Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy: Tinker Tailor

“You don’t break, exactly. You just run out of stories to tell.”

Yes, I know; it’s been nothing but Stranger Things for a week. I’m afraid Mrs Llamastrangler and I have become addicted, and what we watch together isn’t dictated by the needs of the blog in the way that my solo viewing often tends to be. Fear not, though; I haven’t forgotten this, or Batman and Robin, or indeed Agents of SHIELD or other things I need to return to.

This is a dark episode about Jim Prideaux, having been caught in Brno and extensively tortured and then hung out to dry by the Circus, telling us his side of the story while striving as a prep schedule teacher while living a life of genteel poverty in a caravan. It’s a sad, bleak episode and the lack of care for someone so traumatised in the service of his country is staggering. Then again, so are many other things in that most foreign of countries, the past. It’s heavily implied that Jim and Bill Haydon were lovers at uni, but also that gay relationships are implicitly acceptable pretty much only in this context (“We were children!”) and, amazingly, that recruitment into the security services was linked into this kind of circle, back in the days when both prejudice and the law meant that any deviation from heterosexuality was seen simply as a security risk. It all just seems so long ago.

Also tragic is the other tale we here of the operation going wrong, Control being secretive, Bill Haydon taking charge and, worst of all, Control starting to forget things. But none of that can compare to Jim’s stoic description of torture, how the days went by until his inevitable cracking, and the interrogation of Karla, immediately recognisable by the mention of Smiley’s old cigarette lighter. There’s a real sense of the Circus being old, hopelessly inefficient and riddled with compromising agents, mirroring a country in decline, a snapshot of how the country felt when it elected Thatcher’s Tories in ‘79. Yet there’s also a harsh lack of care, an acceptance of casualties, in a world where all that matters is jockeying for the position of captain of the Titanic.

This episode, more than the others, is as much about mood as it is about plot, and is quite a step up. But more than anything else it’s showing us just how very long ago it was in 1969, when I was two. I feel old.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy: Smiley Tracks the Mole

"Poor loves. Trained to empire. Trained to rule the waves."

The pace is certainly as slow as ever and, in fact, the structure of this series is completely unlike what we’d normally expect even back in ‘79. (Incidentally the offices of the Circus, with all the brown, the grey and the paper files, are a splendid artefact of Seventiesness). After last episode being pretty much an extended flashback, here we get Peter trying to burgle the Circus and ascertaining that the file on Irina has been deliberately ripped out, while George visits Connie and we get an extended flashback showing us all the suspects. That’s it.

Connie, though... she’s a fascinating and multilayered character, and not only by virtue of being a rare female presence in the Circus and, indeed, the episode’s only female speaking part. Sacked as Head of Research for, it seems, getting too close to fingering Polyakov as Karla’s local underling, she’s very bitter behind the sunny surface, and now struggling to find meaning in her life. Beryl Reid is superb but so is Alec Guinness; he says little, but somehow avoids coming across as cold.

We learn, mainly through flashbacks, that Control, and by extension George, always found the “Witchcraft” material a little too convenient, and Alleline’s arrogant pride a little annoying- and Alleline, indeed, comes across like a proper twonk. Then we have the cynical Roy, the enigmatic Bill, the ambitious Toby, suspects all. And it’s all a splendid opportunity to see a bunch of character actors at work.

It’s gripping. And, still, pretty much nothing has happened.

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...