Ever since Harvey Weinstein proved that they're guaranteed Oscar bait, historical or period biopics have enjoyed a veritable explosion. This one, a British co-production is adapted from the diaries of Margaret Suckley, a one-time intime of America’s 32nd President, Franklin D. Roosevelt. Director and Cambridge graduate Roger Michell heads a prestigious cast including Bill Murray as FDR and Laura Linney as Suckley.

            The plot centres around the first ever British monarchical visit to the USA. But rather than a parade down Pennsylvania avenue, George VI and his wife are driven to upstate New York. The titular country estate is where FDR regularly sought refuge from politics, finding comfort not just in the beautiful landscapes but also in some of the equally beautiful women he found there. Those affairs, like his physical impairments, were concealed from the public eye for the remainder of his presidency and, for that matter, his life. Each head of state fighting a separate battle against a particular impediment is actually one of the few interesting points the film hits upon but for the most part, it is content with a world where the alliance between two of the world’s major powers hangs in the balance but can be saved with a picnic and some hotdogs. It just doesn’t float. 

              Mechanical plot is in short supply and as the details are stretched, so the pacing stalls. Every stolen glance, every cigarette puff, every dramatic pause is magnified, yet no character exploration or development results. Furthermore, the script never trusts the audience to figure anything out for themselves. Instead, we are constantly told how characters feel in order for us to make a connection with them - Linney has to narrate almost every event in bland, Twilight-esque voice-over. The patronising doesn’t quite end there either: Most of the film’s attempted comedy is set up and then the same gag or joke is repeated and relied on for the rest of the film. Olivia Coleman’s Elizabeth suffers particularly in this latter regard, sporting the same soured expression to express her discontent throughout. She and her husband remain, to the last, poor emulations of The King’s Speech kind. The fact that the entire ensemble remains shallow and distant (the second as a consequence of the first), generally has very little to do with the actors.

            Perhaps most disappointing is just how little close proximity to FDR we are really afforded. After all, this was the man who saw off prohibition and the depression, the man who approved the Manhattan Project, the man who cooled his relationship with Winston Churchill to make nice with Josef Stalin. Jon Voight’s short turn in Michael Bay’s Pearl Harbor schlock, managed more drama in one scene than Murray can over 90 minutes. Murray has proven in the past that his capabilities in serious roles are no less than the comedic ones he is more often remembered for. Here, the great man just doesn’t have much to work with and his talent feels wasted.

            As a television movie, shorter and with commercials to maintain our interest, Hyde Park on Hudson would work quite well. As it stands, dull’s the word and a miss will be a safe bet.