Jim Broadbent is priceless in this canny, tender British comedy, based on a real-life art heist that bamboozled the police, as well as the scriptwriters of Bond adventure Dr. No. In 1961, when Goya’s portrait of the Duke of Wellington disappeared from the National Gallery, those in the know assumed it had been stolen by a “well-funded, international” gang and was now hanging in some arch-criminal’s lair. That a humble Geordie might have nabbed it, and stashed it in the back of a cupboard, was a plot twist no one stopped to consider.
Kempton Bunton sounds like the kind of botanical garden where you get charged £20 to look at a tulip. It’s actually the name of our working class, socialist, feminist hero, who can’t stand the Duke of Wellington (“he voted against universal suffrage!”) and calls Goya “some Spanish drunk!” He hides the painting where his law-abiding wife Dolly (Helen Mirren) can’t see it, then sends letters to the government explaining that he’ll return the masterpiece if his charitable demands are met (he wants impoverished OAPs to be given free access to TV). His son, Jackie (Fionn Whitehead), is on his side. But might the whole thing get out of hand and land Bunton in court?
Bunton, an impractical obsessive who’s used to being insulted and dismissed, reaches for quips like someone with a cold reaches for tissues. As Dolly berates him in front of the law, Bunton says cheerfully, “My wife always supports me. In private”. We soon learn the family have been torn apart by grief (years ago, Kempton and Dolly’s teenage daughter was killed in a road accident). The script deals with that in a lovely way, but it’s Broadbent’s eyes – guarded; pugnacious; stunned by the cruelty of the world - that ensure we don’t feel manipulated. He’s a pain in the arse, who’s in pain. The two things can’t be unhooked.
Meanwhile Mirren, out-frumping Judi Dench in Belfast, provides umpteen laughs. It’s pointed out to Dolly that her oldest son may be having sex with his girlfriend in the family’s spare room. Mirren performs an extravagant shudder that both conveys her character’s feelings re ungodly fornication and captures Dolly’s love of drama. This woman should be a stand-up comedian. “Be sure and use the coasters,” she tells her son, “you’re not in Leeds now!”
Director Roger Michell (Notting Hill; Le Week-End) died in 2021. The Duke is a reminder of what we’ve lost. He films Bunton’s trips to London with sly verve; as in The Thomas Crown Affair, we get split screens and fizzy music.
The Duke would work perfectly in a double-bill with I, Daniel Blake. Both are portraits of angry old men who kick up, rather than down. It’s true that the nice characters in The Duke, towards the end, become a little too good. At Bunton’s trial, his various allies - including a smiley Asian ex-colleague (Ashley Kumar) and Dolly’s posh boss (Anna Maxwell Martin) - gather in the gallery. Remember The Simpsons’ bowling team, The Stereotypes? That’s what this lot resemble.
But you can forgive such soppiness. Kempton Bunton sees the bigger picture. So does Michell.
