On one hand, the film neatly corrects many of the standard depictions. In a performance that is uncommonly impressive, Firth manages to perfectly evoke the experience of stuttering without falling back on a simplistic, Porky Pig-style rendition. He addresses the complex difficulties of one man's speech, the inner silences that tortured a proud man, and the cold fury that his impediment left in its wake. Having stuttered for most of my life, I found the authenticity of the opening scene to be both riveting and uncomfortable to watch. The film opens with the then-duke's speech at the closing of the 1925 British Empire Exhibition in Wembley Stadium. My cheeks redden for him, for us all, as words jam painfully in his throat and spluttered syllables echo mockingly across the silence. My own body tenses as he strangles himself to force out a sound and, as the camera pans to the awkward fidgeting of the crowd, I witness the familiar communal embarrassment.

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