Review: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy

I was fortunate enough to see Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy at the Cast & Crew screening the weekend before it premièred in the UK, which means, of course, that this review is somewhat belated. However, in anticipation of going to see the film a second time later this week, it seemed a good time to explain precisely why this film is worth the second visit.

Spending the last five minutes of a film valiantly fighting tears is hardly a novel experience but I have never before had to do it simply because of the sheer beauty and triumph of a film. Looking at the film, perhaps it seems odd to talk of beauty; tonally, the piece is a palette of shadows, grey and neutral, from the clothes (with the notable exception of the rather natty threads of Peter Guillam, played by a superb Benedict Cumberbatch) to the locations and right on through to George Smiley himself. Colourless and undefined, Gary Oldman's Smiley becomes part of the wallpaper, a perfect spy. What is beautiful, then, is Tomas Alfredson's aesthetic. As with his masterful Let The Right One In he brings a sense of aesthetic indulgence to Tinker Tailor, focusing on the path of a drop of sweat, a hand, a long shot of Smiley walking. It's never rushed – indeed, there's a significant wait before Smiley even utters a full sentence – and these moments come together piece by piece to explain a whole such as the ordinariness of a spy or the nerves of a waiter. Only once or twice, very briefly, does a shot become a little self-indulgent, but even when moving at its slowest it is utterly engaging. Alfredson exercises absolute mastery over his direction, instinctively knowing how to construct a narrative through his aesthetic and how to engage an audience both viscerally and intellectually without ever patronising, compromising or resorting to large loud explosions.

Large loud explosions do, of course, have their place in films. Whilst the 'more is more' ethos of Michael Bay's films perhaps constitutes an abuse of the film-maker's right to use them, they are a thrilling and bombastically fun part of the Bond and Bourne legacies. Nevertheless, even there they are incapable of delivering a truly visceral impact as gunshots are dwarfed by bigger explosions, which are subsumed by even larger set-pieces. A gunshot has little meaning and certainly does not on an empathetic level. Alfredson's moderation, however, and his ability to create suspense and invoke a truly empathetic response in his audience resurrects our understanding of the violent finality of the gunshot. The sharp crack across the shades of grey impacts on the gut and the mind, not just on the cornea.

But this alone would not constitute a great film were the acting not also there. Fortunately, it is and in spades. This role has provoked an Oscar buzz around the always excellent Oldman. He is phenomenal – restrained and wry, a spider quietly and inconspicuously setting up his trap. His re-enaction with an empty chair of his interrogation of the faceless, shadowy Karla is a highlight of the film. Nevertheless, this film was never meant to be a one-hander. It is an ensemble piece and my word, what an ensemble it is. A great performance can be understood as one where, as a critical audience member, you find that there is not a single gesture, pause or articulation you would change. To get this level of authenticity in the performance of one actor is impressive; to get it in the work of an entire ensemble is something quite extraordinary. Mark Strong as the crippled and quietly devastating Prideaux has never been better. Colin Firth continues to build on his success of recent years by capturing the precise charm, spirit, and motivation of Haydon. Kathy Burke, Toby Jones, John Hurt, Ciarán Hinds, and David Dencik all excel equally. My only complaint that Burke's Connie Sachs and Dencik's nervous Esterhase do not get nearly the amount of screen time they deserve. Particular praise, however, must go to the 'young' members of the cast, Benedict Cumberbatch and Tom Hardy (Ricki Tarr), who not only meet the game of the rest of the cast but beat them at it, dominating every scene that they are in. Cumberbatch presents an extraordinarily layered performance with the subtlest of shifts, flashes of outright humour and a raw devastation which lingers long after the moment has passed. Hardy is just as affecting as a scalphunter with a heart, moving easily and truthfully between studied nonchalence, desperation and grief. One of Le Carré's great strengths as a writer is his ability to sketch a unique, fully rounded and human character within just a couple of sentences; one of the great strengths of this cast is their ability to translate precisely this just as concisely within a single gesture.

This is a cinema of understatement and subtlety, of intellectual rigour and engagement. Its style reflects not only the content of the story, but also the integrity of Alfredson's film-making. It demands active participation from the audience who must follow carefully to understand fully the denouement, but the journey is a very beautiful one and absolutely worth the effort.