Vastly underrated, I find, though the political sentiments do hector somewhat, the use of son Michael as voice is in its own way as awkward as the “dictator” speeches, but here it comes out of personal affront, and not as an expression of vague and not all that helpful sap, even at that jr.’s speeches are pretty good, the fingerprinting at the airport while democracy’s paid tribute is a stinging piece of intellectual montage, of the good old-fashioned can’t-miss-it variety, the fire-hosing of the interrogating committee is a fine example of the old comic anarchy, and the critique ends up being pretty mild when it comes down to it; the silent homage at the night club is undercranked, amusing enough, but nowhere near as funny as the frozen-faced bit the real King is doing while he’s watching, some of the music and youth satire is pretty lame, but the movie trailers, and especially the TV talk, is deadly, and funny, what pleases most is the deportment of the old fellow himself: there’s none of the awkwardness with sound, the o’er dapper, the dripping sentimentality of past excursions, just the world’s greatest actor completely at ease, timing intact, body and voice both beautiful, staging things entertainingly, freshly and, when it comes down to it and no matter what everyone else says, superiorly