Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy: Return to the Circus

"I shall become an oak of my own generation..."

This is, of course, a justly renowned piece of telly and, as I saw it before many years ago, I’ll not be departing from the general view. I must confess that, to my mother’s disapproval, I’ve yet to read any John Le Carre, so I’m unfamiliar with any greater levels of depth and detail which no longer exist deep within the novel and, indeed, series of novels on which this is based. I comment only on what I see. But I see much.

The slow pace is truly extraordinary from the perspective of 2019, forty years later the pre-credits scene consists simply of the four mole suspects- Bill Haydon, Toby Esterhase, Roy Bland and Percy Alleline- slowly entering a room. but this allows for much subtle physical acting by the character actors portraying them. Similarly, very little really happens- we learn of the existence of the mile, Jim’s Czech mission goes south, the retired George Smiley is accosted by the gossipy and somewhat camp Roddy Martindale and endures am interrogatory lunch which gives us much exposition about the Circus, Smiley’s forced retirement, the uneasy atmosphere, and his hinted at marital problems. He is then summoned by Peter Guilin to meet Oliver Lacon and hear an apparently shocking tale from one Ricki Tarr. That’s it. That’s all that happens in fifty minutes.

And it happens slowly. There’s loads of tension in the scenes with Jim in Brno. We get to see Alec Guinness’ extraordinary acting mannerisms and use of cleaning his glasses to evoke a deep interiority. It’s fascinating to see the master at work here; no method actor he. It’s all about the exterior mannerisms, as he says in his autobiography, and that’s what makes him so bloody good.

We also get time to get an impression of the Circus as a downbeat, very male (there are no speaking female parts in the whole 50 minutes!), very public school and Oxbridge little club not trusted by the Americans. We get to breathe. And it’s wonderful.

I’m looking forward to the rest. I can’t help noticing, though, that Ian Richardson looks scarily Old at 45, and that’s me in three years...