The King’s Speech... can’t wait to see it.
Not only because it’s “a richly enjoyable, instantly absorbing true-life drama about the morganatic romance between introverted stammerer King George VI and his exuberant Australian speech therapist Lionel Logue” - The Guardian.
Obviously, it’s because it’s got Colin Firth in it.
What woman doesn’t fancy Firth?
He had us at: “Hello... Could you pass me a towel, please”, which he didn’t say but could have, as he strode manfully from the lake in Pride and Prejudice, sopping-wet shirt clinging to his chest.
Though, I have to say, my all-time favourite Firth moment was when he so assertively wrapped his coat around a vest and pants-clad Bridget Jones in the snow, and snogged her like nice boys aren’t supposed to.
He’s a great actor. He is heroically handsome; a Mills & Boon hero incarnate. But the real appeal lies in his personality - in character and out.
Self-effacing, funny, modest, he is. You only had to listen to his Golden Globe acceptance speech to know he’s not acting it.
And that so very English, ever so slightly stilted and introverted way about him... it all adds up to utterly adorable.
If you’d managed to get to him before his stunningly beautiful perfect-for-him wife Livia, you’d have fallen over yourself to encourage his attentions; you know, build up his confidence to go for the bad-boy kiss.
Our men are bemused; they can’t see why we find him so appealing.
For a start he’s called Colin.
And he’s a million miles from the suave, smooth, uber-confident rat they think we all go for.