This is one intricate plot about the British agency, MI-5, trying to stop terrorists from blowing up Oxford Circle and murdering everybody at the top of MI-5. One unusual twist is that the Americans aren't exactly the good guys. The terrorist leader (no mention of religious fundamentalism) has an American accent. Worse, MI-5 is losing its luster and they have reason to believe that they will somehow be absorbed into the American CIA.
Actually, the Brits field three or four fine intelligence agencies, including the equivalents of the FBI, the CIA, and the NSA. MI-5 is the equivalent of one of them but I forget which. In any case, the US often gets tips and evidence from the Brits. As I write this, it's just been alleged that the Brits learned about various connections between one of our presidential campaigns and Russian intelligence/business/government contacts. In Russia, under Putin, the social spheres are pretty much indistinguishable.
I missed the first five or ten minutes and it must have been a crippling mistake because there were times I felt like Kier Dullea going through the Stargate episode in "2001." In one scene, for instance, a young woman has apparently betrayed someone or committed some other peccadillo and when asked why, she replies, "I just did what they told me to." I didn't know who "they" were. The plot is impossible to describe in detail because there are so many details.
It's an unusual picture of London that we're presented with. It's changed a good deal since I was last there. It's all modernized now, or at least those parts of the city we see in the film. Swirling balconies and streamlined buildings and -- surprise -- it's often sunny. Even Waterloo Bridge looks clean and modern. The cleanliness of the streets, the sleekness of the mass transport, puts American facilities to shame.
The performances are fine. Peter Firth, one of the many important players, acts broody and looks like a half-wrecked Anthony Hopkins coming down from battery acid. There is no beautiful gal being fought over. The women, as well as the men, are more or less ordinary. Most outstanding PRESENCE is the noble and thoroughly committed head of MI-5, Tim McInnerny. You have never seen such a somatotype. His features are all squished together, as in a cartoon, and his neck seems about two feet long and bent forward at an angle that imperils his whole head. Really. His image is unnerving.
There are quite a few shootings and occasional rumbles but on the whole it's all well done. If you enjoyed, say, "Smiley's People," you should be able to handle this with pleasure.
Actually, the Brits field three or four fine intelligence agencies, including the equivalents of the FBI, the CIA, and the NSA. MI-5 is the equivalent of one of them but I forget which. In any case, the US often gets tips and evidence from the Brits. As I write this, it's just been alleged that the Brits learned about various connections between one of our presidential campaigns and Russian intelligence/business/government contacts. In Russia, under Putin, the social spheres are pretty much indistinguishable.
I missed the first five or ten minutes and it must have been a crippling mistake because there were times I felt like Kier Dullea going through the Stargate episode in "2001." In one scene, for instance, a young woman has apparently betrayed someone or committed some other peccadillo and when asked why, she replies, "I just did what they told me to." I didn't know who "they" were. The plot is impossible to describe in detail because there are so many details.
It's an unusual picture of London that we're presented with. It's changed a good deal since I was last there. It's all modernized now, or at least those parts of the city we see in the film. Swirling balconies and streamlined buildings and -- surprise -- it's often sunny. Even Waterloo Bridge looks clean and modern. The cleanliness of the streets, the sleekness of the mass transport, puts American facilities to shame.
The performances are fine. Peter Firth, one of the many important players, acts broody and looks like a half-wrecked Anthony Hopkins coming down from battery acid. There is no beautiful gal being fought over. The women, as well as the men, are more or less ordinary. Most outstanding PRESENCE is the noble and thoroughly committed head of MI-5, Tim McInnerny. You have never seen such a somatotype. His features are all squished together, as in a cartoon, and his neck seems about two feet long and bent forward at an angle that imperils his whole head. Really. His image is unnerving.
There are quite a few shootings and occasional rumbles but on the whole it's all well done. If you enjoyed, say, "Smiley's People," you should be able to handle this with pleasure.