DUCHESS (2024)

What is it with gangsters and nicknames? Whether monikers are adopted to strike fear into the hearts of rivals, or whether a legal name is just too prosaic for the mythological status of a gangster, there exists a long history of criminals—on screen and off—giving themselves a stage name.

Al Capone was known as ‘Scarface’ (though, if that nickname is brought up now, a different Al is likely to spring to mind). Ronnie Kray was ‘The Colonel’, while Charles Bronson demanded that fellow prisoners refer to him as ‘General’. There’s a difference, though, between a given nickname and a chosen one. The former suggests a twilight world of legend and rumour, while the latter suggests plain old insecurity. It seems that not even the most hardened criminal is immune from an identity crisis.

Neil Marshall’s new film, Duchess, revels in the criminal underworld, where nicknames fly like bullets. The eponymous character, Scarlett Monaghan (co-writer Charlotte Kirk), has to earn her moniker first, though. When the film begins, she’s a small-time crook trying to survive London life day-to-day.

Using her flirty, glitzy charm, she makes quick cash by pickpocketing unsuspecting finance bros in nightclubs. “I ain’t done anything to be ashamed of”, she tells us with an exaggerated South London twang in one of the film’s many voiceover and freeze-frame combos. That assertion is (mostly) held, even as we flash forward to later events in the film,where she wields a shotgun and instructs a colleague to garrotte someone. Becoming a gangster might be the ultimate confidence trick—and Scarlett has confidence to burn.

Duchess is a sort of origin story, a rags-to-riches fable that’s endearingly determined to make an icon of Marshall and Kirk’s heroine. Though Kirk’s performance is limited and sometimes outright unconvincing, she has an ebullience that mostly carries it through. This is matched by Marshall’s sheer enthusiasm and confidence in the material.

Though originality isn’t Duchess’s strong suit, the film moves with the sugar-fuelled excitement of a kid playing with a brand new set of toys. A maniacal glee is taken in homing the films of Quentin Tarantino, the Coen Brothers, and Guy Ritchie; this is nothing new, of course. But the film’s charm, and its spirited taste for all things overblown allows for some wiggle room. It’s having too much fun to care whether you think character title cards and record-scratch sound effects are corny. And Duchess has both.

There are also quips. A lot of quips. They’re not all original. In fact, you’ll probably have heard some of the witty bon mots for the first time back in senior school (“get me a beer, I’m drier than a nun’s chuff” is just one). But it adds to the feeling that we are firmly in throwback territory.

It’s a suitable place for Duchess to be, and perhaps enough time has elapsed since Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998) for violent gags and filthy banter to feel novel again. Some of the film’s dialogue is eye-roll worthy—Scarlett’s title-card is accompanied by the dreaded words “So, this is me…”—but it’s possible to roll one’s eyes and smile at the same time. And Marshall and Kirk’s screenplay is well-versed and playful enough to let audiences in on the fact that its tongue is planted firmly in its cheek.

Much is made in the film of the fact that Scarlett is a woman in a man’s world, and while seeing her take revenge on blokey gangsters is a lot of fun, Duchess is never as insightful as it might be. There are exchanges about how women have to be twice as good as men to get a look in, which, while true, is not exactly a revelatory statement at this point, even in the action genre. Its observations are too familiar and safe, and Scarlett lacks the kind of depth which would make her a truly interesting heroine. Instead, she mostly operates in a world of smirks, poses and quips, a ‘strong female lead’ as generic as that descriptor would suggest.

It doesn’t help matters that the supposed whirlwind romance of the film, between Scarlett and international diamond smuggler Rob (Phillip Winchester), falls almost entirely flat. The actors lack chemistry, and some shallow writing leaves Rob a half-sketched man. Their scenes bump awkwardly against each other, two vague shapes running through the motions as if eager to get to the denouement.

Rob’s job, narratively speaking, is successful at least. He brings Scarlett into his dangerous world, where characters with more memorable faces lurk. Stephanie Beacham has tremendous fun as the foul-mouthed crime queenpin, Charlie, while ever-dependable Marshall regular Sean Pertwee (Dog Soldiers) comes along for the ride as a loveable tough-nut Danny. Colm Meaney, underused but effective, shows up as Scarlett’s gangster Pa, “Mad” Frank. From a prison visiting room, he reminds her that whether she likes it or not, she’s her father’s daughter, and she’ll soon have a nickname of her own to prove it.

“Why Duchess?”, Danny asks fellow diamond smuggler Billy Baraka (Hoji Fortuna), after he christens her with the name following a meeting with Charlie. “Because she handled that shit with grace”, he responds. Fair enough. Duchess isn’t a film to second-guess itself or to stop too long to ask questions. And sometimes a nickname just sounds good.

Scarlett’s transformation into Duchess is a marginal one. She carries a gun and wears expensive jewellery, but the path is slick and untroubled. If this is an origin story, then it’s one largely unconcerned with the moral dilemmas that such a transformation would normally entail. Even when the bodies start piling up, Duchess does little to question what she’s thinking. She mostly seems to be someone who looks cool holding a gun and making quips. Your mileage may vary.

A film like Duchess doesn’t exactly require its characters to endure dark nights of the soul. But each kill is justified and righteous, and the emotional beats are so paint-by-numbers that the attempt to frame her as empowering and complex rings untrue. She’s a symbol without much meaning.

As the action moves from gloomy London to sunny Tenerife, the chance seems to arise for some gangsters-in-the-sun incongruity—the kind that Jonathan Glazer played with in the peerless Sexy Beast (2000), where Spain stood in for a sort of criminal afterlife, a purgatory by the pool. Instead, Tenerife is a playground for shootouts in warehouses. While these locations are anonymous enough that they could’ve taken place back in Blighty, the sun-scorched deserts and blazing skies provide a pleasing visual contrast to the film’s blue-hued first half.

Marshall’s steadiness behind the camera gives heft to the punch-ups, and the director’s background in horror rears its head in pleasingly nasty ways. Tongues are pulled out through throats, henchmen are left as stains in the street—it’s here that Duchess claims an identity of its own, a playfully gruesome one. Marshall is in his element when things get gory, and the film’s black humour makes the henchmen’s deaths cheer-worthy events.

The film’s final half hour is its strongest. With the violence ramped up and the awkward romance left mercifully behind, Kirk steps up to the plate as a convincing arse-kicker. While she doesn’t fully work as Scarlett, she makes sense as Duchess—lean, mean, and ready to throw herself into the maelstrom. Kirk is committed and fierce, with her and Marshall seeming to find their natural stride in the final reel.

Not long after things pick up, though, they begin to wind down. The film sorely lacks an impactful antagonist, meaning that as fun as the gunplay is, it is all in the name of taking down a villain who can be best described as ‘some guy’. It’s all quite deflating and anticlimactic, a plane making a bumpy emergency landing moments after finally taking off. The film’s endearing spirit is stretched to its limits, deployed ceaselessly to cover the shortcomings of the story.

It isn’t a disaster. It is, if nothing else, sporadically fun and a clear labour of love. And, it is a sign that 22 years after his breakout film, Neil Marshall still has energy and passion to spare as a director. With a stronger script and a more modulated central performance, the bright spots in Duchess might have been strung into something more substantial. As it is, it is a film that wants to be let off the chain, but remains frustratingly beholden to genre trappings and table-setting.

Like a gangster who makes up their own nickname, Duchess is silly, confident, and self-mythologising. And like a nickname, it means very little but sounds pretty good. Duchess may not be the real deal but it’s a fun counterfeit.

UK | 2024 | 114 MINUTES | COLOUR | ENGLISH

Cast & Crew

director: Neil Marshall.
writers: Neil Marshall, Charlotte Kirk & Simon Farr (additional dialogue).
starring: Charlotte Kirk, Colm Meaney, Sean Pertwee, Stephanie Beacham, Philip Winchester, Colin Egglesfield, Yan Tuai, Mellissa Lacy & Boris Martinez.