4.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 7.25.14
John Le Carré continues to write
gripping espionage thrillers, and he has the added bonus of seeing many of them
translated intelligently to the big screen.
A Most Wanted Man is no exception.
 |
| Having brought naive young lawyer Annabel Richter (Rachel McAdams) into custody against her will, German intelligence agent Gunther Bachmann (Philip Seymour Hoffman) patiently — oh, so patiently — explains the folly of her recent behavior, in an effort to get her to reveal information about the young man she believes needs her help. |
This compelling adaptation is
helmed by Dutch director Anton Corbijn, who first came to our attention back in
2010 with his disappointing handling of The American, an adaptation of Martin
Booth’s A Very Private Gentleman. In fairness, that film’s failure had more
to do with its dull, dreary script and a miscast George Clooney’s soulless
performance, along with the fact that it was difficult to sympathize with a
career assassin possessing few redeeming qualities.
Corbijn obviously learned a lot from
that experience, because A Most Wanted Man boasts everything that his
previous thriller lacked. For starters, le Carré’s riveting plot is ripped from
contemporary headlines and fueled by the moral dilemma that troubles all
progressive Western countries: Can we justify subverting established law in the
pursuit of terrorists who refuse to “play fair”?
Le Carré’s densely complex novel
has been compressed ingeniously by scripter Andrew Bovell, who deftly stripped
away an entire set of supporting players (the British) in order to amplify the
German setting and characters, primarily the veteran black-ops surveillance
agent who has become the heart of this narrative.
That would be Gunther Bachmann,
played to ferocious perfection by Philip Seymour Hoffman: the last film he
completed before his tragic and untimely death.
To say that Hoffman’s performance
is mesmerizing would be gross understatement; the man owns the screen, and this
film. The forever disheveled Bachmann is a study in contrasts: a beady-eyed,
chain-smoking, whisky-drinking fox who flouts established authority and
couldn’t care less about currying favor, and yet possesses investigative skills
that cannot be dismissed, even by colleagues and superiors who loathe him.
Hoffman has for quite some time
transcended the artifice of performance; he’s one of very few film actors who
doesn’t merely “play” a part, but instead fully inhabits the role of moment.
That’s particularly true here, where we quickly cease to see Hoffman and
instead watch, fascinated, as Gunther Bachmann embraces the sacred trust placed
in his hands: to make the world a safer place.
That’s a key line: Watch
Hoffman’s body language, and his expression, when he is given the opportunity
to toss it back at the individual who first says it to him. Rarely will you see
such an impeccably crafted blend of amusement, irony and barely controlled
fury.
Corbijn, Bovell and Hoffman have
shaped Bachmann into a German cousin of George Smiley, the rueful, similarly
rumpled British intelligence agent at the heart of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier,Spy and so many more of le Carré’s novels. Both spies cultivate a seemingly
unfocused and distracted attitude that invites ridicule and prompts unknowing
colleagues and enemies to underestimate them ... until the moment the trap is
sprung. Both men also have the undying loyalty of younger operatives who would,
clearly, do anything for their mentors.
But where Smiley is gentle and
mild-mannered to the (misleading) point of meekness, Bachmann has the
vibrating, tightly wound intensity of a coiled snake. Even so — and this is
crucial — Bachmann is neither cruel nor concerned with vindictive payback; he’s
an honorable man who sees no reason to harm innocents swept into nefarious
events through their own ignorance or naïve idealism.
This sets him apart from the
hammer-handed bureaucratic drones in Germany’s “visible” intelligence service,
with their bull-in-a-china-shop tendency to act in haste and repent ... well,
never. Bachmann, understanding the value of the long game, prefers to watch the
small fish and wait, in the hopes that minnows will lead to barracudas, who in
turn will point to the much-desired sharks.
Even given the care Bovell takes
with his script, this remains a complicated story with many characters; close
attention must be paid. (In other words, don’t plan on bathroom breaks.)
The contemporary saga is set in
Hamburg, where the intelligence community still smarts from the knowledge that
their city unknowingly hosted the terrorists who orchestrated the 9/11 attacks
on the United States. The resulting paranoia hasn’t diminished much, during the
intervening decade-plus; this atmosphere of suspicion and dread lends
additional weight to Bachmann’s unspoken determination that it never ... happen
... again.
Corbijn opens his film on the
unsettling image of a bearded young man (Grigoriy Dobrygin) who, under cover of
darkness, swims ashore from the River Elbe. He clutches a backpack, later seen
to contain a change of clothes and a prayer mat, the latter faithfully employed
each day. He contacts a Turkish woman and her adult son, who shelter this
drifter and introduce him to Annabel Richter (Rachel McAdams), an idealistic
young lawyer who works with a human rights organization called Sanctuary North.
By this point, the young man has
been identified by Bachmann and his team as Issa Karpov, a 26-year-old Chechen
classified by Interpol as an escaped militant jihadist. Soon Karpov and Richter
are under full-time surveillance by Bachman’s operatives, including Niki (Vicky
Krieps), Max (Daniel Brühl, well remembered as Niki Lauda, in Rush) and most
particularly Irna (Nina Hoss). We sense a deeper relationship between Bachmann
and the sophisticated Irna ... or at least there would be, if he allowed it. She
clearly loves him, but is content to let their interactions remain
professional.
We also sense a degree of
pragmatism in Irna, which Bachmann either lacks or chooses to ignore: an
acknowledgment of “the system” and its requirements.
Richter, earning Karpov’s trust,
learns that he is seeking an audience with banker Tommy Brue (Willem Dafoe),
head of the long-established private bank Brue Freres; the young Chechen wishes
to claim an inheritance from his deceased father. This seemingly innocuous
request takes on an entirely different meaning when Brue, intercepted by
Bachmann, reveals that the account in question contains tens of millions of
Euros.
What, precisely, would Issa
Karpov do with so much money? And might this somehow tie in with Dr. Faisal
Abdullah (Homayoun Ershadi), a moderate Muslim academic, family man and noble
charity fundraiser whom Bachmann has long suspected of clandestinely funneling
money to terrorist Islamic organizations?
Bachmann may not get the
opportunity to find out, because his every move is being shadowed by Dieter
Mohr (Rainer Bock), the clumsy, impulsive head of the Office for the Protection
of the Constitution. Mohr, caring little for Bachmann’s long game, wants Karpov
arrested immediately.
To make matters worse, this
situation has aroused the interest of the Americans, in the form of
German-based CIA spy Martha Sullivan (Robin Wright). Sullivan shares similar
suspicions about Abdullah, but Bachmann doesn’t trust her; she represents the
country, and the agency, increasingly despised for behavior such as
extraordinary rendition and torture (an attitude given up-to-the-minute heft by
the current sorry state of real-world German/American relations).
Still, Sullivan seems able to
influence Mohr — to hold him back — and therefore could be an important ally.
We can only smile, at about this
point, when Karpov and Richter are shown enjoying the occasional game of chess:
an apt metaphor for the far greater game being played by Bachmann and his
intelligence colleagues (friend and foe), with various pieces moved — and
sacrificed — as needed.
Dafoe is spot-on as an upstanding
businessman intimidated into cooperation: both frightened by these escalating
events, and unable to ignore them. Hoss is similarly persuasive as Bachmann’s
trusted lieutenant: cool and methodical, tolerant of her boss’ moody behavior,
but still forthright when it comes to advising caution. And she’s probably the
only person he’d listen to.
Wright is appropriately cold and condescending
as Sullivan: every inch the arrogant American spy. She carries a weight of
authority that is both respected and detested by her German colleagues: an air
of smug superiority that suggests only she knows what’s really going on, while
everybody else is simply playing silly buggers.
McAdams ... is a bit of a
problem. She’s the one cast member who feels miscast: a disconnect not helped
by her inelegant German accent. She simply can’t shake the look and feel of her
North American (Canadian) roots, and her fresh-faced, just-off-the-beach
mannerisms are a frequent distraction. It’s not that she’s a bad actress;
indeed, she’s reasonably convincing as an idealistic young attorney. She simply
doesn’t fit, and that detracts — if only slightly — from the film’s otherwise
rigorously authentic atmosphere.
Benoît Delhomme’s cinema-verité
camerawork is gritty and grainy, at times as hazy as the cigarette smoke that
swirls lazily above Hoffman’s head. It’s the perfect look for Corbijn’s
handling of his film, which often echoes the atmosphere of classic 1960s espionage
thrillers such as The Ipcress File and le Carré’s The Spy Who Came in from
the Cold.
Herbert Grönemeyer’s orchestral
score is moody, tense and frequently unsettling: at times almost subliminal.
Editor Claire Simpson orchestrates Corbijn’s vision with precision, helping
build the story’s intensity by employing shorter takes, as we move from the
first act to the climax. Even toward the end, though, Corbijn isn’t afraid to
pause, generally holding on Hoffman’s Bachmann, because — even at rest — his
star is so mesmerizing.
Like its central character, this
film is slow and methodical; also like its central character, those qualities
are never, ever boring. A Most Wanted Man lacks the flash of popcorn spy
flicks in the James Bond vein, but it’s intriguing — and disturbing — for
entirely different reasons. Le Carré has a gift for envisioning an intelligence
community, capable and ill-fated, that feels chillingly probable.
Corbijn has captured that tone,
and done so with precision. And while the fact that Hoffman’s final performance
is one of his best, may be a serendipitous sidebar, it certainly doesn’t
detract from this film’s power.
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