A Teacher’s Impact: The Story of Mr. Burton and Richard Burton

Though Elizabeth Taylor doesn’t feature in Marc Evans’s new film focusing on her fifth—and sixth—husband, Richard Burton, her influence is immediately felt via an epigraph: “Without Philip Burton, there would never have been a Richard Burton. That great rolling voice that cracked like wild Atlantic waves would never have been heard outside the valley.”

In this centenary year celebrating the actor’s birth, *Mr. Burton* explores the story of that iconic voice and the bond between two pivotal figures in its creation. Philip Henry Burton, affectionately known as Mr. Burton or P. H. (played by Toby Jones), is a schoolteacher in wartime Port Talbot, who takes on the role of mentor to his student Richard Jenkins, or Richie (Harry Lawtey). Richie, the awkward son of a mining family, has yet to transform into the renowned Richard Burton. P.H. becomes a multifaceted figure in Richie’s life: teacher, acting coach, benefactor, surrogate father, legal guardian, and namesake.

Their connection begins in 1942, sparked by their mutual enjoyment of Shakespeare. However, for Elfed (Aneurin Barnard), a miner and Richie’s brother-in-law through marriage to Cis (Aimee-Ffion Edwards), the idea of formal education seems indulgent. Elfed helps support the family alongside Cis, who is the only one who recognizes the benefits of education despite her own lack of opportunities, as they navigate life without a mother and a father who prefers the pub to the home.

P.H. leads a modest yet fulfilling existence as a cultured man. “The cultured man is never lonely,” he reassures Richie while writing BBC radio plays from his rented room in the home of the caring Ma Smith (Lesley Manville). P.H. sees in his student an opportunity not for personal gain, but to serve a greater civic duty. He passionately declares to his class, brandishing a copy of *Henry V*, that their fight against Hitler is about “what is good and right and beautiful,” capturing the essence of education’s purpose.

Yet, if Richie is to forge a path to Swansea, and eventually Hollywood, he’ll need intensive training to refine his distinct voice and learn proper projection. “Volume is of secondary importance,” P.H. advises in a pivotal scene, “Distinctness is what you must learn.” He encourages Richie to holler across the valley to practice, much to the surprise of the locals.

*Mr. Burton* features a tough but inspiring teacher, a raw yet eager student, a long-suffering woman who hopes for more for the boy, and a disinterested father who sees little value in education. This narrative fits squarely within the familiar “class-mobility mentorship” genre. Viewers can anticipate that Richie will rise, with the hope that his success will honor those he leaves behind.

While the “class-mobility mentorship” trope can be misleading and patronizing, it also resonates with many students who come from humble beginnings. The impact of a dedicated teacher can be transformative, highlighting the importance of finding a mentor like Mr. Burton among overworked educators.

As the film progresses, it shifts to Swansea and Richie’s emerging theatrical career, never returning to his earlier life in the valley. Yet it hints at the long-lasting struggle of dislocation—an ongoing performance throughout his life, much like the real Richard Burton experienced.

Burton’s distinctive voice led many to mistake him for an aristocrat. In *Mr. Burton*, a pivotal moment occurs when Richie, in a moment of anger, challenges his brother-in-law’s intelligence. “Talking like that,” Elfed rebukes him, “you’re not just talking to me, you know. You’re talking like that to all of us.” While it’s unclear if the real Burton faced this specific confrontation, the responsibilities tied to his voice undoubtedly shaped his identity. In one memorable 1980 appearance on *The Dick Cavett Show*, Burton articulated his father’s eloquent description of coal as if reciting Shakespeare. However, *Mr. Burton* does not portray the dignified figure of Richie’s father in quite the same light—his struggles with alcohol shadowing any noble qualities.

Richard Burton’s affinity with labor and leftist causes was often overshadowed by his extravagant lifestyle, including lavish gifts to Taylor, such as the 33-carat Krupp diamond. “It was as if, here was the boy from Wales who suddenly found the world’s biggest diamond,” remarked Michael Parkinson, a sentiment with which Burton would likely agree. Class dynamics undeniably influenced his tumultuous love life, a fact not easily dismissed.

The subject of sexuality is addressed in *Mr. Burton* after an extended period, focusing on the relationship between P.H. and Richie. P.H.’s motivations spark questions and tensions, with Richie’s decision to adopt the Burton surname partially stemming from the perceived optics of their bond. However, the film artfully avoids clichés, steering clear of explicit portrayals of P.H. in anguish or any overt evidence of his sexuality.

While previous works, like Melvyn Bragg’s *Rich: The Life of Richard Burton* (1988), have not probed deeply into P.H.’s sexual orientation, *Mr. Burton* refrains from labeling it. Instead, it delves into the complexity of their relationship, suggesting that the connection didn’t need to be sexual to be significant—transformative, passionate, and deeply personal. They are presented as “chosen family,” in a film that frames familial bonds as both emotional and contractual. The assertion that P.H. was gay is accepted, yet the notion that his interest in Richie was purely sexual is rejected.

In essence, *Mr. Burton* offers an insightful twist on the class-mobility mentorship narrative. P.H.’s pride lies not in possessing Richard Jenkins, but in nurturing Richard Burton, who ultimately gives back to his culture and hometown of Port Talbot.

In one poignant entry from his published *Diaries* (1972), Burton reflects on a low point in his career while filming a biopic of Tito in Yugoslavia. His greatest solace comes not from Taylor, but from rediscovering a beloved Penguin edition of *Ulysses*, a book he hadn’t revisited since it was part of P.H.’s syllabus. “It’s such a pleasure to read now,” he muses, “knowing I won’t have to answer questions about it.”

Even amidst the isolating nature of fame and the superficial connections within celebrity circles, a cultured individual is never truly alone. Yet, the hunger for fulfillment remains. “Having re-tasted *Ulysses* this morning, merely an aperitif of five pages,” Burton writes, “I shall devour it from time to time.”

Andrew Holter is the editor of *Going Around: Selected journalism by Murray Kempton*, published this month.

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