Bank of Dave

More symbolism than substance

The curtain rises on Netflix’s Bank of Dave to see lugubrious, London lawyer Hugh (Joel Fry) skulking into his office the morning after an unproductive evening out, ‘entertaining’ some potential clients. Vulpine senior partner Clarence (Angus Wright), disappointed that the excesses of the night before have failed to land any business, duly dispatches him to Burnley (cue lots of nose-wrinkling at the very thought of going anywhere in the north…) to meet Dave Fishwick (Rory Kinnear), local minibus & van supremo, BFC stand-sponsor and all round good bloke. Dave needs advice on setting up a bank to build on the success he has had extending credit to local businesses to buy his vans in the aftermath of the credit crunch.

Following a few clunking, debatable points on the causes of the 2008 financial crash, what follows is an entertaining feel-good romp as Hugh guides Dave through the labyrinthine processes designed by the banking regulator to keep would-be lenders like Dave at bay. The flawed implication being that this is purely to protect the lucrative business loan books of traditional banks, despite them being sporadically crap at the dark art of lending money and then getting it back again.

For as Dave points out, unlike the banks, his lending activities had zero defaults as he took the trouble to know his customers and their business. As the film stretches its legs, the script gets more supple while being quite adept at explaining some necessary facets of dull-as-ditchwater financial regulation on which the whole premise of Bank of Dave rests. It’s as if Richard Curtis had been given the cast of The League of Gentlemen to write for and tasked by Ken Loach to come up with a polemic on the Dickensian practices of high finance.

But despite that imaginary premise, there is a lot to love: Cathy Tyson does a nicely underplayed turn as cancer-victim Maureen, Dave's first loan customer when no bank would touch her. Elsewhere, Hugh Bonneville reprises his study in baffled, aristocratic dignity as banking scion Sir Charles Somebodyorother, albeit with a bit more malice and ambition than Downton’s Earl of Grantham could ever muster.

There is a smattering of none-too-impressionable, monosyllabic locals from central casting and, for his part, Rory Kinnear is completely credible and has the same everyman dignity and on-screen presence as his late-father while emoting the high-energy twitchiness that bedevils many people who start and run their own businesses. To complete the picture, there is even a three-word cameo for Sean Dyche.

Predictably, Burnley folk are friendly, hard-working, community-minded types, making or doing useful things with their hands (cooking curries, brewing beer, fixing vans, mending people and so on and unlike bankers in all respects) whereas everyone who lives in London is a conniving shit, other than Hugh.

His love interest is provided by sassy, craft-ale pint-drinking nurse Alexandria (Phoebe Dynevor) who is Niece of Dave and a victim of local officialdom when the Town Council worthies refuse to back her walk-in centre for some noble and sensible cause. And just when they both end up pissed at Alex's flat after Karaoke Night in the welcoming fug of the Dock & Duck and a gratuitous sex scene beckons, the scene fades to the next morning with Hugh hungover on the couch, their lust unconsummated, and the overall sense of wholesomeness left intact.

Burnley Football Club is omnipresent: the film opens with a view of the town from Crown Point with Turf Moor prominent. BFC motifs then feature throughout in many shots. It is product placement on a grand scale and as the new owners will be looking to turn a profit at some stage, building Burnley FC as a brand in this way is a masterstroke. The ravishing landscapes and a complete absence of rain, might not be a wholly accurate depiction of the locale but sure to bring Burnley to a global audience although, at the time of writing, it's not available to view in Europe or the USA.

So overall, what's not to like? Well, the giveaway is in the first ten seconds of the film when a sheepish disclaimer states that “Some of what follows is true”. Sadly, non of the substantial building blocks of the story is and I badly wanted them to be.

The minute it finished, after a montage of real photos and impressive figures about how many loans Dave had made and the transformational effect it has had on the town, I went to the website to open up an account. My reasoning was that if I'm going to get eff-all interest on any deposit with Natwest, I might as well get eff-all from the Bank of Dave, providing it was covered by the UK's Deposit Guarantee Scheme that protects up to £85,000 for each customer. It turns out that Bank of Dave doesn't take deposits and never has done and so is not really a bank at all. Instead, it provides an introduction service to regulated lenders.

Likewise, the concert at Turf Moor by Def Leppard to raise the remaining regulatory capital to become a bank never took place either and - horror of horrors - the outdoor footage was actually shot at Elland Road. Presumably, Ewood Park was busy that day…

I acknowledge that it's cheap criticism to comment on a film for what it isn't rather than what it is and I have no doubt at the intent to be a bank is real. Likewise, I take it as read that Dave Fishwick did indeed keep many ailing businesses afloat by stepping into the void left by banks that used taxpayers’ funds to repair their balance sheets rather than lending it out again. I too also believe that this was the only justification for such support. But I know finance doesn't work that way and never will. But against the current backdrop of such national pessimism and gloom, we need a beacon of goodness and hope and I just wish that the story of Bank of Dave had more substance than symbolism.