The Madness of King George, the film adaptation of the play The Madness of George III, maybe isn't a good movie—honestly I'm not sure how to rate something like Madness of King George—but it's at least a memorable one, and I remember feeling happy when its success brought renewed fame to actor Nigel Hawthorne, a favorite of mine on account of "Yes, Minister."
There's an overarching difficulty with the movie: it's a kind of heartwarming and softened portrayal of something that did not, in fact, happen. The real King George III was not cured of mental illness; he had recoveries and relapses, worsening all the while, until he died in a state of abject misery—crushed under the weight of multiple illnesses, his kingdom effectively handed over to the care of his incompetent son. (Hugh Laurie makes Prince George seem FAR more endearing and charming than what he actually was, btw.)
I suppose I could just discard Madness of King George as "problematical" and look for better movies about mental illness, but I can't quite do that. The film makes a provocative assertion: it states that without exercising some basic self-discipline—without in fact being forced to exert self-discipline—over his wayward self, King George's mental illness would never hope to get better. Before Willis bulldozes his way into his life, King George is someone who can do what he likes; he's protected and gently herded around by scores of helping hands even when he's totally out of control. The film suggests that because there's no reason for George ever to get better—he'll be "deferred to, agreed with, acquiesced in" no matter what he does—George doesn't improve until Willis grabs and holds him.
It's horrible to watch. It's abuse. And yet...I can't help but feel there's a point to it.
~Chara