Our Kind of Traitor is the latest adaptation of a John Le Carré spy thriller, and despite being a whole lot better than the last time I said that (Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy), it’s awfully subdued and not for everyone.
Ewan McGregor plays Perry, a British poetry professor (!) vacationing in Morocco with his lovely lawyer wife Gail (Moneypenn– ahem, Naomie Harris). MoneyPerry (#coinedit) run across a pack of hard-partying, big-spending Russians, led by cheeky Dima (Stellan Skarsgård, looking both quite natty with his mafia prison ink, and also a tad thick — gosh, it’s been nearly two decades since Ronin). Dima is a Russian money launderer who hopes to turn coat, and he enlists Perry’s help in contacting the British intelligence agencies.
What follows is a measured, slow-burning little thriller that thrusts milquetoast everymen Perry and Gail between MI6 on one hand and the Russian mob on the other. Dima demands safe passage for his family, but MI6 won’t go out on a limb until they’re sure he has something worth the risk. Sharp legal minds (I know you’re out there!) will enjoy the fact that this basic stalemate is essentially an apologia for contracts: How can I promise anything unless I’m sure you’ll perform in return? What are the penalties for breach? Who goes first, you or me? Of course, contracts only work when they can be enforced, either by a structured legal system, or by some equivalent honor code, mores, or whatever. Where those pressures vanish, so too does the luxury of being able to trust anyone to do anything for you, ever.
It’s an issue that could come up in pretty much every criminal or spy film, but Le Carré really milks it here, and I’m not sure exactly why. There’s not much more to this story. It’s a fairly workaday tale.
But there’s value in the telling. Here’s a film that, despite taking place in pretty and otherwise lively settings, maintains always a tweedy, somewhat stodgy mood. There’s no CGI, not much action, and not even too much scheming. (And it’s nicely timed with Brexit, what with its overtones of corruption in international banking and British MPs up to no good.) It broods, and it putters along.
Skarsgård is terrific here. Perhaps less so McGregor: I found his wide-eyed do-gooder innocence okay initially, but increasingly taxing and unrealistic as the film went on. Damian Lewis, though, is great — hamming it up as a sly British MI6 agent, looking equal parts McQueen and Redford-as-Nathan-Muir with his pursed lips and chic Aquascutum (the brand is relaunching, I hear).
It’s hard to issue a blanket “go see” on a film like this, and I won’t. It’ll put some folks to sleep and lacks the depth that others demand; it’s not a particularly fertile date movie, and it’s far too low energy to sate the emoji set. But if you’re in the market for a civilized, adult-friendly Anglophilic talkie with timeless fashions, just a little gunfire, and a generally predictable and semi-zeitgeisty story, Our Kind of Traitor is a good bet. And I guess I’m in that market, because having said all that, I did quite enjoy it.
Haus Verdict: A measured and slow espionage-lite genre thriller with clean visuals, good acting, and an old-fashioned, low-exertion, and ultimately fairly predictable story.
Our Kind of Traitor is out now.
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Prof. Ayres would be proud of your analysis.