This Year in Brit-Centric Film, Part I

I'm an Anglophile. What's that, imaginary reader - you are too? Great! Join me as I write about this year in British culture, films first. Spoilers aplenty!

Perhaps the best sequence of "Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy" is at the very end of the film. The mole has been found, and the camera follows its principal characters in the aftermath of this discovery. Circus chief Percy Alleline (Toby Jones) walks away defeated, and George Smiley (a stunning Gary Oldman) moves into his new offices as his replacement; his aide-de-camp (Benedict Cumberbatch) gives him a knowing smile as Smiley takes his place at the head of the table. But it's the background score which makes the scene shine like a jewel: Julio Iglesias croons his way through the French hit "La Mer." The upbeat disco track, horn section and string arrangement ring through with such brightness that it's enough to contemplate on its own merit. That the song is a backdrop to Jim Prideaux's cold-blooded murder of the mole Bill Haydon is an ironic juxtaposition of the first order.

This is the victory of "Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy." Despite being a relatively slow film, heavy on the (infinitesimal) gestures and light on explanation, the film achieves a kind of skillful intricacy that, at the end, is as beautiful as a spider's web in sunshine.

From L to R: Haydon, Esterhase, Alleline, Control

"TTSS" begins with a taut, suspenseful scene which follows MI6 agent Jim Prideaux, as he meets a potential defector, a Czech general. Things go awry, however, when Prideaux is shot, and MI6's boss, a man known only as Control (John Hurt), is disgraced and eventually dies from cancer. Shortly after the death, Control's right-hand man George Smiley (Oldman) emerges from retirement to seek out a mole in MI6. Meanwhile, Percy Alleline (Toby Jones), a power-hungry man who took Control's seat, and his cronies Roy Bland (Hinds), Toby Esterhase (David Dencik) and Bill Haydon (Colin Firth) are waist-deep in the intelligence currently being provided by Source Merlin, a USSR contact. Cumberbatch plays Peter Guillam, a head Scalphunter who took over Prideaux's job when the latter disappeared, and is Smiley's man on the inside.

Peter Guillam (Cumberbatch) and Smiley (Oldman)

The film's palette, comprised mostly of muted grays and browns, serves the density of the plot and terminology well. Director Tomas Alfredson (of "Let the Right One In" fame) takes a steady approach to camerawork: long, composed takes showcase Oldman's shockingly minute movements. Cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema does a fantastic job of creating the drab, weary lighting needed for MI6 headquarters, but proves equally adept at highlighting the lush greenery of the British outdoors. Production design also deserves special mention for hitting just the right tone of the Cold War: everything is as the book dictates, from the olive green of files to the reds and blues of ties and suits.

The film is generally quite true to its source material, though it is natural for a viewer who is unfamiliar with le Carre to be utterly confused. Both book and film do not delve into unnecessary subplots, and are generally quite on par in terms of characterization.

I've seen this film twice now, and the major complaint I hear from viewers is that they only understood the gist: that Smiley was trying to catch a mole. Well, there's a very simple reason for that, reader(s) (?): this isn't your average Hollywood bing-bang-smash blockbuster. Pay attention to the language, the key terms and the dialogue, and the film's trajectory will become perfectly clear. It's complex but not undecipherable.

And say you get lost for a bit: just watch Benedict Cumberbatch's face. Ah...all better.

Tomorrow: My Year with Marilyn (admittedly not a British film, but filmed with primarily British actors, set in England, and so on)

A Not-So-Triumphant Return

Oy.
It's been a long time since this blog was updated. I could make any load of excuses - the insane, unpredictable nature of college life, medical issues, and so on - but the truth is, for the longest time, I felt like I had nothing to say. Things reached a fever pitch last summer, but I was so busy dealing with it all that I never could write anything out. If you'd care to read on, I'd like to explain the last few months of my life.

After my last post, sometime toward the end of May 2011, I moved out of my apartment and into a dorm in downtown Manhattan. The move was traumatic - I'd never packed up my belongings alone, and to remember the pile of bags, suitcases and boxes piled in my old living room is like having a bad dream slide down my throat.

The summer was interesting. I worked at the university TV station and took classes; I loved Film Noir and the Robert Altman class. And I did well in both, which was a self-confidence booster. Didn't go home at all, which was helpful - it kept me focused on the work and school, both of which were imminent.

At the end of August, with the aid of good friends C. and I., I moved in to what I didn't realize was going to be - well, absence speaks volumes, and since there are already too many blogs ranting about roommate issues, I'll leave it at that.

So I returned to school. Academics were difficult. I'd changed majors - to cinema studies - and fit in well to my Early American Film and 1950's American TV classes (the latter topping out as a semester favorite). Children & Media was another matter. I took the class so I could minor in Child and Adolescent Mental Health, a subject that's become crucial to me since I was diagnosed 2 years ago. The class was extremely challenging - I learned loads but couldn't quite muster a good grade; I scraped a C and was disappointed. As it turns out, the way my schedule is structured for the next 1 1/2 years, I can't minor in CAMH. That was probably the biggest let-down of all. As you can see, last semester wasn't the most positive of experiences. I did make it out alive, though, which, as both my therapist and psycho-pharm pointed out, was something to be proud of.

Therapy continued; I'm still seeing Dr. H and Dr. L, both of whom are massive supports in my occasionally fragile day-to-day life. The bad days are still there; this past week I lay still in bed for what seemed like hours, unaware of life around me. The medicines definitely help with this. Maybe not all the time, so I learn to put up with the awful feelings. But I made it to class, and to work, and to my internship (I'm working at the BBC, you guys! It's so exciting!).

Often, at therapy, we talk about what can help me in the moment. That is, when I'm feeling unbalanced, upset or destructive, what could step into place and aid me? I always say "writing," because that's what I've learned is a good answer. The stupidity of that response is that I never do it. The whole thing becomes idiotic because I have this blog, as a ready resource. That's not to say I created this corner for ranting, but it can definitely serve as a starting point to analyze what's happening.

So, while I make no promises, I'm going to try and write more here. It'll help, I think. And now that I'm a blogging intern at the BBC, my writing skills definitely need some punching up as well. Till then, reader(s) (?), stay tuned.