Movie Review: The Spy Who Came In From The Cold (1965)

A Cold War drama, The Spy Who Came In From The Cold is a grim, ground-level view of the foot soldiers caught up in the great game between global secret services. The film is a gripping, low-key human story of thrust and counter-thrust, where every move could be the last and few combatants, if any, can see the end game.

Alec Leamas (Richard Burton) is the British head of the Berlin station, and he has just lost another of his spies, uncovered and killed by his nemesis Hans-Dieter Mundt (Peter van Eyck). Leamas is getting very tired of the spy game, but his boss Control (Cyril Cusack) activates a high-risk mission to try and turn the East Germans themselves against Mundt. Leamas will pretend to quit the service, and then offer to sell secrets to East Germany's agent Fiedler (Oskar Werner) that will implicate Mundt as a British spy.

The plot kicks into gear, and as Leamas waits in London for the enemy to take the bait, he starts a relationship with librarian Nan Perry (Claire Bloom), an idealistic communist. Soon the East Germans do recruit Leamas, and he makes contact with Fiedler's men in Holland. All seems to be going well, but when Leamas finds himself whisked to East Berlin and treated more roughly than he expected, he realizes that the mission is more dangerous and the stakes higher than he could have ever imagined.

An adaptation of the John le Carré novel directed by Martin Ritt, The Spy Who Came In From The Cold captures all that is depressing about the Cold War. The film depicts the world of front line trench coats, where the game of spies, as fought with words, lies, accusations, incrimination and intimidation, has become an end onto itself. This is a spy story where there are no secrets to be uncovered, documents to be exchanged or great state-sponsored plots to be stolen and revealed. Spies like Leamas, Mundt and Fiedler are reduced to guarding against each other, the equivalent of pawns expending energy stalking each other while the kings and queens are oblivious.

Filming in a most appropriate glum black and white, Ritt focuses on Leamas as an experienced but weary spy who thinks he has most of the angles covered. But as in most le Carré stories, there are always others who really pull the strings and know much more, and Leamas will only gradually learn, and at great cost, the full extent of the subterfuge surrounding him. Leamas is a hero only insofar as a single foot soldier can ever be in control of a complex battlefield, and the sense of helplessness in the face of greater forces dictating the outcome is the film's pervasive and engrossing theme.

Richard Burton creates in Leamas a complex character, still dedicated to the cause but undoubtedly exhausted, agreeing to one last mission but also ready for a tender relationship with Nan. Ritt contrasts Leamas with the vigorous Fiedler, all intellect and wit, and Mundt, more experienced, oozing confidence and evil intent. Fiedler represents Leamas from years past, Mundt is more his contemporary, but perhaps not yet as drained. Control and Smiley (Rupert Davies) have relatively minor screen presence, but of course in le Carré's world, influence and visibility are two different things.

The story of a war fought in the shadows, The Spy Who Came In From The Cold is intelligent, fascinating and suitably disheartening.

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Movie Review: The Brothers Karamazov (1958)

A loose adaptation of the Dostoevsky classic novel about a Russian family in turmoil, The Brothers Karamazov throbs with a willingness to conquer but never quite locks into a suitable narrative arc.

In the village of Ryevsk in Russia of 1870, aging patriarch Fyodor Karamazov (Lee J. Cobb) is enjoying life to the fullest but losing control of his four sons. The eldest Dmitiri (Yul Brynner) is always in need of money to feed a gambling habit, and always one step away from trouble. But Dmitri is also quick to help others and shares his father's passion for life, attributes that attract the refined Katya (Claire Bloom). Fyodor's other sons are the educated Ivan (Richard Basehart), the monk Alexi (William Shatner), and Smerdyakov (Albert Salmi), who hangs around pretending to be family but may be more of a bastard.

With Fyodor keeping a tight fist around the family finances, the sons start plotting against their own father and against each other. Things get more complicated when Dmitri does not respond to Katya's love and instead passionately pursues the wispy Grushenka (Maria Schell), who also happens to be his father's lover.

The Brothers Karamazov boasts one majestic scene, one of those enchanted moments when the screen is consumed by the perfect balance of emotion, music and milieu. Maria Schell as Grushenka dances in an ever tightening circle as if in a trance, Yul Brynner as Dmitri Karamazov observes her, transfixed, a family of gypsies provide the music, and slowly but surely the warmly lit tavern is transformed into a cradle of passion. It lasts all of 2 minutes, but director Richard Brooks captures an eternal moment, and the scene rises up to define the film.

The rest of the experience, all 145 minutes of it, rarely touches the same heights. Yes, there is plenty of passion, tension, vigour, characters lustily imbibing life and scheming to get ahead at the expense of one and all. The drinking, womanizing and back-stabbing are rampant. But with brooding intensity and against the grim rural Russian backdrop, the narrative works its way to several dramatic dead ends where stubbornness trumps any form of logic, fistfuls of money becomes an obsession, lust and hope collide into a wreck, and not much of anything is achieved or resolved. The brothers end up in unseemly squabbles, their large spirits wasted on petty disputes.

It does not help that the supporting cast is feeble. Yul Brynner and Lee J. Cobb predictably radiate machismo, decadence and powerful personalities. But the likes of Richard Basehart, William Shatner and Albert Salmi are in a much lower league when it comes to the big screen, and they melt away into insignificance. Maria Schell and Claire Bloom do better as the blonde and the brunette in Dmitri's life. But whether the scene calls for it or not Schell goes through the entire film with a mischievous smile on her face, as if to emphasize her dual seduction of father and son.

Dripping with symbolic representations of their country, The Brothers Karamazov are hefty characters in search of befitting drama, and they don't quite find it here.

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Movie Review: The Buccaneer (1958)

A fictionalized account of the Battle Of New Orleans, the final major encounter of the War Of 1812, The Buccaneer is a mix of piracy and politics, with a focus on pirate leader Jean Lafitte.

The British have sacked Washington, and the strategic port of New Orleans is their next target. United States General Andrew Jackson (Charlton Heston) is dispatched to organize the defences of a disorganized city. Jackson finds little to work with, the local troops lacking training and supplies. Both the British and Americans recognize the strategic importance of a large swath of sea-side territory on the outskirts of the city, controlled by the charismatic pirate Jean Lafitte (Yul Brynner) and his well-armed, battle-hardened band of merry men including second-in-command Dominique You (Charles Boyer).

Lafitte is allied with no one, and has problems of his own with insubordination from Captain Brown, one of his key lieutenants. Brown's scrappy daughter Bonnie (Claire Bloom) harbours a secret crush on Lafitte, but he is only interested in winning the heart of Annette Claiborne (Inger Stevens), the daughter of the New Orleans Governor. With the battle for New Orleans drawing ever closer, Lafitte has to decide which warring army he wants to align with.

Overseen by Cecil B. DeMille, whose failing health prevented him from taking a more active role, The Buccaneer aims for an epic-like scope but is limited by the confines of indoor sets and artificial-looking backdrops. Even the brief scenes of naval combat are constrained by the walls of a rather small sound stage. The film has the look and feel of ambitious theatre exceeding available resources, rather than the relaxed breadth of grand location-based story telling.

DeMille's son-in-law (at the time) Anthony Quinn took over directing duties, the first and only time that Quinn went behind the camera. His work here is best described as perfunctory, as apart from some good use of fog, there is little visual flair to speak of.

But despite reaching for and missing the requisite grandeur, The Buccaneer is still a boisterous adventure, mostly thanks to the charismatic Yul Brynner as Jean Lafitte. Brynner exudes the relaxed confidence of a man comfortable in his own skin, sure of his leadership capabilities and sharply focused on getting what he wants. In a rather small role Charlton Heston adds his hefty, serious presence as Andrew Jackson, and together Brynner and Heston provide The Buccaneer with formidable star power.

In support, Charles Boyer thrives in the well-written role of Dominique You, purportedly a former soldier in Napoleon's army, his pockets filled with dubious medals, his soul darkened by disappointment to the point where a life of piracy appears to be a genuinely fun, an alcohol-drenched opportunity to dispense jaundiced wisdom.

Of course historical accuracy is sacrificed for the sake of enhanced drama. Nevertheless, The Buccaneer sets a brisk sail in its final 45 minutes and enjoys two back to back peaks: the Battle Of New Orleans itself is recreated, with Lafitte's pirates playing a prominent role in a literal fog of war, and then a lavish celebration of unexpected victory turns dour when the past catches up with the present. Even a buccaneer, it seems, can't escape the winds of reputation.

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