somewhat less thrilling than canned peas

Rating: 5/10 (29 May 2012)

Unless you were an aficionado of the spy vs. spy genre fiction routinely found on airport paperback racks in the 70s, I defy you to make sense of the narrative of the 2011 movie version of Tinker Tailor Solder Spy on the very simplest of whodunit levels. Reportedly the press at preview screenings were supplied with cheat sheets. Having seen neither the 1979 BBC mini-series nor read the 1974 mega-bestseller, I was lost. After a second run through with the English subtitles turned on, I still had to look on Wikipedia for the plot outline, and this remake STILL adds up to a convoluted muddle.
Remarkably, Tinker Tailor &c. was the top grossing film in the U.K. for its first three weeks in release. One can only imagine all those Brits had a leg up from the viewing the well-regarded BBC series, or that they intuitively resonate with 1970s Cold War cloak-and-dagger machinations literally hashed out over the tea table, or perhaps simply tend to read more spy novels. 21st Century American sensibilities, however, generally lack these advantages, which should not be an impossible feat of cinema to overcome. Period espionage films like The Third Man (1949) by British director Carol Reed continue to pack a powerful punch. This flick, however, is somewhat less thrilling than canned peas, which, appropriately, the cinematography's consistently muted tones closely resemble.
The aptly named Hardy and Strong are the sole actors showing any signs of testosterone in the bloodstream. Tinker Tailor comes alive during Tom Hardy's brief scenes wherein he radiates a palpable sense of the extreme jeopardy entailed in playing for high stakes. (Hardy would make a really interesting Bond, come to think of it.) Mark Strong similarly emanates an aura of danger and consequence, yet both players are hamstrung by the script's failure to delineate neither the stakes nor the consequences.
The remainder of the consistently saturnine, mostly male cast are not only as uniformly bland and boring as British cuisine of the period, but appear to be suffering authentic gastro-intestinal consequences, as well. Colin Firth fails to demonstrate a range stretching the distance from A to B, while Gary Oldman never strays an inch off A. His is definitely a contender for the most everlastingly drab one-note performance outside a Mike Leigh movie in the entire depressing history of the British cinema.