When it comes to English actors, two names always come to mind: Hugh Grant and Colin Firth—mainly because of their voices. The former caught my attention back in the nineties—Four Weddings and a Funeral, of course—with his light, slightly soft voice, often carrying a hesitant rhythm. That West London accent, touched with an informal edge, became an instant embodiment of Englishness. Over the years, though, that flavour has lost its charm; now it actually annoys me to a degree.
The latter is another story entirely. For a long time I somehow managed to miss Firth and can’t recall him at all until I watched his Oscar-nominated role of a grieving gay man in the romantic drama A Single Man. What a delight. That controlled, calm and authoritative tone that lends gravitas and elegance while conveying the underlying despair and tragedy of loss—no wonder his accent is often seen as the epitome of refined British upper-class speech. But what struck me the most is that I find Firth’s voice magnetic regardless of whether I watch Mothering Sunday or Wings of Fame. That probably says more about me than either of these two actors.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
hidden pilcrow 