The Voice

I’ve always been susceptible to the charms of a soothing voice.  Certain accents, cadences, lilts, intonations are literally music to my ears.  And I especially love ones that hail from across the pond.  The United Kingdom to be exact.

This goes back as far as I can remember.  Robert Donat in Goodbye, Mr. Chips, and The Thirty-Nine Steps, James Mason in The Desert Fox, and Lolita. Cary Grant in everything except Mr. Lucky, (more about this is a moment) Ronald Colman, elegant, elegant Ronald Colman in Random Harvest, The Late George Apley, The Prisoner of Zenda and If I Were King.  The Talk of the Town was a real jackpot.  Mr. Colman and Mr. Grant.  Ditto the great North by Northwest with Mr. Mason and Mr. Grant.

These gentlemen’s voices were the lullabies of my childhood.  They soothed my young nerves. I could have listened to these guys read the proverbial phone book and been in heaven.  There was just something in their vocal cords that moved me inexpressibly.

But certain other dialects hit my ear like chalk on a blackboard.  I’m an angry Henry Higgins when it comes to the likes of them.

I find Cockney hard- or should I say ” ‘ard” to swallow.  (The one mighty exception being Maurice Micklewhite aka Sir Michael Caine.  I’m crazy about ‘im and I don’t give two pins how ‘e sounds.)

All them h-droppings and v’s for f’s and f’s for th’s drives me bloomin’ batty.  Hence my dislike of Cary Grant in the aforementioned Mr. Lucky.  (And Larraine Day was a drip.  I liked the rhyming slang well enough, though.)

I find Liverpudlian charming. I’m sure my enduring luv affair with the Beatles played a big role here.  But I can not bear to hear London-born David Beckham.

Thats right, old Becks himself.  Suffice it to say that I was a big fan of his left foot and his pecs and his handsome face and his briefs- until he opened his yap.  When I first heard his reedy tenor, my adoration was over.  Blimey!  Shut up, Screechy Knickers!  Retire to run the whole soccer world if you must.  Just do it quietly.

I can barely tolerate Australian tones, either.  Most of the time it all just sounds to me like bad Cockney that has been remanded to the Big Ouse, mite.

But on the very plus side of the vocal ledger: Rex Harrison, Jeremy Irons, Alan Rickman, Michael Kitchen, Robert Hardy, Wilfred Hyde-White, Alistair Cooke, C. Aubrey Smith. Peter Ustinov, David Niven, these guys can talk my head off any time they’d like.  (Although sadly, David Niven, known for his skill as a fabulous raconteur, died in complete silence from the scourges of ALS.)

I am a sucker for an Irish brogue, too.  Peter O’Toole, Richard Harris, Liam Neeson, Pierce Brosnan.  Dreamy-sounding- all of them.

But of all the accents from over there that I find so alluring, none can match the effect as that of a bonnie Scottish brogue.  I find that this accent has charms above all others.

Don’t ask me why.  But the burr of their r’s and the musicality of this laryngeal region just kills me.  I have had the honor and the privilege of owning three wonderful Scotties- Andy, Gillis and Murdoch.  I always imagined if they could speak, they would sound just like Sean Connery, Ewan McGregor and Gerard Butler.

And today I want to single out two other Scotsmen whose acting gifts and vocal tonalities have knocked my argyles off.

Sir Ian Richardson and Peter Capaldi.

Thanks to the magic of Netflix, I have been swallowed up as late in House of Cards (the Brit version, of course) and a wonderful, not-to-be-missed laugh riot of a movie called In The Loop.

True, these political satires both have incredibly clever scripts about the evil machinations of Big British Government to play with, but these two gentleman take their pages and have a Battle of Bannockburn field day with them.

Sir Ian’s fabulous voice is used to great advantage here.  It’s as seductive as cocaine, and when he looks straight into the camera and narrates precisely what mayhem his character, Francis Urquhart, is going to cause, one is immediately trapped in his web of sly intrigue.

Born in Edinburgh, you may best recall this classically-trained thespian for his famous “Pardon me, would you have any Grey Poupon?” ad pitch he tossed- as he whizzed by in a Roller.  But his lean, saturnine, knife blade looks and wonderful vocal instrument are used to mesmerize in this glorious modern take on the Scottish Play.

All the other actors here are wizard and brill, too.  And Michael Kitchen really knocked me for a loop with his sly take of now-King (formerly Prince) Charles.  (He did him with Ronald Colman’s inflections.  Talk about a two-fer!)

Deal yourself into House of Cards.  From word one you’ll be hooked.  If not, I’ll eat my bumbershoot.

And speaking of loops, when you’re done with the series, stay with Netflix and get In The Loop.  Peter Capaldi has an Italian surname, but don’t ye be fooled.  He is Glaswegian as they come, and he starts the movie off with a bang of hysterical, torrid invective that would make Billy Connolly blush.

He is absolutely hilarious as a do-anything, scream-at-anyone, threaten-anything, pragmatic politico who hates Americans- but hates being on the losing side of any issue more.  (I won’t spoil one of the movie’s best jokes.  Let’s just say it occurs in a verbal insult showdown with an American general played with the right amount of bluster, profanity and menace by James Gandolfini.)

He says the filthiest and funniest things in a voice that just melts my heart.  This movie is a must-see.  Just get ready to bring your listening ears.  It’s fast and furious and you’ll probably miss a few lines because you’re laughing.  But hey, you can always go back and hear them again.  That’s one of the great advantages of Netflix.

Well that’s it for today, chums.  My time is up and I’ve got a hot date with a box set of Foyle’s War waiting for me.

Oh, and Nick and Natasha, did I happen to mention that when my time comes to go to that great movie palace in the sky, I want my eulogy delivered by Richard Burton?

The Welsh have a way with a word, too, you know.

Cheery-bye.