Kempton Bunton, the protagonist of this lighthearted caper movie, a perfect addition to library shelves in international film, might not exactly be a household name, but the Newcastle native confessed to having committed one of the most daring art heists of the twentieth century: the 1961 theft of Francisco Goya’s portrait of the Duke of Wellington from London’s National Gallery, which had only recently purchased the painting and put it on display.
The crime was widely ascribed to some international mastermind: in the 1962 James Bond film Dr. No, the portrait was shown as part of the titular villain’s collection of stolen goods. In admitting his guilt, however, retired bus driver Bunton insisted that his sole purpose, as he explained in ransom letters he sent to authorities, was to persuade the government to cover the cost of required TV license fees for disabled pensioners like himself.
This final fiction film by director Roger Michell (Notting Hill) is a delicious crowd-pleaser in the mode of Ealing Studio comedies from the 1950s, presenting Bunton, played with a marvelously theatrical swagger by Jim Broadbent, like a little man with a dream who bests the system by sheer pluck. A self-taught polymath and aspiring playwright, he demonstrates his ability to charm the gallery—and the jury—during his trial for the theft in 1965, when he had abruptly returned the canvas after hiding it in a cabinet for four years and surrendered to the authorities. The fact that he was represented by famous and polished barrister Jeremy Hutchinson (Matthew Goode) is also emphasized.
Michell’s handling of the heist and trial plotlines is deft, giving Broadbent the opportunity to revel in the character’s eccentricities while skewering the pomposity of police and politicians who refuse to believe that a person like Bunton could have been the perpetrator. The film also has a poignant undertone in its depiction of his family life. Helen Mirren almost disappears into the role of Bunton’s exasperated wife, who despairs of deterring him from his quixotic crusade over the licensing fee yet remains unflinchingly supportive, and Fionn Whitehead cuts an engaging figure as his son, who is struggling to go straight and win a pretty girl after a brush with the law and idolizes his father.
Whitehead is also central to a twist at the end of the picture that forces one to rethink the reason why Kempton turned himself in. With a physical production wonderfully evocative of time and place in its uncanny period detail, and glowing cinematography that captures the sets and costumes in lovingly rendered images, The Duke is typical of Michell’s best work: an immensely pleasurable concoction, it boasts a touching—some would say sentimental—streak beneath a genuinely amusing exterior. This is a caper movie with a heart, strongly recommended for public library film collections in comedy and international film.