What is going on? A clue can be found near the climax. The buttoned-up king calls Logue “my friend”. In return, Logue at last calls him “Your Majesty”. The message is thumpingly clear: only once the king has shown he is Logue’s equal in humanity has he earned the Australian’s reverence. Triumphantly swelling chords give the game away. This is a moment of conservative closure: a celebration of a very British doctrine of meritocratic snobbery—the notion that deference is quite proper, as long as it is deserved.
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