of the King's sanity, or perhaps simply to increase the appeal of the film for an American audience. The idea of the lost American colonies being the "place we don't mention", however does serve to highlight once again the superficiality of the royal court -- a place where appearance is more important than reality -- forbidding the mention of America makes it seem as though it was never lost. This is contributed to by the sumptuous costuming and the music of Handel (adapted by George Fenton, who is also known for the music of Dangerous Liaisons) which helps in creating the ornate public facade which initially disguises the chaos beneath the surface of the court, a chaos which becomes visible through the King's behaviour during a performance of The Water Music; George leaps up and takes charge of the harpsichord and turns Handel's elegant Minuet into a cacophony. Indeed, this idea forms one of the major themes of both film and play. The aura of majesty surrounding King George is stripped away layer by layer like the removal of his royal robes as his affliction worsens. He is reduced somehow to the level of common humanity once the arcane rituals of courtly behaviour cease to be applied to the once sacrosanct royal person, eventually being manhandled and suffering degradations akin to those of the lowest inmate of Bedlam. This thematic movement reaches a form of climax when George, in a moment of revelation declares that he can now remember how to "seem" himself. He is able once more to project an image of self that is appropriate to the world's perception of what it is to be a monarch. Throughout his madness, George recalls he had always felt himself, but is only deemed cured by the stern Dr Willis (Ian Holm) when he can remember how to "seem". George has known all along that surface appearance is what is truly important in royal life; he constantly reminds his family that the principal duty of royalty is simply to "smile and wave -- that's what you're paid for!"

Fortunately, there is constant relief from what could otherwise be a rather morbid film through the underlying vein of humour that runs throughout. The King's mannerisms and eccentric behaviour (even when sane) provide some memorable moments. The delicious irony of Ian Holm's character claiming to have never read Shakespeare leads to an unforgettable scene in which George reads the role of King Lear as a part of his "therapy", a role, which ironically leads to his moment of revelation and "cure". Of course, the parallel with Lear leads the audience to infer (as indeed history itself tells us) that George's recovery was, unfortunately, only temporary.