Bank Of Dave 2: The Loan Ranger

You don’t often hear the phrases “feel-good” and “Financial Conduct Authority” in the same sentence. But 2023’s Bank Of Dave was as feel-good as they come, telling the “true-ish” story of David Fishwick (played by Rory Kinnear), a businessman and Burnley bloke who defied the odds and the snooty financial regulators to open a charitable community bank for his fellow Lancastrians. Sentimental and sugary though it was, this was a proper heart-warming Brit-com in the classical mould — a banking-based Brassed Off, a financial-sector Full Monty. Plus, it had a climactic cameo from the band Def Leppard, for some reason.

Now Dave is back, in this latest fictionalised retelling of his BAFTA-winning Channel 4 documentary series, with Chris Foggin returning to the director’s chair. Set in the doldrums of the coalition Lib-Con government, the sting of the 2007-’08 recession not yet faded, the scourge of payday loans suddenly begins to leave thousands of ordinary working people out of pocket. Dave — now a minor celebrity, and on a media blitz — learns the true scale of the problem from a radio call-in when a pensioner named Mavis shares her story. It is, he is told to his shock, “like a plague”, people being driven into poverty by an unregulated lending industry.

The fact that this exposition is soundtracked to R.E.M.’s ‘Everybody Hurts’ should indicate to you that this is not exactly nuanced filmmaking. “You’re an ordinary bloke, standing up against corruption, standing up for ordinary people,” his wife Nicola (Jo Hartley) assures him at one point. As with the first film, Piers Ashworth’s script hammers its well-meaning message home with the subtlety of a Lancashire hotpot to the face. And as with the original film, it makes scant effort to feel especially grand or cinematic, seemingly deciding that a small-town story only demands a modest aesthetic.

But by God, it remains a powerful force of feel-goodery, powered in large part by the almighty piston of Rory Kinnear’s gregarious, charismatic performance. His Dave blends the everyman charm of Wallace & Gromit (“Christmas bloody pudding!”, he exclaims at one point) with the finely tuned moral compass of George Bailey (you almost expect him to say at some point, “Merry Christmas, you wonderful old Building & Loan!”). Kinnear is just really great value. It’s not hard to picture yourself joining his standing-up-for-the-little-guy cause.

This time, Dave is effectively an activist and campaigner, finding himself in a grand courtroom showdown, like a blend of A Few Good Men and My Cousin Vinny (two films Dave himself cites). There is little of the tension of either of those films: you can sort of guess how this will all go down. And once again, it somewhat bafflingly ends with a Def Leppard gig, the dad rockers playing a surprisingly pivotal role in the plot. But it’s all in service of making you feel good — and with an important, real-life Robin Hood point to make. And you can take that to the bank.