Hyde Park on Hudson

Overview

'Handjobs on Hudson' would be a better title for this film, and it turns out I'm not the first reviewer to say it. After the initial handjob scene between Franklin D. Roosevelt (Bill Murray) and his sheltered fifth cousin, the local naif Daisy (Laura Linney), I began seeing handjobs everywhere. Daisy seems to exist solely to simulate jerk offs, whether she's on her knees, vigorously rubbing her aged aunt's legs; shaking FDR's martini after he spills it on himself; or smearing mustard all over King George's hot dog.

That's King George VI, the stuttering guy we all know and love thanks to The King's Speech. But where's Colin Firth? It would have been so winning to have he and Helena Bonham-Carter reprise their roles as King George and Queen Elizabeth, almost like a He-Man/She-Ra crossover episode. Instead we have the hilarious Samuel West and Olivia Colman, to whom I warmed, as caricaturish as their portrayals are.

The plot centers on their 1939 visit to the Roosevelt household in upstate New York, a visit with diplomatic repurcussions at a critical moment when England sought America's help against Hitler. Framing this historical weekend is the story of Daisy's evolving relationship with the President, which comes across rather more degrading than comedic.

Screenwriter Richard Nelson nonetheless tries to reimagine the gathering on the Hudson as a comedy of manners, as the King and Queen, FDR, his wife Eleanor (Olivia Williams), secretary Missy (Elizabeth Marvel), and mistress Daisy all navigate their own dramas. Cue the trope of uptight Britain being shown how to kick back and have a good time by its affluent colonial son, plied with late-night martinis, hot dogs, and not-so-subtle parallels made between the King's stutter and the President's polio.

Visually, there's tons to enjoy, with all the trappings of the era captured impeccably by cinematographer Lol Crawley, who, mind you, seems to be having a private LOL at us some of the time (see: handjob scene). I didn't laugh at the jokes so much as listen out for Bill Murray's adorable mid-Atlantic accent.

The film's failing, as many reviewers lament, is that its story is told through the inconsequential eyes of Daisy. Though the screenwriter met the real Daisy Suckley in the 1980s, he fails to connect to her; the climactic moment of betrayal comes across as unearned melodrama, offering very little emotional wisdom. I felt sorry for the character, because there's not enough appeal written into her for us to be truly on her side. At the end, composer Jeremy Sams' main theme repeats itself for the 50th time and we're offered a montage that glosses over too many questions. I genuinely hoped that as far as history and sexual politics went, it was inaccurate.

https://youtube.com/watch?v=UQaScjiWDyY