The Duke

"Not That Sodding Painting Again!"

"Be discreet in all things, and so render it unnecessary to be mysterious." 

The Duke of Wellington

Kempton Bunton (Jim Broadbent) is an embarrassment. A retiree, he never seems to be able to keep a job, much to the consternation of his beleaguered wife, Dorothy (Helen Mirren) who is a house-cleaner for the ministerial Gowlings. No, instead Kempton keeps writing plays for the BBC to produce and they're always rejected. Perhaps in revolt or retribution, he's removed the coil from his telly so he doesn't have to pay the tax imposed to get the government station, which he has to pay whether he receives it or not. It's a tax revolt, he says. Pensioners and veterans shouldn't have to pay a bloody tax to get the National News. And he doesn't give a fig who knows and, in fact, instead of getting a job, he'd rather sit in the street to get petitions signed for free BBC. On top of that, son Jackie (Fionn Whitehead) is spending less time at home, wanting to become a shipbuilder, while other son Kenny (Jack Bandeira) supposedly works construction in Leeds, but might actually be doing some things unlawful in his free time. Dorothy, with so much on her shoulders is fit to bust, with her taking most of the load and him off on his do-gooder campaigns, compensating.

Compensating?  Well, it isn't discussed in the house, but there was another Bunton—Marion—dead at 18 from a bicycle accident and it was Kempton gave her the bike. He blames himself, and doesn't tell Dorothy about the visits to her grave, as she won't discuss it in her house, and Marion's portrait is itself buried...in a desk drawer. Dorothy is the bread-winner and she's the wife and that is respected, even if things happen that she doesn't need to know about.

But, a 13 day stretch in Durham prison for not paying the television tax is her last straw. Now, he's a felon and bringing dishonor to the household.

Kempton, to keep the peace, asks for one last indulgence: he wants to go to London to talk to "the Beeb" about his plays and take his tax initiative before the Parliament—after all, they just paid £140,000 for a ruddy Spanish portrait of the Duke of Wellington, it's the least they can do to hear him out. And after that, he'll get a proper job...and keep it. No more quixotic campaigns, no more lying. He'll do his bit and Helen is relieved.

The trip to London, however, does not go well. No one at the BBC will see him, and at Parliament, the guards do see him...out...onto the street. Maybe it was the bullhorn. Anyway, when he returns, there's a new resident under the roof—that portrait of the Duke of Wellington that Kempton's been grousing about. To keep Dorothy from finding out, he hides it making a false back for the bureau in Kenny's room. Nobody'll find it there.

Certainly not the authorities, who think it's commando's or super-sophisticated art thieves behind the theft and haven't a clue as to who's behind it. Certainly not the cheerfully cantankerous old duffer who is protesting in plain sight and is outspoken enough that it gets him fired from every job he's lucky enough to land.

It's "based on a true story" which means nobody could make this stuff up. Not the circumstances, not the psychological underpinnings, and certainly not the quixotic nature of its main protagonist, who, for all his bluster, is at heart a good soul. In a film full of fine performances—Mirren and Goode are especially winning—it is Jim Broadbent's fusty performance that anchors the movie even while trying so hard to rock the boat. This is one of those movies that charm "the blue-hairs" but is so winning without pushing the twee factor that one respects it for all the chuckles it induces.

Credit the excellent script—which throws in an added mystery and motivation that adds depth rather than obfuscation—and the direction of Roger Michell, who didn't live long enough to see the film released. Michell's use of split-screen might seem like a concession to 1960's period-style, but it does produce one essential grace note that moves the heart, while also locking in the notion that everyone has their own framing, whether self-induced or imposed, that we reside in, that keeps us at arm's length.

The Goya's "not all that good, is it?"  But The Duke is something of a masterpiece.

"The Duke" makes a cameo.