I’m not sure if young moviegoers today have an appreciation for Richard Burton, who’s rarely lumped in with Cary Grants and Jimmy Stewart. Burton had a career that resembled that of a movie star in 2026 because it was filled with highs and lows, turbulent celebrity marriages, and conflicting reports about how amenable he was. It might be because Burton existed within a transitional moment in cinematic history, and split the difference between Laurence Olivier and Marlon Brando; while trained in the classics and renowned as a theater legend, Burton would go on to develop the same moody, expressive performance style that hallmarked Brando, Montgomery Clift, and James Dean. Look Back in Anger, the John Osborne adaptation directed by Tony Richardson, was essentially Britain’s answer to A Place in the Sun, and Burton’s performance as the working-class anti-hero became the genesis for the kitchen sink realism movement.
Perhaps Burton’s legacy has been obscured because his films, while monumental at their time, aren’t frequently brought up as influences by contemporary directors, and thus underdiscussed by modern audiences. Despite coming up within the British class of actors that included Richard Harris and Albert Finney, Burton never got his Camelot or Tom Jones; his most famous role might be Cleopatra, which is associated with the height of Hollywood excess.
But the epic period dramas in which Burton frequently starred have aged well because of his lack of vanity and willingness to look repugnant on screen. His pompous, arrogant depiction of King Henry VIII in Anne of a Thousand Days is more compelling than Charles Laughton’s Oscar-winning performance in The Private Life of Henry VIII. In Becket, Burton’s hammy take on the titular royal advisor is subtle in comparison to Peter O’Toole’s contemptuous version of King Henry II.
There was a notable shift within the decades of cinema Burton triumphed where the difference between being a “great actor” and a “major movie star” became more evident; John Wayne was a star and Joseph Cotton was an actor, but Burton was capable of both. His greatest performance was in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, but it’s overlooked because of the more striking work from Elizabeth Taylor and Sandy Dennis in the same film. At a time in which religious epics were as big as superhero blockbusters are today, Burton starred in The Robe as Marsellus Gallio—the Roman officer whose legion executed Jesus—and still made him into a relatable character. These accomplishments might be overshadowed by the significant run of box office disasters Burton faced later in his career due to his heavy drinking, most notably Exorcist II: The Heretic. Still, it’d be unfair to judge a great actor by the missteps made after they peaked; no one would dispute the brilliance of Al Pacino, who has spent the last 20 years in garbage like Gigli and Jack and Jill.
The pretense of Burton’s career does provide framing necessary to appreciate Mr. Burton, a biopic where he’s played by Harry Lawtey. The title, however, does not refer to the actor, who changed his name from “Richard Jenkins” after he found a mentor in the Welsh teacher Phillip Burton, who’s the subject of the film. That “Mr. Burton” is played by Toby Jones as a kindly former theater performer who never fulfilled his dreams of stardom, but experienced a career revival after his top pupil became an internationally sensation. Although there was occasional strain within the relationship between Richard and Phillip, they remained close until the former’s death in 1984; afterward, Phillip became a confidant of Elizabeth Taylor, despite having previously objected to her marriage, divorce, and re-marriage to Richard.
Mr. Burton doesn’t get into that era of Hollywood history, which is for the better; there’s nothing more dull than seeing a recreation of classic cinema because the best recreation will still ring somewhat false. The film’s instead focused on the period of time where Richard discovered his love of acting when Phillip was his schoolmaster. Richard’s father was a Welsh miner who abandoned his family and passed on his drinking, and Phillip stepped in to become the boy’s adopted guardian after taking note of his interest in literature. The transformation of "Richard Jenkins” into “Richard Burton” (even if he was never legally qualified as Phillip’s ward) is the theme of the film, but it’s not a typical “inspirational teacher” story. The implication is that Richard had to reinvent himself and divorce himself from his lineage to achieve greatness; it’s not suggested that Phillip took advantage of his protege, but a physical attraction is implied. Lawtey isn’t an actor who’d have previously ever been seen as “the next Burton,” but his performance is excellent because it’s convincing that an undisciplined Welsh boy would develop the booming voice of a lion. That he’s able to replicate Burton’s vocal inflection is impressive, especially since the “breaking” of his voice is framed as a painful process.
Mr. Burton doesn’t directly conjure imagery from any of Richard’s films, but it’s impossible not to think of the dramatic differences between his humble upbringing and the massive technicolor sets that he stood within. None of Richard’s works allude to that better than his breakout role in a production of Henry V, which is what the second half of Mr. Burton is primarily focused upon. It’s not unusual for a young actor to find themselves within Prince Hal, but it's well-suited for Richard, who had to modify his cautious, timid nature into that of a commanding presence. It’s similar to Hal’s maturation throughout Shakespeare’s text, but Mr. Burton is more ambiguous on which of Richard’s father figures was his Falstaff, and which was Henry IV. Richard had to reject his father because he feared falling into the same line-of-work, but he also followed in his footsteps with an equally tumultuous family life.
Although Burton was more closely associated with Shakespeare than the Arthurian legend, his acclaimed role in the Broadway production of Camelot does lend an interesting reading to Mr. Burton. Arthurian legends that anticipated the King’s return during Britain’s darkest hour spiked in popularity during the London blitz, in which the notion of a messianic hero offered a kernel of hope to those devastated by World War II. Mr. Burton shows that Richard was deemed unsuitable to hold significant rank in the war. Nonetheless, he emerged from the conflict to become the embodiment of British virtues, and was arguably the most famous figure to ever hail from Wales.