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The first glimpse we get of Winston Churchill in “Darkest Hour” doesn’t flatter him, and isn’t meant to. He’s an unkempt old man in pajamas and a pink bathrobe, sitting in bed, cigar in mouth, with a breakfast tray that includes wine and a newspaper whose pages have been ironed flat by a dutiful servant. “He’s a man, like any other,” his wife says dryly, trying to reassure a new and nervous secretary.
But he isn’t. He’s the man who will shortly become prime minister, the man who, more than any other, will set his nation’s…