Left Field Cinema

The BBC has to endure quite stiff criticism at times. U.S television programming has sadly left our national output years behind, and very little produced here today has much in the way of global impact. Very few programmes are given an indelible seal of approval by the viewing masses and the critics a like, but for those of you who cast our public broadcaster aside and claim they’ve produced nothing of worth except maybe The Office, then I have another couple of titles for you to add to the list. A pair of mini series based on John le Carre’s spy novels chronicling the exploits of retired spy, George Smiley, through a trilogy including Tinker, Tailor, Solider, Spy; The Honourable Schoolboy, and Smiley’s People. Choosing to skip The Honourable Schoolboy because of its Hong Kong setting, what we are left with is thirteen episodes, two stories, and one magnificent spy opera.

So what raises this above its peers? What makes these two titles so exceptional? Why do these mini dramas stand out, and stand the test of time?

Lets begin with John Le Carre. Le Carre was a former spy himself, a member of the British foreign service in Germany in late 1950’s. His frontline service in the cold war influenced all the subsequent novels he wrote. His finest novels described spies as bureaucrats, office and desk men, this was the antithesis of Fleming’s James Bond. Le Carre was a popular author with both critics and general populace alike. Graham Greene going as far to call The Spy Who Came In From The Cold the “finest spy story ever written” high praise from one of the finest English literary figures of the 20th Century. The film based on The Spy Who Came In From The Cold directed by Martin Ritt by the same name, contains perhaps the most succinct distillation of Le Carre feelings on spies: “What the hell do you think spies are? Moral philosophers measuring everything they do against the word of God or Karl Marx? They're not! They're just a bunch of seedy, squalid bastards like me: little men, drunkards, queers, hen-pecked husbands, civil servants playing cowboys and Indians to brighten their rotten little lives. Do you think they sit like monks in a cell, balancing right against wrong?” This is the essence of the Smiley trilogy; there is no great moral, political, sociological or philosophical battle just the banality of everyday life. No one has written better prose about the banality and bureaucracy of evil deeds.

Tinker, Tailor, Solider, Spy is the first instalment and follows Smiley’s attempts to discover the identity of a mole within in The Circus, The Circus being the top brass of the British Espionage Fraternity. Each of the suspects is code named for an operation to unearth the mole, the code following the counting game the novel’s title is so playfully derived from: Tinker, Tailor, Solider, Sailor, Rich Man, Poor Man, Beggar Man, Thief. Initially the operation is instigated by Control, the functionally code named head of operations. Control is dying at the time and sends agent Jim Prideaux to Czechoslovakia, the operation is botched and Prideaux is shot and captured. Months later, Control is dead, The Circus has a new head, that of the despicable Percy Alleline. George Smiley is drafted in to find the mole instead, with out official approval, no one is above suspicion and so the operation must remain completely cloak and dagger: As one senior figure states: “You have my totally deniable blessing”. That’s the set-up, what follows is a labyrinth plotline about as complex as it gets, a plot which frequently falls into flash back as Smiley builds up a better understanding of the surrounding events, contextualising himself and the audience simultaneously. These flash backs often take up the majority of an episode, the plot is so intricate that it simply has no other choice but to unravel slowly and gently, if it were to move any faster the audience simply wouldn’t be able to keep up. At the time of Smiley’s People’s release, the radio DJ Terry Wogan ran an accompanying comedy segment on his show asking listeners to call in if they understood what was going on.

The script and the direction have taken a more discreet angle with this surreptitious and suspicious world, major events like the death of pivotal characters, or the mass round-up and execution of British agents take place off screen. Where other television writers and directors would sooner opt to show you the carnage in all its blood thirsty glory, here le Carre, script writer Arthur Hopcraft, and director John Irvin have opted instead to limit the event to a characters reaction to the news instead. This decision builds up a sense of danger, with the knowledge that behind the ever-so English pleasantries, three-piece suits and fine dining lies a brutal, unforgiving, and murderous landscape with dead bodies for as far as the eye can see; the perpetrators are made all the more sinister because of their total concealment. It’s an interesting dynamic where field agents, and the heavy’s known as scalp hunters are all hanging on the next word from The Circus who sit untouchable above it all. There are no gadgets, no ejector seat fitted Austen Martin’s; no shoot outs, no knife fights – not in this world. Instead we have a far more powerful and pervasive weapon and the only real commodity in the Cold War: information. Yet throughout the whole series this battle of wits is never made to be more than it is. The information will not end the Cold War; it is not even a battle between Russian and American agents but rather British and East German spies. These are petty little men not moved by the great political divide - communism versus capitalism - but rather there own personal reasons. Reasons that when spoken aloud do not have great conviction or impact. Le Carre drew from several real life incidences of moles to provide context for his novel, and the subsequent television adaptation, yet the downbeat, nihilistic nature of series remains Le Carre’s alone. The sense of betrayal and melancholy that pervades the series is palatable.

In 1978, the television licence payer’s money seemed to go a little further, especially in regards to these series. Although at the time, general protocol for British Television was to film exterior scenes and video interior scenes; a technique as aesthetically ugly as it is cheap; luckily here both productions are shot on 100% film, but more lavish than this extra expense or the productions diverse international filming locations is the major and in many respects pivotal casting of Alec Guinness in the leading role. At the height of his Star Wars fame Guinness is here on top form as George Smiley, an instantly commanding presence at his behest - he draws the viewer in like a fish on a hook. You dare not take your eyes off of him for a second for fear of missing the tiniest of facial movements which often convey more than a hundred lines of dialogue. Smug, self assured, and sarcastic when he needs to be, Smiley is a very British protagonist and yet the polar opposite of James Bond for example. Smiley as you’d expect doesn’t engage in fist fights, car chases or shoot outs, he doesn’t bed beautiful women (although his love life is an important factor) and yet in many respects his is a far more admirable and confident character than James Bond could ever be. Guinness was typically a pain to work with, and he was no exception here, demanding to watch all the rushes for scenes he was in, then frequently becoming depressed by the standard of his performance, but despite this I would maintain that he was born to play the part and it is arguably his greatest role. Just watch for the way Guinness plays with his spectacles throughout the series, this is masterclass in subtle yet believable acting.

Guinness isn’t the only impressive cast member, Patrick Stewarts for example as Karla – Smiley’s Moscow Centre nemesis. Silent and menacing, if only briefly appearing in both series his presence is most definitely constant through the storylines as the man pulling the strings. Stewart’s presence does make this a SiFi geeks wet dream as what were essentially watching is Obi-wan Kinobi and Captain Picard having a big fight. Karla and Smiley are mirrors for one and other, both the most competent and coolest of their side of the intelligence fraternity; they both attempt to defeat the other by exploiting weaknesses in their personal lives, they also clearly have a deep respect for one and other, deeper than their respect for their colleagues. That mutual admiration is matched paradoxically by a mutual disdain.

There is also a brief appearance from a young Alan Rickman; Joss Ackland has a excellent extended scene, and Michael Lonsdale is highly entertaining as the incompetent Russian point man Anton Grigoriev. However, the supporting plaudits of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy must be giving to Ian Richardson for his portrayal of Bill Haydon. He gives a mesmerising performance in support of Guinness, never once being overshadowed by Guinness’s tour de force.

What sets this series apart from all most every other TV show commissioned is how similar the supposed good guys are to the bad. Smiley is arrogant, blind to his own faults. Peter Guillam is little more than a hired thug for the British intelligence service, hardly heroic. Ricky Tarr is cocky, a repulsive yuppie. Once again this fits in with Le Carre’s vision of the Cold War, there are no heroes, just a few fallible men doing what they think is best for themselves and those they think they can trust. This realistic portrayal of both the Cold War and people in general is level of sophistication that is sadly seen too little within modern cinema or television. The camera captures this moral ambiguity by spying on the characters at a distance; it gives the feeling like someone else is watching on.

Of the two productions Smiley’s People is a little more accessible, with more action (relatively speaking, this is still far from action based) but here Smiley is more active, travelling to where the action takes place, being stalked by an unknown motorcyclist at one point. He’s in the thick of it here, but don’t let that fool you, the production never descends into superficiality or sensationalism. Even the discovery of a dead dissonant in a boat is executed realistically. The plot surrounds the discovery of a vital clue in the hunt for Karla and brings Smiley and Karla’s private war to the front of the narrative. Less labyrinth like than Tinker, Tailor, Solider, Spy it does have more going for it in some respects. Although the plotting isn’t as intricate, John Hopkins script is tighter and the dialogue is sharper. Simon Langton’s direction is also superior as is the cinematography which takes a far moodier approach, using shadows and light to great effect. Smiley’s People has a more visually impressive title sequence which is a fairly accurate point of comparison for the difference in tone between the series. The most notable difference is however, the score: Geoffrey Burgon employed a simple string and piano combination for Tinker, Tailor, Solider, Spy; but Patrick Gowers opted for a far more complex and haunting score which stays with you long after you’ve finished viewing, a soundtrack I would happily purchase - were it available. The continuity between the series is excellent, with only re-casting of the character Peter Guillam from the excellent Michael Jayston to the equally accomplished Michael Byrne as a blotch on what is otherwise a seamless transition between the two productions.

Productions which treat their audience with a profound respect are rarely found today in the age of dramatically announced “previously” and contrived exposition. Tinker, Tailor, Solider, Spy and Smiley’s People rarely repeat information. They show you a face, tell you a name and expect you to remember it; the slightest look between two characters can mean a shift in the entire story two episodes later: in short you have to pay attention. DVD is in many respects the perfect medium to watch these series, upon first broadcast the viewer would have to wait a week to see what happened next, a full week to recall all the essential details upon continuing. Now if you wish you can watch the entire series in one sitting which makes following the story far easier. Both series have a remarkable attention to detail, often endowing a scene with a peculiar realism which makes the entirety all the film all the more believable: a scalp hunter wrapping an elastic band around the handle of his firearm for extra grip, or the Smiley’s utterly detached attitude to his unfaithful wife.

Both script writers and both directors have done an excellent job of making extended dialogue sequences interesting by adding clear and memorable characters with very specific power dynamics. The character of Saul Enderby for example is established very quickly in one stand out scene, a sexist leech of a man who is obviously far removed from the finesse of the Smiley and Karla. He insists on inserting poorly conceived jokes into every point he makes, and pressures all around him to partake in a glass of Scotch. This mid level character is a given so much detail in such little screen time and it’s the same for virtually all of the many characters. The opening scene of Tinker, Tailor, Solider, Spy is another good example as each of the four key members of the circus enter a room one at a time, the way they walk, what they carry, how they sit all combines to give us four very clear characters; each distinctive from the next, this is all established without a line of dialogue.

The two mini-series combine to be the one of most complex pieces of television art ever created. The futility of Britain’s role within the Cold War was expressed at the Cold War’s height. The sense of melancholy of a once great Empire reduced to scrabbling in the dirt of spies and politics for no foreseeable gain is written into every scene. This is the death cry of the old British Empire, where the faded grandeur of the empire could no longer be enough to inspire either loyalty or great deeds by great men. Never before, and never again, were we to see how history was created by the “squalid little men”.

Espionage, the Cold War, sinister KGB and MI5 agents, a war of words and secrets where life hangs in the balance and death hides behind the nearest corner. All combine to create the finest of BBC productions, loaded with irony and sarcasm and of course headed up by the truly extraordinary Alec Guinness – this is one series you can not afford to miss.

M. Dawson
Additions by W.McLachlan