The Duke
The Duke is both a surprising true story, and an ultimately heartwarming nostalgia tale, that may very well steal your heart.
Kempton Bunton (Jim Broadbent) is an old codger whose sense of moral righteousness against social injustice frequently lands him in hot water. Indeed, when we’re introduced to him he is just about to find himself in prison for ripping a piece of his TV out; the piece that allows him to receive the BBC, for which he has to pay a license fee as all in Britain do. His argument that he shouldn’t have to pay the fee when he can’t receive the BBC falls on deaf ears however, and those include the ears of his wife Dorothy (Helen Mirren), who is fed up with his antics. Kempton makes her a promise after he gets out. If she’ll give him two days in London to take his fight to Westminster, and he isn’t successful, he’ll give it all up and find a steady job. When he returns, he seems to have changed for the better, and picks up a gig at the local bakery. Upstairs, however, behind a false wall in his cupboard, sits Goya’s portrait of The Duke of Wellington, stolen during Kempton’s trip to London. With it, Kempton tries to force the Government into change, sending letters demanding that the same amount paid for the Goya is donated to charity to provide free TV Licenses to old folks and veterans. When he’s caught, however, the question in court doesn’t end up being about whether Kempton took the painting; rather, is it really stealing if you intend to give it back?
The Duke is a pacy little film. At just 93 minutes, in an age where superhero movies have recently been hitting the 3 hour mark, it’s the sort of movie you wrap up and think ‘oh, that’s it’. It’s also the sort of movie that reaffirms the vitality and purpose of cinema; a nostalgia-laden adventure in filmmaking that brings about a longing for simpler times. Whether it’s the use of real old footage of London for transition scenes, the simple imagery of a man on a soapbox instead of blasting his views on Twitter, or Broadbent’s impossibly charmant performance, the entire piece is twee and uplifting.
Broadbent is phenomenal as the ever-optimistic Kempton. His blustering soap box speeches, often confused and unwelcome from those around him, are both cute and accurate. He fills Brumpton with an unflappability and drive that makes success from his struggle seem possible, alongside a faltering misunderstanding about the level of goodness in the world that reaffirms why they haven’t succeeded to date. Mixed in among all of that is a charming old-world sensibility that endears him both to every character around him, and to the audience; a crucial part of the story when considering that it is this very charm that saves him in court.
Among the supporting cast, there are a range of standouts, with Mirren topping the list. Her quiet and nuanced performance is untouchably good, and leaves a mark despite limited screentime. Ultimately, however, it’s Broadbent who steals the painting, and Broadbent who steals the show; his indomitable presence is a force of good-natured neighbourliness to be reckoned with.
Perhaps the greatest thing about The Duke is it’s soft and subtle take on world politics and key issues of our time. The film couches a withering assessment of the lack of Government support for the most vulnerable in our society in humour and the good nature of it’s protagonists, but never beats you over the head with it. It’s a film that we can see a lot of ourselves in. In the societal problems of the 1960’s, with Government overreach, a lack of support for those most in need of it, and a clear disconnect between investment priorities and real-life issues, we can sadly recognise a mirror to our own society, and the shocking lack of progress on many of these elements. In the jury of our peers, who ultimately vindicate Brumpton, we see ourselves as part of the solution; hope in our fellow man. In Brumpton himself, beneath the veneer of bumbling charm, we see a man who is willing to fight for what is right, no matter the size of the struggle. A very real light in the darkness of social injustice. As Brumpton’s philosophy says, “I am you, and you are me.” We can only hope to see ourselves in such a man.
