Prince Albert (Colin Firth), future British monarch, and Dr. Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush) engage in an unconventional speech therapy session in Tom Hooper’s “The King’s Speech.”

Surveying this year’s awards season, it seems only fitting that director Tom Hooper has generated so much talk with his film about a young British monarch’s speech impediment. After all, “The King’s Speech” seems to revolve almost entirely around words, expectations, and an important moment in the not-too-distant future. But while the creators of the film convey character, emotion, and urgency with their story, the film’s all-important words themselves ultimately communicate very little meaning.

“The King’s Speech” chronicles how Prince Albert of Britain (Colin Firth)—later King George VI—overcame a severe stutter through years of speech therapy with the unorthodox Dr. Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush). At the same time, the film follows the winding political currents that brought Albert to the throne and Britain to war, and that inexorably lead to the titular “King’s Speech”—wherein the speech-challenged King George must rally his country to battle.

With every moment of his screen time, Firth adds layer after layer of complexity to the character of Prince “Bertie”. Whereas other actors might have given only lip service to the stuttering required for the role of George VI, Firth transforms every pause and partial utterance into a subtle but penetrating look into the mind of the frustrated royal he portrays.

Someone who can likely appreciate the unique pain and stigma of stuttering better than anyone is the film’s screenwriter, David Seidler, who overcame his own severe stutter as a child—an experience which clearly informs his script. But even apart from the skillfully crafted staccato dialogue, Seidler’s screenplay is remarkably clever, rife with metaphors, ambiguity, and Shakespearean allusions.

Director Hooper’s Britain reflects the grim uncertainty of the early 20th century. Typical British fog, rain, and snow press against the windows of dimly-lit offices and palace quarters while characters discuss their seemingly hopeless prospects. The musical backdrop, composed by Alexandre Desplat—who also scored this fall’s dark “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1”—complements the mood well with somber and often ominous melodies. The music thus mirrors the inner turmoil of both Europe and Prince Albert.

What saves “The King’s Speech” from its own melancholy, however, are the performances of Geoffrey Rush, as Firth’s speech therapist, and Helena Bonham Carter, as the monarch’s wife. Rush brings his delightful comedic style to the eccentric role of Dr. Lionel Logue, an unconventional physician who moonlights as an unsuccessful Shakespearan actor, while Bonham Carter delivers her bittersweet lines with both resolve and emotional tenderness. As Firth carries the heavy emotional load of the film, Rush and Bonham Carter are constantly on hand to lighten it. Together they enable the film to achieve a healthy balance between urgency and levity.

But setting aside its performances, what “The King’s Speech” lacks is any real substantive message. Perplexities such as the limits of family loyalty and royal responsibility to the state give Hooper’s cast something to talk about, but only so long as these issues pertain to Bertie’s situation as a stutter-burdened king. When the nervous but resolute George VI finally gives his much anticipated radio address to the nation, their smiles and gentle nods emphasize his accomplishment in actually forming words rather than the actual importance of the words themselves. The emotions involved are powerful, but the words involved seem almost beside the point. Indeed, the film’s most memorable utterances are undeniably its witty offhand conversations and wacky speech therapy sessions, and not its political theater. “The King’s Speech” is certainly full of talk, but the question remains—about what?