The Duke

There is a specific, crackling energy to a person who simply refuses to be told "no" by a faceless bureaucracy. It’s a brand of stubbornness that feels increasingly extinct in our era of automated customer service bots and algorithmic indifference. In 1961, that person was Kempton Bunton, a Geordie taxi driver with a penchant for writing unproduced plays and a deep-seated loathing for the BBC television license fee. When he decided to "borrow" Francisco Goya’s Portrait of the Duke of Wellington from the National Gallery, he wasn't looking for a payday; he was looking for a soapbox.

I watched this film while wearing a pair of wool socks that had a hole in the left big toe, and honestly, that felt strangely thematic for a movie about a man constantly patching over the gaps in his own life while trying to maintain his dignity. Jim Broadbent—who seems to have been born to play men who are simultaneously exasperating and huggable—inhabits Kempton with a twinkling defiance. It is a performance that reminds me why we need these mid-budget, character-driven stories in a cinematic landscape currently choked by multiversal noise and $200 million price tags.

A Heist Where the Loot is Secondary

In the hands of a different director, this might have been a slick Ocean’s Eleven riff, but the late Roger Michell (who directed the eternal Notting Hill) treats the actual theft as a bumbling footnote. The real meat of the story is the domestic friction in the Bunton household. While Kempton is busy being a "man of the people," his wife Dorothy, played with a weary, sharp-edged brilliance by Helen Mirren, is the one actually keeping the lights on.

The chemistry between Jim Broadbent and Helen Mirren is the film’s secret weapon. They don't feel like "movie stars doing accents"; they feel like a couple that has been arguing about the same lukewarm tea for thirty years. There is a subcurrent of grief involving a deceased daughter that anchors the comedy, preventing it from floating away into "twee" territory. I found myself deeply moved by how Roger Michell handles this tragedy—never milking it for tears, but letting it sit in the corner of the room like an uninvited guest. It’s a reminder that even the funniest people are often running away from something quiet and heavy.

The Charm of the Analog Rebel

Release-wise, The Duke was a bit of a casualty of the "great shuffle." It premiered at Venice in 2020 but didn't hit theaters until 2022 due to the pandemic. In a world where we’ve become accustomed to streaming everything from our couches, there’s something wonderfully rebellious about a film that celebrates the communal spirit of a 1960s courtroom. Matthew Goode shows up as Jeremy Hutchinson, Kempton’s defense lawyer, and he is clearly having the time of his life. His courtroom scenes are a delight, proving that the British legal system is basically just theater with better wigs.

The film also captures a very specific 1960s Newcastle—all soot, brick, and social conscience. It’s a far cry from the swinging London we usually see. It feels authentic to the working-class struggle of the time, and yet, Kempton’s crusade against the TV license feels oddly relevant today. As we navigate a cost-of-living crisis and debates about the future of public broadcasting, Kempton’s argument—that the elderly shouldn't be taxed for their only source of companionship—hits home. It’s a "social justice" movie that doesn't feel like it’s lecturing you, mostly because the protagonist is constantly getting fired for being a chatterbox.

Why This "Minor" Film Matters Now

I’ve noticed a trend in contemporary cinema where "small" stories like this are being pushed exclusively to streaming platforms, losing that theatrical magic. The Duke was one of the last of its kind to get a proper (if delayed) cinema run. It’s a film that earns its 96-minute runtime by being economical, witty, and profoundly human. Fionn Whitehead, who most of us remember from the frantic shores of Christopher Nolan's Dunkirk, does great work here as the son, Jackie, providing the necessary bridge between his father’s idealism and his mother’s pragmatism.

The production trivia is just as charming as the plot. Apparently, the real Kempton Bunton was a much larger man (around 250 pounds), but Jim Broadbent captures his "spiritual" weight perfectly. The film also lightly plays with the truth—without spoiling it, let's just say the "how" of the theft involves a twist that wasn't revealed to the public for decades. It’s a "true story" that actually respects the absurdity of the truth rather than trying to Hollywood-ize it into something it isn't.

The Duke is a warm embrace of a movie that manages to avoid the saccharine trap. It’s a fitting farewell for Roger Michell, showcasing his ability to find the extraordinary in the ordinary. If you’re tired of cynical blockbusters and want to spend an hour and a half with a man who thinks a Goya is a perfectly reasonable ransom for a pensioner's happiness, this is your film. It’s funny, it’s heartbreaking, and it might just make you want to go out and tilt at a few windmills yourself.