3.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for action violence, suggestive content and partial nudity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.14.15
Having so successfully
re-imagined the sleuthing Sherlock Holmes and his late 19th century London surroundings,
director Guy Ritchie has plunged forward half a century and change, in order to
replicate the Cold War-era intrigue of classic 1960s spy flicks.
The engaging result isn’t merely
set in the twisty, double-crossing world of Iron Curtain espionage; it even
looks and feels like a movie made in the 1960s, thanks to the meticulous
efforts of cinematographer John Mathieson, production designer Oliver Scholl,
costume designer Joanna Johnston — you have to love how she dresses Alicia
Vikander — and even composer Daniel Pemberton.
But let’s be clear: This film has
absolutely nothing to do with The Man from U.N.C.L.E. Scripters Ritchie,
Lionel Wigram, Jeff Kleeman and Davis C. Wilson may have borrowed a couple of
iconic character names — Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin — but the whole
elaborate U.N.C.L.E. mythos has been abandoned and/or ignored.
Ritchie’s film feels much more
like a blend of early Sean Connery James Bond adventures and Michael Caine’s
first two Harry Palmer spy thrillers (The Ipcress File and Funeral in
Berlin). Mind you, that’s not a bad thing ... but if Ritchie & Co. wanted
to mimic a 1960s spy film, why not invent their own characters?
Messing about with a beloved TV
franchise seems a risky proposition either way: Longtime fans are guaranteed to
be disappointed — or even irritated — while younger viewers won’t have the
faintest idea who these guys are anyway. So ... what’s the point?
This cranky rant aside, Ritchie
definitely has the formula down: the all-important blend of nimble spycraft,
inventively staged fisticuffs, mildly audacious action sequences and just the
right dollop of bone-dry humor (shaken, not stirred). The resulting
tongue-in-cheek thriller is a bit lethargic at times — editor James Herbert
could (and should) have tightened some of the many talking-heads interludes —
but it’s otherwise a sleek and colorful blast from the cinematic past.
The action takes place in 1963,
and begins as CIA agent Solo (Henry Cavill) is sent into East Berlin to extract
Gaby Teller (Vikander), the long-estranged daughter of Dr. Udo Teller, once
Hitler’s favorite rocket scientist. The hope is that Gaby will lead Napoleon to
her father, whose wartime research into uranium enrichment has become highly
dangerous, in an unstable world where the United States and Soviet Union are
locked in an anxious, high-stakes game of chicken over nuclear arms supremacy.
Gaby isn’t interested in helping,
at least not initially, having no love for her long-absent parent. But her indifference
vanishes when both the East German Gestapo and a rather ruthless KGB agent
named Kuryakin (Armie Hammer) ALSO come looking for her. One slickly
choreographed skirmish later, Solo has Gaby on the safe side of the Berlin Wall
... but that’s far from the end of the mission.
With both the Americans and
Soviets worried that Dr. Teller’s efforts could destabilize the world order, an
uneasy truce is arranged: Solo and Kuryakin are ordered to work together ...
despite a heavy dose of mutual antipathy. Not to mention both having tried to
kill the other.
Needs must, right?
Intel suggests that Dr. Teller
has been invited (ordered?) to do his work for Alexander and Victoria
Vinciguerra (Luca Calvani and Elizabeth Debicki), a cosmopolitan but morally
bankrupt “power couple” with ties to war criminals and unspecified arms
dealers. The potential link is Gaby’s Uncle Rudy (Sylvester Groth), a former
Nazi who seems oddly tight with the Vinciguerras.
Cue a delicate and dangerous
undercover operation, with Gaby passing Illya off as her fiancé, a
mild-mannered Russian architect, in the belief that an impending wedding will
encourage her father’s active participation. Napoleon, meanwhile, does his best
to win Victoria’s lustful attention.
As the old saying goes, the
best-laid plans...
While this film’s period
authenticity will delight viewers old enough to remember Cold War spy flicks
from back in the day, the main attraction — by far — is the prickly rivalry
between Solo and Kuryakin. Cavill and Hammer have great fun poking at each
other, Solo’s perpetual, self-satisfied smile forever at odds with Illya’s
brooding scowl.
They’re concocted as polar
opposites. Solo is a former career thief and war-era black marketeer-turned-suave
agent solely to avoid a lengthy prison term; Kuryakin is a by-the-book KGB
operative who takes pride in having risen through the ranks. Solo, smooth and
polished, always seems amused by Kuryakin’s oh-so-serious demeanor; the
Russian, in turn, can’t stand his new partner’s cavalier attitude and sense of
entitlement.
Cavill delivers a juicy bon mot
with the raised-eyebrow aplomb of Connery, Caine or James Coburn (remembered as
Derek Flint, in the era’s best genre spoofs); Hammer growls like an irritated
bear, fists forever clenched in an effort to avoid losing his hair-trigger
temper and wreaking havoc.
Both men, in turn, have something
of a crush on Gaby. And why not? Vikander has her own way with a saucy retort,
and — particularly when clad in Johnston’s colorfully mod outfits — is utterly
irresistible.
Although the Swedish actress has
been quite busy for more than a decade, with strong supporting roles in period
costume dramas such as A Royal Affair and Anna Karenina, she made a
significant splash earlier this year, with her superb performance as the
sentient android in Ex Machina. Having demonstrated her skill as a delectable
provocateur here, she has become attached to the next Matt Damon Jason Bourne
sequel, where I’ve no doubt she’ll be equally comfortable.
Meanwhile, her will they/won’t
they scenes with Hammer’s Illya are deliciously erotic ... although a silly
wrestling match is rather over the top, in an eye-rolling manner.
Debicki, in turn, is a chilling,
ice-cold blonde of the most lethal sort; I’m reminded of Monica Vitti’s
starring role in another fashion-conscious 1960s spy spoof, Modesty Blaise ... although she was on the side of the angels, whereas Debicki’s Victoria is
deliciously capital-E Evil.
Groth’s Uncle Rudy seems benign,
but we just know that the actor who played Goebbels in Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds can’t be anything but a bad guy. (Groth also was the
prime troublemaker in the just-concluded German TV miniseries, Deutschland
83, which merely reinforces his type-casting.)
Hugh Grant has a small but
telling role as Waverly — a name certain to be recognized by U.N.C.L.E. fans —
an enigmatic British operative who seems to know far more than he’s telling,
and has an uncanny knack for popping up at unexpected moments.
Pemberton’s thoroughly enjoyable
score is vintage 1960s action kitsch, the composer having gone so far as to
restrict his orchestra to the era’s instrumentation. I’m less satisfied with
Ritchie’s occasional use of period pop songs — such as Louis Prima’s “Five
Months, Two Weeks, Two Days” — over action montages; it’s cute the first time,
less so in repetition.
On the other hand, Ritchie’s
visual pizzazz never grows tiresome, whether via cockeyed camera angles and
staccato cross-cutting, or his vibrant use of split-screen during action
sequences: a technique made famous by 1968’s The Thomas Crown Affair, then
mercilessly overused for the next decade, but now distant enough to feel fresh
all over again.
But the tenuous attachment to the
original U.N.C.L.E. TV series remains irritating, particularly with an
oblique, final scene one-liner apparently intended to “explain” the reference.
It doesn’t; indeed, it’s rather dumb. U.N.C.L.E. isn’t an operational code;
it’s a whole high-level espionage organization ... but not, apparently, in
Richie’s mind.
Ah, well. His in-name-only men
from U.N.C.L.E. obviously had a good time making this film, and — if it’s
successful enough to warrant a sequel — perhaps more familiar elements will
materialize the next time around.
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