It’s been over two weeks since I provided the paralyzed philanthropic German widow in Burkina Faso, Mrs. Renate Magdalena Settnik, with my personal and banking information. (Click here for more detail on my windfall.) However, rather than seeing monies come in to my account, I’m noticing strange withdrawals from places like Nome, Alaska, and Tierra del Fuego.

Am I concerned? Not in the slightest. Because the fact is this: any current fraud will be more than offset with the $28,324,275.00 I soon will be inheriting from Mrs. Settnik. I plan to sit tight.

With some time on my hands, I may as well come out of retirement a second time (like Jordan) to talk about the late David Cornwell, who most of you know better by his non de plume, John le Carré.

Born in 1931 and at work right up until his death at 89 in December 2020, Cornwell was the prolific author behind 25+ espionage novels, including his last, Silverview, released posthumously in October 2021.

As he’s explained in many an interview, Cornwell’s fascination with the secrets and lies of morally dubious men and women stems from a youth spent observing his scalawag father and, later, his years in the UK’s domestic and foreign intelligence services (MI5 and MI6, respectively), a career cut short by the nefarious Soviet mole Kim Philby.

Luckily for him, about the time Philby’s betrayals were gutting British intelligence, Cornwell’s dabbles in fiction were becoming more than just a side gig—with the 1963 publication of his novel The Spy Who Came In From The Cold he was suddenly a best-selling and world-renowned writer.

In the 1980s, Cornwell faced yet another career challenge, this involving perestroika and the eventual collapse of the Soviet Union. After all, four of his most famous early works—The Spy
Who Came In From The Cold; Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy; The Honorable Schoolboy and Smiley’s People—dealt with spycraft and intrigue at the height of the Cold War. So the question loomed: would Cornwell’s literary well run dry? For a lesser novelist, perhaps, but not Cornwell, who simply focused his prodigious talents on the myriad other conflicts, hotspots and villainous characters unbalancing the world on any given day. Think Panama, Palestinian bombers, arms dealers, Caucasus freedom fighters, international money launderers, drug companies, etc.

Compared to his literary canon, Cornwell’s success with filmed adaptations of his work is a bit more spotty. Some are classics. Some pretty good. Some rubbish.

Let’s have look, shall we?

(Please note: I’m omitting The Deadly Affair (adapted from Cornwell’s novel Call for the Dead), The Looking Glass War and A Murder of Quality because a) I haven’t seen them and/or b) despite starring or being directed by such luminaries as Denholm Elliot, Sidney Lumet and Frank Pierson, they’re comparatively minor works.)

The Spy Who Came in from the Cold (1965, dir. Martin Ritt)

The book that put Cornwell on the literary map received a fine film adaptation starring Richard Burton as Alec Leamas, a disgraced (or is he?) former West Berlin station chief who’s tasked by his MI6 masters to trick the East Germans intelligence community into believing that he’s become a disgruntled British agent looking to sell state secrets. His eventual task? Frame an East German operative named Hans-Dieter Mundt as a double agent.

Of course, as with the best espionage fiction, nothing’s so simple. As the ruse barrels towards its climax, it becomes clear that Leamas et al are merely pawns in a much bigger game run by men in high castles with no hesitancy to ruin individual lives in the service of the greater good.

• True to Source Material—7/10 (One can only capture so much of a novel in 112 minutes.)

• Mise en scène—10/10 (Director Ritt and ace cameraman Oswald Morris use the chiaroscuro effect of low-key B/W photography to set the bleak mood of the setting and its occupants.)

• Gut-Wrenching Death—10/10 (No spoilers!)

• Moral Ambiguity—10/10 (Duh; it’s le Carré!)

• Final Verdict—9/10 (This film is indeed a classic. Frivolous point subtracted for Burton’s acne scarring.)

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (1979, dir. John Irvin)

Quite a bit of time had passed since the previous Cornwell adaptation (1970’s The Looking Glass War) but, happily, this BBC television series was well worth the wait. Starring none other than Obi-Wan Kenobi (Alec Guinness) as perhaps Cornwell’s greatest creation, George Smiley, TTSS tells the story of Smiley’s unmasking of a Soviet mole working at the highest levels of British intelligence and, in the process, striking a blow at his arch nemesis, the equally brilliant Karla (played by a very young Patrick Stewart), head of Moscow Center.

(For the history buffs among my 3-5 readers, Cornwell’s inspiration for the novel on which this film was based was, of course, the Cambridge Five, a group of high-ranking British intelligence officers—Donald Maclean, Guy Burgess, Harold “Kim” Philby, Anthony Blunt and John Cairncross—who passed secrets to the USSR in the 40s, 50s and early 60s. Read up on it, even if only on Wikipedia. Fascinating stuff.)

With a running of 315 minutes split over seven episodes, director Irvin has something of an advantage over previous (and future) le Carré adapters: the ability to let the very complicated proceedings breathe. The other ace up his sleeve: Guinness pitch-perfect characterization of

Smiley, an out-to-pasture spy whose outward appearance and personality (a bit dumpy, bespectacled, modest) hides the fact that, lurking behind that milquetoast facade, he’s a master tactician, easily the smartest man in any room. Oh, and he can’t stop cleaning his glasses with the backside of his tie.

• True to Source Material—9/10 (As mentioned, five hours and 15 minutes to unspool. Subtract one because no film can capture all the nuance of a 355-page novel.)

• Mise en scène—6/10 (Despite a very talented cinematographer, Tony Pierce-Roberts (see: A Room with a View, Howard’s End, The Remains of the Day), lensing the show, there’s just something awfully dull about TTSS’s look. Of course, it takes place in London’s dreary season so there’s that. Also, it’s about moral rot and distasteful geopolitical machinations. So I guess I’ll just have to assume that’s what Irvin and Pierce-Roberts were going for.

• Gut-Wrenching Death—3/10 (Not unless your sympathies lie with the Commies! However, extra point awarded when Jim Prideaux (played by Ian Bannen) delivers a karate chop—hiya!—to the poor slob’s neck!)

 

• Moral Ambiguity—10/10 (Duh; it’s le Carré!)

• Final verdict—9/10 (Pretty close to perfection. Well worth your time.)

Smiley’s People (1982, dir. Simon Langton)

Those familiar with the entire “Karla trilogy” may wonder why I’m skipping The Honorable Schoolboy, the second in Smiley’s quest to out-smart/bring down Karla, his Moscow Center negative. The reason: it was never filmed. Apparently the BBC balked at the potential costs to shoot in southeast Asia, where much of the action takes place. Thus, we move right into the concluding chapter, Smiley’s People, which, despite being teed up by the intrigues of The Honorable Schoolboy, works just fine without it.

Smiley (Guinness) once again is summoned from retirement, this time when he hears that one of his former “Joes” (read: operative), a Soviet general named Vladimir, has been found professionally executed in Hampstead Heath. (Not so) coincidentally, it seems that, before his untimely demise, Vladimir had been contacting various members of the Circus (read: MI6) with evidence that Karla might be involved with an unauthorized Swiss bank account, thus making him (Karla) vulnerable to death in Mother Russia and blackmail in the West. Smiley begins to dig, first in London (where he finds microfilm in a pack of cigarettes tossed away by Vladimir seconds before he was shot) and then to Hamburg (land of seedy brothels and houseboats full of decomposing bodies), further unveiling that Karla’s misappropriated State funds are being used to care for his mentally ill daughter at an expensive clinic near Berne, Switzerland.

Can Smiley use the information to force Karla to defect, thus landing him his white whale? I guess you’ll have to watch the film to see if Captain Picard makes another appearance!

• True to Source Material—9/10 (Same as above. The benefits of an elongated run time and all that.)

• Mise en scène—6/10 (Another talented cinematographer—Kenneth MacMillan—another rather dreary look. Maybe it’s just shitty transfers of the original 16mm negative. Don’t know. What I do know is that, from this period in British television, much of what I’ve seen looks bleak as hell. Who know why. Pre-Zoloft British filmmakers perhaps?

• Gut-Wrenching Death—5/10 (We don’t get to know the decedents that well. Smiley seems to care though!)

• Moral Ambiguity—10/10 (Duh; it’s le Carré!)

• Final verdict—9/10 (I like this even more than TTSS. What an ending! Get out there and rent it!)

Coming in Part 2…

The Little Drummer Girl (1984)

A Perfect Spy (1987)

The Russia House (1990)

The Tailor of Panama (2001)