Toby Young Toby Young

Status Anxiety: A toff act to follow

Toby Young suffers from Status Anxiety

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The key is in the subject matter. Our royal family is still a subject of universal fascination, practically the only one we have left. American audiences may develop the occasional crush on lower-class Brits — Michael Caine, Russell Brand, Piers Morgan — but their first love will always be for the upper classes. Witness the success of the Harry Potter franchise, a romantic celebration of our public schools, or the recent popularity of Downton Abbey, the most acclaimed Masterpiece Theatre series since Pride and Prejudice. Even the Bond franchise hobbles on, with its suave, Old Etonian central character. In America, if not in Britain, everyone loves a Lord.

In the case of The King’s Speech, writer David Seidler’s masterstroke was to make the character of George VI so vulnerable. He may be an emotionally repressed toff given to outbursts of vicious snobbery, but his speech impediment makes him lovable. By the end, when he has to deliver a speech to the nation, rallying his subjects at the outbreak of the second world war, every person in the cinema is rooting for him. He’s no longer a member of a desiccated ruling class that’s out of touch with ordinary people. He’s you or me, getting up in front of an audience and praying he doesn’t screw it up.

There’s a lesson here for the coalition. If David Davis and Andrew Neil are right and the leaders of the government are in danger of seeming a bit aloof in virtue of their privileged upbringing perhaps the answer is to manufacture some endearing weaknesses. George Osborne, for instance, could adopt an Ed Miliband-style lisp, while Nick Clegg could start subtly removing his hair, creating the impression of male pattern baldness. Cameron could begin to walk with a limp. They might not win the plaudits Colin Firth is currently receiving for his turn as the King, but they might win some public sympathy.

More seriously, the Prime Minister needs to watch his tendency to seem a little Flashman-esque. For an Old Etonian of a certain vintage, being compared to the George MacDonald Fraser character is enormously flattering — there’s a hint of Flashman in most products of the school. But Cameron must eschew this vanity and do his best to appear modest. The easeful manner and self-assurance that have won him praise so far could easily curdle into arrogance — not a vote-winner when the cuts start to hit. He and Steve Hilton need to sit down one evening at Chequers, stick The King’s Speech on the DVD player and figure out an alternative to Colin Firth’s stammer that will work for Dave. Not a limp, obviously, but something more psychologically deft.

I have no doubt that if Hilton hits on the right formula it could pay dividends for the Prime Minister at the next election. The Yanks would probably have lapped up The King’s Speech even if Tim Curry had played George VI as Flashman on crack, but the film would never have won universal praise over here if the toff at its heart hadn’t been given a severe handicap. This is why the British public has taken Boris Johnson to its breast. Paradoxically, the flaws in his character — his chronic disorganisation, his satyriasis — make him much more endearing than if he was a more dependable, upright figure. The combination of the booming upper-class voice and his all-too-apparent weaknesses make him irresistible. The natural deference the British instinctively feel towards members of the ruling class is no longer checked by their usual chippiness. Inverse snobbery transforms itself, almost imperceptibly, into snobbery.

This is the trick pulled off so elegantly by The King’s Speech and why it deserves all its Oscar nominations: George VI’s speech impediment gives audiences the permission they seek to give in to their own deferential feelings towards their lords and masters. If Cameron can just find the equivalent of that stammer, he’ll be unbeatable.

Toby Young is associate editor of The Spectator.

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